It’s a well known fact that I am an eleventh level Grillmaster, with two levels in the Searseer prestige class.  I mastered the Dual Flip and Unbreakable Tong feats at five years old and have never looked back.  Normally, my skills serve me well enough, and I can bend the briquettes to my will as well as the next guy.  Alas, today was not normal.

After shaping the sanctified flesh into delectable discs of divine deliciousness, I placed the holy hamburgers upon the heated grate….

Now, before continuing, I should mention that I am NOT skilled in all of the arcane arts associated with the grill.  This is by choice.  I’ve known grillers, even masters, whose spells have gone awry while searing.  And nothing spoils a cookout more than an angry, half-heated rack of baby-back ribs on a rampage.  Ugly stuff.

Today my shortcoming left me ill-served.  When placing the patties on the grill, I inadvertently arranged them into the shape of a Thaumaturgic Triangle.  I didn’t notice it, I admit it.  Mea Culpa.  But what’s done is done.

Anyway, I fired up the burners and the veil between planes ripped open.  Heat and fire poured through the widening rift.   A presence manifested and laughter like a crackling fire filled the garage.  And who steps forth?  This guy.

That’s right.  Imix the Firelord, the Immolator, the Flaming Scourge, the All Consuming Fire, blah, blah, fucking blah.  I swear to God, the guy manifests and spends half an hour giving you his pedigree.

Well, you can probably guess the rest.  The Paulman brooks no shit, even from outer planar entities of cosmic power.   So, while Imix the Immolator (yeah, I get it, dude; you’re the Immolator; you said it, like, ten times) prattled on about ash and fire and seared flesh and consuming the world and whatnot, I turned off the propane at the tank.  Pretty easy fix, really.  You’d think a fire lord would be a bit tougher to take out than simply turning a valve on a Blue Rhino tank.

So, off he went, promising vengeance and whatnot.  It’s kind of funny really.  The guy is all talk.  I always want to say to him:  “Why don’t you shut up and burn something already, jackass?”

Of course, he ended up getting the last word, since he sat over my burgers blathering on so long that they were charred beyond recognition.  What an asshole.

So, you know, way to go, Imix.  You’re a real badass.  The next time the meat aisle at the Kroger is considering a foray into the Elemental Plane of Fire, I’m sure this little episode will make them think twice (not).

Anyway, I was forced to take the family to McDonald’s and that’s the real tragedy here.

Looking back, the takeaways are two:  First, Imix is a wussy, and the next time I see him, I’ll snuff him like the little match head he is.  Second, take care when arranging your meat on the grill so as to not accidentally create portals to other worlds.  It’s annoying. I knew a guy who once summoned Mephistopheles while grilling a foot long hot dog.  Well, let your imagination run wild on that one.  Unpleasant.

Anyway, happy grilling. 🙂