Werthers looked around. They were all stuck to the ceiling of the conductor’s chambers. Pripkin was tangled up in some overhead piping. Ronaldo’s back was suctioned to a window. Officer seargeant Seargeant Officer Jarmish was suspended diagonally, impaled in the fart on some crooked sheet metal.
“They always—crunch—did say you were—crunch—a second rate conductor—crunch—Werthentrollop,” he hacked up some blood as he crunched on some cheese puffs from his pocket.
BBNNF BNNF BNNF
Fists punched into weak metal in the side of the chambers, snapping it into shape.
BNNKK BNKKK BNKKKKRRRR
Then they punch again and ripped right through it, tearing an opening in the side of the chambers. A couple of skyrate deckhands from one of the crashed skyships rushed in.
“Wewuh ffit!” Pripkin spat, “Wookf wike we’we cluffed!”
The skyrate suddenly grabbed at their skin and tore their entire bodies away like rubbery socks, revealing a bunch of sunglass wearing figures in tuxedos. One in the center was undoubtedly the woman who had interrogated Werthers earlier. Her shoulders were wide as a barge and her head as small as an acorn. She walked up to Werthers and patted him shakily on one of his much less substantial shoulders.
“Well I’ll be hamned. They said you were hood, and cluck if I didn’t know you were hood when I met you. But this is…this is simply astounding.”
One of the other suited figures nodded, taking Werthers by the rubbery wing. “You’ve performed a great service for us, Werthers. You’ve lacerated a sizzling boil of the agency and stewed two string beans in the syndicate. Escargot will truly never be the same, all thanks to you. With a sandwich here and a hoagie there and fish flying through the sky on winged streamers, you will never have trouble steaming your pancakes again. If we could only all stir our vinegar pickles in a way that truly summered our sausages as you have today, we would all have a little bit of clam chowder in our left shoe.”
Werthers trembled, wondering if he was having a stroke.
“Clucking code munchers,” grumbled Ronaldo with disdain.
The shouldery woman whipped out a crisp sheet of paper and a pen, pushing them towards Werthers. “Now if you would please to scribble your salmon on the gravy of this coffee table so we can resume our simmering.”
Werthers squinted fiercely at the document. It read:
I, (INSERT MONIKER HERE), DO COLUMNLY SWEAR THAT MY LUGGAGE IS IN ORDER, ALL EAGLES HAVE BEEN EMBALDENED, AND THAT MY SEALS AND PENGUINS ARE LATHERED IN CRUDE OIL. THE CATFISH HAS FLOWN THE COOP AND THE CANARY HAS EATEN OF MY OUTHOUSE. THE LIMBURGER CHEESE IN THE FRIDGE IS NOT MINE, AND IT HAS GROWN MOLDY, SO SAY I. THE LIMBERGER CHEESE IN THE FREEZER, HOWEVER, IS SIMPLY MELTING AWAY. CONVERSELEY, MY CATARACTS HAVE BEEN EATEN BY THE LONG LEGGED CAT WHO LIKES TO PLAY BASKETBALL.
WHEN CONSIDERING CONSIDERATIONS, AND ALL DUE CREDIT WHERE CREDIT IS DUE TO BE DONE GIVEN, I CONSIDER IT ALREADY ACCREDITED BY A LICENSED ACCREDITOR IN DUE TIME TO RECIEVE THAT CREDIT IN FULL TO THE FULLEST EXTENT OF CONSIDERABLE CONSIDERATENESS.
WRITTEN IN THIS WRIT IS THE WRITING WITHIN THAT LOOSES THE LEAVES ON THE FUZZY TREES, WHICH TICKLE THE BEES’ KNEES BUT NOT THOSE OF THE FLEAS. IF I AM TO BUTTER MY BREAD WITH A SOFTENED DAGGER THEN LET IT BE THE BUTTERIEST.
