One of the groups I DM'ed for during my undergrad years had a player we'll call "Tony" (not his

real name). Tony was a lying scuzzball who fancied himself a lad ies' man and played his characters much the same way. This would have been fine had he restricted his lies and petty larceny to the game world, but alas, he owe d money to most of the group and small objects tended to go missing around him. He was also an unreliable gamer who (when he showed up at all) would frequently play in an altered state of consciousness. The rest of the group had pretty much decided this guy had to go... and luckily, he gave me the perfect opportunity.

A bit of background: Tony's character had recently used his cheesed-out Bluff an d Diplomacy checks to seduce a sweet, naive princess into falling head-over-heel s in love with him and eventually marrying him. Being Tony, he exploited his new found royal connections as far as they'd go, and made it clear that his characte r only cared about her for the wealth and power. He even gifted her another PC's stolen ancestral amulet to show her family how wealthy he was.

Anyway, after doing a bit of adventuring, the group discovered that the villains responsible for a recent string of grisly murders were a cult dedicated to Cas, God of Spite (Heroes of Horror). After delivering pointy justice to said cult, they were looting the underground temple when Tony had one of his characteristic ally idiotic ideas:

Tony: "I'm going to take a dump on the altar." Me: "You realize what you're saying, right? You plan to defecate on the sacred a ltar of the God of Spite?" Tony: "Yeah, why not?"

So he desecrates the altar. At the end of the next session, the heroes are ridin g off towards their next adventure:

Me: "Everyone, it's Spot check time. You might also want to try a Listen check, but the DC is a lot higher." Group: *rolls terribly* Me: "Nobody notices the winged shape overhead... at least not until [Tony's char acter] and his horse are replaced with a mound of steaming dung." Tony: "I don't get a Reflex save?" Me: "Nobody in the party put points into Spot. You all have crappy Wisdom. You r olled a 2. You didn't even see the shadow until it was too late. So yeah, a drag on just shat on you from from six hundred feet." Tony: *frowns* "How much damage then, *******?" Me: "Well, it weighs several hundred pounds and fell from a great height... " *r olls* "45."

Tony: "I died from dragon shit?!"

While Tony sat there, red-faced and fuming, I calmly continued. The rest of the group attempted to dig his dead character and horse out from under the pile when one of them came across something familiar:

Me: "Alerika, you notice a glint of gold as you dig through the feces. Excavatin g a little more, your heart skips a beat as you realize it's your ancestral amul et!" Tony: "THAT WAS MY WIFE?!" Me: "Some of it was, yeah. Don't fuck with the God of Spite."

Uttering a primal shriek of rage, Tony flipped the table over and stormed out of the room, never to return. The group held it together for about five seconds be fore bursting into gales of laughter. To this day they say it was the best game I ever ran.

...yeah, I felt a little bad about that in retrospect, but the guy had it coming . If you steal my friend's phone and have the audacity to keep showing up at my gaming table, I will have a dragon fatally poop your wife onto your head, and wi ll earn the nickname Assistant God of Spite.