“Excrete me? Hood misirrah? Excrete me, hello there? Misirrah? Can you kindly pull yourself together enough to answer me a couple of questions? I know you’re still quite alive I took the liberty of checking your vitals.”
Biscuit Pisser grumbled. There was a sharp, searing pain in her cranium. She shook her head. Yup, it was a hangover.
“Misirrah? Could you please to acknowledge my questions in some way? Perhaps tell me your name?”
Biscuit Pisser sat up with a shine and scratched the back of her head. Was that dried blood?
“Heeeeellooo. Who exaaactly are youuu?” Biscuit Pisser slurred with a hack of mucus.
“Why, I am a member of the SkyTraffic Gourd. Now, if you would please let me know who you are.”
Biscuit Pisser looked around with disheveled blinks. “I am the venerable Baronness von Biscuit Pisser, if you must know.”
“My chickens. A Baronness.”
“Indeed, indeed I am.”
“Do you happen to have your Barronness’ pendant with you? So as to corroborate your identity for the large stack of papertwerk I must complete regarding this SkyTraffic incident? Also if you have SkyCaptain’s insurance as you are lawfully required to now would also be an appropriate time for you to present that to me.”
Biscuit Pisser slipped over herself trying to climb to her feet in shock. “N-no I don’t have any of that in-information with me at the moment.”
“Oh dear. You know that’s in violation of protocol I hope?”
Biscuit Pisser took a minute to size up the member of the SkyTraffic Gourd standing before her. He was short and pimply and looked dead behind the eyes.
“Hey! Hey! Dougie!” chuckled a deep, tall voice. Biscuit Pisser watched as a smiling, bricklike fellow with a clipboard sauntered up beside the SkyTraffic Gourd and put a thick and unwelcome hand on his shoulder. The man looked at Biscuit Pisser and winked, chewing on a toothpick. “How’s it going, lady?”
“I’m fine, thanks. I was just finding out that I’m a criminal, apparently.”
“What’d you do forget your papertwerk or something? Psh! Don’t mind Dougie he’s just got a bit of a rod up his ass, heh heh!” The man squeezed one of Dougie’s cheeks. “I’m sure it’d be fine if we just let you off with a warning I can’t see it doing you much hood to do anything further.”
Biscuit Pisser mouthed a quick thank you.
“But Brian!” Dougie whined, gesturing to the scene around them of two skyships smashed into eachother, “Do you not see this huge mess?”
“Bah! Come on, Dougie, it’s nothing.”
“Nothing? How is this nothing? There are dead people laying around both sides!”
Brian flexed a couple of his fingers as if they were biceps, “Eh. Who cares, Dougie? They’re just deckhands.”
“Brian!”
“Look, Barroness,” Brian pushed Dougie aside and touched Biscuit Pisser’s palm lightly, “There’s only one thing I need to know before we sign off on the papertwerk, head back to our cruiser,” Biscuit Pisser looked over to see a floating purple skyscooter hovering nearby, “and pick up some skydonuts.”
“Anything you need to know. Anything,” Biscuit Pisser batted her eyelids.
“Excellent. Hopefully this won’t take but a second, misirrah. Now. Were you drinking while captaining this skyship?”
***
“Do I look slutty enough?”
“Hmmm,” Broderica sighed, “Maybe you ought to put on another coat of lipstick. I’m not sure three was enough.”
“Look Broderica I’m serious. I don’t have huge titties to coast on.”
“Why don’t you just stick your ass out a lot when you walk and breath really heavily. I’m sure that’ll be hood enough.”
Krumbumbum noticed Broderica’s eyes watering. “What is it, Broderica? Is it all that horrible eyeliner you smeared over yourself?”
“Yes,” she sniffled, “Even though you said—sniff—that it was hood—sniff—you motherclucking—sniff—vitch. But—sniff—also—also—sniff—I think I—sniff—I think I made myself sad.”
“Excrete me?”
