Prank-klok
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"He dresshed my Schivel War sholdier shkeleton up in that damn clown'sh clothesh!" A large rainbow-hued wig was slammed down on the table to compliment the bassist's snarl of anger.
"Dood, he put superglue on my drumsticks!" Pickles wailed, holding up reddened palms. "I had'a walk around like that fer two hours 'fore I found some acetone! Y'know how hard it was ta hold a bottle?!"
Ofdensen wearily massaged his temples with the tips of slightly greasy fingers. "Someone ordered five hundred pizzas delivered to my office this afternoon. And they all had pickled herring on them. I had to order the Klokateers to eat them all. Half of them are now ill to the point of purging."
"There's a My Little Pony storybook cassette wedged in the studio tape deck!" Knubbler yelled. "It's stuck in there! If I have to listen to that theme song one more time I'll—!"
Skwisgaar couldn't even form words. Not English ones, anyway. He simply screamed incoherently in Swedish, and held forth a honey jar and a shampoo container in hands shaking with rage. Wisely, no one commented on the condition of his formerly gorgeous blonde hair.
"Okay, okay, you guys, I get it!" Nathan looked none too happy himself, having awoken that morning to find that the entirety of his wardrobe of black tee-shirts had been replaced with new garments, pinker than the pinkest pink. It was no surprise that he was currently shirtless. "This has to stop. So here's what we're gonna do..."
Later that afternoon when Toki returned to his room, he found a simple note. KNOCK OFF THE PRANKS OR DEDDY GETS IT!!! A threatening doodle adorned the hastily-scribbled message, and his teddy bear was nowhere to be found. The young guitarist sighed grumpily.
"Nobody has de senses of humor arounds here."
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