The Great Avian War;a Chronicling
Chapter 15; verse 0.5
I am sure by now you know who I am, and I of course recognize your unpleasant eyes upon my written body. Stop staring at me you inbred freak!...My apologies. I’ve forgotten that your kind has no manners. Please forgive yourself for me, as I have disgraced myself enough by writing these words for you to read.
In any event, you may realize that the verse is not a complete number as normal. Well dumbass, this is because this is the prologue for the next chapter. I suppose this would be where the author gives recap of what happened in the story, but since I assume you have been reading thus far, I will not say a fucking thing. If you really don’t know by now what’s going on, then you’re a blithering brain-cramp!
Also, an author may take the time to thank the readers, and possibly family and friends who have been supportive throughout the writing process, but since a steady stream of Mountain Dew, gummy bears and crack have been the only things really helping me, I’ll just say FUCK YOU! to all of the aforementioned (except for you Abla….Abla?! Abla?!).
Nay, the reason I have taken your attention off the story for a moment and onto me is that I was letting you know that the first half of the story, or The Aged Prophecy, has come to an end. We will now start what shall be called The Youthed Prophecy, or the second half for those out there who may be utilizing the services of short buses.
I am sure by now you know that all three main characters have obtained one of the relics of power, which means that no one has formally taken the upper hand in the war. However, CrazyTurkey has made some powerful allies along the way, though I know not why anyone would want to join with that fucking retard.
In any event, this is where the story currently lies, and it is in this exact place in time in which lies that which is unlieable. I speak verily of the great story of epic struggles, fierce battles…and poultry. The Great Avian War! This reminds me of another story, one my mother used to tell me at bedtime. Let me give you a taste…
The following is an excerpt from the proverbs of Mellok, the Great Watermelon
And so, it has been written upon murdered trees that thou should not tread upon others, but allow others to tread upon thee! For in the final days when the Great Watermelon rises from the ocean depths to deliver the Seeds of Righteousness to the wicked, thou shalt be spared! The damned shall be thrown forcefully into the sea, where they will be held in torment for eternity, or whenever the Great Watermelon tires of them.
And they shall be strapped to bunkers and force fed porcupines through a straw for their crimes! They will drink the rodents until there remains naught but blood, for it is a serious offense against the Great Watermelon to consume red-colored liquids!
The sinners will have cinderblocks hurled at their kneecaps until they can no longer stand, whereupon the cinderblocks will be hurled at their elbows. When the heathens can no longer hold themselves upright, the cinderblocks will be hurled at their temples until they lose consciousness. They will be beaten with potato stalks to awaken them, for anything that grows underground is beneath the Great Watermelon! Upon waking, the process shall repeat itself!
They will be forced to run across fields of broken glass for their decadent ways, and shall not be given shoes! The glass shall taste their flesh, and spill their blood. They will have to bathe their feet in a pool of lemon juice. The sinners shall be plagued with eternal diarrhea and forced to wipe themselves with alcohol-coated sandpaper, for that is the only paper used by the Great Watermelon!
Delve not into temptation, lest thee taste the bitter Rind of Banishment! Its bitter sweet taste shall haunt thee for eternity! And thou shalt have no liquids with which to wash the foul taste from thine mouth, for thou hast sinned against the Seeded One!
Yea verily, if thou art pure of heart, mayhaps ye shalt taste the sweet Flesh of Redemption. Speak not ill of thine brothers however, lest thee be banished eternally with the sinners! Covet not the seed of thine neighbor, for are not the seeds of the Great Watermelon worth so much more?
Does that not taste good? Yes I shall leave you with only but a small sample of that, for it is more important that we get back to the real important story. For as it says in the Book of the Rind: “…there is no greater reward than the Seeds of Knowledge.”
The Great Avian War;a Chronicling
Chapter 15; verse 1
The voyage home was remarkably uneventful. Uneventful, that is, if you forget about that one thing that happened to the turkey travelers…
Flashback within a story that is telling of things foretold yet already in the present’s past, therein being both a flashback AND a flashfront…It was nearing the fortieth day that The Flock had been returning from their great journey for the relics of power. They had succeeded in naught but one and that one was the one that they had in their possession. That one being that which was currently with them and thus being with them, was theirs. That one which was theirs of course being the Holy Quail.
Quite possibly the most useless of the relics of power, it merely was used for holding liquids. If any liquid was obtained in itself it would not spill out until the fluids were dispersed upon that for which they had been carried. It thusly made this item pretty useless. That is except for the fact that the demented bird had been using the holy relic for transporting his bodily fluids, for which I know not why.
In any event, the weary birds were spending the night in the woods near the edge of a vast shoreline. These fuckers had no idea where they were, and so CrazyTurkey decided to blow the whistle given to him by Admiral Godfather. Sadly, none of The Flock had lips. Unfortunately CrazyTurkey realized by sticking the whistle partly up his butt, he could blow the whistle with his anus. He had no idea if it worked or not, as he couldn’t hear anything, but he kept at it anyway.
The Flock had no idea how long it would take Admiral Godfather to reach them, so they bedded down for the night. They took turns blowing the whistle (they were sharing fucking ass juices damn it!!) and keeping watch. There were always at least two feathered fuckers awake at any one time.
On one such watch, one of the Turkling guards heard a rustling in the bushes nearby. He hopped up and hobbled over to where he had heard the sound. The other Turkling looked over at him. Neither of them noticed the dark figure which grabbed the Holy Quail from the sleeping Flock....
The next morning…The Flock was stunned to wake up and find the Holy Quail missing. CrazyTurkey ran around in circles gobbling in a high-pitched voice. One of the less incoherent of the Turklings found a few small brown hairs near where the Holy Quail had been resting. He klorted and the others came over.
After settling CrazyTurkey down, they were able to see that not far away were some more of the same type of hairs, along with a couple sets of weird looking footprints that left a trail leading into the jungle. They resembled hands almost, at least what The Flock imagined hands would look like if they could actually remember what the hell hands were. In any event, they decided to follow the all-too-obvious path left by the kidnappers.
It took them the opposite of long to find their quarry. Once they got to within a few hundred yards they could both smell and hear them in the distance. There seemed to be some kind of commotion going on amongst them. The Flock hurried as fast as their bird legs could carry them without risking snapping them like twigs in a vise clamp. They plopped out of a bush a little too suddenly and found themselves surrounded. The newcomers were now the center of attention, and the camp went quiet.
Staring back at The Flock was about a hundred brownish black creatures that all stood about three feet tall but were hunched over. They had faces that seemed close to that of the gorillas they had encountered recently, but they didn’t look quite as friendly. Many of them were grinning, exposing their sharp teeth but this wasn’t a “hey come on over here and check out my new condom collection!” grin. This was more like a “how the hell did that goat get in here?!” grin.
CrazyTurkey stepped forward and gobbled. He was pelted in the face by a large wad of a wet, sticky, brown substance. The encampment broke loose flinging raw feces at The Flock, the whole time screaming at them in an ear-piercing frequency.
All of a sudden there was a huge roar that silenced the whole camp. Up through the crowd pushed a large member of the company. He stood easily a foot above all the others, and he was baring his teeth menacingly. He was also carrying something quite familiar to The Flock: the Holy Quail!
CrazyTurkey squawked and klorted at the leader. I suppose he was telling him that the item was his. Don’t know, don’t care. Either way, the leader roared again and smacked the ground. He proceeded to jump around crazily, running up trees and jumping off again like some kind of damn drunken Swede on prom night.
CrazyTurkey again klorted at the stranger to hand over what was his. The leader stopped jumping and walked right up to CrazyTurkey. He stared the bird down, huffing and puffing the whole time. Defiantly, he turned the cup over and drank its contents as if to say, “this be mine, bitch!”
Sadly, at least for the chimp, the contents of this particular cup happened to be a combination of rancid, 2 month old turkey butter, jizz, and liver secretions that CrazyTurkey had been saving as a birthday gift for one of his flock mates back home. As soon as the contents hit the stomach of the retarded ape, it shot upwards faster than it had gone down.
The regurgitation was so violent and sudden that the ape’s lungs burst from the force, sending him flying backwards into a pregnant female who was debating on visiting the abortion clinic down the road. He decapitated the female at the exact instant she gave birth, proving once and for all that drugs should not be consumed by anyone under the age of 3 months old (unless prescribed by a doctor).
The company went nuts after seeing their dead leader fall quite unhumblingly upon the dead carcass of the previously pregnant female in a 38 position (if you don’t know what that is, it involves the use of the right arm in….you know what, look that up for yourself). They ran around screaming and leaping from tree to tree. The Flock took the opportunity to pick up the Holy Quail and make a break for it.
The Flock made their way back to the ocean. Off to the right was a familiar sight: Admiral Godfather’s ship, The Poisonous Skull! One of the hound’s pirate crew had made it to shore with a dinghy and was waiting for The Flock. He spotted the turkey travelers and waved them over. The Flock boarded the dinghy and they made their way to the ship.
Admiral Godfather greeted them warmly and cleaned them up (since they were still covered in ape shit), then made them a warm dinner of kibble. Then he and his crew invited the turkeys to their game night, where they played such games as pool (where they threw kittens into an onboard swimming pool and each member tried to be the first to catch and maul it) and skeet shooting (where they jerked off in their hands, loaded it into guns, and shot kittens they had lined up on planks).
After resting up from a night of fun and unnecessary kitten-related deaths, The Flock was ready to return home. Twas around noon when they reached shore, and they parted ways with Admiral Godfather once more. They thanked him with a feather-covered wad of something….foul. This substance was new even for CrazyTurkey and must have been the result of his months of commingling his bodily fluids inside a sacred relic…but that tale is for another day…
The Great Avian War;a Chronicling
Chapter 15; verse 1.5
Once again, here I am talking to you, feeling your unworthy eyes upon my nonexistent body. Hope you’re enjoying yourself you fucker. Your mother must have had sex with a giraffe, ‘cause your neck is longer than your…
*BEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEP!* This is a test of the Emergency Literary Broadcasting System. This is only a test. If this were an actual emergency, you’d already be dead you long-necked bastard!
…and you should have been a damn blowjob! *breathing heavily* Sorry, I’ve had a bad day, and it’s making me rather testy. What’s that? You’d like to know what happened? Well, alright then, just make sure you can handle it…
I awoke this morning to the smell of cigarettes and llama shit. I rolled over and saw her. I had met her at a club last night, and had taken her back to my place and we had some fun. However, in this new light I could see that she was not in fact a llama, but rather an alpaca! How dare she deceive me like that! Angered, I went and got my chainsaw and spent a few minutes polishing it. Then, I grabbed a plastic butter knife and ran the back end of it through her jugular.
After cleaning the remains (and making myself a nice alpacaburger) I watched a little TV. I only remember vague parts, but I recall seeing something on Animal Planet about African predators. I swear to you I saw a zebra maul the living shit out of a baby wildebeest and I thought to myself, “If evolution really exists, why haven’t wildebeest sprouted wings yet?” Angrily, I stormed into the kitchen where I desecrated a picture of Crom Tuise with some sheep antlers and bean paste. I had the sudden urge to learn kung fu without the use of extremities, so I pulled out a phone book.
Amazingly there happened to be just such a dojo in the area! I called the number (850) 966-5347 (YNO-LEGS) and was told to come on over. I asked how much it would cost and they said the first lesson was free so I grabbed my keys and rushed to my car. It was one of those old wind up cars, so it took me 20 minutes to actually get started. And if you don’t know, the maximum speed for those old cars is exactly -5 mph when going downhill.
It took me three hours to drive three houses down from mine (from a combination of pushing the car and lying in the fetal position crying) where the dojo was. I was surprised that I had never noticed it before, since it was the only asian-themed house in the area. I stepped out of my car and up to the sidewalk and I looked both ways before stepping onto it. No sooner had I stepped onto the sidewalk when I was suddenly and inexplicably run over by some guy on a Segway. Bastard kept going, and I never did get his license plate number.
Shamefully, I dusted myself off and entered the dojo. I was pelted in the face with boiling water and some lady was screaming at me in Chinese. I realized my mistake and took the shoes off my hands before entering the dojo (and the gloves off my feet, for gloves are the dirtiest form of clothing to Asian people). I turned around and bowed to her, but upon rising she threw more boiling water at me. She was smiling now though, so I think she was just a bitch.
After she poured more of the water down the back of my pants, possibly for sterility, she led me to the center of the building where the students were training. I saw the master’s stand off to the left…or should I say stool, because stool is exactly what it was. Atop said stool was a midget quadriplegic amputee. I was in awe. To think that someone with no limbs could become a master of fighting. I knew I had come to the right place. I approached his stool and bowed to him.
Before I could say a word, he leapt at me and headbutted me in the face. I fell backwards and landed on my back with the legless midget atop me. He muttered something in Chinese, but luckily for me subtitles popped up underneath his chest, so I just read along. Apparently he was saying something about me needing to learn to not drop my guard.
I was offended, so I challenged him to a one-on-one match. He agreed (as per the subtitles), even graciously allowing me to use my arms and legs. I accepted his terms. It took him no more than 15 seconds to knock me flat on my ass again. After regaining my composure, I decided to go at this from a different route.
Let me tell you this: traveling through the sewers is not fun and no matter what route you may go about it, there is always a midget quadriplegic amputee at the other end waiting to kick your fucking ass. After getting my ass handed to me yet again, I stole his stool and ran off. Take THAT sensei!
On the depressing walk home I decided to take a longcut through the park. I saw a brown box in the bushes nearby, so I picked it up and looked at it. The box was rather plain looking, except for the name scrawled across the top: Boggle – Jumanji Edition. Intrigued, I took it home to test it out.
I grabbed my pet parrot to play with me and I started a game. Unfortunately, I was unaware that this was a magical game which brought letters to life depending on what you rolled. After nearly getting raped by a giant latter “Q” I managed to escape outside. To my great fortune, N*Sync was signing autographs outside my house, so I sacrificed them to the horny letter. They will be missed (by someone else).
I burned the game in my backyard and buried the ashes in the local bowling alley. The lanes must have been built over a Native American burial ground, because letters started popping out of the ground. I ran out as fast as I could and went back home to write.
Well, that’s pretty much it. A typical day for any normal American I suppose. Overall pretty damn good, since N*Sync is no longer with us, though I’m told they will have three more albums released over the next ten years. Look out Tupac!
In any event, we should return to the story. You now know that the turkeys managed to have their artifact stolen from them by degenerate apes with a fetish for death-on-death necrophilia. They did recover it however, and are on their way back home safely…but, for how long?! *dun dun dunnnnnnn!*
The Great Avian War;a Chronicling
Chapter 16; verse 1
Armed with three hundred and sixty feet of twine with a grappling hook on the end of it and a plastic spork, Snuggle then proceeded to storm the tower of the All-Seeing Cyborg Eye. He did so by first killing and maiming the guards with the grappling hook by eviscerating their entrails through the stomach and laughing as the poor bastards were retreating. Snuggle wrapped the twine around his hands hitman style and began raking it up and down his back, skinning him to the spine. He fell to the ground and regurgitated his pancreas.
Eventually, Snuggle grew bored of this and proceeded to climb the tower by stabbing his spork into the diamond-based exterior of it. TurboRooster, who had been watching the entire event, decided to play dirty. So he grabbed a pot of boiling acid and dumped it down the side of the tower on which Snuggle was climbing. Snuggle knew not what danger awaited him until he began to smell a putrid burning smell, not unlike that of mildewy stuffing. He glanced over at his left arm and saw it was being devoured by the liquid carnivore.
Snuggle let out a screech so ear-piercing that the jackals in the desert died due to overexposure to noise pollution (one of the 10 prophecies foretelling the end of the world). TurboRooster laughed so hard he shit his mother’s pants, even though his mother was already dead and wasn’t wearing pants as the dead wearing pants was illegal. Snuggle however was one tough bastard and chewed off the wound on his arm and continued his trek up the inverted slope. That’s right, the tower pinches off at the middle and proceeds to go out again like some kind of upside-down pyramid stacked on top of a regular pyramid.
Snuggle continued to cling to his spork which was still dug into the side of the diamond-cased building. Upon reaching the top, he broke into the building by biting the living shit out of it. He fell in through the roof and landed in front of the poultry tyrant atop his throne. TurboRooster said nothing and, acting quickly, grabbed Angora’s Box.
Acting like he was going to use it, he prepared his attack. Snuggle drew Ex-.50-caliber which shone brilliantly with his inner power. TurboRooster feinted him however, and instead threw the box at Snuggle. It hit him square in the throat and he instantly clutched it and fell to the ground gasping for air. For you see, Angora’s Box was destined for use only by TurboRooster and it was so immensely heavy that no one other than he could pick it up. Having it hurled at his throat caused an intense burning pain that would last several minutes.
Anyways back to the story!...and the little bear said, “my porridge is too fucking hot!!!...whoops, wrong story! Snuggle dropped Ex-.50-caliber and rolled on the ground emitting a soundless gurgle. TurboRooster sensed his moment to finish him off (sexy!) and closed in on the struggling bear. He got naught but eleventy feet from the demon before he ran into a 500 pound glass coffee table and stubbed his bird toe with such force that the sound of it breaking was not unlike that of a fresh carrot snapping.
TurboRooster fell to the ground and cried like a bitch for about four hours. Snuggle got up exactly three hours and fifty-nine minutes later and escaped through a portal back to Hell. However, the dumbass forgot Ex-.50-caliber and left it in the tower with TurboRooster, giving him two of the three artifacts. Awwww, what’s wrong? Don’t like the thought of the big bad bird getting all the glory? WELL TOO FUCKING BAD!! Mayhaps TurboRooster uses this chance to gain control and rape the turkeys, or mayhaps Snuggle gets his sword back. You have to keep reading to find out! BUY OUR STORY!
The Great Avian War;a Chronicling
Chapter 16; verse 2
General Moolysses S. Grant surveyed the war field. The enemy was closing in on all sides and pinning the bovine army from any chance of escape. They had completely shut off all routes, including the sea. The only possibility left was to make one last stand here on Butter Hill. General Moolysses weighed his options. The way things were going, it seemed they would be dead by nightfall.
The enemy had established a firm post outside the hill. There were guards posted on all sides to ensure the cows didn’t mount an assault against them. T'was the ingenuity of the armoire rebels. They had been planning their assault against the bovines for years, establishing spies into their military bases in the form of chairs and shopping carts. There are few things scarier than a rogue shopping cart lurking in the dead of night!
Luckily for General Moolysses he was fully aware of the weaknesses of his enemies. The hard part would be getting the supplies needed since he had been cut off. Not to mention that one thing he needed was rain, and he was no rainmaker!
For you see, rain water not only rusts the shopping carts, making them emit a horrendous squeak (allowing you to hear them sneak up on you) but it also water logs the chairs, making them too heavy to move. Now for the couches, the water would not be sufficient alone. They would need dogs as well to leave their wet sticky hair behind on the sofas, for that is a couches natural enemy.
The real tricky part would be the plastic covered armoire. The bovine would require the big guns for this one: gerbils. It is a little known and yet incredibly popular fact that gerbils love the taste of sofas and can compress their bodies to the size of a pair of bloody gloves and squeeze through plastic like some kind of weird diseased badger to nibble on the couches innards. However, in order to get the gerbils they would need two things.
First, they would need cheese in order to attract the gerbils to their base. However it would require a special kind of cheese, so as not to attract Jappacians. Only skunk cheese would work in this situation, so that the Jappacians do not try to pawn off any of their PlayStation Weeds®. In the event that Jappacians still came, they had several Swedish midget paraplegic amputees lined up as they were the greatest threat to the Jappacian lifestyle.
And B, they would need to mutate the gerbils with garden hoses, so they could pump liquids through them after they get under the plastic as they would just be sold to rednecks at discount prices during Saturday afternoon yard sales. Everyone knows that rednecks use duck tape to repair holes in couches and the hose gerbils, or herbils for short, would need to pump out a corrosive substance to negate the stickiness of said tape. This substance of course being margarine (margarine more so than butter as it has more letters and thus must be more powerful!), as it is the most effective against the tapes attachicity.
Of course no one can forget about beds, the lesbian cousin of the couch, nor futons, the inbred couch-bed. For these, the General’s best bet would be to deploy feline rangers upon them, to claw at the very fabric of their being….literally. Not to mention that the meowing would attract the dogs needed to take out the couches. His plan was coming together quickly enough, but he still felt lacking.
He realized that in order to get his midgets he would have to crossbreed Swedes with chipmunks so the size difference could work itself out. Not to mention the fact that the chipmunks were vegetarians so they would not be attracted to the cheese that was needed for the gerbils. After getting said midgets they would have to have their limbs removed with electronic butter knives and trained under Chuck Norris III, the world’s premiere Non-Limb Kung Fu Master.
In addition, they would need to erect a filter-fence in order to keep out the larger dogs so as not to scare off the midgets. Anything larger than a pug just wouldn’t do at all! And not a pug that happened to get raped by a rhino to create a 780 pound half-breed of pure ugly destruction mind you, but a regular pug!
While the General was deep in thought about how much vasoline he would need for his trip to his sister’s cottage, a shopping cart rolled up into his tent. This shopping cart was loaded with a very tiny 97 foot blue whale which had been horrifically crammed into a cart with about 3 ½ cubic feet of space. This particular whale had been loaded to the baleen with goat blood however, and General Moolysses S. Grant stared in fright as….
…TurboRooster slit the throat of…
…CrazyTurkey’s terrified Turkling onlookers…
…watched as Snuggle gurgled the blood of his victim and spit it into the eyes of a passing hobo…
…who left the mayonnaise on the counter overnight…
…causing the spleen to rupture as…
…the intrepid bovine slaughtered the armoire army in retribution for his fallen leader. He was using General Moolysses udders (yes, he had udders) to splatter unchurned butter into the faces of his unsuspecting armoire enemy. The creamy juices had attracted the gerbils who were feasting on the wettened chairs. The Mad Cow disease had started to spread amongst them, and shopping carts were attacking their own already. The battle was now one sided, and the armoire tried to fall back. Sadly, their numbers were too depleted and they were overrun by the intrepid bovine army.
After about 30 minutes, there were only five left standing. The cow crusaders gathered up and sang songs all night and eventually even leapt over the moon. Unfortunately, one couldn’t jump high enough and he tripped on the moon and ended up snapping his neck against the bowl as it was running away with the spoon. The spoon, seeing his dead lover, got over it as soon as he saw the dish.
Schnoogle, Snuggle’s retarded cousin he left locked in the attic of his penthouse, closed the book he had been reading. It was his favorite bedtime story about the great civil war of 2412 when the bovine army was nearly overthrown by the cloth terrorists. After doing his :07-after masturbation, he made a shake out of some moldy tacos he left in the corner of his non-glass plated window sill. Snuggle came in later to tuck him in and bake him a taco pie (which he loved), but then the dumbass remembered that he forgot Ex-.50-caliber in TurboRooster’s fortress and so he slapped the retard with a wet noodle and left to reclaim what was his…
The Great Avian War;a Chronicling
Chapter 16; verse 3
There is no mistaking the smell of sweet wildflowers and eviscerated cnidarians, and that is exactly what TurboRooster smelled as Snuggle returned from his Hell-borne portal. There was a blast of hot air that blew past TurboRooster. A couple of scantily-clad hen sex slaves walked in the room at that moment and were instantly charbroiled. TurboRooster picked one up and threw it at the spot where the fog was thickest.
He could hear Snuggle cursing as the chicken breast bounced off him. The fog began to disperse and he could clearly see Snuggle holding one fluffy paw up to his eye where the chicken breast had fractured his left button. He rubbed it a few times and hissed at the chicken tyrant. TurboRooster picked up Angora’s Box and held it where Snuggle could see it.
Snuggle was surprised as he was expecting TurboRooster to attack using his old sword. He looked around and saw it lying on the ground where he had left it. He glanced back up at TurboRooster who was just staring back at him. TurboRooster threw the box at Snuggle again. This time Snuggle dodged that bitch, and rolled right into a sticky bomb which TurboRooster had planted earlier. The sticky bomb barely grazed his acid-eaten arm and stuck to it like an angry platypus.
The bomb exploded, sending stuffing and plush fur across the room. Snuggle screamed loud enough to rupture the eardrums of a passing housefly. The housefly presumptuously went home and mercilessly beat his child. Snuggle was breathing heavily and holding his stump, stuffing dripping out. He leered angrily at his avian enemy. He pulled a stapler off TurboRooster’s desk and stapled shut his wound.
TurboRooster was deeply offended, for it is uncommon knowledge to all that no one, and I mean NO ONE damn it, EVER touches a rooster’s stapler. Angrily, TurboRooster splashed Snuggle with gasoline he stores in his left arm and used his built-in flamethrower to incinerate his fluffy bear ass. Fortunately for Snuggle, he had spent more than a few hours in Hell and knew how to put himself out. So in an act of extremely futile desperation, he attempted to urinate on himself. Sadly, he did not have enough urine to put himself out and his right leg burned off completely.
Snuggle stood there on one leg, shaking angrily. A pool of stuffing was piling up on the floor around him. Something to the right caught his still functioning button eye and he turned his head. The sword was within range now. He picked it up and held it towards the tyrant cock.
TurboRooster looked puzzled, for it seemed as if the demented bear had pulled the sword out of thin air. For you see, the sword has the ability to conceal itself when not held by its wielder so as not to be taken by anyone else. Only the being that owns the sword can see it when it is in its “sleep mode” as a pot-bellied trans-genderal virgin computer nerd would say. Unfortunately for Snuggle his mayo covered brain couldn’t comprehend that and he was still wondering why TurboRooster never grabbed it.
Snuggle charged at TurboRooster with his sword drawn, ready to slit the throat of the deranged cock. At that instant one of the Angoran goats passed between the two fighters, possibly from the fact that the lid slipped open when TurboRooster threw it. In any event, the friction in the air caused by Snuggle breathing in his general direction caused the goat to explode, blasting Snuggle backwards through the portal through which he had entered.
TurboRooster was holding the head of the goat. He had severed it from the body before it exploded. He held it eye level and blasted it with his laser eye, incinerating it. Just like a butterfly beating its wings causes a tornado on the other side of the world, this blast was enough to unleash a violent explosion on the other side of the universe. An entire world was destroyed in one fell swoop of violent, cock-related juices and cream…in the form of a water-based meteor three times bigger than the planet it took out. There is no way of telling if TurboRooster was actually responsible for this tragedy, as the only people that disputed it were all assassinated by TurboRooster.
Snuggle was happily back in his lair with his weapon resting back on the cradle he had made for it. It was the hollowed out carcass of an endangered Pinoceros, which was first found in the year 2011 after a rhino escaped from the zoo and raped a pug that was in heat. 60 days (give or take 350 days) later, a 780-pound baby burst forth from a 15-pound canine. She was taken to the hospital and recovered just fine. She was however forced to spend the rest of her life in a bubble as her head was the only part of her body that survived the traumatic experience.
Snuggle went up to Schnoogle’s room to tell him of his conquest. He caught Schnoogle in the act of pissing on his horse. Snuggle went mad with rage and tore the legs off his horse and beat Schnoogle mercilessly with the tentacles of a centuriplegic jellyfish that he kept as a pet.
