The Band: Spellskite.
The Dood: S-K-I-T-E
The Band: No, Spellskite.
The Dood: What spells kite?
The Band: NO! SPELLSKITE!
The Dood: I just did, duh.
and now an excerpt from the Journals of Glissa: By renowned romance writer Melesha Nornman
…at sunset the sweaty and manly pure steel paladin rode in on a flashing chrome steed to guide her Phyrexian needs. She was wanton, wet, and prepared. No master splicing would be permitted. He approached her boldly showing due respect. She began to part her cathedral membrane as he equipped his pulsating batter skull, and lunged, at her, again and again: an insatiable soul eater of desire. The were now connected, stuck, even, like a throbbing humming soul conduit, yet he was unable to locate her surge node. If the paladin could not find her node before he hit his quicksilver geyser….
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