The most epic Pink Mohawk moment I have ever witnessed I cannot take credit for: Enter BLASTO!, one of the best characters I've had the pleasure of playing with.

BLASTO! was a Troll Clown who was a member of the Scatterbrains. The only word he would speak was BLASTO!, communicating though variations in pitch and inflection. "Blasto? Blasto blasto. Blasto!" He drove a stolen Ice Cream Truck that had it's sound system wired into the speedometer and playing In the Halls of the Mountain King.

We were looking for a way to break into a building, and hit upon the fantastic idea of using the Scatterbrains as distraction. We financed their construction of a full sized trebuchet, and helped them create a "cream pie" to launch that was primarily composed of C12.

This poor corp sees a huge pile of the most crazed mental patients rolling a full sized trebuchet and giant cream pie up to the building, but didn't want to send any of their security on the suicide mission to try an stop them. So the trebuchet fires, the "cream pie" detonates, and an entire wall falls down.

At this point we came to the realization that this didn't actually help us on our run, and in fact we now couldn't get into the building. We failed the run, but filled ourselves so full of Win that we didn't really care. BLASTO!'s response? A very satisfied "blasto."

... You left off the fact that as I recall you were interrupting a Luau on a Hawaiian beach. Still makes me chuckle evilly to this day ;-}

I honesty have no memory of what was going on. You might want to add an Albino Pink Mohawk moment for the first death of Jack, you evil bastard. Hooo, that was fun.

Well, i got to play my new favourite Troll-Archer again today.
In a Matter of Minutes, i had showed down a container on top of a moving car which was passing by underneath a broken bride, had jumped not onto but INTO a Truck because i had looked up knassers WHAT WOULD SAMURAI DO just shortly before. And ripped off the head of some nameless NPC that was going by on the side of said truck with basically my bare hands . . because he was on a motorcycle, and my Troll with STR12 and Plastic bones was firmly rooted into the truck and just punched his hand out to the side while the motorcycle was going by . . basically a closeline from famous world wrestling federation antics . . and just because really good luck with rolling the dice, this actually more or less was and went off JUST AS KAIKAKU . . well, aside from my troll crashing THROUGH the roof top of the truck and INTO the Truck instead of simply landing ON TOP of the Truck to shoot around with his Shotgun . . but still, much fun ^^

scene: otaku had to infiltrate a school and locate a target for extraction. Run was a setup to get her in place for a capture (long long story). Team is all inside the hall staring out at the capture unit of about 12 mercs with mostly non-lethal weapons.. Team has improvised weapons mostly, a couple managed to sneak in puzzlers but that's it.

Unknown to the rest of the group said otaku had a contact... the leader of the red hot nukes... who helped her with a surprise in case she needed it.

So while the rest of the team is discussing options, the otaku is whistling the tune to her fav old kids show (smurfs) while taking various things out of her hello kitty book bag and while the teams demo guy watches... opens her large lunch box and begins to mix the chemicals disquised as the drink and soy sause together... and then does a lot of other things that make him whimper and cringe as he watches...

She finishes and with a loud yell of "Smurf you!" she throws her pink lunch box out the door into the middle of the bad guys...

The only one that survived the explosion was the troll and he was at 1 box ... and played dead like a smart man

Awesome! I should use that sometime.

Most members of the group I GM have a history of mental illness, which, although unfortunate, has resulted in an almost infinite supply of terrible and amusing stories. One story that captures the quintessential mentality of the group is...

The group needs some capital to finance a run for which they lack the requisite tools. The tools are expensive but the run does not have an immediate deadline. Probing their contacts for anyway to acquire money in bulk, they settle upon an unsavory fellow who peddles flesh in the local markets. Due to a recent immunological malfunction in his merchandise, he finds himself short more than a few 'units'. He is paying reasonable prices for high quality product. The group is thrilled! This will solve all their problems...

Except they can not, for the life of them, figure out where to find ladies who meet this man's requirements. The group holds an emergency brainstorming session. It is decided that the group needs someone who can perform moderate biosculpting, a collection of personachip BTLs and some random young women. To achieve this end, the group splits up. The face heads over to the local medical school and gets some wannabe surgeons expelled for being junkies. As they sadly pack their possessions into boxes he offers them a fortuitous employment opportunity...

Meanwhile, a gunbunny combat monster sets off to acquire the personachips from a nasty, drug peddling Vory-type who happens to have some discount brainbenders that'll definitely make you horny and possibly turn your brain inside out. Another gunbunny assists the rigger as she steals a beat up, old ambulance, though why they want this is a mystery to me. Finally, the mage sits around and complains endlessly about the morality of selling women into slavery (he has delicate sensibilities). The group is pleased, everything is going according to plan. They prepare to meet up at their current safehouse.

The ambulance is well underway to being cosmetically refurbished. The flunked student doctors are eager to get paid and are currently enjoying some highly discounted narcotics. But alas, the gunbunny and the BTL-dispensing dealer seemed to have had a disagreement about the price and quality of the BTLs. Words and ammunition are exchanged and both parties are left feeling worse than before. The group flounders, their whole plan of abducting women from the mall has been thrown into ruin. Without the brain benders, where can they possibly find people willing to engage in a life of deviant sexual slavery?