BY LINING THIS SIGN WITH THE NAME OF THE PLANE I ADMONISH MY SHAME LIKE THE SAME MODEL TRAIN THAT I BLAME FOR THE GAME THROUGH MY ACTIONS INANE AND MAY ALL THAT IS TAME BE OF THE AIM WHICH I CAME. (SIGN HERE)
Werthers sighed in relief. Here he had been thinking they’d been talking in gibberish when really it was just Legalese. With an understanding grin he signed the papers and allowed himself to relax, almost accidentally loosening his bowels to a dangeorus degree in the process.
“Thank you very much,” the woman smiled, crumpled the paper up and stuffed it in her pocket. “Oh cockhammit!” She gasped.
Pripkin, Ronaldo and officer seargeant Seargeant Officer Jarmish were gone. They had apparently slipped away while Werthers had been reading and signing the document. There were a couple of tantalizing cheese puffs strewn across the floor.
“Well,” sighed the woman, “I guess you already signed it, so there’s not much left for you to do for us. Ugh. I blame myself. Let’s get you home, Werthers.”
***
Meanwhile up in the sky the detached railcars of the skytrain continued to spiral further and further upwards, flinging all of the people (most of whom were dead) in and on them out into the air surrounding it into a sort of orbit. Along those living satellites were Sir Broderick and his ass, Biscuit Pisser, Krumbumbum, Pamela, Green Garey, Purple Perry, surprisingly enough Frinkles, and Brumhilda the chicken and the dogs Angela and Michael. Just when they thought the force of their motion would snap their necks, they and the railcars around them began to slow to a hovering stop at their current altitude, as if the air had suddenly turned to molasses.
“HELLO ALL!” boomed an echoey voice.
“What the cluck is this shit,” grumbled Sir Broderick, looking for a flask.
“I AM…” pielight clouds parted to reveal a giant, glowing robot shaped like what could only be described as a huge pile of dog shit hovering in the air, “…THE DEUCE EX MACHINA!”
“I’m sorry but what now?”
Pamela chewed a pen, “How do I even draw this clucking thing? Do I even want to draw this clucking thing?!”
Green Garey guffawed. “Now tharrt is sometharrng aye nevarr thought ye would saye!”
Krumbumbum did not saying anything, but the lack of her top falling down said it all for her.
“A’ayee th’thank th’thayut th’thiyus i’iyuz g’uhrayut!” Frinkles beamed.
“I KNOW THIS MUST BE ALARMING.”
“I think you mean disgrossting.”
Everyone nodded and grumbled in agreeance.
“HAVE NO FEAR! I AM THE DEUCE EX MACHINA, AND I AM HEAR TO MAKE SURE THAT YOUR LIVES ARE SPARED. I HAVE HOVERED IN WAIT HERE IN THE PIELIGHT FOR EONS IN THE HOPES THAT ONE DAY I COULD HAVE A PURPOSE.”
“Why,” Sir Broderick burped and pitching a glass flask at the deuce ex machina, missing completely and hitting Frinkles in the back of the head instead and knocking him unconscious once more, “Excrete me. Why in the cluck do we care how long you’ve hovered or that you want a purpose?!”
“W-WELL I WAS JUST I WANTED TO I MEAN THIS IS MY BIG DRAMATIC MOMENT WHERE I SWOOP IN AND KEEP YOU ALL FROM YOUR FIERY DEATHS?”
“Don’t you think that if we were going to die in a fire we probably would have already?”
“DID YOU NOT FEEL THE FORCE OF HOW FAST YOU WERE SPINNING?! YOUR NECKS WERE ALL ABOUT TO SNAP! I JUST WANTED TO HELP!”
“Do you not have any faith in my magic?!” snapped Krumbumbum, covering her aggresively hard nips, “I’m a wizard, you know!”
“Aye thought ye were a warlock?” Green Garey butted in.
“How clucking dare you. I’m a wizard! How do you know I couldn’t save us all by twisting my nipples or something? Ugh. Clucking men, am I right?”
“WELL YOU WEREN’T DOING ANYTHING! AND I’LL HAVE YOU KNOW I IDENTIFY OUTSIDE OF THE GENDER BINARY, THANK YOU VERY MUCH.”
