Anyway, mroctober picked me up at the 30th Street Station, and drove me to the suburban house of a Nameless Workshop Writer - actually, she has a name, but I'm not sure I'm supposed to speak it. Massive amounts of cheese and other savory victuals were consumed amidst what had to be one of the largest personal libraries I've seen in quite some time, followed by a game of "Munchkin Cthulhu". Yes, a
1) Sigh loudly and moan in a rather unsexy way
2) Slide down on the couch until I was almost falling on the floor, whilst snapping my head back in an attitude of sheer boredom
3) Listlessly throw my cards onto the table, before falling backwards as if hit with an anvil
4) Bitch endlessly about how FUCKING BORED I was
6) Stare at the clock, scream SWEET BABY JESUS SAVE ME, weep some more
7) Beg for death to overtake me
8) Shake my fist ineffectually at Mr. Berman, who only laughed maniacally and pranced around the room at my bitter, bitter pain
9) Pass out
After about eleventy billion hours, the game ended, and we were free to eat hot pastry-encrusted brie and Godiva truffles. Then the gracious hostess made me an incredibly potent hot toddy for my sore throat - after a couple of sips, I was transported to a magical world where unicorns shoot diamond-studded rainbows out of their asses. Either that, or I was drunk. I prefer the former, thank you very much. Also, a giant orange cat stopped by, and we all spent several minutes joyfully having the shit kneaded out of our arms whilst he curled around us like a giant scampi and purred like a diesel engine. Mr. Scampi drew blood, but it was far less painful than Munchkin Cthulhu. Believe me.
And then I went home. It was the best workshop evah! Well, you know, except for that game part...