The suns were dipping into the whoreizon of the Wayword Woods. It was nearly gas.
Mother clucking ballsacks, thought Sir Broderick the Shitfaced as he dug through the smouldering remains of the esteemed wizard Dr. Krumbunculus’ stilted shack, tripping over sticks and stones and his own discoordinated legs as he looked for the wizard’s books, of all things.
“I don’t well think we’ll find anything of use in all this muddy crock of dog spaghetti,” he grumbled at the esteemed wizard Dr. Krumbunculus.
“Cluck me sideways. Do you know how much magical knowledge was in my books?”
“No.”
“A lot! A muddy hen of a lot! And of course you know what they say about knowledge?”
“What?” Sir Broderick burped up some grain alcohol, “That it’ll give you indigestion?”
“No! Knowledge is p—”
UUUUUURPRRP
Sir Broderick shook himself like a wet dog. “Sorry about that, my old chup, just couldn’t hold it in.
Dr. Krumbunculus squinted in irritation. “Knowledge is perfect for distracting you from horrible existential dread, of which I have in clubs!”
“So, ehrm,” Sir Broderick cleared his breath and leaned over like a swaying palm frond, “what’s that mean, anyhow, sirrah? ‘I have that in clubs.’ I mean what in the hen could that possibly mean? It’s a saying that franklinly speaking makes no possible inch of sense.”
“Well I had some books on the etymology of bizarre, seemingly meaningless sayings but they clearly all got burned up in that fire that destroyed my only home so I guess we’ll never know!”
“Oh blah blah blah! All you ever do is whine! Why couldn’t you have just cast some sort of a magic incantation or whatever you stupid warlock?”
The esteemed wizard Dr. Krumbunculus boiled like a frog egg. “What on Gurth did you just call me you, weasley clucker?”
“You clucking heard it. You’re stupid.”
Dr. Krumbunculus blinked. “What? Why should I care if you think I’m stupid?! You’re clearly a mindless imbecile in your own right! You thinking me stupid is an obvious example of a well known logical fallacy that I’d be able to name if your stupidity hadn’t burned down my home and all my books, including Logicius Fallaciousnessius Exemplifiedius! That’s the book with a big list of all the known logical fallacies and also some made up ones sprinkled in there!”
“Oh. So we’re rectangular, then?”
“What?! No! We are so far from being rectangular we may as well be a rhombus you hogblossom! You muddy called me a warlock!”
“And?”
“I’m a wizard! I’m the esteemed wizard Dr. Krumbunculus! Or did the ten minutes we spent introducing ourselves in increasingly complicated language mean nothing to you?!”
“Wizard, warlock, what’s even the difference?”
What was the difference? That’s like asking if there was a difference between the side of the road firetwerk salesmen and a philosophy professor! Dr. Krumbunculus was practically a steaming lobster at this point.“As if! I had you pegged for an ignoramous but I am at a loss for words!”
“Thank the chickens, it’s about time you shut the cluck up, my ears are ringing!!”
In a red fit of rage the esteemed wizard Dr. Krumbunculus abandoned all reason and lunged himself at Sir Broderick the Shitfaced like a feverish coyote. Sir Broderick tumbled back into the muck, coughing in shock, then laughing hysterically as Dr. Krumbunculus punched him in the face and gut and groin with all the force and might of a declawed kitten.
“Are you about finished, sirrah?”
Dr. Krumbunculus steamed. Were he indeed a lobster, he would be ready to eat. Were he indeed a frog egg, he’d be well overdone. He pulled himself away from Sir Broderick and huffed and puffed. He was sweating, and his spindly fingers were notted into eachother like bubble gum.
“Hamn. Nice twerk, buddy,” chortled Sir Broderick, almost choking on fartburn.
“Oh, cluck you!” Dr. Krumbunculs growled as he quickly cast spells to untie and repair his mangled mitts. He felt so strongly that he wanted to strangle Sir Broderick to death, so strongly that he wanted to bludgeon him till his face turned purple and his teeth fell out, or at least to cast a spell to do all that for him. And yet, he didn’t. He felt a weird thing brewing in his bowels. Almost like friendship. Or early onset incontinence. Dr. Krumbunculus wasn’t that old. For a wizard.