“I would hope so,” Biscuit Pisser rolled her eyes, “I mean you are essentially a floating pile of shit, so it’d be pretty offputting for you to identify inside the gender binary when ordinary people have trouble doing that. Not talking about myself, by the way, if you were wondering.”
“No one was,” Sir Broderick farted, “wondering, miss moustache.”
“YOU PEOPLE ARE MAKING ME VERY SAD. I DON’T UNDERSTAND WHY YOU’RE BEING SO MEAN TO ME. I JUST WANT TO SAVE YOUR LIVES. IS THAT SO WRONG?”
“Disregarding the fact that my amazing wizardness can easily save all of us,” Krumbumbum rolled her eyes, “You’re essentially holding us captive here while you blather on about cock knows what. Nobody wants your life story! You’re literally a floating pile of shit!”
“IT’S ACTUALLY A QUITE INTERESTING STORY THOUGH, AND I JUST WANTED YOU TO KNOW WHO I WAS BEFORE—”
Sir Broderick threw another glass flask, this one hitting Purple Perry, who had been about to doze off. “My guess is, what, a giant clucking mechanical dog had to go take a clucking poopoo a couple clucking eons ago and their giant clucking mechanized owner was too clucking lazy to put a clucking mechanized bag over their clucking mechanized hand and pick you up and now you think you’re a clucking cock or something?”
“YOU PEOPLE ARE QUITE VULGAR.”
“We’re vulgar? Us?! Have you seen yourself? You are literally robotic shit!”
“I DO NOT SEE AS YOU MORTALS DO. I INSTEAD SENSE CHANGES IN THE ENERGY FIELDS AROUND US ALL THAT THEN GETS PROCESSED INTO SOMETHING ADJACENT TO WHAT YOU COULD CALL VISION.”
“He just called us mortals,” Pamela chuckled, “Talk about a cock complex.”
“I DON’T HAVE A COMPLEX! LOOK, JUST LET ME HELP YOU AND YOU’LL NEVER HAVE TO—AAAAAH! AAAAH! OH MY COCK OH COCK WHAT WHAT’S HAPPENING TO ME?!”
The deuce ex machina had stopped the railcars too close to itself and had accidentally caught itself on fire while arguing with everyone. It was spreading rather quickly.
“PLEASE OH COCK PLEASE SOMEONE HELP ME!! OH COCK PLEASE I’M IN TERRIBLE PAIN! OF COURSE WHEN I SAY PAIN I MEAN NOT PAIN IN THE WAY YOU MORTALS SENSE PAIN, BUT INSTEAD, MY PROCESSOR…”
“So, Krumbumbum,” Sir Broderick turned to her and ignored the deuce ex machina’s ramblings, “Can you actually magic us out of this shitshow?”
“Oh, easily. All we have to do is hump our ways over to Brumhilda over there and mount her together.”
“Had she had enough food?”
Krumbumbum shrugged, “If she hasn’t, we can always feed her Frinkles.”
Everyone agreed this was a hood plan, and they humped themselves through the air onto Brumhilda.
“PLEASE, I BEG OF YOU, PLEASE SAVE ME! THIS IS NOT AT ALL WHAT I EXPECTED! PLEEEEASE!!”
Brumhilda was preparing to take off, and in fact did not even seem to need to eat Frinkles, when two booming mechanical feet stepped on clouds over to the deuce ex machina.
“OH HOLY MOTHER OF COCK. CLUCKING KIDS THROWING FLAMING SHIT ALL OVER MY DOORSTEP AGAIN. JERKS. LEFT THEIR MODEL SKYTRAIN CARS THOUGH. THOSE ARE PRETTY NEAT ACTUALLY. TOO BAD THEY’RE ON FIRE THOUGH. WOW, THOSE ARE SOME REALISTIC CORPSES THAT’S KIND OF MACABRE.”
Everyone snickered as Brumhilda flew off and the deuce ex machina screamed in agony as a giant mechanized hose washed it down.
