3rd Annual Meeting Of The Local Imp's Union, Guardia Chapter

By Brian Caughell

SCUM: Friends, I’d like to thank you all for taking time out from your very busy schedules in order to attend this evening. I’d also like to thank the Guardia Elk’s lodge for providing us this attendance hall for the evening. And now, let’s get down to business.

For you newcomers out there, and all those with bad memories, I am Scum, President of the Guardia Chapter Imps’ Union. Seated to my left is Brother Spit, the stenographer, who shall be transcribing my speech tonight. I’m sure many of you are aware of Brother Spit’s formidable gramatical skills, demonstrated in his fine spelling ability. Let’s demonstrate. Brother Spit, spell "Box."


SCUM: Spell "Cat."


SCUM: Spell "Organ donor."


SCUM: Isn’t he marvolous? Let’s all give him a hand. {Claps.} And seated next to Brother Spit is Brother Sweaty, the cateror. Sweaty has provided us with a lovely array of cabbage and pickled rocks, garnished with clumps of fur and deer snot. Help yourselves to these delicacies at the luncheon table at the rear of the hall. Looks scrumptious, Sweaty.

Seated to my right would have been Brother Stiff, the Union Treasurer. Unfortunately, as many of you know, last week Stiff stole our Union treasury and headed for the fair. Upon his trip, he was attacked and devoured by a savage band of Nus. The bastards! Who would have known. Alas, poor Stiff. I knew him, Horatio. Even though he was a thief, he was still an Imp. Let us have a moment of hack for our fallen comrade. {Hacks.}

And now, Brother Imps, let us get down to why this meeting has been called. I would like to complement each of you on the wonderful job you all are doing out there. We certainly have the humans on the run. Why, for example, just the other day Brother Stick of Eastern Guardia ambushed a sleeping villager- bruised him rather badly, so I’ve heard- and made away with three gold pieces! Fabulous job, Brother Stick! {Claps.} Brother Stick, please stand and accept our gratitude! Brother Stick! Brother Stick? Where is Brother Stick?

SPIT: -ahem- Uh... he’s dead, sir.

SCUM: What? Dead?

SPIT: Yes, ah... attacked and killed by a stray cat, just last night.

SCUM: Killed? By a cat? Certainly it must have taken a pack of crazed mountain lions to fall the mighty Brother Stick!

SPIT: Uh... no sir, just one cat, sir.

SCUM: Ah...so it was a ferocious, giant tiger which slew the powerful Brother Stick?

SPIT: Ah....no, sir. Just a cat. It wasn’t even that big. It was about this big, and had gray stripes....

SCUM: So you saw the cat which murdered our Brother?

SPIT: Yes, sir, I did.

SCUM: Did you capture it and put it on the rack? Or stick it in the firery pit? Or perhaps employ the guillotine?

SPIT: Uh...no, sir.

SCUM: Then what did you do?

SPIT: Uh... -ahem- nothing, sir.

SCUM: NOTHING?! NOTHING?! Do you mean you watched one of our dear Brothers fall before the enemy, and you did nothing to it?

SPIT: No, sir.

SCUM: Why not?!

SPIT: Well, it was a kitten, sir.

SCUM: A kitten?!?

SPIT: Yeah, it was really cute. It had gray stripes down its sides and a little white spot on its nose.

SCUM: Spit, you have disgraced your family, your name, your Brother Imps, and most of all Brother Stick. You are a failiure. I demand you resign from your post immidiately.

SPIT: What? You’re insane!

SCUM: Very well, if you refuse to resign, you are fired.

SPIT: You’ve got to be kidding! Hey, we Imps get our asses kicked every day! What could I have done? The cat wasn’t even declawed! I mean.. {Forcefully removed by security.}

SCUM: For the next item of discussion, there is an immediate position opening for a stenographer. Duties include transcribing speeches and spelling skills of no less than a two year-old.

IMP: {Waving hand in air} Oh, me! Me! Pick me! I wanna! I wanna!

SCUM: Very well, you, Brother...ah... what is your name, Brother?

IMP: Skippy.

SCUM: Very well, Brother....ah...Skippy. You are hereby recognized as stenographer for the Local Imps’ Union, Guardia Chapter.

SKIPPY: Oh boy!

SCUM: Now on to further matters. Brother Skippy....Hold for just a moment. Are you sure that’s your name?

SKIPPY: Yep! That’s me! Skippy!

SCUM: But that’s not an Imp’s name! Imp’s are supposed to be named disgusting things! Not after a flipping peanut butter!

SKIPPY: But....

SCUM: From now on, you shall be known as... Brother Snot. Do you understand?

SKIPPY: But I like my name!

SCUM: Skippy is a stupid name!

SKIPPY: Well then... how about Skippysnot?

SCUM: Uh....-sighs- Very well. Skippysnot it is.


SCUM: Now, the next matter of affairs... Fiddlesticks. I’ve forgotten what I was talking about. Stenographer?


SCUM: Please read back the minutes directly after my opening speech.

SKIPPYSNOT: Uh...what are minutes?

SCUM: Never mind.

Brother Imps, it is apparent to me now, on the ruler of society, we are on the very bottom. We are too dumb to spell, and too weak to attack a kitten. Despite our efforts to strengthen ourselves, we are slaughtered daily for the meager amount of gold we possess.

No one cares for us, not even our past "benefactor," in the war all those years ago. That blue-haired freak. "Go attack the kids," He’d say. "Go pillage. Go steal some gold. Hide in those trees. Don’t worry, they won’t be armed." HA! We Imps are lucky to even have made it through the 600’s at all!

And whenever some idiot decides he wants to go adventuring, what does he do? He goes and beats up a bunch of Imps, to strengthen himself up for the bigger guys! He runs over us without a problem, and collects our gold to buy stronger weapons and more armor! And what would happen if we stepped out of the picture? I’ll tell you- the weak would remain weak. Just like us Imps.

Now I propose we do something to break out of the endless cycle of slaughter. Something no one would expect us to even ponder! Do you know what we will do?

We shall go on strike! Imagine: no more cannon fodder for insane leaders, no more stepping stones for foolish adventurers. We shall bring them all down! Our society will be a pure one, where everyone is kept weak, just like us! We shall bring them all down from their spiritual babylon!

And also, when we’re on strike, we won’t have to worry about our asses getting kicked.

Ah, I see I have run out of time for this evening. So, I must thank you all for coming tonight, and please help yourselves to the food at the rear of the hall. And all of you Roly Riders out there, please enjoy your wine responsibly. Until next time, then, this meeting is adjourned.


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