You'd be tickled by the opportunity to defile HALLOWED TOMBS everywhere, raiding them of their treasures. It is like this whole panoramic cornucopia of limitless possibility sprawling before your very eyes. You spent basically your ENTIRE CHILDHOOD in this hat, pretending to be hard boiled detectives and whatnot. Everyone could tell by a glance that you were your father's daughter, sired from his loins directly and genetically, through what was undoubtedly a natural process of human procreation involving a man and a woman. Crockercorp is nothing if not thorough with its branding tactics. 11/14/11 "Jane: Try flipping switch." You try the broken switch again. 11/16/11 "Jane: Ok, back to the chest." You return to your BAKING CHEST which you use mainly for storing QUALITY PRANKING APPARATUS and a few other odds and ends. His friendly face is there to greet you every time you open your chest. Unfortunately his life was cut short at the tender age of 86 in a tragic accident, coincidentally on the same day you were born, or so your dad tells you. He is also one of your idols, and as it happens, has a bit of a history with your poppop. And then there's a customized copy of PONY PALS, a gift to you on your 14th birthday from the slippery Mr. Each page contains lovingly hand-written commentary on the deeds of this intrepid young horse.
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It's been sitting here messily in this UNBELIEVABLY DEADLY PILE OF GUNS ever since. Not a gent of your PANACHE AND SWAGGER, qualities which you would BANDY WITH APLOMB on your globe-spanning adventures, HYPOTHETICALLY SPEAKING. There is a good SKULL at the heart of any mystery, haunting its EVERY PAGE. You really feel like you are in the driver's seat now. Alas, it was not there, and you sort of spaced out at the sky with a goofy grin on your face for no great reason, and then you were caught red handed by your guardian. He can be a real hard-ass sometimes (not really), but he sure knows how to spoil his little girl. The modus as a captchalogued object has only one simple recipe, involving an ARRAY MODUS (snore! ) Other objects have more varied and elaborate recipes though. You guess the empire wasn't able to coordinate the mail with its rebranding. (Another mental note: sink gnarled claws into post office when you take over.) 11/15/11 "Jane: Open chest." You decide to pass the time by rummaging through your BAKING CHEST and... But quite honestly you seem too kind for this charade.
What sort of vulgar, childish moniker were you going to stick this poor bastard with? You would love to travel around the world, toppling any SACRED URNS you encountered. You can basically take this story LITERALLY ANYWHERE, as long as you don't pick one of those shadowy characters, and as long as the panels are actually finished being drawn. 11/12/11 "Jane: Get hat." You captchalogue your FAVORITE HAT, which is also your ONLY HAT. Not the most awe inspiring logo you've ever seen, but who are you to judge? (You make a mental note that when you turn 18 and inherit the company you will change it back to a spoon, you love the spoon.) 11/14/11 "Jane: Examine bowlbuster." Sure enough, the JUNIOR BATTERMASTER'S BOWLBUSTER STIRRING SOLUTION 50000 has been affected too, along with your specibus. Not the type I'd expect to trot out such persistent falsehoods beyond their humorous welcome.
11/11/11 "Enter name." You cannot enter her name!!!
It was already engraved in her HONORARY PLACRONYM on her 13th birthday, which was about two and a half years ago, and has been sitting here neatly on the bookshelf ever since.
Attempting to engrave it with another name after completing this sacred rite of passage is practically unheard of, and is a gesture nearly as offensive as it would be if you tried to name her something dumb like Barnstench Fartface.