Skyrates?! [Absurdist, Comedic High Fantasy With Satirical Elements]

[C Ron Ickler]

The suns hung in the sky, heating the air of the Ainthadnothin'toeat district into a tepid soup. Two imposing figures wrapped head to toe in cloaks that could by no means be comfortable considering the weather slowly trudged up to the doors of the Country Crawdad Crossbar. A large magically animatronic crawdad beside the door to the crossbar jiggled to life and waggled its eyebrows.

"Hay y'all! Pleayuhsure tah hauhve yah heyur ayt thuh Country Crawuhdayd Crossbah! Ah'm Cahrl the Crahwdayud, ayund ah am juwst so peacheh keen tuh hayuve yuh heyur todahy, that—"

A large human eating eight legged bear wolf claw shot out from the bigger figure's cloak and squeezed Carl the Crawdad like he was a large grape.

"Hey nahwuh, thayt reallay hurts, thayut's nowt how yew shewd treyut a fwiend, pulease stawp, pulease, oh cawk pulease stawp I don't wawna dahy! Pulease, puleeeeease, PULEEEEEEEEEEEEASE!" the light drained from Carl the Crawdad's mechanical eyes as gears and springs shout out of his rust encased body.

The claw released the crumpled crawdad. The figures nodded to eachother and walked towards the door. They heard a brash oinking coming from inside as they lifted their legs in unison and kicked it open.

"Well hello, offic—wait a second!" the barkeep paused. "Why was Oinkers oinking at you two? You're not dressed like Gourd members."

"I used to be one," growled the brutish vocal chords of Dorma. "But I was…decomissioned."

"Okay. Can I let everyone else back into the bar then? We kind of have a policy in place for Gourd visits. Surely you understand."

"It would be better to keep this between the three of us," added the unsure yet excited voice of Thurmsabold.

"Shut the cluck up you! I'm the one in charge here!" spat Dorma, smacking Thurmsabold on the back of his hooded head.

"Ouchies!" he sobbed.

"But yes," Dorma confirmed, "It would be best to keep this between the three of us. Have you perchance been visited by a member of the Royal Guard that seems…not quite entirely aware of anything? Almost…queer? But not in the sexual way, not that there's anything wrong with that, especially considering my own sexual preferences, which are none of your business?" Dorma paused, reconsidering. "Though..she does also draws everyone she meets naked in her notebook. So, maybe she is queer in the sexual way. I'm not really sure and honestly it's probably not relevant but I got stuck on it and here we are."

"Yes…I think I know who you're talking about."

"We're looking for her. Official—er, sorry, force of habit—unofficially. She's suspected of being…eh…um…"

"A skyrate, that's what we agreed on," offered Thurmsabold.

"Don't talk over me you crumpet!" Dorma smacked him again in the back of the head. "But, yes, she's suspected of being a skyrate."

"Oh really now? She and that fellow she was with, her partner I think, said they were looking for skyrates. And witches."

"That fellow? Her partner?" Dorma balked, then looked away and muttered to herself. "Clucking Pamela. Tries to kill me then replace me all in a day." Dorma cleared her throat and turned to the barkeep. "Tell me about this partner of hers."

"Well, he looked…I don't know…salty? Had an eye patch."

Dorma twitched, remembering her own lost eye.

"And a peg leg."

Dorma twitched again, remembering her own lost legs.

"And he had a pet parrot dragon."

Dorma twitched a third time, remembering the parrot dragon she had had for a couple of months as a young girl before it succumed to parrot dragon sickness, which was really just a code phrase for her parents broke its neck because it annoyed them.

Dorma grasped the barkeep's shirt with a claw and pulled him in close enough to see her terrifying face. "Tell me his name."

The barkeep's eyes grew wide a pale. "I-I-I d-don't know! I think it was something like Purple George!"

"Purple George," Dorma pushed the barkeep away, sending him sailing into the bar, toppling over a few glasses. "Purple George. Purple. George. Now then, what kind of a person has a color in their name?"

The barkeep and Thurmsabold stayed silent, scaredly assuming it was a hypothetical question.

"Well? Seriously, people, I have no idea. I mean come on who does that!"

"May I suggest," offered Thurmsabold, "that it could've been a skyrate?"

"A skyrate!" she exclaimed, cackling. "Of course!"

"Now, wait a second. He didn't really look anything like a skyrate," interjected the barkeep.

Dorma held up a furry finger to the barkeep's lips. "That's enough. I didn't ask for your hamned opinion."

"Well, to be fair, Dorma, you kind of of did.." murmured Thurmsabold, shuddering as he realized he'd said it out loud.

"What cluck did you just clucking say?" Dorma smacked Thurmsabold again, this time in the chest, crumpling him to the floor with a whine. "Now he knows my name! I'll either have to kill him or make him join us!"

"Pl-please don't kill me!" wimpered the barkeep.

"Hmm," Dorma paced around the bar, thinking to herself. "Tell me, barkeep, do you have any…grudges?"

"Not really. I consider myself a very mentally healthy person."

"Let me ask that again," Dorma grumbled, flashing her claws out for dramatic effect within an inch of the barkeep's nose. "Do you have any grudges?"

"Well…there were these two folks who came in here. Funny characters with a big sack of money. They came in as men, but left as women. And not but an hour after they left, all the money they'd paid me had turned into mud. Filthy magic users. I'm pretty sour on them, and if I saw them again I'd quite like to slap them."

"That sounds suspiciously like some sort of a folk story or something" Dorma turned to Thurmsabold. "What do you think? Have you ever heard of a folk story that sounded like that?"

"Can't say I have," Thurmsabold whimpered, flinching instinctively as Dorma raised a fist.

"Fine then. I guess these…gender bending magicians will be on our hit list, as it were. Oh Thurmsabold, that reminds me. Who were you looking for again?"

"They call him Sir Broderick the Shitfaced. He's always drunk but that's, heh, unrelated to the nickname. He's got a thicc black goatee and wears the sorriest set of 'armor' I've ever seen. A saucepan on his head."

"Saucepan on his head you say?" the barkeep lit up. "That's one of the guys that swindled me! Before he turned into a woman he had a goatee and a saucepan on his head!"

"The muddy bass turd," spat Thurmsabold.

"But the hood news is," added the barkeep, "I'm pretty sure I know where to find them."

"Excellent," chuckled Dorma, "Excellent. Don't either of you worry. We'll make sure these scoundrels get what's coming to them."

Thurmsabold turned to the barkeep. "Eh, speaking of getting things that are coming…you, eh…you aren't lonely, are you? I mean…if you wanted to visit an outhouse or something…I kind of have a thing for bar—"

"Keep it in your pants you clucking ferret!" Dorma whacked Thurmsabold in the back of the head.

***

"Green Garey, let up a little on your side! You're twisting that bit of the comb like it's a giant wooden wheel!" cried Pamela as their god was nearly pecked in the neck by its younger opponent.

"Yaarg! MAYE arrpologies, Parrmela. Can't think what got into me," Green Garey's eye grew wide as the enemy god pecked its gargantuan beak up near him, seemingly aimed at his pet parrot dragon of all things. He grabbed the tiny bird as it cried out for a cracker and flattened himself like a soggy waffle. "Hit the deck!"

The young god's thrash forward opened it up to the older god's prepared talons, which raked down its chest and pushed it back, nearly knocking it prone as its wings flapped with violent frustration.

"Hamn it!" Pamela swore, surprising even herself. "Sorry Green Garey, my armor is chaffing like nobody's business right now."

From the corner of the arena wall right behind the wobbling young god, something gurgled.

FSSSSHHHHH

Surfing a spray of shit were none other than Biscuit Pisser, Broderica, and Lady Krumbumbum. Biscuit Pisser bounced atop the god's comb, then fell face first atop its beak, sliding down it and dangling like a hairy booger. Lady Krumbumbum landed in an opportune spot right behind the crown but promptly lost her balance and tumbled down its back, grasping at the end of its saddle while twirling around like a windmill. Broderica's top heaviness was far from a detriment in this case as her boobs acted almost as airbags, allowing her to land behind the comb where Krumbumbum had initially, except this time she stayed put.

"Those women look familiar," muttered Pamela as she watched the three swear at eachother as the weakened god swung around like an oak tree in a hurricane. She held on to the god's comb with one hand and flipped through her expertly balanced notebook with her other, finally finding multiple detailed nudes of both Broderica and Lady Krumbumbum.

For a moment, Pamela wondered if she'd gotten their nipples right. It was always difficult for her to ascertain valid nipple shapeage. Then, her insecurities washed away as her memories of their meeting washed over her brain like a warm glass of milk being poured over her head.

"I wonder if they've seen any skyrates," pondered Pamela.

"Or witches," added Green Garey.

"Skyrate!" cried Biscuit Pisser, hoisting himself upon the tip of the young god's beak. "A clucking skyrate!"

"Skyrate? Where?! I'll clucking kill them!" Broderica shrieked.

"Someone please help me," sobbed Krumbumbum, weakly flailing and failing to gain any footing.

"Where's the clucking skyrate Biscuit Pisser where is it?"

"Look look look with your eyes you fat tittied dummy!" Biscuit Pisser spat, nearly stumbling off the slick beak of the god to his doom. Backing up against the god's nostril, and almost getting inhaled, he pointed a shaky finger at Green Garey. "Right there! That's the most skyratiest looking clucker I've ever seen!"

"What? Seriously, Biscuit Pisser? Him?! He's not a skyrate! He's with the Royal Gourd! He's a pig!" Broderica shouted incredulously.

"Oh cluck off Shitface he is too a skyrate he is too! Look at him he's got a peg leg and an eye patch and a tricorner hat and a clucking parrot dragon do you see that shit Shitface he's got a clucking parrot friend and you tell me he's not a clucking skyrate I mean hamn woman are you blind?"

Broderica squinted harshly at Green Garey. "I really don't see what you're talking about, Biscuit Pisser. Have you ever seen a skyrate before?"

"Yes clucking of course I have I used to sell them bootlegs of godfights here all the clucking time! Why do you think they threw me in the pit?"

"Maybe because you're annoying!" screamed Lady Krumbumbum as she accidentally flashed them trying to regain her grip on the tailfeathers.

Biscuit Pisser wiped sweat from his brow as he nearly dodged a choice inhale from the god's humongous nostril. "Oh my cock I wish I had some bleach to pour in my eyes right now because that whew that was a clucking sight right there that right there was a clucking sight."

Their argument was stifled as the young god reared its head back and screeched.

GOD-A-DOODLE-DOO

"Cluck my ears!"

It charged at the older god, and before long the two were thrashing at eachother like feathery serpents with a bad case of roid rage.

 

[C Ron Ickler]

A speckle of light woke the donkey from its slumber. He lifted his head cautiously, hoping to cock that no one was coming in to terrorize him. The door to his prison was lightly cracked.

He looked to the beady eyes of his taxidermied toucan compatriot. They were just as large, googley and glazed as ever. Reassuring.

Are we ever gonna get out of here, Samwise? the donkey had gotten into the habit of calling the toucan Samwise in their imaginary conversations.

Bugger off you chalky pint of lipstick! Samwise was a bit of a firecracker. How am I supposed to get any shut eye with you bleating around at all hours?

Um, Samwise, how can you call it shut eye when your eyes are always open, rather widely, might I add?

Um, I don't know Assafrass, the donkey liked being called Assafrass, it was like his actual name, Sassafrass, but more relevant, How can you have a conversation with me when we're both nonspeaking animals and also I'm dead and stuffed full of cotton?

I actually think you might be stuffed full of magically synthetic fabric, Samwise.

The cluck? There's no way! And how would you know anywhatsit Assafrass?

Heh…well, Samwise…I, ehrm…I may have nibbled your rump a little a while ago and popped a little of your stuffing out.

You clucking bass turd no you didn't! Oh if I could move I would check my rump right now and then give you a pecking you shan't never forget!

So would I forget the pecking or not? You threw a double negative in there.

Oh go throw yourself off the ship into the sky, you ass.

You know Samwise I could consider that hate speech in some jurisdictions.

I could consider you hateable in all jurisdictions!

Yes, they were hood chups indeed.

Look, Samwise, I didn't mean to nibble on you, it's just, I'm so hungry.

Go get yourself killed,. skinned and stuffed and then talk to me about hunger!

No thanks.

Anywhatsit, Assafrass, if you really are hungry, why not sneak out and see what the skyrates are munching on? The door's wide open.

That door is not wide open Samwise it's lightly cracked. Do you have cataracts or something?

You'd have cataracts too if you never got to close your eyes!

Assafrass considered this, but it made his head hurt, so he regarded the door. It did not seem that anyone was coming inside. If anything, it was probably open by accident. A fairly opportune blunder.

Okay, Samwise, I'm going to go. Assafrass tried to move, but noticed his leg was trembling. He gulped. A-as long as you come with me.

Did you just stutter? How did you stutter we're imaginiarily talking and somehow here you are stuttering? What in the cluck is that about?

Look Samwise will you come with me or not?

Look Assafrass do I have much a choice? I'm an inanimate object at this point! Privy to all your sick, disgrossting whims!

Assafrass, realizing this was indeed true, grasped Samwise lightly in his jaws.

Eugh! How repulsive! Don't you get any wise ideas now! I may be inanimate but that doesn't mean I want to be your dinner!

Assafrass peeked through the crack in the door, looking up and down and left and right and all those over and over again, mainly seeing just about nothing.

Oh come on Samwise you know I wouldn't do that.

Why did you clucking imagine that your voice was muffled like you had me in your mouth when you said that? That's so heinously unecessary! It's all imaginary talk you could talk like anything you can imagine to me and you choose your own hamned voice muffled by my hamned body. You know your problem, Assafrass? You've got no vision.

Assafrass poked his head out of the bunker and gave the scenery a better look. He could still barely see shit it was so dark, but what he could tell is that nobody was nearby, and if he wanted a chance to snoop around, this was it.

You know Assafrass that's why you get yourself into these situations. Vision. Lack thereof, that is. I mean you have eyes, that's for sure, big stupid eyes.

Assafrass sniffed, sniffed, and he sniffed again, accidentally inhaling some mucus and an extremely rude gnat that promptly screeched obscenities at him as it flew out his mouth. But what lingered in Assafrass' mind was the sweet smell of something strong and fermented.

Cock, if eyes are the window to the soul you ought to keep yours closed, Assafrass. Your soul's probably so ugly because of your lack of vision. Or is it the other way around? Cluck I'm going to sound like an evangelical chickenshit if I keep going with that train of thought.

Anywhatsit where in the bloody hen are we going? Are you just ambling around? Have you no fear with a taxidermied toucan in your mouth? Am
I just some sort of strange pacifier to you, Assafrass? Come on I know you can talk back what with the imagining things and all that and my voice being imaginary come on Assafrass talk back to me you bass turd.

Then, Assafrass stopped in his tracks. At the end of a short wooden staircase was a door, and from that door emanated the inmistakable sounds and smells of debauchery.

Look over there, Samwise.

Oh cock. I'd rather not learn anything about skyrate nightlife, Assafrass.

And I'd rather you'd stop berating me, but it is what it is. The only place I've smelled anything resembling food in is in there. And also the large crates of grain far back near the storage bunker but this is a lot more intriguing don't you think.

Cock, Assafrass, you're going to be the postmortem death of me, you know that?

I'm not sure that's a thing.

Oh it's a thing.

Assafrass trotted down the stairs and up to the door. Opportunely, it too was lightly cracked. He gingerly pushed his muzzle towards the crack in the door only to magic a sharp sting in, well, his ass.

HHEEEHHH

He let out a half hee-haw, dropping Samwise on the floor.

Hey, watch it there Assafrass! This face is my money maker!

Assafrasss prepared to apologize to Samwise when he was interrupted by the imaginary voice of…a wasp that was flying in front of his face menacingly.

Halt! Who goes there? the wasp's voice sounded bizarre, like a squirrel that had long ago taken up chain smoking.

Don't tell 'em who we are, Assafrass! Don't give away our secrets! This creep can't be trusted!

The wasp flew over to Samwise. Quiet you, or I'll send you to your postmortem death!

Assafrass blinked.

See, Assafrass, I told you it existed.

Don't be so smug, Samwise.

Both of you zip it! Now tell me what the cluck you're up to before I sting the shit out of you!

You already stung me, you jerk, Assafrass whined, magicing his nose swelling and numbing.

Well I'll sting you again you little twerp! Now answer me cockhamnit!

One second, just give me one second, Assafrass leaned over, grasping Samwise in his mouth.

He's got a firearm! Aaah! The wasp flew around in frantic figure eights, suddenly stopping with a judder in a previously unseen spider web.

Hah hah ha, laughed a deep baritone, I always said I'd get you in the end, Jones.

Hamn it Henry ya don't have to do this! Think of all the hood times we've had together!

All I can remember is all the times you laughed at me for not really being able to fly while I wished I could suck you dry like a coconut. Looks like I got my wish. The spider crawled from its resting place to the center of the web and methodically sprayed liquid from its asshole all over the wasp. Alright, fancy folks, go on in there. But be careful now, y'all. Those skyrates don't mess around.

Thanks, Henry, thought Assafrass with imaginary gratitude as he pushed his head through the door.

Inside was a blinding flurrying miasma of lights, glowing, swirling, tantalizing Assafrass to the core, swirling his dirvish and twirling his scurvy.

Assafras promptly vomited profusely as he remembered his youth as a scrappy young donkey with everything to prove. He cursed the other donkeys and their fancy donkey shoes.

Looking up from his vomit retching, Assafrass scanned the room, seeing many a pant with a missing ass cheek in the process. Then he inhaled deeply, smelling for that sweet fermented hoodness that had enraptured his nostrils moments ago.

Hey now, Assafrass, you better watch your clucking nostrils or they might suck up one of my eyeballs!

With his methodical inhalations Assafrass gleamed three things. One, that he had besnoitiosis, which was unrelatd but troubling. Two, that the smell was alcohol, that mystical miracle substance that his missing master so vehemetly coveted. Three, that the cap'n and Blitzy and their associated goons were gambling over at the table to the far left corner, upon which a woman was currently jiggling her naked ass as if it were a match burning her fingers.

Assafrass imaginarily turned to Samwise for guidance, who promptly called him a knitted banana hammock and listed the amount of times Assafrass had accidentally licked his pecker. His pecker referred to his beak, obviously.

Assafrass turned to himself for guidance, and immediately let loose a bout of damp, violent flatulence. He felt an expression of shame dance across his face.

Assafrass turned to the wasp, whom he assumed was named Jones. Then he wondered why he had done that, and turned back to Samwise, who he realized he'd accidentally spit out of his mouth like a well aimed loogie in a dark, moldy corner in perfect eavesdropping distance from the table with which a woman was currently and emphatically scratching her sphincter.

Assafrass took a slow hoofing towards Samwise, who had rolled into a pile of old cigarette butts, some of which had stuck to his brilliant pastel plumage. He stuck to the shadowy, crumbling wall perimeter of the room. Soon, he was only two tail swashes from Samwise, which is when disaster struck.

There was a cat.

 

[C Ron Ickler]

"Look now that we're closer to them clucking look at that guy he is such a cockhamned skyrate!"

"Yaarg! Avast, me matey—ehrm, me parrrgtner! Batten down the hatches!"

SCREEEEEEE

The old god bit at the young god's chest, spewing specks of blood through the air.

Broderica looked at Biscuit Pisser, who had now climbed up on top of the young god's crown. "Okay, Biscuit Pisser, I admit he does seem awfully skyratey," she adjusted her boobs with a heaving sigh, "But you see that woman next to him? She hates skyrates! She tried to clucking kill me when I mentioned skyrates!"

SCREEEAAAAEEEE

The young god slashed a claw at the old god's neck, sending it womping back and forth and nearly sending Green Garey and Pamela sailing away.

"Shitface, have you had a drink recently?" Biscuit Pisser posited.

Broderica turned aside and pondered this as the large spur of a god claw flung itself within a breath of the back of her head. "Not for about, what, half an hour or so? I don't know. Krumbumbum, when did you grope the moleman again?"

SCREEEEEEEAAAA

Blood and feathers shot through the air like confetti.

"I didn't grope the moleman!" she cried, and with a sudden burst of adrenaline stuffed defiance pulled herself up atop the god's saddle. She pushed gnatted hair out of her face and spit at Broderica. Due to the god's erratic movements the spit actually hit Krumbumbum in her own face, shocking her into losing her balance and tumbling to once again weakly grasp at tail feathers.

SCREEEEEEE

The old god spit weak flames not much larger than bonfire embers Biscuit Pisser, who dodged them as he talked to Broderica.

"Well look Shitface look I'm not trying to butt in and say whether or not Krumbumbum groped the moleman I mean hen I wasn't there so how would I know you know what I'm saying but there's no way she didn't what with all that defensiveness.

"However what I think is really important for us to realize Shitface is that you seem almost stone cold sober and I'm concerned it's affecting your judgement. Clearly that lady that tried to murder you and that skyrate are in cow-hoots. They're the skyrates, Shitface. They're trying to frame you. Hen, I bet they're hiding your ass somewhere."

SCREEEAEEAEEAAA

Broderica's face glew as red as if she'd chugged a handle of liquor and a vein nearly popped out of her neck. She started rummaging through her pockets for things to chuck at Biscuit Pisser.

"Biscuit Pisser don't you DARE mention my ass again or I'll throw you right the cluck off this god! You were not there I know who napped my ass and it wasn't them so just cluck the cluck off already!"

"Please help meeeee!" screamed Krumbumbum, nearly sliding off the god's tailfeathers as it reeled back, preparing to strike at its vehemetly bloodied enemy.

"Oh go cast a spell or something you clucking PUNT!"

HOOOOOOAAAAAHHHHH

Everyone in the arena, including the spectators caught in sewage and even the gods, froze and gasped as the word 'punt' echoed around the cavern brilliantly. Punt, punt, punt, quieter and quieter still in each and every eardrum in the arena. Even a deaf old man in the far corner caught in an exceedingly foul glob of excrement gasped as through magic, osmosis, or a very astute bout of auditory hallucination as he heard the first word he had in twenty years: punt. How crude.

Broderica huffed in exasperation, looking around as everyone glared at her. "Oh cluck off! She is a punt!"

HOOOOAAAOOOOAAAHHHH

"Alright what the clucking cluck is going on who the cluck are you and why are you ruining my clucking show?!" whined the brash voice of Jeffrey with a G as he hovered up to face Broderica, suspended by a large magical crane and pulley system labeled 'DEUCE DOT EXE'. Krumbumbum noted that it was using inferior warlock magic.

"Oh my clucking cock," Jeffrey with a G gasped, recognizing Broderica, Biscuit Pisser, and Krumbumbum. "What are you clucking idiots doing out of the pit? When I find Eustace I'm going to ring his clucking neck! And now you're shouting clucking profanity on my clucking stage! That's just clucking uncalled for it is!"

"Look, Jeffrey—" Broderica paused, noticing his eyelid twitch, "—with a G, I know that I said punt—"

HOOOOOAHHHH

"And I know that pretty much everybody is pretty upset with me that I said punt—"

HOOOOOOOOAAHHHHHH

"—and I've done a lot of thinking and I'll probably be better about saying punt in the futu—"

HHHHAOOHHHHHH

"—future, but look, you have to admit, she was being a total punt."

HHHOOAOHHHH

"You know what, 'Broderica'?" Krumbumbum cried, swapping the arm with which she dangled, "I think you're a total punt!"

HHOOHAOHOHOHAOHOOHHOAHOOHHHH

Jeffrey with a G waved his arms like a sozzed up hummingbird. "Can everybody please just stop saying the p word?"

"The p word?" Biscuit Pisser snorted, choking on his own saliva and almost falling off the god's comb in a laughing mess. "The clucking p word? Dude, Jeff, we're here at an illegal godfight and you can't even say punt?"

HHHOHOAOOHOHOHOHOOHOHOHHHHHH

"I believe I should butt in," Pamela chimed in from the other god, which despite its bloodied bodice looked like it would more likely drop dead at any moment due to cancer or gangrene or indigestion. "I wouldn't call these godfights illegal, per se, I mean I'm a member of the Royal Gourd and here I am. I mean, they are illegal, totally. But the corruption to illegality scales are just a little off balanced on this issue here in Caldonia as we all know," Pamela sketched in her notepad, glancing at Jeffrey with a G, "Also, Jeffrey, are you circumcised? Usually I can tell but I've been having trouble getting a read on you."

"Stop clucking calling me Jeffrey! It's Jeffrey with a G you clucking PUNT!"

HHHOAHOOHOHHOHHHHHHHHHOOOOOOH

"Well," Pamela blinked rapidly, sketching away and tut-tutting, "I think we all know the answer to that question."

Everyone murmured to eachother quietly, not wanting to give away to anyone that they had no idea what the answer to that question would be. Jeffrey with a G was stared upon as a shameful pariah.

"Woman I don't care if you're appointed by the chickens themselves I will turn you into mincemeat if you continue to disrespect me!" he screeched in an owlike fashion, nearly spitting out one of his teeth.

"Avast, matey!" bellowed Green Garey.

Biscuit Pisser turned to Broderica and whispered. "Clucking told you so."

"Yaaarg! AYE've had just about enough of ye disrespecting my parrrgtner!"

"Green Garey it's okay. He knows what he did."

"Nay, Parrmela, nay! The mangey mollusk is still to bouyant for 'is bootstraps! Let me at 'im!"

Strangely calm, and bubbling with some sort of strange musky odor, Jeffrey with a G addressed the entire arena. "Alright, I've had just about enough of this. You've harassed my gods, you've bludgeoned my audience's ears with profanity, and you've covered my arena in shit."

As Jeffrey with a G spoke, he grew and putrified. He greened and he wrinkled. He crackled and he crinkled. His eyes grew wider and droopy, and yellowed and goopy. His nails became claws, and one those claws grew other, smaller claws, and on those smaller claws grew smaller claws still. This actually continued for a few more iterations but the claws got so small that at some point it was just redundant. He grew thicc, jet black wings and a long tail that was embarassingly neon pink and fuzzy, like a gigantic stuffed caterpillar. The large, eyelashed, red lipped smiley face on the end of this tail did not help. Everyone in the audience who had been terrified at first of Jeffrey with a G's transformation was now laughing at him and asking for a cuddle.

