James Ramsay gave us:
Which is Droyne for "Ramen and Whipsnade."
Euch'nal loensek parmsh
Literally : Check your wallet
There is a theory that Fred Ramen and Laren Whipsnade are just the human forms of two mischivious beings of great power.
The theory goes on to say that they take other forms.
Mr. Ramen as has an interest in poetry
The last words of MAJ Augustus Fink-Nottle, late Supply Officer Whipsnade's Irregulars, as recorded by a shoulder camera left on by an unknown trooper. Fink-Nottle was killed scant minutes later in a bizarre, and not fully understood, accident involving the simultaneous discharge of nearly 100 gauss rifles. Stray electrical charges due to the poor laundering of field issue socks is the best current theory. Litigation against the 3867th Armoured Field Laundry (Mobile) is pending.
The "G:T LEW" publication is little more than a mish-mash of old wanted posters, mugshots, and security camera stills. Nothing in it is really new and most of the materials can be found and copied at any corner Imperial X-Post Office.
AFAIK, the only new item in the book is a series of stills showing the Rotound Reprobate washing out a pair of socks and stealing change from the Tivoli Fountains on Terra.
"Equal Time for Fred Ramen!"
The talented Mr. Ramen has submitted the proofs for his "Nasa Sutra 5700" publication. FWIW, Dorothii Lemuur figures prominently in the work. Mr. Ramen also has a Vilani cookbook in the works, several screenplays optioned to the MYMINES, Ltd. media division, an on-going set of memoirs, and, of course, the wildly popular juvenile detective series "Shgapgunshusgis Dru".
All of these items can be purchased at Im-Azon.com.
Referee: the infamous Larsen E. Whipsnade and Fred Ramen are recruiting adventurers to help them make their next "Road To" holovid. Their destination can be almost any world in the Imperium, provided it is unpleasant to visit.
Once their, however, the mission will turn out to be even more hellish than anticipated. The complications are up to the referee, but should severely test the PCs. A partial list might include: P*r*tes, mercenaries, hostile aliens, friendly aliens that suddenly become hostile, corrosive/insiduous/exotic atmospheres, vacuum worlds, coming too close to a star, being too far from a star, or misjumps. No matter what, the PCs are expected to tape Ramen and Whipsnade, who will mutter something about "the Method" and the cost of holocrystals on today's market. Being a Whipsnade/Ramen production, the PCs can expect intervention by some law enforcement personnel at some point, as well as a visit by Ark Ramsey and his MYMINES, INC. goons--er, citizens.
Larsen Whipsnade in action:
The noise of the barstool breaking rouses my charecter from the book he's reading, "Dulinor the Dragonrider of Pern meets Jack Ryan and Dirk Pitt". He lifts his head to see a brawl beginning and reacts far more swiftly then an observer would think a grey headed fat man could. Reaching into his shabby, black, swallow tail dress coat, he tosses a few Iphigenia One CrImp coins on the bar, tosses off the amount remaining in his glass of Clampett Flu Serum (neat with water back), crams a rather battered boater on his pointy head, and begins to sidle towards the door.
Only a few steps from freedom, he trips over an unconscious figure bleeding from the nose and both ears. Apparently the poor chap has been struck by any one of a number of articles of furniture now flying about.
After taking the fallen warrior's pulse and peeling back his eyelids to check for pupil dialation, my charecter assures himself that the fellow is truly unconscious and thus will be unware of anything going on around him.
Or to him.
My character then begins to go through the fallen fellow's pockets with a skill born of long experience. He speaks to himself in a low raspy mutter.
"Hmmm, a cred-chip, Paulie-Bag-O-Doughnuts might pay for that... quite a bit loose change and folding money, that's mine... a magkey to a room in that flophouse down the corridor, interesting... and another to a port storage cubicle, even better... knife in a forearm sheath, no thank you... a pocket body pistol, no thank you again... any rings or bridgework, nope... let's see, naw, my shoes are better than his... well, time to vamoose laddie!"
Stowing his ill gotten booty in his coats pockets, my charecter nimbly slides out of the door, straightens his hat, and waddles off purposefully towards the aforementioned flophouse. Hmmm, are those the whistles of the constabulary in the distance?
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