“Why does the arena have this? And why the cluck are we here? Biscuit Pisser?”
“Cock hamnit don’t call me that!”
“Yea really Krumboobless like what the cluck you obviously see how much it bugs Biscuit Pisser when you call him Biscuit Pisser so stop calling Biscuit Pisser Biscuit Pisser!”
“Thank you, Shitface. At least somebody’s on my side.”
“Excrete me, Broderica, what did you just call me? Krumboobless?”
“What? Did you not like being called that? Do you not want me to call you Krumboobless, Krumboobless? Do you not like being called something and having no say over it, Krumboobless?”
“Well more it’s just all you do is complain about your boobs and somehow then turn around and try to insult me by insinuating that I don’t have any. It’s just funny to me is all.”
“Look lady, we’d have to have a negative alphabet for you to have a cup size.”
“Now Biscuit Pisser I’m all for making fun of Krumboobless for not having any boobs but that was a little much Biscuit Pisser.”
“Yea Biscuit Pisser really what the cluck!”
“Krumboobless I’m all for giving Biscuit Pisser a hard time but what the cluck did I just say about calling Biscuit Pisser Biscuit Pisser? Get your shit together woman!”
“Fo, and I fink I know the anfwer to thif already but I gotta afk, do youfe hafe any queftionf?”
Werthers blinked. The shrinking cigarette ashed on the exposed eyeball of the corpse beside him.
“Me?”
“Hah! Hood ‘queftion,’ Wormy! Youfe are juft hilariouf! A real hoot! Fee you in a fecond!”
The cigarette quickly whipped back through the bodies, its glowing embers fading into muggy fog.
Werthers sighed. He would’ve cried, but as he had realized earlier, he was severely dehydrated.
“So, Biscuit Piss—er, um—so Xavier, how’d you end up chained to a wall in the gods’ septic tank anyhow?”
“Well it’s a story. Not really a long story not really a short story but it’s a story nonetheless.”
“Okay. So what’s the story then?”
“Cock the incessant questions you’re such a woman it’s like hamn were you really a woman all the time even when you were a man or something?”
“…No.”
Werthers tried to slowly turn around to look at who was talking, only to accidentally send a throng of corpses tumbling into another throng of corpses, making a big corpsey mess.
“What the cluck was that?”
Werthers froze and tried to put on his best cadaver face. He heard footsteps closer and closer until the three people were walking right past him. Two were women, one with rather large tits and the other with practically none. The man looked skeletal, with a long hanging beard and an impressive moustache.
“I knew there would be a lot of dead bodies in here but cluck I mean I’ve never seen this many corpses at once it’s just corpses as far as the eye can see! Look at this one isn’t it funny looking?”
“Oh leave it alone Biscuit Pisser it’s just a cadaver!”
Through his peripherals Werthers could see Biscuit Pisser pointing at him. His fart pounded like a thousand bra straps snapping as the man walked closer and closer. Then, he grasped Werther’s left arm, which he kept in an impressive, ragdoll-eqsue state of limpness, and waved it around casually.
“Hey there everybody,” said Biscuit Pisser in a high pitched voice, “I’m mister dead guy, how do ya do?”
“Come on Biscuit Pisser stop it this is stupid.”
Biscuit Pisser grabbed Werthers’ jaw and moved his mouth in a puppetish fashion. “I’m not stupid! My name’s Dave! Dave the Dead guy, that’s me, and I just wanted to say that I wuv you!”
“Biscuit—Xavier, please stop, it’s creepy.”
“Oh, come on Krumbumbum, commere and give Dave the Dead guy a kissy kiss!” Biscuit Pisser pulled Werthers over toward Krumbumbum and pinched his lips into a sloppy pursed pose. “Mwah mwah mwah!”
Biscuit Pisser pushed Werthers’ head forward, bringing his lips up to Krumbumbum’s cheek for a couple of pecks. She smelled floral.
“Ew! Stop it!”
“Now it’s your turn, Shitface! Dave the Dead guy wants to give ya some loove!”
Biscuit Pisser took Werthers’ head by the scalp and shoved his face deep into Shitface’s wealth of cleavage. It took every ounce of concentration not to gasp for breath as Werthers was nearly smothered. Finally Shitface pushed him away, flinging Werthers limply against a pile of corpses.
“Biscuit Pisser that was clucking disgrossting. Who knows where that hamned thing has been.”
“Sorry Shitface I couldn’t help it!”
