Kim and Ron were both crouched behind a makeshift barricade made out of a turned over table in the final lair of Dr. Drakken. Surrounding them were a myriad of Professor Dementor’s goons, all of them armed with plasma rifles. Bolts of energy tore through the war zone.
One hundred twenty shrines, nine hundred Korok seeds, four Divine Beasts, and many nights spent running away from Stalchildren instead of sleeping, and Link still found himself getting pummeled by Calamity Ganon.
But dear reader, this is unfortunately not a wholesome story. What you are about to read observes death as a cold-hearted “fuck your parents, fuck your friends, fuck everybody” truth. Are you ready? Alright then, well fuck your parents and fuck your friends, let’s-a-go!
Ron was man of principle: he liked grease. He liked grease whether he could put it. Falling into his mouth, sliding around in his tummy, dripping down his hands, and in his most private moments, hanging onto him behind the ears.