I’ll take a laser gun, or some magic spells. Real, thrilling sorcerous powers that be, from my fingertips – BLA-BLAT-BLAT-BLAT it’s called an onomatopoeia for a reason, it’s exactly what it sounds like, slapping big, fat gorillas upside their big, fat sleepy heads and running towards victory, gorillas en route.
“I feel stupid,” says this one gorilla, following you to treasure, or some big fight:
“I feel so stupid, I was sitting there, sleepy, digging crust out of my gorilla eyes with gorilla fingertips all black or whatever color of gorilla I am, like this,” and the gorilla looked down at one hand he opened up before his eyes, as he continued running with his remaining limbs.
His hand! POWER! A magic spell was beginning to form in the crux of his metacarpis, bros, alliteratively. I mean, he now had the power to jump 400′ but nobody continued caring, and this gorilla died all alone while cold and curled up in the snow. No one remembered his name. He didn’t even have a name, and no one had bothered to find out.
He was brought back to life later on. It was just a joke, this whole thing, because it was dude’s birthday. The gorilla was in on it.