"But now," growled—no, it wasn't a growl. It was a very high pitched voice, Jeffrey with a G's new voice, as if he was a castrated cartoon character. He tried to clear his throat, but it did not help, and actually made the voice even higher, now to the point where he sounded quite like a chipmunk that had recently inhaled a helium tank. "Now, I'm in control. Tremble before the almighty power of Jeffrey with a G, you fools, you urchins, you burnt crumbs, you pilfering pieces of pocket change! Tremble before me and fear your doom!"

Jeffrey with a G turned to the gods, which he now loomed over, to look for his targets, giving the arena a great view of his tail. He noticed that no one was riding the gods any more. While he was mutating and gloating, they had slowly climbed off the dumbfounded gods and slipped away into the shadows, Pamela and Green Garey going off to the right, and Broderica, Krumbumbum and Biscuit Pisser going off to the left, with awkward eye contact and nods at eachother in between.

Jeffrey with a G was quite angry. It did not help that the audience, which was at this moment only about halfway submerged in shit as it had slowly started draining out, had gone from light chuckles to more confident chortling to outright cajoling and screeching and knee slapping and back patting and at least three people choked to death in the sheer hilarity of his spectacle.

"Stop laughing at me!" whined Jeffrey with a G, which made everyone laugh even more. "Stop it! It's not funny! Stop it cockhammit stop!!"

As they ran through a dark tunnel, listening to Jeffrey with a G's ridiculous voice echo from afar, Lady Krumbumbum turned to her companions.

"Clucking warlocks," she chuckled. "When will they learn?"

 

[C Ron Ickler]

The cat was small, puffy and white. It looked like a bobblehead, and Assafrass could not tell whether the cat looked bobbleheaded because of a lazy haircut or if the cat was actually quite young and ill proportioned.

Well hello there, the cat imaginarily thought to Assafrass.

Obviously it was not quite young. No young feline could've imagined that voice, Assafrass was certain.

Um, hi. I'm Assafrass.

Assafrass?

Assafrass.

Assafrass. That's quite a name, Assafrass.

What's that supposed to mean? It's a family title.

I mean there's a lot of ass in Assafrass.

Well…what on Gurth do you mean by that? I'm an ass named Assafrass.

I've just never met an ass named Assafrass before.

Well I've just never met someone, told them my name through pure imagination and then had my own name ridiculed, all the while never being told their own name.

This went on for a while before the cat finally told Assafrass her name. Her name was Blart, which turned Assafrass off completely and put an end to their endless flirting, once again giving the title of 'most sexual thing within the closest thirty foot radius' to the naked bottom of the unnamed skyrate stripper.

Well, I guess since we're done playing cat and mouse, if you will, she imaginarily chuckled, I'll just mess with you a little bit.

Assafrass had barely imaginarily thought Um, but what if I won't by the time Blart had pittered over to Samwise and chomped into his neck like he was a fethered kitten.

Ow! Hey there stop that! Who do you think you are you hamned feline let go of me! Assafrass do somehting!

Assafrass rolled his eyes. The cat's senile teeth could barely break Samwise's taxidermied skin. He presently decided to leave the two to their devices and examine that tantalizing odor of sweet fermentation wafting from behind the bar.

It was a tricky task, as there was a rather disgrossting yet talkative human on the other side of the bar, and they surely would not want a donkey dipping into their supply, especially one short on cash. But Assafrass had spent enough wild benders with his beloved ass master Sir Broderick to know exactly what to do. Patience was the key. He waited and waited as drunk skyrate after drunk skyrate hobbled over to the bar and grumbled for more, more, more. And then, it happened.

"'ey now yew, that's not five copper! That's two copper an' a couple ah buttons! Who do ye take me fer, a filthy lanlumbar?"

"'ey now yew, that's not two copper an' a couple ah just any buttons! Why those buttons were from me meemaw's favorite sweatervest! Hen, one of 'em's worth more than any o' yer lousy drinks!"

"Louse-y? Why there ain't one louse in this whole hamned ship how can me drinks be louse-y?"

Assafrass engaged his trained spitting muscles and hocked a loogie right between the barkeeper's eyes, which promptly doubled in bloodshottedness as the barkeep smashed a bottle, weilded its broken end and jumped over the bar, muttering about ass kicking. Assafrass laughed to himself that they truly had no idea which ass they really ought to be kicking as he slyly trotted behind the bar and located the open keg.

It was truly a thing of beauty, that skyrate keg. If there's one thing skyrates knew how to do, it was fill something full of really strong, really suspiciously flavorful ale, all the while being so lazy that even a mere ass could unhook it from their tap with a dexteritous hoof and subsequently suck the tank dry from the hose. Assafrass considered attempting a keg stand but figured it would be found in poor taste.

His belly bulging, his mouth foaming and his vision tunneling to quantum depths, Assafrass slunk away from the bar and waddled back towards the far corner by now stripperless poker table. He would've been worried about the fact that Blart had apparently made off with Samwise to chickens knew where but he was so sozzled that instead he chuckled to himself as he regarded a couple of Samwise's lost feathers.

"So aye tells 'im, aye tells, 'im, cluck, cap'n, you might hav' teh tell em what aye tells 'im 'cause aye can't seem to do an'thin' but give us a hood ol' guffaw when aye try to tell em what aye tells 'im."

Assafrass looking up, recognizing 'Blitsy' talking. He was the man who owned the dog. The dog whom currently was Assafrass' nememis. Michael. The rodent bass-turd.

"Very well," growled the voice of cap'n, who was currently smoking a long thin cigar that looked like six and a half cigarettes stuck together. "I will tell ye what 'e tells 'im."

The cap'n froze, staring into oblivion.

"Uh, cap'n?" asked the third man at the table, who was currently waiting for cap'n to tell ye what 'e tells 'im.

"Ahoy, matey?"

"Cap'n, weren't ye going to tell me what 'e tells 'im?"

"Aye," the cap'n blinked ferociously, then resettled himself, "Now matey, who is telling whom what who tells whom?"

The third man, who was wearing an eye patch over his forehead and generally looked quite alternative and somehow managed to smell worse than almost all of the other skyrates except that one who was missing an eye and didn't wear an eyepatch, was as confused as that train of thought. "Cap'n, ye were just telling me who 'im whom 'e who 'as whom 'ow."

"Avast ye fools!" glowered Blitzy. "Aye will tell both of ye who is telling whom what 'e tells ye that then tells me that aye shall tell all of ye right this instee!"

The stinky hippie skyrate raised an odorous eyebrow. "Instee?"

"Aye, aye screwed it up a little there aye will admit aye will admit," sighed Blitzy.

"Avast!" blurted the cap'n. "Aye have remembered who told whom what and 'ow and why as well! Blitzy told that mustached scallopwagon, think I 'eard 'em callin' 'im Shitface, 'e sat his drunk ol' tukass on Blitzy's ol' lump of a dawg an' Blitzy told 'im, heh, he told 'im 'e'd killed the hamn thing what with his glut'yus massshimus an' all."

The explanation puttered out in volume and enthusiam at the end. Everyone stared at the table. Cap'n looked up first, at Blitswald. Blitswald looked up second, at cap'n. The beat-off poet looked up third, trying to hide his disappointment that no one was looking at him. Cap'n cracked a wry smile, and then his crow's feet shone in the dingy lights as he fell into an uproar of laughts. He began slapping the pungent herbivore emphatically on the back as he too joined in on the cackling, albeit with a side of caution and fear. Blitswald quickly matched the cap'ns heavy whipped enthusiam and spamsmed into uncontrolled undulations of joy.

Heay. Yaou theyare.

Assafrass jumped. It was a slovenly Caldonian Bulldog. Michael. He was…sniffing him.

Yaou're naot suppoased to bea hearae.

Assafrass blinked, chewing on his own spit and balking at the dog's outrageous imaginary accent.

I knoaw wheare thae caat toaok yoaur touacaan.

Assafrass bristled, wrinkling his nose at Michael's wrinkly nose.

I coauld aleart my mastear naow aand havae yoaur liambs madae intao a faine curray.

Assafrass spat at Michael's feet with a huff.

Waatch yoaur mannaers naow, chauppy. I baark and baite. I'm a biat oaf a baad boay iaf I dao saay sao mysaelf.

Sweet feathery chickens can you please stop imagining your horrible voice at me? Assafrass fired back, unimpressed.

Laook, I haave somaething yaou waant, yaou haave a saet oaf skills I waant tao explaoit, and iaf yoau daon't dao whaat I waant I caa gaet yaou ian baig baig twaouble.

Fine. What do you want?

I naotice yoau reeak haighly oaf the alcaohols. I waant yaou to giat mae a kaeg.

Surely you mean a pint.

Nao, nao, I knaow whaat I maean. I saaw yoaur laittle sheananigans aearlier. I seae haow raight slaoshed yaou arae. I waant a whaole kaeg. I waant tao dao a kaeg staand.

Cluck. Well how much do you usually drink?

Uasually draink? Oah may, naot aat aall.

Assafrass sighed. This was going to be messy.

 

[C Ron Ickler]

Broderica, Lady Krumbumbum and Biscuit Pisser stood by an ostrich groomer's tent next to some public outhouses. After reaching the end of the godfighting arena tunnel they had magically teleported to an out of order stall in said public outhouses. There were many onlookers who assumed they had been up to unscrupulous activities, especially after they had on arriving in the stall tripped over eachother and broken the wooden seat while screaming 'cluck' over and over again on account of their shock and numerous new splinters.

"That's it, Petunia, let it all out," said a nervous, shriveled man as he petted the back of the large purple ostrich profusely defecating onto the street.

"Cluck this place is disgrossting!" screamed Biscuit Pisser, drawing attention to him and his companions, all of whom were covered in sewage.

"Biscuit Pisser quiet down people are staring," hushed Krumbumbum.

"What did I clucking say about you calling me Biscuit Pisser Krumbumbum? What the cluck did I say to you about it you little tipped over teapot?!"

"Can you please quiet down? You're making Petunia nervous."

Biscuit Pisser turned around to witness the weak eyes of Petunia's owner.
"Why the cluck should I care whether Petunia's nervous? Cluck Petunia!"

The man cowered, and whispered. "Please stop. Petunia wouldn't like you saying that."

"Oh go cluck yourself!" Biscuit Pisser turned back to Broderica and Krumbumbum. "Anywhatsit I think we're kinda clucked. That Jeffrey with a G fellow is bad business."

"Clearly," agreed Broderica, "He had no idea how to take care of those hamned gods. Worst kept gods I've ever seen I daresay."

"Have you seen a lot of gods before, Broderica?" asked Krumbumbum.

SCREEEEE

Petunia was a little constipated and was taking it out on her owner, giving him quite a pecking.

"No but I'd imagine they are usually in better shape than those sacks of shit."

SCREEEEE

"Petunia please stop!"

"Feathery clucking chickens man can you and your stupid ostrich just cluck the clucking hen off already I mean shit what the cluck is wrong with you?!"

"You're making Petunia self conscious with all your swearing if you'd just control yourselves a little she would never be having trouble!"

SCREEEEE

He was once again hammered with her pecker.

"Alright Biscuit Pisser let's go find somewhere to catch a drink. I'm starting to sober up and it's honestly quite frightening. Not a fan."

"Are you forgetting something?" Krumbumbum tutted.

"What, how flat you are?" Broderica smirked.

"Cluck off! No, that I'm a clucking wizard," she materialized a large handle of gin as the word 'ALCOHOL' boomed through the air, "Vitch."

SCREEEEE

"Must you—" peck "—cast your disgrossting—" peck peck "—alcohol spells—" peck peck peck "—around dear Petunia?" peck peck peck peck peck peck peck

"If Petunia gave a shit she'd do something other than cluck you up you cockhamned shrimp slider!" Biscuit Pisser cackled and cackled, and the man sighed. "Why, she's lazy as shit I mean look at that fat vitch!"

Petunia suddenly stopped pecking her man with her pecker and glared at Biscuit Pisser. Her eyes glowed a smoldering red, which no one had noticed earlier. They grew shin as slits.

SCREEEEE

Petunia lunged at Biscuit Pisser like a flaming osprey, thrashing her neck around like a large feather noodle and gnashing her pecking beak like a mouth made of chainsaws.

"Feathery shit! This vitch is crazy!" Biscuit Pisser screamed, pissing himself.

"Is this why they call him biscuit pisser?" Krumbumbum asked Broderica.

"Hah! No. He wishes!"

Krumbumbum puzzled over this new information as Petunia captured Biscuit Pisser's beard in her jaws and yanked him off the ground with it, swinging his ragdoll body around in circles.

"Feathery cluck!" Biscuit Pisser cried.

"Okay, this might be—" Broderica burped a stinging burp, having taken a farty swig of gin, "—something we need to get concerned about."

Petunia chomped down on Biscuit Pisser's beard voraciously, severing it with a snip and sending him flinging across the town square into the cart of a humble carrot seller, whose eyes watered stingingly as Biscuit Pisser knocked all but one of his carrots into a nearby sewage drain.

"AaaaaAAaaaaAAaaaAaaagh!" Biscuit Pisser cried, crumpled on the floor like yesterday's fantasy newspaper, a welcome convention in older people's lives but increasingly losing to the power of magically holographic newspapers which were not on paper or crumple-able at all.

Broderica and Krumbumbum noticed that Biscuit Pisser's newly cut beard was short enough to make it appear a normal common person instead of a crazy man locked in a sceptic tank for cock knows how long, and regarded his unexpected hansomeness with surprise.

"Stop clucking staring at me!" he screamed as Petunia thrashed her way forward, reeling her head back for another fowl pecking.

Broderica leapt into action, or at least, into a stance that alluded to her taking action. Instead, she turned to Krumbumbum, dramatically swishing her hair around.

"Krumbumbum," Broderica whispered, "cast a spell or something!"

"What do you think, Broderica, that I can just cast spells willy nilly like some kind of magical sprinkler sprinkle out magic all over the place just by touching myself in the awkward places in strange repetitions needed to cast wizard spells? Am I some endless tap, some tab you never even have any intention of paying?"

"Um, cluck yes you are vitch."

"Thank cock. Glad to hear we understand eachother."

With a smug grin, Krumbumbum pinched and wiggled her earlobes, clenched her jaw ten times, and shook her rump thrice. On the third ass cheek jiggle, a large magiacally grand piano suspended by a worn pulley system apparated above Petunia, as did a fifth story apartment building which appeared so forein as to have been from an entirely different flavor of reality werein nobody wore tunics. The pulley system's rope promptly snapped and the piano fell on top of Petunia, flattening her into a purple pancake.

"Petunia!" cried the man currently bloodied from her pecker. He rushed over to the squashed bird. "Oh Petunia! My darling! My pride and joy!"

"It's just a stupid ostrich you malignant cluck!" drawled Broderica, finishing off the gin and tossing it askew. It shattered to bits on impact with the ground, multiple bits flinging into the eyes of Petunia's handler.

"Aaaah! My eyes!" he cried, "You've blinded me! I'm blind!"

"Oh go buy an unblinding spell you hamned locust," chided Krumbumbum.

"Why you imbecile!" cried a flowery mustached man from the ostrich tent. "Do you know who that ostrich was?"

"Of course we do!" Krumbumbum sighed, "Clucking Petunia!"

"Not its home name! That was Seared Briscuit!"

Broderica chortled, accidentally coughing up alcohol and sending it through her nostrils. "Seared Briscuit?"

"Haven't you ever gambled on ostriches before you absolute louse?" the man exaspertadely huffed.

"No, just on blind luck," Broderica sighed, reaching her arm back to emphasize her bossoms.

The man was not interested in women and thus immune to her attack. "Well if you were cultured at all you'd know Seared Briscuit is the third time golden doiley winner of the stanley chalice!"

"That was a lot of stupid words," Broderica chuckled.

"Why, you'll owe a fortune in damages! Guards! Guards, we need your assistance immediately! This hansomely bearded man killed Seared Biscuit!"

Two lanky, besuited men twirled around like armoured fairies, their helmets adorned with pardisical plumage.

"The pigs!" screamed Biscuit Pisser, quickly picking up the remaining carrot and hurling it at one of the men's helmets. It bounced off, sending the helmet twirling around and the man, dizzied, tumbling to the ground.

"Dump some parmesan on this wagon!" shrieked Broderica as they scrambled off through the crowd, knocking people and jewlery carts and giant jewelry cats over in the process.

Skirting around the crumbling streets they stubbed their toes and somehow managed to magic much drunker than ever before by sheer force of physics in the case of Broderica.

"Cluck! I've got to hurl!" Broderica belched, eyes darting around for a nearby vomitorium. Fortunately they were in the tourist district of Bighead and there were plenty of vomitoriums nearby, the only issue being that they were pay per puke, which did not suit her sensibilities. Neither did the sudden intrusion of Biscuit Pisser and Lady Krumbumbum.

"What the cluck are you doing in here?" Broderica slurred. "I'm trying to vomit leave me alone to vomit in my vomitorium come the cluck on now!"

BBLAAAAAAHHHHMMMM

Broderica barfed seductively.

"How was that hot?!" ejaculated Biscuit Pisser.

"Maybe one day you'll learn, Biscuit Boy."

"Wouldn't Piss Boy make more sense?" asked Krumbumbum. Broderica and Biscuit Pisser stared in shock.

"What the cluck vitch what are you clucking trying to say?" squacked Broderica.

The petty squabbling continued for an almost indefinite amount of time.

 

[C Ron Ickler]

"Look!" Biscuit Pisser ejaculated in a hot white flash right in the middle of the conversation, "I'm worried about those guards! They saw my face!"

"They also looked as intelligent as that ostrich's shit," spat Krumbumbum, "They probably already forgot they were looking for you."

"No no no you chuckacluck! I remember what I saw in their eyes! They're after bloood with me you clucking knapsack napkins!!"

"What are you trying to say?" Krumbumbum turned to Biscuit Pisser with an eyerow raise.

"Stop trying to seduce me you hamned she-demon!"

"I'm not trying to seduce you."

"Will you two idiots please get the cluck out of my vomitorium already?"

"As soon as I get the help I need! I think the only way I'm gonna get out of this one is some sort of disguise."

Broderica and Krumbumbum looked at eachother. Broderica wiped some barf off her chin.

"Biscuit Pisser, are you saying what I think you're saying?"

"I don't know Shitface I can't read minds come on now!"

"He wants me to make him a woman!" cackled Krumbumbum.

"I don't want you to! I need you to!"

"Biscuit Pisser are you sure you aren't just feeling a little left out or something?" posited Broderica.

KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK

"Occupied!" all three of them shouted.

"Oh, hood hood hood, glad to hear it glad to hear it," muttered a muffled voice beyond the vomitorium door. "Please take a look at this and if…any…of you see this fellow turn him in immediately."

A thin sheet of parchment slid under the door frame. Krumbumbum picked it up.

"Oh feathery shit!" she ejaculated.

"What, have you seen 'im?" asked the voice.

"Oh, no, no no, he's just so ridiculously ugly in this picture is all. I was afright from pure gross horror, that's all."

"Ah yes, perfectly understandable. Stay safe now."

Krumbumbum put her ear to the door and listened to the man wobble away.

"So what's the deal Krumbumbum who is it?"

She turned the parchment to Biscuit Pisser so he was face to face with a magically exact rendering of his own face.

"Well cluck me sideways," he groaned, "Now I'm really in for it. You've gotta make a woman out of me now!"

"Not so fast!" Krumbumbum tutted as Broderica barfed again. "It's gonna cost you."

"Do I look like I have any money you clucking magician?"

Krumbumbum's eyes grew dark and she leaned in closely to Biscuit Pisser so that they could smell eachother's rancid breath.

"Never call me a clucking magician again."

"Okay?"

"Now, as for your fee," she continued, "You've got to let me call you Biscuit Pisser."

"WHAT?!" he screamed.

"Can you lot keep it down in there?" ejaculated a muffled voice to their right. "You're really messing up the rhythmn of my dry heaving and I'm afraid the vomit will never come if you don't up a quit your yapping."

"Sorry!" screeched Broderica.

They continued their argument with voracious whispering.

"You can't call me Biscuit Pisser you weren't there you don't know why they call me that it wouldn't be right!"

"Oh it wouldn't be right? Almost like killing a prized ostrich wouldn't be right?"

"I didn't even kill the ostrich you did I am honestly furious they're blaming me and not you!"

"Well it's your fault anywhathow I mean you were harassing it."

"Ugh! Women!" Biscuit Pisser spat. "Fine! But you have to know why they call me Biscuit Pisser to call me Biscuit Pisser. Cats-pees?"

"Sure sounds great tell away Biscuit Pisser."

Biscuit Pisser flinched on hearing Krumbumbum call him Biscuit Pisser.

"Okay, it all started back when Shitface and I…" Biscuit Pisser leaned in close and started whispering the story quietly into Krumbumbum's right ear. She chuckled, cackled, and guffawed. Broderica, finished vomiting, leaned in to eavesdrop, and dropped in once in a while with a whisper of her own when she grew concerned that Biscuit Pisser was leaving out key humiliating details. Finally it was over, with Biscuit Pisser red in the face and Broderica and Krumbumbum shining with giggly joy.

"Alright, Biscuit Pisser. Let's make you a lady."

Lady Krumbumbum twisted her left earlobe in a wizardly fashion. Then, she twisted her nipples, but even Biscuit Pisser found it more surgical than arousing. Then, she dug through her belly button lint.

"Uh," Biscuit Pisser grumbled, "How much longer is this gonna be?"

"Don't rush me this stuff is just really tight in there," Krumbumbum whined in exasperation as she excavated fibers from her navel. Eventually, the deed was done, and she promptly dropped them on the floor of the vomitorium.

As soon as the lint hit the floor, Biscuit Pisser transformed in an instant into a woman, who suprisingly enough still had a bit of a mustache and beard thing going on.

"Well? How do I look? Beautiful no doubt?"

"Oh, you look," said Broderica. Biscuit Pisser waited for her to complete the sentence, only to realize with sadness that that was the complete thought.

"I'm sure you two are just jealous of me," Biscuit Pisser retorted, stroking her beard, "I bet you wish you could still grow one of these, eh? None such luck for you! Hah hah!"

KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK

"Excuse me!" whined the voice of the owner of the late Petunia (alias Seared Briscuit). "Are you quite done vomiting in there? I quite need to spill my guts?"

"Go spill em somewhere else!"

"You're not nice," squeaked the man as he slumped away, undoubtedly with a mouth full of stomache acid.

"So," said Biscuit Pisser, "You guys wanna go gamble or something? I'm magicing lucky."

***​

Pamela and Green Garey magically emerged from their arena tunnel inside a claustrophobic closet. Green Garey's peg leg had materialized inside a moldy mop bucket. It was humid with pungent, stale air. They could hear what was surely hundreds of voices bustling about madly outside the closet. Pamela shuddered at the thought of how many naked forms she would soon be filling her notebook with.

Pamela groped her way around in the darkness, fondling for a switch to flick or perhaps a pole to firmly grasp (with which to steady herself with). Soon enough Pamela found herself both squeezing tightly a broomstick and tugging hard on a string pull light. Light flooded the tiny room.

"So what do ye think these things do exarrrgctly?" asked Green Garey as he flicked many of the switches at once like a hopping herbivore.

One of the switches noticeably cut the power in and outside off, and Green Garey hurriedly flicked it back on. They listened to the people outside groan and then sigh in relief and continue their crazed jabbering.

"LOOKS LIKE SOMEBODY'S GETTING FREAKY IN THE MAGICAL BREAKER CLOSET," ejaculated a cutting, raspy voice.

"Oh my cock," Pamela sighed. "This is clucking ridiculous."

"Aye, mate—paarrgtner. Aye. Aye wonder where we aaaargh."

Pamela reach for the knob, noticing is was slightly sticky. Still, she gave it a hood twist and a light pushing and the door cracked lightly open. Three eyes, her two and Green Garey's one, peeked through.

They were in the large back room of what Pamela instantly recognized as the East Caldonia ostrich races. The pomp of peoples' outfits mixed with the endless helpings of ale and smokables in every corner made that abundantly clear. There was a large mouth on two legs standing near the doorway that was obviously some sort of ill thought out warlock transmutation.

"Do ye think 'e shits out of it too?

"Green Garey! That's inappropriate!" Pamela scolded as she attemped to quickly approximate the naked, genitaled shapes of the bodies beheld to her.

"Aye was just saying. Doesn't quite look like 'e's got another hole, really."

"Green Garey!" Pamela ejaculated, and, losing her concentration, leaned forward, pushing the door wide open. She and Green Garey both tumbled face first in the dirt that the legal conglomerate that was the East Caldonia ostrich races had cast spells to generate in the enclosed area to make it magic more, as they had put it, racey.

"LOOKS LIKE SOMEBODY JUST CAME OUT OF THE CLOSET," bellowed the mouth man.

"Excrete me," Pamela interjected, spitting sand from her cracking lips. "Please refrain from your blatant ejaculations. We are members of the Royal Gourd, and are here on official business."

"LOOKS LIKE TWO MEMBERS OF THE ROYAL GOURD JUST OFFICIALLY CAME OUT OF THE CLOSET."

Pamela sighed, pulled herself to her feet and began walking away.

"Avast, matey, might ye tell me something? Do ye have…ehrm…well that is…do ye do both of the duties out the same end?"

"LOOKS LIKE ONE MEMBER OF THE ROYAL GOURD WANTS TO KNOW IF I HAVE AN ASSHOLE."

"Aye…don't know what else of an answer aye expected…" sighed Green Garey, mostly to himself.

"LOOKS LIKE THE SAME MEMBER OF THE ROYAL GOURD THAT WANTS TO KNOW IF I HAVE AN ASSHOLE DOESN'T KNOW WHAT ELSE OF AN ANSWER THEY EXPECTED."

 

[C Ron Ickler]

Green Garey huffed and walked after Pamela, only to realize he couldn't find her anywhere, lost in the sea of drunk denziens.

"Hhey chup," slurred a rotund, grisly older man as he teetered like he had a seesaw inside his stomache. "Don't wworry aabout it he's likee that with eeeverybody…Jus' how he hisss what with the reducededd brain capacity from his transfffformationnnn and how now."

