It was a rainy Saturday night. 1973. The Big Apple. I was stumbling back to my motel room after a hard night of drinking, gambling, and ingesting copious amounts of pipe dope and hunk. In my altered haze, I walked into the wrong room, and saw a man hunched over in the corner, babbling to himself. Nothing new in this town, but something about his ramblings piqued my interest.
"... Jam... gotta jam that wind... you're in a famine if you ain't jammin'..."
I grabbed the man by his shoulder, and spun him around.
"Hey, buddy, you on that hunkadunk or something?", I asked.
He looked me square in the eye, and grinned.
"Wanna jam?"
He walked over to his television and began messing with some sort of device underneath. A "New Geo", or something, if memory serves. All I know is, I blacked out right then and there, as pipe dopers tend to do. When I woke up, I found myself riding a donkey through Manhattan, and - wait, that's another story. Sorry. Anyway, I woke up with some kind of remote in my hand, and vague memories of flashing colors and a voice yelling something that sounded like "DETROIT".
The man was next to me, chanting "Welcome to the jam! Welcome to the jam! Welcome to the jam!" over and over. I couldn't see his face, so I tapped his shoulder.
"Hey. Guy. You okay? Fuck, man, sorry I crashed on you like that."
He turned toward me, and I pissed myself for the third time that night. His face looked like some kind of futuristic frisbee.
"What... what do you want from me, man?", I asked in a panic.
"I need about tree fitty", he said.
It was about that time that I noticed he was a giant crustacean from the Paleolithic era.
"Dammit, Loch Ness monstah! I ain't giving you no tree fitty!"
He glared at me reproachfully and swam away.
Long story short, that's my first experience with Windjammers. Pretty cool game, that.
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