It's a pity the Ole Man isn't a 'Scaper. His voice has mellow overtones of nails dragged down a chalkboard.
We might have to conscript him, if things get too hairy. I hear that unfortunate Clan we are war with have a phalanx of inebriated dwarves at their disposal
Those bump-posts get to me every time! I kindly ask you not to repeat that for the sake of my sanity (which already has lost some of its partitions). I cannot be held responsible for what happens if I lose my sanity completely.
On other news, I have thought of a banner for the shop! The banner can also be placed at the top of the opening post. We only need a visual artist to create it since my photoshop level is 0 (I lost some xp because I couldn't find it on my pc, and since level 1 is a requirement to open photoshop, I can't). Here's the idea:
The banner consists of some scene of Brian and his cross from the movie (either carrying it or being
nailed
bound to it (was it really that hard to use some nails, Monty Python?))( < brackets within brackets! Whoa!
.
Instead of wearing clothes, Brian wears a (or several) towel(s). The towels can be (very) dirty.
The cross is not made from wood, but is the word GRIEF, with GR and EF making up the short side-arms and a very elongated I being the main beam.
Brian can wear a Tetsu helm or a Robin hat (with the feather on the wrong side perhaps), but that's optional. Some other dudes in the background or some Romans could wear those instead if Brian doesn't. Imagine Romans wearing Tetsu helmets! The Romans could "torture" brian with some towel whips.
Kings Eastwood in
THE
GLOOP
, THE
BWIAN
, and THE
WIKI
music by Trewavio Morricone
What's all this bump crap? Only Clans full of sad people who want to attract members bump their threads.
Given that this is a far superior set-up,
an elite cadre
of not quite right in the head heroes, we don't need that sort of rubbish. Our fame precedes us - can't you hear them outside the shop, clamouring to be let in? Waving their tedious little bundles of Woolworth's face flannels as bribes.
Ha! In their dreams. Only The Finest make it into our ranks (if we had ranks). I've personally already refused admittance to at least 10,000 rancid supplicants by sneezing wetly into their faces.
Given that we know what we know (you know, about ... That Thing....) inclusion into this exalted company must remain an impossible zenith for the masses.
As soon as we have attracted a Biochemical Engineer of suitable mental instability (oh, and a new Chief Accountant), we can sink surreptitiously into the shadows to plan our first strike on That-Which-Must-Not-Be-Named.