“I said ass, Krumbumbum. I rem—sniff—I remember when—sniff—I remember when—sniff—I remember when I had an ass!”
Krumbumbum looked down at Broderica’s ass. “Broderica, you have an ass,” She gingerly placed her hand across it, copping a tentative magic, “It’s just not…necessarily…well defined.”
Broderica thought about her ass-napped donkey for a moment more, then, sucking in her tears, grew wrathful.
“Get your hands—sniff—hands off my clucking ass you flat chested hussy.”
Krumbumbum huffed and looked back at the entrance to what they assumed was some sort of bizarre skyrate rave. They could hear loud, bumping music and see fog rising from cracks in the door.
“Ehaermm. Dao staep asaide naow. Yaou whaores appaear tao bae blaocking thae dooar.”
Krumbumbum and Broderica backed up and twirled around to see a tall, lanky, axe jawed affluent type with an overpriced silk scarf, three layered pop-collared shirts and thick, unecessary mirrored sunglasses standing before them. He looked young, about twenty, and incredibly stupid.
“Ehaermm. Waill yaou bae maoving oaut oaf may waay oar woan’t yaou? Havaen’t yaou eanough braians tao uanderstand mae? Oar arae yaou jaust dumbstrauck bay may beautay?”
“More like dumbstruck by how unintelligible your clucking accent is,” Broderica snorted.
“Oah, thais oane’s feistay. I dao laike may whaores a liattle feistay. Feistay and spunkay. Ian thaat ordaer. Saay. Aftaer Ia’ve attaended tao may businaess, haownowsabout wae takae a maoment aand—”
“You pompus freak!” hissed Krumbumbum, holding on to her top to ensure she didn’t angrily flash the man. “How dare you assume we’re whores!”
“Baut yaou’ve literallay gaot ‘whaore’ wraitten ian eyelinaer oan yaour foarehead! Whaat ealse ias a maan tao thaink, thaat yaou’re a naun oar saomething?”
“You pompus freak!” screeched Krumbumbum, letting her top fall down revealing her flaking nipple tape. “How dare you assume we’re nuns!”
“Uahm…Ia’m naot saure whaere tao praoceed fraom herae…Looak, yaou whaore nauns havean’t saeen a Britaish Baulldog araound herae, havae yaou? I havae reasaon tao baelieve iat waas daognapped bay whatevaer fellaow rauns thais, earm, thais establaishment.”
“You pompus freak!” ejaculated Krumbumbum, recovering her chest with her top. “How dare you assume we may have seen a Caldonian Bulldog around here!”
“We haven’t, by the way,” added Broderica through swigs of a glass flask. “I haven’t seen a Caldonian Bulldog since I was a man!”
The man shuddered on hearing this, then again when he realized what Broderica had wrapped her lips around. “Haey! Whaat thae arae yaou doaing waith may flaask?!”
Broderica emptied the liquor into her mouth, burped, and tossed it at the man. It shattered against his jaw.
“Maotherclucker! Thaat waas a custaom flaask, waoman!” The man dabbed his unscathed chin with a kerchief, sighed, and pushed past the whores. He flung open the door and stepped into the flashing, musky, multicolored mist.
“Say, Krumbumbum.”
“Huh?”
“Do you think—maybe—do you think maybe that his Caldonian Bulldog is the one I sat on and killed way back before those skyrates committed ass-nappery?”
“You did what now?”
“Did I seriously never tell you about that, Krumbumbum?”
“No.”
“Well it’s funny. I was over at this bar and—”
“Broderica I don’t clucking give a shit. Let’s just go in there and see if you recognize somebody.”
“But—”
Krumbumbum held up a limp wristed hand and walked through the open door.
Broderica sighed and walked forward facefirst into a sticky spiderweb. She rasped and spit it out, tearing the rest of the web down and flailing around spasmically. For a moment, she could’ve sworn she heard the words Farewell, Henry, and also Hah, that’s what you get for killing me Henry you clucking scoundrel, echo in her head.
