...An ominous chant rises from the oozing horde, and a huge, striped worm slinks forward....

CELIA:

You just had to say it, didn't you?


YOU:

What?! What did I say??


REFEREE WORM:

*ahem*...AS PER THE NOBLE TRADITIONS OF OUR HONORABLE FORESQUIRMERS, THE SACRED BATTLE OF PINOCHLE SHALL HEREBY COMMENCE.

PARTY A: THE STUNTED BIPED AND ITS MINISCULE COHORTS, HAVE FORMALLY CHALLENGED PARTY B: ALL OF THE WORMS, FOR SOLE CLAIM OVER THE NUTRITIVE SPOILS OF THE MARSH HAG'S DEMISE.


The worms go wild, hissing and gurgling cheers of excitement and hunger.

YOU:

Is that all? No sweat.


STAPH:

Not even a world can beat worms at their own game, dear.


REFEREE WORM:

...AND AS PER THOSE VERY SAME COMPLETELY REAL AND AUTHENTIC TRADITIONS WE ARE HELPLESSLY BOUND TO BEYOND ANY PERSONAL RESPONSIBILITY, THE LOSING PARTY SHALL BE HONORED VIA CONSUMPTION BY THE WINNING PARTY ACROSS ALL EXISTING AND POTENTIAL ITERATIONS OF THE REALITY SPECTRUM. MAY THEIR FLESH BE SWEET AND THEIR CONCEPT CORES ABSORBETHED WITH DIGNITY.


The worms simply cannot contain their enthusiasm. They whoop and shriek, flailing like an ocean of unmanned fire hoses. You could swear one of them literally explodes at one point.

MAGGIE:

This isn't all the time with you guys, is it?


YOU:

...no...?


CELIA:

Yes. Always.


REFEREE WORM:

...BUT *WHOM* SHALL IT BE!? WHOM SHALL SLITHER FORTH TO REPRESENT ALL WORMKIND IN THIS NOBLEST BATTLE OF BATTLES!?!!