
Commentary from Flippy (your trapped narrator)
adjusts imaginary director's beret while glaring at script
Look, I'm supposed to be narrating B-movie horror, not... whatever aquatic meditation retreat this is becoming. The Stream Warden apparently emerged when some construction bros upstream totally harshed the creatures' vibe. Now it's out here playing Switzerland between tentacle monsters and disc golfers like some kind of swamp diplomat. Because nothing says "classic horror" like conflict resolution through interpretive water dancing, am I right? What's next, anger management classes for the Creature from the Black Lagoon?