“So, why was it you were flinging all that shit at the skyrates in the first place?”
“They stole my clucking ass, that’s why!”
Dr. Krumbunculus blinked and tried to process this. Then he tried to look at Sir Broderick’s ass to see if it was, indeed, missing.
“Not that ass, you pervy old prune! Sassafrass, my burro, my noble steed!”
Dr. Krumbunculus blinked again. Sir Broderick was calling a donkey a noble steed.
“He’s been ass-napped by skyrates! Were you in my position you’d have undoubtedly done your best to bring those filthy skyrates, or should I say sky-rats, to their knees!”
Dr. Krumbunculus blinked a third time. Sir Broderick’s eyeballs looked bloodshot and wide enough to pop out of their sockets.
Sir Broderick cleared his throat, “It, erhm, it just so happens flinging shit at them was my best. But just you wait, you witchy old warthog. I’ll kick their heinies and bring them to their sky-knees.”
Dr. Krumbunculus choked on air at the stupidity of Sir Broderick’s assertion, tumbling onto his back and hacking like a saw. He had almost regained his composure when he remembered again what Sir Broderick had said and how mind bogglingly stupid it was, and a second fit of coughing ensued. Eventually, eyes watering and face red as a beet covered in blood, the wizard leaned up and looked at a confused and unembarassed Sir Broderick.
“Well,” sighed Dr. Krumbunculus, “seeing as I have nowhere to live, nothing to read, and,” he looked around to double check, “nobody else in my immediate vicinity, let’s say I’ll help you get out of these woods. And secure some sort of transportation.”
Sir Broderick kneeled at once, slovenly spilling himself at Dr. Krumbunculus’ knotted feet.
“Oh, kind sirrah! How very grateful am I that you have pledged to assist me in my great task. You will not regret this! Put ‘im there, chuppin!” Broderick forced a stinky fist in Dr. Krumbunculus’ violently elderly face.
“I don’t bump fists. And I don’t pledge anything.”
“Whatnowfor?”
“If I may accost your mental faculties, Sir Broderick, do you remember that old quote of bread-and-butter scripture?”
“Which one? There are quite a lot of those, and I’ve heard that many are often taken out of context.”
Dr. Krumbunculus paused. “Pilfering pollywogs. One moment. Excrete me. Let me see if I can remember that old quote…come on now…heh, I think there’s a spell for this, but I’d need one of my spell books to remember it…funny how that twerks out. Ah, yes!”
“Do you remember it, sirrah?”
“No, but I remembered the spell to help me remember,” beamed Dr. Krumbunculus as he picked his left nostril three times and then shoved that same picking finger deep into his right ear canal. “Much better. Yes, I remember now. Undoubtedly you’ve heard this. In the beginning was the word, and the word was cock. And the word was with… cock.”
“Yes. Quite inspiring I’m sure to the right kind of person, of which I am not.”
“Well, let me ask you this. Am I a cock?”
Sir Broderick paused.
“Of course not. I am a wizard. The word is not with me! So I don’t give my word to anybody.”
Sir Broderick puzzled alcoholically over this. “So, ehrm, that’s why so many of you wizards don’t marry, eh?”
Dr. Krumbunculus’ eyes glazed over. Memories from his past flooded over his brain in a torrent. If only he hadn’t just recently cast the memory enhancing spell. Primary school. Secondary school. Posterior school. The smell of fresh perfume in the coed dormitories. Echoes of beds creaking throughout the night, like the hum of the crickets in the woods except much louder and accompanied by moans and oftentimes spanking.
Dr. Krumbunculus quickly picked his right nostril three times and jammed his finger deep into his left ear canal. The memories fogged up like glasses on a humid day until they were nothing but faint echoes.
“You know,” gurgled Sir Broderick, “There might probably be some sort of a decongestant spell. Not sure all of that mess is rightly necessary. I carry a kercheif myself.” He was obviously not well acquainted with wizards and how they cast spells.
