Join Date: Jan 2008
Location: The People's Glorius Republic of the Chrisman Union. Also known as my bedroom.
Guardsman Chrisman, knock kneed and fresh out of boot camp, entered the supermarket. His sergeant had given him a list of groceries to collect, items which were of "crucial importance to the Imperium's war machine." It was all rather weird. He hadn't heard of half the stuff on the list, so they had to be for some secret project thing.
Confused, Chrisman walked up to a bored looking shop attendant. "Err...hi mr..." Chris examined the name tag, "Phil, I've been sent to collect some stuff for the local Guard station. Do you have any tartan paint?"
The attendant scoff, "No, we don't have any tartan paint, nitwit."
"Oh, ok," replied Chris, slightly taken aback, "What about a long weight, do you sell them?"
The attendant sighed, "I'll see if I can get one."
The attendant left. Several minutes passed, and still the attendant didn't come back. In this time Chris made the connection between "long weight" and "long wait."
Chris noticed a bunch of people gazing at the bright signs of the shop. Well, people was an overly precise term. One was a giant bug, one was buying tonnes of souls, and one was evidently a fan of spandex. He suddenly recognized Deadman, someone who he'd often bumped into in barfights. Remembering this, he kicked him in the arse. Deadman had always had the drop on him, and he was allowing that this time.
"Take that you dishonourable rat!"
Buy a beartrap. How will it help in retrospect? Use your imagination. I'm sure you can think of something.