The Dungeon Anarchist's Cookbook (Dungeon Crawler Carl, #3)

by Matt Dinniman

You have bought a home! It’s every man’s dream to someday own a place where he can fap in peace.

New achievement! Martha Stewart! You used a workbench to craft for the first time. The next thing you know you’ll be fashioning bottlecap earrings, drinking oat milk, and selling your ugly crap on Etsy while you wax poetic on Instagram about your “journey.”

It looked like something used in a Satanic ritual mixed with the text from Frodo’s One Ring. It

Hello, Crawler. As you’re about to find, this is a very special book. If you’re reading these words, it means this book has found its way into your hands for one purpose and one purpose only. Together, we will burn it all to the ground.

This train is running on dead babies. Holy crap that’s fucked up.

Sheol Brick If Santa gives coal to the regular naughty kids, he’d probably give this stuff to history’s greatest villains, like Hans Gruber and the guy who invented those shoes with the individual toes built in.

I was alive. Not only was I alive, but I’d stolen a train. I had stolen a goddamned train.

The Babababoon is the king of idiotic chaos. This exclusive mob was created by taking a standard earth baboon and crossing it with the population from a Florida jail drunk tank.

CrackJack was a cock. CockJack.”

HOW MANY LOTION CONTAINERS DOES ONE GREMLIN NEED? I CAN’T IMAGINE HIS WIFE WAS A VERY GOOD COOK CONSIDERING HOW MUCH TIME HE OBVIOUSLY SPENT UP HERE.

Madison’s real name was probably something like Jennifer or Ruth, but she had it legally changed to something more trendy right around the same time as her divorce. After multiple rounds of breast augmentation, Pilates, and labiaplasty, Madison has emerged as a new woman. She don’t need no man. While only a human resources associate—after all, she started her career late—she still walks the world with new confidence. She won’t tell this to any of her friends at her book club, but she relishes the power she has over the other Iron Tangle employees. She feels an almost sexual surge of gratification when she tells those dwarves that overtime is mandatory.

I DON’T LIKE THIS LADY. SHE’S ONE OF THOSE PEOPLE WHO IS REALLY MEAN BUT DOESN’T THINK THEY’RE MEAN. Carl: No kidding.

Once weaned, Bea would be taking two of the kittens and Donut would be returned to her parents who would try to sell her as a show-quality breeder.

I don’t care if you get another cat, but why do you have to give Donut away? Do you know how much money she’s going to sell for, Carl? She’s a former international grand champion. She’s past her prime. I don’t understand what you’re not getting about this.

My suspicions had been correct. They never turned this into a real place. There were no families. No wives or children. No food boxes with a touch of fish. It was all made up. All false memories.

Judges for these pageants are usually a mix of ultra-alpha males and former contestants who are well past their prime. These women are oftentimes referred to as “roasties.” A roastie is common human parlance due to their genitals being irrevocably damaged by multiple sexual partners. These roasties are honored and desired only by the male beta members of society, as evidenced by my recent trip to an Arby’s-themed saferoom.

While you’ll never be as amazing as the greatest, most beautiful wrestler of all time—Christopher Alan Pallies—you will look pretty snazzy when you wrap this bad boy around your waist.

Elle: I think the mushroom guy shit himself.

In stage three, this mob’s form has changed, and it bears very little resemblance to its original self. Kind of like how all you humans did after you finally got out of quarantine.

It’d blown from the inside out, like a water balloon filled with Beefaroni.

Blood erupted out of her. Gallons and gallons of it, flying in every direction. It just kept coming and coming, an impossible amount. We all cried in surprise. I was blasted in the face, getting bukkaked by the fetid, stinking liquid.

“Yeah, not helping. Jesus fuck. Nobody can follow this.”

“If I touch you with my hand, you will experience excruciating pain throughout your entire body that will cause you to lose control of your bladder and bowels.”

The gods are invulnerable except on the 12th and above floors. They are strong. They kill everything. And there ain’t a damn thing you can do about it.

the three types of summonings. All three require a physical vessel. Usually a mob. There are celestial boons, which is when a worshipper prays to a god, and he comes to fight for his worshipper. There are indentured summonings, where a powerful mage summons the deity to fight for him for a short time. This is against the god’s will, and they are usually pissed when it happens. And finally there are involuntary summonings. That’s when some poor fool accidentally summons the god because of some trap or spell or just bad luck. The gods are usually pissed about this one, too, and what’s worse, they arrive untethered, which allows them to smash everything in sight.

Don’t trust deities under any circumstance. Just stay the fuck away. That’s my advice.

The gods and goddesses are Soul Armor. So when the aliens inhabit the bodies of the gods, they do so like the Intellect Hunters, the Scree, and the Valtay. The aliens are wearing the gods like clothes. That means they can, in theory, be removed with a successful cast of any spell designed to remove biological armor, such as Take That Shit Off and Laundry Day. You’d have to first defeat the invulnerability, of course.

Mordecai: A deity involuntarily summoned lasts as many seconds as the level of the vessel plus as many seconds as the god’s level. Grull is a sanctum-tier deity, which means he is level 250. Mantaurs are level 40, so it would be for a total of 290 seconds.

Once he’s summoned and then unsummoned, you can bring him back right away. There’s no cooldown. You can also steal him from one summoning to a second summoning. So if he’s captured in a sigil, and a worshipper summons him again via a different means, the god will break his containment and move to the new vessel. This… this is very important to know. I learned it the hard way. The hardest way possible.

with an angry streak as long as a horse’s cock, Taranis worries his son may not be the best choice to rule the heavens.

I hope you said your prayers and brought the lube, because you about to get fucked from here to eternity.

I know the audience was split on the last floor’s layout, with so many complaining about how complicated it was. They won’t be able to complain about this floor being complicated, that’s for sure.