The suns were dipping into the whoreizon of the Wayword Woods. It was nearly gas.
Mother clucking ballsacks, thought Sir Broderick the Shitfaced as he dug through the smouldering remains of the esteemed wizard Dr. Krumbunculus’ stilted shack, tripping over sticks and stones and his own discoordinated legs as he looked for the wizard’s books, of all things.
“I don’t well think we’ll find anything of use in all this muddy crock of dog spaghetti,” he grumbled at the esteemed wizard Dr. Krumbunculus.
“Cluck me sideways. Do you know how much magical knowledge was in my books?”
“No.”
“A lot! A muddy hen of a lot! And of course you know what they say about knowledge?”
“What?” Sir Broderick burped up some grain alcohol, “That it’ll give you indigestion?”
“No! Knowledge is p—”
UUUUUURPRRP
Sir Broderick shook himself like a wet dog. “Sorry about that, my old chup, just couldn’t hold it in.
Dr. Krumbunculus squinted in irritation. “Knowledge is perfect for distracting you from horrible existential dread, of which I have in clubs!”
“So, ehrm,” Sir Broderick cleared his breath and leaned over like a swaying palm frond, “what’s that mean, anyhow, sirrah? ‘I have that in clubs.’ I mean what in the hen could that possibly mean? It’s a saying that franklinly speaking makes no possible inch of sense.”
“Well I had some books on the etymology of bizarre, seemingly meaningless sayings but they clearly all got burned up in that fire that destroyed my only home so I guess we’ll never know!”
“Oh blah blah blah! All you ever do is whine! Why couldn’t you have just cast some sort of a magic incantation or whatever you stupid warlock?”
The esteemed wizard Dr. Krumbunculus boiled like a frog egg. “What on Gurth did you just call me you, weasley clucker?”
“You clucking heard it. You’re stupid.”
Dr. Krumbunculus blinked. “What? Why should I care if you think I’m stupid?! You’re clearly a mindless imbecile in your own right! You thinking me stupid is an obvious example of a well known logical fallacy that I’d be able to name if your stupidity hadn’t burned down my home and all my books, including Logicius Fallaciousnessius Exemplifiedius! That’s the book with a big list of all the known logical fallacies and also some made up ones sprinkled in there!”
“Oh. So we’re rectangular, then?”
“What?! No! We are so far from being rectangular we may as well be a rhombus you hogblossom! You muddy called me a warlock!”
“And?”
“I’m a wizard! I’m the esteemed wizard Dr. Krumbunculus! Or did the ten minutes we spent introducing ourselves in increasingly complicated language mean nothing to you?!”
“Wizard, warlock, what’s even the difference?”
What was the difference? That’s like asking if there was a difference between the side of the road firetwerk salesmen and a philosophy professor! Dr. Krumbunculus was practically a steaming lobster at this point.“As if! I had you pegged for an ignoramous but I am at a loss for words!”
“Thank the chickens, it’s about time you shut the cluck up, my ears are ringing!!”
In a red fit of rage the esteemed wizard Dr. Krumbunculus abandoned all reason and lunged himself at Sir Broderick the Shitfaced like a feverish coyote. Sir Broderick tumbled back into the muck, coughing in shock, then laughing hysterically as Dr. Krumbunculus punched him in the face and gut and groin with all the force and might of a declawed kitten.
“Are you about finished, sirrah?”
Dr. Krumbunculus steamed. Were he indeed a lobster, he would be ready to eat. Were he indeed a frog egg, he’d be well overdone. He pulled himself away from Sir Broderick and huffed and puffed. He was sweating, and his spindly fingers were notted into eachother like bubble gum.
“Hamn. Nice twerk, buddy,” chortled Sir Broderick, almost choking on fartburn.
“Oh, cluck you!” Dr. Krumbunculs growled as he quickly cast spells to untie and repair his mangled mitts. He felt so strongly that he wanted to strangle Sir Broderick to death, so strongly that he wanted to bludgeon him till his face turned purple and his teeth fell out, or at least to cast a spell to do all that for him. And yet, he didn’t. He felt a weird thing brewing in his bowels. Almost like friendship. Or early onset incontinence. Dr. Krumbunculus wasn’t that old. For a wizard.
