: Okay...put a five right here, and it has
to be an eight, down here. No--bloody heck, there's aready
one, that row! Wait...but that means the three I put here was--SHOOT
: Need any help, Chief, let me know.
: So you confess to kicking down the doors to Quark's, grabbing his most prized stash of Aldeberan Whiskey, and throwing said crate full-throttle into the dabo table, blowing both to smithereens?
: What are you gonna do about it?
: Thank you for saving me the trouble.
: DANGIT, DOC, I'M A WAR
REPORTER, FOR PETE'S SAKE!
: THIS IS
A WAR! AGAINST THE ELEMENTS!
: Here, sir. What's the problem?
: Online RPGs.
Morn found himself appealing to the Prophets that this did not involve another apology....