Dungeon Crawler Carl Quotes

Goddammit Donut!

Cats are assholes. I get it. But do you know why people like cats, despite their asshole-ness? It’s because they don’t fucking talk. If they did, and they were all like you, they’d all be extinct because we’d have killed you all by now.

The baby velociraptor settled into my lap. I suddenly felt uncomfortable having that many teeth so close to my crotch. If he bit me now, I didn’t know what would happen.

Mana Toast. This is toast. It refills your mana. That’s it. Nothing more. Fuck you.

Cats don't drink cocktails,' I said. 'Cats don't shoot lasers from their eyes, either, but here we are, Carl. Mama needs a night off.

Question: What’s the only thing standing between an innocent child and a happy, fulfilling life? Answer: You. The answer is you.

So help me god,” I said. “I will abandon you right here and right now if you choose to take up the kazoo.

NecroBard This unusual class combines one of the most-loved occupations with one of the most reviled.

Your Mom.

New achievement! You’ve killed an armed mob with your bare fucking hands! Holy crap, dude. That’s kinda fucked up. Reward: You’ve received a Bronze Weapon Box!

Trauma does that, I thought. It’s an explosion with your heart at the center. It changes everything all at once.

Mongo shrieked with joy and began to vigorously devour the remains, filling himself up so much his stomach bulged afterward. The little dinosaur puked on the floor and then ate that, too.

Being eaten by a bugbear makes me uncomfortable, Carl. So if your boyfriend ogling your tootises keeps these easy-peasy bugs coming at us instead of more of those lava-spitting llamas, then you better buck up, get over your human male privilege, and take one for your princess.

Wait for my signal this time or you won’t be allowed to go to the party.” “I will kill your mother.

My beautiful boy,” Miriam whispered as she turned to dust. “My beautiful boy.

...Also it's a toe ring and is probably uncomfortable and makes you look like one of those hippy assholes that sit around in a field juggling and Hulu hooping all day

And I was so stupid, because I thought since I loved you, that meant you loved me.

Did... did you just rip your dick off and throw it at me?

The moment anybody becomes a citizen, the Syndicate bends them over and fucks them. I can’t stop you from getting fucked. But I am the condom. You guys have condoms on your world? Of course you do. Everybody has condoms. Your ass is gonna hurt no matter what, but at least you won’t have tryptic genital mites after.

A distant part of me was alarmed at this attitude. But this was war, and there was no use pretending like it wasn’t.

Don’t compare your circumstances with how they were yesterday. Look at how they were years ago.

Standard healing potion increases your health by at least 50% doesn't cure poison or other health seeping conditions such as secubus inflected gonorrhea

Capital punishment means those without the capital get the punishment. ​- ​Executed Prisoner, John A. Spenkelink

I mean, really. I can’t be held accountable for everything I’ve ever said to a stripper.

Never stare into the blinding eye of the Bedlam Bride. What it means is don’t become obsessed with something, lest you’re blinded to everything else.

He rushed up and chomped her directly on the nose.

Spoiler alert. Nobody is going to read your autobiography disguised as a space vampire and minotaur romance. You and every other half-wit out there with a nearby Starbucks and a laptop is writing the same bile. What you’re really doing is inadvertently live-blogging the story of human mediocrity,

I have never claimed to be a smart person. We all do stupid things. A lot of times, people do stupid shit not because they are stupid, but because in the heat of the moment, they make rash decisions. It’s a different sort of thing. That’s my excuse here. Heat of the moment. At least that’s what I tell myself.

But all I could think about was that lonely dog, left alone to guard an empty gas station on Christmas day.

We will all have to work together to make sure you're incompetence doesn't continue.

This inn only employed a single prostitute, a woman changeling named Juice Box,

remember

Gordo leaned over the counter and made a face. “This is your manager?” “Yep,” I said. He shook his head sadly. “You two are so dead.

Anyway, this could be something useful like Parkour or Jui-jitsu, or you could get f*cked and receive some useless crap like Stamp Collecting or Kombucha Brewing.

The corpse had looked like a party sized sausage and green pepper pizza that had been run over a few times

The transformation occurred at approximately 2:23 AM, Pacific Standard Time. As far as I could tell, anyone who was indoors when it happened died instantly. If you had any sort of roof over you, you were dead. That included people in cars, airplanes, subways. Even tents and cardboard boxes. Hell, probably umbrellas, too. Though I’m not so sure about that one.

