There is no such thing as a Necronomicon. I should know. I've been reading H.P.

Lovecraft since I
was thirteen. It was a rebellion phase for me, to be sure. It's one I haven't yet completely outgrown, but
I don't regret that. In hindsight, my love of Lovecraft and the Mythos is real. I would never readily
admit it, but my fascination for the Gothic Romance lingers if not flourishing. I dare say I might take it
with me to my grave.
Forgive my rambling preamble, where are my manners? My name is Frederick Kovacs and there
before me on the faux antique table was a copy of the Grim Grimoire itselfostensibly.
Oh come one, Freddy! Philistines, oh how I despise these, This is the real deal. We've spent our
whole lives looking for something like this and now it's there right in front of you.
This would be Murphy Garret, boisterous, always enthused for the next adventure, and cursed with
the attention span of a poodle. He is my friendostensibly. He knows I dislike any abbreviations to me
name.
Even the way I got it was way mystic-like, man, his hair was a flurry of red, ruffled messiness.
Then, he instantly toned down to a conspiratorial hunch and inched closer towards me, I think I got it
off a real, live sorcerer.
Imbecile. Your breath stinks of double cheeseburgers. Away with you!
I pushed him off with such violence that I, for a moment, had everyone's attention in the hobby
shop. Arrogant, I heard a few of them mumble.
You're wasting my time, Garrett. If I wanted another hoax violating the purity of my intellect, I'd go
to communion. I came here to play Dungeons and Dragons on my day off; my day off, Garret. Not your
bullshit, I made it visibly clear how annoyed I was, raising my voice to stem the tide of his child-like
idiocy.
Quit it with the oxford twang, Freddy, and this magnificent bastard would be Toshiro. Fucker
thinks he's the shit, Everyone knows you're from Jersey.
Eat shit and die, gook, I emphatically replied, careful to keep the composure of my sweet, sweet
diction intact.
Oh, so sorry. The angry pollack wants to suck my dick, he started with his best Andy Richter
impression, Heavens me, what ever shall I do.
He rose to his feet and addressed the entire establishment, Wheresoever shall I find a knight to
defend my honer?
Murmurs, again, Assholes.
I didn't mind the accusations of homosexuality, of course. In our day and age, such primitive
affectations as homophobia were beneath me. Had Toshiro offered to fellate my wand of glory, I would
have gladly accepted and told everyone of the oh so macho Toshiro's phallic tongue-lashing. Alas, he
had attributed to my character an effeminate submission. For this, the motherfucker must pay.
I leaped to my feet, fist at the ready, when I felt the full weight of the Player's Handbook slam me
back down to my seat, Settle down, childredn. We have a game to play, remember?
Ah, the subtle beauty and serene softness of your voice, Beryl, enthralls me. Beloved gamemaster,
instantly did you sedate my beastly heart. But, so did the pain and swiftly growing lump on my pate, of
course. It's just so difficult to find exciting gamemasters, these days. Those of such brilliance as Beryl
Macintosh are rarer still. She had been our third GM and hopefully our last. Such erudite mien, such an

extensive vocabulary. It would grieve me so to see her patronage lost to another gaggle of losers with
the temerity to call themselves an adventuring party.
I apologize for our rambunction, great master. We seek both forgiveness and the favor of your
bardic heart this weekend, I graciously bowed and submitted.
Rambunction, Frederick, she said, I never want to hear that word again. Understood?
Shit.
Of course, noble gamemaster.
Good. Now, did everyone bring their sheets like I asked you to?
I did! Oh Cynthia, eagerly raising your first player characterwhy aren't more gamer girls like
you?
Hey, wait up, Garrett promptly interrupted my reverie, Don't you guys want to hear the rest of
my story?
Oh for God's fucking sake, Garrett.
Maybe later, Murphy. We still have a lot of ground to cover, maybe more if you didn't all make
your characters before hand.
I thought we had a no sheet, no play rule, Toshiro wondered as he nursed a lump kindred to mine.
Aw, Garret deflated.
Well, yeah, we do, Beryl agreed, but, We're starting a new campaign setting, though. You might
have some questions on your character concepts to help tie in with the fluff better.
I am completely satisfied with mine, said I of my Lich Artificer.
Ditto, Toshiro proudly brandished a printed image of an aged samurai. How clich.
Um, Cynthia raised her hand, I still have some questions.
And while they mulled, Garret sulked and just stared at his Necronomicon with defeat glazing all
over his eyes. As I have written, imbecile.
Hey, guys, I decided to ask, How much longer is this going to take?
Uh, Beryl's surprise was quite real, Not long, I think. Just some background. Why?
Coffee. Forgot a cup on my way here.
Oh, alright. We won't take too long but go get your coffee anyway. Already had mine for the day.
You, I posed the question to the rest of them.
We're cool. Cynthia doesn't take coffee, I think, Tosh looked to her.
Mormon, meekly, she smiled.
Cool.
As I stood to leave I shot Garrett a glance, Yo, come with.
What? he asked, sulk broken.
Come with, man. Walking's lonely, I smiled.
Okay! And he smiled back.
We went to Starbucks. It was nearby and I hated having to thread through crowds at the mall on a
weekend. Starbucks is still coffee and I could afford it. Please go fuck yourself.
Predictably, Garrett still had his Necronomicon with him. His obsession annoyed me.
As we stood in line, a long line, we talked.

You have until we reach that register with your weird shit, Garrett. Tell what you need told but
that'll be it for the day, okay? When we get back; we play the game and forget your stupid
Necronomicon.
Okay, man, oh how his eyes sparkled.