We took a family trip to the Birch Aquarium this morning, and on the way home we swung by Game Empire to kill some time before heading off to a wonderful sushi lunch. There it was, back with the rest of the WFRP titles: Children of the Horned Rat.
I picked it up, stroked the cover, and browsed through the tome, admiring it. I showed it to my wife. I showed it to my son. Then I wiped off the drool I'd unconsciously left on the cover (heck, that's almost as good as an autograph) and put it back on the shelf with its companions.
It looks good. Speaking from a GM's standpoint, it'd be one of those books I'd buy if I didn't already have several copies earmarked for delivery to my front porch (I hope).
The goons across the way are having one of their profanity-laden hip-hop screaming drink-to-excess talk-too-loud laugh-like-buffoons-at-everything parties today. Keri and JD, you know exactly what I'm talking about. It's days like today that make me wish I could cast silence. Or fireball.