Sergeant-at-Arms. “Well, that’s a lie, now isn’t it? It should just be Sergeant-at-Arm, not arms,” Donut quipped. “The next time we see him, I hope you rip his other arm off, Carl. Then he’ll just be a Sergeant.

Oh wow,” I said, turning the pack over in my hands. It was a collection of Louis L'Amour books. Westerns. My dad had an entire shelf of them. As a kid, I’d sneak one here and there and read the entire book in one night, hiding under the covers with a flashlight.

the Syndicate bends them over and fucks them. I can’t stop you from getting fucked. But I am the condom. You guys have condoms on your world? Of course you do. Everybody has condoms. Your ass is gonna hurt no matter what, but at least you won’t have tryptic genital mites after.

When the Black Death swept through 14th century Europe, killing upwards of 200 million people and forever altering the course of human history, one of the original culprits of the epidemic was said to be the black rat, carrying plague-infested fleas into population centers to wreak their destruction. This is, in fact, not true. The true perpetrator was actually the Asian great gerbil, who took advantage of the warmer climate to travel the silk road and bring the disease into Europe. This is only important to know because Ralph, champion pit fighter of the kobold training grounds, lives his life in a perpetual state of rage. Why? Because he feels that human death toll of 200 million is much too low, and he will do everything in his power to triple that number. Starting with you. The only survivor of a family of gerbils left to starve by a child who’d grown bored with the pets, Ralph had to commit unspeakable acts of cannibalism in order to endure. Part earth rodent, part the embodiment of death, Frenzied Gerbils are regular mobs one might encounter on the fifth or seventh floors. But Ralph here is special. He has dedicated his existence to fighting and training in hopes that one day he might exact his revenge against the humans he so despises. He is fast, he is angry,

Katia had a special ability she didn’t like to use very often. Rush, it was called. It turned her body into a battering ram. When activated, she blasted forward, shattering everything in her path. She could only use it once a day, and when she did use it, it knocked all the wind out of her, even if she didn’t actually hit anything. As a result, I knew she abhorred the skill, despite Mordecai’s insistence that she use it as often as possible. Also, the skill wasn’t predictable. Sometimes when she used Rush, her body flew forward five feet. Sometimes it flew forward twenty, and there didn’t seem to be any sort of rhyme or reason to the discrepancy. In addition, the angle in which she rushed forward wasn’t always perfectly straight. Mostly her body dashed straight forward in the direction she was facing, but sometimes, every once in a while, she flew slightly off-center. And that’s what happened this time. Katia screamed something incomprehensible, and she activated Rush. She was aiming at her former friend Eva. She missed her by inches. Instead, she inadvertently became the first crawler on this season of Dungeon Crawler World to kill one of the top 10 and claim a bounty.

Story time. In September of 1869, there was a terrible fire at the Avondale coal mine near Plymouth, Pennsylvania. Over 100 coal miners lost their lives. Horrific conditions and safety standards were blamed for the disaster. It wasn’t the first accident. Hundreds of miners died in these mines every year. And those that didn’t, lived in squalor. Children as young as eight worked day in and out. They broke their bodies and gave their lives for nothing but scraps. That day of the fire, as thousands of workers and family members gathered outside the mine to watch the bodies of their friends and loved ones brought to the surface, a man named John Siney stood atop one of the carts and shouted to the crowd: Men, if you must die with your boots on, die for your families, your homes, your country, but do not longer consent to die, like rats in a trap, for those who have no more interest in you than in the pick you dig with. That day, thousands of coal miners came together to unionize. That organization, the Workingmen’s Benevolent Association, managed to fight, for a few years at least, to raise safety standards for the mines by calling strikes and attempting to force safety legislation. ... Until 1875, when the union was obliterated by the mine owners. Why was the union broken so easily? Because they were out in the open. They were playing by the rules. How can you win a deliberately unfair game when the rules are written by your opponent? The answer is you can’t. You will never win. Not as long as you follow their arbitrary guidelines. This is a new lesson to me. She’s been teaching me so many things, about who I am. About what I am. What I really am. About what must be done. Anyway, during this same time, it is alleged a separate, more militant group of individuals had formed in secret. The Molly Maguires. Named after a widow in Ireland who fought against predatory landlords, the coal workers of Pennsylvania became something a little more proactive, supposedly assassinating over two dozen coal mine supervisors and managers. ... Until Pinkerton agents, hired by the same mine owners, infiltrated the group and discovered their identities. Several of the alleged Mollies ended up publicly hanged. Others disappeared. You get the picture. So, that’s another type of secret society. The yeah-we’re-terrorists-but-we-strongly-feel-we’re-justified-and-fuck-you-if-you-don’t-agree society. So, what’s the moral of this little history lesson? This sort of thing happens all day, every day across the universe. It happens in Big Ways, and it happens in little ways, too. The strong stomp on the weak. The weak fight back, usually within the boundaries of the rat trap they find themselves confined. They almost always remain firmly stomped. But sometimes, the weak gather in secret. They make plans. They work outside the system to effect change. Like the Mollies, they usually end up just as stomped as everyone else. But that’s just life. At least they fucking tried. They died with their boots on, as much as I hate that expression. They died with their boots on for their people, their family, not for some rich, nameless organization that gives no shits whether they live or die. Or go extinct. Or are trapped for a millennia after they’re done being used. In my opinion, that’s the only type of society that’s worth joining, worth fighting for. Sure, you’re probably gonna die. But if you find yourself in such a position where such an organization is necessary, what do you have to lose? How can you look at yourself if you don’t do everything you can? And that brings us to the door you’re standing in front of right now. What does all this have to do with what you’re going to find on the other side? Nothing!