The Great Avian War;a Chronicling
Chapter 17; verse 1
The sky opened up not unlike a diarrhea-filled anus spilling its excrement into the toilet bowl of a world Thuh Chickenz call home, flooding the porcelain throne of TurboRooster’s palace with rain. The amount of fluid spilled forth upon the valley that day is comparable only to that of the viral video: “Two Shaqs, One Bucket.” The torrential deluge forced a myriad of diminutive delving moles from their shelters. The stampede that was witnessed that day was larger than several soccer balls melted together to be sure.
That of course is not to be the topic of this story which is neither here nor there, but hence. Or rather sheep, if thou wishest to get all technical in this bitch! This is the story of Tosheepbaa, the little sheep born and raised in the slums of Shaolin (which was taken over by Japan in the late 2000s when the Chinese delivery man took too long to deliver the Prime Minister of Japan his “flied lice?”).
Japan was having another feudal era due to the lowered production of cheese. Many innocent lives had been taken over the lack of the delicious dairy treat. None were more famous than the civil rights activist, Dr. “Milk” Carton Juicer Ming, Jr. He was the first to fight for the rights of ovines everywhere and was killed during one of his demonstrations after helping to free the wool slaves.
Tosheepbaa was born prematurely in the year 4991, when his mother was ran through with a sausage skinner by one of the feuding clans. Tosheepbaa could not yet open his eyes, but he could hear his mother scream as she was skinned alive by the demented freak with the lust for sheep sausage. The child was left for dead, but to his great fortune an old panda by the name of Ketamine-san, named thusly for his uncanny ability to put individuals to sleep by his boring demeanor, wandered by and spotted the infant ovine. He picked the child up and took him to his panda crib.
He raised the child well and gave him his name. When he came of age, he taught him to fight by watching old anime cartoons like “Dragonball Z”. It soon became clear that he could not perform devastating attacks or fly like the Z Fighters, so Ketamine-san gave up on that and focused instead on what appeared to be his greatest strength: ping-pong.
The little ovine seemed to be a natural at the sport, despite being only 5 years of age. Not only did he beat every opponent that dared challenge him, but he destroyed them. His most horrific finishing move was called The Reaper’s Embrace, which is where he psyched out his opponent with a feint spike attack, then splattered the ball to the left corner. He hit it in such a way though as to make it bounce off the other direction, and instead would exit the player’s side on the right corner. No one could ever tell how he managed to hit it that way, and he never would reveal his secret to anyone.
Ketamine-san decided that the best way to determine his true course was to take him to the youth pong tournament, aptly named the Mini Balls Cup. The trophy presented to the winner was one-of-a-kind, and was famous world-wide to young pongers as “The Trophy”. The trophy depicted a young piglet reaching skyward to fondle two ping-pong balls dangling from the clouds. Ketamine-san showed Tosheepbaa a picture of the trophy. As soon as the little sheep set eyes upon it, he knew he had to have it. He told his Pong-sensei that he would train hard to reach that goal.
Ketamine-san spent the next four months training young Tosheepbaa. He made him tackle cacti in the mornings and bare-hand catch porcupine fish for breakfast. In the afternoons he participated in various activities such as playing jump-rope with live electrical wires while standing in a small pool of water or mud wrestling with a starved badger. In the evening he slept on a bed of poison-tipped nails precariously placed on a cliff overlooking a pit of venomous snakes and scorpions. Ketamine-san eventually realized that this training was completely unrelated to Tosheepbaa’s improvement of his pong game. So in his expertise he refined the ovine’s technique through masturbation.
Finally the big day arrived and Tosheepbaa could barely contain his excitement. He began to practice his “technique” immediately, much to the horror of the other competitors. Ketamine-san had to lead the sheep to the bathroom where he could “practice” with a little more private setting. And practice he did!
Eventually he came out and ran up to Ketamine-san who told the little ovine that he had already signed his name up and he was next to compete. Tosheepbaa grabbed his paddle and ran to the waiting line. He watched as some chicken youth defeated an albino seal. That could only mean one thing: it was finally his turn!
He ran up to the table just as his name was being announced. His opponent was a female tiger cub by the name of Purrhaci, who played using the Poo Manchu style of pong which utilized a turd-shaped mustache to try and distract opponents. It was truly evil incarnate! Tosheepbaa had trained hard though, and he wasn’t about to be thrown off due to a shit-faced kitten.
Both competitors faced off as the rules were explained to them. It was to be a best-of-five series, with each player switching sides after one reaches 5 points. Players were not allowed to switch the paddle to a different hand during play. In the event of a tie in the final round, the competitors would be forced into sudden death in which they would both be blindfolded for the last point. The winner would advance to the next round to continue on for a chance to compete for the trophy in the finals, which they were told would have a few rule changes.
Purrhaci won the coin toss and would serve first. Tosheepbaa’s heart was racing, eager to start. Purrhaci tossed the ball in the air and smacked it. It seemed to move across the table in slow motion for Tosheepbaa. He could notice the tiniest movements of the ball as it came towards him, and he could even see the spin of the ball. He hit it just right and it bounced off Purrhaci’s left corner. Purrhaci looked shocked. It wasn’t often that she faced a competitor that could score against her Poo Manchu style.
And so it went. Tosheepbaa won the first set 5-1 and the second set 5-4. Purrhaci won the third and fourth rounds 5-3. With the score in Tosheepbaa’s favor at 16-15, they went into the final round. The score reached 4-4 and they were on their final point. Tosheepbaa had only to score to move on, or hope that Purrhaci had a fault. If Purrhaci scored or Tosheepbaa had a fault, they would move on to sudden death overtime.
Tosheepbaa had service and he popped the ball across the table. They went back and forth for several minutes, each trying to get the other to make a mistake. They were both tired by now, but each one wanted a chance at the title so neither one would back down. Purrhaci hit a backhand shot that flew to Tosheepbaa’s right corner. Tosheepbaa noticed this move from an earlier set and noticed in a split second that she left herself a small opening to the right. He judged the spin of the ball and hit it just right to bounce it into the side where she went to get the ball, but due to the way she was standing she slipped and placed her other hand on the table. The match was called for a fault on Purrhaci and Tosheepbaa advanced to the next round.
Purrhaci was devastated. She congratulated Tosheepbaa and left the arena. It is believed that she went into the bathroom and swallowed toilet bowl cleaner, but no one ever found her body as a fire fighter ran into the bathroom a few minutes after she left and set the room on fire in order to train the newest fire fighter recruit. The bathroom was lost completely but the recruit did manage to contain the fire afterwards, and I hear the two are getting married this spring!.
Tosheepbaa was overjoyed. He had won his first real pong match and was one step closer to the Mini Balls Cup trophy. Tosheepbaa was so enthusiastic over his victory that he won the next four rounds without going to a fifth set. His utter domination of the table continued into the semi-finals where he defeated a Swedish moose by the name of Alfred Noball, a male moose who was strangely born without testicles, 19-17 after five sets.
Tosheepbaa ran back to Ketamine-san after he was announced the winner and bounced up and down joyfully. Ketamine-san congratulated the little ovine but warned him not to become overconfident, quoted as saying “Pride is a cumshot on the face of one’s soul.” Tosheepbaa had no idea what it meant, but he knew that he should accept the fact that he might lose. He thanked Ketamine-san and ran back to play the final match. He was to compete against the chicken youth, Earl…
The Great Avian War;a Chronicling
Chapter 17; verse 2
Earl was already at the table when Tosheepbaa returned. Tosheepbaa took his place and the announcer read them the rules for the final round. The final round was to be seven sets, with each set going until five points have been scored total. Points would be awarded to the opposing player if there were any faults. In the event of a tie after the final set, both players would be blindfolded and three tables would be pushed together with the first player scoring taking the trophy. Also newly added to the finals, players were allowed to switch the paddle to a different hand during a match to throw in a new level of play.
Tosheepbaa and Earl agreed to the terms and shook hands….or should I say hoof and wing. Both set themselves up at their ends of the table and prepared themselves for battle. Tosheepbaa won the toss and the right to serve first. The spectacle that was witnessed that day was the most historic battle in youth pong history. Each of the first six rounds saw a 3-2 victory with Earl winning the first, second and fourth rounds and Tosheepbaa winning the third, fifth and sixth rounds. The final round saw yet another 2-2 tie with one set left to determine each player’s fate.
Earl had scored the last point and set up to serve. Everything seemed to slow down for both competitors. It seemed like time outside the table was moving in slow motion, but they were still moving normal speed. The ball went back and forth, back and forth for what seemed like an eternity for the youths. Finally, Earl spiked the ball to Tosheepbaa’s weak side. Tosheepbaa went to hit the ball and smacked it, but it bounced off his side twice and struck the net. Tosheepbaa was devastated, his dream seemingly crushed in one instant of weakness.
However, much to his fortune the ref called time. He ruled the set a double fault. Tosheepbaa’s heart stopped. He couldn’t believe his ears. He still had a chance. Earl however was confused. He questioned the refs ruling, unsure what he had done. The ref stated that he had performed a double hit on the ball. A replay of the action proved the ref’s call was true. Earl had hit the ball with the wing holding the paddle, which was legal as it is considered part of the paddle. However, the trajectory of the swing caused the paddle itself to hit the ball slightly as it flew towards Tosheepbaa’s side.
And so, with the score tied at 17 the announcer called the 7th round a tie and declared sudden death overtime. Three tables were pushed together and blindfolds placed over the competitors eyes. The crowd was silenced in order for the players to concentrate on their match. Earl won the toss and the right to serve. The air itself seemed heavy. Earl served the ball.
Tosheepbaa listened intently, trying to anticipate where to move when the ball struck. It hit the table and he knew exactly where to place his paddle. He struck the ball and it bounced over the net to Earl’s side. Earl was listening just as intently though, and struck the ball after it bounced off his side of the table. The two battled this way for several minutes, each utilizing the full field of the three tables trying to overcome their opponent. Eventually, Tosheepbaa “saw” his opening. He could hear the ball as it bounced off Earl’s paddle, and he knew from the sound exactly where it had hit his paddle and the general area where it would land. He used this opportunity to set up his patented Reaper’s Embrace.
As soon as the ball struck his side of the table, Tosheepbaa was all over it. He twisted his paddle just right and knocked the ball to the far left corner of Earl’s side. Earl had heard the smack and just as Tosheepbaa had just done, he anticipated where it would strike. The ball hit the left corner of Earl’s table and he went to swing for it. However, the extreme spin that Tosheepbaa’s smack had placed on the ball caused it to veer off to the right and past Earl’s paddle. Earl realized something was amiss when he failed to feel the ball hit his paddle, but it was too late. The ball hit the right corner of the table and bounced off onto the floor.
The crowd exploded in excitement. The announcer called the match and Tosheepbaa tore off the blindfold. He was ecstatic! Earl said his congrats and took off. Ketamine-san came up to congratulate him. The Mini Balls Cup trophy was brought forth for the presentation. This was truly the greatest day in Tosheepbaa’s life. He would cherish this day forever.
Lightning struck a herd of moles outside, and the thunderous crack that followed the bolt awoke TurboRooster with a start. He was sweating and leaking oil, having the same nightmare he had been having every night for the past two weeks. It had been several millennia since that fateful day when TurboRooster (then still known as Earl) had lost the Mini Balls Cup trophy to the loathsome ovine rival, Tosheepbaa. TurboRooster, despite everything else he had been through in his entire life, had never forgotten what happened that day.
He got up and walked over to his non-existent fireplace where hung a trophy of his own. He stared at it for several minutes. It was the stuffed head of his old rival’s mentor, Ketamine-san. He had the eyes plucked out after he assassinated him and replaced them with ping pong balls. He had no knowledge as to the whereabouts of his rival however, and he still haunted TurboRooster in his dreams. TurboRooster knew he would probably never get over the loss of that trophy knowing that he had the match won if not for a mistake made on his part. He hated admitting he was capable of making mistakes though, and had never said it aloud.
He went back to bed, knowing full well that Tosheepbaa would haunt his dreams again. He held the lucky panda’s foot charm he had made tightly as he drifted off to dreamland, hoping that instead of dreams of failure he could dream about the day he finally confronted the ovine and won back the trophy that should rightfully be his.
The Great Avian War;a Chronicling
Chapter 17; verse 3
TurboRooster awoke with a finish. His movie Hippie Park III: The Second Coming Twice had just ended and the lack of murderous hippies and screaming midgets caused him to awaken. He had had the dream again and was frustrated. He knew he had to find Tosheepbaa and right the wrong that had been done to him all those years ago…
Later that night, three seconds into the future…He pulled himself out of bed and made himself a Chick shake. He had to find some way to find that damn sheep, but he was getting a headache trying to figure out how. There had to be some way. He downed the shake and slammed the glass down. He stopped. His non-bionic eye widened. He ran upstairs to his dresser and opened the drawer. There shined an object for which he had come. The item was an eye preserved in a crystal casing. It was called the Eye of Ruminant Vision.
It was an eye that had been preserved from the famous philosopher Ariestittle, a female domesticated sheep that had the ability to see things that others could not. She was murdered one day by a sorcerer who was jealous of her abilities. He had scooped out one of her eyes with a spork and encased it in a crystal. He had planned to transplant it within his head as a third eye, but he died before the surgery due to using asbestos for pizza topping his whole life.
The crystal eye was stolen by thieves who broke in later that night and was lost for years until being found by TurboRooster during the Raid of the Lost Ark where the chicken leader destroyed the Ark that carried two of every kind of animal and a few survivors of a distant planet that had been destroyed by a meteor made of water. Unfortunately for them, TurboRooster found out they had come and thusly killed them all. He found the crystal in a small chest in a cave where they had crash landed. He took it back with him but placed it in a drawer when he realized what it was and forgot about it…until now!
He opened a slot in his bionic eye and placed the Eye in it. The Eye had the unnecessary ability to see all living ruminants in the entire world and could tell the wielder of the Eye who they were, where they were, and what they were doing. TurboRooster scanned through the list of ruminants as fast as his internal processor could go which was pretty damn fast considering the development of IntelOutside, a small company that started after its related company went under due to the cyborg assaults, had surpassed everyone’s expectations and harnessed the power of the sun to fuel their processors! It took several hours, but he finally found what he was looking for. It appeared that not only was Tosheepbaa still alive, he was in the Land of Thuh Chickenz! TurboRooster recorded the ovine’s coordinates and left immediately to “greet” his old rival.
TurboRooster arrived three days later to the spot where the Eye of Ruminant Vision had shown him where Tosheepbaa was. It didn’t take him long to find what he was looking for: the ovine had taken up residence in a town full of sheepdogs. They quickly lead TurboRooster to a little hut where Tosheepbaa lived under threat of very painful and unanesthetized neutering. TurboRooster forced his way into the hut and saw Tosheepbaa sitting in a rocking chair facing away from him. He openly challenged the ovine to his long-awaited rematch.
Tosheepbaa stood up and turned around. He looked exactly the same as he had all those millennia ago thanks in part to the successful cloning of Vag and Gina, deformed sheep twins from the retired country of Pittsburgh, leading the way for ovine-specific immortality and eternal youth. He stared TurboRooster down trying to recognize the intruder who seemed to know who he was. TurboRooster said nothing else, instead pointed one claw at the Mini Balls Cup trophy. Tosheepbaa instantly remembered the nerdy chicken youth Earl that he had defeated all those years ago. He smiled and accepted the cyborg’s challenge. He asked TurboRooster what the terms of the match entailed.
TurboRooster again said nothing, instead pulled out his paddle. Tosheepbaa grabbed the trophy and escorted the cyborg tyrant to his basement, where he led him to the table that he had used to beat Earl. He placed the trophy on a box in the corner and faced off against TurboRooster. He asked TurboRooster if he wanted to play by the same rules they had during their last match. TurboRooster just stared at him and so he smiled and set up to serve the ball.
In a move swifter than an ovine’s eye could see, TurboRooster threw his paddle towards Tosheepbaa. It sliced the ovine’s jugular arteries causing a double stream of blood to squirt around the room. The little ovine screaming a gurgling scream and ran around the room clutching his throat. An unnecessary and quite impossible amount of blood left the tiny sheep and flooded the room in several inches of blood before he finally dropped dead. TurboRooster stood over him for a few minutes basking in his long-awaited vendetta. When he had celebrated enough (and after reclaiming his paddle) he grabbed up his trophy and returned to his fortress where he lived happily ever after…until the next chapter!
The Great Avian War;a Chronicling
Chapter 18, verse 1
Less than a week had passed since CrazyTurkey had returned from his quest for the relics and his dumb ass was already lost. He went out into the woods to use the bathroom and could not find his way back, despite being a mere 50 meters from his flock’s camp. He could hear the rap music coming from the “ghetto” portion of the turkey ‘hood and the Turklings klorting in the distance. A few females returning from the river even stopped and pointed him in the right direction and yet he still managed to wind up going even further from his camp.
Along this expedition of stupidity, he ran across Opisseus, a opossum who was recently released from prison for chewing the arm off an armadillo who mispronounced his name (apparently the O in his name was silent and his name was just pronounced Pisseus). They soon came across the explorer team of Mewis and Bark, a cat and dog team who were attempting to rediscover the previously discovered Land of Thuh Chickenz. Finally, they met Pounce de Lion, a Swedish lion cub who had a misshapen tail due to being born prematurely. This gave him terrible balance, and since Swedes are not known for their balance, made it even worse! He was on a quest to find the legendary Mountain of Dew, an eternal font of carbonated, highly radiated liquid.
Together, these dipshits formed an expedition to help CrazyTurkey back to his nest. Of course these fuckers were all merrily going the wrong direction, so they weren’t really helping at all. Not to mention the fact that they had to stop every few minutes for Mewis and Bark to identify previously discovered species of flora and fauna. They were also plotting their course by taking a map of the Land of Thuh Chickens and tracing over it using a plastic sheet as if they were actually plotting the terrain themselves…fucking idiots.
Eventually, the Dipshit Expedition Squad (or D.E.S. for short) happened across the Mypissinnsea River, named thusly because it was a large river that ran all the way down to the ocean from a lake that strangely resembled a chicken’s vagina. Using Swedish ingenuity, Pounce de Lion came up with the brilliant idea to fashion a raft from reeds and limp twigs and sail upriver. Not one of the others dismissed this idea as FUCKING RETARDED and so an hour later there were five soaked and angry retards very much downriver from where they had started.
They managed to pull themselves out of the water by grabbing the tail of a passing Shivera, named for its uncanny ability to commence shivering when frightened. It had three heads: the head of a bush baby, a house mouse, and a shrew, the body of a wharf rat, and the tail of a squirrel. After the D.E.S. were all on dry land again, the Shivera rolled into a ball and shivered.
Several birds could be heard in the distance. They were soon silenced however, due to TurboRooster’s drones enforcing his No Bird Sounds Law, otherwise known as the No B.S. Law, which states that no birds other than chickens could emit a sound in his forest. After the explosions died down, the D.E.S. picked themselves up off the ground. Pounce de Lion pointed at something as he fell on his face in the mud. CrazyTurkey looked over and saw a sign painted in red letters that read: ‘North Kosea – 15 miles’. The sign was pointing at a large white tube made of old whale bones sticking out of the water. These retarded fuckasses of course decided to “check that shit out!” and hopped inside.
The tunnel was pitch black. Apparently light couldn’t filter through bone…go figure. Luckily for the D.E.S., Mewis had a jar full of lightning slugs. A strange gastropod, only the female of the species lit up. This was an evolutionary step intended to attract predators in order to deter reproduction but instead attracted males of the species. In any event, it lit up the tunnel enough for the adventurers to see that there was only one path so they followed it.
Eventually they saw a light at the end of the tunnel. Not a literal light mind you, but a figurative one. It happened when Pounce de Lion tripped into the other members for the three hundredth time and pushed them into a cavern. It was about the size of one of those ancient Volkswagen skeletons that archaeologists and stupid 8-year-olds with nothing better to do will sometimes unearth. There was a meniscus at the center of the ceiling, but the rest of the cavern was as bare as a library full of interesting books by J.K. Rowling.
CrazyTurkey gobbled to the others that they should help him through the meniscus. I assume that they did not realize that the meniscus meant there was WATER ON THE OTHER SIDE and thus proceeded to help him up through it. As he passed up through the meniscus, he became surrounded by an oily substance which eventually surrounded his entire body in a bubble of air. The others followed suit and soon all five were standing on the ocean floor encased in oily bubbles…I swear these bastards are gonna make me put a bullet through my head…
The D.E.S. looked around them. Schools of brightly colored fish danced around. A large cnidarian floated adrift with 25-foot-long tentacles trailing. Goldfish, frankincensefish, and myrrhfish swam among the anemones. A dogfish was chasing a catfish that had cornered a mousefish who was nibbling on a cheesefish when a Great Honky Shark (Carhonkyus massivicus) came up and ate them all.
The Great Honky Shark’s presence frightened the D.E.S. who immediately turned tail and ran away. Unfortunately, Pounce de Lion tripped and sent them all into a tailspin…or bubblespin to be exact. They rolled across the ocean floor not at all unlike the human wheels that the Hamsters used on their human pets back in the early 4000’s in what was then the largest state, Central Utah ‘N Texas (otherwise known as C.U.N.T.). It didn’t last long however, for Florida bought out much of the land west of itself and merged with Texas to form the largest land mass/muscle group ever: Flexus. The Hamsters ruled there until the year 4062 when they were enticed to come to come to Youthful Zealand with promises of free cheesesticks. However, all the Hamsters exited at the same time through the port of Old Orleans and Flexus suffered the greatest Charlie Horse of all time, from which it never recovered.
Nevertheless, the D.E.S. rolled for what seemed like thirty seconds but was in actuality closer to three hours before coming to a rest at a strange sign made of clam shells and mermaid waste. It had two arrows, both pointing in opposite directions. The first read: ‘South Kosea – Please come visit us!’ and the other read: ‘North Kosea – Don’t fucking go this direction!’. I believe it is now obvious which direction these brainless fucktards took…
The Great Avian War;a Chronicling
Chapter 18, verse 2
Well, my boss has informed me that the last verse was so offensive to some people, I now have to change my writing to a more “politically correct” style. So I hope you fuckheads derogatory sexual intercourse involving the cranial portion of the body are happy with reading useless shit biologically digested material of the digestive tract, because that’s all you’re going to get from this point on!
Naturally the D.E.S. were trekking along the ocean floor towards North Kosea, despite the sign telling them otherwise. There wasn’t much life visible along the route until CrazyTurkey Avian of the genus Meleagris with severe mental deficiencies decided to grab a passing fish. Suddenly, the D.E.S. were surrounded by seahorses holding sticks with sharpened clam shells in their fins. The seahorses said nothing, merely pointed them in the direction they wanted to go. Pounce de Lion tripped and the seahorses nearly ran him through like a damn Mexican piñata condemned game of Southwestern origin, but they soon realized he was just another useless Swede Swede.
It took about 30 minutes for them to reach the city of North Kosea, but they could see it coming miles away. The bioluminescent flora that they used for lights lit up the city like a gas truck that had just hit a preschool during recess. As they got closer they could see the city was built out of a coral reef. There was a large fence made of a chain of electric eels, either to keep other sea creatures out or residents in, mayhaps even both. The gate was guarded by several armed seahorses and several others were pacing the fence with tiger sharks on leashes.
The D.E.S. was led through the gate and brought into the city. They could see the military forces training. A heavyset manatee was teaching the womanatees how to shoot harpoons. Hammerheads Tools used for driving metal fasteners in the cranial portion of the body were beating up a group of Pinheads Metal fasteners in the cranial portion of the body for being the “lesser shark”. A team of Eelectricians were repairing a portion of the fence that had disconnected due to an eel biting off the tail of the other it was latched on to.
WE NOW INTERRUPT YOUR READING EXPERIENCE FOR THIS MOVIE ADVERTISEMENT
From the directors that brought you Nightmare in the Elm Tree and The Exercise of Emily’s Rose comes a new horror…
*Cut-scene to a man screaming as a pickaxe is driven through his eye socket*
…one that will redefine how horror movies are viewed forever…
*A woman wearing a baseball mask stares into a broken mirror*
…before Friday the 13th…
*A couple are having sex in a tent in the woods as a profile of a woman holding a pickaxe can be seen through the tent*
*The figure lifts the pickaxe and tears through the tent as the couple screams*
Thursday the 12th (Rated X)
WE NOW RETURN YOU TO YOUR REGULARLY SCHEDULED STORY ALREADY IN PROGRESS
The D.E.S. were brought into a large hall and before a fatass eel group of compounds creating an increase in body size of the posterior region of the order Anguilliformes with an enormously long tail. The seahorses told the D.E.S. that this was their tyrannical ruler, Limb Long Eel and that they were to say nothing to him or they would be murdered violently have their lives ended in an incredibly harsh fashion. Limb Long Eel told the D.E.S. that they were trespassing in his territory and that this was punishable by death. The seahorses informed Limb Long Eel that CrazyTurkey Avian of the genus Meleagris with severe mental deficiencies had also been caught eating a fish. Limb Long Eel said nothing, but the water around him was vibrating in anger. He dismissed them to the prison cells until they could be executed.
The D.E.S. were thrown into the coral prison for the night. The only food they received was soggy toast with an unspreadable manatee butter spreadable emulsion made from the homogenized secretions of the sea bovine’s mammary glands. They slept that night on a bed of sea urchins which kept moving about the cell and carrying them off. Opisseus bit a chunk out of Bark’s ear when he bumped into him while he was looking for the pisser ceramic bowl used for the disposal of biological waste in the middle of the night.
They were awoken early the next morning by the armed seahorses and told to follow the to the execution grounds. CrazyTurkey Avian of the genus Meleagris with severe mental deficiencies was either very scared or just fucking retarded a being with sub-average cognitive functioning with a derogatory sexual comment because he skeeted ejaculated up a wad of T.B.&J. flagellated one-celled organisms and spreadable emulsion made from the homogenized secretions of the mammary glands of the avian of the genus Meleagris on the ground.
Fuck a gastropod in the ass! I can’t take this shit anymore! I’m not changing the way I talk anymore, and if you’re offended by this kind of fucking damn shit then DON’T FUCKING READ IT! SHIT!
ANYWAY, the D.E.S. were being led to their inevitable doom when Pounce de Lion tripped (big surprise right?). Sadly, he tripped right into an undersea wood chipper and the ensuing spray of Swedish feline chippings flew right into the mouth of a blowfish. Unfortunately he was allergic to land food and his throat swelled three times that day. He was able to survive only because a passing Katanafish saw him and performed successful CPR. The remaining D.E.S. members suddenly became very afraid, all for of course CrazyTurkey who seemed to be completely oblivious to everything that was going on around him.
In the Fortress of the All-Seeing Cyborg Eye… TurboRooster had been observing the exploits of the D.E.S. since their beginning and he could see that the end was near for the turkey that he had spent the last few years trying to kill. There was of course no way he would allow anyone else to take the turkey’s life, so he knew he had to intervene. There was also the matter of the tyrant, Limb Long Eel. TurboRooster had an immediate interest as an assassinator of world leaders, and figured he could kill two kittens with one brick as it were.
