I checked the chamber of my photon blaster. One shot left. Behind me lay the bodies of Dr. Gargulon’s army of Reptilioid stormtroopers, but they were child’s play compared to what lay ahead. I could feel it now — the relentless purring, sonic vibrations rattling the walls, telling me he was close. This was it. No turning back. On the other side of that door my fate awaited me: to reach my ship and fly to freedom, or meet floofy pouncing death.
I choose floofy pouncing death.
Me too!
Me three!
OMG, I love the title of the picture:
“My wife got a doll house”
That’s a whole story by itself.
I’ve been on model building forums where a dollhouse belonging to a poster’s child gets appropriated for a WW2 theme photoshoot. Kid gets home from school to find dad in the craft room with a camera and her dollhouse full of desperately fighting paratroopers.
We never really outgrow toys, some of us just pretend to.
Pretty sure my brother still has a Lego pirate ship in his house. It lived in my parents’ basement for maybe 15 years until they finally made him take it (which was at least 10 years ago now, maybe more). He was at least a teenager, possibly in his early 20s, when he built it.
BFB, that’s a delightful mental picture.
BTW, note how Mr Jingles has already shredded his shroud in preparation for dispatching his soul.