“Excrete me? Hood misirrah? Excrete me, hello there? Misirrah? Can you kindly pull yourself together enough to answer me a couple of questions? I know you’re still quite alive I took the liberty of checking your vitals.”
Biscuit Pisser grumbled. There was a sharp, searing pain in her cranium. She shook her head. Yup, it was a hangover.
“Misirrah? Could you please to acknowledge my questions in some way? Perhaps tell me your name?”
Biscuit Pisser sat up with a shine and scratched the back of her head. Was that dried blood?
“Heeeeellooo. Who exaaactly are youuu?” Biscuit Pisser slurred with a hack of mucus.
“Why, I am a member of the SkyTraffic Gourd. Now, if you would please let me know who you are.”
Biscuit Pisser looked around with disheveled blinks. “I am the venerable Baronness von Biscuit Pisser, if you must know.”
“My chickens. A Baronness.”
“Indeed, indeed I am.”
“Do you happen to have your Barronness’ pendant with you? So as to corroborate your identity for the large stack of papertwerk I must complete regarding this SkyTraffic incident? Also if you have SkyCaptain’s insurance as you are lawfully required to now would also be an appropriate time for you to present that to me.”
Biscuit Pisser slipped over herself trying to climb to her feet in shock. “N-no I don’t have any of that in-information with me at the moment.”
“Oh dear. You know that’s in violation of protocol I hope?”
Biscuit Pisser took a minute to size up the member of the SkyTraffic Gourd standing before her. He was short and pimply and looked dead behind the eyes.
“Hey! Hey! Dougie!” chuckled a deep, tall voice. Biscuit Pisser watched as a smiling, bricklike fellow with a clipboard sauntered up beside the SkyTraffic Gourd and put a thick and unwelcome hand on his shoulder. The man looked at Biscuit Pisser and winked, chewing on a toothpick. “How’s it going, lady?”
“I’m fine, thanks. I was just finding out that I’m a criminal, apparently.”
“What’d you do forget your papertwerk or something? Psh! Don’t mind Dougie he’s just got a bit of a rod up his ass, heh heh!” The man squeezed one of Dougie’s cheeks. “I’m sure it’d be fine if we just let you off with a warning I can’t see it doing you much hood to do anything further.”
Biscuit Pisser mouthed a quick thank you.
“But Brian!” Dougie whined, gesturing to the scene around them of two skyships smashed into eachother, “Do you not see this huge mess?”
“Bah! Come on, Dougie, it’s nothing.”
“Nothing? How is this nothing? There are dead people laying around both sides!”
Brian flexed a couple of his fingers as if they were biceps, “Eh. Who cares, Dougie? They’re just deckhands.”
“Brian!”
“Look, Barroness,” Brian pushed Dougie aside and touched Biscuit Pisser’s palm lightly, “There’s only one thing I need to know before we sign off on the papertwerk, head back to our cruiser,” Biscuit Pisser looked over to see a floating purple skyscooter hovering nearby, “and pick up some skydonuts.”
“Anything you need to know. Anything,” Biscuit Pisser batted her eyelids.
“Excellent. Hopefully this won’t take but a second, misirrah. Now. Were you drinking while captaining this skyship?”
***
“Do I look slutty enough?”
“Hmmm,” Broderica sighed, “Maybe you ought to put on another coat of lipstick. I’m not sure three was enough.”
“Look Broderica I’m serious. I don’t have huge titties to coast on.”
“Why don’t you just stick your ass out a lot when you walk and breath really heavily. I’m sure that’ll be hood enough.”
Krumbumbum noticed Broderica’s eyes watering. “What is it, Broderica? Is it all that horrible eyeliner you smeared over yourself?”
“Yes,” she sniffled, “Even though you said—sniff—that it was hood—sniff—you motherclucking—sniff—vitch. But—sniff—also—also—sniff—I think I—sniff—I think I made myself sad.”
“Excrete me?”