The Great Avian War;a Chronicling
Chapter 18, verse 3
The streets were lined with sea creatures awaiting the execution. The D.E.S. were being pelted with sea vegetables from the Holothuroidea class. Bark kept eating the ones that were thrown into his bubble, kind of a last meal. CrazyTurkey grabbed a few that came his way, but rather than eat them he was cramming them up his ass. Opisseus attacked one of the Steer Sharks that threw a sea cucumber at him and ripped out his throat…no one else tossed a vegetable at him after that. Mewis, despite being a vegetarian, had lachanophobia, which is an unnatural fear of vegetables. He had a panic attack and ran off screaming. Sadly, he was picked off by a seahorse sniper with scallop bullets.
The D.E.S., though now whittled down to three members, were brought to the guillotine. An orca with a black mask was holding a giant spatula that was covered in dried blood and looked quite dull. The sea creatures were getting quite rowdy now, screaming and chanting for the “Landies” to die. The Orcacutioner prepared the victims as they awaited the arrival of Limb Long Eel so they could begin.
In Limb Long Eel’s Palace…Limb Long Eel was busy getting ready for the execution the best way he knew how: dress-crossing. Similar to cross-dressing, however the wearer must have at least two items of clothing that go across one another and clash in such an obvious way so as to bring full attention to the chest of the wearer. He was having trouble picking out an outfit, so he took a quick shower to alleviate his mind.
After the shower, he still had not come to a decision as to what to wear, and he had killed the moray that came in to ask him if he were ready to attend the execution. The killing of his messenger gave him the sudden urge to shit, so he took a copy of Fancy Eeliving magazine. He normally used his potty time to get in touch with his feminine side. As he was doing his womanly duty, he heard a bubbling coming from the toilet. He thought it was from the shrimp scampi he had consumed last night, so thought nothing of it.
Suddenly, TurboRooster’s metal arm shot up through the toilet. He reached up into Limb Long Eel’s asshole and grabbed hold of the intestinal lining. He pulled down in a forceful manner, taking along with it all of the gastro-intestinal organs. Limb Long Eel was turned inside-out and dragged through the plumbing. TurboRooster let go after a while, leaving his corpse to rot in the pipes of his toilet.
At the Executioner’s Square…The D.E.S. had been waiting for three hours now. The sea creatures were still awaiting the arrival of their dress-crossing leader. They were starting to get impatient and several of them had been killed trying to rush the D.E.S. Let me tell you this, death by a rusty dull spatula is painful and slow…very slow. CrazyTurkey was the only one unphased by this, as he is a fucking retard.
TurboRooster, watching in the distance after his successful assassination, scanned his environment. He could see the streets littered with sea vegetables from angry seatizens. He opened a panel in his Cyborg arm and pulled out a laser light. He pointed it at the sea cucumbers until they released tubules from their anal cavities. As is common with sea vegetables when they release their anal tubules, they also released a highly toxic chemical called holothurin. Due to the exorbitant amount of the oceanic vegetables, there was a tremendous amount of toxins released at that moment.
The seatizens of North Kosea felt the impact almost immediately. The weaker ones went belly up first. The rest were puzzled as to what was happening, but soon felt the toxins entering their systems. Panic spread and they scattered in all directions. Ironically, the Orcacutioner was one of the first to die, so the D.E.S. took this opportunity to run away. Unfortunately for Bark, who had eaten a large number of sea cucumbers earlier, suddenly felt very sick as the vegetables released their holothurins directly into his digestive tract. He flopped around whilst foaming at the mouth for about 30 seconds before going very still.
TurboRooster watched as the two remaining members of the D.E.S. took off out of the main gate. He slid back into the shadows as his work continued to cause the genocide of an entire undersea country. He was quite pleased with himself, so he decided to let CrazyTurkey off the hook this time…he did not however let Opisseus off the hook, and as the D.E.S. were passing a field where fishing boats had populated, he shot a clam shell at Opisseus. As he fell over, one of the hooks caught onto his upper lip. The hook shot upwards as the fisherman reeled in the now hooked opossum.
Luckily for Opisseus, the fisherman turned out to be a family of wallabies out on a vacation, so they threw him back into the water. A week later the boat was found by the Coast Guard with Opisseus sleeping among several wallaby skeletons. He was tried by the Hamsters (who now controlled Australia) in their marsupial court system. He was put to death a few weeks later by lethal injaculation, which is where a team of highly trained specialists masturbate the criminal to the point of ejaculating and manually force the ejaculate back into the testicles causing a very painful testicular explosion and the victim internally bleeds out.
CrazyTurkey managed to make it back to the whale bone tunnel only by falling into the hole from which he entered the undersea world. He followed the tunnel back and back up to the surface world in the Land of Thuh Chickenz whereupon he collapsed from exhaustion and dehydration. He was found by a group of koalas who had settled on a colony on the coast of the Mypissinnsea River. They nursed him back to health in less than a week.
CrazyTurkey was welcomed by the residents who told them all about their colony, which they called Roamin’Oak Colony for they brought an oak tree with them to escape the tyranny of tree haters. They got along well with CrazyTurkey until he decided to give them a gift of T.B.&J. Koalas are lactose intolerant due to their insanely long digestive tract, and upon seeing this gift fled in fright.
The only trace ever found of the colonists was an etching in the oak tree: ‘Croatan’. It must have been destroyed by termites, for the original message read ‘Croaked Stan!’ Stan was the love interest of one of the female colonists, and croaked meant either that she had died or that she had joined the tribe of native frogs that inhabited the area. No one ever found the colonists so there have been only theories as to their disappearance.
CrazyTurkey was found a few weeks after the colony exploits by a Turkling that was flying in the area. He showed CrazyTurkey the way back to their camp where he was the guest of honor for a celebration of his safe return. He had a huge cake and ice cream, along with an above-ground pool party. Once he saw the water however, he had a war-torn flashback of his excursion in North Kosea and went crazy, releasing the sea cucumbers he had been storing in his anus. Luckily, he ate them before they could release their toxins so no one was hurt. He did however have a horrible case of explosive diarrhea for the next two weeks.
The Great Avian War;a Chronicling
Chapter 19, verse 1
The Beavers were a highly advanced race, quite possibly the most intelligent race in the known (and unknown) universe. They had used their intellect to open one of the 9 dimensions in a small area of the Earth so they would be separated from the evils that some races held dear. The area they had opened the portal to their new home was commonly called ‘The Bermuda Triangle’. The name was changed to ‘The Beavers’ Hole’ when, in 5442, a flock of seagulls managed to navigate through the realm and return to our dimension. They told tales of “giant, bushy talking beavers”.
Our story takes place in the deepest regions of The Beavers’ Hole, where few have managed to cum…er, come, at the home of Muffin Diver. She was a gorgeous beaver with perfect hair and as such was the envy of all the other Beavers. She was a mother of two wonderful daughters, Cli and Toris, who had their mother’s perfect hair genes. She even had a three-story dam, which is quite a rarity even for the strongest Beaver!
Sadly, despite all these great things about her life, she was saddened. It was the 1500-year anniversary of her husband’s disappearance to the outside world and she was suddenly starting to fear that he was never coming back. Unfortunately for her she was right. It was about this time 1500 years ago when her husband went out to New York to “get some New Yawk pussay!” as he so eloquently put it. Much to his chagrin he was picked up by some sick minister who used him in an experiment that turned him into some bloodthirsty Tasmanian Robobeaver. As a result he was killed when a faulty spark plug the minister had given him to spark his rage ignited the gas-powered arm cannon while he was refueling at a Conch gas station.
In spite of her husband’s obvious cheating ways, she still loved him. Even though she had had many beaver suitors come to door in search of her paw in marriage, she declined them all for she knew in her heart that he was still alive somewhere. Obviously her heart was lying to her, for it also neglected to tell her that she had heart disease, which meant of course that her heart was suffering from a permanent flu-like virus with “the sniffles”.
In any event, she was watching her children play Two-Ball in the yard, the game loved by Beavers everywhere in which they try to fit two large, oddly-shapen balls in their mouths and hold them there the longest without popping the juice out of them. Toris apparently had won, for Cli was spitting out her deflated balls and the off-white juices that followed when the phone rang. It was her good friend Pulva Riser, and she had news to tell!
Pulva told her that the Beaver Elders had released information about some kind of cock roaming the Realm of Beavers, offing them without warning. She went on to say that there had been 42 confirmed killings thus far, and that they were getting closer to the nether regions of The Beavers’ Hole where they lived. Remembering her daughters were left outside, she dropped the phone and ran outside. The yard was empty. In fact, every yard on the block was empty. Not a Beaver in eyesight. Inside her house, Pulva was calling her name on the phone. The phone was picked up by a winged hand, which promptly crushed the phone into pieces…
After finishing off Muffin and her children, TurboRooster continued his march on The Beavers’ Hole. Many Beavers tried to fight the cock off that night and even well into the morning, but t'was to no avail. The pen was indeed mightier than the sword that day, for he used naught but a pen to kill every one of those Beavers. His favorite move was to ram it deep into those Beavers again and again until the ink exploded into them with great force and they spasmed until they hit the ground in a combination of exhaustion and loss of a heartbeat.
He saved the Beaver Elders for last. He knew all about their disgusting plan that helped the Nameless with their creations, for he had run into a platypi earlier that day. After he killed the strange creature, he processed the DNA and came to find out that it had Beaver DNA mixed into it. It didn’t take long for him to find their dimension and enter it, and took even less time for him to finish off creatures that had no sense of fighting at all.
The Beaver Elders put up no fight, especially after TurboRooster informed them that he had silenced every last one of their children. They took him into their Inner Chambers and told him everything about their deal with the Nameless. He found out that they agreed to help because they had been sneaking out into the outside world for years and could not allow their Beaver children to find out for fear that their race would blend with the outside world and thus they would be wiped out. In an extreme act of irony, TurboRooster effectively confirmed their fears by murdering them all that day bringing an end to the entire species.
He felt a little better after his genocide, but not completely. Even his recent slaying of an entire undersea country could not put his mind at ease. He had been seeing too much of the presence of these Nameless creatures of late, and he knew now that they were making deliberate steps to enter the war. TurboRooster was unable to find out what exactly they wanted, but he knew it could be no good with creatures like those venomous platypi roaming in his homeland. There was of course no way he would let them get away with it, nevertheless he still felt a chill, as if someone were watching him…
The Great Avian War;a Chronicling
Chapter 19, verse 2
He awoke in a hot sweat. He opened the door of the oven and crawled out. The hen who was preparing his breakfast of Chick-egg omelet and turkey bacon was shocked to see him, especially since she had had the oven on 350° now for almost an hour (for no real reason, as she was only using the top of the stove). He immediately killed her and added buffalo wings to the menu. He was displeased with the results however, for she was a pretty old chicken and had that old people smell taste. In other words, she was pretty much offensive to multiple senses.
He ended up replacing his chef-hen with a group of savage, man-eating potatoes. They were brought about a few years back when an Idahoan potato mill decided it would be a good idea to make a sacrificial, Great Watermelon-worshipping abortion clinic in the basement. Since The Great Watermelon did not approve of fetal sacrifices, as they are not “ripe enough” for his liking, the fetus’ souls were not taken to the other world and were thusly trapped in the mill. Eventually, these fetuses found their way into the spuds and took on life of their own. Fortunately for TurboRooster, the spuds wills were stronger than the fetuses and they thusly became killer potatoes. Oddly enough, they were amazing chefs!
TurboRooster made his way into the control room of his tower, which was where he kept track of all his drones he sent out on reconnaissance. He had sent several hundred out over the last week and had turned up nothing so far. His eyes were scanning the screens of each drone when something caught his attention. It was only there for 1/1,000,000th of a second, but just fast enough for him to see it, then the screen went blank. He checked to see which drone it was: CH104. He had sent out ChickenHead104 to the swamps of Thuh Chickenz homeland and set out for it immediately.
Several hours later, in the Swamps of Thuh Chickenz…TurboRooster had arrived where the drone was last seen. There was a path carved by the laser it had fired, and he could see a chemical trail on the ground where the drone had apparently been dragged off, so he followed it. He had programmed his drones to attack anything that they sensed as a threat, so he was unnerved by the fact that his drone had apparently lost this fight. The lasers fired by his drones could melt fresh volcanic magma, so he wondered how anything could have survived it. The trail ended suddenly when he reached the edge of a small lake.
The water was a murky, dark brown so there was no way he was going to find the drone in here. Even with his night vision turned on in his bionic eye, he couldn’t see through the murk. He scanned the surface of the water to see if he could spot anything that might tell him what had attacked his drone. So far, all he could see were logs floating on the surface and a few reeds sticking out of the water. There seemed to be no trace of life on this lake.
Suddenly, the water exploded in front of him and out popped a large, green monster with a gaping mouth and lots of sharp teeth coming right for him. TurboRooster leapt backwards and shot out a net towards this creature, trapping it and pinning it against the ground. It thrashed about for a few minutes until tiring itself, whereupon it lay there staring at the cock, breathing heavily. TurboRooster walked up to it and observed it with his bionic eye. Apparently it was a creature dubbed “crocodile”, but he had never seen one up close before.
He asked the crocodile if he had attacked his drone. The crocodile stared at him questionably so he described it as a hard, spherical, levitating cock head. The crocodile told him that he had seen such a thing, but it was being carried by a rival of his which he called an “alligator.” TurboRooster scanned his database of known creatures for alligators and looked them up. They were similar looking to crocs, but he could note some obvious differences. He asked the crocodile why he had attacked him and what business he had in his land.
The crocodile introduced himself as John Goattea, a famous gangster who was known for killing his enemies with tea made from the blood of goats. He apologized for attacking TurboRooster as he thought that his enemy, Al Calfbone, had sent the cock to kill him. He further explained that the crocs had long been at war against the alligators ever since they had tried encroaching on the crocs’ territory. The crocs you see were a peaceful, vegetarian gang who got along well with the swamp’s inhabitants. The alligators however were not picky eaters and had been dining on many of the crocs’ friends.
TurboRooster had no interest in getting into another war of course, but he could not let these creatures who had taken out one of HIS drones get away with it. He told John Goattea that he would find these “alli-gangsters” and make them pay. John thanked him and told him that he would assemble his gang to help the cock; a veritable ‘cocks and crocs’, if you will. Though he needed no assistance in the matter, TurboRooster nevertheless accepted and set off with John to find the rest of his gang.
The Great Avian War;a Chronicling
Chapter 19, verse 3
John filled TurboRooster in on Al Calfbone and his gang. Apparently they had come to the swamp a few hundred years back. They had secluded themselves from the other residents but were not overly hostile to anyone. About 140 years ago however, Al Calfbone and a few members of his gang went into St. Daniels Bar (named after St. Jack Daniels, the Patron Saint of Spirits) on St. Daniels day and slaughtered the entire group of unsuspecting inebriates. This was known as the St. Daniels’ Day Massacre, and it was the turning point for Al as he made known that he wanted to claim more than just his territory.
The crocs had fought them ever since, but they were fighting a losing battle. John told him that in addition to losing many of his best men, their territory had receded to near naught of late. He went on to say that the ‘alli-gangsters’ now must nearly number five times that which he himself employed. The crocs lived everyday fearing they would be annihilated in an instant. Luckily they had a lot of help from the other creatures in the swamp and they had helped inform them when the gators were near.
After several hours of searching had turned up nothing as to the whereabouts of their quarry, they began listing lazily around. They realized they had better conserve their strength for the upcoming battle. Fatigue was gripping them in its claws nonetheless and they had given up on singing long ago.
They were passing by what looked to be a log when the attack came. A large alligator with what could have only been the bone of a calf stuck between two of his large teeth exploded out of the water and charged John and the cock on his back. John twisted in time to evade a deadly strike consequently relieving TurboRooster of his perch atop the croc. TurboRooster did manage to grab hold of a branch that was nearby. The water was now churning with a plethora of reptilian combatants seeking to finish their longstanding rivalry.
Though a difficult task, TurboRooster had no problem distinguishing the ‘alli-gangsters’ from his croc comrades. Using his newly-improved Spud Blaster X30 (which can shoot 1500 spuds a minute at over half a ton per square inch) he was able to pick the gators off quite effectively. The weapon used his faithful killer potatoes and spun them so forcefully that their sharp fetal teeth were able to pierce through the skin of the gators. Unfortunately, depending on one’s outlook of said fortune, the spuds were not at all fastidious when it came to who they devoured and many of the crocs fell victim to a horrific and painful spud-related death.
For seven long minutes TurboRooster slew spuds at the reptilian gangs, turning them into what could only resemble Zimbabwan cheese (this dairy delicacy replaced Swiss cheese after it was discovered that Zimbabwe had a native species of bovine which could lactate cheese already full of holes). Utilizing his dangerous contrivance had serious consequences as TurboRooster could soon see for he had erroneously slaughtered the entirety of John’s gang as well. Oddly enough, TurboRooster felt no remorse. Being a professional assassin he was easily able to detach himself from normal values like “loyalty”, “comradery”, or “Chicken Soup for the Soul”.
TurboRooster searched through the bodies in an attempt to locate his missing drone. After searching through all the bodies still intact, he had uncovered no trace of his CH104 drone. Perplexed, he scanned the swamp again. He took note of all bodies and matched them up to the count he took before the fight started. He was slightly miffed to find that he was coming up one body short. It took him just a few minutes, but he finally found out whose body was missing: Al Calfbone.
Angrily, he searched the entire area for any trace of it. The only thing he turned up was a puff of feline hair and a few paw/peg prints in the mud. Unfortunately, the tracks led directly into the murky waters and he could not track them further. Suddenly, he got the feeling that he was being watched and he knew who was to blame for the loss of Al’s corpse. He picked up the puff of hair and returned to his fortress to contemplate his retaliation against the fowl which remained Nameless.
The Great Avian War;a Chronicling
Chapter 20, verse 1
He was the first woodchuck to be arrested for murder since the Geoffrey Baumer case in 3012; a woodchuck who used to chuck his victim’s wood after he killed them. His lawyer attempted to lessen the charges by asking the jury, “how much wood could a woodchuck chuck if a woodchuck could chuck wood?” However, this angered Chuck so much that he flew into a rage and murdered the lawyer right there in front of everyone. Fortunately for Chuck, he was then classified as having severe borderline dementia with homicidal narcissistic rage so he was immediately transferred to the insane asylum to serve his entire prison sentence.
He was placed under the care of Dr. Phillip Macrack at the Militarized Asylum for Insane Murderers (M.A.I.M.). Dr. Macrack immediately set to work performing extensive testing that was both incredibly invasive and unnecessarily expensive over the next three years. He finally diagnosed Chuck as being clinically insane and prescribed him to be placed into solitary confinement as he was a danger to himself and others.
Chuck was shortly after placed in a padded cell 6’x6’x6’ which had a small sink and toilet in the back corner. There was a 30” Flexiglas window which housed a television, for which he could utilize 2 hours daily. There were two doors leading into his enclosure, neither of which could be opened at the same time. The inner door was kept locked until feeding time, when his food was placed inside the outer door and the said door was sealed. He was given logs whenever he needed them so he could keep his daily grooming habits.
Such was his home for the next thirty years. He was allowed 3 hours weekly to speak with a psychiatrist to get his perverse homicidal thoughts in check. He went to religious services every Monday, for he was a follower of Mellok, the Great Watermelon (followers of Mellok worship on the first work day of the week, as Mellok looks favorably upon those who work hard and earn their keep). After he proved he could interact with people without murdering them, he was even given a daily job working at the newspaper section of the asylum. Obviously these people did not understand the concept of “solitary confinement”. Nevertheless, Chuck got along well with his insane asylummates and even made a few close friends.
One of these close friends happened to be Teddy Bungee, a rogue koala who strangled his victims with a bungee cord he had received for his 13th birthday. Together, he and Chuck had begun to make major breakthroughs in their mental health and seemed almost ready to co-exist with the outside world. However, over the last year Teddy had begun a downward spiral commenting on hearing strange voices in his head. One night while huddled in the corner of his room, Teddy told Chuck that sometimes it even felt like someone or something were watching him, especially when he was alone.
On one fine day while Chuck was working at his computer typing up his next article, “Pantyhose: The Silent Killer”, he was suddenly interrupted by a piercing screech and a loud kerFWOMP! He leapt out of his chair and ran into the hallway from whence the noise had originated. There, lying on the ground in a puddle of what appeared to be blood, semen, and oatmeal was the dietician Ms. Illaneous. Standing above her holding a large pair of sheep shears which were doused in blood was Teddy.
Chuck ran over and knelt next to Ms. Illaneous, where he checked her for a pulse. She was dead. He looked up at Teddy in an expression that asked, “why?” Teddy stared back at him and responded, “The Nameless made me do it…” A security guard ran up at that instant to see what had caused the scream. He saw Teddy and Chuck by the corpse of the dietician, both of them covered in blood and oatmeal. He radioed for backup and advanced towards his quarry.
Chuck, realizing that he was now an accomplice to the murder, grabbed Teddy’s paw and ran away. They made it to the stairwell before the guard caught up to them. The guard grabbed Teddy and attempted to taser him to the ground. Chuck grabbed his wrist and wrenched him around, twisting him into the stairwell. The guard ran into the railing and lost his balance, falling over the edge of the handrail and down 4 stories to his death. Chuck’s heart practically stopped and this time it was Teddy who had to arouse him to get moving.
Together they managed to escape by utilizing the sewage system which ran under the kitchen. They travelled for hours in the drains and pipes underground before rejoining the surface world. They finally found a badgerhole, moved the cover aside and pulled themselves onto the street. They looked around to orient themselves and found that they were right beside the chainlink fence that bordered the M.A.I.M. Cursing themselves, they plopped back down into the sewers and ran as far away as possible.
When finally they surfaced again, they were nowhere near civilization. Trees surrounded them in almost every direction, save the one-way road from which they had surfaced. As luck would have it, a car was heading their direction that very instant. Teddy showed some leg and the driver pulled over without hesitation. They quickly dispatched the driver by asking him, “what’s the square root of 472,392,867?” After his head exploded all over the car, they pulled his body out and commandeered the vehicle.
Realizing they were likely wanted fugitives by now, Chuck knew they had to get out of this place and find a new home. He asked Teddy where he thought they should go. Teddy replied that the voices in his head were telling him to “chicken hunting” and that he felt an inexplicable urge to go west. Chuck asked him about the voices, but all he got in response was, “they demand to remain nameless.” So it was, the two murderers began their journey westward, unknowingly towards the territory of TurboRooster, the ultimate quarry of the Nameless…
The Great Avian War;a Chronicling
Chapter 20, verse 2
His name was Sven-Gorin’ Erik’s Son, a Swedish brown bear named because he mauled the living shit out of his twin brother while still in the womb. The Swedes believe this act of pre-natal devouring gives the surviving sibling, upon reaching adulthood, the strength of both a grown-up and a fetus. His father, Erik, gave him his name and was immediately vaporized by spontaneous combustion. Apparently, a butterfly had flapped its wings some 2 miles away, and as the old saying goes, “If you see a butterfly flapping its wings, you get the hell outta there!”
He lived with his birth mother until he was old enough to go to a boarding school, which in bear years turned out to be 6 months old. He spent the rest of his youth growing up in the school, learning the fine arts of being a civilized gentleman. Unfortunately, due mostly to the fact that he was picked on constantly by the other children and called names like “Dingleberry” (“dingle” as he was born in a secluded valley and “berry” as his testicles resembled small, pulpy fruits), he developed homicidal tendencies and became quite insane. He did however manage to hold inconceivable scores in his science classes and was later discovered to have an I.Q. of 63, a new record for Sweden!
The only thing he found that he loved more than science was soccer. He loved this sport with a passion, and played it daily. When he was 18, he left for college and a year later was playing professionally. Sadly, he was an unremarkable player and he was benched for many games. He soon found out he was a much better manager than player, mostly due to the fact that Swedes have issues with balance thus making the playing of the sport near impossible.
After leaving Sweden in search of a team that could actually play, he went on to coach New-New England (formed after King “Formerly Known As Prince” Charles MXVIII was assassinated by Tom Brady XXXIII, New-New England’s patriot leader). He won many titles with his new team, and visited many countries to include Japan, where he fell in love with the anime there. He finally retired in shame when his team lost the World Title to Sweden by the score of 30-1. He was angered by the embarrassing loss to his old country and devoted his life to take his revenge upon them.
This didn’t last long however, as Swedes do not have a great memory and he soon forgot all about his loss when he went out to a restaurant one night and ordered the turkey sandwich. It was suggested by his waiter, a sickly-looking feline that had a rotten peg-leg and missing fur. He had never tasted this fowl before, and it was the most heavenly thing he had ever tasted. He developed a craving for the bird, and his search for turkeys soon led him to The Land of Thuh Chickenz. He wanted to find a way to harvest the birds quickly so he obtained his H.B.D. (Hungry Bear Doctorate) in Microbiology.
He created his lab soon after to perform experiments and create the perfect vessels to harvest his turkey prey. He had hundreds of failed experiments and had almost given up hope. His hopes were raised one day as he was watching one of his favorite anime shows, Goodbye Pussy (an unpopular, lesser known spin-off of the Hello Kitty show, these creatures were a retarded-looking knockoff creature with a ripped bow and a bite out of their right ear). He formulated a plan, surprisingly without mammary lactate, to create his own Goodbye Pussy warriors. He set to work immediately to create his warriors, as his craving was beginning to become troublesome…
In an unnamed facility… Sedentary lifestyle be damned, the sponge could no longer take the pressures of this horrible existence. Sadly there was nothing he could do, as he could no more move of his own free will than a spinal bifida patient could perform a half-full backslap with a metropolitan scoop of injectable Lidocaine. So he sat and waited for his savior to come. It had been several months since the last visit, and he had dried up so much that he felt like he would crumble with the slightest touch. Unfortunately for him, there was no such luck and he was forced to survive longer.
He lay there alone for what seemed like an eternity. Finally, something changed. There was suddenly a blinding light! Something large and dark engulfed him, carrying him off into the light. Maybe this was the sweet relief he had been waiting for! After a few seconds he felt something he had not felt in so long that he couldn’t quite place it. Then it dawned on him: water! Refreshing water was cascading over his body, pouring into and through his absorbent holes.
Not long after he felt a cool, sticky substance on top of his body. He couldn’t understand this new development at all. The thing that had him trapped began massaging and squeezing him, rubbing the strange gooey substance over him and transforming it into a weird, soap-like foam. He was whisked away from the water source and dropped onto a smooth, colorless object. The dark thing returned and began to briskly rub him against the surface of this strange object. He had no nose, but he could somehow sense that it smelled like stale entrails and ammonia. His senses overwhelmed by this strong feeling, he began to slip slowly into a dark abyss. He could faintly feel something tearing him apart, but he was numb from the stench that he could not smell…
In the silo laboratory of Mt. Cockblock... Sven was working diligently, mixing chemicals and splicing jeans. It only took him three hours, but he finally obtained the pants that he required. He was ecstatic until he remembered that he should really be working on his turkey-capturing slave children. He had also received a letter in the mail from a business associate which he had angrily thrown outside. Angry with himself and at the world in general, he forced himself to eat blue cheese out of a rotten shoe for the remainder of the week…he was admitted into the hospital for 3 months afterward for cholecystitis.