"Aye, it figures."

"I llike how you tallk, strranger, it suits you. Llike that dopey little drragon of yourrs."

"Oh, 'im? 'is name 'sn't dopey, 't's Polly. 'ts short fer Polyunsaturated."

"Surrrre it is, chupppy, suuuuuuuuuure it is. You know, have you ever thought, I wwwanna make it big?"

"Yaaarg! Excrete me?"

"Oh don't yyyyaaaaaarg me you old…old…you old yaaaaargermeister!" he patted Green Garey. "Say, hhave we met? You llook familiar."

"Aye? Aye do not remember yer face."

"Nno I've defffinitely seen you beffore…what's your nname againn?"

"Green Garey, missirah."

"Well Ggreen Garey I'mm Bleu Louie! Nicee to meet ya, if we haven't met me befffore that is, hahh! What I was asssssking you wwwas—"

"Aye. Pleasin' to be makin' yer acquiessence, missirah. As ye know aye am a member of the Royal Gourd, and have no time for mangey scallopwagons with backhanded narrgotions."

"Oh, well, aye aye then, hhhhah! I'll be onn my way."

Bleu Louie began to slosh off, his egglike body softening into an undercooked yolk in the process.

"Avast ye!" Green Garey reached out his left hand.

SHHHHHLLLLFFF

A bloodied butcher's knife flung firecely through the air and sliced it off neatly. Blood spurted from Green Garey's new stump.

"Hhfeathery shit!" ejaculated Bleu Louie.

"LOOKS LIKE BLEU LOUIE EJACULATED FEATHERY SHIT," screeched the mouth man, "AND LOOKS LIKE GREEN GAREY LOST HIS LEFT HAND BY WAY OF AN UNKNOWN BUTCHER KNIFE. CRAZY WORLD WE LIVE IN, FOLKS, SAID MY FAVORITE CARTOON CHARACTER BACK WHEN I WAS A YOUNG LAD AND NOT A WARLOCK WHOSE BODY IS NOW SOLELY A MOUTH WITH LEGS. THAT CARTOON CHARACTER WAS RONALD RONALDSON RONALDSWORTH, THE RONALDING BIRD FROM EASTERN RONALDIA. HE HAD THE FUNNIEST VOICE, THAT OLD PIECE OF CHUPPERWARE."

Green Garey rolled his eyes, then rolled them again more vigorously in the opposite direction as he remembered his newly severed limb.

"Don't you worrry, chuppppy, I know somebody who can fix youu up, eeeasy!"

Green Garey pause to consider this notion. It could easily be a back alley deal to knab one of his inner ears. Then again, his blood was draining from his severed vestibule and his cognition was suffering, so he relented and allowed Bleu Louie to drag him over to a shady, chubby woman clad in tightly wrapped purple robes. She wore a dark mask with a long, clawlike nose. She brandished a thicc, spiky wand that glistened in the magical tungsten of the false torch lighting that invisible illuminated the entire area.

"Yaaarg! A witch! A witch!" Green Garey puttered, "Thank cock! Aye am glad to know maye fixing will be free of the pain and aaaargony of normal surgery, and replaced by a pain an aarrrgony all of its own!"

"Indeed," she cooed, brandishing her wand like a hot cattle brand. "Now, what's your budget?"

"Avast! Come arrrgain?"

"Money. How much of it can you give me?"

"Yaaarg…have but three chickensfeed in me pockets…"

"We can make that twerk, but you won't be getting any special attachments or anything. If you could fork over five chickensfeed I could give you a fork attachment. And if you could grapple with giving me ten chickensfeed I could give you a grappling hook attachment. They're very in vogue. You never know when they'll come in handy. Sorry for the pun I just I couldn't help myself," the lady giggled.

"Aye'm fine with the just the hook, tharrnks."

Ten minutes later, Green Garey was ambling around the crowds with a silver hook for a left hand. Pamela soon spotted him and rushed over.

"Paarrmela! There ye arrrrrr!"

"Green Garey what happened to your hand?"

"Aye, it was the strangest thing methinketh AYE've ever seen. A butcher knife flew through 'e air from cock knows where and sliced it clean off!"

Pamela looked down, sketching a nude form. "Let me know when you're ready to tell me the truth."

"Me parrrgtner! Why AYE wouldn't not not lie to ye!"

"Save the triple negatives for someone more gullible, or more easily confused, Green Garey. How dense do you think I am? Next you'll tell me you went to a back alley witch to get that hook put in its place. Preposterous."

"Aye! That's exaaaaargctly what harrpened!"

Pamela sketched a plump ass cheek. "Oh my cock, Green Garey. I hope you at least put down enough for a grappling hook attachment."

"Look, Parrmela, AYE met this lad, name was Bleu Louie, an 'e asked me if I wanted to make it big, and then woosh! Off with me hand! Aye didn't have tAYEme to considarrr fancy hooks."

"Bleu Louie? Green Garey that just sounds like you quickly thought up a name on the spot using whatever the hen naming convention your family used when naming you!"

"AYE swear on me life! On me death! And on me death's life and me life's death!"

Pamela's eyes widened. Those were some pretty hamning things to swear on. She flicked her pen across the paper, etching light pubic hairs. "I'm still quite skeptical."

Green Garey sighed and stuck his hands in his pockets. Immediately remembering his new hook hand, he jumped as he saw the huge hole he had cut through his left pant leg. Then he puzzled over a small business card that fluttered out of it. He bent down and snatched it, giving it a quick glance.

BLEU LOUIE - GAMBLER EXTRAORDINAIRE

There was a small blue pig printed under the type. He flipped it over to see drunk handwriting covered in inky blotches, in which there were two words and a strange acronym.

Seared Briscuit, MIB

Green Garey wondered why Bleu Louie had reverse pickpocketed this cheesy business card with what appeared to be a request for an entree in his pocket. Then, he realized he had exactly what he needed to regain Pamela's trust.

"Parrmela! Avast! Parrrmela!"

Pamela looked up from a detailed labia and watched as a drunk woman floundered into Green Garey, sending the business card flapping through the air and into nonexistence.

"What is it, Green Garey? Any new lies for me?"

"Yaaarg! 'e gave me a business card but that lady bumped into me and AYE lost it!"

"Very probable, Green Garey, very probable."

Green Garey pulled himself together and walked up beside Pamela, huffing as his sliced, fraying pant leg swayed in the winds of the passersby.

"So, Parrrmela," Green Garey asked, "What were ye up to while AYE was…indisposed?"

"Oh, just looking around at the ostriches in line to race today. There were a couple of new ones: Roasted Limburger, Pad Thai, and…uh what was it…oh! Seared Briscuit."

"Seared Briscuit?"

"Yes. I know, ostrich racers are quite odd in their naming conventions."

"Parrmela, Seared Briscuit were written on Bleu Louie's business carrrrrgggrd!"

"Green Garey if you don't quit it with this Bleu Louie nonsense I might have to request the Gourd provide me with a new partner."

Green Garey gulped. Word traveled fast around Caldonia, and rumor was it that Dorma's death had been far from accidental. He felt sweat drip down his right temple and tickle his neck.

"You okay, Green Garey?"

"Aye, matey."

"How about we get out of here and look for some leads? I'm not feeling quite lucky in here."

"AYE. AYE concur."

 

[C Ron Ickler]

Dorma, Thurmsabold and the barkeep from the Country Crawdad Crossbar (whose name was Cal) walked through the invisible alleyway entrance to Jeffrey with a G's godfighting arena. Immediately they were shocked at how badly it smelled of sewage, nearly thrice as much as it ought to, and how its usually crowded atmosphere was almost one of complete silence.

It only made it to almost an atmosphere of complete silence because of the incredibly high pitched sobbing they heard echoing throughought the dingy cavern walls.

"What the cluck is that?" Dorma grumbled, looking around with squinted eye, then to her de facto lackeys, who both cowered when she turned her one eyed gaze upon them.

Eventually they happened upon what used to be the arena, now a mound of collapsed rock where four stories of 'seating' had stood, with a battered and busted open cage in the center where the gods had once battled. Also everything was covered inch to inch in shit. It was starting to attract a lot of incredibly rude gnats.

Then, they saw it. The giant, neon pink caterpillar of a tail with a smiley face wearing lipstick on it, swashing around like a wraith.

"Oh my cock," Dorma mused, "That is just horrifying."

"What the hen is it?" asked Thurmsabold.

Dorma smacked him with a claw. "I didn't ask you to ask what it was."

"Um, may I speak? I know what it is," piped up Carl.

"Proceed."

"It's Jeffrey with a G's tail."

"Aah," sighed Dorma. She was familiar Jeffrey with a G, and generally found him crooked as an outhouse vacancy sign.

"Who?" asked Thurmsabold. He did not flinch in time to avoid another smack.

"Well well well," Dorma projected expertly, as someone who had often given large rooms of people scathing scoldings, "Jeffrey with a G, finally showing his true form!"

The tail flipped and curled as a hulking, gargoyle-esque figure turned around and took its place.

"What do you want?!" squealed the gerbil like vocal chords of Jeffrey with a G.

"I want to know who did this to you," Dorma commanded, "Though I think I have an inkling."

"A finkling? Where? I hate those cock awful beasts!"

"No you boob an inkling! An inkling of who did this to you!"

"Now wait a second lady, I'll have you know I'm a first rate warlock. I created the beautiful bodice you see before you. Still, ehrm, I realize certain aspects of my transformation leave something to be desired. Even as a learned master I can admit I have a ways to go."

"No you colossal idiot! I don't care about your stupid warlock transformation!"

Jeffrey with a G wimpered weakly. "Y-you don't?"

"Cluck no! I want to know why the finest underground discount godfighting arena this side of Caldonia has been near obliterated!"

"Oh," Jeffrey with a G slunk down and shook his head. "Those bass turds."

"Multiple bass turds floating in the pond you say?" Dorma inquisited.

"Yes…two of the vilest hags any side of Caldonia and a halfwit who's been locked in a shithole for a couple years…pilfering bottles of buckwheat, all of 'em…"

"Would you say you hold ill will towards these characters? A grudge, perhaps?"

"Of course I do! Look at this place!"

"Well then. Would you in turn say you might have the palate necessary for…revenge??"

"Indubitubly."

"Excellent," Dorma rubbed her ginormous claws together, unintentionally producing a painful clicking noise. "Excelllennnnt.

***​

Samwise sat atop a shelf glaring in jealous disaproval as Assafrass and Michael rolled around the floor of the storage bunker, drunk with glee. Their stolen keg sat in the center of the room like a sort of fantasy holiday tree, except instead of ornaments dead bugs dotted its sticky exterior and all of the presents were inside the keg, and all of the presents were ale. They had polished off two thirds of it and were doing their absolute best to make it through that last third, though both their bellies and bladders were ready to burst.

Yaou knaowwww yoauuu arean'ttt thaaat baad faor aan aassss! chuckled Michael's imaginary voice. I daon't seae whayyyy may massstaer and hais caompannnions sao saorelyy daisliike yaou.

Youuu and mee both, Michael, you and me bothhhhh. Mayyyybe they just thinkk I'm an asssss hole!

Haaaahhhaaahaaaa! Aan asshaolllee! It's quaite funnnnay caonnnsidering yaouuu're aan aassss!

Samwise imagined huffing as he couldn't breathe as he was a taxidermied toucan. Assafrass never thought it was funny when I called him an asshole! And now he's calling himself one! This is bullshit.

Wwwwhat was thattt, Ssssamwise? Ol' Sammy Sam? Assafrass mind slurred with glee.

Nothing. Nothing at all. I'm fine doing great thanks. If Samwise could've moved he probably would've turned right around.

Saoundsss laike saommmmebodyyy's gaot a caase oaf saourrr taomattoooooes!

Ohhh lay off himm Michaelll he'ss jusst mad he cann't drinkk!

Haaah! Haoow trauue haow traue iandeeed may chauppy!

"Michael! Michael where are ye? Michael get the cluck over 'ere!" shouted Blitzwald hoarsely from beyond the door, trudging around aimless and belligerent.

Oahhh clauck meae loaokss laike wae maayy bae ian faor a spaottt oaf traoubblle, Michael imagined as he started whimpering.

Shhh Michael stop whining he'll hear you!

I caan't haelp iatttt I caaan't haeellp aitt!

Wow Michael get a hold of yourself you inbred imbecile! Samwise imaginarily spat.

Stoop it Saamwise stop itt he can't helpp it!

The door swung open in a flash.

"Now what 'n the hen is goin' on in 'ere?!" clambered Blitzwald, stumbling over himself in the process and almost falling over. Then his pants fell clean down, revealing his soiled floral undergarments. "Oh shit! Avast!"

Blitzwald pulled his pants up and looked back up at the scene in front of him. There was a huge upended keg in the center of the storage bunker. The ass was on the left side of the keg, frozen, laying on its back, with ale all over its face. And Michael sat still as a statue on the right side, eyes huge and bubbling with mock puppy energy, ale dribbling out of his sagging cheeks.

"Feathery cluck," Blitzwald gaped in awe, then turned around and slammed the door shut. "Gotta stop the drinkin' so much so fast…crazy dreams…hamned crazy dreams, mate, insssargnity…"

Still as the Windless Forests of Western Caldonia, Michael and Assafrass listened as Blitzwald trudged off.

Then, they turned to eachother and burst into laughter, rolling around like Eastern Caldonian Rolling Weeviles and snorting like Northern Caldonian Twenty-Nostriled Hogs.

Hoaly shiat! I caan't cluacking beliaeve it! Whaat a dingaus!

I know right? Ahahaha!

Don't push it! You two punts just got lucky!

Coame oan naow Samwaise thaat waas uncallaed foar.

Really though Samwise way to step over the line.

Cluck both of you bass turds! Punts, the both of you! Punts! What are you gonna do, kill me? Oh wait, you can't, because I'm already dead you punts!

Dareasay wea takea oaur laeave fraom thais booraish waiaf?

Sure thing, Michael. Maybe we can grab something to eat.

They walked over to the bunker door and pressed their feet against it, only to notice that Blitzwald had managed to close it completely.

Well shit. Guess we're clucked, Assafrass sighed, slumping into a defeated puddle.

Naow waiat jaust oane moament yoau lazay aass!

Assafrass lifted his head up and bleeted in offense. What that cluck did you just say? Do you know how clucking offensive that is?

Oah clauck off. Chaeck thais oaut, Michael thought smugly as he stood on his hind legs and promptly fell over, whimpering.

Wow nice job.

Yea you sozzled old punt.

Give it a rest Samwise!

Oah daear mae I daid noat realaize haow daifficult thais waould be naow thaat I'm shitfaced. Nao boather.

Michael shook himself off and stood up again, this time lifting both front paws to the door, clasping the knob, and twisting it open.

Tooak a loang taime toa traian mayself hoaw tao doa thaat!

Michael tumbled forward and the door shot open. A crusty old skyrate beheld through cataracts what they thought was a ghostly figure, almost like a hen hound, phase through the door like it was made of melted butter. Their mouth gaped and their cloudy eyes grew cloudier as they gasped a quick breath, thrashed around like a dying god and then fell into unconsciousness.

Haoly shait Michael rolled over expertly then sat, looking over the man. Is hea daead?

Check his pulse, chuckled Assafrass.

Ehrrmmm…I thaink I'd rathaer noat.

Okay then I'll check it.

Plaease raefrain! I doan't waant toa knoaw!

What do you think you killed him or something?

Noa…

Then why do you care if I check his pulse?

Stoap jabbaering aat me!

Okay I'll go check his pulse now.

Claucking stoap it!

Michael puttered off, wimpering, tail between his legs. Assafrass did try to check the skyrate's pulse, but it was quite difficult with hooves and even harder drunk and even harder because he didn't know what 'checking someone's pulse' meant.

Soon enough their two nostriled noses had led them to an especially tantalizing pile of garbage sitting in a small wooden bin by the cap'n's quaters. A couple of extremely rude gnats were swearing at eachother in a cloud over it.

Oooh smell this shit, Michael.

Shiat? Whaereabaouts? I oanly smeall garbagae.

That's what I meant, Michael.

Excreate mae? I daon't aunderstand.

Oh shut up and eat garbage with me.

They shoved their faces in the bin and began to scarf the scraps and papers down with loud snorts and belches and frequent bouts of gentle flatulence.

What the cluck are you doing in my garbage?

Both animals yanked their heads up, wide eyed with bits of discarded napkins and moldy biscuits spilling from their lips. Instantly they were enraptured.

Before them stood the long flowing fur of the captain's sheltie, Angela. A large pink bow was cemented atop her perfect cranium, fake eyelashes fit for a human were fastened over her eyelids, and nearly a pound of bright yellow sparkly lipstick was slathered all over her jiggly dog lips. What most would have found terrifying Michael and Assafrass found tantalizing.

Hello? Anybody there? She tilted her head inquisitively.

W-we have a keg, Assafrass suggested.

How do you have a keg? Not even I have a keg!

Hae staole iat. Hae's dangaerous. Stiack waith mae, laday.

You know how to steal things? What's the coolest thing you've ever stolen?

Oh that's a hood question lemme think…well this one time in Southern Caldonia I was—

I biat saomeone oance.

Only once? Woof. I bite. A lot.

Oah waell I uahm I waasn't uahm waell thaen…

So donkey boy, do you wanna—

They call me Assafrass.

So Assafrass, do you wanna steal some shit with me? I'm a total klepto.

Ia, uam, Ia coaunter saurf faor handkercaiefs oaften. Iaf thaat coaunts.

 

[C Ron Ickler]

"Look at this big floating ball of shit!" ejaculated Biscuit Pisser, her arms waving in the air, her boobs faintly jiggling, her mustache quivering. "I love it!"

They were standing outside the janky ramps to the ostrich races, which were held in a large floating balloon. There were also magic elevators for those of the wealthier gambling persuasion, large wooden boxes that floated daintily up by way of WPP (wizardry per purchase).

"So, Krumbumbum, hownowbrowncowsabout you do one of them floaty upie thingies for us?"

"Excrete me?" Broderica spat out the grain alcohol she had been swilling from an oversized flask that she had strapped to her shoulders in a purselike fashion. "Can you speak with a little more eloquence than a beached jellyfish?"

"Well eeeeexcreeeete me Shitface sorry I was only LOCKED in a SCEPTIC TANK for MONTHS guess it's my fault I didn't use the time to use a dictionary!"

"Excrete me can you two keep it down?" fussed Lady Krumbumbum, adjusting her dress like someone who had never done that before and almost falling over and breaking her ankle in the process. "People are staring."

People were staring, now more at Krumbumbum than at Biscuit Pisser.

"No! Nobody stare at her stare at me! Stare at me hamnit!!"

"Nice moustache, lady!" someone ejaculated from the back.

"Clucking thank you I'm proud of it!"

A slovenly man slobbered into Biscuit Pisser, causing her to spin around and flash everyone. Catching herself, Biscuit Pisser twisted to face the slob and promptly backhanded him.

"Watch it bub! Ugh! Men, am I right!"

The gawking crowd of mostly men cheered. They were hoping she'd flash them again.

"Woaaaah laady, you goot somee spunkk in youu," slurred the man, "Ffigurativelyy, at leasst. You everr thoughtt of bein' in sshhow bussinesss?"

"No. Stop trying to flatter me you're repulsive."

"Woaah! You're perrfect for itt, laady! Youu act likee you're alreadyy in it! 'fya eever find yourseelf in the Wiindless Cityy, aask for me, Bleuu Louiee! I'll gett you in thicc withh the beest of emm!"

Broderica watched with envy as Bleu Louie squashed away into the crowds like an alcoholic amoeba, wondering how anyone could manage to get so much drunker than she constantly was. She immediately resumed gurgling down her large flask.

They agreed to walk up the ramp with all of the other dregs after Krumbumbum insisted that the manner in which she would have to touch herself to cast the spell to make a magic elevator would be far too racy for anyone to get away with in public, and then went on to explain that there was an entire sect of wizards that only cast those kinds of spells under the cover of nighttime. And thick black robes. So if anyone ever saw some creep in a long black robe writhing around almost looking like the grim reaper it was likely just a wizard casting a painfully inappropriate spell.

Begrudgingly they trudged up the wobbling planks, trying not to empty their stomaches as they climbed higher and higher. Krumbumbum, who was struggling enough to keep the straps on her dress from flopping aside like soggy noodles, almost fell right past the roped arm guards when a small piece of cardstock flapped into her face.

"EEeeeek!"

Biscuit Pisser and Broderica burst out laughing.

"Nice scream Krumbumbum."

"Yea wow nice job Krumbumbum now everybody's staring at us."

She pulled herself up and examined the card. It was Bleu Louie's business card, with something scrawled on the back about 'Seared Briscuit' and 'MIB.'

"Did you say MIB?" juddered Biscuit Pisser like a jiggling bowl of gelatin. "As in the Mares in Brown?"

"Excrete me?" Broderica snorted, alcohol spraying from her nostrils. "What the hen are the Mares in Brown?"

"The mares dressed all in brown four legged pantsuits that stalk around Caldonia and make sure that nobody sees something they shouldn't? Time travel, space creatures, interdimensional card games, they manage and control that kind of stuff. If you see them at all, you clucked up, and there's nothing you can do to escape their hooves."

Broderica snatched the business card and inspected it. "What the hen kind of preposterous atrocity of a story is that? It sounds like it was dreamed up by someone who'd eaten a particularly moldy slice of cheese."

"You mean you haven't heard about them?" Krumbumbum butted in. "They're a very nebulous organization."

"They sound like a very nebulous crock of shit if you ask me."

"Better watch it, Shitface. They give extra attention to those that defy them. Especially the willfully ignorant."

"Especially," nodded Krumbumbum.

Broderica sighed and drank as they continued their ascent.

About ten feet from the open doors of the baloon a short, stocky woman wearing a tall, fuzzy bearskin hat blew a loud horn and then ejaculated fiercely, projecting said ejaculation across and all over the crowd. "Bleu Louie! Summoning Bleu Louie! Your prescence is requested at the inner chamber!"

Everyone's ears perked up post the woman's ejaculation. The inner chamber was the best possible seat to watch the ostrich races, a small cylindrical one way room in the middle of the racetrack offering a 360 view, well stocked bar, and cock knew what other bells and whistles.

"Hey! Lady!" shrieked Biscuit Pisser, still unused to his feminine vocal chords, "Right over here! Bleu Louie's right here!"

The lady pushed through the inhebriated crowds and up to Biscuit Pisser.

"You're not Bleu Louie," she said mechanically.

"Oh oh I know that you don't have to tell me! She is!" Biscuit Pisser pointed at Broderica.

"I believe Bleu Louie is a man."

"Well we both know how he is, not wanting to be recognized and all, so he had a wizard turn him into a woman so he could move around, unseen! Isn't that right, Shitface?"

Broderica's head swiveled around and she looked at Biscuit Pisser and the small woman. "Excrete me?"

"Didn't you get turned into a woman?"

"That's beside the point!"

"Look, Shitface, show this lady the business card."

Broderica produced Bleu Louie's business card and handed it to the woman.

"Dear me. Please excrete my mistake, Mr. Louie, and accept my humblest apologies, I did not realize you were traveling in-cognito, as it were. I should have known this hairy woman spoke the truth of you from your humongous flask, everyone knows Bleu Louie loves nothing more than to get totally shitfaced. Probably why she called you Shitface. Speaking of which, would you rather be addressed as Shitface, or Mr. Louie, Mr. Louie Shitface?"

Broderica belched in shock. Then, she settled herself. "Ehrm. Shitface is fine."

"Excellent. Alright, Shitface and associates, please follow me to the inner chamber. Your presence is needed immediately."

"Howsnowsabout a second, misirrah! I did not mean to include these fools in my errand. They can stay outside and lick ostrich puddles for all I care."

"No need to be polite, Shitface, just because you did not inform the other people in the inner chamber that you were bringing company is no reason to magic guilty and not bring them. They said only the best for Bleu Louie, and if allowing you to waltz around with these two ugly women while also appearing as a woman yourself is what you see as the best, then by cock that's what you'll have. Now follow me."

 

[C Ron Ickler]

As they followed her into the crowded outer layer of the ostrich racing balloon and weaved through the crowds, Biscuit Pisser and Krumbumbum turned to Broderica.

"Wow Shitface I didn't know you had shit for a fart! Trying to throw us out like empty glasses of ale, eh? Well you can go cluck yourself!"

"Yea go cluck yourself."

"Wow Krumbumbum think of an original thought ugh cock you wizards really are the worst."

"You take that back."

"No."

Broderica stopped swigging her alcohol and spat on the floor. "Will you two shut the cluck up already?"

They stepped over to a thin, ornate door to a surprising corner (surprising because they were in a balloon—where had this hamned corner come from?). The lady swung the door open, then all four of them gasped.

AAAAAAHHH

Every inch of the small, dark hallway that the door opened up to was coated in purple frosting. It almost looked delicious; in a frightening way.

"Please excrete this mess, I will alert the cleaning staff immediately," the woman warbled. She picked up a small glowing crystal that everyone knew was an old, now inexpensive precursor to the magickaphone. "Cleaning staff to room 432B."

It was but a blink before a small closet doorway materialized on the left wall of the room and a crotchety old wizard with a slick grey ponytail and face tattoos denoting numerous gang memberships trudged out holding a large, crooked broom. He raised it high, then planted it in the middle of the frosting encrusted room.

"Alright cleaning staff, do your thing," he grumbled.

The cleaning staff wiggled and jiggled and spun around like a top, and once it had lost momentum and fallen over all of the frosting was gone and the room was spotless.

"Thank you, Lenny," replied the woman.

"Yer welcome, misirrah," Lenny answered, turning around and walking through the doorway with the broom. The door then promptly disappeared.

They walked through the hallway to a doorway which opened up into a smaller, darker hallway. The end of this hallway opened up into a smaller, darker hallway, and the end of that hallway opened up into a humongous, bright hallway that opened up into a hallway that was quite similar to the first.

Just when everyone had thought they had had their fill of hallways, the doorway instead of opening into another hallway opened into the brilliant round room that was inner chamber.

The ceiling was painted in stained glass fashion with beautiful illustrations of the feathery chickens and their respective gods, swirling around a large golden egg within which was in fine calligraphy that all too familiar mysterious phrase 'WHICHIUS CAMEIUS FIRSTIUS?'

