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Jan Jansen Interaction


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Here are some of Jan Jansen's interactions with the player and other npc's, I'm not done with the game yet, so hopefully there is more to come.... (Amok is the name of my Character)


Jan- Ah, the smell of adventure is nigh! Or is that the ale spilled on the floor? You know, come to think of it, there’s not too much difference between the two. One usually follows the other, if you take my meaning. Unless you happen to be Uncle Prebar, who took a milk bath before an adventure. Ahhhh, poor Uncle Prebar. If it weren’t for those baths he might still be with us

Aerie- Why, what’s wrong with milks baths?

Jan- Well, nothing… unless you happen to be attempting to sneak through a dungeon filled with hobgoblins and you have a few dozen cats noisily following the smell of sour milk and meowing all the time. Tsk. Well, at least the smell prevented them from eating him. The hobgoblins, I mean, not the cats.


Yoshimo- Excuse me, good gnome. I’ve a question that I’ve been meaning to ask for some time. These flash-bombs of yours…

Jan- Yoshimo! Please! ’Jan Jansen’s Flasher Master Bruiser Mates’. They have a name!

Yoshimo- Off course. These ’Bruiser Mates’ that you construct…might I learn how to use them?

Jan- I won’t lie to you Yoshimo. There is an exellent chance that you’ll lose both of your arms. Perhaps even your face.

Yoshimo- If one is not willing to take risks then one is not much of an adventurer.

Jan- Well said! As Auntie Kylie used to say, ’Yeah. It’s risky. But they’ve got gelatinous cubes!’ I suppose it wouldn’t hurt to have you try your hands at a few. Here give the dial a twist and throw it.

Yoshimo- Mmm…perhaps I shall wait to perform such a feat. This…bomb…looks most unstable. I am surprised they do not explode in your pack, good gnome…

Jan- Bite yer tongue! This is my best and most potent recipe, i’ll have you know. Aunt Kadie, herself, helped me mix this batch up, and I’ll not have you disparaging her good name.

Yoshimo- I meant no disparagement, Jan…but I think i’ll leave the bombing to you, for now.


Yoshimo- Jan. I’ve heard that your are an inventor of sorts. Where do your interests lie in the field?

Jan- I’m open to all creative muses. Lately I’ve been working on a turnip peeler. A magical device, of course, designed to peel 100 turnips per minute. I’m really quite close to a breakthrough. Naturally, however, it does cost well over 100 gold pieces per day to run. But think of the uses!

Yoshimo- Why, turnip peeling, for one.

Jan- Exactly! You’ve got a knack for logical thinking, Yoshi. You could go far in the service of Gond.


Jan- So Valygar, how do you like being a ranger?

Valygar- You are going to tell me another of your insipid stories, aren’t you?

Jan- Well if you’re asking, then yes. It happens my Aunt Petunia is a ranger, don’t you know?

Valygar- No, I wasn’t aware that your aunt was a ranger. (sigh)

Jan- She had the standard followers: a hydra, a shadow dragon and a solar. She had the dragon trained to roll over, play dead and fetch dwarfes. She called him Blackie, I belive. Loved to run and play and lie in the sun.

Valygar- Of course.

Jan- Long and far she’d roam, with Larry the Solar always at her side, fighting evil, mocking druids and the like.

Valygar- Mmm hmm.

Jan- Anyway, my point is that Petunia and Larry were out for a stroll in the woods. She was wearing her fruit armor, which was the style at the time, you understand. Aunt Petunia always kept up with the style.

Valygar- It goes without saying.

Jan- Larry had a nasty case of the plague…

Valygar- Oh, is it that time already? I’m afraid I have to take point now. You know how Amok is with keeping on schedule

Jan- Very well. We’ll continue this story at the next opportunity.

Valygar- I can’t wait.


Jan- That wasn’t the first time I met a god.

Minsc- Tiny has met a god before this?

Jan- It was Oghma, the god of knowledge. Although I can’t say I really met him. I suppose, as he was drunk, and fast asleep in cousin Roffer’s back lawn. Or perhaps I should say On cousin Roffer’s back lawn… he was a giant of an avatar, sprawled out and snoring. I wonder how how you get a god drunk?

Amok- I truly doubt that happend, Jan.

