«12. . .4,0854,0864,0874,0884,0894,0904,091. . .5,0525,053»
People these days just can't calm down and walk it off.
Welcome to the Bar, Sexy-cheerleaders. Sit wherever you like. Menus are on the tables, drink specials are posted over the main bar, and the line for the stomach pumps starts to your left. I advise against the dinner special, though, because of the annoying rumor that it's made with slightly spoiled Goblin 104 meat.
It would be cool to work here.
There's that word again: "work." I wonder what it means. Rumor has it, "work" involves pay, and I know we don't have that around here. But if I can't dissuade you from seeking a job here, pester Kissinger-Monroe for an application.
Oof.
Knock Knock.
Barkeep, I'll have a bottle of schnapps and 2 chops of pork.
Oh, and don't forget baked potatoes.
You don't know that. That explosion could have been caused by anyone!
Radio: KILL PEOPLE BET-
*switches stations*
Radio: So call 1-800-555-245 to use the secret hotline that is-
*switches stations*
Radio: We know where you live, and our-
*switches station*
Radio: Alien Invasion on the coast of-
*switches station*
Lot of stuff on the radio.
Here you go--one Redneck Special, as requested. I even brought you a straw for the bottle.
Hello good day.
Typical weekend, eh?
Have fun among the chicken overlords!
*Ahem!* Presenting, a poem of sorts.
Oh, look!--It's a poem-a.
It has a rhyme schema.
Might be about the Bar,
But that a real stretch-a.
Sure, the Bar's a great place;
The drinks melt off your face.
(Insert the next line-a.)
This Bar sure goes far
On stomach pump grace,
Long as you're a surviv'a.
Thank you, thank you. I'll be here all week.
I'm not intimidated by length.
... Wait, I should rephrase that.
TheOrc and The plague docterr
Hi! Thanks for forming embassies! I hope we have great relations for years to come!
I participated
Cheers!
Hmm.
Radio: We have confirmation, yes. Nuclear strikes have been confirmed in-
*switches stations*
Radio: ALL CITIZENS EVACUATE TO THE BUNK-
*switches stations*
Radio: Thousands dead in horrific nuclear-
*switches stations*
Radio: -incoming nuclear. *a long explosion and shaking can be heard* Listeners, this is our final broadcast. May you all rest- AAHHHHH! *beeeeeep*
*switches stations*
Geeze,everyone's talking about this nuclear war stuff.
When the jukebox had silenced, a young german lad entered with an acoustic guitar. He tapped the jukebox, which for him, usually got a song playing, but this time it didn’t. He made his way to the barstool and sat on it, and began playing an acoustic blues tune.
When he had finished the song he approached the Jukebox again and lightly tapped it with his boot. It then played the same song back to him. He smiled and sat at the bar, slinging the instrument on his back. “Whiskey.” He said gruffly, looking to the bartender.
«12. . .4,0854,0864,0874,0884,0894,0904,091. . .5,0525,053»
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