The round glass walls, or wall, were unmolested, allowing as rumored a perfect 360 degree view of the ortich track, while also magnifying and sharpening the image to significantly improve the viewing experience.

In the center of the room was a large round bar lathered in gold and emerald. A small floating orb housing a small brown gremlin was bartending with telepathy. It was currently pouring glasses of champagne that surely cost an exorbiant amount as it was bottled out of what was clearly a humongous sapphire.

Sitting in a humongus velvet chez lounge behind the bar was a large, bloblike figure clad in a fine tweed suit. It was wearing a large golden chainmail hood that completely obscured its face, yet somehow allowed the thing to sip on a frighteningly large glass of whiskey.

"Ehwell ehwell ehhhwhhhelll. EhBleu ehLouie. Ehow ehnice to ehfinally ehmeet yew," garbled the thing, setting down its glass on a hovering side table. It clapped its hands and the chez lounge floated over to face in front of the newcomers. "Ehnow ehwait a second. Ehwhich ehone of ehyou is ehBleu ehLouie? You're all ehwomen!"

"Bleu Louie had himself turned into a woman by a wizard for…anonymity," the woman replied.

"Ehwell ehwhich ehwoman is he?"

"He—ehrm—she is!" Krumbumbum, accidentally sending her dress straps tumbling once again for an awkward adjustment, pushed Broderica forward.

"Hey now watch it you spilled some of my alcohol!" growled Broderica.

"Ehwell I ehguess ehit ehwas an ehassumption of ehmine that ehBleu ehLouie was a ehman. Just ehgoes to ehshow you. Ehmay I ehask your ehpronouns?"

"Eh what now?" spat Broderica.

"You ehpronouns. I ehwas ehgiven a ehlovely ehbooklet full of ehthem by a nice ehyoung…eh…ehwell I ehforgot ehwhat they ehwere I'm ehsure I'd ehremember if I ehran ehin to ehthem ehthough."

"Cluck that shit. Call me Shitface. What do you want?"

"Ehinteresting…ehvery ehinteresting…you are ehnothing ehlike I ehimagined you to ehbe, ehShitface…and ehyet you are eheverything I ehhoped ehfor," the thing was clearly oggling her enormous boobs, which were slightly swaying, "Ehplease, ehhave ehsome of the ehfinest ehchampagne."

"Thank you, sirrah," Broderica nodded, taking the glass of champagne and raising it. "Cheers to…"

"Ehto ehyour ehhealth."

"Yes. To that," Broderica sighed, clinking glasses with the thing and pressing the champagne to her lips.

It barely touched her tongue before she bristled and chucked her glass at the floor.

SMAASSHSHSHHSHHH

"That was the nastiest shit I've ever had grace my lips, and that's including literal shit! That's clucking horrible! You paid for that? You should pay me for making me drink it you bass turd!"

Biscuit Pisser looked like she had almost pissed herself, and Krumbumbum just about fainted. They noticed the short woman who had led them there was nowhere to be seen.

"Ehhehehehehheh Ehehehe EHEHEHEHHHHHH. Ehyou ehamuse ehme."

Broderica snorted.

"Ehehehehehhhh. ehCock. ehWhy the ehclucking hen do you have to keep ehhehing so much I mean cluck what the ehhen is wrong with you?" Brodeica shook her breasts dissaprovingly, emphasizing the rock hard nipples and surprisingly large ariolas through her dress. Biscuit Pisser visibly pissed herself; it was running down her thighs and to her right heel. Lady Krumbumbum stumbled forward and the top of her dress fell clean off, revealing her small nipples and a symphony of dark moles.

"Ehhoo ehhoo ehhoooo!"

Broderica gawked. "What are you, a clucking owl or something?"

"Ehno! I ehwas ehjust ehappreciating the ehcompany you've ehbrought to ehme. Ehwhile I ehoriginally ethought ehthey ehwere the ehugliest ehhookers I'd ever ehseen, I ehnow ehsee their ehappeal."

"We aren't hookers!!" Biscuit Pisser screamed, thrashing around in an unintentionally sexual manner that made it rather look like she was showing her body off, namely her ass. She soon noticed this and froze. "That was not on purpose! Hamn this womanly body!"

"Ehwell ehthen. If ehyou are ehBleu ehLouie," the thing pointed a gloved finger? at Broderica, "ehthen ehwho ehare you ehtwo?"

Lady Krumbumbum scrambled to cover herself, struggling hopelessly with her noodly straps, "I am Lady Krumbumbum."

"And I am Xav—er—Biscui—er—Lady Biscuit Pisser! Baroness of Southeastwesterward Caldonia!"

Broderica and Krumbumbum looked at 'the Baroness' in disbelief and amusement.

"Ehvery ehwell. Ehthose ehsound ehlike ehhooker ehnames to ehme, ehbut ehwhatever ehmakes you ehhappy, ehBleu ehLouie. I ehhave ehnot ehshied ehaway ehfrom ehhiring ehladies ehof ehhalf ehpassed ehgas ehin ehmy ehmoments ehof ehweakness."

Broderica was annoyed, then infuriated to catch her mind thinking about this strange 'ehhh'ing thing frequenting a night club.

"What the cluck is wrong with you! You're clucking disgrossting! I'm more nauseous now than in two decades of copious drinking! What power you yield, sirrah! I had found myself titillated—"

"I'll say," Krumbumbum mumbled, staring at Broderica's heaving boobies.

"—absolutely titillated—"

"Is she just going to keep saying that?"

"—just, completely, fillingly, blisteringly titillated at the idea of watching these ostrich races. But you are such a vile, irreproachable louse of a creature that it is all I can do to keep myself from pelting you from every orifice of my body with varying detritous."

"Ehouch. Ehbut ehstill, I ehsee your ehpoint."

Broderica shook her head. He busty boobs bobbed in the opposite direction. "Okay what's the clucking deal here? Why are you sucking up to me you strange blob creature?"

"EhBleu ehLouie you and I ehboth ehknow ehwhyy. EhPlease ehjust ehhelp ehme ehout."

Broderica turned to Biscuit Pisser and Krumbumbum, both of which looked flushed and sweaty.

"I don't give a cat's cradle that you said please! Go to hen, motherclucker! And get someone to come in here and sweep all this glass before I sever a clucking arterie!"

While it was impossible to see what the head of the thing looked like, they all got the clear impression that it was terrified of this heavy chested woman.

"Ehyes ehyes ehof ehcourse ehmissirah ehof ehcourse," then, the thing loudly ejaculated, "Pin pin!"

The small brown gremlin, still floating inside a glass orb, suddenly hopped to telekinetic attention. All of the glass shards shot into the air, dodging every person's face like each shard was a hummingbird.

They twirled into a swurling flurry, and with a light poof settled into the shape of an ornate glass rose that slowly glided towards Broderica, attempting to molest itself into her right hand.

"What the cluck? Ew! No! Stop it!"

"Ehmy ehhhhpologiesss, ehmissehsirrehrrrahhhh."

"Stop clucking rasping! I'll have nightmares for weeks you clucking salami!"

The golden chainmail masked, tweed-clad monstrosity's 'head' collapsed into its 'hands' and it began to…sob.

 

[C Ron Ickler]

"EhOhhh ehcock…ehcluck…I ehknow I'm ehbeyond ehreproach. Ehyou know ehwhat the ehkids ehused to ehsay about ehme? Ehback ehwhen I ehwas ehin my ehtwenties and ehgoing to ehmagic ehfantasy ehcollege? They ehsaid ehthat I ehhad ehcast ehtoo ehmany ehclairvoyance ehspells and it ehhad ehcontorted my ehbody ehinto…ehwhat it ehis."

Broderica turned to Krumbumbum and turned an erotic eyebrow as Krumbumbum scratched her ass crack and then absenmindedly sniffed it; sexually. Krumbumbum stuttered in her olfactory perusal as she noticed Broderica's eyes and they both instantly felt her guilt as Broderica realized that some of the things Krumbumbum had talked about regarding clairvoancy spells had not at all been objective, or entirely factual. Neither of them noticed how much Biscuit Pisser absolutely loved witnessing this all unfold, she was in fact to the point of ecstasy that she was licking her lips. It also appeared a little more piss had dribbled down her leg.

Broderica, realizing at once Krumbumbum's glorious hypocrisy and the pitifulness of this blob man burst out in a racuhy fit of laughter that sent the reek of her alcohol stained breath parading through the air like a flurry of firetwerks.

The sobbing, the pain, the amoebalike fatness of the thing before Broderica caused her to stop her cackling and lean over, almost, cock forbid, magicing bad.

"What is it, misirrah? I beg you to tell me what you expect of me," Broderica confessed, bubbling with shock at herself and also some fartburn. She leaned over to the blob, her huge milky tits framing its gold-clad head. "I truly am unaware. I, ehrm, I have agents that deal with that issue."

"Ehhh…I ehguess I ehshould have ehfigured…ehlook, ehBleu ehLouie—"

"Oh my clucking cock why do you keep calling me that?! I clucking told you to call me Shitface and yet all you clucking do is call me 'ehehhehhhBleu ehhhhhLouie'! What the cluck! Die in a fire if you don't get the message!"

"I'm ehsorry, I'm ehsorry. I ehpromise I'm—"

"Shut the cluck up!! Never 'ehpromise' me anything! Cluck you! Now what in the flying cluck do you want you clucking oyster shell?!"

"Ehplease, ehmisirrah…ehwhat is ehtoday's eehM eehhI ehhhB?"

Biscuit Pisser lit up. "MIB? Mares in Brown? Mares in Brown! Cluck! I knew it!"

"Ehwhat? Ehno! Ehhow ehstupid ehare ehthese ehhookers of ehyours, ehShitface?"

"Pretty hamned stupid," Broderica tutted, glancing at Bleu Louie's business card. "Anyhowwhatsit, the MIB is Seared Briscuit, I think."

"Ahhh. EhSeared ehBriscuit," the thing sipped more champagne,
"Ehlovely. Ehthank ehyou."

"We killed him," blurted Lady Krumbumbum.

Broderica turned beading eyes to meet her limp gaze. "What the cluck is wrong with you why would you say that?!"

"Ehhhh…Pin Pin!"

Before Broderica could violently slap Krumbumbum, the small brown gremlin used its mental energy to split the glass rose into three sharp shards that zoomed forth and placed themselves threateningly at each of the womens' necks. They all froze as best they could.

Broderica sighed. "You know, Krumbumbum, it was you that killed the hamned ostrich."

"Only because Barronness von Biscuit Pisser riled it all up and got it out for blood."

"Oooh I like that I like the von that's hood I'm going to keep using that von now hen yea thanks chuppy."

"Oh go cluck yourself woman."

"Ehthat's ehquite ehenough. It is ehclear to ehme ehnow ehthat ehyou are ehnot ehShitface. Or, eh, ehnot ehBleu ehLouie."

"I am too Shitface! All my friends that knew me when I was a young lad knew me as Shitface!"

"Ehwell ehthen. Ehwho ehis ehgoing ehto ehM ehI ehB ehnow ehthat ehSeared ehBriscuit is ehdead?"

Broderica looked outside at the track. People were preparing twelve ostriches for their sprint, putting leather masks on their beaky faces and painting numbers on their feathers.

Broderica shrugged and pointed lazily, not even looking where. "That one."

Everyone then looked at that one. That one, a shrimpy looking ostrich with spiked up head plumage and a wonky looking leg, was coincidentaly named That One, which the blob creature let them know through many annoying ehhhhs. Then, it let them know that there was no way on Gurth that That One could ever win the races, and that clearly they were charlestons. Broderica insisted blindly that That One was indeed the one, for reasons that escaped everyone in the room, including herself.

"EhI've ehhad ehhenough of ehthis! Ehcluck ehyou ehdumbasses!"

Broderica's pupils grew to tiny slits, and her mouth foamed. She gave the impression of a cat with rabies. "Say that again."

"That again," said Biscuit Pisser.

"Not you Biscuit Pisser!"

"Sorry sorry I just always wanted to do that."

Broderica turned her eyes back to the well dressed blob, shaking to the point that the glass shard pricked her neck and beads of blood bubbled up. "You. Say it again, bass turd!"

"Ehwhat? Ehcluck ehyou ehdumbasses?"

Broderica mouthed the word 'asses' and then the word 'ass.' Ass, ass, ass, A S S. On she mouthed, over and over again mouthing ass, wearing out her face with the amount of times she mouthed ass. The energy in the room grew grim as spit spray from her ass mouthing all over the blob's tweed suit.

Inside Broderica's mind a fire was stoking itself. Ass. How could she have lost track of her goal? How could she have allowed herself to lose sight of her quest, her lost companion, her beloved ass? How else could she fill the ass shaped hole in her life? She couldn't. If she did not save her ass then her ass hole would remain forever empty and wanting.

"My ass hole will be filled!" Broderica declared, seemingly rattling the very firmament of the Gurth. Everyone was frightened and confused.

Everyone included the small brown gremlin, who promptly lost concentration and mentally dropped the glass shards. Immediately Broderica clenched her enormous flask purse's open hole in her jaws and dashed over to the small brown gremlin's orb, ripping it out of the air and hurling it at the glass dome wall that enclosed them.

SSHHKHKSHKHKHKKHHHSSHHHHHHH

Both the small brown gremlin's orb and the magnified wall cracked, and then shattered, showering them in a dizzying spray of glass. Time slowly for a second as Krumbumbum stuck her fingers in her ears.

"Quick!" she cried at her companions, "Squeeze my butt! One cheek per person!"

Disturbed, Broderica and Biscuit Pisser grabbed Krumbumbum's ass, one cheek per person.

"Squeeze it more firmly!" she demanded.

They obeyed.

"Firmer hamn you this is serious!"

They squeezed it with all their might.

"Cluck! Too firm! Too firm!"

They lightened up a little, and then Krumbumbum unplugged her ears and the glass around them shot away from them like they were one giant negatively magnetized pole.

"EehhhAHHHHH Ehhhthe ehhhpaiiiin eeethhee ehhhorrible ehhhpaaiiinn!!" cried the blob man, crumbling in the barage of glass.

"You can let go of my butt now."

Krumbumbum waited, and then sighed in exasperatiom.

"Come on Biscuit Pisser let go. Seriously! Cock hamn it Biscuit Pisser!" Krumbumbum swatted at her angrily, and Biscuit Pisser backed away. "Now come on let's get the cluck out of here."

As they ran the glass pushed away from them. They approached the small brown gremlin, which Krumbumbum bent down and inspected.

"This small brown gremlin is still alive. Do you know what that means?"

Broderica and Biscuit Pisser looked at Krumbumbum like she'd just asked them to divine the meaning of a slice of cheese.

"Oh my cock haven't either of you ever read a book?"

They turned to eachother and shrugged.

"Ugh. Clucking figures. Well, watch this shit."

Krumbumbum tickled the small brown gremlin's small brown belly, and it began…giggling. It was a terrible, high pitched noise.

"I thought we were getting the cluck out of here. What the cluck is wrong with you, Krumbumbum, really it sounds awful. Cock. I need another drink."

The giggling soon morphed into another juddering sound, almost a chirping. Or a clucking, and not the vulgar kind. They watched in awe as the small brown gremlin grew quickly like water filling a balloon, and brightened from dark brown to bright white…and before they knew it, standing before them, in the middle of the ostrich racing field which they now noticed had gone from sheering to cries of utter shock, was a humongous, fluffy chicken.

"So what in the flying cluck am I looking at?" Broderica asked through belches of liquor, some saliva drippling down the valley between her cleavage.

"What do you think it is?" Krumbumbum asked.

"I know what it is!" blurted Biscuit Pisser. "It's some sort of a giant lizard!"

"Cluck off Biscuit Pisser everbody knows you have to go to the Cold Blooded Isles to see giant lizards."

"It's a chicken you idiots!" Krumbumbum screamed. "A clucking chicken! Did you not see that huge mural above our heads in the big glass bubble we just shattered? It's one of those! You two really have no worldly knowledge, do you?"

"A chicken?" Biscuit Pisser stared up at the humongous bird, whose head darted around at light speed as it stared with what appeared to be bludgeoning stupidity at absolutely nothing. Suddenly, it—

BBBUKAAAWWW

—opened its huge clucking jaws and—

BUKAWWWFFFFSHHHHHHHHHHHHH

—a torrent of flame shot from its mouth at a section of the crowd, instantly incincerating them into a smoldering heap. Then it blinked and jiggled its head around quizzically.

"Feathery shit," they all said in unison. Then they looked at eachother self consciously.

 

[C Ron Ickler]

"Okay let's get the cluck out of here!" Biscuit Pisser started to sprint off, only to trip as Krumbumbum snatched her skirt and watched as she tumbled to the floor face first as glass shot out of her way.

"That's the last thing we should do! And if you knew anything about chickens you'd know that already!"

"Well then, Krumbumhole, why don't you enlighten us with all your precious knowledge instead of lording it over us like some sort of dreadful floating manatee?"

"Okay but first Broderica what is with all these weird clucking comparisons to strange animals you're always making? A dreadful floating manatee?"

"What do you mean?"

"What do I mean? What do you mean what do I mean? Do you mean you think a dreadful floating manatee is something that one would normally encounter in the day to day?"

"I shan't think why not?"

"Okay okay okay let me just uhmm let me just step in here Shitface. Have we all forgotten about the gigantic chicken that just melted half the audience? Are we not worried about that?"

The chicken began to slowly raise its large claw feet into the air, then hesitated and set them back down. Then it raised them back up, and continued this process, almost absentmindedly stepping on the ladies many times.

"Not really, because you see if you'd let me finish talking—

They all braced for the chicken foot's impact.

BOOM

"—I would have—"

BOOM

"—told you that—"

BOOM

"—the safest—"

BOOM

"—place to be—"

BOOM

"—is right underfoot—"

BOOM

"—of the chicken."

"Cluck your stupid knowledge!" Broderica finished off her flask purse and chucked it at the gigantic chook, completely missing it yet impressively whacking into and spinning away from a small nearby sparrow, which dropped out of the air and plopped dead in the grass.

BOOM

"You're going to make it angry," fussed Krumbumbum.

BOOM

"Make it angry? It's made me angry! It just made me throw out my best purse!"

BOOM

"That's your only purse and it's not even a purse it's a flask that we tied some straps on that used to be Biscuit Pisser's belt back when she had a—"

BOOM

"It's a purse cockhamnit!!"

BOOM

"Hey gals," whined Biscuit Pisser.

BOOM

"Just say guys Biscuit Pisser," Broderica sighed.

BOOM

"I'm getting really scared that I'm going to try and climb the chicken."

BOOM

"Don't clucking do that!! Don't climb the chicken that's the last thing you should do!!"

BOOM

"I don't know it really seems like I'm gonna climb the chicken!"

BOOM

"Just don't you'll clucking die!"

BOOM

"Cluck you Krumbumbum. Biscuit Pisser, climb the chicken. Climb the everloving cluck out of that chicken. Climb that chicken til you can't climb that chicken no more and then climb that chicken more than that. Climb. That. Chicken."

BOOM

Krumbumbum gasped for air to try and tell Biscuit Pisser to not climb the chicken, but with a glance she realized that Biscuit Pisser had already started climbing the chicken and was now dangling off some feathers right above the chicken's left leg.

BOOM

"Hey guys and dolls ehrm guys and gals um so I don't know what to do from here so um could I uh—"

BOOM

"Of course you don't you clucking idiot! Hood thing I'm a clucking wizard! If you were you'd know this is the only way to mount a chicken!"

BOOM

Krumbumbum raised her left leg high in the air as if it was long enough to glide over the chicken's haunches, flashing a majority of the living audience members.

WHOOOOO

This sudden cry of delight alarmed the chicken, which promptly—

BUKAWWWFFFFSHHHHHHHHHHHHH

Melted them into a burnt gravy.

Krumbumbum sighed and then, flicking her hair back and moaning so loudly that Broderica wished she could scoop out her earsdrums. Then she pelvic thrusted in the air over and over and over again, and with each thrust, she and Broderica jerked shortly into the air. Jerk and jerk and jerk and jerk as she thrusted back and forth and back and forth and moaned and jerk and back and forth and jerk and moan and back and forth and there was Biscuit Pisser Broderica grabbed her and then Krumbumbum thrusted back and forth and back and forth and they jerked and jerked and she moaned and moaned and moaned because she was out of breath and moaned because it was wearing her out and moaned because it was making her sore and moaned because why in the hen wasn't this over yet and jerk and moan and back and forth and moan and her legs hurt and in and out and jerk and moan and why was it taking so long and moan and moan and come on it had to be over and moan and moan and jerk and back and forth and forth and back ooh that hurt she messed up and back and forth and back and forth and jerk and moan and moan and moan and—

"OHHHH!" Krumbumbum cried, face flushed, pelvis trembling as they hovered an inch above the chicken. Then, they dropped daintily on its back, Krumbumbum falling face forward with her arms and legs dangling on either side of the chicken. "CLUCKKK!"

"Wow," Broderica snorted. "You would totally get thrown out of Dimension Exercise." Dimension Exercise was a a chain of inexpensive caves that promised to give you the body of your dreams by way of lifting progressively heavier packes of sardines because they were also a sardine packing company.

Biscuit Pisser shook nervously as she watched the chicken dart its volatile head around. "Hey guys I am really uncomfortable right now."

"What?" gasped Krumbumbum, "Are your thighs on fire too? Is your mouth just gaping trying to get all the air in?"

"Please never say that word again."

"What word? Thighs?"

"No! Gaping!"

"Why gaping? What's the problem with saying gaping what about the word gaping do you dislike?"

"Nevermind."

"No no I want to know why you don't want me to say gaping nothing is wrong with gaping my mouth was gaping I mean how else can I say that my mouth was gaping?"

"Both of you zip it before my gaping fist gapes the cluck out of both of you! Hen, it may just gape you both off the chicken into a gaping splatter on the gaping ground!"

"Broderica that's not the right way to use gaping in a sentence."

"Oh my clucking cock will you listen to yourself?" Broderica pinched her nose to make her voice squeaky and annoying. "That's not the right way to talk about gaping! That's not the right way to mount a chicken let me show you how to mount a chicken!" She unpinched her nose. "Cluck you, Krumbumbum. Cluck. You. Now make me some liquor you magical vitch."

Krumbumbum muttered to herself about Broderica not knowing anything about gaping and conjured her up a large handle of whiskey.

"ALCOHOL!" boomed the mysterious deep voice as the whiskey materialized in Krumbumbum's palm. She took a few swigs herself before handing it off to Broderica.

"Hey, um, guys, can I ask you a question?"

"You just did you clucking pinwheel," chuckled Broderica through sloshing spurts of liquor.

"It's a figure of speech!"

Krumbumbum butted in. "So is gaping."

"Shut up shut up shut up! Look over there!" Biscuit Pisser pointed a shaking finger towards the wide field below them.

"Look over where?" Broderica asked as she looked around haphazardly, continuing to chug from the handle of whiskey and almost falling off the chicken many times.

"Down there in the field!"

"You know Biscuit Pisser," Broderica began to gesticulate with the whiskery handle, almost knocking Krumbumbum off the chicken, "You know, not that it's truly your business, but while I don't trim myself down there, if you will, missirrah, I still find calling it a field to be rather, what's the word, crude as shit?"

"Are you blind, woman?" vitched Krumbumbum. "He's pointing down there! The field as in the field where the race track is? You know, underfoot of the chicken? Where we were standing only moment before?"

"What did you just clucking call me, Krumbumbum?"

"Blind? A woman?"

"Think about what pronouns you used to describe me."

"Why should I?! Shouldn't we be more worried about what's going on down there in the—"

"Do you two have crabs or something?" Broderica interjected, burping liquor all over the back of Biscuit Pisser's head.

"What the cluck no of course not!" Krumbumbum scoffed.

"Okay hood because I borrowed some of your underwear earlier and all this talk of trouble 'down there' as it were has really been making me nervous."

"That's not what we were talking about if you would just look—"

"You called me 'he,' Krumbumbum!"

"So what if I did?! Aren't you a man anyways?"

"Right now I'm a woman, woman!" Biscuit Pisser growled, pulling her top off and jiggling her perky tits around lavasciously. "Just look at these titties!"

At the word titties, the chicken's feathers ruffled up like it had just put its beak in a magical power socket.

BUHBUHBUHCKAAAAAAAAAAAAAAW

 

[C Ron Ickler]

The chicken charged forward, drawing closer to the small amount of the audience that remained and flattening the semi-royal Gourd members that had been surrounding it with grappling hooks that Biscuit Pisser and Krumbumbum had attempted to make Broderica aware of.

THUM THUM THUM THUM THUM THUM

"Stop staring at them!" Biscuit Pisser covered her tits as she screamed down to the people the chicken was flattening.

With a gusting wind enough to chill even Lady Krumbumbum who had quickly cast three or so anti-chill spells, the chicken lurched into the air.

BUKAAAAAAWWWFFFFFFFFFFFFSHHH

It spread its majestic wings while spraying a barrage of flame all over the ostrich racing field, the two and a half ostriches that had somehow not already been killed, Broderica's flask that she had tossed and killed a bird with, and finally at the false sky that enclosed them in the humongous balloon. This disintigrated so quickly that if one was not looking closely it would scarcely be noticeable from the actual Caldonian sky, which the balloon had naturally been mimicking by way of magic.

WFFF WFFF WFF WFF

The chicken flapped its mighty wings as it ascended higher and higher, writhing like a feathery serpent. Broderica, Lady Krumbumbum and Biscuit Pisser watched in awe as the world below them grew smaller and smaller as the sky grew wider and wider, all the while listening in annoyance as their ears popped harder and harder.

Soon, all they could easily see was the faint outline of the world below them and the swirling, turbulent clouds in the air among them. The chicken's wings ceased their fast flapping and remained outstretched as it slowly glided around.

"So this is a chicken," Biscuit Pisser wondered.

"No, it's actually a feathered sardine, you buffoon!" chided Broderica.

"Really?"

"Not no really Biscuit Pisser. Broderica's just being a bit of a vitch Biscuit Pisser don't listen to her. She's just annoyed because her huge boobs are making her back sore."