The Great Avian War;a Chronicling
Chapter 20, verse 3
A few days after his amazing recovery, CrazyTurkey was galumphing through the woods around the camp when he stumbled across a tattered note that had appeared to have blown in from the north. It read:
Dear Dr. Sven-Gorin’ Erik’s Son,
We are appreciative of your interest in our organization, however we regret to inform you that we cannot supply your laboratory with our freshly-ground infant souls to assist with your insane research of “turkey-fetching slave children with the intelligence of a Swedish trombone player”. We understand your lust for turkey flesh as we find this fowl quite succulent as well, however we find it horribly offensive you insinuate that our souls, which we gather with tender-loving care, would be used as slave labor. We again thank you for your interest, and politely ask that you go fuck yourself! (Because chicken fucking tastes better!)
Dr. Jonathan John Johnson, M.D.
Founder, Pooling of Extra-Natal and Infantile Souls (P.E.N.I.S.)
CrazyTurkey of course couldn’t read worth a fuck, so this note was meaningless to him. If he had the intellect to bring it to the turkey elders they might have caught wind of what was to come their way and thus have had plenty of time to prepare and possibly prevent the ensuing onslaught. But come on, this is CrazyTurkey we’re talking about here. You know what he did with that damn note? That’s right, shoved it up his ass. Right up in his ass. Fuck…what a dipshit.
Several weeks later, CrazyTurkey was following Turkling Trail (a trail that led from the turkey camp to the water source about 3 miles away) in an attempt to get some much needed fluid replenishment since he was severely dehydrated from all the explosive diarrhea he had gotten, no doubt contracting giardia from shoving random paper up his ass. About halfway down the trail he heard a loud noise coming from somewhere in the woods off to the left. It was a sharp CRACK! which echoed for a few seconds. Perplexed, he stepped off the trail to find the source of the sound.
Several hundred yards in he plopped out into a small meadow. There stood two strange beings. One was a young boy about 12 years old and the other was a strange hooved creature with large antlers that branched off its head. The boy had his pants pulled down to his ankles and was staring at this hooved beast. Apparently he had just given this creature a facial of shit, for the creature was standing completely still, possibly in shock from what had just transpired, with liquid feces dripping from its face.
The beast managed to snap out of its trance just long enough to turn and bolt. It took about three bounding steps and then fell over dead. The boy leapt up and down screaming, “Yeah! Dadday! I just shit me a deer!” He pulled up his pants (without wiping man! Damnit!) and ran over to claim his trophy. He was breathing heavily, as if it was a strain for him to merely stay on his feet.
A few seconds later a large man in camouflage overalls came out of the brush and walked over to the boy. He was eating a sandwich that was dripping with this thick white paste every time he bit into it. He bent over to look at the deer and, after confirming it was dead, congratulated the boy with a hug. The boy asked him why he was eating his special sauce to which the man replied, “it weren’t no special sauce dipshit, it be the mayonnaise from the back o’ the fridge!” The boy responded by saying, “you mean the jar of my semen I keep for bait?”
The man had a shocked look on his face and immediately spit out the piece he had been chewing on. He cursed at the child and struck him quite hard in the face. The kid’s head must have weighed as much as 200 tractor trailers, for the man’s hand disintegrated upon contact. He fell to the ground screaming like a little bitch. His screams were silenced when the boy, possibly from the force of which he had been struck, lost his balance and fell with his head directly on the man’s crotch. The man turned bright red for a few seconds but could no longer emit any sound, and finally fell unconscious after 30 seconds of not breathing. CrazyTurkey skull-fucked them both and returned to his trip to the water source.
While in the hospital, Sven spent most of his time dosed on enough NSAIDs to kill Mikhail Jacksoff (a Russian Olympian who became the world’s most famous pop-rocks star when he shattered every previous world record during the pop-rocks event in the 4782 Winter Olympics but was tragically struck down when his doctor overdosed him on sleeping pillows). During one of these trippy episodes of euphoria, Sven dreamt he was sitting at a large table while several hundred Goodbye Pussy cyborg slaves gathered turkey flesh and prepared him many dishes. He had turkey stew, turkey kebabs, turkey chops, turkey wings, breasts and thighs, turkey soup with side of roast turkey, and more! All the while, his robotic minions continued to bring more and more turkeys before him, never resting, never tiring.
When he awoke from this dream he could still taste the turkey flesh for a few minutes. He sat up in his bed and attempted to orient his mind. He focused long enough to write one word on a piece of paper which he stuck in his bedside book Turkey Soup for the Soul before he slipped back into unconsciousness. That one word he managed to write would be the start of his greatest creation and the greatest threat to all creatures in The Land of Thuh Chickens. The word: cyborgs.
The Great Avian War;a Chronicling
Chapter 21, verse 1
Along the way they passed by a geriatric female raccoon who had just escaped from her color-blind pimp by distracting him with colorful condoms and telling him to “put the magenta one on”. As he was trying to figure out what a “condom” was, let alone the color of it, she eviscerated him with a can opener. She called herself “Hurricane” Katrina (named for her days working the streets of Old Orleans, and the fact she could give just a terrific b.j.). She told them she would give them freebies if they took her with them. Chuck agreed as Teddy was in one of his trances.
That same day Teddy got into an accident with another motorist. Chuck tried to awaken Teddy from his comatose state, so Katrina had to step out and assess the other driver. The other “car” actually turned out to be nothing more than a box tortoise that had flipped onto his back from the impact. Katrina noticed something out of the corner of her eye and she diverted her gaze towards it. It turned out to be nothing more than the turtle leaking a steady stream of piss. She alerted Chuck that he seemed to have a gas leak.
Chuck looked up and saw the pool of urine already surrounding the hooker who was now trying to size up the other driver’s genetalia. His eyes listed to the left where he could see an 18-wheeler being driven by an overweight, redneck armadillo smoking what could only be a butt by now. Chuck sensed what was about to happen and shook Teddy harder, screaming at him to snap out of it. The trucker seemed not to notice them as he was masturbating to a PlayPen magazine and eating a burrito. Unsure of which hand he used to this day, Chuck watched as he picked the empty cigarette out of his mouth and tossed it out the window.
Everything happened in slow motion for Chuck. His eyes watched the cigarette fall end over end towards the over-turned turtle. He found he couldn’t make a move and began to feel a sinking feeling in his chest as his testicles rescended. It was then that Teddy snapped back into his hunt mode and he slammed the car into reverse right as the cigarette hit the urine stream. Both the hooker and the tortoise ignited and caused a giant explosion, killing both of them slowly by agonizingly raping their insides with smoke and sodomizing their outsides with fire.
Chuck caught his breath after what seemed like an eternity. When he finally realized where he was and that he was still alive he slumped into his seat with exhaustion. He unclenched his fists and allowed the blood flow to return to his hands. He glanced over at Teddy who appeared unfazed by the events that had transpired. After a while he passed out from the stress and didn’t wake up for the rest of the day.
In a dark corner of Hell…Snuggle was standing on a balcony of his Underworld castle. He was watching as his recently deployed Turducken army terrorized the denizens of Hell. He had set them loose among the lost souls of the Underworld in order to see if the months of training he had given them would be enough. He smiled.
In the Fortress of the All-Seeing Cyborg Eye…TurboRooster couldn’t see Snuggle since the demon was not in his land, but he knew he was up to something. He noticed that the bear had been going back and forth to this other dimension for weeks now and his stays were getting longer each time. TurboRooster had not seen him return for nearly 4 days now, and that could only mean that he was planning something big.
TurboRooster called for his Elite Chicken Assassination Squad. His team of 50 hand-picked cocks assembled before him in a military-style formation awaiting instructions. First formed after TurboRooster came into power, they had never been completely assembled in the same room since that first day to prevent losing his entire team to diseases or, ironically, assassination. TurboRooster stared at them all as he paced back and forth across the room. He updated them on what had been going on for the past few months for their enemies and to expect them to make their move anytime now. After placing them all on high alert, he dispersed them to separate parts of his land to prepare his troops for what could be the largest battle of the war so far.
In the turkey encampment…The turkeys were all on high alert. Turklings were running around crazily, being chased by females who were all trying to round them up and get them back inside. Male turkeys were gobbling angrily in a large group in the center of the camp. CrazyTurkey awoke when a Turkling stepped on his neck-sac. He was drawn immediately to the group of turkeys who all stopped when they saw him coming. An elder turkey by the name of Maturkda stepped out of the middle of the group and stood before CrazyTurkey.
You see, in the center of the turkey encampment was a mulberry bush. This mulberry bush had existed since the first turkeys settled the camp, and it returned every year after the first spring rainfall. They believed this bush to be a holy object and learned that the fruit it bore held great healing powers. This particular year it had been especially fruitful and quite beneficial to the survival of the Turklings who fell ill to the avian flu strain that had been plaguing the camp.
Maturkda began by explaining the situation to CrazyTurkey. About an hour ago, a couple of Turklings were out playing in the front of her nesting hut when they stumbled across something horrifying in the middle of the camp. They gobbled quite loudly which caused her to stumble out of her hut. What she witnessed stopped her in her tracks immediately.
What they were forced to watch was indeed blasphemous. There, circling around the turkey’s sacred bush, was a weasel. This particular weasel was being pursued by a rather angry looking monkey wearing a bullet-proof vest and ankle bracelets. For about thirty seconds, this monkey chased that damn weasel until suddenly and unexpectedly, POP! went that weasel. Of course what they had really just witnessed was an act of terrorism.
It was an incredibly well unknown fact that the suicide bombing weasels of the El Camino terrorist network were in a never-ending conflict against the liberal monkeys for control of the Sedan Riverfront (a riverbed in the North-Middle East lined from bank-to-bank with old rusty sedans of the early 3000’s). There is no known reason for the two combatants being in the middle of that turkey camp that night, but unfortunately for the turkeys that act of terrorism cost them as well. That POP! in reality was more of a quiet BOOM! as the C4 that had been strapped to the inside of the weasel terrorist’s thighs detonated and destroyed both fighters at once…taking the mulberry bush along with it. Maturkda attempted to put the fire out while the Turkling children went for help, but the fire that had engulfed the bush was far too strong and it took less than three minutes for the bush to be reduced to naught but ashes.
CrazyTurkey tilted his head at the turkey elders. They admitted to the dumbass that they viewed the loss of their sacred bush as an omen of something terrible headed their way. They talked about how things up in the Tower had been quite a bit busier lately, and yet they had they had seen neither claw nor feather of TurboRooster in months. In addition, things had been quiet from their demon nemesis Snuggle. There had also been whisperings of something else in the Land of Thuh Chickenz that was even darker than these two beings combined and that it, or possibly even they, had assisted both Snuggle and TurboRooster on several occasions.
CrazyTurkey gobbled questioningly and had a strange look on his face. The turkey elders looked at each other as if to say, “great, our savior is a fuckass”. CrazyTurkey suddenly, though by now quite expectedly, gave out a huge KWAAAAAAAAAH! and erupted from his hind end, sending liquid feces all over the site where the sacred bush had been. The turkey elders were irate at this blatant act of blasphemy. That is until Maturkda pulled the note that had come out of CrazyTurkey’s ass off her face and fainted from the smell. The turkey elders picked up the note and read it and found their beliefs of danger to be true. After consulting amongst themselves for a few moments, the turkey elders called for a meeting for all turkeykind to prepare for the dangers ahead.
In an unnamed hospital…Sven awoke suddenly. He had been awakened by a presence in his room. His eyes scanned the whole room from the shelter of his bed, but he could see no one else in his 3-man hospital room. The bed to his left was empty as it had been since he had first been admitted. The bed to his right however had the curtain drawn completely around it. He got the sickeningly creepy feeling like something was watching him from just beyond that curtain.
He got out of bed as quietly as he could, careful to bring the I.V. line that was pumping a continued rate infusion of partially sterile fluids with 20 mEq KCl into his penial vein with him. He shuffled over to the curtain and grabbed hold of it. Something brushed against the bedsheets on the other side. He swallowed hard and willed himself to tear the curtain aside.
There, lying on the bed, was a large round lump poking up from the bed from under the sheets. Sven could not see any movement coming from it however, and after his heart started beating again, he grabbed hold of the sheets and pulled them down. He frowned. He was staring at some strange metal robot in the shape of a giant chicken head that appeared to have been shut down some time ago. On the side closest to him he could make out an etching in the side: CH104. He could feel the eyes of something unseen upon him yet again.
The Great Avian War;a Chronicling
Chapter 21, verse 2
The reason his livestock had everyone’s interest was quite simple: all his cows had golden teats which produced a bitter sweet chocolate milk straight from the udders! Everyone was baffled as to why these cows could lactate chocolate milk, and many suspected they had been blessed by Mellok himself. Farmer Jones used the publicity to turn his farm into a tourist attraction. He was able to amass quite a small fortune with his “Choco-vines” as they were being called by news reporters.
Now Farmer Jones had been dealing with some problems of late however. Several hooligans had been sneaking onto his property in the dead of night and vandalizing his property. These hooligans were of course refining the recently rejuvenated art of cow-tipping. Yes, they would sneak over the fence and walk up to an unsuspecting cow. Then they would both get on one side of the cow and proceed to wake it up by tossing it a small amount of change and yelling things like, “Here’s 25¢ cow, get a real job!” He knew there were always two of them because they left two sets of footprints in the mud around his fence where they entered the pasture.
This wasn’t originally an issue, and Farmer Jones just laughed it off the first few months. His mood changed however, when he found out that several of his prize cows had saved up enough change to buy bus tickets to the milk-rich country of North California (the country separated into two in the year 6590 when the Wrong brothers drove their hydrogen-powered subterranean drill through the Sans Adrenal Fault line and caused a massive earthquake. They told everyone that they wanted to “fly beneath the Earth!”). Not only was he losing his greatest attraction, but he loved suckling the milk straight from the teats of his cows at breakfast!
He decided he was going to stay awake tonight and try to catch those damn kids in action himself. He had his trusty sawed-off Gotshun™ to properly dispatch any would-be trespassers. There were a row of bushes that lined the majority of the fence that bordered his cow pasture, and he decided to hide out inside them. He picked out a place along the road where he could see most of the area on both sides. After everything looked like it was perfect, he nodded and set off for the day’s work.
Later that day, about 3 miles away…Separated at birth, a brother and sister were meeting for the first time in their lives. Barry the bobcat was born exactly 20 minutes before his sister Kari, and he was carried off by a hawk before they could meet. The hawk felt remorse for this act however, and raised the kitten herself. After Barry proved that it was physically impossible for him to fly though, she kicked him outta the nest…literally…and told him to “Cluck off!”
Barry and Kari met each other a few minutes ago as they were walking across the concrete river. At first they were cautious of each other, but then Kari noticed the scars along Barry’s back where the talons of the hawk had pierced him and she struck up conversation with him. After he told her his story, she knew this was her long lost brother. They stood in the middle of the concrete river for hours and conversed about their histories and experiences. Kari invited Barry over to dinner that night and he agreed. They both smiled at each other and leaned in to nuzzle each other. As they connected with each other, the tires of a car connected with both of them simultaneously.
Chuck snapped out of his daze as he felt the car bounce. He figured that Teddy had just ran over another creature. Looking in the rearview mirror proved him right of course, as the mutilated carcasses of two strange cats could be seen quickly receding. He sighed and made another two tic marks on his notepad. That brought the total animals murdered on this trip to 387. It still didn’t even come close to equaling the number of humans mowed down on the Hundred Mile Stretch of the human reserve in Raw-Chester Old York they passed through several weeks ago.
He set the notepad down and glanced over at Teddy. It was obvious that he was still in a trance. His eyes were starting to droop however, so Chuck guessed that they would be stopping for a rest soon. He looked outside beyond the trees and saw the sun was falling behind them. This was about the time when Teddy took his break. Ahead of them, in the distance but getting larger, was a farm.
Farmer Jones had just put the tractor in the barn and closed the door when his ears pricked up. He could hear the motor of an automobile running. From the sound of it, it was a couple of miles away. The sun was just about over the horizon now. He frowned. There was no way this could be the same kids as before…could it? He ran inside to grab his Gotshun.
Teddy turned down the dirt road that led towards the barn. They were about halfway between the road and the farm when Teddy braked suddenly. His eyes were wide open and he was sniffing frantically. Chuck was a little scared when Teddy told him something bad was coming. They both exited the vehicle quickly. Chuck dove into the bushes that lined the pasture while Teddy vanished into the cornfield on the opposite side.
The vehicle was still running when Farmer Jones reached it. He approached it rather nonchalantly. What did he have to fear after all? The only thing these kids ever did was throw money at his livestock, it’s not like they ever hurt any of them. So they never showed up this early before. It was a weekend after all, mayhaps they started drinking early.
He looked around in the vehicle interior for any signs that these were the kids he was expecting; alcohol bottles, spare change in the cup-holder, used condoms. Unfortunately he was turning up none of the aforementioned. All he could find was some empty candy bar wrappers and a short piece of bungee cord laying in the backseat. The car had an unpleasant smell about it, almost like a mussel had been raped by a sea anemone and couldn’t live with the pain anymore so it committed suicide by blowing its brains out.
He backed out of the car and looked around at the ground. He could see a set of footprints leading from the passenger’s side into the pasture. He went over to the driver’s side though and was surprised to see the footprints leading instead into his cornfield. He began to feel a sense of unease. None of this felt anything like it did before. In addition, he felt like he was being watched by something, and he could practically taste the hunger of an unseen predator as it stalked him from the shadows of the cornfield.
Knowing now that this was not the group of kids he was looking for, he began to make his way back to the safety of the farmhouse. He was careful not to break out into a run for showing fear would surely provoke whatever was hiding in the quickly darkening field. He kept hearing what sounded like footsteps and something brushing against the cornstalks, but he couldn’t be sure as the sound of his heartbeat was deafening in his own ears. He fired a couple of shots into the corn, but nothing screamed or ran, so he kept going.
Finally managing to reach the edge of the cornfield, he continued towards the house, edging backwards in order to keep whatever was out there from sneaking up on him. He was about 20 paces from the cornfield when he tripped on a rock that was jutting up from the roadway. He fell backwards and the Gotshun flew out of his hands, rattling off to his side well out of reach. Right as his body hit the ground, Teddy exploded out of the cornfield and headed straight for him.
Chuck had watched as the strangely dressed badger checked their car inside and out. He held his breath when he saw the weapon he was holding, and didn’t let it out until the farmer started walking away. He noticed the scent of fear on the badger, but it paled in comparison to the murderous scent Teddy was given off. He decided to just wait in the bushes until Teddy came back for him, provided of course that he didn’t decide to take out the badger. Chuck sighed. He knew already what Teddy would do.
Chuck started making his way towards the farm, careful to stay in the safety of the bushes. It was getting much darker now, so he was sure he would remain unseen even if he moved the bushes a little. He still didn’t trust the shadows enough to venture beyond the bushes just yet though. That weapon the farmer was holding looked like it could do some damage.
He paused for a few seconds when he heard the badger fire a couple of shots. It sounded quite loud, and he realized that he was only a few feet away from the badger now. Apparently he too realized Teddy was in the cornfield, for he had just fired a few shots into it. Chuck didn’t hear anything from Teddy though, so he knew he was still alright. The farmer had stopped to listen for the same sounds, so Chuck remained still so as not to alert him to his own presence.
Chuck started moving again only after the badger began walking again. He noticed the farmer continue to look out into the cornfield, gripping his weapon tightly enough to bring it up the instant he was alerted to danger. Eventually, the farmer reached the edge of the cornfield and he began walking backwards towards the house. Still, Teddy had made no attempt to attack. Chuck was beginning to think mayhaps he had overestimated his partner’s bloodlust and considered going back to the car.
No sooner had he thought that when the farmer tripped and fell backwards, losing his weapon. It was then that he saw movement out of the corner of his eye. Teddy had erupted out of the shadows of the cornfield and raced across the ground towards the farmer. The farmer noticed this as well, for he let out a sissy scream and tried to get to his weapon.
Chuck leapt out of the bushes and ran towards the farmer as well, yelling and waving his stubby arms like a retard. The farmer averted his gaze away from Teddy just long enough for the psychotic koala to get to the weapon first. He aimed the weapon at the head of the badger who immediately raised his hands in submission. The farmer began to cry like a pussy, letting loose his bladder and bowels simultaneously.
Chuck reached them both in time to hear Teddy grimace in disgust. The smell was indeed nauseating. Chuck almost tossed up the Snaggers bar he had eaten an hour ago. The smell was so bad in fact, that the farmer’s nose began bleeding. It quickly spread from his nose to his ears, eyes, and probably rectum and urethra as well. It went from a leaky faucet into a full-blown waterfall in about 0.98 seconds. The farmer lost enough blood in about 13 seconds to cause him to lose consciousness. By the time Chuck was able to check and see if he was still alive, his heart had stopped beating.
Teddy had a much calmer demeanor about him now, and he and Chuck both picked up the farmer and carried his body towards the well that was on the outer edge of the pasture. They dropped both his body and the Gotshun into it, then returned to their car and drove off. Teddy was wired from the action, so Chuck figured it would be several hours before he stopped to sleep. About 5 miles down the road, they saw a sign that read: Exit 69 Mt. Cockblock Underpass – 12 miles.
The authorities found Farmer Jones’ body a week later in the well, but that wasn’t all. As they pulled up his body they noticed a greenish liquid in the bucket surrounding him. Further research and testing showed them that his farm had once been a chemical plant and the entire area that he had been using as his cow pasture was once a landfill for illegally buried toxic waste. After extensive testing, they realized that his cows had not been lactating chocolate milk as previously thought, but were instead internally hemorrhaging slowly and the blood, when mixed with milk, gave it a chocolaty appearance.
The autopsy performed determined that Farmer Jones actually had cancer from drinking so much of the untreated milk and that he had been slowly hemorrhaging as well, it just finally caused him to bleed out of every one of his orifices at once when he was frightened. Unfortunately, whoever had dumped his body had left the gate of the cow pasture open, for when the authorities showed up to the scene, not one cow was left. It is still uncertain to this day what happened to them as no one has seen either hide or hoof of them since.
The Great Avian War;a Chronicling
Chapter 22, verse 1
In any event, he arrived in front of his silo laboratory about an hour before midnight. He told the cab driver he would return with the money to pay his fare, and instead went inside and set loose his herd of rabid moose. As the cab driver watched the red-eyed slobbering quadrupeds race towards him, he couldn’t help but think that they looked familiar. It wasn’t until they smashed through the windshield, dragged him out onto the ground and began mauling him with their herbivorous teeth that he remembered he had sold these exact moose to SwedishMD_30 on wiBay four months ago. He whipped out his portable electronic device and sent a text message to his brother that read, “OMG! im being mauld bymoose!!1!” He was already dead by the time he received the message from his brother that said, “tht sux bro can i have ur stereo lol?”
Sven watched from a monitor as the moose sauntered off, full from their meal. He made a mental note to retrieve them later. Unfortunately he was merely a Swede, and could not hope to remember much of anything unless he wrote it down on paper. Don’t get me wrong, he may have held the highest I.Q. of any Swede before him, but one can’t expect him to be perfect. Sure enough, as soon as he set his attention onto the CH104 drone he forgot all about those damn moose. Fucking hopeless dickshit.
He tinkered around with the CH104 drone well into the wee hours of the morning, trying to understand both it and its creator. He had of course heard about TurboRooster and his tyrant ways, and had observed several of his creations off in the distance, but to actually have his paws on one? He was ecstatic! He eventually realized that he would be unable to reactivate the drone himself. He had hoped to reprogram the drone to follow him so he could use it against the tyrant fowl.
Disappointed with this knowledge, he slammed his fist on the table next to him. His paw landed on his copy of Turkey Soup for the Soul which he had been reading at the hospital. A piece of paper was sticking out from between the pages. He frowned and pulled the paper out. One word was written on that paper: cyborgs. His memory came flooding out of him not unlike a female in heat who had been using a cork to keep the flow inside her finally removing it. He remembered all about his plan to create cyborg Goodbye Pussy warriors to capture the turkeys. He began to wonder if maybe the drone could instead be utilized to help him with this instead.
He set the drone up in his workshop and began to disassemble it. He was amazed with what he discovered. The entire design of these drones was flawless. The metal exterior combined with the slick surface and the fact that the entire outer wall was rounded off made it almost impenetrable to any attack other than a direct hit. The weapons system was comprised of two high-intensity lasers which fired out of the “eyes” of the chicken head-shaped drones, and a flamethrower which shot out of the beak. These robots were apparently able to fly using an advanced hovercraft machine located on the bottom of these machines, directly underneath the outer shell. This appeared to allow them the ability to fly while at the same time protect them from getting shot down.
Sven had to sit down for a moment. His head was spinning from all this information. He wrote down his thoughts lest he forget them later. He knew this drone would help in his quest for turkey flesh. He couldn’t wait to begin work on his cyborgs. He felt as though he was missing something though. He had searched through nearly the entire robot now, but he felt a tugging at his spleen that he knew, absolutely knew, that there was some important piece he was forgetting. He couldn’t quite put his penis on it, for that was in his pants and would require too much effort to produce, but the feeling was there nonetheless.
His attention was drawn when he noticed something sparkling from inside the robot’s inner workings. Sven leaned over to see what it was. He plucked the quarter-sized item from its casing and stared at it. It read: Buffalo Chips Inc. It was the robot’s computer chip! He knew this was it; the final piece. He ran to the phone to place an order.
In the realm of the Nameless…The Medium stood before the Nine as they discussed the developments of the past few months. They were pleased with the way things had been going so far. Everything was more or less rolling in their favor. TurboRooster assassinating the undersea tyrant Limb Long Eel had established the foundation for them to set up an underwater base. They had sent the Medium to enlist the services of a particularly vicious gang of barracuda who swore allegiance to the Nameless in exchange for riches. In only a few months time they had already created an entire civilization of various undersea hoodlums capable of rivaling almost any who may oppose them.
In addition, the Nameless were interested in the developments of the Realm of the Beavers. They had anticipated TurboRooster’s actions well in advance and had set up everything which led to him discovering their hideout, from sending the platypi to his Fortress to opening a small hole between dimensions to allow him passage to the Realm of the Beavers. The Nameless had no more use for the Beavers after they helped them create their platypi and set all this in motion to ensure their extinction.
The introduction of the Swedish mad scientist Sven had been adding some more fun for Them. For one thing, his unparalleled lust for turkey flesh along with his one-sided mentality was a perfect combination to help with their destruction of CrazyTurkey and the turkey tribe. They knew his presence would no doubt lure both TurboRooster and Snuggle into the mix as well, and they had taken steps to prepare Sven for their intervention as well. They had even been playing mind games with a mental inmate for over a year now, bending him to Their will and biding Their time until They could find a use for him. They had only recently been filling his head with images of TurboRooster and sent him out as a trump card to ensure TurboRooster’s downfall.
One of the more difficult challenges would be Snuggle. They had aided him in a way as well by giving him the feathers to ensure his Turducken army, but Their ultimate goal was to have him eliminated too. Given his demonic powers he would be a little harder, but They had a trump card: Ex-.50-caliber. The very sword in Snuggle’s possession had the ability to bring down the demon bear. The Nameless had long ago taken steps to ensure the sword made its way into Snuggle’s paws, now they just had to find someone else who could use it against the bear. They instructed the Medium that They had discovered a being who may fit that exact description and that They would be sending the Medium to find and “convince” that being to do Their bidding.
