What happened to Mixed Species .... part 1.

A.) You don't want to know.

B.) You won't believe us when we tell you.

C.) Our story will change your life.

Sometime in the spring of 2010, unbeknownst to us we were set upon by a sea change. Was it the winds from the bog of eternal stench of the "double dip rainbow" sulfites found in the foie gras wine one of Poppa nymphs made or maybe the neck of a prehistoric rhino thrusting his long dead horn miles beneath the crust of the earth in hopes of luring a worm to that sweet spot between his balls and anus? What ever it was an unexpected hiatus from our general exploits and shemanigans ensued. Through the following seasons each of us held almost as little contact with the world as we did each other.

In late spring 2010 Hairy left in haste on a rocket leaving only a note in his wake. It read “Suck your own fucking roe mayo, you downs corporate robot slutz!” The remaining earth bound Mixed Species boys though bewildered, quickly attributed Hairy’s actions to another drug crazed spaz freak session.

At the same time, Poppa’s ever growing concern for the plight of working class gamers reached a multi headed sirens fever pitch. He proceeded to roll out a fleet of mobile gamer rehab clinics delivering mead and aged under cooked meats to the work places of ren faire/larper/dm/wow crack heads experiencing withdrawals. Alternating his attire from that of Kaylee Frye (Firefly), Sorsha (Willow) and a trans Chaotic Good Elf, Poppa brought many good memories to the struggling gamer crowd hit so hard by recent economic downturns.

Narissa, shield holder of the Vulture Prince writes to Poppa:

“When I saw your dirty, rapey van show up emblazoned with the word “HUZZAH” in goats blood on the side I knew my day would soon bettereth. Never has such a beast shown me that level of unadulterated joy. Long dead are my youthful Hagrid fantasies in the wake of Poppa’s soul crushing trans-Orc passion geyser. Thrusting with the power of almighty Zeus, I was “moyster” than the ocean when you parted my seas and stole my pearl. My legs still shake like a scurvy dog with the thought of walking your plank or stank.”

That last word was hard to make out by way of a ketchup or blood stain. This is only one of the many letters we receive daily at Mixed Species HQ from his legion of ren faire/LARP/DM/WoW/gametard freakfest fans!

Poppa also makes a mean corn dog as the above-mentioned “rapey” van doubles not only as mead wagon but a fairly brutal lunch cart. Though pass on the foie gras wine, past consumers of that unknown liquid are not limited to that of Pat Robertson, Charile Sheen, Moammar Gadhafi a plethora of people wearing magic underwear and all but Corporate of the MS boys.

(to be continued next Friday!)

On another note, We're not gonna make any promises for 2011 short of that we'll be around more and plan on keep all y'all more up to date with our misadventures. Some things to look forward to will be dirty details about porking fellow etsians, art shows about arming whales, sexy felt, birdhouses and maybe a few neon monsters.