[Middle Class American]: Quastle Doctrine:

In the land of Freedom and Fries, a man’s home is his quastle. Your god-given right to shoot whatever and whoever you like in your home shall not be infringed! Defending property with overwhelming force is what makes you American. It’s what makes you tough. And manly. And that means you’re a lean, mean invincible motherfucking machine.

+999,999,999,999,999,999,999,999 HP to your abode. Also, HP can never drop below 1.

“See?” Dick said, showing his status message to Greg. “Told ya.”

“See what? That ridiculous description for a idiotic ability for an even stupider class? Well, Dick, sorry to burst your bubble here, but I think you oughta take a closer look at that ability’s name.”

“Castle Doctrine.”

“Uh, no, Dick. It clearly says Quastle. That’s not what you just said. What the heck is a Quastle, anyway?”

“You’re just saying ‘castle’, Greg. What’s wrong with you?”

“What’s wrong with me!? What’s wrong with you!? Jacoby Mugatu was right! I feel like I’m taking crazy pills!”

“Never did approve of drugs, myself, but y’know what? To each their own, Greg. Even five-pointed stars gotta live their best life, I s’ppose. But it’s best you don’t overdo it. I’m just gonna take a little nap here.”

“YOU’RE THE ONE MAKING ME CRAZY DICK. CAN I GET AN F IN THE CHAT?”

“Now that’s an idea if I ever heard of one,” Dick said, rubbing his chin.

“What? F in the chat?”

“No. The Crazy Dick. Good name for a burger. Strong name. Patriotic.”

“Oh, well. You’re welcome.”

“Well, anyway, goodnight Greg. Best get some shuteye yourself.”

“Oh yes, sure. Take a nap while the terrifying Butch is trying to knock down your home. Well… actually, I guess if your tent’s HP can never go below one, you should be alright…. Wait. Waaiiit just a minute now! Why does your tent need such an absurdly high HP if it can never go below one? Doesn’t that just mean it’s invincible? What’s even the point?”

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“Well, Greg. Number Go Up is good, so Big Number is even better, right? Besides, Quastles are invincible, after all,” Dick replied.

“YOU JUST SAID IT!”

“Said what?”

“Quastle! Don’t lie to me, Dick! I can look up our conversation history. See? It’s right here?”

“You’re outta your mind, Greg. I clearly said castle.”

“Alright. I’m really gonna go crazy if we argue this anymore. Anyway, it’s god again, isn’t it? He messed up the blue box description. Or is this intentional? Are you two in collusion?”

But Greg’s accusation fell on deaf ears—Dick put his hat over his face and drifted off to sleep.

Meanwhile, Butch attacked the tent with every ounce of his might. The fearsome single-headed dog couldn’t remember the last time a foe had forced him to go all out like this. Over and over, he swiped. He bit. He swiped. He attacked.

To no avail. The CTTAAPIYOPPDBOH1HP stood defiantly against him, and when Dick finally finished his twelve hour nap, Butch had succumbed… to overexertion.

“Be careful, Dick! Don’t approach him! He’ll bite off your hand!”

“Poor guy’s played too much and worn himself out,” Dick said, petting the exhausted beast. “Isn’t that right, boy? You’re a good boy, aren’t you?”

“Dick, there’s no way that can possibly work—Oh my god it’s working.”

Butch whimpered, nuzzling his snout against Dick.

“That’s right,” Dick said in a voice as gentle as an angel’s. “All these horrible people, tryin’ ta kill you! What have you ever done? Just stuck here in this miserable old hole. You were lonely, weren’t you, boy?”

Butch whimpered again.

“Well, guess what, boy? I’ve been traveling this world all by my lonesome, just wishing for someone to talk to.”

“Hey!” Greg said. “Am I dead to you!?”

“What do you say we travel together?” Dick continued, ignoring the floating star. “We’ll have a grand old time in this here world.”

Awooo! Butch replied gleefully.

“How! How is this possible? If Butch could be tamed like that, don’t you think someone would’ve done so already?” Greg asked, but the status screen that popped up answered his question.

[Middle Class American]: America’s Best Friend

Dogs are smart creatures. They understand the value of being #1. Like your country. Dogs support America. Because America’s the best. And dogs are America’s Best Friend. Number One. #1.

“Excuse me!?” Greg roared. “That’s not even a description? Like, what does it actually do? That’s just a love letter to your country! Ugh. This shit’s cringe AF. Now there are two of them!”

Dick smiled, nuzzling against his new best friend. “Emperor Palpaticious once said to strike down your hatred with… uh, the power of love.”

“You just horribly butchered that quote, didn’t you?”

“Nope. I remember now. It was Captain Kirk who coined that phrase. Man climbs mountains cuz he’s in love.”