"Accurate," Broderica agreed with a belch, finishing off the whiskey bottle and tossing it through the air behind her.

"Anyways Biscuit Pisser anyways let me ask you a question Biscuit Pisser." Krumbumbum's eyes dilated like a puppy's and she put on her most patronizing voice. "Can you read?"

Biscuit Pisser vibrated with insulted ferocity and could barely stop herself from pushing Krumbumbum right off the chicken. "Are you clucking serious?"

"Yea Krumbumbum shut up you're just mad you lost all your books in that house fire."

Krumbumbum almost jerked around and smacked Broderica right off the chicken. In fact she did jerk, but this sent her top tumbling off her shoulders, exposing her embarassingly hard nipples which she then rushed to cover. "Bass turd," she hissed.

"I was just saying Krumbumbum that this chicken you know it used to be a small brown gremlin."

"Thank you for reminding me Biscuit Pisser I was only the one who tickled it back into a chicken."

"And so chickens are this big nebulous thing that a lot of people worship. I mean, all of us swear against the chickens all the time."

"And?"

"Well it's just really making me think about my worldview and whether it's all it's stalked up to be. And it's making me kind of anxious. Do you ever get like that?"

Broderica spat near her patch of chicken back, smirking. "No."

***​

Werthers gasped for air, opening his eyes. He was laying on the ground, in what appeared to be a tent, in darkness, his last memory being submerged in a thick wave of sewage. He smelled similarly. His stomache grumbled. But he was dry.

Werthers pulled himself to his feet and retched, shuttering. He heard a match strike behind him. He turned around to see the cigarette in its obnoxiously long holder slowly inching forward through a part in the tent cloths.

"How're youfe doing, Wormy? Ready for the nefft phafe of our pthan? Oh whof am I kidding youf know efthactly what to do like alwaythf. Anywaythf I'm glad ya made it out of there Wormy I waf worried that fit funami might really cluff youfe up! Youfe really are the befft. Anywhatfit, here'f Ronaldo wif your cofftume."

Ronaldo walked in from the other side of the tent wearing a safari outfit and holding a mess of bright purple rubber.

"Here you are, Worms!" Ronaldo dropped the rubber mess at Werthers' feet.

"An ostrich costume?"

"But of course, my hood worm man! Just like we agreed on! Now go ahead, suit up, chup!"

Werthers sighed and stretched the ostrich suit over his feet, struggling to pull it around his legs and up his torso. Then, Ronaldo picked up the large ostrich head and shlunked it on top of Werthers' head. He felt sticky, sweaty, and awkward. Not birdlike at all.

"Excellent my worm excellent!" Ronaldo patted Werthers on the back, nearly breaking it, and then fastened a collar around Werthers' false ostrich neck. "Now, come on then boy, let's go show those pieces of shupperware what for, tut tut!"

Ronaldo pulled out a small extendable whip and lashed Werthers in the ass thrice.

"Ow!"

"That's a hood ostrich noise, chup! Now, tut tut, boy, tut tut!" Ronaldo lashed Werthers' ass again, and this time Werthers' jutted his ass into the air and trotted around as ostrich-y as possible. Which in the thick rubber suit looked more like a wax sculpture of an ostrich having an intentional siezure.

Werther's false ostrich head bobbed atop his true head as his eyes peered through the jagged eye holes in his false ostrich neck, watching as Ronaldo pulled him by leash through the tent and into the blinding light of the day.

Or, false day.

They were inside the stables of the ostrich races. The tall, lanky dwarves with their perfectly smooth faces, none of which ever grew facial hair and the thick, baggy clothing with very understated coloring they were clad in made that more than abundantly clear.

Clucking ostrich jockeys. They were nothing but loof northern loons. Whether anyone, even the cheapest and whoreiest of prostitution entities brought into existence by mystical sluttiness spells would sleep with them was a question that Wethers was glad he would never know the answer to.

"'ey 'ey Geral'ine you 'ee that 'ady over 'ere?" drawled a stinky, sticklike jockey, clothes billowing around like a miniature forest caught in a hurricane as he pointed at a stinky woman jockey.

"Oh ah see that laday ovah theyah ah see huh ah see huh Jan'rew ah see huh! Ah wuhk with huh awn toos-days an she ain't do shit! Lazeh vitch."

"We'l 'ou awta knowuh ah been 'eep in 'at 'it 'ike ah tell you 's damp as cluck in dere when ahm in da room."

"Buwallsheeit yow don' gawt nuthin' wit dat wommin!"

"Yea yea yea yew ask huh nest tahm yew wuhk with huh see wut see ses!"

"Shut yow stoopid jawkey mowth yew stoopid ol jawkey."

"Girl yew as stoopid and jawkey ish as ah ever beyn!"

"Hamn wud yew look ayt thayt awstrik! Hamn thang looks lahk 's gawt thuh jawdice!"

"Hamn Geral'ine yew raht! Look aht that shit thang looks lahk ah hamn rubbah tumah!"

"And that's all you need to keep in mind going forward, my hood chup," whispered Ronaldo's grease tainted breath in Werthers' ear.

Werthers then realized that Ronaldo had been whispering in his rubber-covered ear the details of what was surely some absurd, dangerous plan.

"Just let me know if you need any of that repeated," replied Ronaldo warmly as he lashed Werthers in the feathery ass four times and tugged tightly on his leash, leading him in a trot around the stables. Werthers stared up at the false sky and sighed.

"'ey, who's 'at theyuh?" asked a rather flushed and prespiring jockey.

"Why my hood sirrah this is That One!"

"Oh Oh, 'at one, ay? 's layt."

"We had to get his feathers in order. Make sure they were preened and cleaned and blow dried and sprinkled with sparkles and all that what what for."

The jockey glanced over Werthers skeptically.

"Feathus in awduh? Hamn thang is thuh uwgliest muthucluckin awstrich ah've evuh seen! Aw'd uf rathuh yuh plucked thuh feathuhs then gawt um in awduh, iyf this is thuh awduh!"

Werthers could not help but magic a little hurt at hearing this crude dwarf insult his appearance, even if it was most likely due to his ill fitting and iller equipped ostrich suit. Werthers considered he ought to be content with the fact that the jockey accepted him as an ostrich. That was, until Werthers heard the next thing the jockey said.

"Hen, mistah, ah'd uv hayd them Tahtans taws 'im awf uh cliff ayt burth 'f ah had thuh uhthawutay."

This reference to the warmongering Tartans, an ancient Caldonian society that would slaughter their unwanted offspring with the casuality of swatting an incredibly rude gnat, filled Werthers with the fire of rage that would have forced him to at the least attempt to peck the jockey to a bloody pulp with his false beak had he had even a semblance of a backbone. As Werthers did not have a semblance of a backbone due to a rare Caldonian medical condition the situation instead gave him a troubling bout of flatulence.

"Hamn! Yew feedin' 'at thang maygik beans aw sumthin'? Muthucluckuh bout tuh sprowt uh beenstawlk owtuh 's ass!"

"No, kind sirrah," chuckled Ronaldo, attempting to pat the Jockey on the shoulder before realizing how staggeringly tall they were and instead slapping his knee awkwardly, "He's just raring to race, the tiger! That One is the fiercest ostrich I've ever met!"

"Fiyuce is wun way tuh put it," muttered the jockey, attempting to stare at the ground but being so tall that the best they could do was stare at their own shins.

WSHHHH

A butcher's knife flung through the air, whirring past Werther's face by his left ear and gliding through a tiny gap in the two thick curtains behind them.

"Hands up, cluckers!" ejaculated the belligerently brash voice of Officer seargeant Seargeant Officer Jarmish. Also know undercover as 'Herbert.' "Hamn! I spent months honing my knife throwing how could I miss that?"

 

[C Ron Ickler]

"You didn't miss, you asshole!" screamed Ronaldo, clutching his left temple as blood spewed all over his hand. "You clucking cut off my ear!"

"Hood!"

Werthers looked down, seeing a small quivering ear laying in a pool of blood.

"Hamn, yew tew awtuh piyuk uhp thayt eyuh kwik owuh thayt awstrich gawna gawble it awl up!"

"I'm not going to gobble it up!" Werthers ejaculated, surprised at his own boldness.

"Thaht awstrich k'n speayuk!"

"Wormy…?" Ronaldo's eyes bulged like he was being tightly squeezed by a large robotic claw.

"Werthenheldenshacklenfacklesbergenshtiener…?" asked 'Herbert,' looking genuinely confused.

"You know what this means," growled Ronaldo, looking to the jockey while nodding at 'Herbert.' "He's got to die."

"Cluck this shit!" screamed the jockey, running through the stables, pushing over other jockeys and interruptiung a couple of makeout sessions and a couple of illict drug use sessions, dashing through a small door that apparated out of nowhere.

Ronaldo dashed after the jockey, and 'Herbert' followed. Werthers stood there, awkward and sweaty in his ostrich suit.

"Werthenwiller, what are you doing? Come on!" demanded 'Herbert.'

Werthers huffed and sauntered after 'Herbert,' barely passing through the doorway as it slowly shrunk into nothingness.

Werthers blinked through his ill-fitted eyeholes, focusing hard to see through the darkness. They were in a candelit hallway. The jocket was almost at the end, near a door. Ronaldo was gaining on him. 'Herbert,' who had started out running faster than Ronaldo, was now almost crumpled on the ground.

"Ohhh my cock," moaned 'Herbert,' falling on his knees, "It hurts! Oh cock it hurts! Oh cock, please! Cock, please help me!"

Ronaldo froze for a moment to gaze at the spectacle, then shook himself as he heard the jockey fiddling with a doorknob.

Suddenly, 'Herbert''s mouth opened wide as a manhole and a geyser of purple frosting rocketed out of it, coating every inch of the hallway in glazed hoodness, along with everyone inside.

"Ah shit haw am ah suhpoosed tuh openuh this thang with all yew doofisuses makin' such a mess uh mah hallway?" cried the jockey, forcing his arms through the sheet of frosting.

"Brilliant twerk Wormy. I knew we could count on you!" applauded Ronaldo as he attempted to dig himself out of the icing, doing about as well as a child would on a greased seesaw.

"Wait a second!" 'Herbert' ejaculated. "Werthenwormenwerths, am I understanding this situation correctly? Are you with him or are you with me?"

Werthers froze, not even attempting to pry himself from the sweet smelling grasp of the thick purple icing. Then, he decided on his answer.

"Yes."

"Oh thank hoodness Werthenstrummer thank hoodness. Now, ehrm—" 'Herbert' could only speak for fleeting moments as he had begun to stuff his face with the purple icing, "—eh, hood luck then—" chomp chomp "—my hood—" chomp "—piece of chupperware."

Werthers wasn't sure what 'Herbert''s well wishes referred to, but he was happy for them as Ronaldo yanked him out of the icing and to attention with his leash and brashly lashed his ass.

"Tut tut!" Ronaldo brandished what was clearly his favorite weapon, the magic machete, and shot a couple miniature machetes that stuck in icing by 'Hearld''s sticky knees. "And don't you think of following us, you miserable old louse," he chuckled, lifting the smoking machete to his lips and blowing on it lightly. "Now then. Tut tut!"

"Weyah's thuh awstrich?" demanded a flustered jockey in a bright pink blanket of an outfit as they leaned through the doorway.

Ronaldo leapt to stiff attention like a grasshopper. "That One is right here, hood sirrah!"

"Weyll bring it in heyuh, 'sbout tahm faw duh race!"

Ronaldo leaned over to Werthers' false neck and whispered something near unintelligible, as he miscalculated the location of Werthers' ears by a hood half foot. All he could make out was 'remember to be sure to,' but what preceded or followed was lost forever.

Ronaldo led Werthers back to the stables and then passed his leash off to the pink jockey, who took him into a small pen that smelled like ostrich shit.

"Nawuh listen heyuah, That One. Yew ain't thuh prett'yest of thuh awstriches, yuh ain't thaw smahtust of thuh awstriches, and yoof ain't daw beyst smellun of thawuh awstriches. Luckilah fah mah, ah'm naht yahwr jawkeh. Mah awstrich is thawh prett'yest an' thow smowtust and thawuh beyust smellun awstrich ah've evah hayud grayce mah nahstrahls, and ah've smeylled ah lahwt 'f 'em awstriches.

"See mah awstrich 's cahwld Seyahd Briscaht. 's gahnah be thah biyg winnah. Peyuhpul gawnah mahkit biyug awf Seyahd Bricaht. Ain't ahnehwuhn gahnah mahkit biyug awffu yuoh. Mahks meyuh glahud ah'm naht the poowuh suhckah stuck rahdin' yuh."

A woman's brash voice cut through the jockey's soothing drawl. "Attention, Jockey Number 69. Number 69?"

"Uh oh," mumbled the jockey to Werthers, "Thahyts meyuh."

A short, tightly uniformed woman blurted into the pen. "Number 69?" she posited, looking at the large black '69' on the back of Jockey Number 69's billowing shirt.

"'s meyuh, miyuhssiruhrawuh."

"Thank you for your forthrightness. Number 69, it has come to my attention that Number 420 has disappeared. As you know, the races are starting soon."

"Yeyus ah've huhd. Ah just wan' tuh s' muh awstrich ahwlreday."

"Well Number 69 that's the other thing I needed to talk to you about. As you do not know, Seared Briscuit has reportedly died by way of piano."

"Nawuh! Sayuh iyuht ain't sowuh!"

"It is so, sirrah."

Jockey Number 69 burst into voracious sobbing, squeezing Werther's false rubber neck tightly and pelting his suit with tears and mucus.

Number 69 looked up from his sobbing. "Hamn, yowuh gawht ah flimsay neyuhk, awstrich."

"Now, it's not all bad news. Seeing as Number 420 has gone missing and the race is drawing quite near, we have decided that we can move forward with you as That One's jockey."

"Muthuhcluckahn hen! Nahw thyuhs is sahm shit! Ah tell yewuh!" Number 69 sat in the shitty mush and slapped his forehead. "Thius is ahll cluhckuhd uhp!"

Werthers found himself quite peeved by all the direct and indirect ridicule being passed around as if he weren't right there listening. Even if he was a man in an ostrich suit, he didn't enjoy being regarded as the worst ostrich.

The small woman scuttled out of the pen. Number 69 turned to look at Werthers.

"Weyuhll," sighed Number 69, resting his hands in some piles of shit and then jerking away in disgrosst, "Ah wahs exahgerahtin realluyh, y' ain' thuh wuhst awstrich ah've evah seeyun ah anythahn. Jus' a liyuhl wonkuh 's awuhll. Jus' a liyuhl wonkuhyuh, buht ah'm thuh best jawkeh thyus sahd of Cahldonyah. Ahnd thuh othuh sahd of Cahldonyah too, ah don't cayuh waht anybodah says. We're gawnuh wiyun, jus yuh seeyuh."

"LOOKS LIKE ALL JOCKEYS TO THE RACE TRACK, I REPEAT IT LOOKS LIKE ALL JOCKEYS TO THE RACE TRACK," bellowed the grating voice of an obnoxious mouth warlock that had at some point recently wormed its way into the stable. "LOOKS LIKE I HAVE BEEN REQUESTED TO REPEAT MY PREVIOUS MESSAGE, WHICH WAS, LOOKS LIKE ALL JOCKEYS TO THE RACE TRACK. CHOP CHOP NOW, CHUPPIES."

Number 69 took Werthers out to the race track, talking trash all the while about all the other jockeys, essentially giving Werthers a long verbal list of who did what drugs and where they got them from, who was clucking who, who wanted to cluck who, who didn't want to cluck who, who wanted to cluck who while doing drugs, who wanted to cluck who without doing drugs, who wanted to cluck who to get access to drugs, and who wanted to cluck who to then blackmail them for their supposed use, non-use, lack of access or wealth of access to drugs.

Having successfully become a spiritual member of the jockey social social order, Werthers stood, bow legged, looking at the race track. It was a rich brick red and ran in a large circle across the entire giant field, where audience members sat in bleachers to observe at all angles. Of course they would not run the entire track, it was mainly there for show. There was about a strip the length of thirty sausage links marked at each end by thick white paint (which he now stood in front of) that would serve as the race track.

The other ostriches looked far ostrichier than Werthers. Theire feathers were not falling out. They were taller, svelter, and their legs were thinner. Werthers felt the ostriches were looking upon him as inferior, the white goat of the flock. Shame clenched him tightly. Oh, it wasn 't shame, it was actually the saddle that Number 69 was tightening on his back that was clenching him tight. And then the wait of Number 69 clenching him tight, and then Number 69's legs clenching him tight. Shame never had a chance.

"LOOKS LIKE THE RACE IS ABOUT TO BEGIN!" ejaculated the mouth warlock. "LOOKS LIKE NOT EVERYBODY IN THE AUDIENCE IS PAYING ATTENTION. GET A CLUE, DOOFI!"

Werthers wondered if the plural of 'doofus' was 'doofuses' or 'doofi' as the audience resettled their focus on the track.

"LOOKS LIKE IT'S IN THREE. LOOKS LIKE IT'S IN TWO. LOOKS LIKE IT'S IN ONE."

The short woman raised a miniature magic machete in the air and fired it.

FFFFFTTTTSH

The ostriches ran forward.

"LOOKS LIKE THEY'RE OFF!"

 

[C Ron Ickler]

Werthers stumbled over himself and face planted, sending Number 69 flying forward.

"LOOKS LIKE THAT ONE IS DOWN!"

BUKAWFSHHHHHHH

Before any ostrich could reach the finish line, a blast of crackling flame incinerated all of them to charred, black dust.

"LOOKS LIKE THERE'S A CHICKEN IN THE MIDDLE OF THE FIELD THAT JUST BURNED UP ALL THE OSTRICHES!"

Werthers, not daring to look towards the center of the field, scrambled to his feet and ran forward, dragging Number 69 along by his latched in heels. Before Werthers could finish hyperventilating they had crossed the finish line.

"LOOKS LIKE THAT ONE WENT FROM DEAD LAST TO ALIVE FIRST! THAT'S A FIRST TIME FOR THE PLUCKY, RUBBERY LOOKING FELLOW FROM SOUTHWEST CALDONIA. AND YES, THAT'S NUMBER 69 RIDING HIM, AND BY RIDING OF COURSE I MEAN BEING DRAGGED BY HIM. THOUGH HE DID START OUT RIDING THAT ONE IT JUST DIDN'T END THAT WAY, OR, IT LOOKS LIKE IT DIDN'T END THAT WAY.

"LOOKS LIKE THE GUY WITH THAT ONE'S GOLD MEDAL JUST GOT BURNED IN A FIERY CHICKEN INFERNO, ALONG WITH A LARGE PERCENTAGE OF THE PEOPLE THAT HAVE BEEN LISTENING TO ME. LOOKS LIKE I'M PRETTY LUCKY TO STILL BE HANGING IN THERE IF I DO SAY SO MYSELF."

"Coahck ham't!" swore Number 69. "Ah wahwnted thaht gahwld medahwl!"

Ronaldo emerged from a pile of burnt bodies, covered in soot. "Me too, chuppy. Me too. You did hood. Even though you fell."

"Thahnk yah, kahnd sauhrrah."

"Not you! You did horribly! I was telling my ostrich she did well. She got back up and finished the race. You just laid there like a sack of moldy oranges!"

Werthers pondered over the fact that the ostrich he was dressed as was a she while Number 69 mumbled something about the general populace's lack of respect for ostrich jockeys.

BOOM BOOM BOOM BOOM BOOM BOOM

Werthers looked over to the chicken, which was stomping around at some strange looking idiots underfoot. Werthers squinted as he watched one of them seemingly dry hump their way into the air and then collapse in ecstacy on top of the chicken. Werthers felt strangely violated watching this, and more violated when the chicken turned to look almost directly at him.

"Let's get the cluck out of here!" Werthers screamed and scrambled off, Ronaldo following slowly, and then faster as he saw the chicken open its beak.

Number 69, frozen in shock, looked to the open beak of the gargantuan chicken and mumbled. "'d thayt awstrich jahst tahwk?"

BUKAAAAAAAAAAWFSHHHHHHH

Werthers dashed through tents, interrupting ostrich grooming and ostrich feeding and ostrich orgies, eventually finding his way into the seemingly enclosed outer band of the race balloon where people gathered to gamble their money away and buy food that was often even more of a gamble. Then, Ronaldo yanked his lead tight, causing him to asphyxiate and give a rough heave.

"Quiet you! Let's go get our money!"

Werthers trotted quarterfartedly around, watching as people ran around in maddening circles screaming at the top of their lungs about the chicken. Some of them were on fire, others still missing new limbs. Ronaldo lashed him twice in the ass, telling him he could dawdle and sulk after they had their money, but now it was time to look like a winner.

They approached the nearest gambling stand, headed by a hulking elf with thick, shaggy hair, the top of which was aflame.

"Hello sirrah. Hello, That One. Here to collect your winnings?"

"U-um, sirrah?" Ronaldo stuttered, pointing at the elf's flaming follicles.

"Yes, yes, it's a toupee, I know I know. Just let me have this."

Ronaldo wondered whether this elf did not have minor clairvoyance.

"I definitely have minor clairvoyance. It is minor, though, mind you. Anywhathowhensit, that's a grand total of…let me see here, yes yes…hmmm…twelve million caldoniacs."

Twelve million caldoniacs. Werthers' fart grew a miniature fart inside it which palpitated with such veracity that it immediately had an attack and then failed permanently, quickly shriveling up and becoming one with Werthers' main fart once again.

"Here's your ticket, redeemable at any fine money establishment. Enjoy the rest of your day," the elf handed Ronaldo a shining bronze ticket, then grabbed his toupee and shook it around, hitting it against the counter in attempt to snuff the fire. "Oh cock hamn it come on now!"

Ronaldo and Werthers walked away in awe. Ronaldo kissed the ticket loudly then slid it into his pocket. Werthers watched the ticket with aching desire.

"Don't look so sad there chuppy! Don't worry, I've got your cut right here!" Ronaldo chuckled, pulling out five chickensfeed and pelting Werthers with them. "Oh, bad throw? Or bad catch? Maybe a little bit of both, eh?"

A blind rage overtook Werthers and as fires of passion flew through his veins he dashed forward and pecked Ronaldo in the forehead, then in the neck, then in the left eye, forehead, right eye, and left ear. On and on Werthers pecked, sending Ronaldo teetering around in agony.

"Cock hamnit Wormy juft what the cluff do youfe fink youfe're doing?" screeched none other than Walter Pripkin, his cigarette, and its unecessarily long holder.

Werthers continued to peck Ronaldo, one of his rabidly flailing legs swinging up and kicking Pripkin's cigarette right from its holder, sending it twirling through the air.

"Stave off your hunger during this horribly quacked up coming of the demon chickens!" Gilbert boomingly commanded from the back of the Church of Present Day Saints of Duck, Duck and Goose's incredibly flammable hamburger stand.

"Stick it to these disgrossting chicken lickers and eat a hamburger, for quack's sake! Also, why not consider being a Quacker? We provide free healthcare and corkscrew bottle openers," Jarvish added.

"Yes indeed! There may be but one fowl beast now, but soon more vile chickens will emerge from the depth of the Gurth and overtake us all if you do not join us in praise of the golden goose! And eat our burgers! I beseech thee, they may go bad soon!"

Alas, the burgers did not have time to go bad, or even to be eaten and later give someone painful bouts of indigestion, for Pripkin's lost cigarette flung through the air and stuck itself into a particularly flammable corner of the Church of Present Day Saints of Duck, Duck and Goose's incredibly flammable hamburger stand. It was the corner that had the tag warning that the tent was incredibly flammable. Immediately the entire tent was ablaze, though Jarvish and Gilbert were seemingly spared.

"Quacking quail!" Jarvish screamed, shivering. "The flames of heresy are upon us!"

"Waddle with me, Jarvish! Leave these heathens to go quack themselves!"

Jarvish scurried alongside Gilbert through the crowds and out of the now burning ostrich track balloon. Werthers watched all this in awe.

"Hey! Wormy! What the cluffing hen if wrong wif youfe? Fat waf my laft figarette youfe jerk!"

"Uh-"

"Ffut the cluff up! Don't youfe 'uh' me youfe cluffing…cluffing…offtrich worm moffercluffer! Cluff youfe! I own youfe youfe cluffing cretin! Ronaldo, chop chop! Get me anofer figarette already!"

"Don't you chop chop me! Why should I get you anything? I'm the one with the money."

"Hey now youfe that'f our money youfe hear me youfe cluffing fithead it'f our money and if youfe ffink I won't be taking my cut you'fe cluffing out of your mind!"

The argument went on, but Werthers wasn't paying much attention. The entire balloon was catching on fire and the smoke was choking people out. He struggled to tear off his ostrich suit, but the rubber was so tightly welded to his skin by sweat that it was all he could do to flop on the ground like a tempestuous seal and flounder as the pandemonium around him crescendoed to insane levels and he passed out.

 

[C Ron Ickler]

The suns were beginning to set. It would be gas before they knew it. Of course if they had asked the chicken's stomache then it was already well into gas, and Broderica, Lady Krumbumbum and Barroness von Biscuit Pisser were magicing stinging pains in their olfactory systems as a result.

"Is something wrong with our chicken?"

"It's not our chicken, Biscuit Pisser," chided Krumbumbum, "And it never will be. Chickens belong to the Gurth."

"But Krumbooty," interjected Broderica through swigs of liquor, "what about when the chickens get turned into small brown gremlins? Surely they belong to the wizards who do that."

"I'm talking on a spiritual level here."

"Oh hood cock," she groaned, swigging a gracious helping of liquor.

After a moment of liquor swilling silence, Biscuit Pisser asked another question.

"How do chickens fly?"

"Oh, it's a marvelous thing, truly. They start with the flap flapping, that's how they take off, but if you'll observe now the chicken is just gracefully gliding through the wind, its majestic wings flowing with the air. Some say chickens were the first to use magic, before wizards, before witches. Even before cock hamn warlocks."

"So what you're saying is you want to cluck a chicken."

"Hood cock Broderica! You're absolutely repulsive," Lady Krumbumbum spat and replaced the dress strap that had once again tumbled off her shoulder. "A woman in a chicken suit is more than enough, thank you."