Their final obstacle would of course be Their great rivals, the Penguins. The Penguins were the only creatures in existence who the Nameless could not keep tabs on, and as such They suspected that the Penguins were fully aware of Their recent activities. They weren’t worried about it though, things had been going too well for Them. They adjourned the meeting and dismissed the Medium to go perform his tasks.
The Medium sauntered off as quickly as his peg leg could carry him. He shut the door behind him and made sure no one was looking. Satisfied, he pulled something out of a loose tuft of fur along his thigh. He opened it up and glanced at it quickly, then folded it up and placed it back where he had previously kept it. He had an extra mission to do; he just had to make sure he made it look like an accident, as there were always eyes on him whenever he left Their domain. He set out.
The Great Avian War;a Chronicling
Chapter 22, verse 2
Sven began meandering his way back to his lab. He figured he could at least get started on the bodies of his cyborg army now. His attention was captured however when he passed by his silo entrance door and heard a faint knocking sound. He frowned. Could it possibly be his package already? Being a damn Swede, he was too stupid to realize it was much too early for that and he frantically pulled open the door expecting his Buffalo Chips. What he saw standing before him made him freeze in his tracks.
Earlier that day, at the crack of noon…The Medium arrived in a valley just beyond Mt. Cockblock outside the Land of Thuh Chickenz utilizing trans-dimensional travel. He had made sure to pass by TurboRooster’s fortress along the way. When he sensed he was over the area where the Fortress of the All-Seeing Cyborg Eye was, he tripped over a dimensional “speed bump” and dropped the item he was carrying through the dimensions and into TurboRooster’s world. These “speed bumps” were in actuality similar to turbulence experienced by airplanes, for when the Medium traveled through dimensions he could transport himself to his destination at incredible speeds. This was different from the way the Nameless traveled, for they could just envision their destination and instantly open a dimensional hole not unlike a doorway straight to their target.
This was not the first time The Medium had encountered one of these dimensional “speed bumps”. During his many years serving the Nameless he had encountered several thousand of them and he knew he could realistically fake one of these slips. He made sure to keep his composure as They were watching, and he was confident that They would be none the wiser. Still, he had to be careful. He would be severely punished if They were to find out what he had done.
The Medium continued on in order to avoid suspicion. The valley ahead of him led towards a lakefront village of straw huts. There he could see a large haystack in the center of the village around which had gathered a rather noisy crowd. The Medium had a feeling that his quarry would be there so he headed forwards, straight towards the village of Salem.
In the Fortress of the All-Seeing Cyborg Eye, I assume somewhere between the previous and following sections following the Medium’s progress in the story, which is obviously why I put it here!…TurboRooster was in his quarters going through the data files he had stored over the past few months when he received an urgent message through his P.R.I.C.K., otherwise known as the Psychic Resonating Instrument for Conversations via Kites. This was the communications system he devised to allow mind-link contact between him and his minions. In essence, it enabled them to communicate with telepathy. This P.R.I.C.K. utilized chips that reacted to the vibrations of mental energy and converted them into coherent words. TurboRooster had his scientists implant in the minds of all chickens born within his land. The chips were able to connect to the P.R.I.C.K. system by use of kites, which TurboRooster had flown at all corners of his land.
TurboRooster queried the informant as to the situation. He identified himself as one of the guards posted outside the front of the fortress. He further stated that he had just come across a note that TurboRooster may want to peruse. TurboRooster instructed the guard to report to him at once. He remotely unlocked the door to his quarters and returned to his data mining.
About a minute later a pair of well-protected cocks forced their way through the narrow corridor and into TurboRooster’s sacred chamber. He glanced up at them and motioned for them to produce their finding. The guard quickly handed the note to TurboRooster and snapped back into his ready position. TurboRooster began reading the note nonchalantly. Suddenly, his eye widened. He looked at the guards and asked them the validity of this find. The guard who carried the note stated that he had seen the note appear in the sky as if from nowhere right above him. TurboRooster knew immediately that They were responsible for this. He dismissed the guards back to their duties. They saluted him and took off.
TurboRooster read the note again. He was boiling with rage as his eyes scanned the contents of the note that Sven had received from the doctor of P.E.N.I.S. If he was to understand this correctly, there was someone else out there in HIS land searching for the turkeys. There was no way he was going to allow anyone to deny him the pleasure of taking the life of the son of HelioTurk or his defiant turkey brethren. He crumpled the note in his wing and smashed it through his desk. There could be no doubt now, something big was indeed stirring in his land. He was going to make sure that he was ready for it.
What could only possibly be even remotely construed as later in the tale...The crowd gathered around the giant haystack was certainly riled up about something. There was an assortment of creatures among them, all of them in torn and tattered clothing that looked as though it had never been washed. Many of them were holding pitchforks or torches, and all of them were wearing angry faces, most likely skinned from the corpses of the tribe of angry clowns that terrorized the village from time to time. Everyone was screaming “kill the witch!” and “burn the heretic!” and “someone’s in the kitchen with Dina!” The Medium squeezed through the crowd in order to get a closer look.
In the middle of this mob stood the haystack, which was nearly 4 feet tall. In the center of the haystack was a large wooden pole which stood another three feet above the haystack. There was a poorly built wooden construct beside the haystack that looked as though it had been pieced together using Idiot Putty as an adhesive. It had a set of dangerously wobbly stairs leading from the ground to a platform beside the pole. Standing on the platform of this construct were three creatures.
The first of these creatures was a balding jackrabbit wearing an inside-out, upside-down, backwards robe (which if I remember correctly is called a Cuddlie, and was only ever purchased and/or worn by creatures who should have been mentally institutionalized…or fucking shot). The second was a wolf who had a lazy eye; one eye was looking at the retarded rabbit and the other was lounging on a hammock reading a book. The wolf was holding on to the last of these creatures by both shoulders. It was hard to identify the creature, because it was wearing a black cloak with a hood that covered everything except its black paws and large red tail that ended in a white tip.
The Medium had no doubt that this was who he had been sent to find. It was apparent that the creature was in some sort of trouble though. The jackass…er, rabbit rather was going on about “witches” and “trial by fire” and some other nonsense that had the crowd going. He kept referring to her as “Malia”(which he mispronounced as “Maria”, as he had difficulty making the ‘l’ sound) which is believed to be derived from the Greek words mali- meaning “evil” and –malacia meaning “abnormal softening”, though insufficient evidence exists to support this theory. Nevertheless, the name Maria was henceforth designated as unholy, and anyone bearing the name was inhumanely euthanized.
One of the creatures in the crowd began walking up the steps towards them. He was carrying a rope in one hand and a torch in the other. The jackrabbit demanded that the witch be tied to the stake and tried for her beliefs.
The Medium had heard horror stories about the Salem Witch Trials of course. They were founded about a hundred years ago in the year 6575 by a small group of sexist male religious fanatics who viewed females as mindless slaves. If they came across any female who showed any signs of intellect, physical deficiencies, defiance, or anything else they deemed “immoral”, they had them tried as witches. These trials involved atrocious acts such as burning alive while tied to stakes or dunked into a tank of water and drowned. The judges (which were comprised of the leaders of this clan) managed to convince the simple-minded villagers that if the women were not in fact witches, they would be able to escape these deaths…In Salem’s defense, they didn’t exactly have a public school system…or toilets.
Acting quickly, the Medium snuck back into the crowd and confronted one of the members in the back. Making sure no one could overhear their conversation, the Medium whispered into his ear. The Medium’s words flowed into his ears as sweet honey and instantly turned to putrid mold as they contacted his brain. Confusion overtook him, and he snapped into a trance-like state. The Medium told him that the jackrabbit must be the true witch in disguise, merely passing judgment on others to avoid suspicion himself. As soon as the Medium was done talking, he instantly reverted back to his previous state. Of course now, all his anger and hatred was focused on a different quarry.
This was the true power of the Medium, and the main reason the Nameless had kept him alive for so long. He had the linguistic ability to lull most he spoke to into a hypnotic state where he could program them to think whatever he wanted. It generally only worked on the weak-minded or easily corrupted, but the Medium had quite a knack for picking them out of even the largest crowds. It appeared as though he had punched the baby in the throat with this one, for the unwitting pawn was making his way towards the platform.
The Medium sank back from the crowd so he could watch. The pawn he had hypnotized was standing on the platform now, glaring at the jackrabbit. The jackrabbit demanded to know what the interruption was about. The creature who had brought the rope was helping the wolf tie the “witch” to the stake. They both stopped and turned their attention to this newcomer. The pawn yelled defiantly, claiming that this imposter (who he kept calling Roger) was the real witch. Roger vehemently denied this accusation and ordered the crowd to take this traitor into custody to be executed along with the witch.
The pawn screamed maniacally, and charged Roger. The platform itself was about 5’ in diameter of course, so it took all of about 45 seconds for the pawn to collide with the inexplicably immobile Roger. Roger, in his infinite wisdom, managed to maintain a death grip to a very lit torch he was carrying as they both fell towards the large pile of extremely dry hay. The wolf and the other pious dickhead dropped both the rope and their prisoner in a pathetically feeble attempt to catch their falling leader.
The accused witch used this chance to roll down the pile of hay and out to safety. The Medium grabbed her as soon as she stopped rolling and pulled her through the crowd, who was no longer interested in her. That of course was because there was a more interesting spectacle to behold now. Apparently the dumbass Roger was safely caught by the wolf, but in his panic he had dropped the torch…right onto the haystack. It instantly burst into an uncontrollable inferno, whereupon all four fuckasses were killed in horrible agony. Of course the crowd, who had been raised on the idealistically simple-minded belief that only witches could be burned alive, took this to mean that all of the moronic victims had been involved in witchcraft. They of course forgot all about their first “witch”, and began instead to roast S’mores.
The Medium led his target out of Salem as quickly as he could move. It was just in time too for the entire town, which was made entirely out of straw and wood, quickly caught flame when a mild breeze blew the haystack. The flames shot skyward, as if they were licking the sky’s taint. Screams of anguish and ecstasy could be faintly heard between the roaring fire only amplifying the illusion of forbidden love.
They stopped when they were a safe distance away. The Medium introduced himself to the stranger and told her he believed she was the one she had been sent for. She remained silent behind her hooded cloak. The Medium paused before revealing that he knew what she was searching for and he could help her exact her revenge. She flinched when she heard the ‘r’ word. The Medium knew he had her.
He pulled out a photograph (out of where you ask?...you’re better off not knowing…) and showed it to her. He asked her if this was indeed what she wanted, to which she slowly nodded. He told her he could help her get it if she would but show him her face. She was still for several seconds before slowly reaching up and drawing back her hood. The Medium showed no facial reaction; it was exactly as he expected. She was indeed who he had been sent to find. He purred…and coughed up a hairball.
The Great Avian War;a Chronicling
Chapter 22, verse 3
In the Fortress of the All-Seeing Cyborg Eye…There was no escape for the deranged bird now. TurboRooster finally had CrazyTurkey backed against a corner. He relished the moment…and threw a hotdog at him! CrazyTurkey choked on the mustard, as his body was incapable of digesting anything containing wheat by-products. TurboRooster used this opportunity to run up and snap his bird neck in twain. He stood over the slain opponent, victorious!
TurboRooster’s computer simulation terminated and he logged off. He used the simulation from time to time to blow off some steam, and steam he had! He was still furious over the letter he had received from…someone…containing the information that there was a creature out there hunting HIS prey. He could not allow this to continue. He had to formulate a plan, so he went to the kitchen and added some water to his dry milk. Even after drinking it though he still had nothing. He didn’t even have a clue as to where this madman was.
He was still pondering this when his P.R.I.C.K. popped up. He opened communications and queried as to the interruption. The guard on the line informed TurboRooster that he had been assigned to patrol the village of Salem near the northern shores of the Mypissinnsea River, but the entire village had been burned down. TurboRooster sensed that this was somehow related to the recent events, but he was also aware that everyone from that village was completely FUCKING insane.
TurboRooster told the guard to ensure all the residents were eliminated before returning to base. He gave strict orders to kill anything within the town’s limits on sight. His P.R.I.C.K. vibrated indicating he had yet another contact. He switched communications, but before he could say anything, the Elite Chicken Assassin contacting him told him that one of the Chicks had not returned from the feeding pasture. He further stated that none of the other Chicks had seen or heard anything. TurboRooster thanked him for the update but told him to discontinue any search efforts. The assassin acknowledged and disconnected the mind-link. TurboRooster was fuming. Someone…or something…was challenging him, and he did not like to lose…
In the turkey encampment…CrazyTurkey was having a meeting with the elders in the Temple of HelioTurk when a female turkey barged in weeping and gobbling historically…What’s that? Oh, I’m sorry. I meant hysterically. Ha! My bad…Who now?...What?...I-I’m sorry, you’ll have to speak up…Well maybe I would clean the cum out of my ears if you’d give me a fucking BREAK every once in a while! Three months with no fucking break, damnit!...Oh, oh I’m the fuckass huh?! Well that’s sure as hell what I did to your mama on my last break…THREE MONTHS AGO!...Is that right? Well if you were a man, I’d punch you in your ovaries! *sigh* Where the hell was I…oh yeah, I didn’t mean to say hysterically. I meant to say cheese. I apologize for the mix-up.
In any event, the elders managed to calm the female down enough to tell them what the problem was. No thanks to CrazyTurkey of course, who had been fucking the cheese the entire time…what can I say, he has a certain je ne sais ‘kwah’ about him. She managed to tell them that she had sent out Turklings to neighboring villages to request their assistance as she had been instructed, and that all but one of the Turklings had returned. She said that she followed the path that he had taken and ran into a tortoise along the way who claimed he witnessed a cloaked figure snatch up the Turkling and then vanish into thin air! She broke down weeping again and was led off to the infirmary to treat her dementia (be put down humanely).
The turkey elders alerted the village of the developments and told the citizens not to leave the village until further notice. They stepped up security and training and told the village to be ready for battle at any time. This birdnapping confirmed their fears that had been ignited by the loss of their holy mulberry bush. Smeone, or something, was preparing to strike. They consulted CrazyTurkey and told him it would be best if he were to be accompanied by guards at all times, at least until this threat was neutralized. CrazyTurkey klorted….whatever the hell that meant….and the leaders nodded. They assigned two guards to keep watch over him at all times…poor bastards.
In the silo laboratory of Mt. Cockblock…The box containing the limp bodies of the captured Turkling and Chick was brought into Sven’s lab. He studied the limp bodies of the two fowl closely. Neither of them were breathing but he could detect faint heartbeats in both of them. When he looked closer he could see they were in fact breathing, it was just extremely shallow.
He asked the cloaked figure how she managed to capture them and what she had used on them. She replied that she had been saved from a group of religious fanatics who were convinced she was a witch because of her physical appearance and seclusion by a powerful being who called himself the Medium, and that they traveled around for a bit in order to gather these two creatures. She further stated that he had used some type of venom on them which he had said would not be enough to kill them. Sven was impressed; since the bodies had been preserved he would now be able to study them in greater detail.
He placed the two into cryogenic chambers and turned to his new friend. There were many questions swimming in his head, but he realized they would be answered in good time. He introduced himself as Sven Gorin’ Erik’s Son, a Swedish M.D. who had come to the Land of Thuh Chickenz in order to hunt down the turkey flesh that he craved so much.
She acknowledged and introduced herself, pulling down her hood. She had to be the most beautiful female that Sven had ever seen, at least the half that he could see. The left side of her face had been completely covered with a white mask which only had a single hole big enough for her to see out of. The right side however was absolutely breathtaking. Her hair was a shiny coat of bright red that if seen in the sun might cause temporary blindness, or at the very least arousal. Her right eye was drawn up in a smile that matched her muzzle, but there was a hint of malice there that nearly froze his heart.
She called herself Sedusa, a fox who had been born in the faraway land of Minisoda, a country that became famous for bottling the smallest cans of soda in history (this of course became very popular with the insect culture and made the town quite the tourist attraction!). She said that several hundred years ago she met someone and had fallen in love with him. They had spent most of those years together, but it became apparent that his job had become more important to him than she was. She said that when she confronted him about it, he had attacked her and placed a curse on her, turning her into a horrible monster.
Sven frowned and asked her how she could think she was a monster. She replied that in his fury he had bitten her. She explained that his bite delivered a toxin which could change a creature into one of his slaves, but something had gone wrong in her case and she only partially changed. She passed out during the change but when she awoke, he was gone. She had quite a headache and raised her paw to her head, and that was when she noticed something was off. She pulled out a compact and checked the right side of her face…then the left.
She was shaking, but it was difficult for Sven to tell if it was out of fear or anger, though it was likely both. She said that she left her home that day and set out to find her former lover to exact revenge. It took her about a week to realize that anyone who looked upon the left side of her face turned into a beautiful ice sculpture. She eventually came to believe this was her broken heart unleashing its ice cold fury somehow manifesting itself through a beauty comparable to her own. She immediately covered that side of her face for fear of killing anyone else and soon after purchased the mask she currently bore. She said she only took the mask off when she was bathing in order to prevent more unnecessary deaths. There was only one life she wanted to take, and that was the life of her former lover. His name: Snuggle, the fabric softener bear.
In a dark corner of Hell …Snuggle sneezed.
In the silo laboratory of Mt. Cockblock…Sven told Sedusa that he would be happy to help. He had heard much about this demon in his time here in the Land of Thuh Chickenz, and learned one of his great weaknesses. He had also heard claims that the demon was in possession of a powerful artifact that could possibly be used against him. Sedusa said that the Medium had told her the same thing, and that he had mentioned that she should be able to wield the sword called Ex-.50-caliber. Apparently it held some secret power that would be able to destroy his immortal soul.
Sven told her he would help her any way he could and that she was welcome to stay with him in the silo laboratory as long as she wanted. She thanked him and said she would be very grateful. He led her to an empty room which he said she could use for her private quarters. She thanked him again and said she was exhausted from the events of the past day and was going to turn in. Sven couldn’t imagine what she wanted to turn in, as she wasn’t holding anything. He realized maybe she meant the cloak, and he bid her farewell. He returned to his lab, his mind reeling with the many tasks he now had before him.
The Great Avian War;a Chronicling
Chapter 22, verse 4
The knocking came again, louder this time. She realized it was coming from the silo entrance. She glided down the hall and stood in front of the door. Cautiously, she pulled the door in about a quarter of the way and poked her head around to see what was making all the ruckus. Standing before her was a RAPED (the Rarely Achieving a Parcel’s Expedient Delivery shipping company) employee holding a medium-sized brown package bearing the RAPED logo, a vicarious image which depicted an angry-looking customer being anally defiled by a character wearing the RAPED uniform.
Sedusa asked if she could help him to which he replied that he had a package for one “Dr. Sven-Gorin’ Erik’s Son”. She accepted the package and signed several hundred sheets of paper as was customary for any RAPED shipment weighing more than 3 oz. When her wrist felt as though the tendons would snap from the friction of mere movement, the RAPED employee thanked her and yanked the stack of papers out of her hand. Sedusa frowned but said nothing and shut the door. On his way back to the truck, he tossed the papers in the fireplace…a fireplace that was for some reason smack dab in the middle of a mountain?
Getting back on track, Sedusa carried the package to Sven’s lab. When she entered the room she could instantly see him. He had fallen asleep sitting at his computer. Over at his workbench there was a large green cloth draped over…something. She shrugged off her hood and placed the box down beside the doctor.
He awoke with a loud snort at the sound of the box scraping against the squeaky tiles. His eyes blinked sleepily over in Sedusa’s direction. Once his eyes connected with the package laid at his feet however his demeanor changed in an instant. His eyes snapped open and he giggled like a school guidance counselor finding two prizes in his box of Hippo-O’s cereal. He attacked the package voraciously, practically salivating at the chance to witness the juicy entrails. Sedusa began to back away slowly.
He squeaked gleefully when he saw them; his Buffalo Chips had arrived! Out of the corner of his eye he saw movement. He looked over at saw it was Sedusa attempting to exit stage rear. Motioning for her to come over, he ran to the drape and lifted it up part of the way in the back. He started tinkering with something back there, but Sedusa couldn’t see anything. After a few seconds, he clicked something and leapt back. He bore a grin that appeared almost ready to tear his face in two. Glancing at Sedusa, he pulled aside the cloth and uncovered his great secret.
Standing before her was a strange metallic-silver female feline that stood about two feet tall on its hind legs. She was wearing a pink sundress with matching shoes. On the left side of her head was a green bow that was torn. Her right ear had a chunk bitten out of it and her whiskers were either bent, broken or missing. Her mouth was stretched in an upside-down smile with an extruded pink tongue. One of her eyes was twisted to the side, giving her the look of an escaped mental patient. The Goodbye Pussy cyborg (GPC), now activated due to the chip Sven implanted in its head, looked around at its surroundings.
Sedusa look questioningly at Sven. He was grinning like a madman. He explained to her that this was the weapon that would help him obtain his goal of obtaining turkey flesh…and could possibly help her exact her revenge. She smiled and asked if there was anything she could do to help. Sven nodded and pointed behind her. She frowned and looked back at the door…and her eyes drifted to the left where she could see several hundred GPCs lined up on a conveyor belt.
Her jaw practically touching the floor, she turned back to Sven. He was already digging through the box, pulling out more of the computer chips. She reached out her paw and said she would help him install the chips into his cyborgs. He nodded and handed her a few. After showing her how to install the chip and activate the GPCs, they split up and activated the 320 cyborgs he had. With Sedusa’s help, they were able to activate them all in about an hour.
Sven was going on 68 hours without sleep now, but the excitement of his creation was driving him on. He logged onto his computer and set up a system to program his GPCs to obey only commands issued from his computer, which was protected by a voice-activated password, blood sample, and penis scan. He also established ID numbers for the individual cyborgs to identify them. Afterwards, he created a program to where he could send specific commands to individual units, or even attach several GPCs to a squad and then type in a single command which could then be sent out to all units attached to that squad.
He realized he would probably require a satellite in order to ensure he could issue commands to his GPCs when they leave the base. He remembered that he had seen one such contraption outside when he first located the silo and attempted to connect to it. After failing several times, he came to the assumption that it would need repairing. Curious, he typed in his command to GPC #132 and sent him to repair the satellite. Ten minutes later, the GPC returned and he was able to connect to the satellite.
He was ecstatic. His program worked perfectly, and now he even had the ability to control them outside the confines of his lab. He clapped like five year old finding dried cat shit on the playground and leapt out of his chair. After hugging Sedusa in his sleep-deprived stupor, he fell to the ground unconscious.
Since he was too heavy for her to carry, she grabbed the green drape and covered him up. She couldn’t locate a pillow, so she instead used a plastic bag that had held the computer chips and some of the packing peanuts to create a makeshift which she placed under his head. Still exhausted herself, she returned to her room for a nap.
The Great Avian War;a Chronicling
Chapter 23, verse 1
Oh! I didn’t see you come in (That’s what she said!). You caught me reading the warning label on the back of my Hipp-O’s cereal box. You know it’s true what they say, the calories will get you! But I digest…I assume you came to hear the story, so I will humor you. Mostly because I find the fact that they have not yet passed a law for people like you to be shot on sight humorous…anyway, let us continue…
In the silo laboratory of Mt. Cockblock…Sven woke up later that next morning, fully rejuvenated. He stood up and nearly doubled over from the pain in his stomach. It was then that it dawned on him that he hadn’t eaten anything in almost a week. He shuffled over to the computer and typed in a command, sending one of his GPCs to fix him a sandwich. I guess they were equivalent to wives in Sweden hahahahaha!...ahem, sorry.
Twenty minutes later, his stomach was full and he was content. Unfortunately, it was made with choice meats carved from the rotting corpse of the remains from the taxi driver he retardedly left outside his silo. About ten minutes after that, he was sitting on the toilet with violent, explosive diarrhea. It felt as though a wet lava snake made of razor blades was powering its way through his intestinal tract and out the other end.
After making a fully partial recovery, he returned to his lab to find Sedusa tinkering away at something. He made his way over to see what it was. When he got close enough he could see she was actually dissecting the Turkling she had brought in. Intrigued, he pulled up a stool and sat next to her so he could assist with the process. The smell of dead turkey flesh wafted into his nostrils and made his roiling stomach growl.
Somehow he made it past the lust crawling through his veins and was able to function during the necropsy. They spent hours foraging through the vineyard that was the child turkey. Secrets that were quite unknown to others became clear as mud to these fuckers.
Sedusa discovered the hypothalamus section of the brain was enlarged for an avian of his size. Further inspection revealed a new gland in the Turkling’s abdomen which they found induced chronic diarrhea by releasing phenolphthalein directly into the creature’s intestinal tract. She found that the hypothalamus could control the amount of phenolphthalein the gland released quite well, and was capable of releasing exponential amounts. Sven suspected this caused almost instantaneous diarrhea. He wondered aloud if he would be able to create something to alter or even overtake the chemical, possibly something that could induce constipation instead.
While he set out to do some research, Sedusa began the necropsy of the Chick. The organs of the Chick showed no obvious abnormalities. There weren’t any enlarged organs that she could see, no discoloration of the organs. The brain and lymph nodes all appeared normal. She did however finally hit a breakthrough while observing one of the feathers under a microscope, when she discovered that the feathers actually had individual nuclei which resided in the nerve endings within the shaft of the feather.
After several experiments, it became clear that the nucleus reacted to nerve synapses relayed from the brain through the shaft. When these synapses were cut off from the brain (whether by plucking the feather, or killing the Chick), it caused a division of the feather and an immediate transformation of both into new Chicks. This action was much like a eukaryote reproducing via mitosis, in that the nucleus divides in two and creates two cells which are both capable of reproducing. These new Chicks come fully equipped with feathers, each one already capable of creating new Chicks of their own! She was impressed by TurboRooster’s ingenuity at having created something as advanced as these Chicks.
She went to Sven who was sitting at his computer, researching reverse laxatives. He saw her coming and excitedly motioned her to come over. He told her he had found something. He believed that by combining cheese extract with concrete mix, he could create an effective reverse laxative to combat the Turklings. There was nothing he could do to stop the gland from secreting the diarrheatic, but he suspected he could induce constipation bad enough to cause them to die from sepsis.
The trick would be transmitting it to the turkey encampment. There was no way to aerosolize the mixture. Distributing it into the turkey’s drinking water wouldn’t work as the concrete mix would harden within hours. After thinking about it for a minute, an idea popped into his head. He typed in some commands to several of his GPCs who immediately set to work.
After he was finished typing, he turned to Sedusa who told him her findings of the Chicks. Sven was amazed at the complexity of his enemies’ children. He smiled and told Sedusa to keep the body of the Chick so he could run some tests. He knew just what to do for the tenacious fowl. While he researched some choice diseases, he asked Sedusa if she could assist the GPCs with the first phase of his plan. She agreed and went to the kitchen to help the cyborgs.
Several hours later…Sedusa returned to the lab to inform Sven that not unlike a German prostitute who passes by a glass table, the first phase of the plan was ready to go. Excitedly typing away on his keyboard, he barely noticed her as she approached. Now everyone in their right mind knows not to sneak up on a bear, so Sedusa wisely pushed one of the GPCs into him. Temporarily knocked out of his computer stupor, he went into a blood rage and angrily tore into the unfortunate GPC. When he was finished mauling his cyborg, he proceeded to masturbate and promptly fell asleep.
