LibriumArcana.Games

The ACE IS BACK, THAT IS FUCKING ALL!

But are you really the Ace?

.. and more to the point.. Why should we accept him back? he did not get the secret plans of the XB360! he has failed his task! he must be executed!




WB Ace

Who's Ace? :wtf2:

Some guy.

The Morrigan wrote:Who's Ace? :wtf2:

Okay, see, there's a story here.

One day I was out fishing...

(Which was quite a feat, considering there's no place to fish around here, but I was a tad tipsy, and never you mind about that...)

So I land me this bespectacled teenager.

So I make to toss 'em back, too small you know, but he won't let go of my leg.

Then along comes Attila the Hun, Otto Von Bismarck, and John Lennon, sharing a jug of moonshine.

Now I had been under the impression that these gentlemen were dead, but they quickly corrected me on the matter, while inquiring if I'd be willing to give them a lift to Pecos.

So sure, I say, because it's the proper and neighborly thing to do.

Now, you won't believe this, because it's damned hard to get lost on the way to Pecos- straight down the interstate, 'bout eighty-odd miles, can't miss it.

But somehow, I ended up in Jerusalem.

I'm still boggling over this one.

So we're all tired, and hungry, and thirsty, and you name it. But in lieu of food, they offer us some bizarre little things called Matzo balls.

And that's it for Attila. He goes nuts, starts tearing the restaurant up. Men in uniforms show up, and as is my general policy in such matters, I made use of the previously located rear exit. So Otto and I are running through the alleys (don't know what happened to Lennon, things were a little murky in there what with the CS and all).

So we persuade a couple of people to let us use their house with the univeral combination of firearms and duct tape, while I try to figure out one of my patented brilliant escape plans.

None of which came to mind. Kind of depressing to see your face on the news on every channel- fucking rat bastard Attila sold us out, the cocksucker.

It was like being in the third grade all over again, except that the Texas Rangers weren't involved this time.

Anyway, so I resorted to Emergency Plan B- get drunk and pretend that everything will get better by the time I wake up.

And then some stuff happened, and some more stuff, and the next thing I know, I'm back in the states.

It's all kind of a blur, but it's more proof that alcohol can solve all of life's problems if given the chance.

So I get back to my house and swear never to go fishing again (a vow I've held to this day), and suddenly I get a flood of emails from this kid who calls himself Ace.

(Seems he stashed himself in the back of the truck when we drove to Jerusalem.)

And that's the story of how I found Ace.

:wtf3: :wtf3: :scratch

Petrosjko wrote:

The Morrigan wrote:Who's Ace? :wtf2:

Okay, see, there's a story here.

One day I was out fishing...

(Which was quite a feat, considering there's no place to fish around here, but I was a tad tipsy, and never you mind about that...)

So I land me this bespectacled teenager.

So I make to toss 'em back, too small you know, but he won't let go of my leg.

Then along comes Attila the Hun, Otto Von Bismarck, and John Lennon, sharing a jug of moonshine.

Now I had been under the impression that these gentlemen were dead, but they quickly corrected me on the matter, while inquiring if I'd be willing to give them a lift to Pecos.

So sure, I say, because it's the proper and neighborly thing to do.

Now, you won't believe this, because it's damned hard to get lost on the way to Pecos- straight down the interstate, 'bout eighty-odd miles, can't miss it.

But somehow, I ended up in Jerusalem.

I'm still boggling over this one.

So we're all tired, and hungry, and thirsty, and you name it. But in lieu of food, they offer us some bizarre little things called Matzo balls.

And that's it for Attila. He goes nuts, starts tearing the restaurant up. Men in uniforms show up, and as is my general policy in such matters, I made use of the previously located rear exit. So Otto and I are running through the alleys (don't know what happened to Lennon, things were a little murky in there what with the CS and all).

So we persuade a couple of people to let us use their house with the univeral combination of firearms and duct tape, while I try to figure out one of my patented brilliant escape plans.

None of which came to mind. Kind of depressing to see your face on the news on every channel- fucking rat bastard Attila sold us out, the cocksucker.

It was like being in the third grade all over again, except that the Texas Rangers weren't involved this time.

Anyway, so I resorted to Emergency Plan B- get drunk and pretend that everything will get better by the time I wake up.

And then some stuff happened, and some more stuff, and the next thing I know, I'm back in the states.

It's all kind of a blur, but it's more proof that alcohol can solve all of life's problems if given the chance.

So I get back to my house and swear never to go fishing again (a vow I've held to this day), and suddenly I get a flood of emails from this kid who calls himself Ace.

(Seems he stashed himself in the back of the truck when we drove to Jerusalem.)

And that's the story of how I found Ace.

God dammit Petro, if I have to stay on my medication, so do you!

Yet again, Hello Pace

We can't get away from you, can we .303?

The Morrigan wrote:God dammit Petro, if I have to stay on my medication, so do you!

Ah, but you see, I've never consented to be on medication.