“I said ass, Krumbumbum. I rem—sniff—I remember when—sniff—I remember when—sniff—I remember when I had an ass!”
Krumbumbum looked down at Broderica’s ass. “Broderica, you have an ass,” She gingerly placed her hand across it, copping a tentative magic, “It’s just not…necessarily…well defined.”
Broderica thought about her ass-napped donkey for a moment more, then, sucking in her tears, grew wrathful.
“Get your hands—sniff—hands off my clucking ass you flat chested hussy.”
Krumbumbum huffed and looked back at the entrance to what they assumed was some sort of bizarre skyrate rave. They could hear loud, bumping music and see fog rising from cracks in the door.
“Ehaermm. Dao staep asaide naow. Yaou whaores appaear tao bae blaocking thae dooar.”
Krumbumbum and Broderica backed up and twirled around to see a tall, lanky, axe jawed affluent type with an overpriced silk scarf, three layered pop-collared shirts and thick, unecessary mirrored sunglasses standing before them. He looked young, about twenty, and incredibly stupid.
“Ehaermm. Waill yaou bae maoving oaut oaf may waay oar woan’t yaou? Havaen’t yaou eanough braians tao uanderstand mae? Oar arae yaou jaust dumbstrauck bay may beautay?”
“More like dumbstruck by how unintelligible your clucking accent is,” Broderica snorted.
“Oah, thais oane’s feistay. I dao laike may whaores a liattle feistay. Feistay and spunkay. Ian thaat ordaer. Saay. Aftaer Ia’ve attaended tao may businaess, haownowsabout wae takae a maoment aand—”
“You pompus freak!” hissed Krumbumbum, holding on to her top to ensure she didn’t angrily flash the man. “How dare you assume we’re whores!”
“Baut yaou’ve literallay gaot ‘whaore’ wraitten ian eyelinaer oan yaour foarehead! Whaat ealse ias a maan tao thaink, thaat yaou’re a naun oar saomething?”
“You pompus freak!” screeched Krumbumbum, letting her top fall down revealing her flaking nipple tape. “How dare you assume we’re nuns!”
“Uahm…Ia’m naot saure whaere tao praoceed fraom herae…Looak, yaou whaore nauns havean’t saeen a Britaish Baulldog araound herae, havae yaou? I havae reasaon tao baelieve iat waas daognapped bay whatevaer fellaow rauns thais, earm, thais establaishment.”
“You pompus freak!” ejaculated Krumbumbum, recovering her chest with her top. “How dare you assume we may have seen a Caldonian Bulldog around here!”
“We haven’t, by the way,” added Broderica through swigs of a glass flask. “I haven’t seen a Caldonian Bulldog since I was a man!”
The man shuddered on hearing this, then again when he realized what Broderica had wrapped her lips around. “Haey! Whaat thae arae yaou doaing waith may flaask?!”
Broderica emptied the liquor into her mouth, burped, and tossed it at the man. It shattered against his jaw.
“Maotherclucker! Thaat waas a custaom flaask, waoman!” The man dabbed his unscathed chin with a kerchief, sighed, and pushed past the whores. He flung open the door and stepped into the flashing, musky, multicolored mist.
“Say, Krumbumbum.”
“Huh?”
“Do you think—maybe—do you think maybe that his Caldonian Bulldog is the one I sat on and killed way back before those skyrates committed ass-nappery?”
“You did what now?”
“Did I seriously never tell you about that, Krumbumbum?”
“No.”
“Well it’s funny. I was over at this bar and—”
“Broderica I don’t clucking give a shit. Let’s just go in there and see if you recognize somebody.”
“But—”
Krumbumbum held up a limp wristed hand and walked through the open door.
Broderica sighed and walked forward facefirst into a sticky spiderweb. She rasped and spit it out, tearing the rest of the web down and flailing around spasmically. For a moment, she could’ve sworn she heard the words Farewell, Henry, and also Hah, that’s what you get for killing me Henry you clucking scoundrel, echo in her head.