Jan- But it’s true! Someone had drawn a moustache on him and yanked his underwear clear up to his shoulderblades. No idea who, but all I can think is that it must have been one hell of a party. But if you won’t belive me… well, as much as it hurts poor old Jan I suppose there’s nothing I can do about it. (sniff) Poor Jan Jansen, he’s such a liar. (boo hoo!)


Keldorn- One must maintain constant discipline and remember the four principles of virtue...that is my motto and everlasting burden.

Jan- Virtue, eh knighty?

Keldorn- Indeed, little one- ’Tis not virtuous to refer to me as ’knighty’-

Jan- Another human with his shorts in a knot. But I digress. Anyway Keldy, my mother wrote a book about virtue.

Keldorn- Did she?

Jan- Oh, yes. A book on the virtues of erotic love. "Sins of the Flesh Golem", it was kalled. Excellent sales in the paladin’s spouse market.

Keldorn A wholly inappropriate jest, jan. You should be ashamed.

Jan- It is not a jest, I will send your wife a copy, if she doesnt allready own one.

Keldorn- Never speak of my wife, gnome. Your lack of respect is appalling.

Jan- Ah, now I see. One of THOSE.

Keldorn- It is not your place to judge my affairs. You must learn to respect your leaders.

Jan- I do respect my leaders. This has nothing to do with them. This reminds me of the chapter where the paladin first makes passionate love to the flesh golem. What a beautiful scene…

Keldorn- Begone, gnome, lest my honor demand I perform acts that you shall regret.

Jan- ’Fleshy, honey,’ the paladin said. ’Yes baby?’ said the golem…


Jan- Haerry, I have an idea for a play.

Haer’Dalis- Please, Jan, my name is Haer-Dalis.

Jan- You see, Haerry, Angus the Giant Beaver is ousted from house and home by the bullywug bullies to embark on an epic quest that takes him to the next pond.

Haer’Dalis- Yes, epic. Go on.

Jan- No, no, no, this is only the beginning. Along the way, he encounters Gurgen the hormonal Moose and a friendship quickly develops between the two, seeing them through times of great trial and tribulation, though the friendship also caused a great deal of trial and tribulation as you can well imagine.

Haer’Dalis- What, if I may ask, is a moose?

Jan- Too late, I’m already onto great trials and tribulations--Think of it Haerry, such broad and vital themes. Anyhow, the moose catches a curious and ultimately fatal disease and Angus as a final testament to their friendship, enshrines within a wooden tomb in the middle of the lake, before throwing himself in the lake to drown.

Haer’Dalis- Jan, beavers can’t drown. They spend half of their life underwater.

Jan- There’s no point in arguing, Haerry. It’s a true tale and if you have any doubt, you can ask my great-aunt Apo Pettiwick, who never married. It all happend in her back yard when she ran the farmer’s market that sold turnips up in Thundertree, just upstream of Neverwinter.

Haer’Dalis- Pray I never go there, Jan. Pray I never go there.


Mazzy- Jan, I find you quite the enigma. This adventure has yilded us a crop of useful magical items and yet you turn your considerable powers to the never-ending quest to create the perfect turnip peeler.

Mazzy- How can someone who’s so clever be so shortsighted?

Jan- Well, Mazzy, you’re really asking two questions there. My shortsightedness was passes on to me by my dear departed father. I was born with the condition and I’ll thank you not to stare! As to your other question, it takes me back to my carefree days as a deckhand on a turnip mechant galleon. We sailed for distant Waterdeep, we did, braving foul seas, foul tempers and a desperate band of turnip pirates.

Mazzy- You are mentally incapable of answering a straight question, aren’t you gnome?

Jan- ’Twas on a cold winter’s night near the beginning of the Great Underwar Shortage that we set sail. I danced naked on the poop deck, which was the custom at the time. Well, my nose and other extremities were getting a bit frosty so I gathered up the tatters of my poor, abused, underwear and headed to the crow’s nest.

Mazzy- Shutup, shutup, shutup, shutup!!!

Jan- Well, I never! You did ask, after all.

Mazz- SHUTUP!!!!


Jan- Minsc! Look out! Behind you!

Minsc- Where? He who sneaks on Minsc loses teeth!

Jan- C’mon Boo! Quickly, come to jan!

Minsc- Stop it! Boo is not for you tiny! You’ll hurt him!

