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Surveying the now cluttered battlefield like a hawk with an eyepatch, the MoBRS staggered backwards in sheer bewilderment. To his left, a bird-woman, swooping majestically like a brick with wings, a greasy looney running around ducking frantically and gibbering more than a giblet. To his right was a very urbanely dressed man, cradling his head in his hands, and to his below a very distressed looking juggler. Stepping back in the hope that it would all make slightly more sense if everything was a bit smaller, it suddenly hit him! No, not a projectile, but a moment of clarity. With a broad smile of enlightenment slapped across his face like a 4-fingered glove, he stumbled upon another epiphany. Unfortunately, this time it presented itself as a fork in his foot.
His face turned red.
Then blue
then he cried out...
'Oh....FORKing hell!'
As he hit the the face floor first (again) his own utensil was sent carelessly careening high into the air above...
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No Win No Fee
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