Bulging Doris wrote in that shamrag article of his that I run a tame BB! Can you imagine? What gall, what insult! I am wounded by the quill! To think he wrestled the authorship of such articles from the Celebrity Reporter himself so that he could be a more upstanding modicum of grace and virtue for the LMB as a field reporter! Oh, oh, oh how easily they fall! Even worse, some Pontius character suggested this week that PB should try taming me into some infallible type of paladin character. Oh dear. My debau Ch’i ry level is unbalanced! I can take Aegthil being credited to everything from the sun rising in the East to the strength of the tides, but to say that he and Carica constitute the prime offenders in BBB band debauchery level is really too much for this humble muse. Detractors, beware!
Despite Turbine force-emoting bandmates with sound bugs and disconnections, BB’s modus of operandi this week was extra degenerate (ED) per usual until our finale feature, a new transcription (they’re all here if you’re interested) for bone-broken boozemaven Carica called “The Stripper”, complete with pighorn. And in proper form, the boxes came off (shall I spare your eyes?) Pity poor Lauralda, our newest degenerate, for what she had to endure at her first BB. Merry Yulefestimas, Bree!
Karma is utter bupkis. Loyalty gets you nowhere. Honor is for the birds. Do what you want.
Glug, glug, glug,
~P.B., Over-Stressed, Trapped, Depressive Holiday Neurotic, Most Degenerate
“There are no safe paths in this part of the world. Remember you are over the Edge of the Wild now, and in for all sorts of fun wherever you go.” ― J.R.R. Tolkien, The Hobbit
In honor of No-Shave November and The Hobbit soon-to-be-released, I have decided to give away some hard-earned gold in a very undwarfish manner!
On the day of The Hobbit release (December 14th), some degenerate BBB members and myself will pick some winners and give you gold and whatever other silly prizes I may find! It’s that simple! (If you’d like to donate gold toward prizes or anything else, please contact me in game. Prizes will be updated as the close draws near. Basically, the more entries there are, the more gold I would like to give away!)
Don’t want to actually show your face? Okay! Substitute a dog or a watermelon, I don’t care! Have crazy sunglasses? Okay! Want to do something with some fancy outer-world software? Sure! There are really no rules! If you have a crazy image that you’re just not sure is forum-friendly, you can send me a link via PM on the forums.
All entries will be considered and probably mocked! Have fun, have laughs! Baruk Khazad!
(Note: Entries from outside Landroval are also welcome – I just won’t be able to give you gold if you’re hilarious.)
Inspired by Aegthil’s latest musing @ I fancy myself a lobster. Gaze upon it while enjoying this gem of modern entertainment. I promise it will up the disturbafication factor by 10 or maybe -2 or something. And… if you really have no clue what this may be about, allow me to point you here.
I’m afraid I’m still recovering from the bout I had with Beorlich’s special a while back. The dreams I’ve been having are dreadful. Instead of visiting warm beaches and receiving divine lotto tips in my slumber, I’ve been disturbed by visions of dorfs doing terrible things in terrible places. That lucky pisswhistle Aegthil goes on and on about his visions of the Lovely Lady Wrenaya and here I am stuck with midgets.
It was a helluva dream, I’ll tell ya – whether you want to hear it or not. Still reading? Ah, well then, don’t complain when you’re scarred for life.
I was a DORF, just a small, tiny weak thing! And I was running in snow surrounded by my BBB chums! They’re slaughtering all the animals around and singing, “We’re taking the dorf to Goblin Town.” A sense of dread and urgency was spurring me forward to the terrifying climax when dear old Bluebonnett shoved me off a cliff! What a heartless wretch!
I died, of course! Let me tell you, when you die in your dream it’s trying! Your heart clenches up and you break out in a cold sweat! Your eyeballs nearly bust out of your head when you are sure you have met your ultimate doom! Your innards do all sorts of nasty-gross things as they twist with fear and regret. It can’t end like this, you think, feeling like a failure.
As I lay incapacitated in the snow bank mourning my fate, I was surprised to see a dark demon descending over me. Sure it was the Reaper himself, I had to hold back a giggle when he landed beside me and became incapacitated himself. Some minion of death and resurrection! “Just retreat,” it says, as a fountain of all knowledge. And closing my eyes, I found myself back in Ered Luin… What does it all mean?!!
It means that smoking mushrooms is a really, really terribly bad idea. Take my advice kids, and stick to the pipe-weed, lest you too wake up a dorf.