Getting the two chompers on him had been easier than I had expected... ...He’d patiently allowed me to do it, whimpering like a dog getting his nails clipped. It’d only taken about five seconds. Now when he snapped his teeth, little tendrils of electricity exploded from his mouth. It’d scared him so much at first he’d actually peed himself...

Turns two of your incisors into ripping, tearing, deadly chompers that would impress even the most self-hating goth. Increases melee bite damage by 50% ... ...“I’m totally giving this to Mongo when he wakes up. Carl, you’ll have to put them on him.” “Are we sure that’s a good idea?” I said. I eyed the still-sleeping Mongo uneasily.

Your oxygen levels are low. In case you’re wondering, yes, you do need that stuff.

Still, it felt like the wrong decision. It was the easy way out, and in this place, the easy way usually came with dire consequences.

But that feeling was there, and I was simultaneously relieved that I’d been wrong and horrified I’d been thinking it in the first place.

He is prone to self-aggrandizing behavior. He doesn’t understand the concept of being told no. He doesn’t understand the concept of not being worshipped.

All elves originate with the high elves, who are big on banishing and wholesale genocide. It’s what happens when you live forever but still keep having babies.

But then they’ll just run away,” Donut said. “I’d run away if some crazy guy showed up at game night and pulled out a gun and said, ‘Let’s play Russian Roulette instead of spin the bottle.

Donut: I’M JUST GLAD IT DIDN’T KEEP US IN IOWA. DO I LOOK LIKE SOMEONE WHO WOULD VOLUNTARILY VISIT IOWA? THAT’S ALMOST AS BAD AS DELAWARE.

I tried to sleep myself, but I couldn’t. It was as if I’d forgotten how.

Apito warns us of the great beast who yearns to unravel the heavens and kill all the gods. And now this great deceiver, this devourer of all that is holy, has a name. She is Donut, the Oak Fell, the death upon us all. She who ends.

No, no, no. Please. You’re not leaving me. Everyone leaves me.

There’s no other decent looking people in the party for the sex sacrifice. Other than myself, of course. I’m pretty sure she’s not a lesbian, though. Even those bush elf guys all look like they’ve just been released from a hard labor work camp. I thought elves were supposed to be sexy.

rules.

New Achievement! This little piggy made a boom boom! You deployed a bomb with the supple, curved sole of your foot. You took your perfectly-perfect, 30.004861 centimeter-long right foot and compressed it against an explosive device—a device named after me no less—and you gave it a naughty little shove before you pushed it out the door and detonated it. You killed them. You killed them all for your daddy.

Hvar eru fötin þín?

I would work for the forestry service as a forester.

they just sit in a circle around him while he screams, and they scream back.

friend who says he’s from France but was in Africa and has an Australian accent,

psychedelic.