Werthers looked around. They were all stuck to the ceiling of the conductor’s chambers. Pripkin was tangled up in some overhead piping. Ronaldo’s back was suctioned to a window. Officer seargeant Seargeant Officer Jarmish was suspended diagonally, impaled in the fart on some crooked sheet metal.
“They always—crunch—did say you were—crunch—a second rate conductor—crunch—Werthentrollop,” he hacked up some blood as he crunched on some cheese puffs from his pocket.
BBNNF BNNF BNNF
Fists punched into weak metal in the side of the chambers, snapping it into shape.
BNNKK BNKKK BNKKKKRRRR
Then they punch again and ripped right through it, tearing an opening in the side of the chambers. A couple of skyrate deckhands from one of the crashed skyships rushed in.
“Wewuh ffit!” Pripkin spat, “Wookf wike we’we cluffed!”
The skyrate suddenly grabbed at their skin and tore their entire bodies away like rubbery socks, revealing a bunch of sunglass wearing figures in tuxedos. One in the center was undoubtedly the woman who had interrogated Werthers earlier. Her shoulders were wide as a barge and her head as small as an acorn. She walked up to Werthers and patted him shakily on one of his much less substantial shoulders.
“Well I’ll be hamned. They said you were hood, and cluck if I didn’t know you were hood when I met you. But this is…this is simply astounding.”
One of the other suited figures nodded, taking Werthers by the rubbery wing. “You’ve performed a great service for us, Werthers. You’ve lacerated a sizzling boil of the agency and stewed two string beans in the syndicate. Escargot will truly never be the same, all thanks to you. With a sandwich here and a hoagie there and fish flying through the sky on winged streamers, you will never have trouble steaming your pancakes again. If we could only all stir our vinegar pickles in a way that truly summered our sausages as you have today, we would all have a little bit of clam chowder in our left shoe.”
Werthers trembled, wondering if he was having a stroke.
“Clucking code munchers,” grumbled Ronaldo with disdain.
The shouldery woman whipped out a crisp sheet of paper and a pen, pushing them towards Werthers. “Now if you would please to scribble your salmon on the gravy of this coffee table so we can resume our simmering.”
Werthers squinted fiercely at the document. It read:
I, (INSERT MONIKER HERE), DO COLUMNLY SWEAR THAT MY LUGGAGE IS IN ORDER, ALL EAGLES HAVE BEEN EMBALDENED, AND THAT MY SEALS AND PENGUINS ARE LATHERED IN CRUDE OIL. THE CATFISH HAS FLOWN THE COOP AND THE CANARY HAS EATEN OF MY OUTHOUSE. THE LIMBURGER CHEESE IN THE FRIDGE IS NOT MINE, AND IT HAS GROWN MOLDY, SO SAY I. THE LIMBERGER CHEESE IN THE FREEZER, HOWEVER, IS SIMPLY MELTING AWAY. CONVERSELEY, MY CATARACTS HAVE BEEN EATEN BY THE LONG LEGGED CAT WHO LIKES TO PLAY BASKETBALL.
WHEN CONSIDERING CONSIDERATIONS, AND ALL DUE CREDIT WHERE CREDIT IS DUE TO BE DONE GIVEN, I CONSIDER IT ALREADY ACCREDITED BY A LICENSED ACCREDITOR IN DUE TIME TO RECIEVE THAT CREDIT IN FULL TO THE FULLEST EXTENT OF CONSIDERABLE CONSIDERATENESS.
WRITTEN IN THIS WRIT IS THE WRITING WITHIN THAT LOOSES THE LEAVES ON THE FUZZY TREES, WHICH TICKLE THE BEES’ KNEES BUT NOT THOSE OF THE FLEAS. IF I AM TO BUTTER MY BREAD WITH A SOFTENED DAGGER THEN LET IT BE THE BUTTERIEST.
