Drek slammed the empty stein on the bar.

Drek slammed the empty stein on the bar. "Let me at that dart board." he slurred. The bartender eyed him quizically and swept the shattered crockery. Drek lifted his double-axe and

fell face forward in an open barrel of mead. Org and Torq chortled into their mugs while Robspierre muttered in the corner "The king must die so that the country can live." Read m

y lips, no new taxes," mumbled an old man in the corner of the dimly lit bar. The door burst open followed by a jack boot and Oliver North attached to the boot. Robspierre screamed

because he realized that his name totally sucked. People who said it were forced to feel

ashamed about the verbal diarrhea coming out of their mouth. So he went to a judge and had his name legally changed to something that inspired less people to vomit, and that name

was Groid Buttenberg. It sounded pretty clean to him. He took his new name and practiced his signature; however, he did so with spraypaint on the sides of old buildings, so

as to conserve paper. Recycling was very important, he believed, while walls were less so. In fact, he was so persistant in his recycling efforts that

he recycled people. He loaded them into the backs of 100% post-consumer trucks and drove them to the plant. They would emerge as conscious pieces of paper, or tennis balls, or even

also plotted the capture and brainwashing of various world leaders... one day he would rule the world! Mwahahahahaha!!! But first, he had sausages to attend to...