Broderica hacked and choked on her liquor, almost falling off the chicken.

"So uh hypothetically," asked Biscuit Pisser with a worried edge, "if um if there wasn't any wind in the air would um would the chicken not be able to fly?"

"I guess so? But the only place anywhere near us without any wind whatsoever would be in…Western Caldonia? The Windless Forests. And that's a hood five hundred blompometrics from where we took off from."

"One more question. What is the air speed velocity of a giant unladen chicken?"

Broderica hacked and spat. "We don't know if this chicken is unladen!"

"Oh, a giant unladen chicken could easily top out at eighty blompometrics an hour. Why do you ask?"

"Well it's been a couple hours and you know when you asked me to look at the chicken's wings well I looked and I mean they don't really look like they're gliding through anything like no wind buffeting or anything and when I uh when I looked down while Shitface was falling I uh I saw trees for the first time since we uh since we took off."

"What?" Krumbumbum ejaculated with concern. Then she looked down.

"AIEEEEEEEEEEEEEK!" she ejaculated, this time much louder and more forcefully so that both her dress strap flung from her shoulders and the entire top tumbled, revealing her hard nipples for the countless time that day. They had clearly been chaffing.

"Get a bra already, woman!" belched Broderica.

"You're just jealous I don't have two overstuffed garbage sacks sewed to my chest."

"You leave my tits out of this, Krumbuttkisser. I'll cluck you up."

"Can we fuss about the fact that we might be about to crash?"

They looked around. The clouds were fading, and the treetops were growing in size and detail with every fleeting moment.

"That's preposterous," snorted Broderica, "It's a chicken! A flying bird! It can't just crash!"

PFPFPDFPSDPTTTPDPTSPPTGSKGKPSDKGKDGKKKKKK

Bristles and branches and leaves and bugs and stingers and twigs whamed into everyone as the chicken crashed brilliantly into a thick patch of trees, flinging the three women from its back and into the windless wir, where they sailed rather quickly into—

WHJAAACKKK

—some more branches—

WHAKKAKDKDKD

—even more branches, these ones being spiky—

WHJAKAKSKKSK

—branches that were more similar to the first patch of branches—

FFASFKASKFSADDFFFFF

—some spiky underbrush—

FFFDSFSFFFFFF

—some less spiky underbrush—

BLBPFDOKBOFDKBFBBBF

The rough forest floor. All of their skirts were up, their panties in full embarassing display.

"Motherclucking cock hamnit!" ejaculated Broderica, pulling herself upright and glaring at her companions. "Get up you cock hamned fools! Pull yourselves together! You look like you've never crashed a chicken before!"

"And you have?" asked an almost nude Krumbumbum as she scrounged for her thin robes and draped them back over her bodice.

"Well no but at least I can handle it well enough."

"Where's the chicken?" asked Biscuit Pisser, stumbling to her feet and tussling her moustache.

Broderica swiveled around, the squishy bowling balls on her chest flopping to and fro. "I'm not sure, I can't well see it anywhere."

"Up there!" Krumbumbum pointed upwards, her top falling down once again.

They looked up to see a tall, thick tree trunk as wide as a large house. It looked like multiple trees twirled around each other in a pretzel-esque fashion. High in the air, from the thick brush of its bottom branches, hung the humongous feet of the chicken. They jiggled nervously.

BUKAAAAWFSSSHH

The chicken barfed a geyser of flame aimlessly into the air.

BUKAWFFSHH

Three perfectly cooked blackbirds fell out of the sky and bounced on the forest floor. Without a word, everyone grabbed a blackbird and began gnawing into them with a startling veracity. Soon enough they were all left crunching on unsatisfying bone and grisle and discarded the mess.

"H'hey! Wh'what are ya th'inkin' you're d'oin there? C'can't y'a read?" undulated the lackadasical voice of cock knew who. Everyone looked around for the source of the voice, to no avail. "R'right h'ere! Up in th'is t'ree!"

They saw perched in the tall tree beside their stuck chicken a dusty man dressed in some sort of designer clothing made out of leaves with oxidated copper tips. He sprung from the tree like a cricket and landed beside the ladies with his legs bent out like a frog's.

"H'ow d'do yew p'retty l'adies d'o? I'I'm Frinkles, n'ice ta m'eet y'oowe!"

Krumbumbum turned to Broderica and Biscuit Pisser and mouthed 'Frinkles?!'

"Frinkles? What the hen kind of a name is Frinkles? Are you a man or a packet of chips?"

Frinkles blinked, looking visibly slapped by Biscuit Pisser's affront. "'s a f'amily n'ame. I'm a m'an, m'es'irrah, a m'man th'rough an' thr'ough. N'awe, i'fns y'ou don't m'and me a'askin, wh'hat b'rings ya tew th'e W'indless F'orests?"

"Ah, Frinkies, if I may call you that, Frinkies, my chuppie, why wouldn't we come to the most beautiful and most windless forests known to Caldonia?"

"W'ell th'at's some mah'ty f'ayn f'flattery ya got g'oin awn in th'that th'ere n'awggin ah yowers. 's j'ust we d'don't awft'n g'et an'y ta'rists r'ound th'ese pa'rts."

The ladies looked almost nauseated by the Windless Forest denzien's grating voice, which bobbed between high and low like popping bubbles.

"Th'then ag'in, i'fns ya a're a b'buncha ta'rists t'day 'sthe d'day fer 't. W'r h'havin awr a'nual s'olstice sh'show th'iyus g'gas, i'fns ya want s'um f'ree ent'tain'nt. 's a g'hood'n sh'ow, t'ew."

The ladies blinked, none of them wanting to be the one to voice the thought they had all had that the last thing they wanted after having met Frinkles was to absorb any windless culture. Broderica inhaled to blurt a fart no when Frinkles opened his jagged lips once again.

"A'n of c'course yew c'an e'at a't th'e p're sh'ow s'olstice fea'sts 'fns ya wa'nt tew."

Immediately they dim eyes grew bright, and the ladies followed Frinkles with magnetic, giddy glee.

 

[C Ron Ickler]

The ostrich racing balloon sat deflated, smoldering and sad. Bereaved gamblers were betting with eachother over whether the balloon would be reconstructed or if they would instead construct a long rumored ostrich racing dodecahedron in its place.

Dorma and her cloaked goons walked through the sorry streets. Dorma, her singular eye poking out from under her hood, glaring like that of a rabid cyclops. Thurmsabold, his sad, defeated gate radiating awareness of his being shorter, weaker and in every way inferior to Dorma, along with the recent discovery that she had, either mistakenly or on purpose, given him two right legs when she performed emergency surgery on him. The barkeep who felt great agony that no one knew their name, or even cared to refer to them in any way other than as 'barkeep,' as if there were not enough unnamed barkeeps in the story already. Jeffrey with a G, forever stuck in his hulking, comically absurd warlock transformation that required a specially tailored black cloack to conceal, appearing as a result not dissimilar to two large gorillas stacked on top of eachother (they had to tuck his pink fuzzy tale to his back in order to have some sort of inconspicuousness, but made sure not to refer to it as 'tucking' to his face).

"You lot! Please! Over here!"

Dorma turned on hearing the crackling voice of an emaciated person in tattered rags sitting on the street. She turned her burning pupil in their direction.

"What do you want?" she growled.

"P-please, s-s-sirrah, if y-you could only s-spare a c-couple of coins, I-I am h-hungry a-and—"

"Did you just call me sirrah?" Dorma turned to her cloaked companions. "Did this cretin just call me sirrah?"

They all shrugged, mumbling discordantly about how they weren't really sure or couldn't really hear.

Dorma uncovered a huge claw, reached forward, and squeezed tightly on the person's neck, lifting them up into the air and up to her scarred, bloody face.

"Do I look like a sirrah to you?"

"I-I'm s-sorry I j-just meant to—"

"Cluck your apology!" Dorma tossed them against a row of trash cans, which tumbled over and spewed over them. "How dare you incorrectly assume my gender! You are scum! You are nothing to me!"

The goons shrugged, mumbling discordantly about how they thought it was a little bit of a overreaction or that maybe Dorma should just let it go.

She swung around to glare her eye at them. "Did I just hear someone say I should let it go?"

Silence. Then, from over in the garbage, a feeble voice crackled.

"Yes," the person then collapsed in a pile of moldy fruit as old newspapers spilled over top of them.

"Let it go? Let it clucking go? Who the cluck do you people think you are? Who the cluck do you think I am? Let it go! Clucking disgrossting. You disgrosst me!

"When I was almost mauled to death in the Wayword Woods, did I then just…let it go?

"Thurmsabold, when you were interrupted from clucking that hairy bartender and nearly killed, did you then just let it go?"

Thurmsabold shook his head.

"Random bartender who has not yet clucked Thurmsabold to my knowledge, when you gave your most expensive liquor away for what amounted to a worthless piles of muck, did you just decide to…hold it all back?"

The bartneder shook his head.

"Jeffrey with a G, when you were reduced to a gargantuan laughing stock that will never be taken seriously by anyone ever again due to your own hubris, did you turn away from your pain and fury and slam the door?"

Jeffrey with a G shook his head.

"Well you know what, you sorry mothercluckers? I don't care what you say! The storm of our fury and anger must live on! I mean do you think that the way to succeed is to simply let go of your past, focus on the present and embrace life's endless possibilites, forgiving and forgetting and pushing past the gnawing pain and agony of personal growth?!

"Because it's not! It's not at all! The only endless possibilites are the ones in which someone else is looking to cluck you over! You have to latch on impossibly to everything your care about with an iron vice, and chains, and ropes, and hot wax, and needled tongs and…you get the point. I had medals, you filthy cluckers, a whole clucking lot of medals! You can't just re-earn a medal. I will never get those medals back, they were eaten! Just like half of my hamned body!"

CLAP CLAP CLAP CLAP

Dorma froze, then turned around to face the clapping sound. From the shadowy alleyway behind the dumpsters trudged a portly, bloblike figure dressed in charred metal armor, with a golden chainmail head covering.

"Ehbravo, ehbravo. Ehtruly an ehtouching ehspeech."

"I've got to be honest. I don't think I'd like to touch you, even with a speech," Dorma grumbled.

"Ehtouche," chuckled the blob, sauntering up to Dorma, trampling the emaciated person in the process.

CRIK CRAK

"My bones!" warbled the weakling.

"Ehget ehover ehit. I ehdon't eheven ehhave ehbones."

"That explains…a lot," Dorma said matter of factly. "Now, shall I disembowel you, or what?"

"Ehno, ehplease, ehthough ehtruly I ehhave ehno ehbowels to ehdisem. Ehrather, I ehthink ehwe ehmay ehhave ehsome ehshared ehinterest. Ehnamely, ehrevenge."

"Ehrevenge—ehrm, revenge, you say?" Dorma asked, getting excited. "So I'm assuming someone has wronged you recently."

"Ehyes. Or ehshall we ehsay, ehsomeones. Ehthree ehwomen. Ehnastiest ehvitches I've ehever ehmet."

"Interesting. Very interesting. Do elaborate."

"Waheyt waheytt waheyt ah seyuhkund wahyett fah meyay!" ejaculated a gruff voice from the alleyway. A tall, lankey man in a half burnt, pink ostrich jockey uniform sashayed out of the shadows, once again trampled the street urchin and broke more of their bones, and stood beside the blob man.

"Ehexcrete ehme, ehwhy ehhave ehyou ehinterrupted ehme?"

"Ah hurd thuh howul thahng, an' ah wawunt rahvange too. Ah ahlmost gawt burned ahlahve!"

"Excellent," cackled Dorma, rubbing her claws together, "Excellent."

"Iyut wahs nawt exshahleyunt iyut wahs verahy pahynfuwel!"

 

[C Ron Ickler]

Angela pointed her damp nose through the foggy window into the captain's study, fogging it up further to the point that Assafrass and Michael could barely see through.

Wow nice job Angela! Breathe much? I mean I can't see anything! Assafrass thought at Angela assishly.

Wow Assafrass you sure are an ass!

Thanks I wasn't aware.

Excreate mea, baut I caan saee quaite clearlay thaank yoau.

Great, Angela thought, Can you please tell us what you see then? Because neither of us can see shit.

Oakay, waell, thaere ais a daesk naear thae raight saide oaf thae—

Wow Angela you can't see barely anything either?

Of course not my eyesight is shit anyway I'm a hamned dog for cock's sake. But I can smell it from a mile away. It's in the top left drawer of that desk that Michael can see with his magic eyes.

The animals looked and sniffed over by the edge of the door frame. A soft light inside the room was twitching like the leg of an upended roach while the foggy wind of the thick sky air danced around like a well seasoned soup.

Okay so he's passed out in there for sure, Angela thought, His lamp only twitches like that when he falls asleep face first at his desk. It presses it up against the wall slightly unplugging the lamp. Trust me, I'm around him way more than anybody ought to.

Oh sweet then can you get me the cluck out of here? Assafrass mentally Whejaculated.

Cluck no! Do you see my beautiful fluffy body? Do I look like a miniature chicken to you or something?

I don't know I haven't seen a lot of miniature chickens Angela maybe you look exactly like one.

As if! Clearly you have no culture. Had you seen one twerk of Chickenerian stained glass you'd already know how rhetorical my question was.

Thae doaor ias crackaed aopen a liattle I coauld proabably pray iat oapen iaf I juast—

Why the cluck would I look at a bunch of colorful glass? Who does that? How much time do you have to stare at glass with stains all over it? I mean what the cluck is wrong with you. Really.

CREEEEEEE

You are such a clucking heathen. Stained glass is not 'colorful glass' you ass! It's art! Something the captain loots from brain dead creatives sailing around the skies whacked out on psychedelic coconut juice all the motherclucking time. Which you would know if you were a cultured skyrate instead of some sort of a clucking deadbeat off stealting and drinking like hardly more than a mangy street urchin!

I gaot thae doaor oapen.

How could an urchin even get mangey, Angela?

I don't know I'm a dog cockhamnit it's a dog insult you wouldn't understand.

Eaxcrete mae baut I goat thea daoor opaen!

Wouldn't understand? Angela I'm a clucking ass! What I am is a clucking insult!

Dog can be an insult too.

Would you rather be a dog or an ass, Angela?

Do you mean literally or figureatively? Because in both cases I'd like to be a dog, thank you very much.

Angela, you are such a clucking shallow vitch.

Thank you very much.

Cluck off! Vitch is totally an insult you ought to be offended.

Sao whaat exactlay arae wae lookaing foar ian thais daesk drawaer?

Shhh! You're going to wake him up! whined Angela.

Wakae haim uap? Baut wae're talkaing imagainarily!

Wow stop it Michael come on you're going to wake him up!

Haow woauld yaou knaow whaether I'd wakae haim uap yaou daon't knaow hais sleaep pattaerns!

Because Angela just said so you doofus! Come on! Like what if he reads thoughts or whatever. Assafrass paused to hack up a bit of garbage and then eat it again. Like we all obviously do.

Ias iat thais thaang? Thais raound blainky thaing?

Thanks for listening to me, Assafrass. I really appreciate that. The captain never listens to me. I bark that there's a late night bedroom intruder, like one of his concubines, and he yells at me. I bark that he smells hood, he yells at me. I bark that he smells bad, he yells at me.

Sounds like a skyrate. You know, when I bray at my ass master he feeds me. Or he spanks me. Kind of a fifty fifty split.

Ass master? Sounds kind of suggestive.

Isn't your name Angela? Sounds kind of suggestive.

How so?

I don't know but your voice sounds congested.

Of course it does I'm a clucking dog aren't I? I've got more mucus than you could ever dream of.

I guess so. I've never had a wealth of mucus.

I know. It shows.

Gauys gauys loaok whaat I goat! Michael thought, swelling with pride and joy as he trotted over with a small, round, neon blinking object in his mouth.

Oh my clucking god, mentally moaned Angela, That's one of my clucking toys you cockhamned idiot! Why would I want you to steal that the captain gives me that toy to play with all the time!

Baut I thoaught yoau—

Shut the mental cluck up already cock hamn! If you listened at all you'd know that I'm looking for the small gray oil lamp that was right next to my toy in the top left shelf!

Yea you dummy, mentally laughed Assafrass, holding the small gray oil lamp in his mouth, Grow a brain already.

I caould taell yaou waere abaout tao caall mae a daumbass.

So what if I was? I caught wind of the irony and turned it around.

Yea Michael wow way to stoop low I mean that's practically a slur think about who you're talking to.

Sao whaat daoes thae baox do?

Angela snorted. Wouldn't you like to know you wrinkly biscuit dog. Speaking of which, Assafrass, be careful about how you're holding that in your mouth.

What you mean like this? Assafrass jokingly thought, lightly chomping on the lamp.

Stop it Assafrass stop it you're going to cluck everything up stop!

Wow okay, Assafrass huffed as he stopped. I was just having fun.

Gaet oaver yaourself, Assaafrass, Michael thought-snorted, pawing for the box and tripping it out of Assafrass' jaws.

Oh shit! thought screamed Angela with a non imaginary wimper, Now you've really clucked us.

Yea really nice job Michael you friggin' shower head.

Suddenly a large, purple blast of wiggly, amoebalike energy boomed from the box.

SHHHHBBLLFFFFFFRRRRFSSSDQQQQFFF

 

[C Ron Ickler]

PPFFFFFBLLBBBPPPPPFFFFTT

"Ugh. Green Garey, show some decorum," balked Pamela, attempting to sketch Green Garey's naked rectum violently flatulating.

"Twas not AYE, Parrmela! Twas the mangey sky bird!"

"Green Garey practically all birds are 'sky birds,' that's the whole point of birds. If anything this is a land bird, I mean cock Green Garey it's an ostrich."

They were looming over the piano-squished corpse of Petunia, while her owner quickly chomped his nails bloody. Pamela had not been impressed by her naked sketch of him.

"Petunia would never have mange you clucking—" the bloody mouthed whiny man looked Green Garey up and down, "—you clucking foreigner!"

"AYE, a foreigner indeed. As if AYE would rathaaaarg be kin to the laaargks of ye!"

"Wait, you wouldn't?"

"Green Garey I don't know what you think about this whole ostrich slaying mess other than that it was a hood opportunity to try and disguise some of the gastrointestinal distress you're having on account of all those delicious spiced magic beans—"

"Hearsay, all of it, I tell ye!"

"—but I think this was a malignant attack. Maybe something to do with magic."

"Maargick? But Parrmela, the piarrrno obviously just fell down and—"

"Fell from where, Green Garey? Are we under a piano lifting factory?"

They both knew the answer to that question. All the piano lifting factories were in Southeastwesterward Caldonia.

"Yaarg! AYE see what ye mean. So yer saying ye suspect…farrrwel plarrrrgy?"

"Yes, Green Garey. And what's more, I know it must be women up to this mess. Or extremely womanly men. I guess I can't say I know for sure. But it's pretty close. Some sort of extremely feminine and disgrosstingly sexual androgenous pupae have been up to no hood around these parts."

"Yaarg! Ye don't mean witches, do ye?"

"I don't know, Green Garey. I don't really think so. This brand of stupid magic screams wizard to me. Somebody who reads a little too much. I mean, come on, a piano? Who do they think they are, Jacob the Piano Dropping Ostrich Murdering Hemaphrodyte? They wish they were, Green Garey. They wish."

"Yaarg! Tales of that ol' scallopwagon can chill a bone to the marrow."

"I know."

They froze, staring at the ostrich, imagining Jamilaianan the Piano Dropping Ostrich Murdering Hemaphrodyte sneaking up in creepy sequins and malignant fishnets and laboriously twirling a wand around to conjure up a deadly piano hoisted upon a failing pulley system. Many a young child's worst nightmare. Many a young adult's first shameful sexual interest.

"Are you two just going to stand there? I want these ostrich killers caught!"

"Sir, we are making an imaginary investigation of this crime scene and your whining and dawdling will only serve to slow us down. Please back away and leave us alone," demanded Pamela, regarding the man as if he were an unruly skunk.

"Yaarg! As she says, landlumbar, or ye shall walk the skank!"

"Walk the skank? Nice, peg leg. Cock, you foreigners are all raised by human eating eight legged bear wolves."

Green Garey bubbled with rage and gas, turning red in the face for the first time Pamela had ever seen.

"AYE had a human eating eight legged bear wolf as a pet as a wee lad! And I'll have ye know that AYE would prefer its poor deceased compaaargney over that of yerself's arrrgnyday!"

Green Garey drew his cutlass and pointed it at Petunia's former owner.

"Green Garey! Let it go! He's not worth it."

"Green Garey? Who has a color for a name? Should I call myself Blue Buncle from now on?"

"Yaaarg! What in the cluck kind of a name is Buncle?"

"A faaargmily name!"

"That's not how AYE'd say faaaaaaaaaaargmily."

Pamela grabbed Green Garey and yanked him away from the wimpy man named Buncle. "You've got to just let it go, Green Garey. We have bigger onion slices to sautee."

"Yaaarg! Parrrmela, ye're right, as usual. Thank ye," Green Garey sighed, sheathing his blade.

The man wheezed a nasal laugh, "Yeah, that's right. Back down, vitch."

Pamela suddenly felt volts of electric rage surge through her. "Get the cluck out of here! Don't talk to him like that! We are your Royal Gourd and you will show us respect!"

The man shrunk to an even more dilapidated and pitiful state, begrudgingly slithering out like a melting cactus. Pamela and Green Garey once again stared at Petunia, in all her dead glory.

"You know, Green Garey, before all that I was really hoping you'd ask me how I knew that a woman killed this ostrich. It's a whole thing with trajectories and the weight of the average boob and honestly an analysis I'm very proud of."

"Yaaarg."

"You don't want to hear it, do you, Green Garey?"

"Yaaarg.."

"It's okay, Green Garey. I don't magic like telling it any more either. That guy was the worst."

"Aye. Worst indeed. Out'a be sent teh Danny Dervishes' Timeshare, scallopwagon 'e is."

"I agree."

"Yaaaarg."

"Okay Green Garey I lied I really want to tell you about how I knew it was a woman who killed the ostrich."

"Yaarg?"

"Yeah I am just dying to let it out."

"Yaaarg."

"Cock, you really don't want to hear it, do you?"

"Yaaarg."

"Cluck it, I'm going to tell you anyway. You'll love it, Green Garey, I promise."

***​

"Y'ew'l lay'wuv i'yut, I p'r'amiss!" Frinkles urged the ladies to eat their festival stew. It was thick, cloudy, and it looked like there were some eyeballs floating around in it with heavy cataracts.

They were sitting at a large, long 'table' made of a felled adams fir tree. Many Windless Forestians with similar outfits, gaits, and accents to Frinkles were blurting difficult to understand, inconsequential nothings about crimes and sexual exploits they had committed, were in the process of committing or hoped to one day commit. They were also fartily gulping down the soup, some attempting to pick it up and shovel it into their mouths as if it were a meatloaf.

"Uhm, Frinky dink?" asked Krumbumbum in a patronizingly girlish voice. "What's with the eyeballs floating around in this shit?"

"O'wuh, wh'ay th'ayut's j'juwst f'froot 'o th' ol' ah'yuh'bowel t'ree! 's a r'ray'r d'delicuhsay!"

"Rare?" snorted Broderica, burping up alcohol as she spooned through the slush, fishing through eyeballs. "But there must be enough of these hamn things in my soup to feed a village of giants!"

Giants were a race of quite small, meager, androgenous fellows that enjoyed eat gooey things like slugs, salamanders, and baby eels.

"Y'yeyah, r'are, l'liyk, iyn'ste'd uf b'beyin w'weyull d'un, w'we d'ew a'wurs me'dyum r'ay'r!"

HAUH FFFSSSSSPTT

Krumbumbum spat the eyeball she had just wrapped her lips around out, launching it like a potato cannon.

BFPLTT

"Cluck my clucking eyeball oh cluck!" Biscuit Pisser squinted as she rubbed her cheek where the eyeball she had stuck in her fork had bounced against after Krumbumbum's projectile eyeball had splotched into it. "That really clucking hurt you clucking ass—" Biscuit Pisser froze as she recognized the volatile look boiling over Broderica's face. "Ehrm, you absolute punt."

GAAAAAAAHHSP

Everyone at the Windless Forest feast fell silent, staring awkwardly around, trying to see where exactly the unfowl utterance had emanated from. The only thing they could hear was the absence of the wind around them. And then, in the distance, the gigantic tree-locked chicken giving out a delayed clucklike gasp, though it seemed only to be because the chicken realized that it ought to be gasping to keep up appearances.

"E'ehr'muh, d'eugh, B'is'quick P'iyuss'ur, y'yew a'wta n'awt s'sayuh th'ayut. 's r'rood n' s'uwtch."

Biscuit Pisser leapt across the trunk table, knocking over bowls of eyeball soup, and squeezed Frinkles' neck like an avoacdo.

"You can't clucking call me Biscuit Pisser! You weren't there! You weren't there when I—well, you would know if you'd been there but you haven't," she spat, releasing Frinkles to sputter and gasp on the floor. "Whew. Sorry about that. Girls, would you try and hold me back next time?"

Krumbumbum and Broderica blinked preturbedly at Biscuit Pisser.

"What did you just say?" Krumbumbum fussed, readjusting her straps.

"I just asked you two to hold me back next time."

Broderica jiggled her jowls and her malletlike boobies, "Wait wait wait a second wait a second wait a second here wait a second wait just a clucking just just would you wait a mother clucking second I mean wait wait could you just all could you all just wait just wait a clucking second just one just one mother clucking second if you please could just wait one clucking second and GAAAWWW" she coughed up an eyeball, which bounced down the trunk table, eventually landing in the near empty bowl of a hungry Windless Forestian who gladly scooped it up and munched with joy, "WWWWK sorry but would you would you I mean would you could you just just clucking wait I mean would you please clucking wait just a clucking a mother clucking a clucking mother clucking cock hamn second just just a second a second I mean just a second people just just wait a clucking a clucking second and—"

"Get to the clucking point vitch!" Krumbumbum ejaculated, backhand slapping Broderica's face with such pitiful weakness that it appeared as if she had but slapped a trash can.

Broderica's eyes blazed with disgrosst.

"You absolute punt."