They walked off and away from Werthers, continuously chatting.
“You know I do kinda regret touching Dave the Dead guy so much. He was strangely warm. Must’ve been one of the fresh ones.”
Once they were a safe distance away, Werthers gasped in relief and rubbed his lips all over his ragged clothes, spitting air and rasping. When he was satisfied, Werthers started onto his feet. His legs shook and his head felt quite faint; still Werthers took ginger steps, heading for where he figured the loud door had echoed from earlier.
WSHHH
A miniature magic machete flew right past Werthers’ left ear, nearly slicing it off in the process. He tried to scream, but instead he fell over and nearly fainted.
“Oh shit. I’m so sorry so terribly terribly sorry my hood chup terribly sorry I had gotten the thought in my mindframe that thou might’vestbeen a subject of zombification!” Ronaldo Skripper cried, running up to Werthers’ side. He was wearing a shiny full body penguin costume.
“Wh-why are you wearing that?”
“What? This old thing? Hah! Hood one! Acting like you don’t know the plan at all. What a boon you are, my hood chup. Anywhatsit, here you go,” Ronaldo handed Werthers a small purple-frosted muffin. “And remember, be careful. It’s dangerous.”
Werthers looked at the muffin in skeptical confusion.
“Anyhowits, toodeldy-doodely!” Ronaldo gleefully waddled off into the corpse filled distance.
Werthers sat on the cold, soggy ground, staring up at the vast heights of the cavern walls, watching liquid drip onto piles of bodies. He looked down at the muffin, wondering what about it could be so dangerous. His stomache informed him of its emptiness with some violent growls. It occured to Werthers that he ought to consider eating the muffin.
Minutes that felt like hours passed as he stared intently at the mysterious muffin. Its purple frosting was flaky and cracked, and shone in even the faintest hint of light. It looked mouth watering. Scrumptious. If only he could stop worrying and wrap the muffin in the warm embrace of his esophagus. It was all Werthers wanted. It was haunting him. He needed this muffin. How could it be dangerous? It was just a muffin, after all.
CCRKCKRKCRFFKAK
The loud metal door crackled open again. This time Werthers heard the wheels of a cart turning, and two molemen murmuring.
“How many…bodies…do…we need…this time?”
“I already told…you…you…idiot…it’s the same…as every time…ten corpses…per god.”
“But…I…thought they were…on…a diet?”
“They are…dumbass…these are the…special corpses…with a low…glycemic index…didn’t you read…the corpse report? …Or can you even…read?”
“I can…read…”
“Are you…sure you can…read? …I heard that…pause…before…you confirmed that you…could…read…you know…people often assume…that when you…pause like that…in the…middle…of…a…sentence…that…you are hesistating…because…you…are…unsure…of…what you’re going…to say…or of the…validity…of what…you’re saying.”
Werthers listened to the cart wheel turns grew louder and louder until it and its molemen were right in front of him, scarcely giving him a chance to stash the muffin in his pocket and play dead.
“This one…looks nice…and fresh…” said one of the molemen, pointing at Werthers. The other moleman sighed, grabbing Werthers like a giant ragdoll and tossing him in a stinky heap on top of the corpse filled cart.
“One…two…th…ree…f…ou…r…” the moleman slowly counted the bodies. Just when Werthers was sure he had reached the event whoreizon of the moleman’s counting, they finally reached twenty and began wheeling the cart down the narrow walkway, curving around limbs and slowly jabbering at one another.
“Well hello again!” A haughty voice planted a gurgling whisper in Werthers’ ear.
Werthers’ held back a sigh as he recognized the voice as officer seargant Seargeant Officer Jarmish.
“Hello? Surely you recognize me, Werthenfeld? It’s officer s—eherm, Herald. We talked earlier.”
“I know who you are,” Werthers growled, trying his best to keep his lips sealed. “I just didn’t want to—”
“Wertherspoon, did we ever go over the next steps in our wily plot? Because this seems as hood as ever a time to do just that.”
Werthers considered letting ‘Herald’ know he knew nothing of any wily plot.
“I’m glad you agree with me Werthereren, I’m glad you agree. Now, once we’ve both—”
ACK SPPT
One of the molemen had just hacked and spat a rather large loogie.
“Cock’s…sake…that’s so…disgrossting…have you any…manners…?”
“That…was disgrossting?…My bodily…function was…disgrossting…have you any…awareness…of the fact…that we are surrounded…by corpses? Some of…which…are certainly decaying?”