“So, why was it you were flinging all that shit at the skyrates in the first place?”
“They stole my clucking ass, that’s why!”
Dr. Krumbunculus blinked and tried to process this. Then he tried to look at Sir Broderick’s ass to see if it was, indeed, missing.
“Not that ass, you pervy old prune! Sassafrass, my burro, my noble steed!”
Dr. Krumbunculus blinked again. Sir Broderick was calling a donkey a noble steed.
“He’s been ass-napped by skyrates! Were you in my position you’d have undoubtedly done your best to bring those filthy skyrates, or should I say sky-rats, to their knees!”
Dr. Krumbunculus blinked a third time. Sir Broderick’s eyeballs looked bloodshot and wide enough to pop out of their sockets.
Sir Broderick cleared his throat, “It, erhm, it just so happens flinging shit at them was my best. But just you wait, you witchy old warthog. I’ll kick their heinies and bring them to their sky-knees.”
Dr. Krumbunculus choked on air at the stupidity of Sir Broderick’s assertion, tumbling onto his back and hacking like a saw. He had almost regained his composure when he remembered again what Sir Broderick had said and how mind bogglingly stupid it was, and a second fit of coughing ensued. Eventually, eyes watering and face red as a beet covered in blood, the wizard leaned up and looked at a confused and unembarassed Sir Broderick.
“Well,” sighed Dr. Krumbunculus, “seeing as I have nowhere to live, nothing to read, and,” he looked around to double check, “nobody else in my immediate vicinity, let’s say I’ll help you get out of these woods. And secure some sort of transportation.”
Sir Broderick kneeled at once, slovenly spilling himself at Dr. Krumbunculus’ knotted feet.
“Oh, kind sirrah! How very grateful am I that you have pledged to assist me in my great task. You will not regret this! Put ‘im there, chuppin!” Broderick forced a stinky fist in Dr. Krumbunculus’ violently elderly face.
“I don’t bump fists. And I don’t pledge anything.”
“Whatnowfor?”
“If I may accost your mental faculties, Sir Broderick, do you remember that old quote of bread-and-butter scripture?”
“Which one? There are quite a lot of those, and I’ve heard that many are often taken out of context.”
Dr. Krumbunculus paused. “Pilfering pollywogs. One moment. Excrete me. Let me see if I can remember that old quote…come on now…heh, I think there’s a spell for this, but I’d need one of my spell books to remember it…funny how that twerks out. Ah, yes!”
“Do you remember it, sirrah?”
“No, but I remembered the spell to help me remember,” beamed Dr. Krumbunculus as he picked his left nostril three times and then shoved that same picking finger deep into his right ear canal. “Much better. Yes, I remember now. Undoubtedly you’ve heard this. In the beginning was the word, and the word was cock. And the word was with… cock.”
“Yes. Quite inspiring I’m sure to the right kind of person, of which I am not.”
“Well, let me ask you this. Am I a cock?”
Sir Broderick paused.
“Of course not. I am a wizard. The word is not with me! So I don’t give my word to anybody.”
Sir Broderick puzzled alcoholically over this. “So, ehrm, that’s why so many of you wizards don’t marry, eh?”
Dr. Krumbunculus’ eyes glazed over. Memories from his past flooded over his brain in a torrent. If only he hadn’t just recently cast the memory enhancing spell. Primary school. Secondary school. Posterior school. The smell of fresh perfume in the coed dormitories. Echoes of beds creaking throughout the night, like the hum of the crickets in the woods except much louder and accompanied by moans and oftentimes spanking.
Dr. Krumbunculus quickly picked his right nostril three times and jammed his finger deep into his left ear canal. The memories fogged up like glasses on a humid day until they were nothing but faint echoes.
“You know,” gurgled Sir Broderick, “There might probably be some sort of a decongestant spell. Not sure all of that mess is rightly necessary. I carry a kercheif myself.” He was obviously not well acquainted with wizards and how they cast spells.