They’re called goodwill ballrooms,” Samantha said from the edge of the table. “Everybody knows that. They’re quite common. It’s so visiting ambassadors and other dignitaries can be entertained without the danger of assassination. You can touch one another if you wish, but it is a light touch. It’s in such a room where I met my king. We had to wait until after the party before we could be together.” She sighed dramatically. “When I reunite with my body and find my sweet child, I’ll get back to him one day. We’ll have a happy, normal family.” She suddenly rolled across the table and stopped in front of Louis and started making weird, growling noises up at him. He started to back away, surprised. “My king is a fan of swapping partners, just so you know,” she said up to Louis. “Maybe we can talk your fiancée into portraying my bitch of a mother. Then we can have some fun.” Then she did some Hannibal Lecter thing with her tongue, causing everyone in the room to stop and look at the talking sex doll head.

Former Child Actor This rare subclass is an offshoot of the Character Actor class. It can only be obtained by Crawlers who have both received the “Cut!” achievement and have obtained at least one trillion views. Once a spoiled brat superstar, then addicted to drugs, you have crawled back from the brink stronger than ever. You are ready for your comeback. This Charisma and Chance-based class could go either way. You’ll either rise to the top, or you’ll be dead in a ditch in a week. This unique Earth class is based on the Bard/Rogue Jack-Of-All-Trades subclass, but with a few distinctive differences. In addition to the following benefits, the most distinct aspect of this multi-faceted class is the Level-3 Character Actor skill. This skill increases in level only upon descent to the next floor. Additional benefits: Immunity to all poisons and diseases. Level-5 Cockroach skill. +10 to Charisma. +15% faster growth in all Charisma-based skills. The Manager Benefit. This is an Earth Class. As an incentive to choose an Earth Class, you will receive a Silver Earth Box upon choosing this class.

+1 to the Bomb Surgeon Skill +1 to the Trap Engineer Skill +1 to Unarmed Combat Skill -25% Damage when using bladed weapons +25% Mana cost for damage-dealing spells +5% skill progression speed in all trap-making and bomb-making skills. + 2 Hide in Shadows Skill + Fear spell + 1 Intelligence + 5 Charisma +5 to the Find Trap Skill +5 to the Backfire Skill +5 to the Escape Plan Skill Access to the Desperado Club (already obtained) Access to the Naughty Boys Employment Agency This is an Earth Class. As an incentive to choose an Earth Class, you will receive a Silver Earth Box upon choosing this class. Compensated Anarchists must choose a subclass upon descent to the sixth floor.

I thought of poor GumGum the orc. Of Miss Quill. Of little Ricky Joe, the one-armed, child dwarf. I wondered if his mom ever had her baby.

the sight of myself up on the screen, running full tilt through the Over City with nothing but a one-armed leather jacket and my nuts dangling free filled me with a strange, almost primal sense of vulnerability. I don’t know how nudists ever got used to it.

The beast was a thirteen-foot-tall pile of body parts, all sewn together haphazardly as it shuffled forward. It was as if Doctor Frankenstein had dropped acid before he’d made his creation.

murder chicken to go a’murdering

Tracked All-Terrain Suicide Machine. The Royal Chariot – Contraption. If a snowmobile got drunk on moonshine and had a sweaty, ill-advised night with a hillbilly’s coon-hunting ATV, this oversized birth defect of a vehicle would be the result.

You attacked and caused damage to a mob that is more than 75 levels above your own. The fact that you’re reading this suggests you’re the luckiest fucker in the dungeon. Just remember, luck goes both ways, like your mom. Reward: You’ve received a Platinum Lucky Bastard Box!

What’s a prime number?” Donut asked, speaking for the first time. “It’s a math thing,” I said. “You learn about them in fourth or fifth grade, and then you don’t need to know about it ever again unless you become a mathematician. Or a math teacher.

I don’t understand a word of what the fuck you just said.” The robot sighed. “I apologize, Carl. Let me translate it to earth monkey speak.

On top of that, some crazy asshole who doesn’t want everybody to think he’s a crazy asshole is throwing a train full of explosives in our direction. So, you know. Typical day.

The monster was a regular-sized, male lion with a mane. Half of his body was covered with a green, lumpy, glowing fungus that pulsated like he was being eaten. The green mold covered his legs and chest, and splattered tendrils of the stuff covered the lion’s face, like a pair of hands caressing it from behind. The lion’s right eye glowed like an emerald. Erupting from his mane were tentacles. Dozens of long, pink and green, finger-like worms waved in the air, making the creature appear to be some sort of fucked-up cat medusa.

The thing was a horse-sized, multi-breasted, pitch black goat monster that looked like it belonged on the cover of one of those 1980s heavy metal album covers, one where if you played it backward, the words would tell you to murder your grandma.