My first fanfic. Review, Rate, and Criticize. Plz.

"Evening rose just as the sun set. The moons Ronald and Grimace cast an eerie glow over the Seaside Town. Everyone was inside their wooden homes, coping with sleep. Everyone...except Pete."

"Sneaky Pete of Seaside Town was one of the few human thieves left in the Kingdom of Loathing; the mass majority of bandits were either hanged or burned on the stake. His fair and pale face was always hidden beneath his gray hood. His body was full of blotchy scars from his childhood. His age was between twenty-one and twenty-seven, and he held a vast array of knives stolen from various people. He hunts at night."

"Great Grandpa, I have a question," I interrupted.

"Spit it out," said the Grandpa.

"What did Sneaky Pete steal? You never mentioned anything about what he took."

"Sneaky Pete never stole anything; that's why he's a master thief."

"But that doesn't make any sen-"

Mhm. Cough. Mhm. "So…

Boris was from a family of bars. Apparently something went wrong with his birth, because he turned out to be a baby boy with an affection for raw eggs. The bars were deeply disappointed."

"Sooner or later, the father of Boris, Borsi, filed a case toward another Bar family for a broken cabinet stocked to the brim with fancy but probably evil chocolate. King Ralph the First heard about this rather big and famous ordeal and decided to put his own comment deciding this matter: 'Don't give up.' Either bar family had no idea which flock the King was referring to, because he also failed to give specifics. Minutes later, the Bar nation declared its independence from Loathing and created a separate state to go to war with the Weretaco tribes. During this mass conflict, many Bars became tired of the constant fighting and became uncivilized creatures. The rest became Bugbears. Then-"

"Sorry, Great Grandpa, but what does the Bar War have to do with Boris?"

"Sonny, it has everything to do with Boris," answered the Grandpa with a gleam in his eye.

"So, during a certain battle of the conflict between the bars and weretacos," continued the Grandpa, "Boris sneaked out of the safety of his home, took a club and turtle, and bashed the lycanthropy out of the tacos."

"How?" I asked.

"What do you mean how, John? Isn't it obvious? He took the club and bashed the lycanth-"

"Yes, you said that already. I mean, how did he use the turtle to obliterate the tacos?"

"Oh. Well, he used a stick to tame them."

"Wow. A stick. He must have been really powerful." I looked at my hands and stared at the night sky, eyes wide.

"Yep, Anyway, Bor-"

"What does Boris look like? How much did he weigh?" I asked.

"He was a behemoth; seven feet tall at an age of eighteen, and weighed approximately two hundred and ten pounds. Ummm…He had black hair, and gigantic arms. I'm not joking. His guns were really big."

"Wow, He's only ten pounds heavier than Uncle Sam!"

"Sshh, child. Your uncle is ten yards away."

"Anyway, the bars were completely astounded by Boris's skills in combat," began the Grandpa, "Every day in the war, Boris eliminated thousands of weretacos. The rest of them were so devastated by the state of their population and Boris's attacks, most of them evolved into tacos. The remainder fled to a place near Fernswarthy's Tower."

"Sooner or later, Boris started to be celebrated as a wartime hero, even among the humans. In the end, however, Boris died of salmonella poisoning. His funeral was spectacular: denizens from all over Loathing came to mourn. He is remembered on The Feast of Boris."

"I want to become a Muscle guy like him when I grow up!" I squealed. Grandpa shifted uncomfortably on his beanbag.

"Sonny, not everyone can be an Adventurer," said The Grandpa, uneasily. "You have to have a high status in life. Then, you have to fill an application of your skills. Even if King Ralph chooses you, you must pass a test many have died on."

"But we have a high status in Seaside Town, don't we?" I asked, gesturing toward the torn curtains and crudely made fireplace. "At least I have a chance!"

"Not really."

"Why not?"

"John, it's getting pretty late; you better get to bed."

"Good night, Great Grandpa"

"Good night, sonny."

I climbed onto my bed and slept fitfully.