There was a raucous banging against a closet door in the basement. If one were to listen closely, they'd hear a constant string of of fairly creative profanity. The banging stopped for a brief second then a particularly loud "bang" knocked the door off its hinges. Mikey stood behind it, very annoyed, still spouting profanity.

"Bald fucking liberal fucking big word knowing fucking BALD BASTARD!"

It was really his own fault he was locked in the closet. He should have known Spotts was lying when he said there was a signed Troy Polamalu jersey in there. He certainly shouldn't have voluntarily walked all the way into the closet when it appeared to be empty, just to be sure it was.

"I'll need to remember to switch his kidney pills with placebos," he growled to himself before making his way to the exit of the basement.

He opened the door and immediately noticed something was different about the place. It had burned down. Again.

"The hell happened this time?"

He shrugged it off, he had to go sabotage Spotts' medication. Just as he was about to sift through the ashes looking for the kidney pills, he noticed the bar that had sprung up on the front lawn.

"Revenge can wait, Mikey need booze."

"Abs? GOD no...upper body strength is definitely not my forte. Hence the need to carry a sword. Oh and...leave the stache alone. It's become kind of a trademark of mine."

The Gamemaster handed Cris the aforementioned bottle of Blue Label and was getting ready to make the margaritas in question when he did a double take as he spied a couple of bottles that shouldn't technically be there.

"Crap...I think the sci-fi fanbrats stocked this bar. There's a couple bottles of Romulan Ale and the ingredients for Pan-Galactic Gargle Blasters in here. Here I was hoping for SOME normality...uff da..."

Thel33tmaser walked in and started making himself a Pan-Galactic Gargle Blaster.

Mansions are for Macedonians

GTFO my mansion you GREEKS

Go back to you cardboard box!