Jan- He likes me. Gnomes are far cuddlier then oafish humans.

Minsc- No, I know best when talking to Boo, If you could hear his wishes you would agree, but you cannot. The words of Boo are for Minsc alone.

Jan- You can’t fault a fellow for trying.

Minsc- I can and will. And another thing; no more sneaking Boo crackers. He is getting rather portly, and the crumbs make for an itchy bedroll.


Jan- So you come from the winged folk, do you lass?

Aerie- Yes--Yes, sir.

Jan- No need to be formal, lassy. Call me Jan. I was recently reminded of my ex brother-in-law, Burt Wunderkind, fabulous griffin-baiter.

Aerie- A… A griffin baiter?

Jan- Yes of course. It’s something of a cottage industry amongst Amnish gnomes. Quite simple, I’ve heard. You merely tame a couple of wyverns and WHOOSH, tear through the sky to fling insults at the hapless griffins.

Aerie- Oh, I didn’t think you could tame a wyvern.

Jan- Really? Everyone I know has a pet wyvern. Taming wyverns is child’s play, litterally. As children, we’d tame wyverns. It’s easy since they have such an affinity for turtles. Back in the old days it used to rain turtles on even days and frogs on odd days.

Aerie- Why. That’s ridiculous!

Jan- That’s what I thought until the drought hit. There were ornery wyverns everywhere. After a rich diet of turtle mash, you couldn’t expect them to merely accept bacon without eating a few human nobles, now, could you?

Jan- Of course, by then, Burt was such a succesful griffin baiter that the authorities just couldn’t find it in their hearts to make us leash the wyverns. The loss of the noble class is truly a small price to pay to maintain the continuity of such a fine sport. There’s nothing like the look of incredulity on a griffin’s face to keep one’s spirit up.

Aerie- I… I wish I could fly. I haven’t since I was a--since I was a kid.

Jan- Don’t you worry, lass. If Burt ever pops by, we’ll get you up in the air faster than a chicken with one of Jan Jansen’s Flasher Master Bruiser Mates tied to his rear. Trust me, that is fast!


Amok- What do you have to offer my party?

Jan- A fast mouth, a handy shot with a crossbow and all the illegal machinery that I can invent.


Jan- Let me tell you a story. Once upon a time there was a short man named Jens who lived a large community called Akata. Young Jens was a poor man and an orphan. He did what he had to do to survive. Things such as juggling, miming and arm wrestling ogres.

Amok- Arm wrestling ogres?

Jan- Yes, why not? Anyway, poor Jens was tickling chickens one fine summer day when he was approached by an evil half-orc by the name of Trixy. Trixy began beating the completely innocent Jens senseless just because the chickens had told many lies about him earlier.

Jan- Jens got a beating but that very night the chickens were butchered, plucked and eaten by an ornery dragon who later used Trixy to clean his teeth


Jan- Well by Aunt Petunia's beard! A ghost from my past? Looking to buy some turnips, perhaps?

Amok- Thanks but no thanks. I have sought you out to have you join my party

Jan- Adventuring, eh? I don't know... I'm making close to 6gp per week in this exciting field of black-market veggies. What would people say?

Amok- If it makes you happy, you can tell your friends that I've pressured you into joining.

Jan- As Uncle Scratchy used to say, 'A true friend is a bald-faced liar'. Let us depart then, my new companion. I've an itch to pepper a few hobgoblins with crossbow bolts.


Jaheira- You look quite interested in the local flora, Jan.

Jan-  Oh, yes indeed. It reminds me of my Cousin, Tyllie Fleetknees, and the garden she had at the foot of a dryad tree in the Forest of Wyrms. I tell you, she went up expecting well-aerated soil and did she get a surprise? Oh yes indeed! Why, I remember it like it was burned into my memory with a flaming stick, which was very close to the truth actually...

Jaheira- Jan.

Jan- Er...yes?

Jaheira- Not now.

Jan- Ahh...of course.


Jan-  Ah, Minsc! 'Tis truly a beautiful day, no?

Minsc- Weather is nice, maybe.

Jan- It is day to get out into the world, breathe in the fresh air.

Minsc- (grunt)

jan- Too bad, though...

Minsc- What is too bad?

Jan- It's too bad that I won't live to enjoy it.

