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Sitting down to a Saturday afternoon #DnD game and the GM just dropped an April Fool's element: We all got pasted with magical pixie spitballs that gave us each a minor magical curse, randomly determined by which chair we chose for the game. Here's mine: 
Update: Fighting a gelatinous cube. My fancy, dignified, reserved elf is finger-gunning the hell out of this thing. Turns out that magic missiles and minor magical finger-gun curses go together pretty well.
Further update: Uh-oh. Our paladin is in trouble.
Also, his minor magical curse apparently involves farting. A lot. Especially when he uses his dragonborn breath weapon. Thank goodness I didn't draw that one.
Also, his minor magical curse apparently involves farting. A lot. Especially when he uses his dragonborn breath weapon. Thank goodness I didn't draw that one.
We escaped the gelatinous cube and our magical curses, one of which involved a character saying "That's what she said" about 400 times during the session, and one of which involved our paladin rolling on a fart table every time he made a check. (Nat 1: "You poop a little.") #DnD
Our paladin and bard players are now energetically telling a real-life story from early in their relationship where they got food poisoning from oysters and spent a weekend violently crapping themselves in a hotel room. They have a lot of thoughts about relationships and poop.
Bard: "It's so weird when people don't want to poop in their friends'…"
[Oddly long pause.]
Me: "Uh. Their friends' pants? Their friends' hands?"
Bard: "Their friends' houses. But now I have other ideas. It's so weird when people don't want to poop in their friends' sandwiches."
[Oddly long pause.]
Me: "Uh. Their friends' pants? Their friends' hands?"
Bard: "Their friends' houses. But now I have other ideas. It's so weird when people don't want to poop in their friends' sandwiches."
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