OVERHEARD IN THE ROADHOUSE II

1)  Buncha bodacious hippie-chicks tooled into town in a big yellow ride with SUCCU-BUS scrawled on the side.  I don't care if it looks like it was painted in blood... those honeys were fine.

2)  Heard tell that a platoon of Martians raided Gramma Sutra's shack and made off with all the cold remedies and allergy juju.  Those scrotum-domed little fucks don't know when to quit.

3)  That new Chicken Tomb franchise is doing gangbusters.  So good, in fact, that The King himself might put in an appearance.  You haven't lived until you've seen a fat, sequinned mummy gyrate his sideburns off to Blue Suede Shoes.

4)  The Draculas Three are fighting amongst themselves again.  My money's on the soul-brother one.

5)  Evel Knievel showed up at the nudie bar last night.  No, not his zombie.  No, not his ghost. Just him, human and pink and fresh as a daisy... not a scar on him.  I think Doc Freakenstein is cloning again.

6)  The cultists down the way have gotten ahold of Lucifer's Jukebox, which plays all 666 discs within backwards.  No good's gonna come of that, man.

7)  Stock up on rubbers, brother, because Patterson got The Macksquatch's entire stable of Kissing Links to show at the bachelor party!

8)  That dirty, knuckle-dragging Boss Trogg is running for county commissioner again.  You just know the election's rigged.

9)  The Tobacco Man's van broke down last week, and the local kiddies are suffering serious nicotine fever.  What happens when they go full-on "Children Of The Corn" from withdrawal?

10)  Oh, God.  Hitler's over there in the corner, sobbing and snotting in his beer.  Doc Freakenstein is DEFINITELY back to business.

This Is Planet Motherfucker

Dispatches From The Wastelands!

Over at the astounding Planet Motherfucker Tumblr, this post came in from the esteemed Darius Whiteplume:

We played a modified game of Planet Motherfucker today... 

Our characters were:

Chingón, the World’s Clumsiest Mexican, a mariachi.

Clarice Killemail, Brickhouse Amazon.

Sister Flavia Majora, Doom Nun.

We stopped the summoning ritual to bring Clown Soggoth into the world, and there was sex with dinosaurs.  Also, the nun now owns the Necronomithong.

—

Cthulhoid clowns?!!!

Dinosaur sexings?!!!

THE NECRONOMITHONG?!!!

That's some fine, fine gaming, my man!

This Is Planet Motherfucker

This Is Planet Motherfucker

This Is Planet Motherfucker

PLANET MOTHERFUCKER'S MOST WANTED: DR. TONGUE

Hushed roadhouse rumors say that, two lonnnnnng decades ago, on this very calendar night, one of Planet Motherfucker's most brilliant—and twisted!—minds perished in a raging inferno.

Some claim he burned to a crisp in his dread mountain castle.  Others insist he ran afoul of his own necro-brain weapons in the bowels of a subterranean laboratory.  And some even believe that he plummeted to fiery death in the world's last working airplane, staffed with comely stewardesses compelled to satisfy his every extra-pillow-and-a-blanket-and-orange-juice-related whim.

But the tales are wrong.  Dead wrong.

For in fact, the conflagration transpired here, on this very spot, in these selfsame charred ruins that stand before you!  Gaze upon the blackened husk of Planet Motherfucker's fanciest dining and dinner-theater establishment, The 3-D House Of Beef, where the ingenious Dr. Tongue perfected his culinary masterpieces... 

...MASTERPIECES THAT COULD ENSLAVE THE WORLD!!!

If not for those petty, jealous fools at The Gustatory League of Tastiness Technologies and Nutty Sciences (GLuTToNS) that sabotaged Dr. Tongue's creations, this blasted fuckscape would know no privation!  Beer would flow like molten mana from The Netherhells, and rich, nutritive beef—of the bovine persuasion, NOT human!—would hang from every slaughterhouse wall!

So, look upon at what might have been...and then gaze into my snifter of brandy.  Watch as it languidly moves forward and back...forward and back...forward and back...entrancing you with its phantasmagorical golden hue.

Yes, that's it...surrender you will to me...

...FOR IT IS I, THE INSIDIOUS DR. TONGUE HIMSELF!!!  BWAH-HAH-HAH-HAH!!!  BRUNO, PREPARE FOR THE RIPPING AND TEARING OF THEIR GARMENTS!!!

—

Despite his technical bloviating, the portly Dr. Tongue is more flim-flam man than mad scientist.  He accomplishes his wondrous feats of genius more with parlor tricks, gewgaws, clumsy hypnosis, and drugged foodstuffs than arcane artifacts.

When he's not amassing a legion of mind-thralls, he schemes about re-opening his horror-themed hotspot, The 3-D House Of Beef, where he could maître d' and waiter to his over-sized heart's content.

Dr. Tongue is always accompanied by his syphilitic (and surprisingly pleasant and soulful) hunchback, Bruno.  [Stats as Ogre].

Dr. Tongue

Attributes:  Agility d4, Smarts d8, Spirit d6, Strength d6, Vigor d6

Skills:  Healing d6, Investigation d6, Knowledge (Gourmand) d8, Notice d6, Psionics d8+2, Repair d6, Taunt d4

Derived:  Charisma 0, Pace 5, Parry 2, Toughness 8 (2)

Hindrances:  Obese, Quirk ("Theatrical"), Vengeful

Edges:  Arcane Background (Psionics), Mentalist, New Power

Gear:  Cutlery (STR +d4), Kevlar Tuxedo (+2/+4), Menu, $200 in trade goods (toilet paper and beer)
Power Points (Psionics):  10     Powers:  Blind, Boost / Lower Trait, Confusion, Summon Ally

This Is Planet Motherfucker