The school teacher found out. Now she calls me master. She better.

The burning desire hottie found out during an improv performance when a nerd alert went off. She thought it was cute. She better.

I had props back in the day. Geek underlings clawed at my messy secondhand threads, begging me to continue with the campaigns their characters were involved in. When I retired DM spanky in my cantankerous prepubescence, I had to smack a few hit points out of nerdlets that refused to get off my tip.

There was a kid in my hood with superior DM kung-fu. The only fellow holder of the sacred Dungeon Masters Guide that I would allow to retain the fate of Darkwood, my half-elf mid level cleric ranger, was Blake. Blake was excellent. He could be fucking criminally devious, trapping you in a gelatinous cube, reaching over and tearing up your character sheet. If you had the chops, vast spans of time could be wasted championing through the trials that spewed from his mind. Impossible it was not to succumb to his imagination. Big ups master Blake, big ups indeed.