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.”
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.”
