Let's all think about Steve.
Steve's my hero! Just look...
Screams escaped into void as the mind-scape of tortured dreams closed in on the Cretinous Crusader. Suddenly, he sees the pan-galactic, clockwork spiders crisscross the pavement of frozen mercury, tracing glorious parabolic arcs of poisonous sparks behind them, as they hang-off their plutonium, powered neurocycles, and race headlong into his cerebellum.
On the out-most periphery of his consciousness, our hero hears his name chanted by a multitude of fleshulous, sex-starved nemphoplasmahoes. "Steve
Steve
Steve," they cry out, begging for his manliness.
Unfortunately, thats when Steves alarm clock went off and he, once again, found himself waking up in a slimy pool, of the Wesson Oil that hed been using to pleasure himself with, the night before.
Just kidding! No hard feeling, eh?