GAAAAAAAAAAAH

"Oh cluck off already I get it!" Broderica swiveled the overfilled water balloons on her chest and also the rest of her body around to look at a slender figure off in the distance.

 

[C Ron Ickler]

It was a woman. Her hair was as long as her legs were twiggy, and her legs were not just twiggy because of the ornate braided twigs that wrapped around her upper thighs like sensual leg bracelets, which were easy to see as all she was wearing was a leafy bronze tipped bikini. Her face was angular, so angular her chin could probably slit your neck better than a well sharpened knife. She appeared to be permanently crosseyed, and her numerous moles were visible from afar.

Broderica was enraptured. She could feel her nipples hardening due to brushing roughly against her robes, and strangely enough it almost reminded her of when she was a man.

"Wow, Broderica," chuckled Krumbumbum, "Are those pins in your blouse to cover up your obnoxiously large titties or are you just really horny?"

"Oh, you can cluck right off, Krumvitchvitch, that's not how nipples twerk and you know it!"

"Sure they don't."

"Mine don't! Is there something wrong with my nipples?"

"Cluck off Biscuit Pisser."

"N'now y'yew th'ree aw'tah s'stawp s'strain' a'yt th'uh r'rawyial d'awtur y'ew h'eyur m'mey? Sh'ee d'dawn't t'ayk k'kandley t'uh b'eyin s'stayurd 't 'speshly b'bah w'weemen 'vr s'sinceins th'thuh w'wumins c'caawld h'hur a'an a'awgly l'laynkuh s'suhtinkay s's'lootahy wh'wh'hoooruh."

"They said what now?" Broderica's esophagus filled with stinging bile. "Because I swear you might've just described my soulmate, hood sirrah." It was the stinging bile of love, or at the very least the stinging bile of an admirably strong infatuation.

"W'weyul ah'ah d'dawun't th'aynk sh'e's 'nto w'woomin."

"Cock hamn this clearly female bodice of mine! It's all your fault, Krumbumbum! All your clucking fault! Why didn't you just cast a spell to make us look different? Why'd you have to clucking turn us into women?!"

"It was a stressful situation it was the only spell I remembered that could help us!"

"Well why did you have the turning into a woman spell memorized anyway and also why don't you find a dress that isn't always half a second from falling off you?"

"Don't be a vitch about my fashion sense Broderica," Krumbumbum spat, readjusting her fallen straps. "And anywhatwayhow, I remembered it because—because—" Krumbumbum's eyes grew wide as Broderica's areolas when she suddenly slipped into a thick, hazy pink and purple menagerie of memories.

"Why are you moaning, Krumbumbum? It's really weird and making me uncomfortable."

"Yea really what the cluck vitch."

"What? I was what now?"

The gruff voice of a skinny, clownish fellow bellowed from a makeshift stage in front of the throngs of feasting forest denziens.

"L'ayuhd'eez a'yuwnd n'nawt s'ow g'ent'meyun a'yn yoo'nucx a'yn ow'gurs a'yn taw'kn s'nayks a'yn l'awng s'enshint g'rey r'rectan'gles a'yn—"

"G'eyut 'awn w'if i'yt y'yew s'sawzled o'owuld n'nawtcr'aykin d'duwmp s'sluwmpuh!" shouted another gruff voice.

"A'awl r'awiyt awl r'raiyt n'naiwuh l'let'suh r'reelacks a'awr s'seyulves—"

BOOOOOOO

The announcer attempted to continue his speech, only to be pelted by a barrage of soupy eyeballs, their soft shlopping and squelching nauseating Krumbumbum firecely.

"Aw'awwkay aw'raht 'l s'staht th'thuh sh'showuh 'l s'staht th'uh sh'owuh. Uh'm, a'yn o'owurcs, a'yn e'yulvs, a'yn a'aliyums, 'fns y'oo d'oo x'sist—"

BOOOOOOO

"Aw'kay n'aw! A'yn l'leezaruds—"

BOOOOOOOOOOO

"Stop booing with them Broderica it's so rude," vitched Krumbumbum.

"So are nip slips," Broderica smirked, looking at Krumbumbum's weak top.

"A'yn n'naowuh, w'withawut f'furth'r d'dawdlin', ah p'psent t'uh y'oo…M'awch Aw'doo 'Boutns W'awufuls D'urin' U'h H'hawfuh P'passud G'gayuses H'alloos'nashin'!"

"What show is that he's talking about again?"

Krumbumbum turned to Biscuit Pisser, "It's the one based on that old folk story."

"Ohhhh that one that one. I love that story!"

"Pfffft! Clucking snobs." Broderica snorted.

"What, do you not like it or something Broderica?" Krumbumbum covered her chest with her arms.

"Oh no no not at all I do looove the theatah! Ahhh hah hah ho ho ho hoo! I know alll of the shoooows."

"Have you really not heard that story before, Shitface?"

"No, I haven't."

"Did your parents really never curl up next to you and read the novel based on the play based on that folk story, Broderica?"

"Do you really even need to ask me that you Krumvitch?" Broderica remembered coming home with shit smeared all over his pimply male face. She remembered being told to scrub that shit off, or he'd soon have a whole new fresh layer of shit all over that current layer of shit. It was a clunky threat but it hurt him and now her all the same.

"Shh shhh shhh stop your vitching already you two it's starting!"

Long, thick curtains made out of large tree leaves parted to the wides of the stage and magical lights beamed on with such power that the aftergas suns shining seemed to dim.

There was a stumpy, red nosed man dressed in a tuxedo standing off to the left side of the stage. A magical spotlight shone on him, nearly blinding him and knocking him backwards.

"Ehrm. Helloh thehre, mhy chihldrehn."

"Y'yoo a'ain't m'ahw p'aw!"

The man tsked and shook his head, then resumed.

"In thee beghinning, whas theh whord. Ahnd theh whord whas whith cohck. Ahnd theh whord whas cohck. Theh sahme wahs ihn theh behginning whith cohck! Ahll thihngs wehre mhade bhy cohck, ahnd whithout cohck whas noht ahnything mahde thaht whas mahde."

"Cluck, this shit is ridiculous." groaned Broderica. "I didn't clucking ask for a church service."

"Shhh you're distracting me Broderica shut up and enjoy the show."

"Yeah really everybody knows this is how it starts it's not a church service you dummy now shush and enjoy the show."

"Thehy wehre noht thaht cohck, bhut wehre shent tho bhear whitness tho thaht cohck. Thaht whas…theh trhue cohck! Whihch fihllest ehvery pherson thaht chometh dheep ihnside thihs whorld."

"Give me some alcohol, Krumbumbum. I'm dying here. This shit is so banal."

"Don't be a vitch! The alcohol spell is so loud it'll interrupt the show!"

"Thaht cohck chameth uhnto, ihnto, ahnd ahll ohver ihts ohwn, ahnd ihts ohwn rehcieved thaht cohck noht. Bhut ahs mhany thaht rhecieved theh cohck, tho thehm ghave thaht cohck theh—"

"Who's that sneaking around behind him?"

"Shitface just shut up already and watch the show you'll know who it is soon enough!"

"—wehre bhorn, nhot ohf bhlood, nhor ohf theh whill ohf theh flehsh, nhor theh whill ohf mahn, bhut ohf cohck ihtself."

"Oh my cock this is horrible why do you all like this?"

"—whohm whould bhare whitness ohf theh cohck, ahnd crhy ohut, thihs wahs theh cohck ohf whohm Ih sphoke, thaht cohck thaht cohmeth ahfter mhe ihs prehferred bhefore mhe, fhor thaht cohck whas bhefore mhe."

"Hey Krumbumbum what the cluck does any of this shit mean? I can never follow it."

"Shut up Biscuit Pisser none of it matters anyway."

"Ihndeed, theh grahce ahnd truhth ohf cohck cahme uphon uhs bhy—"

"Well, ahyuckedy, you know the rest!" chuckled the neutral accented, high pitched voice of the figure who had sneaked up behind the monologuing bore. This figure appeared to be a woman dressed as a man with tall gray ears. "Now let's get down to the fun stuff!"

A fat, slobbish man with a mustache hanging down to his kness drunkenly stumbled onstage and scratched his ass. Then, he growled unintelligibly in a Windless Forest accent at the person.

"Oh mister, please don't tie me up!"

The man pulled out. A long, thick rope. And tied it tightly around the person.

"Uhhh owww mister it's too tight too tight it hurtsss!"

"S'shut u'p y'a h'amned th'thayng!"

The person stuck their tongue out as the rope tightened, gasping. "You're gonna hurt me, ahyuckedy!"

Broderica then realized that it was the eyecapturing woman she had glanced at from before the show began playing the character, and was then vehemetly enthralled.

"N'ow s'stayuh ow't h'eyur wh'ith aw'll 'huh o'hthur 'minals!"

"I wanna fight this guy!"

"Broderica I can't believe you asked me for more alcohol you're absolutely belligerent."

"I know! I'd rather be catatonic!"

"Oh, we don't have any gin, do we, Krumbumbum? That would be quite nice."

"I'm not casting us any gin spells Biscuit Pisser just shut up already I'm trying to watch this!"

The mustached man preceded to drink himself into a stupor in a tavern onstage.

"Bring the long eared woman back!" Broderica shouted.

"'ey n'owuh! L'ahten u'wp 'an w'wawuchuh th'awuh sh'owuh aw'uhwl'rehdahyuh!"

"Wow, Broderica, you're so embarassing my top almost fell off from shame," fussed Krumbumbum.

"Wow, Krumbumbum, your top is always falling off anyways. I mean it's almost like you're some sort of a hussy or something."

"You stop that now you clucking vitch I will clucking end you!"

"Will you? Or will your top fall off first?"

BAAAAAAAAAARP

The mustached man onstage belched with reverbrous fervor as he glugged down empty flagon after empty flagon of what he was clearly pretending was ale.

"You know what?" Broderica said, perking up in multiple ways, "I like this guy. He appeals to my sensibilities."

 

[C Ron Ickler]

The lights faded back to the long eared woman, who was shivering.

"I-It sure is c-cold out h-here, a-ahyuckedy!"

A long rope ladder with wooden rungs unfurled from the top of the stage, the source of whicch was obscured by a thick canopy. Three grimy looking men climbed down. Another man, portly and wearing a thick wooly suit climbed down afterwards. He was panting, and had large, prosthetic jowls.

"Ao naow, whao dao wae havae haear?" snorted the jowled man, chuckling and bending over to poke his shiny black nose at the tethered woman's rump.

"Stop it!" she screeched, bucking a leg back.

"Faeisty laittle waesel, thais oane ais."

"Maurice! Leave it! Maurice what the clucking hen is wrong with you leave that hamned thing alone! Leave it!"

The lights faded back inside the tavern, where the mustached man was hiccupping with glee as he continued to down empty flagons. A tall, burly man with surprisingly limp wrists walked over to the long wooden car they were sitting next to with their drinks, batting gue pink eyelashes at the bearded cartender as he sat down. Then he looked over to the mustached man.

"Hey! Vomitface! Vomitface, it's me!"

"Whhat? Who again are you, sirrah?"

"Oh come on now Vomitface ol' chup you've got to remember me! Does this look familiar?" the man mimed grabbing someone by the hips and thrusting vigorously.

OOOOOOOOO

moaned the audience.

"Oh! Oh. Oh…" Vomitface gasped and chugged two flagons of ale. "Nice, um, nice to see you again, Thermalpasteapold."

"Likewise. Why didn't you ever call?"

"My, um," Vomitface gulped down more false ale, "my, uh, my magickaphone is uh, broken. The, uh, small green goblin jumped out of it and turned into a giant, ehrm, mongoose."

AHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAA

cackled the audience.

"Oh, I see. Yea, I just hate when that happens. Say, you wanna go for a walk?" Thermalpasteapold reached an arm slowly around Vomitface. "I really need to stretch my legs."

OOHOOHOOHOO

"I, ehrm, you just sat down at the car though, chuppy."

Broderica gagged. "Ack. This is rubbish. Bring back the woman!"

"You know Shitface they're not actually a woman in the play they're a man they're just usually a man played by a woman in the play."

"Ugh whatever. I just don't like this bit. I mean come on, a giant mongoose? So unrealistic!"

"I don't know, I mean, Vomitface kind of reminds me of somebody I know. Seems like a fairly plausible character."

"Will you two shut up already please I love this part!" fussed Krumbumbum as she readjusted her top.

"Ye 'ere!" a red spotlight glowed as the tallest of the grimy men entered the tavern and pointed a hand that was actually a rusty whisk at Vomitface.

GAAAAAAAASP

"Me here?"

"Aye, ye 'ere! Ye look like a right sozzled napsack! Fancy a game eh Louisiana Drop 'em?"

"What the cluck kind of a card game is that?" grimaced Broderica.

"Shut up and watch vitch."

All lights pointed on Vomitface, leaving the rest of the stage in tense, climactic shadow.

"Sure, why not."

AHAHAHAA

Vomitface stumbled over to the table and sat in one of the seedy goons' lap.

"Woah there," remarked Vomitface, "Seems to be quite a sharp splinter in that seat."

AHAHAHAHAHAAAA

"Not too huge or anything but yes quite sharp quite sharp indeed."

AHHHHAAAHAHAHAHAAAAA

Vomitface turned his head to look into the eyes of the man whose lap he was sitting in. He jolted to his feet with a shriek. "Oh dear me dear me I do apologize sirrah I do apologize my bad my bad."

As Vomtiface stumbled to his drunken feet he slipped and fell over onto Maurice, accidentally wrapping his arms around his neck in a stranglehold for balance and unwittingly choking the jowled figure out.

"Aowuchies. Raoight iaon thaie kaieoppers," Maurice flopped like a ragdoll, tongue dangling wildly.

OHHHHHHHH

"'ey what 'ave ye done to Maurice!"

Vomitface vomited streamers all over the three gambling goons.

AHAHAHHAHAAAAHHAAAA

"This audience changes their mood rather quickly," grumbled Broderica, adjusting her heaving boobies. "It's like they're all a bunch of women or something."

Krumbumbum pulled up her dress. "Broderica you're probably the worst person to watch a show with I've ever met."

AAAOOOOHHHHHH

The audience was groaning as the streamer vomit covered creeps grabbed the woman pretending to be a man pretending to be cock knew what and hoisted them over their shoulders, climbing up the wooden ladder rungs.

"It's so sad," sobbed Biscuit Pisser.

"Wow, you're crying?!" laughed Broderica. "This spell must've really made a woman out of you."

"I always cry at this part!" Biscuit Pisser professed. "I relate to it deeply."

Broderica puzzled over the implications of Biscuit Pisser's deep relation to the events onstage as she glanced around the room, realizing that many of the men they sat next to were indeed crying. There was also someone with a deep booming voice maniacally bawling in one of the far back rows.

The lights dimmed save for a searing spotlight, drawing attention to an immaculate purple tower labeled 'UNIVERSITY' wheeling in from the left of the stage. The spotlight fell with a jerk to the bottom of the stage, then jerked to the right, then up, then—

"N'nahce j'awb Y'yoo'stace, y'a h'amned m'mawlluskuh!"

"A'ahw l'laeeyuh a'wfuh'm P'P'urs'val! 's d'oin' th' beys' 'e c'cayun!"

"Y'yoo n' m'maw 'r t'ew k'kahnd t'tuh h'hiyum! 'd n'nevrah g'awn s' s'awft 'fns y'a h'hadden' l'eddim!"

"Will you two gillwillies shut the cluck up already?!" blurted Broderica.

Large bean eating crickets flatulated in the eerie quiet that followed, distracting everyone long enough for Y'yoo'stace to fix the position of the spotlight and a studious looking man poke his head out of the window. He wore a bright white smock and thick black glasses that magnified his eyes to an absurd degree. He was holding two bubbling beakers.

"Aah, thienth!"

"What?" squacked Broderica.

"Just let him speak."

The actor cleared his throat and began again.

"Aah, thienth!"

"What the cluck is he saying?

"He's saying science, Broderica," tsked Krumbumbum, "this actor just happens to have a bit of a lisp."

"Thienth, thienth, thhethe tho I thegin? The thingth you can do with thienth are jutht ekthtraothdinathy. Thienth maketh the thorld tho athound. Thithout thienth, the thould not hathe toathterth, nor thould we hathe penithillin, or penthilth, or tinthelth, or thimbleth, or—"

"A bit of a lisp?" projected Broderica. "I can't understand a hamned word thith idiot ith thhhhhaying!"

"—or thandalth, or mothballth, or—"

Krumbumbum rolled her eyes. "If they call the usher on you, we're not friends."

"—or lithardth, or thithardth, or antth, or pantth—"

"What was that? Lizzards and gizzards? Ants?! Don't those just exist? Who wrote this shit?"

"It's an ancient text Shitface stop questioning the meaning and enjoy the show."

"How can I enjoy something that doesn't make any sense?"

"I'll thithe a demonthtrathion. Thienth thoeth a little like thith," the thientith waggled an eyebrow knowlingly then poured two of the beakers together.

FSSSSSSHHHHHBOOM

A pink smoke cloud cleared as the thientith was left covered in black charr, holding two bursted beakers.

"Yep, thatth thienth all right!"

AHAHAHAHAHA

The light illuminated the background of the stage as Thermalpasteapold skipped into view beside a tall blue rectangle labelled portapottie, shaking the stage. The barkeep followed.

Thermalpasteapold twirled around like a gargantuan seal of a ballerina and leaned over towards the barkeep. "So, whaddaya say? Should we have ourselves a go then?"

The barkeep looked Thermalpasteapold up and down. "Eh. I think I'm hood, actually."

AHAHAHAHAHAHAAAAA

Then, the barkeep laughed and pushed Thermalpasteapold into the portapottie, which tumbled over.

OHHHH

BOOOOOOOOOOM

Sparks, confetti and fog filled the stage. When it cleared, in place of the tower was a pile of blackened rubble.

"Oh dear, oh dear me…all my prethiouth thienth inthtrumentth…at leatht I thtill hathe all the knowledthe I memorithed, thhich ith a great deal of knowledthe, in fact, all I hathe truly lotht ith meaningleth material that I don't ethen own! Now if I had rethiethed thome thort of ill fated blunt forthe trauma to the head and rethultinthly thotten a concuthion, then, and only then, would I truly hathe lotht anything."

A large 'flaming' textbook suspended by a thin wire slowly glided downward and bopped the thientitht unconvincingly on the noggin, sending him flailing backwards in a melodramtic uproar.

AHAHAHAHAHAAAA

The thientith popped back up like a whack-a-prarie-dog and shook his head.

"Now, thhat thath I talking about? Thienth? Thhat ekthactly ith that athain? Thome thort of catherole?"

AHAHAHAHAHAAAA

On they watched as the thientitht met up with Vomitface and argued unintelligibly about something.

 

[C Ron Ickler]

The scenery changed in a dazzling miasma of poorly controlled spotlights to behold a ship floating in the ocean, aboard which the long eared man woman was carried.

"This is just preposterous," chortled Broderica. "A ship floating in the water? Who in the cluck dreamed that up?"

AHAHAHHH

"Say, now that you mention it, I have a question. Why did the ladder to this ship go up in the air like a normal ship when it's really some sort of bizarre aquatic boat?"

"Oh cluck off you two it's a sky ocean! Duhhh! I mean haven't either over you read the book this was based off of?"

AHAHAHAHAHHHAAAAA

Biscuit Pisser almost jumped out of her panties. "There's a book?"

Krumbumbum accidentally forgot to cover herself as she responded with passion. "Of course there is! Well really it's a translation of fifty thousand chiseled stone tablets seeing as this is an old story and all but essentially yes."

OHHHHHAHAHAHAAAA

"Is it any hood?"

"Well there's a lot more to it than the play."

"I could've guessed that."

AHAHAHAHHAHAAAHHH

"I mean it's just a lot. Some of it just seems to meander around meaningless minutiae, if I'm being perfectly honest. Almost like the story's constantly focusing on everything except what it probably ought to be focusing on, or at least on what you want it to be focusing on while you're reading it. Like, to an irritating degree."

"I could barely follow that skytrain of thought."

AAHAHHHHAAAAHHHHOOHHHHAHHH

"Okay, so imagine there's something really interesting going on in the background that you want to pay attention to when you read it. Something that just draws you in and gets a big emotional response."

AHAHHAAAA

AWWWWW

OHHHHH

HAHAHAAAA

Biscuit Pisser snapped. "Like an awards ceremony or something!"

GAAAAASP

"…Yes, Biscuit Pisser. Like an awards ceremony."

AHAHHAHAAAAHHHH

"But so you're reading the book this play is based on and instead of hearing about all the intricate details of this highly engaging…awards ceremony…the story instead chronicles nearly every conversation the characters in the audience are having with each other, so much so that there's no space to do more than take a slight glance at the stage of the awards ceremony and all its amazingly fartwarming speeches that you so badly want to soak in because you're too busy seeing all the different ways people can fuss at eachother over nothing."

OOOOHHHHHHHHHH

"Would you two shut the cluck up already?! I swear you just talk to talk!"

"Like you don't just talk to talk! You're jealous of my mustache anyways Broderica maybe that's why you're being so mean."

AAHHHAHAHAHAAHHHAAA

"Jealous of your mustache? You're a clucking woman! I'm a clucking woman! That's absurd why would I want a mustache as a woman?!"

"I don't know you're the one who's jealous of it!"

"SHUT THE CLUCK UP AND LET ME WATCH THE COCKHAMNED SHOW ALREADY YOU UNBEARABLE PUNTS!"

GAAAAAAAAASP

This time the audience was reacting to Krumbumbum.

Krumbumbum noticed she was standing out of her seat, and her top had fallen to her hips, once again exposing her nips.

"E'ey n'awuh l'laydey!" warbled a garbled windless forestian voice. "S'stawup sh'showin' awf y'er t'ah'tahs n' s'siddawn 's w'e 'kin w'atch th' sh'owe!"

"DON'T TELL ME WHAT THE CLUCK TO DO YOU CLUCKING CUSTARD CRUSTACEAN!"

Another twangy voice piped up. "L'ladies, 'ah th'aynk y'oowuh 'd b'ettaher b'be h'headn' a'awta 'ere."

"CLUCK OFF! ALL I'VE WANTED TO DO ALL NIGHT IS WATCH THIS CLUCKING SHOW AND THESE TWO VITCHES WON'T STOP BLATHERING ABOUT NOTHING!"

"B'utah m'miyus—

"Um Krumbumbum not to interrupt but we were talking about something not about nothing and if you forget you talked for quite a considerable amount of time about—"

"AIEEEEEEE!!!" Krumbumbum screeched, leaping like a rabid leopard on top of Biscuit Pisser, straddling her. Soon, they were both backhand slapping eachother weakly and moaning.

"Wow, you two call that a catfight? You couldn't get two copper in the strip with that act."

"It's not an act woman!" hissed Krumbumbum, pausing to yank out another slap of Biscuit Pisser's face and let out a soft moan as she herself was slapped. "I'm gonna kill this vitch!"

"Yes, I see you two are out for blood," chuckled Broderica. "Say, could you cast me a liquor spell? I'm starting to sober up."

"One minute—oooh—Broderica one minute just—uhhhh—just give me—ooh!—just a—oh—a minu—ahhh—just one minute almost—mmmaahh—okay okay almost—uhhh!"

"You're clucking disgrossting. Say, why are there two sets of water skyrates on the stage?"

There were two sets of water skyrates on the stage aboard the fake water skyrate ship. They were currently fighting with eachother over custody of the same long eared woman pretending to be a man that Broderica was so fond of. In front of the stage dangled a long, rope ladder with wooden rungs. This one didn't just end with a catwalk leading to the wings. Instead, it came from the large skyrate ship hovering overhead.

"Um, guys?" Broderica burped in fear. "Do you see what I see?"

Biscuit Pisser perked up. "Oh, is it—ooh—is it—aahh—is it really early enough in the—ohh—year to be—ahhhhh—to be singing solstice songs?"

"No you cockhamned baboon! Look the cluck up! There's clucking skyrates!"

"They're not skyrates Broderica—ahhh—they're—oh!—they're water skyrates remember—ahhahh!"

"Not there you rabid clucking amoeba! Look up! In the actual sky!"

Krumbumbum and Biscuit Pisser looked up in the actual sky to see the long, skybarnacle encrusted bottom of a skyrate ship hovering high in the air.

EEEEEEK

they screamed in unison.

"Say…that rather phallic skybarnacle formation…the one on the far east side of the bottom of the ship…" Broderica squinted, "It looks familiar…too familiar!"

Broderica bubbled with fermenting rage, grasping around for a projectile to throw at the vile looming vessel. Eventually she clasped some cold, hardened droppings from the forest floor and hurled them high in the air. They soon dissapointingly arced downwards and smacked a windless theater light tech in the head, nearly knocking them out and causing them to drop the heavy light they held in the far right treetops.

KSSKSKSKKSKSKKKSSSHHHH

The light crashed to the floor of the stage, immediately setting fire to some scattered streamers. As there was no wind in their way, the flames grew with a startling veracity and in a couple of lamb's blinks the entire stage and a hood bit of the trees behind it were burning a in searing, brilliant swirl of orange and yellows.

"H'hawuhleyuh Sh'sheeeyawwwt!"

"You can say that again."

"H'haaaawwwullleeyyyuhhhh Sh'shhheeaaaayyyyaaaaaaaauuttt!!"

"You can say that a third ti—oooh!"

"What the cluck is wrong with you Biscuit Pisser?" hissed Krumbumbum as she shook her hand from the limp wristed smack she had used to silence Biscuit Pisser, "There is no reason to say that a third time and you know it!"

"H'h'h'h'h'h'haaaaaaaawwwwwwwwuuuuullllleeeeiiiiiaaaaaa—"

The windless forestian dropped to the ground like a mannequin, passed out from lack of oxygen. The women noticed his right arm was frozen upward, his hand pointing to the sky. They followed it to the real life rope ladder, up which two skyrates were carrying the bound and gagged woman who had previously been wearing false ears and previous to that had captured Broderica's attention with her polarizing appearance.

"The bass turds! First my ASS and now the nameless woman I'm questionably infatuated with! I'll kill them!"

"Broderica it's honestly a wonder they haven't died already from all the flames," Krumbumbum chuckled, watching as trees tumbled, set pieces crumbled and people cried and ran in circles as they burned alive. "I mean seriously what a mess!"