Minsc- What do you mean?

Jan- Hadn't you heard, old friend. I've got the Calimshan Itch. Alas, poor Jan! (sob, sob)

Minsc- An itch? Can you not scratch it?

Jan- Only death will cure this itch. I shall not live out this day. Oh, terrible powers of the heavens! Why will you let me die without granting me a final wish? Cruel, cruel fate!

Minsc- What can Minsc do to help? A tragedy, this is! I will slay those that need slaying!

Jan- I do have one final, no. I do not wish to burden my companions with my death. My teensy-weensy wish is unimportant. Travel on, good Minsc. Carry the torch and so forth.

Minsc- It is only fair, big-nosed little one. We will do all that we can to aid you.

Jan- Truly, it is a small thing. As a child I had a pet hamster, named Spanky. Those were the only pure days in my life. Every day was perfection. Oh, the pain! If I could just hold a hamster while I die, perhaps I could capture the innocence of my youth and die a happy gnome.

Minsc- You will not steal Boo from me! I know your tricks!

Jan- Tis no trick, (cough, cough). Neverthelesss, you are correct about one thing, my oafish friend. I do not deserve happiness. Please, leave me to my excruciatingly painful death. I am close now... Spanky I miss you!

Minsc- Boo shall comfort the little dying gnome for a moment. Only a moment!

Jan- Ah, thank you, Minsc. May I have a moment alone?

Minsc- Alone? No, I draw the line... hey! Stand still! I warn you!

Jan- At last Boo is mine! I cannot believe this stupid trick worked. Come, noble hamster, a life of frivolity awaits.

Minsc- I'll throttle with your own arms if you do not return him this instant! This is no longer amusing! It was never amusing! I am not laughing!

Jan- Alright, alright. It was only a jest, Minscy. I meant no harm.

Minsc- That's right, you apologize! It's hard enough keeping Boo's roaming in check without you stealing him. Bad Jan! There will be a booting if this happens again!


Jan- So Viconia, I suppose you must be a drow, eh?

Viconia- Speak not to your betters, surface slave.

Jan- My brother, Elgar Buttercup, had skin the shade of charcoal, too. Well, technically it WAS charcoal. He died in a nasty fire, you see.

Viconia- You do love the sound of your own voice, don't you gnome?

Jan- My own voice? Heartless wench! Do you not know? I am deaf. I have never heard the sound of my own voice. I read lips... (sob)... only lips...

Viconia-  Deaf? Truly? In the Underdark the deaf are killed or used in pain threshold experiments.

Jan- I heard that! In fact, it reminds me of the time I was eaten by an avatar of Lolth. I was stuck inside her stomach with a miserable drow called Biffle Chump for days. Of course, I was forced to eat him. A matter of survival, you understand. Nothing personal. He tasted a bit like chicken.

Viconia- Amok, how is it that you travel with such a wee buffoon?

Amok- Truthfully, it all goes back to the time that Jan's cousin, Plooty Paladin-piper, got caught in a nasty flesh golem eating contest...

Jan- Aye, Plooty had a way of attracting golems. Brilliant, really. You start with a saucer of milk - golems are suckers for milk...

Viconia- I refuse to listen to this.


Jan- Greetings, everyone. Sorry, no gifts or souvenirs this time but I'll keep you all in mind the next time I'm gone. Oh, Keldorn: the gods say 'hi' and that you should wash your underwear more thoroughly. Everyone ready? Let's go adventuring.

Keldorn- Master Jansen, are you so absolutely incapable of acknowledging the seriousness of our situation!?

Jan Acknowledged and accounted for -- as serious as a turnip blight in winter. Nasty rotten thing that is... Keldorn, have you ever considered renting out your services as a turnip healer? You would be more than popular, I assure you.

Keldorn- The abilities granted me by my faith are not for sale, especially not for something as foolish and as -- as vegetal as a -- a turnip!

Jan- You remind me of a top my great-uncle on my father's side made for me as a child. You just wound it up and let it go -- it was as if it had an 'auto-wobble' setting or some such thing. So, are we ready for adventuring, everybody?

Keldorn- Oh, nevermind. I'll stand elsewhere, gnome, lest your constant talk put me to sleep.


Mazzy- All of the evil in the world cannot keep one from admiring the beauty of the earth.

