General Mostly Electrified Steel:
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Romanesco had made a reputation as a madman.
As a truly bizarre phenomenon, he had completed his Monk training (to his satisfaction, of course), and declared himself a "Cleric of Chaos". Tattooing "23" on his bald head, and garbing himself in a tangled mess of teased cotton, he was now wandering the countryside, telling people tales of adventure and tuna.
You could say, he was getting "in tuna" with the hoi polloi.
"So, anyway, there was this salmon, and he walked into a bar," said Romanesco, "and he goes to the chef: 'You kill my father!'"
"Sorry, what? A chef in a bar?" Pish, peasents. He ignored the outcry of confusion.
"And the chef is like 'That's my job. It only seems fishy to you.'"
More groans from the crowd.
"So the trout is lik--"
"Wasn't it a salmon?"
"--is like 'I challenge you to a game of backgammon. I win, you stop being a chef forever. I lose, you feed me to the cattle.'"
"Backgammon? Can fish even play backgammon?"
"Does Lord Nasher shit in the woods? So, parrotfish are really good at backgammon, and the fish has the chef cornered in a couple of turns. The gobi wins, and the extortionis--"
"But he was just a chef!"
"--extortionist nods, and says 'Yes, you win.' as he plunged his marlinspike into the whale shark's belly. Confused, the naga complains 'But I won!' as the serrated edges slowly ease into his juicy, bloody intestines. The barkeep responds 'Indeed. So did your father.'"
Stunned silence. A few of them were clutching their stomachs or fidgeting akwardly. Hilarious!
"And that's why tourmaline is green, friends! Have a nice yesterday! Tomorrow will be cloudy, with slight chance of demonic invasion!"
Romanesco walked out of the bar, grinning from ear to. He didn't have a second ear, you see. He just couldn't stand to ear any more of his thrice-cursed mother. He had a long journey ahead of him. A long journey along long roads. Ha ha ha.