BY LINING THIS SIGN WITH THE NAME OF THE PLANE I ADMONISH MY SHAME LIKE THE SAME MODEL TRAIN THAT I BLAME FOR THE GAME THROUGH MY ACTIONS INANE AND MAY ALL THAT IS TAME BE OF THE AIM WHICH I CAME. (SIGN HERE)
Werthers sighed in relief. Here he had been thinking they’d been talking in gibberish when really it was just Legalese. With an understanding grin he signed the papers and allowed himself to relax, almost accidentally loosening his bowels to a dangeorus degree in the process.
“Thank you very much,” the woman smiled, crumpled the paper up and stuffed it in her pocket. “Oh cockhammit!” She gasped.
Pripkin, Ronaldo and officer seargeant Seargeant Officer Jarmish were gone. They had apparently slipped away while Werthers had been reading and signing the document. There were a couple of tantalizing cheese puffs strewn across the floor.
“Well,” sighed the woman, “I guess you already signed it, so there’s not much left for you to do for us. Ugh. I blame myself. Let’s get you home, Werthers.”
***
Meanwhile up in the sky the detached railcars of the skytrain continued to spiral further and further upwards, flinging all of the people (most of whom were dead) in and on them out into the air surrounding it into a sort of orbit. Along those living satellites were Sir Broderick and his ass, Biscuit Pisser, Krumbumbum, Pamela, Green Garey, Purple Perry, surprisingly enough Frinkles, and Brumhilda the chicken and the dogs Angela and Michael. Just when they thought the force of their motion would snap their necks, they and the railcars around them began to slow to a hovering stop at their current altitude, as if the air had suddenly turned to molasses.
“HELLO ALL!” boomed an echoey voice.
“What the cluck is this shit,” grumbled Sir Broderick, looking for a flask.
“I AM…” pielight clouds parted to reveal a giant, glowing robot shaped like what could only be described as a huge pile of dog shit hovering in the air, “…THE DEUCE EX MACHINA!”
“I’m sorry but what now?”
Pamela chewed a pen, “How do I even draw this clucking thing? Do I even want to draw this clucking thing?!”
Green Garey guffawed. “Now tharrt is sometharrng aye nevarr thought ye would saye!”
Krumbumbum did not saying anything, but the lack of her top falling down said it all for her.
“A’ayee th’thank th’thayut th’thiyus i’iyuz g’uhrayut!” Frinkles beamed.
“I KNOW THIS MUST BE ALARMING.”
“I think you mean disgrossting.”
Everyone nodded and grumbled in agreeance.
“HAVE NO FEAR! I AM THE DEUCE EX MACHINA, AND I AM HEAR TO MAKE SURE THAT YOUR LIVES ARE SPARED. I HAVE HOVERED IN WAIT HERE IN THE PIELIGHT FOR EONS IN THE HOPES THAT ONE DAY I COULD HAVE A PURPOSE.”
“Why,” Sir Broderick burped and pitching a glass flask at the deuce ex machina, missing completely and hitting Frinkles in the back of the head instead and knocking him unconscious once more, “Excrete me. Why in the cluck do we care how long you’ve hovered or that you want a purpose?!”
“W-WELL I WAS JUST I WANTED TO I MEAN THIS IS MY BIG DRAMATIC MOMENT WHERE I SWOOP IN AND KEEP YOU ALL FROM YOUR FIERY DEATHS?”
“Don’t you think that if we were going to die in a fire we probably would have already?”
“DID YOU NOT FEEL THE FORCE OF HOW FAST YOU WERE SPINNING?! YOUR NECKS WERE ALL ABOUT TO SNAP! I JUST WANTED TO HELP!”
“Do you not have any faith in my magic?!” snapped Krumbumbum, covering her aggresively hard nips, “I’m a wizard, you know!”
“Aye thought ye were a warlock?” Green Garey butted in.
“How clucking dare you. I’m a wizard! How do you know I couldn’t save us all by twisting my nipples or something? Ugh. Clucking men, am I right?”
“WELL YOU WEREN’T DOING ANYTHING! AND I’LL HAVE YOU KNOW I IDENTIFY OUTSIDE OF THE GENDER BINARY, THANK YOU VERY MUCH.”
