The halls of the Necro Bowl weep with silence. A tall long haired woman approaches the office labeled “COACH”. She opens the door to be greeted with a stench that would make a troll puke. McMurty wrappers everywhere. An overweight heap of a man slumbers on the floor. The door marked bathroom emits the greenest of glows from underneath the door.
This can’t be where the bosses would send me? This man looks like a crusty scab who hasn’t showered in years. I was supposed to find a coach here, not a sewer goblin.
The man stirred from his slumber, farting loudly.
“What do you want?” He glared at his unexpected guest. Not shocked or surprised by this sudden intrusion, as if all social skills and expectations were long since lost.
Another louder, angrier (and smellier) fart filled the silence.
It was the most difficult sentence she ever spoke. Her lungs filling with putrid stank, eyes watering, stomach revolting…..“ We need you to coach us……..in the MML”, she said as she passed out.