hmmm, many many years ago, think it was the real early 90's a friend ran what was going to be a one-off game under 2E mostly just to get familiar with the rules. We where going to be in some sort of 'Champions of the gods' thing he'd contrived and our group was to take on some of the other gods champions and kick their arses.
Basically pick a god and you became his representative, any alignment, race, class, other crap...etc, etc.
DM wanted to learn the rules, players got a chance to get in touch with their inner munchkin, it was all fun really.
I was running short on character ideas, not an uncommon occourance for me, it usually takes me about 2-3 weeks to make one up with backstory and all so I didnt exactly have much time as I would have liked.
So here we go, everyones rolled up everything from githyanki to drow and other exotic critters and playing all the kewl classes and I rolled up with a level 5 human, fighter.
Pretty crap stats, pretty crap class back then and not a real hope when I told them he was only armed with a meat cleaver (gave it same stats as a broadsword), a clownsuit, two legs and a bad attitude.
Uncle Bunky was spawned
I had a 1D8 table next to him and every 60minutes I rolled a new alignment...
Somehow the SoB lived, crawling out of fights with 2-3hps left when all the others where ganked mercilously the lucky bastard managed to kill every MF that attacked us... though while we where prohibited from killing each other the odd cleaver to someones back once in awhile slipped out when he was being chaotic naughty.
He also had a psychopathic hatred for short people (anyone shorter than him) which led to a suicidal raid into a gnomish naptha factory with a lit torch and only lived through that one through dumb luck and a stupid amount of hit points. (But D&D is a bit like that.) Then all the gnomes where fed to the large dire sabretooth tiger he'd managed to befriend, and there was much rejoicing because that meant it was fed and wouldnt eat a random party member that day.
This sillyness went on for about half a dozen gaming sessions, everyone else was out of ideas to munch out on after dying about 20 times over and Greame threw in the towel because the bastard lived and just wouldnt die!
The horrible, evil clown just lived, fireballs, dragons, swarms of orcs, circus midgets and whatever else got thrown at him there would always be the mongrel (by this stage 9th level) fighter clown standing at the end of the game.
So, it still stands if a GM off's my character unfairly from that fatefull day onward.
He'll be back...