When he finally woke up three hours later, Sedusa was finally able to tell him she was finished with the cooking. Sven squealed with joy and hopped up. He ran over to his computer and typed in a command to deliver his expertly prepared constipatory delicacy to the turkey camp. As soon as he finished, he told Sedusa to come over and see what he had found for their other target.
She sidled up next to him and he began explaining his plan for the Chicks. Apparently he had been researching a couple of different diseases in particular, namely the Avian Flu virus and a specific strain of flesh eating bacterium called Streptocockus aereus. He explained that he focused on these since they appeared to be compatible for what he was planning. What was he planning you ask? Good question, dick! He was actually planning to combine the two diseases to create a supervirus that would not only attack the nucleus of the Chicks’ feathers but would prevent the feathers from being able to regenerate into more Chicks by destroying it completely.
Pointing behind him, Sven explained that under the microscope was his current experiment. Sedusa walked over and took a look in the microscope. What she saw was several groups of what appeared to be small, bluish-purple, peni-shaped bacteria with oddly shapen balls which were chained together in strips of about 12-14 bacteria. The bacteria were all quivering excitedly, almost as if they were ready to shoot bacteria juice all over the microscope slide. Sedusa looked up questionably at the doctor.
Smiling toothily, he explained that the H5N1 virus had bonded with the dick-shaped Streptocockus quite easily. He pulled out a syringe and drew up a small amount of clear fluid from a vial that was resting next to the microscope. He opened up a drawer next to him and pulled out what was left of the Chick carcass. Lifting what I can only imagine was the wing, he stuck the fowl with the needle and injected the fluid into the body wall. Finished, he tossed the needle behind him (which instigated a girlish scream followed by an unnecessarily large explosion) and sat back to watch the show.
Not 5 minutes later, a single feather plopped off the Chick. The feather looked to be inflamed as it fell, but almost immediately turned black and withered up into a black ball. Within about 10 minutes all the other feathers had followed suit and what was left was a very naked, mostly disemboweled Chick. Come to think of it, sounds not at all unlike a visit to my house after my monthly hooker itch…weird!
Anyway, Sven was uncomfortably energetic having succeeded in creating his new weapon. He decided to call his evolutionary marvel Streptocockus aves, or the feather eating bacteria (medical term Necrotizing featheritis). The name Streptocockus of course, due to the fact that the bacteria were in the shape of dicks and aves, since it was associated with avian species. Of course Necrotizing featheritis was due to the fact that it affected only the feathers, which at first caused irritation and redness, but was soon followed by necrosis, or deadening of the feather. Apparently, since the Streptocockus was shaped like dicks, it basically “fucked” the nucleus of the feather until the nucleus collapsed in on itself from either a mind blowing orgasm or chaffing. You know, whichever came third.
Sedusa asked him how much of the Necrotizing featheritis he had so far. He smiled and pointed to a 500-gallon tank of a light greenish liquid. Sedusa looked shocked, then confused. She asked him when he had the time to make that much of the virus. He stared at her blankly and replied, “que?” Before she could slap the shit out of him, they were interrupted by a beeping on his monitor. They rushed over to the screen and took a peek. The turkeys had just received their delivery…
The Great Avian War;a Chronicling
Chapter 23, verse 2
In fact, today was the first Friday the 13th of the calendar year. This was the one day out of the year in which no turkey had been born since WWV, the war that was instigated by France who finally grew a pair and bombed the crap out of Italy. This was in retaliation to the Italian Ambassador’s response to the French Queen when he said “doo-doo” which he thought was the French word for “no”. The day soon became a national holiday in turkey culture called Hatchless Friday. It was named in honor of Charles Hatchless, a turkey child who was born at 12:01 pm Friday the 13th of the year 3082 (the exact date that WWV started). That was the last time any turkey had ever been born on this, the emptiest womb of turkey days.
Despite this well known turkey fact, Aunt Kwahmima nevertheless accepted this gracious offer of cheesy goodness from the fake pizza deliveryman. After all, it was free! Who the hell wouldn’t want free pizzas? She did kind of ruin them by putting her not-so-world famous beanut putter all over them, but naturally none of the Turklings seemed to mind. They gobbled that shit up like maggots on a rotting vagina…but enough about taco salad. It’s makin’ me hungry!
In any event, every last bit of those pizzas were gone in 30 minutes or less! This of course was much to the chagrin of CrazyTurkey, who was off “meditating” or some stupid shit when the feast was delivered. He returned to a mountain of pizza box skeletons. Apparently the Turklings had even picked the boxes clean! That must have been some good ass pizza! CrazyTurkey promptly called for a mass burial of the skeletons and a day of mourning for his loss. How much of that was funded at taxpayer’s expense you may ask? Mind your fucking business I say!
In the silo laboratory of Mt. Cockblock…Sven laughed heartily as the dim-witted prey fell into his trap. He was watching the entire exchange through cameras built into the eyes of his GPC. As soon as the Turklings began to dig into the cheesy pies he had provided, he called his cyborg back to base. With the turkeys properly infected, he had just one target left: Thuh Chickz.
Now, infecting them would be tricky as well. Sven knew that there was no way TurboRooster would fall for the deliveryman trick like his retarded fowl brethren. He suspected that the tyrant cyborg would have developed some system to detect biological weapons as well, so he couldn’t just aerosolize it and spray it towards the tower. That ruled out infecting feeding grounds and watering holes for the Chicks as well, for TurboRooster would have surely planned for that. He couldn’t send in any of his GPCs either, since TurboRooster would definitely be able to tell it was a cyborg.
He would be able to tell it was a cyborg, Sven thought to himself. That got him thinking. He considered what TurboRooster’s actions would be to an intruder inside his fortress. Something in the corner of his eye caught his attention. He glanced over quickly and saw the carcass of the Chick he had been testing on. TurboRooster had to know by now that one of his children was missing. These thoughts gave him quite the idea. After telling Sedusa she could take a break, he returned to his workshop to construct a vessel.
Several hours later…Sedusa met Sven in his workshop. He had just summoned her with news of his latest accomplishment. She saw him hunched over his bench, fiddling with something. Upon closer inspection, she could see it was a live Chick. Perplexed as to how he had obtained it, she sidled up next to him for an explanation. Sven noticed her out of the corner of his eye. He asked her what she thought of his little C-borg, as he called it. She was amazed, it looked exactly like a real Chick. It even moved and sounded like one!
She asked him what he had planned for the fowl bot. He explained that he had created the C-borg as a vessel to transport a batch of his Streptocockus aves into TurboRooster’s fortress. He knew that TurboRooster would be able to tell the C-borg was a fake, and he knew exactly how the tyrant cock would respond to an intruder. The C-borg would release the virus once attacked, and anyone in the area would absorb it.
Knowing that TurboRooster was not the target of this virus, she asked him what good it would do to infect the bird. Sven said it was fine, he knew it wouldn’t affect TurboRooster as it was designed to target the nuclei of Chick feathers. The true purpose of infecting TurboRooster was to spread the virus among his flock, as it was an incredibly infectious strain. Sven estimated the entire flock would be infected in less than 24 hours.
Picking up the C-borg, Sven said it was time to get started. They walked to the front door of the silo and let the little C-borg out through the doggy door. It made a soft “peep!” and took off, heading towards the Fortress of the All-Seeing Cyborg Eye.
Somewhere in the wilderness…Chuck tossed the rag into the engine. There was nothing else he could do, it was shot. There was bobcat hair plugging the combustion manifold, some rodent had knocked the air filter into the backseat, and the air freshener was cracked. All of it, useless!
Teddy had snapped out of his stupor, at least for the time being. He told Chuck that they needed to move on. The pull he felt from the Nameless was leading him in the direction of the odd-shaped tower off in the distance. He wasn’t sure how much longer he would be able to maintain his lucidity. They needed to hurry. Chuck agreed and they continued their journey on foot.
The Great Avian War;a Chronicling
Chapter 23, verse 3
Snuggle had just sent the eggs on their merry way when he was bum rushed by seven dwarfish demons, named for the Seven Deadly Sins: Lust, Gluttony, Greed, Sloth, Pride, Envy and Jen (Jen replaced Wrath as one of the Seven Deadly Sins back in the year 3053, when she murdered her partner Barry for “takin’ her Sexual Chocolate”, an ice cream flavor designed by the world famous duo…in her defense, she was suffering from her period). The Seven Dwarfish Sins bore news that Sven had begun his assault on both of Snuggle’s fowl nemeses. Snuggle informed them to ready his troops for battle; they would march tomorrow, to war…and possibly Quizyes for a $5 toasted sub. Quizyes: Why fuck with limp bread? ß(Required product placement).
In the Fortress of the All-Seeing Cyborg Eye…There was a disturbance in the force…or maybe it was just his prostate acting up. Either way, TurboRooster could sense that something was awry. Almost instantly his P.R.I.C.K. popped up and he received a message that the missing Chick had just returned to the fortress. TurboRooster was suspicious, after all, the timing just felt wrong. His gut never lied to him before. Cheated on him with a tapeworm once, yes, but never lied to him. He went down to investigate.
Waiting for him upon his arrival was indeed the missing Chick. It was standing in the midst of the trio of guards that had encountered it outside the fortress. It was looking around, making “peep!” sounds and acting generally not unlike any other Chick. Despite all this, TurboRooster wasn’t convinced. He could smell death on the little fowl, and…something else.
He picked up the Chick and attempted to scan it with his bionic eye. He was able to pick up the usual readings from the Chick’s exterior, but everything past the dermis had a barrier around it, blocking his sight. Knowing instantly that it was a trap, TurboRooster turned and threw the Chick into the wall. As the body was in mid-flight, he readied his arm cannon and blasted the imposter fowl.
The outer shell, which had been comprised of the remains of the Chick Sven had captured, burned upon contact of TurboRooster’s cannon. However, the interior, which happened to be a metallic cyborg “skeleton” that Sven had crafted in order to give the Chick its movements, as well as carry his genetically crafted virus, survived and crashed into the wall. As it fell to the ground, the chest plate opened, and a green liquid sprayed out in a fan pattern across the room, covering TurboRooster and the three guards in its sticky essence. The second it emptied itself, the C-borg exploded, releasing a green vapor into the entire chamber and completely destroying all trace of Sven’s work.
TurboRooster cursed and shook himself off. He had no idea what this green shit was, but he could smell its foul odor and he knew it was no good. He ordered the chamber sealed off immediately, until he could determine what exactly this substance was. The green vapor has already begun to dissipate, revealing something most troubling. Beyond the doorway, revealed to TurboRooster by the freshly dissipated vapor cloud, stood a lone Chick, peeping to itself as it shook off tiny green droplets. Then the security door slid shut.
In the realm of the Nameless…Having just watched the actions that had taken place in the Land of Thuh Chickenz, The Medium reported the events to his Masters. After deliberating for a few moments, They came to the conclusion that the time to strike was near. They ordered The Medium to release Their army. He acknowledged and sauntered off to release them from their chambers.
The Medium could not shake this nervous feeling. After all this time, the greatest battle in the avian war was about to begin. In all likelihood, the victor would gain complete control. He could only hope that his efforts to notify the chicken tyrant had been enough, for he was not sure how much longer he could serve his dark Masters; he had grown tired over the many millennia. Entering the Hall of Nascency, he proceeded to free the platypi army from their jello tubes. This was it, there was no turning back now. He hacked up a hairball.
The Great Avian War;a Chronicling
Chapter 24, verse 1
After finally being released from his self-enacted quarantine, he began tracking down the Chick. Utilizing his bionic eye, he was able to follow the phantom trail of green juices left behind by the infected Chick. As he suspected, the trail led him right to the flock that was preparing to feed. He scanned the flock, hoping to pick out the infected underling before he had a chance to spread the illness further. Unfortunately for the tyrant cock, Sven had miscalculated the infectious nature of the disease when introduced to live Chicks. Every Chick in the flock, which numbered nearly half a million, was glowing a radiant green…
In the turkey encampment…The turkey elders were holding an emergency meeting. The Turklings were all exhibiting strange symptoms, every one complaining of stomach aches and raging erections (even the females!). They defecated amongst themselves as to what this could mean. One of the elders, Uncle Benjy (of Uncle Benjy’s Wild Rice-Flavored Bird Seed), relayed information to the others that he had received word recently from the hippos. Apparently, there had been a creature in the area that resembled a large, walking trash can recently. Harold, the hippos’ alpha male, had followed it as it left. He told Uncle Benjy that it had disappeared into the mountains.
The elders were worried now. They had been hearing whisperings of strange beings creeping around Mt. Cockblock, and with the way Snuggle and TurboRooster had been acting recently, they could only suspect that full-scale war was nearly upon them. They called for CrazyTurkey to join them, so they could prepare for the dark times ahead…unfortunately, CrazyTurkey could not be located immediately. He was found almost 10 hours later, completely devoid of his skeleton. Apparently he had pulled his entire skeleton out through his ass using the “Scoop and swoop” method he had learned from his favorite “wrassler!”, Tim “Two Scoops” Birdton.
In the Din uv Suffereeng…Snuggle stood in front of the portal to Hell. He watched silently as his Turducken army marched out of the portal and into the clearing beyond his den. The Seven Dwarfish Sins were herding them into a presentable formation. As the last soldier passed through the portal, Snuggle closed it and followed them outside, grasping Ex-.50-caliber in paw before exiting. He made his way to the head of the formation and faced his element. His bear face bore blue-and-white face paint, divided down the middle, like some attention-grabbing clown whore.
His army numbered at least 30,000 strong. All of them wore the same dumbass expression of the retarded inbred fowl they represented. They were honking emphatically, eager to spill and taste blood. Snuggle scanned the crowd, pleased with the fruits of his loom (which he had to discard, because they had puddin’ stains in the back!). Snuggle raised his sword and gave the order to march. A roar rose through the crowd and they followed their demonic leader to a war from which there would be no turning back…
In the Fortress of the All-Seeing Cyborg Eye…TurboRooster could barely contain his frustration. He knew it was his own damn fault for not holding back on the imposter Chick without fully knowing its intentions. Still, knew he had to do something. It was obvious that ‘Sven’ character was behind this attack. He refused to let this bastard get away with infiltrating his fortress.
He attempted to establish contact with his Elite Chicken Assassins utilizing his P.R.I.C.K., but for some reason none of them would answer (I guess it’s safe to assume that his P.R.I.C.K. was flaccid). Confused, it dawned on him. Someone must have severed his kites, disabling the link between him and his warriors. He was shocked. In order for someone to have succeeded in that, they would have had to have defeated his drones, which guarded all the kites he had spread across his land.
He paused. This was the first time an enemy had ever stung him so deeply. Not only had they penetrated the defenses of his fortress, but they had disabled his communications system as well? This was unthinkable, and yet, he had thunk it! For the first time since his cyborg existence, he was unsure how to proceed. It was obvious his enemy had thoroughly scoped out TurboRooster’s defenses, and that could only mean that any counter-attack TurboRooster put together would be expected by his enemy. Even so, he refused to do nothing and let this intruder get away with these blasphemies. He gathered up all the Chicks and guards that were currently in his fortress. Leaving behind two of his elite guards and a Chick pawn to fend off any further attack on the fortress during his absence, they took off into the wilderness beyond his fortress, heading in the direction of Mt. Cockblock...
In the turkey encampment…CrazyTurkey stood at the edge of the turkey camp, his bones returned to their normal positions. An innumerable flock of 100,000 Turklings trailed behind him. The turkey elders and several of the flock’s older members stood outside to see them off. The superstitious bastards were convinced this would be the last time they would see any of these birds, but none had the heart to say it aloud. With the loss of their sacred bush however, they couldn’t believe anything else. They watched their retarded leader set off with his Turkling warriors, none taking their eyes away until the last Turkling disappeared beyond the horizon…
In the long-lost country of Nantucket…There lived a man with a dick so long he could suck it. By man, I of course mean broom. And by dick, I of course mean cock. Yes, this broom just loved sucking cock. It was unfortunate for the chickens, 'cause the broom didn’t exactly have a mouth. Therefore, sucking meant of course that he sodomized these cocks with his splinter-ridden handle. And he didn’t even bother to use lube man! What an ass.
One day, one of these cocks got fed up with this existence. His name was Aye Karumba, an illegal Old Mexican immigrant from the country of West Dakota Fanning. He had been purchased as a mail-order sex slave when he was 15 by the Jewman (offspring of a male Jew and a woman) broom Brüsh Willistein, and had been subjected to twisted sexperiments for the last 25 years. However, he had finally reached a breaking point. Maybe it was his raw chick'intestines, or maybe he had finally realized “Holy shit, I’m being raped by a perverted old broom!” Either way, he knew that this was the last straw, as it were. So, he laid forth his cockspur-of-the-moment plan to the other slaves. The few that were still mentally stable agreed that they had enough, and thusly proceeded with the plan. They didn’t have to wait long, for Brüsh’s demented chicken lust was calling.
About 30 minutes after they had their plan ready to go, Brüsh entered the cock house to select his daily victim. Much to his chagrin however, what he instead encountered was not a cock-a-palooza, but instead a rabid, horny air conditioning unit. He froze, as it was common knowledge that rabid A.C. units of the extreme northern mid-west have vision based on sound. Unfortunately, it turned out to just be an old wives’ tail (which was stuck in the fan), because that A.C. unit grabbed Brüsh up quicker than snail sex and commenced with the sexytime.
With this window of opportunity, Aye Karumba and his bird brothers took off beyond the cock house and into the wild blue yonder. Sadly, their freedom was short lived, for as they jumped the fence, they were gunned down by the Flexus Border Patrol, a renegade group of heathenistic Snuggle-worshippers who were hell-bent on stopping illegal migration of birds flying south for the winter. That night they ate heartily, and sacrificed virgin motile phones to their dark lord in honor of their triumph.
Sven woke up in a cold sweat. He had been having the same nightmare for the past two weeks now, and he had no idea what it meant. Now there was a time many years ago when he owned his own pet A.C. unit, but that was back in his homeland, and Cantag had run away from home when she was only 3. Rolling out of bed, he shook the bats out of his head and headed out to see how his plan was going so far. He barely made it into the hallway before being met by Sedusa who told him he should see something. Wiping the sleep out of his eyes, he followed her into his lab and took a look at the monitor.
The screen was divided into four different sections. Each of those sections showed him something wonderful. The top left had CrazyTurkey and his flock heading out. TurboRooster and his flock were progressing forward in the top right. Snuggle and his army of Turducken were in the bottom left. And of course the bottom right was showing ancient pet rock grappling porn – Sven’s favorite sport. Luckily for him, it was playoff time so the getting’ was good! He grabbed some lotion and a box of tissues and told Sedusa to take a break while he “studied”. She left without a first thought.
Great Avian War;a Chronicling
Chapter 24, verse 2
Two hundred and forty minutes into the future’s past…CrazyTurkey and his flock stood on the Taconian Savannah, a 200-acre field that stood at the foothills of Mt. Cockblock that was once the site of a great battle waged during the Taco Conflicts of the Darker Ages. It seemed to be a fitting place for the final leg of their journey. They had made decent time too, since CrazyTurkey decided against going through the incredibly tight passage of the Virgin’s Crevasse and took instead the much roomier route of the Whore’s Gap. Despite having saved time, they were not the first to arrive at this strange land. Standing before them on a slightly elevated rise was several hundred metallic beings with retarded-looking faces.
CrazyTurkey halted in his tracks. The Turklings spread out to either side of him in order to get a look at the strangers. The cyborgs (this word was not yet known to the retarded fowl) stood unmoving and unblinking. CrazyTurkey was unsure of how to proceed, though it was most likely due to the fact that he was an idiot. Eventually one of his Turkling followers gave him a forceful push from the rear, sending him rolling uphill towards the welcome party…OK, I need to stop there…you’re telling me a 1 lb. bird shoved a 28 lb. bird uphill?...An object in motion stays in motion? No, I’m not debating that; I’m asking you how the fuck does it get in motion in the first place?! *Sigh*…you know what, fuck it! Why the hell not! Damn it, I hate this story...
Anyway, continuing on with this inaccurate portrayal of events not yet portrayed, CrazyTurkey continued his completely impossible uphill voyage until he came to an abrupt halt by crashing into one of the cyborgs. The weird creature moved its head to look at the squawking bowling ball of flesh and feathers that was now crumpled at its feet. It reached out with its tiny hands for the distraught bird…
The ground upon which CrazyTurkey lay exploded like a yeast-filled vaginal excretion, sending him flying back towards his flock. The GPC stepped back a few paces and looked around dumbly. It was attempting to locate the source of the explosion, but it was difficult as the dust had been kicked up. There was a slight breeze blowing from the north, so it easily dispatched the dust cloud with a quickie blowjob. It was then that the GPCs noticed the other visitors. Standing 800 meters to the southwest, holding a smoking grenade-launching rifle and surrounded by nearly 1/2 million now-bald Chick compatriots, was TurboRooster.
In the turkey encampment…CrazyTurkey was awakened by a ruckus outside. At first he was confused. The last thing he remembered was getting blasted out of a circus cannon into the waiting arms of a juggling bear on a multicycle (a bicycle-like contraption that has between 8 and 27 wheels, not all of which touch the ground at once). Apparently he interprets memories much, MUCH differently than you or I…or anyone that can think. Anyway, he fell out of his bed and plodded outside to see what was the happy-haps! There was a large crowd gathered by the Temple of HelioTurk hut, so he made his way over.
As he got closer, he could hear that there were actually two groups of turkeys gathered there, arguing amongst themselves. They appeared to be talking about experimenting with an atomic goat-bomb for the war. One group was clearly against this, calling it an atrocity that was too barbaric to consider. The other group couldn’t believe it wasn’t beanut putter…er, that is they couldn’t seem to see any other possibility for fighting the terror that called itself ‘Sven’. As CrazyTurkey drew nearer, the two groups called for him to settle this dispute…do they realize what they done did?!
CrazyTurkey stepped up to the plate as it were, and was presented with the problem. Naturally, he attempted a three-point free throw from the penalty box and scored a touchdown, but it was negated due to an offsides penalty. I’m sorry, I think I had a mild stroke there. Not the brain thing, I think someone just tried to jerk me off. Good thing I wrapped my dick in barbed wire last night. Fuck you, Bob from accounting!
Anyways, the gobble-gaggle presented their issue to the brainless fuckass. CrazyTurkey, in all his infinite wisdom, studiously weighed both sides’ arguments evenly, devised various other scenarios, and presented them all with his well-thought out decision. Haha! Yeah right. Actually, he began daydreaming about tacos midway through being issued the problem. He stood there in a taco-infested daze for several minutes after before finally squawking out some insane, incoherent babble about making “boom boom”, which sadly both sides took to mean that he agreed with the conception of the goat-omic bomb, or G-Bomb if you will…and you will! Of course we rationally-thinking species know this to mean he needed to release his bowels, but what the fuck do we know right?
This decision did not sit well with the dissenters however, who all sauntered off, grumbling amongst themselves. Being turkeys, they were too stupid to devise plans like “sabotage” or “rebellion” or “pizza party”. Actually I lied, because at that moment one of them suggested a pizza party and the others were naturally down with that shit! So they all went off to Snoodesto’s Pizza Parlor, where they ate heartily and had rounds of Wild Turkey shots. Unfortunately, all of them forgot their wallets and when handed the bill, they all stared at each other in drunken horror.
Snoodesto was very unhappy to hear this, and as he was a member of the Italian turkey mob, he made sure that none of these turkeys were ever heard from again. Naturally, this meant that he had them encased in sound-proof, recycled rubber bubbles in which they could roll around. Of course, he did not poke air holes in the bubbles, so within a few minutes all the turkeys were dead. Strangely enough however, the turkeys died from starvation, not lack of oxygen…despite having eaten pizza a little over an hour ago…*sigh* I’m done. Next fucking chapter please!
Great Avian War;a Chronicling
Chapter 24, verse 3
Several days went by without a catch. On the 4th day however, as Gobblobaganoosh was out checking the traps, he heard bleating coming from one of the traps. As he pushed through the shrubbery surrounding the area, he came upon it. Sure enough, t’was a goat!
Trapping the goat was of course the easy part. Now came the arduous task of transporting it without causing it to self-destruct. Basically in order to accomplish this, the turkeys would have to move it without jarring, throttling, punching, poking, stabbing, tripping, touching, looking at, breathing towards, or generally upsetting it…there are many ways to upset a goat. In other words, they needed to keep CrazyTurkey far the fuck away!
So, after locking CrazyTurkey in a bomb shelter by luring him into it with a FLog (otherwise known as the Fuckable Log – and now available: FLog for kids!), they were able to safely transport the goat to their encampment. They did this through a very complicated process involving…*Disclaimer: the following portion of the story has been removed for safety purposes. Any actual attempt to transport goats is too dangerous, therefore we cannot legally explain to our readers how to perform this task. Any complaints can be emailed to email@example.com.*
Without CrazyTurkey around to create a horrible incident, they managed to get the goat into a prepared Polycarbonate of Soda cage. A carefully preserved mixture of expired soda with a sturdy plastic, it is thus far the only material known to withstand a goat explosion. Still, this was a groundbreaking procedure, so every precaution had to be taken. After ensuring there was no way that the goat could escape, the turkey scientists began studying how to create the G-Bomb.
The operation was led by Robert Gobblinheimer, a turkey scientist who majored in his favorite scientific field: rock climbing. Fortunately he also minored in chemistry, so he still had absolutely no clue what the fuck he was doing. Nevertheless, he was put in charge of the operation….good choice.
3 days later…Having just finished reading The Complete Dumbass’ Guide to Atomic Fission, Gobblinheimer felt comfortable with the project. He now knew that in order for this G-Bomb to work, he would need to harness refined uranium and add it to the goat to sustain a nuclear chain reaction. Also, in order to create the destructive power expected of a G-Bomb, he would have to locate the goat’s explosive gland and split an atom inside it. Needless to say, it would require great patience and skill!
They determined the best way to tackle these tasks was to split the team into two groups: one to obtain the uranium and introduce it into the goat’s circulatory system, and the second to find the gland and figure out how to split an atom in it. Gobblinheimer headed up the task of locating the uranium, and he put Dave (pronounced Dah-vay) Bomb, a Kwahntum physicist, in charge of finding the gland. They gathered their perspective teams and split off to work.
Gobblinheimer started his work by (very carefully!) gathering blood and tissue samples from the goat. He and his team spent the next week studying these samples, testing them for any traces of proteins with which they could bind the uranium. Unexpectedly, they discovered that there was uranium bonded to some of the mature red blood cells! Now the uranium they discovered was only fine uranium, but they found that by fining it again (through the use of a funing tork and a skinless baby harp seal) they achieved the desired results. As the uranium was already introduced into the goat’s circulatory system, they didn’t have to worry about that either. They effectively flattened two kittens with one brick! Gobblinheimer went to tell Dr. Bomb his findings and check on the progress of his team.
Dr. Bomb did not disappoint; apparently his team had made significant progress as well. He explained to Gobblinheimer they had performed a CT scan to test brain functions, and they discovered some strange patterns. Upon further testing, they found that the Amygdala portion of the brain (the bundle of neurons in the brain that processes emotions like fear, anger & pleasure, and the trigger for the “fight or flight” instinct) was constantly firing and active. Further tests showed the neurons reacted to any stimuli introduced to the goat. Further testing proved what he had hoped to find: goats chemically react to the overpowering wave of fear caused by their “fight or flight” trigger, which causes an unstable reaction at the molecular level, thereby inducing these “random” explosions.