And so it is that my group ends up in the parking lot of a gaming convention, scanning the fattest, most shameless fanboys they can find milling around with a cyberware scanner to determine if they have the appropriate qualities to satisfy their ends. As each appropriate victim is discovered, he is surreptitiously tased as he moves through the crowd. "Oh lord! Someone help," the face would cry out, "this man has had a heart attack!" The paramedics would appear almost instantly, rushing the man away on a stretcher, the ambulance vanishing into the ghetto as quickly as it appeared. By the time confused and worried friends thought to call the police nearly half a dozen fatties had fallen victim to this bizarre abduction scheme.

A few days later, with magically healed surgery scars rapidly fading, five knockout blondes were sold to a particular pimp for top nuyen. Despite being drugged and tied up in a warehouse, the pimp could not understand why the women kept grabbing their own boobs and giggling lasciviously. But, like any decent businessman, he didn't look a gift horse in the mouth (at least not while the group was looking). The group drove away with cash in hand, and it wasn't for several days before the pimp managed to decipher the bizarre ramblings of his new prostitutes.

This post has been edited by The Grue Master: Jul 12 2010, 11:56 AM

Horrible.
Efficient, but Horrible none the less . .
Especially seeing, how many of us fit into the conventin going shameless fanboy group i guess <.<;,

In a game I GM'd I had a bouncer at a club be a Cyclops who had had both hands surgically removed, and had midgets grafted on where each hand used to be. The midgets would tickle each other, and the cyclops. They would also scratch him. They pretty much acted as his hands. He would also use them as puppets and do ventriloquism. One of the midgets was dressed as a clown, the other one had his own little hand puppets that he would do ventriloquism with. They were all mind-linked through the same commlink, so they always knew what the others were thinking, and when one of them should say something.

I had a ork, borderline cyberzombie, and we needed to get into the barrens, and needed disposable transport. I joked about killing a pizza delivery boy and stealing his van. Seems you need to be careful what you joke about when you have about .05 essence and reflexes that make squirrels on a caffeine bender look slow.

While not too ridiculously over the top. We had our most pink mohawk moment last time we played.

We had just set off an explosion in a Shiawase facility (black shades up to this point) after making it into their corp hanger. Inside was a cargo plane, an armored limo, and a VIP which was a Vendetta target of one of the PCs. That PC decides to engage combat. After resolving that combat I had rushed up to a control room to close off the main hanger door to minimize the approaches that corp security could take while we finished our job in the hanger.

Our escape plan was ludicrous. At first we had thought about taking the cargo plane to escape in, but we nixed that idea due to the automated turrets around the facility. So we all loaded up in the limo, along with the VIP, and set the cargo plane to start moving in order to bust through the hanger door. The plane hits the door, starts barreling through it until the wings hit which promptly sheer off as the fuselage starts to slow down. The guy driving the limo guns it and somehow managed to make it through the wreck of the door and the aircraft. We prop the unconscious VIP up through the sunroof of the limo thinking that will help dissuade the auto-turret from firing on us. It sort of worked. The turrets targeted the engine block rather than us, but due to evasion driving the vehicle was unscathed. We barreled through a chainlink fence surrounding the compound and "launched" over a steep 10ft drop. At this point we're weaving in and out of trees (off road) at around 60mph in a limousine.

I'm surprised we didn't crash into a tree.

Edit: Heck, I'm surprised the limo was able to have any performance offroad.

Why?

because

Some people ask 'Why?'

Other people ask 'Why not?'

I would hazard a guess that when the question 'Why not?' is used, you've likely hit Pink Mohawk.

QF(TMF)T.

I thought of it and it made me laugh. Also, it really seems like this kind of thing is possible in the 6th world. One can ask why anyone would want to replace their hands with midgets. One can ask why the midgets would want to act as that dudes hands. I wonder the same thing about people who are into severe body modding IRL. I have no idea what someones motivation for doing something like that to themselves would be.

Still, that dude is a fun character to talk to. Using a midget-hand and doing ventriloquism when the midget is perfectly capable of speech. Classic!

That troll, in my game, would be referred to as a 'grue', something horrible just for the sake of being horrible, used either used as punishment or to create a brief moment of levity.

Or maybe someone decided to punish the three of them for something, and that they aren't entirely voluntary in their situation, but they've found enjoyment out of it.

As a side note, there's a nasty type of feral AI called a grue.

Sort of like China Meville's Perdedio Street Station, where this sort of thing is done as the official legal punishment for certain crimes. If you haven't read anything by him, I would highly recommend it. He is a master of the "weird fiction" genre.

I have read, and recommended, that book.

Theft of Choice is the best crime categorization ever.

That's not a bad idea. I like it. I find that sometimes in Shadowrun you really dont need to have a real explanation for something, because the player characters are never going to be friendly enough with that guy for him to want to tell them.

I, however, simple state, not ask, "What."

FTFY.

FTFY?