“I would hope so,” Biscuit Pisser rolled her eyes, “I mean you are essentially a floating pile of shit, so it’d be pretty offputting for you to identify inside the gender binary when ordinary people have trouble doing that. Not talking about myself, by the way, if you were wondering.”
“No one was,” Sir Broderick farted, “wondering, miss moustache.”
“YOU PEOPLE ARE MAKING ME VERY SAD. I DON’T UNDERSTAND WHY YOU’RE BEING SO MEAN TO ME. I JUST WANT TO SAVE YOUR LIVES. IS THAT SO WRONG?”
“Disregarding the fact that my amazing wizardness can easily save all of us,” Krumbumbum rolled her eyes, “You’re essentially holding us captive here while you blather on about cock knows what. Nobody wants your life story! You’re literally a floating pile of shit!”
“IT’S ACTUALLY A QUITE INTERESTING STORY THOUGH, AND I JUST WANTED YOU TO KNOW WHO I WAS BEFORE—”
Sir Broderick threw another glass flask, this one hitting Purple Perry, who had been about to doze off. “My guess is, what, a giant clucking mechanical dog had to go take a clucking poopoo a couple clucking eons ago and their giant clucking mechanized owner was too clucking lazy to put a clucking mechanized bag over their clucking mechanized hand and pick you up and now you think you’re a clucking cock or something?”
“YOU PEOPLE ARE QUITE VULGAR.”
“We’re vulgar? Us?! Have you seen yourself? You are literally robotic shit!”
“I DO NOT SEE AS YOU MORTALS DO. I INSTEAD SENSE CHANGES IN THE ENERGY FIELDS AROUND US ALL THAT THEN GETS PROCESSED INTO SOMETHING ADJACENT TO WHAT YOU COULD CALL VISION.”
“He just called us mortals,” Pamela chuckled, “Talk about a cock complex.”
“I DON’T HAVE A COMPLEX! LOOK, JUST LET ME HELP YOU AND YOU’LL NEVER HAVE TO—AAAAAH! AAAAH! OH MY COCK OH COCK WHAT WHAT’S HAPPENING TO ME?!”
The deuce ex machina had stopped the railcars too close to itself and had accidentally caught itself on fire while arguing with everyone. It was spreading rather quickly.
“PLEASE OH COCK PLEASE SOMEONE HELP ME!! OH COCK PLEASE I’M IN TERRIBLE PAIN! OF COURSE WHEN I SAY PAIN I MEAN NOT PAIN IN THE WAY YOU MORTALS SENSE PAIN, BUT INSTEAD, MY PROCESSOR…”
“So, Krumbumbum,” Sir Broderick turned to her and ignored the deuce ex machina’s ramblings, “Can you actually magic us out of this shitshow?”
“Oh, easily. All we have to do is hump our ways over to Brumhilda over there and mount her together.”
“Had she had enough food?”
Krumbumbum shrugged, “If she hasn’t, we can always feed her Frinkles.”
Everyone agreed this was a hood plan, and they humped themselves through the air onto Brumhilda.
“PLEASE, I BEG OF YOU, PLEASE SAVE ME! THIS IS NOT AT ALL WHAT I EXPECTED! PLEEEEASE!!”
Brumhilda was preparing to take off, and in fact did not even seem to need to eat Frinkles, when two booming mechanical feet stepped on clouds over to the deuce ex machina.
“OH HOLY MOTHER OF COCK. CLUCKING KIDS THROWING FLAMING SHIT ALL OVER MY DOORSTEP AGAIN. JERKS. LEFT THEIR MODEL SKYTRAIN CARS THOUGH. THOSE ARE PRETTY NEAT ACTUALLY. TOO BAD THEY’RE ON FIRE THOUGH. WOW, THOSE ARE SOME REALISTIC CORPSES THAT’S KIND OF MACABRE.”
Everyone snickered as Brumhilda flew off and the deuce ex machina screamed in agony as a giant mechanized hose washed it down.