Gobblinheimer was ecstatic! Never before had so much data on these dangerous creatures been collected, but here it was only a little over a week and they had already learned so much. He confirmed Dr. Bomb’s hypothesis by relaying his own teams’ findings. Clearly the uranium bonded to the blood cells was somehow able to refine itself inside the goat, possibly by the adrenaline released by the fearful goat. Still, to cause these enormous and nearly spontaneous explosions, all of these chemicals and reactions would have to be able to take place in mere fractions of a second. It was nearly unthinkable, but think they did!
This was no time for celebrating though, for the hard part was yet to come. Dr. Bomb confirmed that his team could split an atom. A dangerous task, they had to introduce a drop of schizophrenia to the atom, thereby driving it completely fucking insane to the point of splitting itself, releasing its terrible energy. Of course, everyone knows that one cannot simply liquefy schizophrenia, right? Hahaha wrong asshole! Freeze it, then boil it and you have your damn liquid! Do I have to tell you everything?!
I did not need to tell these fools though, for they had schizophrenia ice cubes that were used to cool their noodle soups that they had been eating during this study. It had some unfortunate side effects for those fools that used the cubes, but they said it added to the flavor of the soup. Anyway, Dr. Bomb came up with the plan to inject a carnivorous ear wig with the liquefied schizo and insert it into the goat’s ear, with the plan to have the ear wig make it into the brain of the goat in time for the schizo to drive the insect to tear itself apart, thereby coating the goat’s brain with the insane liquid. The schizo, upon contacting the Amygdala neurons, would destroy the atoms and cause the chain reaction to create the G-Bomb.
Several weeks later…After extensive testing, this proved to be the most effective method for their creation. Of course, nothing could be proven yet, for they were unable to test this on a goat (as it would be much too dangerous), but they were certain they had their G-Bomb. They gathered their equipment, and of course their goat, and set out to inform the village leader.
Unfortunately, as they were exiting the testing facility, CrazyTurkey blasted out of the bomb shelter he had been locked in nearly 2 months ago. To this day, it is uncertain if he heard or saw (or maybe felt the vibrations of?) the schizo-injected ear wig inside its glass cylinder casing. Whatever sense he used to detect this insect, it nevertheless caught his undivided attention. He scrambled over to the group of scientists, meandering and bull-dozing his way towards that slithery bug.
The scientists were trying futilely to contain this blathering idiot, terrified he was going to disturb the goat and destroy their work. Their fears were realized, for once CrazyTurkey made it to the insect, he pecked the glass casing and shattered it. The ear wig bounced off of CrazyTurkey’s beak and flew end-over-end, slipping through the bars of the goat’s cage, coming to a stop when it plopped into the right ear canal of the goat. For a second, everyone froze. The scientists, out of fear. CrazyTurkey, because he tasted his own tongue and didn’t know what the fuck it was.
After that split second of fear, pandemonium struck the scientists. You know, the kind of quiet pandemonium that strikes one who does not want to disturb a highly explosive weapon. They quietly whispered amongst themselves (careful not to let the vibrations of their voice bounce towards the goat) about what to do. Gobblinheimer stepped forward and hushed them. He explained that he would do what needed…
At that instant, the ear wig must have leaked its fluids, for the goat bleated once. Immediately after, there was an explosion the likes of which neither this nor any world have before or since experienced. The G-Bomb was a success… unfortunately within the turkey encampment. Was this truly the end of the turkeys? Had TurboRooster and Thuh Chickenz escaped the blast, or were they upended by CrazyTurkey’s incompetency once more? Why the damn am I asking you these questions? Fuck you, that’s why! Read the next chapter!
Great Avian War;a Chronicling
Chapter 25, verse 1
It was at this point when CrazyTurkey finally noticed TurboRooster’s presence (who had positioned his own flock beside CrazyTurkey’s during his nap). In some small corner of his mind, he wondered what the tyrant fowl was doing there – but for the most part he was just thirsty. He pulled the Holy Quail out of his ass and took a gulp of the fluids he had been saving within it. His dry beak satisfied, he returned the relic to his prison pocket.
TurboRooster took note that his prey carried the holy weapon. After scanning the crazed turkey to ensure no harm had yet come to him, he returned his attention to the cyborgs before him. He could sense traces of his own technology within these creatures, which of course infuriated him. But everything about these creatures was foreign to him.
He knew he had to be very careful as his foe, this “Dr Sven”, was clearly quite formidable. After all, every one of his Chicks was now incapable of spawning more thanks to the virus that Spy-borg Chick had released upon his flock. In addition, his P.R.I.C.K. was still offline since the severing of his kites. In all his years, he had never faced an enemy that was quite as thorough as this.
While he was pondering how to further proceed, one of the cyborgs spoke. As it turned out, it was actually Dr Sven speaking through a communication system installed into the cyborg. He introduced himself to TurboRooster, then asked him if he liked what he had done with the tyrant cock’s technology, after which he laughed mockingly. TurboRooster stared silently.
Sven continued on, explaining that he had no intentions of interfering with TurboRooster. All he wanted was the turkeys, and so suggested TurboRooster turn around and go back. He was merely buying time of course, he knew TurboRooster would never back down now. As he rambled on, one of the cyborgs had begun sidling up behind TurboRooster’s position.
Knowing that TurboRooster would eventually catch on to his plan, he instructed one of his cyborgs to grab CrazyTurkey. CrazyTurkey squawked incoherently when the metal being clutched his skinny neck, and he struggled violently but futilely. TurboRooster raised his weapon to this cyborg, but then he heard something that infuriated him.
Sven had just asked him a question through the cyborg. Not just any question mind you - he had just asked him, “why did the chicken cross the road?” TurboRooster shuddered angrily at hearing those words, and turned his attention to the cyborg that had just spoken. With his guard lowered from these events, he had not noticed the cyborg sneaking up behind him. As he prepared to fire upon the cyborg Sven had been talking through, the sneaky cyborg opened its chest plate and stuffed TurboRooster quickly inside, sealing it immediately.
The cyborg holding CrazyTurkey stowed the bird away in its own compartment, and the cyborgs turned to bring the fowl before their leader. The Chicks and Turklings attacked the cyborgs in an attempt to free their leaders, but t’was to no avail. They eventually gave up and just followed the captors to their hideout.
A few moments later…Sven watched ecstatically as the GPCs filed into his laboratory, followed by the Chicks and Turklings. The baby fowl made no attempts to attack or cause trouble, so Sven decided to leave them alone for now. He would be feasting on their succulent bird flesh soon enough. For now, he had to deal with TurboRooster and CrazyTurkey. It wasn’t going to be too much of an issue. He had installed an anesthetic vaporizer within his GPCs, so the birds would be fast asleep by now. And indeed they were!
TurboRooster was being carried by GPC unit #43. Sven instructed the unit to place TurboRooster in special restraints he had crafted for the bird. GPC unit #216 carried CrazyTurkey, and it placed the bird’s head in a vise clamp, then screwed it down to the point of nearly fracturing his skull. Needless to say, he shouldn’t be escaping any time soon!
Sven began the process of awakening these birds by playing a reverse-lullaby (songs intended to stimulate the listener with irritating sounds). It took a couple of songs to fully arouse them, but they became fully alert once “Surfin’ Bird” started playing. Even the Chicks and Turklings became irritable after a few seconds of that song. Sven stopped the music and took out his earplugs, thankful that he had not been subjected to such filth.
Gleefully, he slid over to TurboRooster and looked him over. TurboRooster was clasped to a steel table by his wings and legs. The cyborg half of his head was covered with a steel mask to conceal the use of his biotic eye – the other half stared him down menacingly. Even in this state, he filled Sven with a sense of dread. Sven shook it off, realizing there was nothing the incapacitated bird could do in his current state to interfere with his plans.
Satisfied, he turned his attention to CrazyTurkey. His mouth began salivating at the prime specimen of turkey flesh before him. CrazyTurkey made no sounds, but his eyes were bouncing around in his head like a game of Pong on extreme fast-forward. Sven was so close to his goal now, he could taste it. Snapping out of his trance, he realized that he was gnawing on one of CrazyTurkey’s legs. He composed himself.
Snuggle surveyed the Taconian Savannah. His soldiers were standing in a silent formation behind him. Other than the recently scorched earth, which he suspected had been caused by TurboRooster, there were no physical signs of his prey. However, there was an all-too-familiar scent in the air which tugged at him. Drawing in a deep breath, he could tell that the birds had traveled north, into the mountain…
Hiding in the long grass a few hundred yards away, Chuck and Teddy were watching this large army of deformed birds. As far as they could tell, this strange-looking stuffed bear appeared to be the leader. Chuck also counted 4 short creatures that were keeping watch in a perimeter around the formation, and he suspected there may be more of them beyond his vision.
Teddy was again in a trance. Chuck hoped that he would remain silent, but there was no guarantee of that in his current state. Suddenly the stuffed bear shouted something incomprehensible (like “forward”) and the massive army began marching in the direction of that large mountain through which the pair had driven earlier.
Once the troops were at a reasonable distance, Chuck turned to Teddy. Before Chuck could say anything, Teddy popped out of his crouch and started in the direction the birds were travelling. Chuck stayed quiet and followed, glancing behind himself every few steps. He couldn’t shake this terrible feeling of being watched…
Great Avian War;a Chronicling
Chapter 25, verse 2
Unit #38 reported in to Sven. That could only mean one thing: the oven was ready! He shuddered in delight at the thought of tasting that succulent turkey flesh that clung to CrazyTurkey so tightly. Mouth salivating, he advanced towards the trapped turkey. There could be no stopping him now!
A pounding at the front door of the silo stopped him. Snapped out of his lust-filled trance, he angrily ordered one of his GPCs to answer it. He knew Sedusa had gone out a couple of hours ago, but he was sure that he had given her the passcode to the entrance. Frustrated, he shook his head and turned back towards his turkey dinner. Sedusa walked in, rubbing her right eye having just awakened from her nap, and asked what all the banging was about. Sven looked puzzled. Then he remembered – Sedusa had taken a nap, not gone out. His turkey-lust driven mind had confused his memories…dumbass!
He sprinted toward the front door. Sedusa, confused, followed him. They arrived to find the silo door standing (or maybe it was sitting…I can’t recall, fuck it) wide open (oh I remember now, it was laying wide open!) – they arrived to find the silo door laying wide open, and the GPC was gutted and splayed out across the ground. Shocked, Sven stared in disbelief at the dismembered cyborg. Judging from the way the metal was twisted, the GPC closely resembled a gerbil freshly removed from Dick Gere’s prison pocket!
Sven suddenly became very afraid. He quickly closed the silo door and locked it. Wide-eyed, he turned to Sedusa. She said what he was thinking – Snuggle was here. They quickly made their way back to the lab, where Sven began typing away at his computer. The crazed scientist was frantically searching through his cameras, but found no traces of any intruders. This wasn’t possible (or as the French say, it was “im-po-ssib-LEAH!”).
Burying his face in his paws, he sighed. He turned towards Sedusa to ask her to make him some “cream puddin’” (which always helped calm his nerves) when he saw something that made him stop. Sedusa frowned, seeing his expression, and turned. Sven was staring because CrazyTurkey was still held fast by his remarkably simple prison, but the table where TurboRooster had been being held, was empty.
It was obvious how TurboRooster had escaped. Sven was examining the shackles, and they had all been sliced through cleanly. It looked like a laser beam had done it, but his bionic eye was rendered useless because of the mask. He must have installed another beam elsewhere that Sven had not been aware of. That sly cock!
Now in dire need of some cream puddin’, Sven tossed his paws in the air exasperatedly. Everything had been going so well! It seemed that Mellok had decided to give him some lemons. Well, Sven damn sure intended to make lemonade! Unfortunately for him, he had no idea what to use to make lemonade, so he just tossed the lemons in the fridge for another time.
As the fridge door closed, he felt like he was being watched. He spun around and sure enough, there was TurboRooster. They stared each other down for only a few seconds, but to them it felt like….well, like a few seconds. The trance was finally broken by CrazyTurkey blasting his wails throughout the silo. Sven looked past TurboRooster, his face wearing a look of utter horror.
The reason his face wore such a terrified and disgusted look was because of what exactly he was watching – and what he was watching was CrazyTurkey. Specifically, that he had twisted his body enough that his turkey legs were resting on the wheel that controls the vise clamp. He then began running on the wheel, tightening the already excruciating grip it held on his bird head. A few turns later, his head cracked and crushed under the impressive weight, exploding brains and fecal matter across the room; afterwards, he lay flaccid and motionless.
Sven looked at TurboRooster and then back at the body of CrazyTurkey. As he opened his mouth to say something, a gurgled scream of turkey pain reverberated across Sven’s eardrums – and CrazyTurkey began twirling his body like a demented helicopter blade. His body kept slamming against the wheel, loosening the grip that the clamp bore against his head. After a few strokes it had apparently loosened enough, for CrazyTurkey suddenly blasted across the hall past the two dueling fucktards and bounced into the sink where he remained still.
His head spinning from all the recent activity, Sven turned his attention back to TurboRooster…who was pointing a cannon at him! Sven ducked reflexively, but TurboRooster tracked him and fired. Startled, Sven shrieked femininely. TurboRooster shouldered the weapon and left, leaving Sven to his current…predicament.
The demented ursine opened his eyes slowly, expecting to see the tyrant cock ready to finish him off. Instead, he was greeted by an empty hallway. He frowned and stood up - it was then that he noticed the blood. It covered his belly and part of his chest, but he felt no pain. He frantically patted himself down, attempting to locate the injury, but his examination was fruitless. Eventually, he deduced that TurboRooster had just shot him with a blood-filled capsule or something similar. What he didn’t understand was why.
There was no more time to contemplate his query though, for CrazyTurkey had regained consciousness…and somehow his cranium had been healed. He fell out of the sink and glanced about the room, obviously confused and aroused by his current situation. Sven’s mouth began watering at the sight of his prey, and his attention to his surroundings became instantly nullified. It was an unfortunate time for such a thing to happen, for the 600,000 baby fowl that TurboRooster had just released poured into the room, covering Sven in a warm blanket of living fowl flesh.
Great Avian War;a Chronicling
Chapter 25, verse 3
Having regained his freedom, Sven returned his attention to TurboRooster. He ran back to the lab and his computer. His plan was to order his GPCs to hunt down the escaped cyborg. Sliding to a stop in front of his computer, he began typing his instructions. Unfortunately, he found he was logged out. That was a bit confusing, he couldn’t remember logging out. However, inputting his password proved futile - he was dumbfounded.
He just stared at the monitor for a minute, trying to grasp how everything seemed to be going wrong. All his perfect plans were falling apart. The worst part was, Sedusa still hadn’t returned with his cream puddin’! He smashed his paw into the monitor, shattering it. Fortunately for him, he always had a contingency plan.
Foraging through his desk, he found his radio transmitter. He had built it a while back in case he encountered a computer virus or the like. With a silently blaring ‘BLIP’, the transmitter turned on. He spouted instructions into it, thus sending them out to every one of his GPCs…or so he thought. None of them were responding to him. He couldn’t believe it, although by this point, he really could believe it.
GPC #39 passed by him, seeming not to notice his presence. Without any instructions, they were reduced to performing menial tasks. Sven opened the control panel in the back of the GPC to try and figure out what the damn was going on with them. He couldn’t access anything! This was becoming frustrating. It was as if he was being deliberately blocked, cock blocked almost. That’s when it hit him - TurboRooster. That damn bird was sabotaging him!
Now that he knew the problem, he began to relax. There was no way he could lose; he had worked too hard to get here. Besides, he knew that he was smarter than any bird could ever hope to be. After all, he won his first game of Conjoin-4 against Sedusa this morning by lining up 3 pogs in a row. It was a feat that had never been done in the game’s history (at least not legally) and he had even counted them himself!
Regardless of his apparent inability to count on a kindergarten level or follow the rules of a game with the same mental requirement, he was still confident that he could beat TurboRooster. He began resetting the GPC by pressing CTRL, ALT & DEL. After it rebooted itself, Sven typed in his password. It was no wonder TurboRooster so easily penetrated his defenses – his password was turkey. In any event (except the high-dive), he successfully logged into his cyborg and programmed his instructions. One down, 319 to go…
Unfortunately for him, he never made it that far. As he shut the panel and turned to find the next GPC, he heard a growling. It had come from the dark corner of the lab to his left. Blinking rapidly in fear, he turned towards the corner. There was nothing visible through the blinding blackness. He squinted, attempting to hear better (apparently squinting opens the ear canals or some stupid shit like that), but it helped not.
Suddenly, two red, glowing dots appeared. Sven gasped and backed up a step instinctively. They were followed by two more, and two more still, and so on until there were 14 sets of those red orbs staring at him. Staring yes, as Sven realized that they were eyes. Feeling a mixture of fear and confusion, he stared on unmoving as the eyes began advancing on him. It didn’t take long for them to reach the light and expose their bodies to the demented bear, but when they did he knew he was in trouble. It was the herd of rabid moose.
It was a truly alarming sight at first, but as he calmed down he remembered that the moose were nearly blind. They relied almost entirely on their sense of smell to find their prey. He would have breathed a sigh of relief, but he knew their sense of hearing was great as well. All he had to do now was remain perfectly still and everything would be alright. That’s when he smelled the blood; the blood that TurboRooster had blasted him with just a few moments earlier. Realizing that the tyrant cock had set all this up, he shrieked in girlish terror – as the herd stampeded towards their newfound prey.
TurboRooster was watching approvingly through the vents. The entire event had been set up by him hours before. His sensors had picked up the herd of moose weeks before, so he them captured and interrogated. They didn’t give up any information, but he had picked up trace amount of Sven’s DNA on them. Further research on them showed they had a voracious reaction when exposed to the scent of blood – most notably, the blood of the snowshoe hare – the biggest archenemy of the moose.
After capturing and milking the blood from several of these revolting lagomorphs, TurboRooster encapsulated the hate-inducing fluids and stored them in a hidden cannon in his wing for later use. Before he left for the silo to deal with Sven, he had set the moose…mooses…meese….moosi, it’s moosi…he had set the moosi cage on a timer to be opened hours after they left, confident that they would follow the scent of the hare blood all the way to Sven’s lab. He had not anticipated they would be savage enough to destroy that cyborg, but clearly their bloodlust spurred them on to greater heights!
Sauntering off from their clearly incapacitated victim, the moosi herd left the silo and fled into the woods beyond. Sven’s corpse lay motionless, other than the random muscle spasms that ripped through his mauled extremities. Satisfied, TurboRooster removed himself from the vent. Staring at the remains of the demented scientist, he whistled for his Chicks. With a rush of ‘peeps’ the room quickly filled with the baby fowl.
Following close behind was CrazyTurkey and his flock. He gave TurboRooster a ‘gleet’ of gratitude for his assistance (I…think?). The tyrant cock nodded in acceptance of his own glorious mercy and motioned for them all to leave. CrazyTurkey broke off his right leg and threw it in the direction they were going. I guess this was his way of saying, “let’s git oun ‘at trail, doggie! YAWWW!” Clearly no one else understood the retarded fowl’s attempted gesture, but nevertheless followed TurboRooster’s exit out of the silo. Together, for the time being at least, the two races traveled as one in an unspoken pact that was surely not to last…
Shortly after the birds had made good on their escape, Sedusa exited the bathroom with a huge bowl of cream puddin’ just for Sven!...I…have no knowledge as to why she needed to use the bathroom to make this dessert, but…you know, it’s probably best if we just don’t ask, hm? Anyway, she was shocked to find Sven’s body in a bloody heap of moose mauling. She had heard nothing over the noise of the boiling toilet water (damn it man, why the fuck?!...) and had no clue as to what had transpired. However, small bird tracks in blood covered the floor and showed the exit, telling her everything she needed to know. She set down the bowl and got to work.
Great Avian War;a Chronicling
Chapter 26, verse 1
Once, while I was waiting at a trailer trash bus stop, I was told by some homeless guy who had worms crawling out of his pockets – he told me that legend speaks of the Great Battle, such that on that day the cock will crow twice at noon, and the butterfly and the goat will become as one. Of course, the drifter next to him was wearing an upside-down nametag that read ‘Legend’, so I can’t vouch for the authenticity of his account…although he did himself say afterwards that he was a muffin, and I have never known a muffin to lie, so it must be true. But I digress…to the story we shall return…
The merged flocks led by the battle-scarred birds of war had made their way back to the Taconian Savannah. As you may have guessed, Snuggle and his army were there waiting for them. I suppose that’s the incorrect way to say that: really what happened was Snuggle had been marching his army this whole time, but because the Turducken were unmercifully slow, they had only really covered about 240 feet. Snuggle was lying on the ground, foaming at the mouth and twitching, but he sprung to his paws upon sight of his bird nemeses.
TurboRooster motioned for his flock to halt about 100 yards short of Snuggle. The two groups stared each other down. Snuggle was upset to see that TurboRooster and CrazyTurkey were traveling together. Even though he had planned to face them both anyway, he was still counting on the fact that they would whittle each other’s numbers down. This new turn of events would prove troublesome truly, but mayhaps it could prove advantageous. Sure, his army was outnumbered 5 to 1, but it was not impossible. He would have to count on the birds’ history with each other to tear them apart during the battle. Being the Prince of Darkness, he could set that up.
It was mere minutes until noon now though, and the savannah was starting to heat up beyond a comfortable level. TurboRooster knew that any extended battle with the demon crew would be detrimental to his flock, further exacerbated by this heat and their already starved and dehydrated bodies. But he knew that he was a cock and not a pussy, so he had to “get at that shit!”, as it were. His gaze drifted to CrazyTurkey, who was systematically smashing his head against a rock. Not that he really expected anything else.
Sighing as only a cyborg chicken warlord can sigh, TurboRooster bagocked a command to his troops. Simultaneously, Snuggle bellowed in his whiney little bitch voice to his troops. Both sides advanced as one. When the first rows clashed the sound of feathers and beaks connecting could be heard for miles around. Come to think of it, the smell wasn’t that great either.
Even through the dense crowd of flesh and feather, and even though he stood a full foot shorter than the Turducken, TurboRooster never lost sight of his true target: Snuggle. His metallic wing sliced through the metropolitan creatures with ease on his march towards the demon bear. CrazyTurkey followed in his wake. In the most gruesome of fashions, the retarded fowl was twirling his head and neck about like a buzz saw and carving up any stragglers who happened to evade the cock’s blades.
Snuggle stood near the center of his massive army. The demon could sense his enemies approaching. He swelled with violent anticipation and began to stroke the Great Pickle…(the remainder of the paragraph was removed due to offensive content).
Another Turducken fell to TurboRooster’s wing-blades and he poised himself to strike yet another. As he began his downward slash, Snuggle erupted from the chest of the Turducken and launched at the cyborg cock, holding Ex-.50-caliber in attack mode. His slash too far gone to stop now, TurboRooster instead followed his own swipe, ducking underneath the demon’s surprise attack.
This unfortunate (or mayhaps fortunate – it depends on who you’re going for I suppose!) turn of events left Snuggle very much exposed to CrazyTurkey’s disgusting windmill attack. He had just enough time to slide his sword’s blade across his arm before slamming into the spinning blade of turkey gizzard and erupting into a grenadic explosion of plush stuffing. CrazyTurkey didn’t fare much better, as Snuggle was still holding onto the legendary sword. Needful to say, the poor dumb bird was extremely clean-shaven after that. If you can call being completely skinned from the neck up clean!
A piece of plush down landed in front of TurboRooster. Even though this was the very bird who had been interfering with his plans and evading his assassinations for decades now, he couldn’t help but feel a little impressed with CrazyTurkey’s ability to down the demon. He picked up the piece of stuffing and secured it in his sleek chicken body as a memento of their cooperative triumph. After attaining his trophy, he nodded at CrazyTurkey in approval and reached for the now ownerless Ex-.50-caliber.
This proved to be futile however. His wing within inches of attaining this prized possession, he was forced to jerk it away. The reason he had done so was because the sword began glowing and pulsating with a dark energy that burned the feathers that had been too close. There was surely some devilry at work here, so TurboRooster readied himself. CrazyTurkey had gathered up his skin and was attempting to reattach it. Of course, I use that word loosely. What he really did was sort of drape it around his neck a couple of times and then tie a slipknot in it.
Regardless of CrazyTurkey’s apparent disinterest in what was happening, that did not in fact deter it from happening. Before TurboRooster’s living eye (and after his biotic one), the sword reformed Snuggle’s plush body. The demon bear gasped in pleasure as his soul entered the newly reanimated doll. His button eyes glowed a bright red before being engulfed by the dark flames of the underworld, returning them to their pitch black sheen. Fully restored, he knelt and picked up his sword, then faced TurboRooster for combat.
TurboRooster was not completely set aback, or even affront, by this. He had researched the sword’s abilities back when Snuggle had infiltrated his lair and left the blade behind. Despite the fact the demon appeared to be quite insane, TurboRooster figured the bear had still been able to figure out what the sword could do. It appeared to be even worse than he feared, for the demon had not only figured it out, he had even figured out how to bend the sword’s power to his own will…
Great Avian War;a Chronicling
Chapter 26, verse 2
Yes indeed, Snuggle had figured out that the sword could steal souls. It was a device he used much over the years it had been in his possession. Being a cautious creature, he feared the sword would one day be used against him. There was always the cloaking safeguard (which he had discovered when he picked up the sword one day in front of Schnoogle, who freaked the fuck out!) but no one could underestimate the power of such an object. Least of all the Prince of Darkness!
How he had managed to overcome the soul stealing ability of the sword was another feat altogether. It was also a leg and a thigh, but mostly a feat. Through much trial and error (and butter soaked bicycle spokes), he learned that any slice into a being with a soul immediately transferred that soul into the sword. Once inside the sword, the soul is trapped within until the wielder of the sword unleashes it.
His main question though, what if the wielder should become trapped within? He learned the answer to that too. Being cautious did not mean being fearless. So, in the interest of furthering his power, he sliced into his body. As a result, his soul was instantly transported into the weapon. After spending an unknown amount of time trapped in an empty void of nothingness, he slowly regained his consciousness and drifted through the eternal void of the sword, searching for his escape….and maybe an ice cold Pawpsi cola!
Time had no meaning to him in this realm. He was able to maintain a tenuous grip at best on his own being, let alone worry about time. In time, or untime if you will, he encountered other souls travelling through the nothingness. The other souls avoided contact with him, perhaps sensing his superiority to them – it was more likely the fact that his soul bore a bumper sticker that read, “I’m a Demopublican!” He paid them no mind, for he had left his wallet back in Hell and needed to save that mind for cab fare! In any event, they were no threat to him, so they were of no consequence as of yet.
Eventually, his travels through the eternal void brought him before a bright and shining darkness that would have burned his eyes, had he any to burn. As he came before it (and again soon after!), he could feel rather than hear it speaking to him. Apparently, this being was the soul of the witch that had cursed the blade. It proceeded further by rambling on about only Mellok knows what. I guess it was It’s origins or some shit.
