Strong Bad had owled the Slytherin prefects more than once. He was sick and tired of hearing about how the Ravenclaw bar was such a happening place. In Free Country USA, you didn't need anything fancy like a bar, or Feegles, or whatever those Ravenclaws had going on over there. A good sturdy
Stick was gathering place enough
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Tyrion's appearance didn't give Strong Bad pause. Tyrion wasn't that much shorter than Homsar. Plus, he made a lot more sense when he talked.
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Well, this was an interesting sight to encounter while wandering out of his room. House blinked, momentarily taken aback, and scowled heavily. "What the hell is this?" He said to nobody in particular, and then noticed that a small giant-helmeted man appeared to be overlording everything. "Are you turning this place into some kind of disco revival? Because disco is dead, no matter how much you think otherwise."
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Strong Bad regarded the cranky crippled guy. "I'm turning this place into a common room. It's got to have pizzazz. Do you have any suggestions?" He wondered if the cane could be pressed into service as a paint stirrer.
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"Where is the fun in watching people have seizures?" he inquired dryly. "Someone would have to remove them after a while, since people having fits tend to disturb the local ambiance, at least in my experience."
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Hey, you know what we still need? A big coffin, right where that coffee table there is now. Could use it for the same thing, too.
*It's hard to tell whether Skip's joking or not.*
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