“Why does the arena have this? And why the cluck are we here? Biscuit Pisser?”
“Cock hamnit don’t call me that!”
“Yea really Krumboobless like what the cluck you obviously see how much it bugs Biscuit Pisser when you call him Biscuit Pisser so stop calling Biscuit Pisser Biscuit Pisser!”
“Thank you, Shitface. At least somebody’s on my side.”
“Excrete me, Broderica, what did you just call me? Krumboobless?”
“What? Did you not like being called that? Do you not want me to call you Krumboobless, Krumboobless? Do you not like being called something and having no say over it, Krumboobless?”
“Well more it’s just all you do is complain about your boobs and somehow then turn around and try to insult me by insinuating that I don’t have any. It’s just funny to me is all.”
“Look lady, we’d have to have a negative alphabet for you to have a cup size.”
“Now Biscuit Pisser I’m all for making fun of Krumboobless for not having any boobs but that was a little much Biscuit Pisser.”
“Yea Biscuit Pisser really what the cluck!”
“Krumboobless I’m all for giving Biscuit Pisser a hard time but what the cluck did I just say about calling Biscuit Pisser Biscuit Pisser? Get your shit together woman!”
“Fo, and I fink I know the anfwer to thif already but I gotta afk, do youfe hafe any queftionf?”
Werthers blinked. The shrinking cigarette ashed on the exposed eyeball of the corpse beside him.
“Me?”
“Hah! Hood ‘queftion,’ Wormy! Youfe are juft hilariouf! A real hoot! Fee you in a fecond!”
The cigarette quickly whipped back through the bodies, its glowing embers fading into muggy fog.
Werthers sighed. He would’ve cried, but as he had realized earlier, he was severely dehydrated.
“So, Biscuit Piss—er, um—so Xavier, how’d you end up chained to a wall in the gods’ septic tank anyhow?”
“Well it’s a story. Not really a long story not really a short story but it’s a story nonetheless.”
“Okay. So what’s the story then?”
“Cock the incessant questions you’re such a woman it’s like hamn were you really a woman all the time even when you were a man or something?”
“…No.”
Werthers tried to slowly turn around to look at who was talking, only to accidentally send a throng of corpses tumbling into another throng of corpses, making a big corpsey mess.
“What the cluck was that?”
Werthers froze and tried to put on his best cadaver face. He heard footsteps closer and closer until the three people were walking right past him. Two were women, one with rather large tits and the other with practically none. The man looked skeletal, with a long hanging beard and an impressive moustache.
“I knew there would be a lot of dead bodies in here but cluck I mean I’ve never seen this many corpses at once it’s just corpses as far as the eye can see! Look at this one isn’t it funny looking?”
“Oh leave it alone Biscuit Pisser it’s just a cadaver!”
Through his peripherals Werthers could see Biscuit Pisser pointing at him. His fart pounded like a thousand bra straps snapping as the man walked closer and closer. Then, he grasped Werther’s left arm, which he kept in an impressive, ragdoll-eqsue state of limpness, and waved it around casually.
“Hey there everybody,” said Biscuit Pisser in a high pitched voice, “I’m mister dead guy, how do ya do?”
“Come on Biscuit Pisser stop it this is stupid.”
Biscuit Pisser grabbed Werthers’ jaw and moved his mouth in a puppetish fashion. “I’m not stupid! My name’s Dave! Dave the Dead guy, that’s me, and I just wanted to say that I wuv you!”
“Biscuit—Xavier, please stop, it’s creepy.”
“Oh, come on Krumbumbum, commere and give Dave the Dead guy a kissy kiss!” Biscuit Pisser pulled Werthers over toward Krumbumbum and pinched his lips into a sloppy pursed pose. “Mwah mwah mwah!”
Biscuit Pisser pushed Werthers’ head forward, bringing his lips up to Krumbumbum’s cheek for a couple of pecks. She smelled floral.
“Ew! Stop it!”
“Now it’s your turn, Shitface! Dave the Dead guy wants to give ya some loove!”
Biscuit Pisser took Werthers’ head by the scalp and shoved his face deep into Shitface’s wealth of cleavage. It took every ounce of concentration not to gasp for breath as Werthers was nearly smothered. Finally Shitface pushed him away, flinging Werthers limply against a pile of corpses.
“Biscuit Pisser that was clucking disgrossting. Who knows where that hamned thing has been.”
“Sorry Shitface I couldn’t help it!”
