I don’t

The problem with a spell that cleanses your system of alcohol is that when you really need it you’re too drunk to cast it.  Just like when that monster ripped my guts out and I was too hurt to heal myself.  That’s magic in a nutshell.  Kinda.

Chuck insisted that he’s a true practitioner of magic and could help me.  I told him that he had two choices, either he could leave without saying another word, or try prove to me unequivocally that he could do magic and if he failed I would shove a hot curling iron up his ass. 

“You have a curling iron?” was his question.  I should have busted his jaw just for that.

He was drenched with sweat afterwards but he did levitate a good two feet off the ground.  Far enough that I had to grudgingly agree that he’s legit.  Once he was done gasping for bearthe he said that he really was Royale’s apprentice for a while.  I told him I didn’t give a shit about his lies and not to speak to me directly again. 

I explained to the conman and the male stripper who can barely do any magic my plan for reversing the circle of protection to trap the creature.  Neither of them said a thing but Kim-Kelly asked the important question “do you have enough power to make that work?”  I told her I had no fucking idea and that I was open to suggestions. 

Ginger Rock brought in a couple bottles of Jameson and some ginger ale to “ease the tension” and help us brainstorm. 

He asked about the Robert E Lee pistol, if we could use that.  I told him that the gun isn’t magic, it just helped his racist friends do magic because they love racism so much.  We had to go over that about 700 times before he finally stopped asking about it.  I don’t think he got it I just tired him out.

Kimberly-Kelly asked if we knew about cantar às almas santas.  Both Giger Rock and Chuck went back and forth with “Is that were you” sex jokes that I couldn’t laugh at even as drunk as I was.  Kim-Kelly explained that it’s a guy who makes sure that souls don’t get lost.  Or protects them from an alligator monster.  Or a witch that turns into an alligator monster.  Maybe all three.  I was pretty drunk at that point. 

Dorme neném
Que a Cuca vem pegar
Papai foi pra roça
Mamãe foi trabalhar

She sang-talked at us.  When I asked her if this was going to help us she smiled and said “yep” and continued getting shitfaced.

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