At last I had done it. The entire continent of Illuria had been ground under my boots, the once proud nations reduced to rubble and their citizens doomed to eternal toil in my undead legion. Followed closely by my army of one hundred necromancers, I rode my motorcycle -itself built of bone and powered by the souls of the dead- over the piled skulls of my slain enemies. I and I alone was the master of this terrible land, and within it all served my merest whim.
As I mused on my conquest, the engine of my harley began to sputter and the skull pile began to shake. I was thrown from my seat, and when I arose, who should stand before me but the Ultimate Necromancer! "Hey boy, that bike aint the only hog you ridin, I seen your girl and she's so fat I thought she was a bloat demon." I reeled in shock, desperately trying to marshal my powers. "I gotta say, I'm surprised even that fat bitch put up with you, yo richard's limper than a zombie's walk. That's right, I hear these sorry ass ghouls be the only thing you raising round here". It was no use, my strength deserted me and I collapsed upon the skull pile. As I was pulled down into the mound of the dead by spectral hands, I heard a low moan come from my assembled followers. "Damn"