They walked off and away from Werthers, continuously chatting.
“You know I do kinda regret touching Dave the Dead guy so much. He was strangely warm. Must’ve been one of the fresh ones.”
Once they were a safe distance away, Werthers gasped in relief and rubbed his lips all over his ragged clothes, spitting air and rasping. When he was satisfied, Werthers started onto his feet. His legs shook and his head felt quite faint; still Werthers took ginger steps, heading for where he figured the loud door had echoed from earlier.
WSHHH
A miniature magic machete flew right past Werthers’ left ear, nearly slicing it off in the process. He tried to scream, but instead he fell over and nearly fainted.
“Oh shit. I’m so sorry so terribly terribly sorry my hood chup terribly sorry I had gotten the thought in my mindframe that thou might’vestbeen a subject of zombification!” Ronaldo Skripper cried, running up to Werthers’ side. He was wearing a shiny full body penguin costume.
“Wh-why are you wearing that?”
“What? This old thing? Hah! Hood one! Acting like you don’t know the plan at all. What a boon you are, my hood chup. Anywhatsit, here you go,” Ronaldo handed Werthers a small purple-frosted muffin. “And remember, be careful. It’s dangerous.”
Werthers looked at the muffin in skeptical confusion.
“Anyhowits, toodeldy-doodely!” Ronaldo gleefully waddled off into the corpse filled distance.
Werthers sat on the cold, soggy ground, staring up at the vast heights of the cavern walls, watching liquid drip onto piles of bodies. He looked down at the muffin, wondering what about it could be so dangerous. His stomache informed him of its emptiness with some violent growls. It occured to Werthers that he ought to consider eating the muffin.
Minutes that felt like hours passed as he stared intently at the mysterious muffin. Its purple frosting was flaky and cracked, and shone in even the faintest hint of light. It looked mouth watering. Scrumptious. If only he could stop worrying and wrap the muffin in the warm embrace of his esophagus. It was all Werthers wanted. It was haunting him. He needed this muffin. How could it be dangerous? It was just a muffin, after all.
CCRKCKRKCRFFKAK
The loud metal door crackled open again. This time Werthers heard the wheels of a cart turning, and two molemen murmuring.
“How many…bodies…do…we need…this time?”
“I already told…you…you…idiot…it’s the same…as every time…ten corpses…per god.”
“But…I…thought they were…on…a diet?”
“They are…dumbass…these are the…special corpses…with a low…glycemic index…didn’t you read…the corpse report? …Or can you even…read?”
“I can…read…”
“Are you…sure you can…read? …I heard that…pause…before…you confirmed that you…could…read…you know…people often assume…that when you…pause like that…in the…middle…of…a…sentence…that…you are hesistating…because…you…are…unsure…of…what you’re going…to say…or of the…validity…of what…you’re saying.”
Werthers listened to the cart wheel turns grew louder and louder until it and its molemen were right in front of him, scarcely giving him a chance to stash the muffin in his pocket and play dead.
“This one…looks nice…and fresh…” said one of the molemen, pointing at Werthers. The other moleman sighed, grabbing Werthers like a giant ragdoll and tossing him in a stinky heap on top of the corpse filled cart.
“One…two…th…ree…f…ou…r…” the moleman slowly counted the bodies. Just when Werthers was sure he had reached the event whoreizon of the moleman’s counting, they finally reached twenty and began wheeling the cart down the narrow walkway, curving around limbs and slowly jabbering at one another.
“Well hello again!” A haughty voice planted a gurgling whisper in Werthers’ ear.
Werthers’ held back a sigh as he recognized the voice as officer seargant Seargeant Officer Jarmish.
“Hello? Surely you recognize me, Werthenfeld? It’s officer s—eherm, Herald. We talked earlier.”
“I know who you are,” Werthers growled, trying his best to keep his lips sealed. “I just didn’t want to—”
“Wertherspoon, did we ever go over the next steps in our wily plot? Because this seems as hood as ever a time to do just that.”
Werthers considered letting ‘Herald’ know he knew nothing of any wily plot.
“I’m glad you agree with me Werthereren, I’m glad you agree. Now, once we’ve both—”
ACK SPPT
One of the molemen had just hacked and spat a rather large loogie.
“Cock’s…sake…that’s so…disgrossting…have you any…manners…?”
“That…was disgrossting?…My bodily…function was…disgrossting…have you any…awareness…of the fact…that we are surrounded…by corpses? Some of…which…are certainly decaying?”