Jan- Very true, lassie. You must work with potatoes.

Mazzy-How might one make that assumption?

Jan- Hmm? Oh, I thought it was obvious. Never had your pegged for a slow one, but you never can tell. Allow me to spell it out... you see, about 15 years ago I was employed by a mage of no small caliber. Golodon the Unmanned was his name. Good teeth. Nice smell. Vicious streak a mile wide.

Mazzy-This is not making any sense, Jan.

Jan- He couldn't have children, of course. Nasty cone of cold accident, you see. Regardless, his tower wasn't far from Athkatla and I managed to gain employment with the old elf for a while. Mondays were particularly amusing. Golodon would start the day off by summoning an imp. He'd usually spend 3 or 4 hours making it run around the room barking like a dog.

Mazzy- But, as it was with Golodon, he soon tired of the sport. He had a beautiful mastiff named Buffy. Her diet consisted almost entirely of imps. Imp doesn't taste half-bad when it's fried with a bit of garlic and butter. Goes well with turnips, too.

Jan- What, pray tell, does this have to do with the presumption that I work with potatoes?

Mazzy- Oh, right. So anyway, Golodon's ex-wife lived no more that 200 paces from the mages tower. My primary job was poisoning her food, though occasionally I'd have to clean up Buffy's excrement. She had managed to build quite the resistance to mandrake. Golodon's ex-wife, that is, not the dog.

Jan- It was truly a magical time in my life. I haven't been as happy poisoning someone since then. I was also, of course, poisoning Golodon on his ex-wife's behalf. She did pay handsomely.

Mazzy- Word has it that Golodon has finally kicked the bucket, if you get my drift. Died of malaria complicated by a fireball down his throat. Apparently, Golodon's old nemesis returned. Dradu or Dradeen or some such name. The old bastard would occasionally mention this enemy when he was particularly drunk. The two of them had stolen some valuable artifacts from the Gibbering Twelve.

Jan- Golodon blackjacked poor Dradunce and split with the magic. He later realized that he should have killed Dreedle and, cold-hearted fool that he was, sent assassins to finish the job. Drafeel disappeared, though his body was never found. It worried Golodon to no end.

Mazzy- Perhaps we should be concentrating on our journey, good gnome.

Jan- I can't find it in my heart to feel sorry for him. He did fire me after all. Do you know why?

Mazzy- I neither know nor care.

Jan- That was a bit rude. I take my potato comment back, missy!

Mazzy- Where in the heavens did this potato remark arise in the first place?

Jan- I don't know if I'm talking to you anymore.

Mazzy- Fine, fine! I'd rather not hear the story anyway.

Jan- If you must know, it was during my time as a mobile turnip vendor.

Mazzy- Jan, though I respect you, I must say that your are quite infuriating. Please desist, we have things to accomplish.

Jan- Twice a week I'd head out to the country to pick up my product. The turnip fields were owned by my Uncle Scratchy. Interesting fellow, by the way. Remind me to tell you about him some time.

Mazzy- Are you even listening to me?

Jan- Each trip I made, I would stop to talk to the halfling lass that worked in Uncle Scratchy's potato operation. The girl had had a very difficult life. She lost her parents to an orc attack when she was just a girl. She'd been a slave for the foul beasts until Aunt Petunia freed her.

Jan- The girl told me that, no matter how much evil she saw or had inflicted upon her, the simple pleasure of honest work and the feel of the earth beneath her feet always reminded her of how lucky she really was. Her outlook was not unlike your own, dear Mazzy.

Mazzy- A noble tale in the end, Jan, though I'm continually puzzled by your need to inflict 20 minutes of inane yarns on your listeners before getting to the point.

Jan- And that, lassie, is why you are not a consummate tale-spinner. Don't worry, I'll teach you yet.


Nalia- All this traveling is beginning to wear on me...I can't remember the last time I walked so much in a single day.'s something my Aunt should try, I think, instead of being hauled about in her gilded carriage.

Jan- Nalia, dearie, you remind me so much of Cletus Bifflelips, my second cousin, thrice removed.

Nalia- I don't think that I could be very much like a person named Cletus.

Jan- You wouldn't think so, yet here we are. You see, Cletus had a propensity for bouts of violent projectile vomiting. We'd call him, Cletus the Room Clearer Bifflelips.

