GW Is Man-Handling My Buttocks Again

The hour is late, and the creature's den is dark.  The only light in the room is the softly diffused glow of a computer monitor, a gentle square of illumination highlighting the thick clouds of smoke curling and shifting about. Amorphous tendrils of haze, thick and dense at ceiling height yet thinning towards the floor, waft slowly around the room. The pungent smelling vapors obscure the