All of the following events actually happened and I am merely recreating them. The second is larger because it'd be a kickass background for some of you degenerates, my Christmas gift to those who otherwise wouldn't receive one.
It started when I got the package from the Rog-meister.
My elbow is the biggest part of my arm, by the way. Anywho, I'll spare you guys the agony of an unboxing.
OH SHIT SON. I never had one of these as a child. Now was my chance. One thing I found odd, though, was the word "MAGIK" scrawled on the side in a mixture of yogurt and blood. Your guess is as good as mine as to what kind of yogurt it was.
Damnit, I didn't sign up for this.
The manual read like stereo instructions. So I made a few subtle modifications, seen below:
YEAH, he's the castle guardian while I'm gone at work or school or play.
DOOM FORTRESS COMPLETE.
Now that it was done, I could see the complete yogurt & blood inscription:
"Yo, man. This castle is magik. Yule be visited by three ghosts tonight. YULE HAHAHAHA. Yeah! These ghost will show you the error of your sloven and non-meshing ways!"
Needless to say, I thought it was a dumbass prank that the Rog-ster pulled on me so he could write another article or something. It didn't bother me until I went to brush my teeth...
"What the fuck, dude?"
"WUZZA WUZZA WUZZUP, DAWG!? I'm the Ghost of Christmas Past. Look upon the err in my ways and hair and reflect upon them."
"Pft. Whatever, dude."
I walked out into the hall and over to the left, I saw another familiar figure.
"I AM THE GHOST OF CHRISTMAS PRESENT! LOOK AT ME AND REVEL IN MY MEDIOCRITY!"
"NOOOOOOOOOOO!"
I ducked into my room just before it ate my soul or turned me into stone or something. However, nothing prepared me for my next visitor.
"Lol, I am ghost of xmas future. I love mishcief makers and am totally not like my friends who are all dumb and ugly. I hate them alot but they love me dumbasses."
"Not this time, jerk-face!"
"DIEEEEEEE!"
Unfortunately, the ensuing fight was too epic and can't be seen with human eyes, lest they explode and you'll bleed awesome.
As the smoke cleared and the remnants of GW's head fell to the ground, there was a smell in the air not unlike that of a tub of butter. I walked over and looked at the pile of sadness before me.
"He should have listened to me. He made the wrong decision, and he got burned for it, in the end. I just hope she's alright. I bet she's still running, even now. Goodbye, old friend."
I glanced down and amongst the ashes, there was a glint of silver. Could it be?
HELL YES.
The moral of the story is: "Guitar Woman is a ghost pinata filled with stickers, so shoot him if you ever get the chance."
Merry Christmas to all, and to all a good night. Falalalala and all that jazz.