Out of the corner of his eye, Descartes spotted the slightest of movements. He pounced like lightning, but was too late by the fraction of a second. From his crouch, he looked up to see the mousy little tail disappearing into the darkness, and without hesitation, he chased it.
There was a great slam behind him, and he had to pull up abruptly to avoid colliding with an iron door that had slammed down before him. He hissed to himself. He could see now he was trapped. Like a rat. Only he wasn’t a rat, but a cat, which made it somewhat ironic, but probably only if you had a really flexible definition of irony.
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A wise man named Nedroid once said: “Retell the tales of King Arthur, except Excalibur is a gun, and all the swords are guns.” And so it was done.
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So if you’re like everyone else, you’re probably not wondering what George Lucas is up to now. Lucky for you, I’ve managed to stumble upon some scraps from his notebook. Take a look into the mind of genius.
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Chapter 4: Sadistic
They said a carnival would cheer me up, but as I looked at the sno-cone in my hand, all I could think of was my home, Ironforge. Just like this carnival treat, my home was strangely shaped and covered with snow. And it was in danger. Constantly in danger. Not from being eaten by a carefree carnival-goer like this sno-cone, but by many other things. Dragons. Old Gods. Horde invasions. Rust. Inflationary market prices. Communists.
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