Biscuit Pisser sniffed in the air. "Say, does anything smell like fried chicken to you guys?"

"Fried chicken smells like fried chicken!" Broderica spat brazenly.

"No no no I mean do you smell the smell of fried chicken right now like do you smell fried chicken I think I smell fried chicken. Smells pretty hood too. Mmmm. Fried chicken. Why I remember the days when—"

"Fried chicken?!" cried Krumbumbum, once again losing hold of her loose straps and flashing her chest at everyone.

"You really ought to get a new dress."

"You really ought to cluck off! Speaking of which—where was I—fried chicken?!" She flashed everyone again. "The chicken!!"

"Oh shit hood point," nodded Biscuit Pisser, remembering the giant chicken atop which they had flown into the Windless Forests.

"Who cares about a hamned chicken?!" shrieked Broderica, "I must AVENGE my ASS!! And WOO that LUSTY LADY they've so conveniently KIDNAPPED!"

"You can't get up there Broderica the ladder's on fire just give it up and come save the chicken with us!"

"Don't you mean eat the chicken, Krumbumbum?"

"No I do not mean eat the chicken Biscuit Pisser you clucking imbecile!"

OWWW OW OWW

"Motherclucker! Son of a vitch!"

"What are you whining about now Broderica?"

Broderica jumped up and down in pain, shaking her hands erratically. "I tried to climb up the ladder as was my charge and my palms got scorched!"

"Broderica you clucking idiot I told you not to."

"Yea really Shitface really."

The stood there for a moment, staring at eachother while everyone around them cried in agony as the flames spread with a quickening hunger.

"Um, Krumbumbum," Broderica grumbled, "Do you have any spells that might heal my hands?"

Krumbumbum said she indeed had a spell, and a familiar deep voice boomed through the air, so forecfully so that it pushed the fire further into the woods as a large glass handle of vodka apparated in her grasp. Krumbumbum then sloshed the vodka all over Broderica's hands.

AIIIEEEEEEEK AAAIEE AIEEE

"K-k-krumbumbum you absolute vitch what in the cluck what the motherclucking cluck is wrong with you cluck that hurts!"

"Don't complain I was just..disinfecting them for you."

"I meant like heal them you vitch heal them can't you heal things with your with your clucking magic spells?!"

"I could but the book with all my healing spells, well, all my healing spells except my self healing spells of course because I have those memorized, but the book with all my spells for healing other people just so happened to burn up, along with my only home and all my other possessions."

"Oh my cock oh my clucking cock Krumbumbum what is clucking wrong with you who gives a flying cluck about your stupid home and books and posessions! I lived in a clucking septic tank you cockhamned ignoramous and I'll have you know—"

"Biscuit Pisser did you say 'flying cluck'?" Krumbumbum asked, looking at her companions.

Suddenly, their eyes all locked in a knowing, dilating glance.

"THE CHICKEN!" the cried in unison, scrambling off into the burning woods just as a large burning tree tumbled and landed with a

SMACKKKKKK

right where they had all been standing.

 

[C Ron Ickler]

CREEEEAK CREEEEAK

Werthers blinked, his eyes searing in bright skylight. He tried to close his eyes and retreat to darkness, but the opressive suns shone painfully through his eyelids. All the same, his eyelids could do little but weakly slit themselves open. He felt dry, shriveled, bruised and disjointed. Almost like he was floating through the air, like some sort of sickly light sensitive specter.

CREEEAK CREEEAK CREEEEE

"Cluffing hen Ronnie what the cluff if wrong wif youfe? Hafen't youfe efer ridden one of thefe hamn fings before? Get youfe fome cluffing greafe on thofe chainf before they fnap right off!"

"Maybe they wouldn't be creaking so much if you didn't have that goofy ass cigarette holder poking out twenty clucking feet ahead of us! It's ruining our aerodynamics!"

"Fat doefn't hafe anyfing to do wif greafing or not greafing the chainf and youfe know it."

CREEEEAK CREEEEAK

"Oh doesn't it? With all the wind buffeting from it it we may as add a half-baked god on the airbike! Can't you tell it's being strained?"

"More like being ftrained by youfer fat aff," Pripkin whispered.

CCRCKKCKRKCKKKCKKK

Adrenaline gushed through Werthers' body as he shuddered with fear at the crackling that nearly numbed his left ear.

fffzzzz "Werthenshire, are you" fzzzz "there? Can you" ffffzzz "hear me sirrah?"

Werthers realized the crackling in his ear was not from the airbike he was strapped to what felt to be the back of. It was some sort of magical earpiece with fairly spotty reception.

"Werhersbergermeister, come" fffzzzz "in, come in," fffffzzzzz "Werthenhammocklien, come in?"

It was officer seargant Seargeant Officer Jarmish.

"It's officer" fffffzzzz "nt Seargeant Off" fffffzzz "Jarmish."

Werthers opened his eyes and, almost screaming from the brightness, soon slammed them shut.

fffzzzz "If you hear" fffzzz "me, say absolutely nothing. If you can't hear me, let me know."

CREEEEAK CREEEEAK

Werthers said absolutely nothing.

"Werthenhammer?" fffzzzz "Hello?" fffzzzzzz "Hamn, you really must be there, old" ffffzzzz "chup. Well, what a right" fffzzz "mess we'd be in if it weren't for your" fffffzzzzzz "craftiness. Feigning passing out so that the enemy would take you" ffffffzzzzz "hostage! Truly you are a" ffffffzzzzzz "boon to us my dear Wormwuldinger and I am" fffffzzzz "quite pleased to say that our mission" ffffzzzzz "is almost complete. However, it is very" fffzzzzzz "important that for this next bit, you know exactly what you must do to a t. After all, one misstep" ffffzzzz "could be absolutely" ffffffzzzzzz "catastrophic for the mission. And your" ffffzzzzz "health. And quite possibly the" fffffzzzzz "world. Well, that was a little" fffffffzzzz "melodramatic. Probably not the" ffffffzzzz "world, but at least a large part of Caldonia. Or, maybe a medium" ffzzz "part of Caldonia. Hen. Okay it's probably more like a small" ffffzzz "scrap of Caldonia but the sentiment is there and that's what matters, isn't it? Say" ffffzzz "nothing if that's what matters."

Werthers said nothing.

"Okay, glad to hear we're on the same page. Or, glad to not hear that we're on the same page. Heh. Say nothing if we're on the same page?"

Werthers said nothing.

CREEEEAK CREEEEAK

"Excellent excellent excellent you'll have" ffffzzzz "to excrete me Werthengiggles you'll have to" fffffzzzz "excrete me I've just I haven't had many" ffffffzzz "opportunities to speak in code as" ffffzzzz "it were and I am quite enjoying it. Or, should" ffffzzzz "I say, to not speak in code? Hah! Hey, say" fffzzz "nothing if—gotcha! Just" ffffzzzz "kidding! Okay okay anyways the important" fffffffzzzz "information you need is that"

CCRCKKCKRKCKKKCKKK

The sound in Werthers earpiece cut off completely. Then, he blinked open his eyes again, now adjusted to the brightness, and looked around without moving his head. He could see the blue sky and the edge of two bright suns. He could see the thick protective umbrella that Pripkin and Ronaldo were doubtlessly peddleing underneath. He felt the sweat sticking to his skin and wished that that thick protective umbrella had just a little more reach. Then he realized with sorrow and shame that he was stuck in his rubbery ostrich suit, and along with that he was belted with leater straps to the back of the airbike. He was suffering some bad chaffing.

CREEEEAK CREEEEAK

"Fay, what'f fat horrible graoning noife?"

"Maybe Worms has finally woken up."

"Woken up? Youfe mean he'f not dead?"

"I don't think so. I mean, I think I felt a pulse while I was hoisting him onto the back of this thing. You really thought he was dead?"

CREEEEAK CREEEEAK

"Why not juft affk him? Fay, Wormy, are youfe dead?"

Werthers said nothing, but he trembled with fear.

"Wormy! Come on now, are youfe dead or not? Don't leafe me haning! We can't turn around to look at you fo don't try any fign language or anyfing juft fffpeak up ya rubbery ftick of lipfftick!"

"Y-yes. I'm a-live."

"Cluck me he sounds dead as hen!"

CREEEEAK CREEEEAK

"Youfe hear fat, Wormy? Youfe might af well be dead."

"N-no I'm alive I'm alive."

"I think he's going to drop dead any minute. I'm sorry I argued otherwise, boss."

"If only youfe'd apologife for trying to ftiff me out and take all the cluffing money!"

CREEEEAK CREEEEAK

"Look, business is business."

"Juft fink. If you knew how to read you probably could'fe eafily caffed that ticket."

"Boss. Out of line."

"Out of line? Oh, I'm out of line? Where were youfe when I found youfe youfe cluffing oyftyer? Huh? Hafe youfe forgotten or fomething?"

"I haven't forgotten, I just—"

CREEEEAK CREEEEAK

"Well lemme remind youfe juft in cafe youn hafe forgotten and juft don't want to admit it becaufe youfe're an idiot and are embaraffed by how much of an idiot you are. Youfe were a warlock's familiar, remember?"

"I remember, boss."

"Youfe do, do you? A warlock'f familiar. Not a witche'f familiar, may I mind youfe."

"Yes, I'm well aware it was a warlock and not a witch. But I do not think that I am defined by stereotypes—"

CREEEEAK CREEEEAK

"Do youfe remember the shiny little bootf? The fort forts? Like, really fort forts? Do youfe remember the liederhofen?"

"Boss, I don't think—"

"Do youfe or do youfe not remember the liederhofen?"

"I remember the liederhosen, boss. I remeber them very well. The boots were called—"

"I don't give a cluff what the cluffing bootf were called you cluffing—"

"Haferlschuhe!"

"Cluffing hen are youfe commiting genofide or fomething?"

"They were called Haferlschuhe!"

"Youfe're fuch a cluffing matreff, Ronnie."

"I'm not a mattress! Take that back."

"No."

CREEEEAK CREEEEAK

Werthers felt fartburn gurgling in his throat as tension on the airbike grew, and with it their peddleing became more erratic. The creaks grew louder, soon accompanied by judders and sputters. Long beads of sweat streamed down his face, chest, crotch…agony.

Maybe Werthers had died.

Maybe he was in hen.

Maybe he had been in hen since his skytrain got robbed.

Yes, that was it. He was in hen, or he was in gurgleatory.

This could easily be gurgleatory. It felt like what gurgleatory ought to magic like.

Did that mean eventually he might escape gurgleatory and find his way to roost?

CREEEEAK CREEEEAK

 

[C Ron Ickler]

"You say what now? A chicken? In the flesh?"

Pamela and Green Garey stood outside the deflated balloon of the Ostrich Racetrack, speaking to a short, stocky woman wearing a tall, fuzzy bearskin hat. It bobbed up and down as she talked. Pamela had included the hat in her brief naked sketch of the woman.

"Yes misirrah, bright white and fluffy as a bleached whale."

"I wasn't aware bleached whales were fluffy."

"Aye, Parrrmela, aye can vouch fer that. 'ave seen marrgny a bleach-ed whale in me tayeme."

"Thanks, Green Garey. Hopefully you seeing these fluffy white whales covered in bleach is not comparable to you seeing drunken gamblers named after colors with vanishing business cards."

This was an obvious jab. It was well known among educated folk that the Caldonia skies were subject to whale bleached nine months of the year due to the winged suicidal coral reefs, which love killing themselves so much they developed over decades of evolution large sacks of bleach that when it just gets to be too much they can spew all over themselves. Sky whales would often get caught in the crossfire for some reason presently unknown to magic or science. One theory was that the whales that got bleached were just the daredevils, thrill seeking adrenaline junkies ready to chase death for their next fix. Another was that the whales were attempting to use the bleach as a sort of aphrodisiac. Regardless, there were a lot of bleached whales floating around the skies of Caldonia and many of its surrounding territories.

"Hello? Misirrah, hello?" nagged the half pint woman.

Pamela gasped, realizing she had almost lost her grip on her notebook and flashed her newest naked sketch at its subject. "Do excrete me. What were you saying?"

"I asked if you were talking about Bleu Louie!"

Pamela side eyed Green Garey. "Okay, how much did you pay this lady?"

"Paaaargmela that's preparrrsterous! Aye would nevaaarrrrg! AYE swear on me grave!"

"Bleu Louie is all too real," nodded the lady's fuzzy hat, "suspected of rigging races, paying people off, sabotaging ostriches…he's a real piece of twerk."

"AHOY! AYE told ye, Parrmela, did AYE not? And yet ye did not believe me, yer own paaargtner!:"

"Then how have I not heard of him? This is far from my first day at the track!" Pamela looked over to the deflated ashes before them. "Or…what remains of the track."

"The track will bounce back," retorted the lady, her hat bobbing indignantly, "It always does."

"Okay," Pamela started on another naked sketch of the woman, this one emphasizing how her boobs shifted around when she was irritated and how it in turn afected the shape of her thighs and ass, "but might I remind you we're not here to talk about Bleu Louie. We're here to talk about skyrates."

"Yaaarg! More likely witches, methinketh."

"…skyrates and witches."

"Well I haven't seen much of any skyrates! Witches, however…there has been talk of witches."

"AHOY! Once arrgain! AYE know not why ye have doubted me, Parrrmela!"

Pamela sighed, rolled her eyes, and sketched the woman's obviously hard nipples.

"I've seen them myself. A ragtag, misshappen bunch, all in black cloaks. Not at all like the sheer, sensual cloaks of the witches at the local coven. These cloaks are…pure evil."

KKKSKCKCKKK

A large bolt of lightning crackled from a storm cloud a couple shmeters behind the short woman's hat.

"Sorry, did you hear me over that? I said these cloaks are…pure evil."

KKKSKCKCKCKCKCKCKKSSSSSSKKKKKKK

Another large bolt of lightning struck the same spot. As the saying went, lightning always struck twice.

Pamela was losing focus in the conversation, so she began a third explicit sketch, this time imagining with detail the short woman's body hair and how it compared to that of her tall fuzzy hat.

"Yes, pure evil were these…cloaks."

She held out for a third lightning strike to no avail. That would have just been superfluous.

"How can a cloak be pure evil? Don't answer that Green Garey I want to hear what she has to say."

"Well they're just ugly first of all. Like black bedsheets with crusty stains all over them."

"You paint a horrifying picture. Continue."

"Second of all, I'm pretty sure some of them weren't entirely human. One looked like some sort of disturbing hulking mass, yet had the voice of a vaudeville chipmunk."

"That sounds dreadful."

"Indeed. Another lumbered around with thick, mismatched legs. And the woman in charge of them…at least, I think it was a woman…a- humongous-Adams-fir-of-a-woman…was most terrifying at all."

Pamela felt the hair on the back of her neck palpitate. To distract herself, she began to sketch the woman naked once again, this time focusing on her blemishes and wrinkles and how Pamela imagined those carried over to the covered parts of her flesh.

"What did she do?"

"It was strange. I heard her voice…if it could be called a voice as much as it could be called an earthquake…I heard her quake voice resonate violently through the block about revenge, over and over like some ogery record skipping on a warped section."

"We're not on stage, woman, quit the embellishment. What were they doing? Where did they go?"

"I honestly can't say for certain what it was they were doing. They seemed to be some sort of organization henbent on some nebulously defined concept of vengeance and spite. As for where they went, they picked up some of the nearest rent-a-brooms and headed northsouthward."

Pamela grumbled under her breath about cock hamned rent-a-brooms. Ever since witches worldwide had banded together and established an LLC under the name Witches Worldwide they had been littering their poorly made, perpetually half-magically charged rent-a-brooms all over the lands. Witches would come in and dump cratefulls of the things on the side of the road, and anyone who rented the brooms would discard them anywhere, including in the middle roads and on top of roofs. Only a scarce few had at this point not been subjected to the terrors of a littered rent-a-broom clogging their gutters. It only got worse when competiting witch companies tried to outdo eachother with bigger, shinier brooms. There was even a group of warlocks that tried their own transportation offering, rent-a-pogo-sticks, but they never really took off.

"Sorry, where did you say they went on the rent-a-brooms?"

"Northsouthward. Same direction the chicken went."

"The chicken?" Pamela puzzled, then flipped back to her first naked sketch of the woman before her. "Ah yes I see, the giant chicken."

"Parrrrmela," Green Garey turned to his partner with obvious excitement, "AYE'm starrrting to think AYE mAYEght be rAYEght about the witches yet! They're on brooms, wearing cloaks…must be some crazy offshoot that 'as been causin' all this trouble. WhAYE, AYE wouldn't be surprised 'f they and yer skyrates is one 'n the same!"

"These are rent-a-brooms though Green Garey."

Green Garey did his best to mimick what Pamela had just said in a high pitched whine.

"Green Garey if you do that again I'll slap you. Just a warning."

 

[C Ron Ickler]

SHHHBBLBLLBBLBBFFQQQQQFFFFQFFQFFQFF

Assafrass opened his eyes, seeing himself, Michael and Angela enclosed in jiggly purple energy, floating in a dark, turbulent void.

Cluck. I'm not drunk enough for this.

Oah, woaw, yaou're sao cooal, Aassafrass, waith yaour daependency oan alcaohol tao babay yaou thraough laife's traoubles, though Michael. Then, he promptly vomited due to nausea and overintoxication.

Micahel you disgrossting hypocrite.

Haypocrite? I naever draink! Oaf caourse I havae nao taolerance.

Ew the vomit is floating all over the place some of it got on me you suck Michael do you know how much the cap'n has to brush my long ass fur to keep it in proper shape and now you've clucked it all up you scrub!

I didn't know you had long ass fur.

I don't! I mean it's not any longer than any of my other fur.

But you did say you had long ass fur. Did you mean long ass fur, or long ass fur?

Stop interrogating me! You're such a clucking jerk!

Yaea Aassafrass yaou're a jaerk.

PPPBBBLPLPLPLPLBPBLBPLBPPPPPFFFFFFFFT

A large burst of flatulence shook wherever the hen they were, and brilliant pink explosions flashed through the void. It seemed whatever turbulent, souplike darkness there was was farting out a brilliant array of kaleidoscopic colors from some extradimensional rectum, opening and contracting with each new orb.

These orbs grew and changed, some vanished, and others rearranged. Assafrass found the whole thing strange while Michael drooled, appearing deranged. Angela quivered as stars formed and aged and void holes constipated then she barfed violently which ensured that the future graves of dying stars and planets were thoroughly desecrated. Quicker and quicker the void did expand and as planets grew like budding blooms Assafrass, Michael and Angela wondered if their paws would ever safely land instead of floating and bobbing on the precipice of doom while planets shat out of the ether into this gloomy primordial womb—would freedom be theirs?—or would this purple jelly surrounding them soon serve as a tomb as time sped faster and faster like a tipping top when all they could wish was that it would stop then the void ceased its rumbling with a decisive boom which the animals all surely thought was their doom they felt their farts flutter and flop and then enter their intestines with a jerking drop—or was that the diahrrea which was soon out to pop?—they felt again their pulses do zooms as more than one of them pointedly wondered if they had eaten some shrooms.

Hey! Hey! Idiots! Hello there? Whaddaya want from me?

There was a fabulously jeweled floating purple cat hovering next to the three frightened companions. She had thick, sassy eyelashes that looked ready to either fall right off or backhand someone, and a third cat ear protruding from her forehead.

Who are you? Assafrass gawked.

I'm a Janelle, idiot! The cat's face stretched and contorted to reveal large, bloodied, snakelike fangs. Her eyes grew wide and bloodshot. You distrubed me from my eternal slumber and now you've got to face my wrath!

The dogs whimpered. Assafrass chewed on his spit in a nervous manner and sighed a weak hee-haw.

Ahahahaaaaa! Cackled the cat. I'm just clucking with y'all calm down calm down. Now I don't know why you had to cluck around with all my shit, she gestured to the starry mess before them, But I guess that's what you get with amateurs. Now, lemme aks again. Whaddaya want from me?

Oh my gourd oh my gourd I wanna be a poodle! Or at least a poodle mix, thought Angela excitedly.

Excrete me? You wanna what now? No no no no no. That's not how this twerks, being made into a poodle. Best I can get you is, uh lemme see lemme see here, the Janelle made a large folder apparate before her face and flicked through the papers. Best I can get you is about nine and a half percent poodle in your bloodline. And that may be something that you already have, actually. But that's the best I can give ya.

Are you clucking kidding me? I thought you were magic!

I am magic! But not that kinda magic! What'd ya take me for, a wizard or something? Turning things into things they're not! Ugh, hello! I'm a Janelle! I warp the fabric of space time I don't paint your nails!

Assafrass and Michael stared at eachother with wide eyed, confused stares.

Uh, excrete me? Assafrass piped up. What exactly is a Janelle again?

Cock hamn it you people—er—you animals—really have no idea what you've waltzed on into here do you? The Janelle huffed and apparated another file of papers. Then she cleared her throat, getting spit on the three companions. I am a Janelle. I have adopted this form to appear familiar and safe to you. Were I to reveal my true self to your pitiful eyes—and yes, pitiful is in the copy, thank you—you would simply dissolve like a damp communion wafer.

I havae a quaestion plaease.

Yes, foul-accented wrinkledog?

Whay the thaird aear? Thaat's naot famialiar aand caomforting!

Have you not talked to a hippy? The third ear is the window to the sounds of the soul! All y'all ought to learn to open your third ear!

I think it looks kind of gross balked Angela.

Gross? Vitch what's wrong with you?! First you aks me to turn you into a clucking noodle—

Poodle.

—and then you take a big steaming dump all over my third ear? Who gives a cluck what it looks like? Do any of you know what my third ear sounds like?

The animals murmured amongst eachother, wondering if ears made sounds.

The answer is you would clucking know if your third ears were open! Now what can I do for ya? You've woken me up and unfortunately for myself that means I owe you one wish that I deem worthy of granting. That's right, I can veto your wish! And don't waste my time with any more stupid ass—shit sorry didn't mean to offend there donkeybrains—wishes like being turned into strudel—

A poodle I wanted to be a poodle!

—you better shut her up before I redact your wish and kick y'all outta here.

Shut up Angela you're going to ruin our chance at a wish!

My wish is already ruined. Don't you care about anybody but yourself you asshole?

I not an asshole! I'm a whole ass, thank you very much!

Whay daon't yaou baack oaf, Aassafrass, yaou're haurting haer feealings.

Michael you better watch it or I'll wish your tongue into a lemon.

That's not how my powers twerk cockhammit! That's it! Two strikes! One more chance to wish for something worthwhile! You got one minute before I kick you the cluck outta here and slam the lamp lid on ya!

Assafrass sighed. Angela's recent words rang in his head, echoing as if the dark expanse they floated in was a humongous reverbrous chamber but also since the words were imaginary obviously none of the sounds were being made and traveling anywhere at all. Then, Assafrass realized he actually did care about someone other than himself.

Janelle—

My name's not Janelle it's Fuscia! That's like me calling you ass, ass.

Fuscia—

Stop with the names and just get to the clucking point already come on I have a spa day planned with a lamplighter.

I know what I want to wish for. Assafrass paused for what he deemed a noble, dramatic pause.

Feathery clucking cock just tell me what it is idiot!

My ass master—

HAHAHAHAHHAHHAHHHAAAHHHH

Uh, my ass master—

AAAAHAHHAHAHHHAAA

What's so funny?

Assafrass looked to his companions, who did their best versions of animal shrugs.

As I was saying, my ass master and I got separated recently, and I would like nothing more than to—

AHAHHAAA I'm sorry I'm sorry I just whew I'm sorry HAAHHHHHAHAHHAHAA ASS MASTER ASS MASTER AHAHHAAAAHH did your ass master carry a whip and paddle around? Don't answer that I don't wanna know AHAHHAAHAAAHHH

Okay. My ass master and I were recently separated. I was, as he would call it, ass napped.

AHHHAHHAHHAA sorry sorry cock I swear I'll get it together I'll—whew—I'll get it together I just AHAHHHAHAHHAAAAA

So ever since this ass napping, I highly suspect he has gotten himself in all sorts of trouble, what with being assless and all. So I wish for my ass master and I to be reunited.

AHHHAAAHHAHHHaaaaaah! Well that actually sounds like a pretty decent wish. Sounds like my kinda wish. I…think I can put the lamplighting on the backburner for now.

Naow waait a saecond! Whaat iaf I weare tao thaink uap a baetter waish?

Too late dog breath! I already picked his wish he had a hood wish just get over it.

I hardlay thaink thaat's faiar.

Fair? You think I give a cluck about fair? Life's not fair, chuppy! If you had opened up your third ear you'd know that already, you know.

Michael wimpered in pitiful defeat, and then cocked his head sagasciously.

Now. For this wish we're gonna need to do a lotta fun stuff. I'm talking huge, overarching impacts to history shit. We're gonna found an entire folk story off this. Your ass master is gonna know this story, and it's gonna be this exact story that saves his ass, figuratively and literally! You with me?

Oh, I'm with you all right. You're ready to move mountains for this stinking donkey but you won't turn me into a poodle!

Vitch you need to zip it or I'll zip it for you literally by going back in time and making your lineage include a rare breed of zipper mouthed dogs and then you'll have a zipper mouth and I'll grab it and I'll zip it shut!

Maisirrah thais saounds quaite laike oaverkill tao mae.

I'll do it to you too! I've had enough of your stupid asides like you think you're some noble pile of wrinkles! Stop stepping on my toes! I'm a Janelle cock hammit have some respect!

Assafrass chewed on absolutely nothing and then let out a disgruntled hee haw. Misirrah Fuscia, I think that—

Don't you 'misirrah' me! I'm not a cockhammed queen—okay well maybe I am a cockhammed queen—

Please stop arguing with us and get to the point! Aren't you going to do my wish?

Oh, I'm going to do your wish, you ass. I'm going to get all up in your wish, your wish is gonna get all over the place. Just you wait.

Okay. Thank you.

They hovered in silence, watching planets form and crumble and morph and die.

Um, hello? Are y'all falling asleep or something?

I baelieve wea're waitaing faor Aassafrass' waish tao, earhm, 'gaet aall oaver thae placae.'

Oh true. My bad.