If you can Raiden your sword, don’t let this picture stop you.

Hold that sword with your foot. Do big spins, and swap which foot midair. You can hold a sword with your foot. You are your own master now.

If it exists, there’s going to be a “sexy” costume. This is just the standard.

If you want to see the bottom of the barrel in creativity, step into your local Halloween store, where everything will be reduced to “show tits”.

I didn’t realize pelicans had figured out how to type. The last time I tried to teach them, they ate the keyboard.

I’ve played too much Gaige. It’s now instinct to rebind my reload key to somewhere far, far away from everything else, no matter what game I play.

Why, yes, I do hate myself, what gave it away?

First, abandon your spoon. You only need a fork and a tac-knife.

Second, kill and eat at least one of every species you come across, and rank how delicious it is.

Third, get in the box. You can think. In the box. You’ll feel free. In the box. Everything is better… In the box.

Fourth, stock up on glowing mushrooms. They’ll recharge your batteries.

You know he’s never going to give it to you.

Embrace the Rot by Endless Tavern.

That also takes dedicating a good chunk of time to practice.

Backpacks are also an option. It’s been my preference, also handy if I need to lug anything larger around for some reason.

Bonus points: Lotta space to put pins for decoration. Downside: Damn, enamel pins get expensive.

Except for a few times.

Like the island full of zombies.

Or K.I.S.S dealing with interdimendional threats by riding on a giant guitar ship powered by rock, and that Gene Simmons may be a literal demon, not just an abhorrent human being.

Ain’t nothin’ in the RAW that states a sentient pile of dust can’t play basketball.

Their fault for being more edible than the rest. Get less tasty, maybe you’ll get a better name!

That still doesn’t give you carte blanche to steal everyone else’s rocks.

Give 'em back.

“Lifeless black eyes, like a dolls eyes”.

Just get a buddy to sit in the back with a hand on it, maybe give it a good “ain’t goin’ nowhere” while they give it a pat.

Seems to work for all the construction crews in my area.

No one else built a Walking Eye.

Look around. Who else has a Walking Eye? That’s right, Walking Eye, everyone wants a piece.

Just avoid Australia, you’ll be fine.

They’ll look mean, and your cook can at least handle a couple methheads(maybe more, depends on when they last stepped out back to take a bump), but if you’re not there to cause problems, a lot of that demeanor can fall away.

Especially your owl crews. They gauge you upon entrance, you’re either fucked to the gills to start shit, or you’re that special kinda person who really just wanted some smothered, covered, and chunked hashbrowns at 1:45AM.

But he’s fully functional!

His crippling meatball addiction. She can never know he fell off the wagon. I’ve seen it before. You think it’s a safety food, the easy pick off the menu. Then you hear something messing with the trash cans late one night, go out to check, and there’s your neighbor, in their underwear, six cans deep into a Chef Boyardee overload.