The Guys Of Wrexus Are Upon You — Meet Señor Güsto, Viscous Vendor!

Señor Güsto is the owner / operator of  Señor Güsto's Fine Slimes, the go-to Gunspoint vendor for all your ooze-, goop-, and sludge-related needs.

Corrosive cruds?

Mucks medicinal and murderous?

Automotive alluvia?

Lascivious lubes?

Señor Güsto's got 'em all!

His petite, five-foot frame is inverse to his flamboyance.  Señor Güsto affects an outlandish Spanglish accent, gesticulating all the while with folding fan in one hand and dabbing handkerchief in the other.  (And, boy howdy, does he go through hankies, as he's perpetually dripping.  Señor Güsto blames the Grueston humidity, but nobody perspires that much.)

Señor Güsto is cagey about where, exactly, he procures his clammy commodities.  When queried, he narrows sly, twinkling eyes and mutters about "the labyrinthine Sewers Of Syzzurp".

[In Don't Mess With Wrexus: The Movie, Señor Güsto is portrayed by a CGI'd Luis Guzmán.]

CONSUME.

  

BEHOLD THE MAJESTY

IT LIVES AGAIN!!!

Give Unca Jack yer money (and tell 'im we sent ya)!!!

The Guys Of Wrexus Are Upon You — Meet Professor Morgan Mist, Organist!

 

Professor Morgan Mist, Organist

Beneath Gunspoint's standard shanty-fortress cacophony floats tones—sometimes dulcet, sometimes sonorous, sometimes jaunty, always harmonious—of Ancient keyboards.  Following them leads to an unassuming, curtain-draped shopfront known as The Organ Exchange, Grueston's premier purveyor of musical mechanisms, vocal lessons, and second-hand organs.

Both definitions apply.  Of organs, that is.

Polydactylic proprietor Professor Morgan Mist razzles (dazzles cost extra) patrons with jingles from The Long Days Ago, corny repartee, and promises of teaching YOU mastery of an instrument in six easy lessons.  And no one beats his deals on slightly-used spleens—just ask 'im, he'll tell ya!—so buy, sell, and trade your scavenged saxophones and pilferred innards at The Organ Exchange today!

The Professor is available for weddings, spawings, batty mitzvahs, and brises, though he needs a month's advance notice and an intact carton of wet-wipes as a deposit.

Little is known about The Professor.  He's clearly an undead, but his species is a mystery.  And though it seems he'd be in cahoots with the necromancers of The Necrozone (what with their similar graverobbery pursuits and all), Mist often badmouths them... in song, even.  His diss ditties get intense.

Rumors persist that Mist's fez has either hypnotic properties (better to impart musical mastery in students...?), or an evil li'l critter living within.  But not both, because that'd be crazy.

[In Don't Mess With Wrexus: The Movie, Professor Morgan Mist is portrayed by Crispin Glover.]

Don't Mess With Wrexus — Headstone World

  

Located about five miles north of Gunspoint up the blasted Die-45 freeway, Headstone World is Grueston's premier provider of monuments and memorials for the living impaired.

Sure, ya could git that traditional marker of stone or li'l bronze placard with yer name all tasteful and dainty... but why not splurge for an inflatable, skydancing tube-spook to hex any that dare spit, piss, or worse on your grave?  Or an ensorcelled effigy of skull, bone, and Thangs Man Was Not Meant To Know?

Want yer eternal (temporary?) resting place awash in day-glo and neon like Saint Rob Zombie's fever dreams?  They can do it!

Want fog machines and spoooooky ambient audio for convenient monster mashes, bashes, and / or champagne jams?  Easy!  ¡No hay problema!  Không vấn đề!

Want caged go-go ghouls suspended over yer tomb to shimmy ya into Oblivion?  Only an upcharge away!

Convenient payment plans available in alllllll the currencies:  corn-squeezins, fat stacks o' toilet paper; teeth; firstborns; souls.  Or even have yer not-yet-interred corpse work it off, reanimation-style, fer only the teensiest timeframe of a year or ten.  Whatever works best for yer kinfolk's budget!

Buy today, and git a free dashboard batquarium!  Supplies are limited!

(Please note that Headstone World is operated by the necromancers at the ruined campuses of the combined Commonwealth Institute Of Funeral Service and The National Museum Of Funeral History, aka The Necrozone.)

Neon Lords Nonsense

 

Neon Lords Of The Toxic Wasteland is one of my favorite thangs right now, blending '80s kitsch and '90s gnarliness with ALL THE CAFFEINE and straining the resultant post-apoc slop through the departed "Macho Man" Randy Savage's jockstrap.

Here's some PCs I'm dying to try.  Stats rolled as-is per the rulebook!

Mutants In The News — "ZOMBOARS!!!" Edition

Fascinating news on the xenotransplantation (such a fun word to type!) front, as pigs are yet again proven to be a wonderful, magical animal.

Bonus:  There's an additional link about how swine are aiding human love connections.

IT'S SWINE TIME, BABY!

Meet Corman!

 

This is Corman, an intelligent and telepathic otyugh trenchmouth.

They live in a hollowed out pit beneath four porta-johns stationed outside an Ancient spookhouse attraction, which warped into a legitimately haunted megadungeon after The Thunderkiss.

Think I'm gonna make them a mascot / patron / arch-enemy round these parts!

Found In The Wild

 

by Brian Kesinger (https://www.briankesinger.com/)

"Don't Mess With Wrexus" Redux

Hola amigos.  How's it hangin'?  I know it's been a long time since I rapped at ya, but a lot's been going down in this part of town.  But it's boring and no bueno, so forget I said anything.

Anyhow...

I'm trying to un-rust the ol' gaming gears and do something with Goodman Games' post-apoc gonzofest setting, Umerica.

Good, good stuff.

It combines the Dungeon Crawl Classics chassis with the sensibilities I adore, and I'm adding all my fave inspirations (pictured below) to the brew.

Intro campaign flavor text follows!

Version 2.0!

The One That Started It All

***

Don’t Mess With Wrexus Redux

At 11:59:59 pm on December 31^st, 1999, the world ended.

Bombs dropped.

Reactors popped.

Seas boiled.

Continents roiled.

Phages bloomed.

Radiation 'shroomed.

Toxic waste erupted.

Gene pools corrupted.

Locusts molted.

Apes revolted.

Acids rained.

Mankind insaned.

The moon broke.

The old gods awoke.

And that’s when things got really bad.

For magic thrived and dinosaurs revived.  Monsters unhid and aliens invade-ed.  Kaiju stomped and demons romped.  Angels fell and The Dead rose from Hell.

—

The old-timers call it Judgment Day; others, Y2K.

More names abound:  The Flush.  The Thunderkiss.  The Reckoning.  The Bigger Bang.  The Great Mistake.  Even TEOTWAWKI.

But the past isn’t important beyond what you can scavenge from the burnt-out malls; what you can refurb from the rusting junkyards; what you can summon from the irradiated graveyards.  Toilet paper and gasoline, bullets and beer:  these are more valuable than all the gold in the cosmos.

Welcome to The Blighted States Of Nightmerica.

Hope you survive the experience.

(And if you don’t?  There’s always undeath!)