Wednesday, September 16, 2009

Enemies of the Feast: Afflicted Drones, Part 1

Once a feast has reached its terminal velocity, the feaster, like brave Odysseus, embarks upon a glorious journey. Though the rewards are many, the feast is replete with its own maelstroms, monsters, and misleading temptations. Armed with knowledge of the perils and snares that lurk beyond the feasting Rubicon, a feaster is prepared to descend upon Rome to wreak havoc with his unrelenting revelry, unscathed by his enemies.

One of the most common enemies a feaster will encounter is the Afflicted Drone. Fortunately, this Africanized feast antagonist is easily identified by the markings displayed proudly on his clothing. These dragon and scorpion accoutrement are used by the drone to attract Doxies and engage in displays of machismo, but they are also useful to the feaster as taxonomical markers. Learn to identify a drone's dragons, crosses, and scorpions and you will be able to neutralize the afflicted before he blitzkriegs your fledgling feast.

The Dragon Drone


He is characterized by a snug tunic festooned with glittering dragons. The wyvern's size and shininess are both indirectly proportional to the drone's aplomb and directly proportional to his blind aggression towards feasters. Massive, shiny wyverns filling both the anterior and posterior of the drone's attire are to be regarded with extreme caution. Luckily, for the astute feaster, his attacks tend to be formulaic and avoidable. When in the presence of a Dragon Drone, be wary for the ubiquitous "Bro!" Once the assault is underway, plant your feet and ready your shit-eating grin and trenchant witticisms – oafish mental reflexes are the Achilles heels of the basilisk booster. The wyvern worshiper will inevitably follow with an earnest, yet meaningless complaint.

"That's our cab, brah!"

"Dude, my chick is getting real pissed by your dancing."

"Nice hat and/or jacket [how dare he jeer your posh feast attire!]."

The clone's rebukes must not be met with corresponding acerbity. In keeping with the festive mood, brandish your sliest smirk and respond innocently; with the enthusiasm of the jolliest panjandrum.

"If it's your cab, why are all my friends in it?"

"Sir, you're making yourself look like a jerk. The dance floor is plenty big, and your Doxy is enjoying my pelvic thrusts."

"Thank you, good sir! And your goatee is looking fetching as well!"

The more tact and poise the feaster displays, the greater the bewilderment of the muscle-bound spitfire. Move your feast upwind of the bellowing dragon and continue the festivities. The drone, abandoning all hope of grasping the meaning of your clever retort, will eventually awaken from his confusion, giving you the opportunity to mirthfully observe from afar as he lashes out with renewed vigor at unsuspecting feastrels.

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