Snippet #1048644

Greg simply stared at Brian's sword for a long moment.

"That is.... fucking.... sweet..." Greg decided at length. "Bodacious asskickorama. Dude. Dude! DUDE YOU MADE A MAGIC SWORD!" He pointed at the blade with one giant finger. "That's awesome! And it FRIES shit! Man, you could, like-" Greg framed a square in the air with his hands, "-a restaurant right? And you could cut bread and meat with that bitch and it'd toast the bread and cook the meat, and you could serve hot sammiches in, like, seconds. We'd call it fast food, people'd love that shit."

Greg was getting excited now, sketching out the floorplan of the new restaurant with his hands. "And I'd totally stake you the cash for the initial building, man, we could take this shit to the moon-" something occurred to Greg just then, something about the sword. "Wait," he said, cautiously. "Wait man, even if you, like, wrung a fairy out over the metal for the blood and danced naked under a full moon and shit, you had to have made the sword, right? Right? You- YOU'RE A FUCKING SWORDSMITH!" Greg pointed one massive digit at Brian accusingly. "And you didn't TELL me?" Greg gave Brian a sad look. Here was a man who probably understood hammers, and hitting metal, and perhaps, even, punching people in the face for asking stupid questions. And he'd been holding out on Greg, when they could have shared the brotherhood of men who hit shit with hammers.

"That's cold, Brian," Greg said sadly. "That's cold."