Nalia- Please, Jan! This is too ridiculous, even for you!

Jan- Now just bear with me for a moment, Nali. You see, it was after one such bout that Cletus, feeling quite ill, took a painful stroll down to the local witch-woman, in the vague hope that she might have a cure for his problem.

Jan- After paying the 1000 gold piece consulting fee and vomiting in the proffered bucket, the witch gave Cletus an herbal tea, which he was to drink twice per day for a score of days.

Jan- Drinking it everyday on schedule, yet failing to notice any change in his condition, Cletus began to worry. Upon finishing his final cup of tea Cletus vomited.

Nalia- This is disgusting, Jan.

Jan- No need to force your ridiculously high standards onto poor, deceased Cletus.

Nalia- I'm sorry. His illness killed him, did it?

Jan- Actually, he's not dead. I made that part up. Well, needless to say, Cletus was somewhat angry so he went back to confront the witch. She had, of course, taken the money and left town. But in her haste to escape the vomiting wrath of Cletus Bifflelips, the witch left her belongings behind.

Jan- Cletus, at the height of his anger, swiped her entire collection of novels written by noted folklorist, Nalia de Bouche. I'll be the first to admit that revenge was not Cletus' forte.

Nalia- Honestly, Jan, that is the stupidest thing I've ever heard.

Jan- Well, they can't all be gems. 'Tis one of my favorites, however.


?- You're a gnome, aren't you? My momma says that gnomes are good for nothing other than decorating the grounds.

Jan- Actually, young one, I have an Uncle Witherjar who decorates grounds professionally. He has become known all across his hometown as the Garden Gnome, and I understand he makes quite the fair living at it. I don't know if I would like to work all those hours during the day, as Uncle Witherjar does, so I think I would have to turn down your mother's suggestion. I could always refer her to my Uncle, I suppose, although it is such a far way. He wants to spread his work amongst all the gnomes, but I don't think he's made much headway, yet. If your mother would rather decorate her kitchen, I suppose I could give it a whirl even if I haven't got the Witherjar touch.

?- Huh?


?- You! Hey you! Gnome!

Jan- Well, in some places that wouldn't narrow things down, much. I take it, however, that you are bellowing at me, good sir.

?- Yes, you! See this mighty fine sphere, here? You can have it for your very own for a mere 500 gold pieces! What do you say?

Jan- I'd say you remind me of my cousin Rintin. Grew the largest turnip one summer, larger than a house, almost. Well...larger than his house, at any rate.

Jan- He sold the whole turnip to six different people. One of them a wizard, if I remember, who thought the turnip would make a wonderful component for a lich spell.

Jan- All six of them arrived one day and poor Rintin couldn't even pull it out of the ground. Went purple from exhaustion...which actually disguised him rather well in front of the turnip.

Jan- They saw him anyway. Divided poor Rintin up into six portions, they did. Sad story. Unless you're the turnip.

?- Er...ummm...You! You over there! No, not the!


Jan- You know, this almost reminds me of the time when Uncle Scratchy got on Cyric's bad side. You have no idea the kind of snit your average evil god can get into...

Amok- We probably don't want to anger a Talos priest, Jan... best to keep your story to yourself.

Jan- You're telling me! One angry god and what do you get? The Great Underwear Shortage, that's what! You certainly wouldn't expect someone like Tyr to have that kind of wicked sense of humor, that's for sure.


?- Mister Jansen again? For the last time, government will not erect a magical anti-griffon perimeter around the city. They simply aren't a threat, so stop bothering us!

Jan- Hmph. 'Not a threat'. Your family moves to the city to get away from the griffons and then you watch Grandma Jansen get carried off by one, and what do they say? 'Not a threat'. Thpppppfffft!


Cyrando- I don't know why I dream of having the Lady Irlana for myself. She would never have me.

Jan- Now, that's not necessarily true, my friend. My cousin Adecan married a fine human woman, he did. He was of the sort that was not fine to look on, as well...but she did appreciate his sense of humor.

Jan- The lad could tell a joke to save his life, in fact. Once kept a trio of ogres laughing so heartily that they forgot to eat him. Too bad he didn't speak griffon, however...poor Adecan. I hear his last joke was a zinger, although the punchline got cut short.


If I missed something, just mail it to me