Sleaze ghost

Sleaze ghost
Monster ID	1411
Locations	Dreadsylvanian Village
Hit Points	800
Attack	500
Defense	500
Initiative	25
Meat	None
Phylum	undead
Elements	sleaze
Resistance	100%
Monster Parts	head, arm, leg, torso
Drops transparent pants, Dreadsylvanian Almanac page, Freddy Kruegerand
Manuel Entry
refreshedit data

 You're fighting Fred Wood, who crushed her innards with a too-tight corset

The wind moans and whooshes through the trees around you, an endless susurration that almost sounds like words.

You stop and listen more closely, and find it definitely sounds like words. Specifically, it sounds like a a sleazy ghost describing all the things she'd like to do with you, in explicit and nauseating detail.

Hit Message(s):

She takes control of an Ouija board and spells out a pretty shocking proposition. Eek! Ugh! Argh! Oof! (sleaze damage)

She whooshes by you, creating a breeze that blows your skirt up. You're embarrassed, even if you're not wearing a skirt. Eek! Oof! Ow! Ugh! (sleaze damage)

She kisses you with spectral lips, smearing ectoplasm all over your face. Ooh! Eek! Oof! Eek! (sleaze damage)

She licks your ear with her spectral tongue. Oof! Argh! Ugh! Argh! (sleaze damage)

She pinches your <calf> with her cheeky ectoplasm fingers. Ow! Ouch! Ooh! Ouch! (sleaze damage)

She smears you top to bottom with greasy ectoplasm. Ugh! Ouch! Ouch! Ow! (sleaze damage)

Critical Hit Message:

She shapes her noncorporeal form into a crude representation of--um, let's say one of the Hole in the Sky constellations--and waves back and forth in front of you. So immature. So rude. So gross. (CRITICAL HIT!) Ugh! Ooh! Eek! Ugh! (sleaze damage)

Miss Message(s):

She takes control of an Ouija board, but can't spell the horrible things she wants to say to you.

She tries to blow your skirt up, but having your skirt blown up isn't what blows your skirt up.

She tries to kiss you with spectral lips, but you reserve the right to refuse lip service to anyone.

She tries to lick you in the ear, but you avoid the tongue lashing.

She tries to pinch your cheek, but you tell her not to be cheeky.

She tries to smear you with ectoplasm, but you avoid the smear campaign.

Fumble Message:

She tries to shape her noncorporeal form into an obscene image, but you've obscene it all before, so she goes off to plumb new depths of depravity with which to shock you. (FUMBLE!)

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After Combat

You acquire an item: transparent pants (?% chance)*

You acquire an item: Mark of the Ghost (?% chance)*

You acquire an item: Dreadsylvanian Almanac page (?% chance)*

You acquire an item: Freddy Kruegerand (?% chance)*

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Occurs at Dreadsylvanian Village.

Notes

• This monster cannot be copied.
• The Freddy Kruegerand and Dreadsylvanian Almanac page drops are not affected by item drop modifiers. They are similar to the beer lens drop and drops from crates. In particular, they can still drop after being stomped.
• The name, image, and introduction text of this monster are all randomly selected:

The wind moans and whooshes through the trees around you, an endless susurration that almost sounds like words. You stop and listen more closely, and find it definitely sounds like words. Specifically, it sounds like a a sleazy ghost describing all the things she'd like to do with you, in explicit and nauseating detail.
You walk past the boarded-up Dreadsylvanian brothel. It's deserted, but morbid curiosity compels you to look at the "menu" posted on the front window. "What on earth is the Dreadsylvanian Apricot Twist?" You wonder aloud. A voice from behind you, seemingly sighing with the wind, replies, "Oh, that's like the Apricot Surprise, only the twist is that you--" "Never mind; I don't think I want to know," you respond. "I always hated prudes like you when I was alive," the sleazy ghost behind you replies, and attacks!
You break into a boarded-over Dreadsylvanian restaurant to see if there's any food left worth salvaging. You don't find much of anything; there's nothing left in the kitchen but congealed grease in the frying station. The grease suddenly starts bubbling, and a ghost emerges from it, completely coated in greasy, oily grossness. Watch your back, and your arteries.
You sneak into a boarded-up Dreadsylvanian beauty salon to see if there are any leftover beauty products you can borrow. You find a 55-gallon drum of hair pomade in the corner, just perfect for giving your hair a few moxious spikes. You pump the hand-pump on top a couple of times, but instead of hair goo, a ghost comes out of the dispenser, dripping with the sleazy stuff!