Assembling quietly in the bowels of the great drake’s lair, I sketched this portrait as the team strategized and Draigoch looked in vain for his deliveries, sure the villagers would move quickly to appease him with a cache of manling-meat. I needed no strategy because I am Beorbrand and couldn’t help it if I was inspired to paint by his great spotlight eyeballs. It was terrible indeed when he would spot some villager joining the party from the wrong end of the cave, shouting “There you are!” as he cooked them where they stood. I had to calm my nerves via nefarious methods several times just to still my quaking arms so that I could finish my paintings.
That Draigoch was quite the poet, but he was smote in the end for better or worse. Better because Galtrev can now rebuild and drink in peace, but tragic because there will now be an overabundance of pure women ruining all the town’s delightful debauchery (in due time.)
He had a great Beard, that Draigoch/Trogdor/Thing, and the greater part of me wept to see the awe-inspiring ancient beast of lore fall. He was so misunderstood… a dragon has to eat SOMETHING after all! Just think of the possibilites wasted had the the geothermal qualites of his lair been tapped to heat the local communities. Galtrev could have reformed itself into a lovely resort and tourist area complete with hot springs, but Nooo… Cooperation, peoples, not lynchery and burnination is the answer!
Anyway, I subsequently went /groundroll and /spin in all the gold, because that’s what you do in old dragon treasure caves. It’s not everyday you get to slay a dragon, you know. Most daily dragon battles in this modern era are only metaphorical, P.B. asserts.
I think I will buy Madame Celestine’s House of Wonders with my share of the estate! Call me Beorbrand the Red, because I’mma paint the town! The townfolk were also kind enough to reward me for my important role with several titles and a worn medal symbol of Celebrimor from the Second Age. I immediately had it melted down by a friend and forged into a new walking-stick which will serve me well (don’t tell anyone in Galtrev!) as my old one had seen better days. I do think I will move my operations back to Bree after this, however. Galtrev has lost it’s charm, with the missing tavern, dragon, and all.
Utter disaster, dear readers!
I have just escaped from the dungeons tucked away deep beneath Orthanc!
That Saruman is a lying bastard! Would you believe he had us locked up? All over this…
We played the bit and the wizard left to go do whatever wizards do when they leave the room, and I thought I’d have just a bit of fun. I don’t even know how the old crow knew, but he came back into the Hall like a hailstorm, hair flying and arms waving, stark raving mad!
‘Banish them to the dungeon,’ he cried, all cliche-like. ‘Work them to the bone!’
‘My nails!’ bemoaned Aegthil.
And in the dungeon we went. It was truly awful, particularly because I was stuck in a cell adjacent to the nastiest of nasty men. Good thing I am unwashed, ugly me, as all the unsavory prison attention was diverted to Aegthil, that old prison pro.
There were all sorts of unsavory seediness taking place beneath the great tower and all types of terrible forced labors. I was forced to play for the worst-smelling orc brutes I have ever encountered as they took their even more disgusting chow. Imagine poor me, gagging on the foul air as I filled my windbag and played every old Dale song I could remember. The knots even had enough gall to request Orcish opera! Good thing I have had years of conditioning standing next to doused-in-awful-cologne Aegthil at gigs, or else I would have never survived.
When I wasn’t piping, I had to carry weapons everywhere with my minder, a no-fun fellow. For all his wisdom and glory, Saruman has never heard of the Industrial Revolution or of a contraption called a conveyor belt. The forge was a hot mess, much like the BBB’s latest moving picture!
Well, it was apparent it couldn’t go on forever. You can’t keep a good BBB down, and needs dictated we find a way out lest we meet an unnatural end. While I’m not one to mind being sweaty and dirty, I’d lost enough weight on the Orthanc diet (patent pending) and missed my daily kegs. Aegthil broke two and a half nails.
Capitalizing on a theme for ‘hope and change’ like the master pitchmen we are, Aegthil and I rallied the other prisoners to stage a riot. We escaped to the surface in the ensuing gory aftermath. It was a bit like this artistic interpretation.
Recuperating beside the bar at The Haunted Inn, I have vowed never to enter the tower again, but to see it fall in flames. At least I have not left empty-handed from my experience. Amidst the chaos of our casual stroll away from Isengard, I may have slipped one of the wizards’ prized palantir into my robe, but I don’t dare paint it as it’s so mesmerizing!