Dungeon Crawler Carl Quotes

Goddammit Donut!

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

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.

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.

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

Did we really just start a meth war between the goblins and the llamas?

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

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

If we get to the point where we don’t help each other anymore, that’s when we stop being human.

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

Reward: I SAID THE GHOST OF STEVE IRWIN SMILES DOWN UPON YOU.

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.

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

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.

The last time the walls shook like this was when your mom came over for a visit.

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

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

There is no shame in wanting to be alone yet also wanting the comfort and the strength of your brethren.

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

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!

You’re not going to break me,” I said. “You might hurt me, or kill me, but you’re not going to break me.

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.

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

Mongo is appalled.

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,

Kids aren’t always a product of their parents. But sometimes that doesn’t matter. Sometimes parents can cast a shadow so thick, you can drown in it.

Don’t gaslight me, Jesus.

I had multiple, passive, low-tier stealth movement abilities that never worked for shit because I traveled with a dinosaur and a talking cat, but I hoped it would help cover my passage now.

They will not break me. Fuck them all. They will not break me. But I will break them. This is my promise to myself, to my friends, and to you, anyone who reads these words. I will break them all. - Crawler Carl, 25th Edition of The Dungeon Anarchist’s Cookbook

Your Mom.

If that’s true,” I said, “then you’re all in that same pot.” I turned to look at the audience. “All of you. If a government is afraid of what its people say, then maybe there’s a reason for it.

Nor am I wearing a cloak that makes me look like I won a participation trophy at the special needs comic con, Carl. I’m a cat. Cats don’t wear pants.

Be careful who you’re nice to. Because if you are nice to the wrong person, they’ll either take advantage of you, or worse, they might never leave.

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.

Glurp, glurp, motherfucker,” I said before I collapsed in an exhausted heap.

You keep destroying governmental buildings, Carl,” Donut said. “People are going to start thinking you have a problem with authority.

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.

They say the sincerest form of flattery is when someone copies you.” Donut scoffed. “No, Carl. That’s just something thieves say to make themselves feel better about stealing other people’s stuff. The sincerest form of flattery is when people cry when they meet you.

Ever since that first monkey looked up into the sky and saw something twinkling up there, you meat puppets have tried to force twenty pounds of existential meaning into a ten pound sack of chaos.

Everybody likes carnage when it’s not them.

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

You are more than just a person, if we lose you we lose everything. You are a symbol. You're the embodiment of our hope. You and that annoying f**king cat!.

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

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.

I don’t stick my butthole in everybody’s face when they’re trying to sit down and eat.” “Well, excuse me for showing affection. I mean really.

Orthrus. The most loveable hell-hound on this side of Alpha Centauri. The left side is for sniffin’ and the right side is for lickin’ and that pink belly of his? It’s for kissin’.

Donut: THIS MUSIC IS MAKING MY HEAD HURT. WHY CAN’T THEY PLAY SOMETHING GOOD? LIKE OASIS.

She looked up at me. “Viva la revolución, Carl.

Sometimes, there are no surprises, and despite that, despite your intention to gird yourself against what’s about to come, it still hits you with the force of a kick to the stomach.

Carl?” she asked. I looked down into her large, glowing eyes. “Yeah?” “I’m not as dumb as I pretend to be. I know she’s dead.” “I know.” I wrapped myself around her. We both closed our eyes and braced for the end.

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

I laughed. “Nobody is starting a harem.” “No, I suppose not,” Donut said. “You couldn’t even keep one woman interested.

Goddamnit, Donut,

You tried to kill Katia you fucking bitch!” Donut cried. She blasted a full-strength Magic Missile right into Hekla’s face.

This was also something that trauma could do. It could make you blind, and it could open your eyes wider than they’d ever been, all at the same time.

When Big Things happen on such a large scale, it’s easy to forget sometimes that these Big Things are also happening to the little things in the world.

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.

Hey, Donut. If we were back home, you’d finally be able to knock that vase off the high shelf.” “That thing was a menace, Carl. It was haunted.

Your creature crapped in my mother’s ashes,” Mordecai said, shaking his head. “This is so not worth it. Not worth it at all.

So if you read this and enjoyed it, please review it. It’s against Amazon’s rules to offer a prize to those who review books, but I will risk Amazon’s wrath and offer my services to be the father of your babies if you post a review.

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.

They were all gone. All I had left in this world was right here. Mongo soon started to snore. I could feel Donut’s warmth against the back of my neck. She breathed softly, oblivious of all that had occurred tonight. This, I thought, this is my family.

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.

Happy wife, happy life takes on a whole new meaning when your other half is an indescribable cosmic horror.

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.

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

You can’t un-lick a butthole that’s already been licked. That was a legal and properly paid-for sponsor box which led him to the location,

Donut: OH, HONEY. YOU USED TO BE A SEX DOLL. I’M QUITE CERTAIN YOU CAN HANDLE ALL MANNER OF INDIGNITY. Samantha: DON’T SLUT SHAME ME. I’M GOING TO KILL YOUR MOTHER.

