*A hell hound sits there growling*
[spoiler]*currently....busy*[/spoiler]
English
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crap off little doggy *countines to drink beer* [spoiler]yeah this is my last respond for a bi[/spoiler]
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Hell hound: put the damn beer down! [spoiler]ok im still busy anyway[/spoiler]
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no!! *drinks more* [spoiler]see ya[/spoiler]
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[spoiler]The basement door's ominous--yet enticing--presence suddenly causes you to spill your drink.[/spoiler]
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man -blam!- *goes and picks up another beer*
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*the door is displeased. You are teleported to a pocket dimension, the contents of which are virtually identical to Mr. Rogers' Neighborhood of Make-Believe. There isn't a drop of alcohol in sight*
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fuuuuucccckkkk
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*the sound dies in your throat. There is no swearing here*
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shhhhhhiiiiiitttttt
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*your lungs fill with saltwater taffy*
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bak blak bick
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*dying also doesn't happen on a children's show, so you basically suffer in silence for a while until you dry out*
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ffffffuuuuuuuccccccckkkkkkkkk yoooooouuuuuu
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*finds a way out of the pocket dimension and regenerates all the salt taffy* bla *picks up another drink*