The Obscure

Hey hey everybody. How are you all doing this fine, fine afternoon? I am as cold as a young man in an unheated second floor apartment in the middle of Rocktobre, here.
Just turned the heat on, though. Maybe someday soon, there will be warmth for me and mine.

It is tradition for Taylor to come over on Monday afternoons, Tim usually, too. I don't know if either are going to happen, as Tim has a bad case of the subdues, and Taylor's got his permit test and all. I will leave that for the fates to decide.
Meanwhile, back in funkytown...
Our hero has been feeling rather strange, an ailment that was eased but not quite cured by a bowl of piping hot chili.
While making the chili our hero's mild-mannered counterpart, "Brock Bwenhenitsyn" suffered from a momentary lapse in reason; adding just a little too much Red Hot to his bowl of delicious hispanic stew.
Creating a gateway for his nemesis, the Cayenne Inducive Runny-Nose Baron, to make his move!
BIFF! BAM! BLAMO!
and, of course, the cursory THURKALACRUNCH!

Long story short, my nose is all runny now, because all kinds of cayenne peppers were stuffed into it, and then set on fire with the heat of the Sun God's flaming loins.
I'm gonna go... sit... elsewhere.