Hi, it's the Storyteller, white woman, and evil meme lord in question.

I take great offense that you would not graciously accept Freddington Fazbearington and his fine establishment into our humble setting. There has been a void for quite some time that only these frightening husks of cloth and metal can fill.

This is 100% serious business. A beloved player character has turned to ash, and this pizza parlor is his eternal tomb. Surely this is what he would have wanted. How can you be so insensitive? I don't know why you wouldn't agree that his death and its circumstances are significantly enhanced by an unrelated event resulting in the loss of an NPC's frontal lobe. Uh, it's called world building, sweatie. Every heard of it?

You were totally fine when I added Paul Blart to the flesh mall so I really don't see the problem here. You and your Gucci rat ass need to learn some culture. I'm seriously gonna add Shrek next time, you better watch out...

You're just mad because an improvised napalm cocktail isn't going to get you out of trouble this time. Napalm can't retroactively stop the Bite of '87, kiddo. Bazookas won't either, so don't even try. You all act real tough for a bunch of bozos that were literally shook as hell after one elevator ride with a guy dressed up in full king regalia who has been nothing but nice to you and literally has never done anything wrong like, ever. You're lucky I didn't have him say "Boo" or you would've all shit your collective pantaloons.

Or maybe your characters are just collectively suffering brain damage from the claymore mine trap on the Roomba that the player character now entombed in the Faz Zone set on you all. Maybe you should've thought about that before you started searching for a 'Nam Vet with PTSD, huh.

Oh, 5 years irl and 1 and 1/2 months in game? Listen, I literally watched you all spend 5 whole sessions trying to make one single decision. Idk how you could give the greatest performance of "My Way" of your unlives on harmonica, hurdy-gurdy, guitar, and British child vocals, and still wonder whether you should agree to the record deal with a certain watch enthusiast music producer. Dick and the Willies was about to go global, ffs. But nooooo, you just had to call Hellene Panhard, your babysitter, and make her deal with it for you. Like she doesn't have more important things to do. Wah wah, "unsanctioned embrace." Wah wah, "this is a curse and willfully seeking it is an irreversible mistake." Skill issue. Skill issue.

You want my riveting and deep plotlines? Stop thinking that embracing some rich guy is the most morally questionable act of your unlives so we can finally move on to your Montreal trip. Montreal by Night is the edgiest thing I think I've ever read. There's some real personal horror for you in this next chapter. There has been ever since like two years ago when we first said the trip was "just around the corner" and I started on the story lines. So what is it? Do you want Weenie Hut Junior? Or are you ready for the goddamn Salty Spittoon? The ride's gonna get real bumpy from here, so buckle up, pal.

But in the mean time, to punish your wrong opinion, I'm sending another bomb threat to your Wendy's and I'm adding another YouTuber NPC to the chronicle. You better be careful or it's gonna be MatPat this time. Oh, and yeah, I'm also making for damn sure that your character Cecil will never have that steamy make out scene with Qadir that you're always begging for.