The party ventures deep into the crypt, dispatching skeletal foes with skill and valor. Treasures are claimed, secrets revealed, and the bonds of fellowship strengthened through shared trials.
Bored with the game, I declare that rocks fall on the adventuring party and everyone dies, royally pissing off the players at my table in the process.
The sand figures crumble under the weight of falling boulders, their adventures cut tragically short by your whimsy.
The scene ends with Johnny Bravo lying on the ground, covered in cream pies and soaked in water, while the three women walk away grumbling about men who can't take a hint. The life-sized sand sculptures crumble, returning to their original golden sand state.
I give myself a five star review for the performance on the sand internet.
A hidden path appears through the crumbling sand. A faint voice whispers "the show must go on" as an underground theater materializes.
The shards of glass glint in the sunlight, reflecting a kaleidoscope of colors onto the sand below. With the mirror destroyed, the shadows deepen, revealing an empty space where the mirror once stood. What now lies within this void?
I say "Now I am the Metal Gear Solid V."
A lone figure, cloaked in shadow, emerges from the mirrored remnants, eyes glowing with intensity.
Your subjects await your command, O King of Sand! Every grain pulses in anticipation of your royal decree.
For my first decree, I order every individual sand grain to swirl around me in imitation of a hurricane with myself at the center.
Sand swarms dance in a dizzying vortex around you, whirling faster and faster until they become a churning maelstrom. The storm's eye remains fixed on your pedestal, sand grains spiraling madly as if drawn by some unseen force.
The porn stars grapple fiercely, sand flying everywhere as they claw and scratch, trying to pin each other down. Bikinis are torn away in the chaos.
Eventually, one japanese porn actress emerges victorious atop a pile of her bruised and battered competitors.
The triumphant victor, covered in sweat and sand, proudly holds aloft the cuddly fumo plushie as her spoils of war. Her battered body bears witness to the intensity of the competition. She looks pleased with herself.
"Hey dude, that's not cool at all bro."
"Pffft... Soulless fuck." I remark dismissively as I disintegrate the living Krabby Patty into sand once more.
The sandbox remains silent and empty, the remnants of the shattered Krabby Patty dissolved back into grainy nothingness.