Tuesday, September 15, 2015

Pesky Little Peeves

Every once in a while, a day comes along where al of your little pet peeves seem to line up and form a frontal assault on you. They have their swords and axes and their crazy barbarian faces, shouting obscenities in a language you can't understand, spittle flying and hair streaking behind them as they charge.

Today, I can see who is leading the charge: Ire Ealyfe'el Olde, the barrell-chested, broadsword wielding madman who takes three polearms, seven arrows and an axe to the chest and keeps trudging forward.

His second in comand is the Barbarian Queen: Sinko Dyrteedishez. Hands calloused, cracked and bleeding, with  a watery grin on her wrinklied face, a smell like a foul cross between rotten eggs and black mold trailing like a plague in her wake.

Lieutenants? They range in the hundreds, but as they close the distance towards me, I can pick out some more familiar faces. (My hand trembles with disgust but I grip my bow tightly. Maybe I an take some of them down from a distance?)

Narstyass Faycegryme, the layers of old-lady make-up peeling off and drifting on the air before settling like damp paper on the beaten earth. Her glasses sliding down the slick sheen of grease along her nose, and collecting on the little pads there for me to scrape off and clean.

Karmakin Funienoise, a bastard of technology sputtering and clicking, whirring and grinding at strange times to throw me off guard, and then lulling me into a false sense of security with feigned silence. No doubt one of his tires is about to blow, or a brake pad will fall off or perhaps... perhaps...

Knotmysh Itevereewhere, a broad, rolling fellow with random stuff falling off and littering the battlefield, making movement tricksome and covering up well laid traps. A clutter of garbage, plates, open food, and even (Oh the humanity) MY OWN THINGS removed from their rightful places and discarded along my path!

And who could forget The notorious twins, Monotynie & Inarut? When trying to avoid one, you run directly into the other! And if you were to finally avoid their masterful swings, you would go right into the clutches of:

Fyskal Responzablitee, the greatest swordsman of all time (seconded only my Mad MArdigan, whom I wish was fighting on my side.)

Arrows ready - Now I shoot!