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.

I hope you said your prayers and brought the lube, because you about to get fucked from here to eternity.

Miss Beatrice once used scissors to get poop off my butt,” Donut said. “Uh huh,” I said. “Once?” “We’re having a moment here, Carl. Don’t ruin it.

Okay, buddy. We gotta be quick. You are balls deep in the wrong hole, and mom is pulling into the driveway. You get me?

You’re wearing a mask right now, Donut, and you don’t know how to remove it. That’s okay. You don’t need to. Not yet. That mask is protecting you.

Right now, I needed to get this damn crab to jerk off into the ocean.

She loved him. And because she loved him, she would protect him, even when he made mistakes.

Her eyes were clenched shut in mock pain. “This mortal coil is shed.” “Oh, get up,” I said, looking about the room. “Help me loot all this crap.

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!

Donut: PREPOTENTE DON’T BE MEAN TO KATIA. Rezan: Why does that cat always type in all caps? Donut: WHY DIDN’T YOUR MOTHER DRIBBLE YOU BACK OUT ONTO THE TRUCK STOP BATHROOM FLOOR, REZAN?

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.

New achievement! War Criminal. You have killed more than 20 non-combatants in a single attack! Question: What’s the only thing standing between an innocent child and a happy, fulfilling life? Answer: You. The answer is you. Reward: You’ve received a Gold Asshole’s Box!

It’s the Son Who Fell. The Sinner, Resurrected. The Bringer of Disease, Bringer of Salvation. The Ender of All Blasphemy. It’s the calamitous, rapturous, and ultimately hazardous master of the life-death boomerang. It’s Lazarus-A-Bang-Bang!

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

...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

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.

Donut told me about your dumbass idea to use one of your own bones or whatever to get out. People have bones for a reason, Carl.

He rushed up and chomped her directly on the nose.

You know what, Carl? I’ve decided something,” Donut said, finally speaking. She released Mongo, who squawked and started investigating this strange, new world. “Yeah, Donut?” “I think they’re right about you. I think you’re crazy. Like, not a little weird crazy. Not guy who eats cereal without milk crazy. But crazy, crazy. Straitjacket crazy.” I took the cat into my lap, and then I pulled her to my chest. She purred heavily into my ear.

She saw something too many parents miss. This petite, timid child wasn’t a reflection of herself. She was something much more wondrous. She was an unwritten story, one that could end up anywhere. A story where neither of the parents were the main character.

If it used to be okay, but it’s not okay anymore, then maybe you should do something about it. Don’t compare your circumstances with how they were yesterday. Look at how they were years ago. We’re supposed to be making the world… the universe… a better place for our children. If it’s not better, if you’re dealing with cruelty, with neglect, then you should do something about it. So, yeah. Fuck ‘em. Fuck King Rust and his asshole child. If you’re unhappy with your government, then kick them out and set up your own, one that represents the people’s best interests. You shouldn’t have to put up with some loser who’s going to take the people’s money and waste it on games, especially when those games entail killing people weaker than him with little or no real danger to himself. What a pussy. That’s my opinion.

Bad Llama. Level 3. It’s a llama, but it’s bad. If he were human, he’d be covered in prison tattoos and would be hanging out in front of the Circle K hitting on 14-year-old girls. They might be willing to sell you something if you have good stuff to trade. You won’t want to get hit by their spit.

But the truth is, when people are really given the opportunity to be something else, and that change is real and permanent, most opt to stay the same. They get scared. Even if there’s an obviously better choice, it’s terrifying to take that leap. And if that something else is a major change, there’s always a learning curve. Sometimes it’s better to stay in familiar skin.

I know. What we went through just now was only a taste of what’s coming, especially on the ninth floor. It’s going to get worse before it gets better. We’re going to lose more friends. We’re going to have to do some pretty horrible things just to survive. So I need you to keep that mask on. But one day... One day you’ll find yourself someplace safe and without worries and without everyone watching, and it’ll just fall right off. And it will hurt. You will cry for Firas and Gwen and Yolanda and Brandon and everybody else we’ve lost along the way, and you’ll be glad you had it on the whole time.

Donut took a breath and started to sing: “Good girl, good girl, you’re a good girl, my princess. “You’re like a root beer float. Oh yes, oh yes. “I’d take it all back and never let you win. I wouldn’t do it all over again. “I love you. I love you. I’m sorry, my princess. “All eyes on me. “All eyes on me.

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.

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.

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.

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,

At least you two are back together now,” Donut said. “And you got a nice box out of it. I know you find it unpleasant, Carl. But you being stubborn about this is causing everything to be more dangerous. We have to kill these things anyway, so if the AI wants you to kill in a certain way, I don’t see why it matters. This is just like one of those agility courses that Miss Beatrice used to insist I complete at all the regional cat shows. I did not like doing it, and I never ribboned of course, but I knew if I did well, I would get an extra brushing that evening. We are all prostitutes in one way or another, I suppose.

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!