(no subject)
So a bloke walks into a bar... in a tuxedo. Whut?
No, really! Well, okay, the tux is rather worse for the wear, the boutonniere is wilting and he's covered in contusions, lacerations and plasters. So at least we know all is right in the multiverse.
He plods over to the Bar, sits on his accustomed stool in the corner, and mumbles something. But instead of his usual shot of whiskey, pint of Guinness and overflowing ashtray, Bar gives him a flute of champagne, a cupcake decorated with white swirls, a pristine, empty ashtray and a brand new pack of Silk Cuts.
Sighing, John pulls a box of matches from his jacket pocket, unwraps the smokes and lights one up. There's a little *poof* from the end of the cigarette followed by a tiny eruption of confetti.
John curses, stubs the cig out, lights another one. *Poof! confetti!*
He glares at the Bar, mumbles, "You know I love you, sweetheart, but sometimes I wish I had a chainsaw."
The cupcake suddenly falls from the Bar and lands SPLAT in his lap, frosting side down, making it look like there's a... um... white crusty stain on John's crotch.
John groans and puts his head down on his arms on the Bar.
What the hell has our Conjob been up to now? Better ask him!
[ooc: with thanks to whoever wanted to see the cigarette-confetti action. Hee!]
No, really! Well, okay, the tux is rather worse for the wear, the boutonniere is wilting and he's covered in contusions, lacerations and plasters. So at least we know all is right in the multiverse.
He plods over to the Bar, sits on his accustomed stool in the corner, and mumbles something. But instead of his usual shot of whiskey, pint of Guinness and overflowing ashtray, Bar gives him a flute of champagne, a cupcake decorated with white swirls, a pristine, empty ashtray and a brand new pack of Silk Cuts.
Sighing, John pulls a box of matches from his jacket pocket, unwraps the smokes and lights one up. There's a little *poof* from the end of the cigarette followed by a tiny eruption of confetti.
John curses, stubs the cig out, lights another one. *Poof! confetti!*
He glares at the Bar, mumbles, "You know I love you, sweetheart, but sometimes I wish I had a chainsaw."
The cupcake suddenly falls from the Bar and lands SPLAT in his lap, frosting side down, making it look like there's a... um... white crusty stain on John's crotch.
John groans and puts his head down on his arms on the Bar.
What the hell has our Conjob been up to now? Better ask him!
[ooc: with thanks to whoever wanted to see the cigarette-confetti action. Hee!]