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.
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.
