Well, still grinning like a psychopath, Monte takes out a cigar and takes out a lighter (with 'World's Best DM' emblazoned upon it). I try to think about how I'm going to tell the man who wrote the fuggin' DMG that he can't smoke in my apartment, but he doesn't smoke. No, instead he just tosses the lighter right onto the table, into the midst of all the papers.
Well, my players start freaking out. And so does Monte. Making a noise that can probablybe vaguely described as "the mating call of Nylarhotep, but with more Xena-yodel annoyance and less Black Speach madness" Monte Cook, The Man, tosses up the table, throwing frosted gingerbread bunnies, cans of carbonated liquids, many, many sheets of paper, and at least one partially melted chocolate bunny into the air.
He does this every week. You'd think I'd stop inviting him back, or at least that I'd ask for some proof of ID just to make sure he wasn't some random escapee from the mental ward, but gosh darn it, how often do you get the chance to play with Monte Cook?!
And if you guys thought THAT was a bad story, you should listen to the tale of the time Piratecat and Henry came over and insisted on transforming into the left arm of something they called the "Ultra Mega Super Moderator-Zord!", and then killed my Roommate's fish....