Anyway, once it had finished telling it’s story, or whatever the fuck it had been doing, Snuggle queried it as to what he could do in order to avoid an eternal damnation. Though they held no form, he could feel the witch’s smile. It explained that all he had to do was consume and sacrifice another soul while within the sword and a door would be opened for him. Puzzled, he asked it, “What you be talkin’, bitch?!” This was the true power of the sword: it did not eat the souls of its victims as many believed. Instead, it captured souls and held them for the disposal of the true wielder of the legendary weapon. Basically, when wielded properly, the owner could effectively be granted eternal life.
Snuggle left to test this out, and test it he did! The first soul he came across became his victim, and sure enough, he was granted his escape. For the first few minutes, he savored the feel of his mortal body. Every sensation of touch and smell was heightened. It soon gave way to his feeling of utter power. He now held the secret to true immortality within his paws.
Over the next few months, he experimented with the sword. Each time he entered the sword he was able to more quickly regain his consciousness. Eventually, he became comfortable enough to maintain a completely conscious transition from body to sword. His mastery of the weapon was completed about a week before the Medium paid him a visit with the sack of feathers…
It was because of this mastery that he was again standing in front of TurboRooster. As long as he maintained a sufficient number of victims within the sword, and had the time to slice himself before death, he was unbeatable. I mean he could still be beat up, beat down….beat off. Alright, so he wasn’t truly unbeatable. We’ll say that he’s unable to be deathed.
So the undeathable creature Snuggle faced off against TurboRooster, and I guess in some way CrazyTurkey. CrazyTurkey started gesturing with his wings. I assume he was attempting to tell TurboRooster to steal third, but his message only succeeded in confusing the cock. Even Snuggle paused to watch the demented bird, transfixed by his inane and incoherent message. Whatever the damn he was trying to convey, it was soon cut short.
While these three fuckasses were staring each other down, and as a hideous battle between their forces waged on, a rip in the very fabric of time tore open in the field behind them. This strangely coincidental occurrence caused a reverse black hole of sorts, spewing forth a massive wave of brown and black furred mass. This weird and revolting mix of color and hair continued to pour out of the blackness for a solid 3 minutes - this is of course as opposed to a fluid 3 minutes, which would have been about 33 seconds shorter or a gaseous 3 minutes, which would have been 4 hours longer. As the last of the mass spewed out, the rip closed off forever…or threeever, or twoever…you know, whatever.
Using his bionic eye, TurboRooster was able to deduce the identity of the furry mass. His living eye began twitching. He had seen this creature before, but there were so many more this time. A quick scan revealed just under one million of them to be exact. The worst part was he knew who their Masters were. What They wanted was obvious as well, seeing the multitude of creatures that had been sent. The multitude of creatures of course being the tools of the Nameless, the platypi army…
Great Avian War;a Chronicling
Chapter 26, verse 3
There was an unnatural stillness across the battlefield. The opening of the portal obviously more important than their hatred for each other, the armies that had been engaging in mortal combat paused their fighting to watch this disastrous occurrence. As the size of the army spilling out of the rip grew, their confidence and anger waned. Even the dim-witted Turducken knew better than to fuck with these twisted creatures!
Snuggle instantly remembered his last encounter with one of their kind. It had been a fierce contest indeed, and he had barely (bearly?) escaped with his own plush body intact! And that had just been against one of these things. Now he stood before many more. To say he was afraid would be putting it mildly, and I prefer buffalo spicy at least. So here’s putting it buffalo spicy – he plushed his fur.
His eyes met TurboRooster’s for an instant. Putting aside his pride – his fluffy, squishy pride – he offered TurboRooster and CrazyTurkey what they themselves already had: a temporary truce. TurboRooster agreed, however a touch reluctantly. The retarded son of HelioTurk was one thing, but the demon bear could never truly be trusted. CrazyTurkey however accepted Snuggle’s truce without pause. He even blasted the bear with a reconciliatory wad of throat splooge.
Slightly revolted but undeterred by CrazyTurkey’s, um…”gift”…Snuggle wiped himself off. With a high-pitched battle cry, he rallied his troops to face the new-come enemies. The Seven Dwarfish Sins cleared a path through the crowd so he could be at the front of the army…well, six of them did. Jen was too busy chewing on a peeping Chick. TurboRooster followed Snuggle and rallied a similar strategery with a vocal, “BA-GOOOOCK! BA-GOOOOCK!” Utilizing a different leadership tactic, CrazyTurkey slurped a gulp of his own viscous fluids and gurgled violently. The Turklings understood what he meant.
Against all odds, the tenuously cooperative armies turned to face this new threat. Having sustained several casualties at their own wings already, they were now severely outnumbered. To make matters worse, the Chicks and Turklings had not yet overcome the virus that ravaged their bodies. Still, who reading this really thinks that our heroes can lose? We’ve still got a contract for 2 more books!...uh, I mean…oh no! How can they ever overcome such odds?! (There you asshole, I saved it. Get off my ass!).
The sun hung directly overhead. Somewhere, on the other side of the world, a butterfly launched off a flower. The butterfly was having an absolutely stellar day. It had pollenated over 40 flowers today, more than twice what he had done all year! Life was good. That is until the clueless fuck happened to pull a 180 in mid-flight and passed right by a goat. I’m sure you can imagine what happened next. That’s right, he flapped his wings…in front of the goat. The ensuing explosion triggered the start of conflict in the Land of Thuh Chickenz. OK, so it didn’t really start it, but you know what they say about butterflies…and goats.
Regardless of the authenticity of fables, the battle did in fact start at the instant of the explosion. This unfortunate coincidence led others to believe that a butterfly flapping its wings on one side of the world could cause a tornado on the other. Utter nonsense of course! Everyone with half a mind knows that tornadoes are caused when tumbleweeds spontaneously combust. And the same goes for water spouts. Ever heard of underwater tumbleweeds? I should hope so! I-I-I-I’m getting off topic here, I digress…
TurboRooster drew first blood; Snuggle drew sloppy seconds. The battlefield was now very much alive. Fur and feathers flew as the clash between enemies came to a head. Though severely outnumbered, the trio of TurboRooster, CrazyTurkey and Snuggle battled on in a reverse gang-bang of sorts. There wasn’t any sex though. Actually, I take that back. CrazyTurkey was there, there was at least a little sex.
As TurboRooster was gutting a platypi, another scrambled through the crowd. TurboRooster’s wings were humerus deep in guts and he hadn’t the time to free himself. He steadied himself to take the charge – but CrazyTurkey tackled the savage creature before it could make contact. The surprised cock watched as the retarded bird skull-fucked the unsuspecting creature to death. TurboRooster approved of such a violent death, he’d have to remember to make CrazyTurkey’s own swift…maybe.
Snuggle wasn’t doing so badly himself either. With the sword Ex-.50-caliber in his possession, the platypi weren’t nearly as difficult to beat. This was still no time to get complacent; their numbers were far too great for that. Complacency aside, he was having fun making these mutated creatures his bitch! Removing the head from a particularly tenacious specimen, his buttons were immediately drawn to another attempting to swallow a murdered Turkling. Sickened by this barbaric act of uncannibalism, he stabbed his weapon into the cranium of the beast. Needful to say, the swallowing decommenced!
As much damage as the big trio were doing to the Nameless’ army, the army was doing more damage to their own. For each platypi that died at their paws or wings, about seven or eight of their members went down. The Chicks were still featherless and the Turklings still blocked up like unholy hell. If they weren’t able to overcome Sven’s virus soon, this battle would soon be lost.
Speaking of the Swedish devil, he stood now at the outskirts of the Taconian Savannah, surveying the battle before him. This was not a miraculous healing by any means. Sedusa had implanted his brain into one of his GPCs. Having long ago planned for this contingency, he had equipped all his cyborgs to fit a brain.
Once again fully mobile, he was ready to take his revenge upon the birds. No longer inhabiting a mortal body, he was not led by the turkey cravings he once had. His only thought now was to kill. His army of GPC warriors stood waiting behind him, silently awaiting orders. Sedusa was at his side, no doubt searching for Snuggle amidst all the chaos. Tired of sitting on the sidelines, he gave the signal to advance. It was time to “git it oun!”
Great Avian War;a Chronicling
Chapter 27, verse 1
Of course distractions in war can prove costly. Though his attention was taken away for but a second, it was just enough time for a platypi behind him bite his leg and drag him to the ground. Fortunately for the chicken leader, his attention could be returned at over thrice the speed of a normal individual. As he was falling, he released the spur in his captured leg and cut the inside of the throat of the creature. A reflex response caused it to open its mouth, partially freeing the chicken leg it held so tightly. TurboRooster kicked it in the face to free himself completely, leaving it writhing in pain.
While TurboRooster recovered from his attack, Sven began his march into the battle. His cyborgs moved clumsily but without pause. They moved through the crowd, indiscriminately targeting bird and platypi alike. Their sleek metallic bodies were proving quite formidable for the soft bills and webbed feet of the platypi. As some of the craftier creatures discovered though, the joints of the cyborgs were quite vulnerable to their venomous spurs…horse venom apparently is strong enough to disable even cybernetics!
With the introduction of this new enemy, the platypi became fiercer than before. TurboRooster could feel exhaustion creeping up on him. It had been a long time since he had first been captured by the demented scientist and he was running on about half of a quarter of a half-full tank. Snuggle and CrazyTurkey were in the same boat. Of course, they were on a savannah so it didn’t make much sense. They all shook their heads and crawled out of their poor choice of vessel to continue combat.
Teddy Bungee snapped out of his paralysis, by which I mean he woke up from his nap. His arousal stimulated Chuck from his own stupor. Chuck had been mesmerized by the battle before him. He blinked rapidly and stared at Teddy in confusion. It was hard to explain, but he felt as though he were someone else…someone darker. There was no time to dwell on that though, Teddy pulled out his bungee cord – it was time for them to join the fray.
Sven and Sedusa stood before the trio of Snuggle, TurboRooster and CrazyTurkey, having fought their way through the crowd. The cyborgs had created a crescent perimeter, protecting Sven and Sedusa from random attacks. Their current targets had to fend for themselves, but their armies were helping out a little. Snuggle could feel a strong sense of hate emanating from the cloaked figure. His tongue ran across his fangs in anticipation for the coming confrontation.
As Snuggle and the cloaked Sedusa stared each other down, Sven’s focus was completely on the dual fowls that had wronged him so. This was how his delusional mind saw the events anyway. But regardless of the mental ramblings of a madman, the two birds were his biggest threat. TurboRooster after all had orchestrated the return of his rabid moosi herd, and in so doing, been responsible for the brutal mauling he had suffered.
Speaking through the cyborg’s voice transmitter, he greeted his two enemies. TurboRooster curled his beak (yeah, he curled a damn beak - I fucking said it!) in anger. This bastard just didn’t know when to damn quit! That was enough, he couldn’t stand the sight of these fuckers anymore. Rushing forward (at least as fast as his cyborg body could rush), he charged towards them and reached for their necks. TurboRooster dodged his attack with ease, rolling behind him with the speed and agility of a half-cyborg chicken. CrazyTurkey evaded his grasp with the speed and agility of a full-blood turkey – that is to say that he did not in fact get out of the way.
Clucking and gobbling like a madman, CrazyTurkey thrashed like a lunatic, attempting to free himself from the inescapable grasp of Sven’s new body. Sven held him fast and turned to grab the elusive cock. TurboRooster began pecking at the exposed joints, moving as necessary to evade the clumsy cyborg’s strong grasp. That was one slippery cock! The confrontation between the three spurred the platypi on, requiring Sven’s GPC to engage them just to keep them away.
As the combat between birds and machine commenced, Snuggle began his own battle with, though still unbeknownst to him, Sedusa. She stood silently, waiting for him to make his move. Snuggle had no qualms about making the first move. After all, as demon law dictates: “ladies first!” Slashing at her throat with his sword, the demon bear initiated his attack. Sedusa elegantly dodged his swipe and kicked him in the back. Hissing as he fell to his knees, Snuggle spun around prepared to attack again.
Already ahead of him, Sedusa launched a flurry of kicks in his squishy face. Unprepared for such an assault, Snuggle fell back clutching at his face. One of his buttons eyes had cracked from the furious assault. When he recovered and faced his enemy again, he had much bigger things to worry about however. Firstly, the cloaked figure was no longer cloaked, and he now knew who he was dealing with. Secondly, Sedusa was holding the weapon that he had dropped during the last attack. And C, he still didn’t have a date to the prom, and it was next week!
Great Avian War;a Chronicling
Chapter 27, verse 2
Seeing Sedusa again gave Snuggle pause. The last time he had seen her, he had left her to die. It was his own fault for not ensuring her death. Now he had to face down his former lover in mortal combat. Or maybe that was immortal in their cases, but nevertheless…or alwaysthemore?...whatever.
After removing her cloak, the battlefield again grew silent. TurboRooster and Sven stopped fighting and looked around confusedly, wondering what the damn happened. Something appeared to have spooked the platypi. Little did they know, the platypi have a natural instinct to be afraid of foxes (their natural predators). They soon started attacking again, but the fierceness with which they had shown earlier was gone; their confidence dissipating faster than a teenage boy seeing a walrus’ “equipment”.
With the conflict between pawns and platypi again under way, Sedusa re-began her assault on Snuggle. With Ex-.50-caliber now in her possession, she believed that her revenge was nearly complete. But she didn’t want to kill him quickly. No, after all she had been through, she was going to savor putting fear in the demon bear.
TurboRooster, having regained his composure, again turned his focus to the Swedish fool that still held his turkey nemesis. Dodging Sven yet again, he now began pecking at the joint of the arm that held the captive bird. CrazyTurkey was still thrashing about wildly, trying to wrap his fat ass around the arm. I assume he wanted to engulf the arm like a python and choke it to death. Unfortunately, the dumbfuck had no idea about the impossibility of such a feat.
Not that he had to worry about it much longer. As TurboRooster blasted another peck into the wrist joint of the cyborg’s arm with his cybernetic beak, a sharp crack ricocheted throughout the land as the hand detached from the weakened arm. Amazingly, it still maintained the impressive grip upon CrazyTurkey’s neck, but the stupid bird was no worse for wear otherwise. He immediately hopped up and began klorting and kwahing in defiance of his captor’s ineptitude…or maybe he just fucking felt like dancing’!
The tide of battle was beginning to turn in the birds’ favor. With Sedusa’s presence, the Chick, Turkling and Turducken armies were holding their ground. They still weren’t able to gain any ground though. If their leaders weren’t able to help out soon, things could get ugly again. Actually, things were about to get a whole lot uglier anyway...
Things got uglier alright. While Snuggle struggled and the bird duo were tag-teaming Sven, Chuck and Teddy snuck their way into the ring so to speak. Both of them were covered in the blood of the creatures they slew along the way. Their bodies were literally vibrating with the erotic thrill they experienced with every kill. Their presence was not long ignored by TurboRooster. Not that it was short ignored either. Probably best to say that it was medium ignored.
Regardless of the duration of ignorance, TurboRooster did notice them. Not that he cared, these fools were no threat to him. Just a couple of psychotic-looking weasels or rats or some shit. Paying them no more mind (though he did toss a couple of hay pennies their way), he returned his attention to Sven. Chuck and Teddy would normally have been offended at the apparent lack of respect the bird had for them, but their minds were gone. The thrill of killing had awoken something else in them. And everyone was about to find out exactly what that was…
Chuck’s breathing increased as the transformation began. It was something that he had done many times previously. Still, it wasn’t easy on him. His fur shrank into his body and was replaced with a shady duster. Grey, curly hair made its home on the top of his head, and glasses sprouted from apparently nothing. As the tail sucked itself into his body, his buck teeth actually grew a little. A few more minor adjustments, and – POW! – the transformation was complete.
Standing now on the spot where Chuck had just been standing, and in a way still stood, was Gretchen Weathers - a grey-haired, 50-something year old private detective with a passion for murder. By night, she enjoyed the luxury of a double-life as a crime-fighting librarian…who also enjoyed a good murder. A few feet behind her stood Teddy who had undergone a similar, albeit more disturbing, transformation of his own. His transformation brought about Gretchen’s voluptuous sidekick, Scott O’Malley: a well-endowed plumbing assistant with an unnaturally high-pitched voice and the body of a husky 40 year old man…who unfortunately does not wear clothes.
That’s right, both of these psychotic creatures had similar multiple personality disorders. And given the right circumstances, they not only took on the persona of these other selves, they could change their outer appearances to look like them! It was a condition called Diverse Identity Conversion Syndrome with Unbalanced, Cruel and Ruthless Susceptibility (DICSUCRS), an extremely rare genetic disorder that can rearrange an individual’s DNA structure and cause them to undergo changing of their entire bodies to fit their alternate personality. As the name suggests, it was also accompanied by homicidal tendencies, making it a very dangerous disorder. So the odds that two individuals with the same disorder ending up in the same mental asylum would be pretty low, right? (You’d be wrong)
Their other selves brought to the surface and exposed for all to see, the duetic duo of Gretchen and Scott molded themselves into the battle of battles. The pull they had been feeling all this time, the same one that had brought them here, now felt overpowering. And no matter where they looked, their eyes always seemed to end up landing on this half cyborg-half bird thing that was fighting a metal being. Scott felt it - that was the reason he had been brought here: to kill that bird.
Great Avian War;a Chronicling
Chapter 27, verse 3
Sedusa had Snuggle completely on the defensive. Every time the demon bear attacked, he was countered by her amazing kickboxing skills. Or maybe that was box kicking. She worked for years at the local Mall-Wart as a professional box kicker, so this is likely where she acquired her skills. Anyway, she was still pwning poor Snuggles!
As she again went on the offensive, Snuggle saw an opening. He rolled behind one of his Turducken and leapt onto its back. Using it as a springboard of sorts, he launched himself into the air to attack her from above. His strategy appeared to have worked, for she was searching for him underneath the Turducken. His claws extended as he fell silently for the kill.
Sedusa however had not been fooled. She had been tracking him through her peripheral vision. When he got close enough, she quickly thrust the sword in an upwards arc. Snuggle realized what was happening quickly enough to evade a complete bi-section, but his belly was still sliced cleanly through. He grabbed his tummy, holding in what stuffing he could as he crashed to the ground with a soft squeak.
His eyes blazed with a fierce fire and he stood to face her, still holding his stomach stuffing in. This was something he may not have wanted to do though. Sedusa was standing there facing him, holding the sword in one hand and her mask in the other. The fire in his eyes died out as his plush body was engulfed in ice and he became one of her sculptures. Satisfied, she replaced her mask and walked up to the now trapped demon. Relishing her victory for a few moments longer, she turned the sword and sliced him in half from head to crotch. The two halves slowly fell apart and crashed to the ground, separating him even further into unrepairable shards.
She felt an overwhelming sense of closure; her tormentor had finally been put to rest forever. His soul was trapped forever in the sword, so there was no chance of the demon returning…or so she thought. As she turned to leave her former lover to rest in pieces, the sword began glowing. She paused and looked at it, wondering what exactly was happening. After a few moments, the glowing stopped without anything apparent happening. She shrugged it off as nothing.
That’s when the paw erupted from her chest. The pain was so intense, she dropped the sword and fell to her knees. When the second paw burst forth from her chest cavity, she fell to her side and convulsed. In her last moments, she reached for the sword futilely. Unfortunately for her, it was out of reach now. Snuggle continued his escape from within her, bursting free with a bloody shriek of triumph. He pulled himself free and picked up his sword. As the light faded from Sedusa’s eyes, her last vision was of Snuggle standing over her, smiling and stabbing the sword down into her temple…
During the battle between Snuggle and Sedusa…TurboRooster and CrazyTurkey were triangling off against Sven. The severed hand that had been around CrazyTurkey’s neck was now lying on the ground. The bird had finally escaped its grasp by twisting his neck around until his vertebrae disintegrated, then squeezed his neck flap through the crack between thumb and fingers. His bones had not yet recovered from this, so his head was dragging across the ground.
With the addition of these two newcomers, the two birds found themselves outnumbered. TurboRooster sidled up cautiously so that they and Sven could be watched. He realized then that Sven was talking and had been for a while. It was irrelevant of course, there was nothing he had to say that was of import to the cock. While TurboRooster awaited someone to make the first move, someone did indeed make just that.
Sven stopped his inane rambling when he heard a familiar sound coming from behind him. It was the sound of humming and wind being blown rapidly around. Turning around slowly, part of him already knew what he was about to see. That is not to say, or unsay, that it did not still surprise him. And surprised he was, for behind him stood someone that he had not seen in years. Despite the extended absence and the new body, she apparently still knew who he was. It was his old pet a.c. unit, Cantag.
For Sven, time stood still. He had never expected this day to come. Surely she had been killed by some predator years ago, but here she now stood! Unable to cry because of the lack of tear ducts, it still brought tears to his mind’s eyes. His baby had returned! And now, reunited, they could destroy his enemies twice and for all!
Great Avian War;a Chronicling
Chapter 27, verse 4
The Swedish madman told Cantag how much he missed her. Pleading with her to join him in his fight with the birds, he failed to notice TurboRooster sneaking up behind him. He reached out his arms to give the a.c. unit a hug, and the sneaky cock shoved him in the assplate. Thrown off balance, he stumbled forward towards Cantag. The a.c. unit had searched years for her old owner, but as he rushed at her she mistakenly took it as a threat. All her thoughts of reuniting with Sven faded and were replaced as her survival instincts kicked in.
Opening her fingerguard/mouth, she swallowed the cyborg whole. Her blade was made of finely-tempered steel, but it was no match for Sven’s design. After mangling the head of the cyborg, the metal-on-metal contact proved to be too much for the aged blade of the a.c. unit. One of the arms got stuck between the blade and the wall of the unit. After smoking and whirring uselessly for several seconds, Cantag exploded in a violent blast of ancient technological fury. Whatever was left of Sven’s body at that point was blown into bits as well. It was an unfortunate end to an unfortunate soul.
Gretchen and Scott were content watching the events unfold. They were impressed with the way the cyborg cock operated – he was apparently without ruth. Applauding respectfully, Gretchen recaptured TurboRooster’s attention. She blew some smoke clouds on her pipe and cast a glance at Scott. Gripping onto his plunger and squinting his beady little eyes, he nodded in confirmation. Time to play!
She spit out the pipe and caught it. It transformed in midair to a chain-spitting flamethrower which she now wielded. Scott’s plunger had undergone a metamorphosis as well, changing into a chained spear. They had accessed their crazy sides and dove into the shallow end of the nightmare pool. And they were about to show the bird pair just how they played.
Suddenly, Gretchen and Scott exploded like bean bags that had been crushed by a garbage truck that had been pushed off a 50-story building. Standing atop their corpses, wings spraying dust and dirt into the battle, was Harold – the alpha bull of the flying hippo herd. Across the field, more of the flying hippos dropped from the sky, crushing and biting the remaining platypi forces. TurboRooster and CrazyTurkey looked shocked, glanced at each other for a few seconds, and said fuck it! They nodded to Harold and helped attack.
The platypi forces were now spread too thin. The Turklings, Chicks and Turducken had lost over 80% of their members by now, but with the arrival of the hippos they regain their fighting spirits. The platypi army numbered just under 10,000, but the way the opposing forces were decimating them now it appeared to be much lower. A panic spread throughout the remaining platypi troops. Some of them on the outskirts of battle attempted to retreat, but a platypi on land is much slower than a hippo in the air.
In less than an hour, the last platypi had fallen. Snuggle withdrew his sword from the beast’s throat, having made the final kill. TurboRooster surveyed the landscape to ensure there were no remaining survivors. I assume you know what CrazyTurkey was doing to the dead bodies. That’s right: he was planning funeral services for them. What’s that? Not what you expected? That’s what you get for assuming, asshole!
While Reverend CrazyTurkey (who had been credentialed a few months ago) and the surviving Turklings carried out the last rites as dictated by turkey religion, TurboRooster and Snuggle gathered their remaining forces together. The Seven Dwarfish Sins were whittled down to four (Sloth was struck down early for being too damn slow, Greed was killed next trying to take the wallets of the murdered platypi, and Envy was killed because she was jealous of Greed for dying), so Snuggle would have to recruit some new staff members. Maybe put an ad out in the paper. As for the Turducken, he had just under 1000 left.
TurboRooster’s forces were in no better shape. There were about 10-15 thousand of them left. They still had the effects of the virus, so until it ran its course, TurboRooster couldn’t advance their numbers any further. It was of little consequence. Now that Sven was gone, his main goal was reestablishing his P.R.I.C.K. – he would worry about increasing his forces afterwards.
The two leaders met up once their forces were accounted for. Their meeting was cautious and brief. While neither of them trusted each other, they did acknowledge each other’s assistance in the fight. They exchanged only glances of approval, but no words. It was unspoken knowledge that the next time they met would again be as enemies. Snuggle opened a portal to Hell and commanded his forces through. After the last one passed beyond, he glanced one last time back at TurboRooster then stepped in himself.
Once the demon bear passed through the portal, it closed off completely. TurboRooster was more than pleased to see him go. The demon was a sneaky little fuck. Not to mention the fact that he had in his possession something that the cock wanted. TurboRooster could never forgive a transgression like that. He wanted what he wanted and did not tolerate those who kept him from getting exactly that.
The sun had nearly set now, and the last of the rites had been recited, concluding the funeral. Now the bodies could be left as carrion for the scavengers, for the souls had passed on to the afterlife – also called the death. During this phase, the souls would travel to the beyond where they would have their deeds judged so their eternal resting place could be determined. Those pure of intentions would join Mellok in His Vineyard. But the others, they…they would be servants of the Dark Lord: Snuggle.
With the funeral services concluded, it was time to leave. Harold and his herd of flying hippos bid the birds farewell and took off back to their nesting site. It was time for the birds to part as well. TurboRooster stood before CrazyTurkey and extended a wing. CrazyTurkey gleeted a wad of T.B.&J. on the ground, then smacked the cock’s wing (this is called a high-wing and is the most respectful thing one bird can do to another, Except maybe giving out free acorns, which is the currency in the Land of Thuh Chickenz). TurboRooster accepted this gift and took his Chicks back towards the Tower of the All-Seeing Cyborg Eye. The turkey flock, themselves holding about 8,000 members, began their journey back to their own encampment.
Great Avian War;a Chronicling
Chapter 28, verse 1
A few months later…The turkeys were having a town meeting. They had begun to hold these meetings every week ever since the incidence with Sven. Something as devastating as that could not be allowed to happen again. In order to ensure they were prepared to combat something like that, CrazyTurkey had been named an Honorable Elder of the village. It didn’t really mean anything as he was already the leader of the entire village - stupid turkeys and their dumbass rules.
CrazyTurkey and the other Elders were about to conclude the meeting when a Turkling ran hastily through the crowd. He stood before the Elders breathing heavily, unable to speak for a moment. When he finally caught his breath, he told the Elders that he had found something. In his wing was a rolled up piece of paper. He unrolled it and extended it for them.
One of the Elders, Turk O’Gobbles, grabbed it and stared at it. He questioned the little Turkling about its authenticity. The Turkling confirmed it – it had been taken by one of their aerial photographers. It was a picture…well more of a drawing, as cameras had not been reinvented in the Land of Thuh Chickenz, due to their soul-stealing abilities. Because of this, the Turklings had to draw images while in flight…don’t ask how. Anyway, the image that the Elders were observing was quite disturbing, but they didn’t quite understand it. It was an image of a large metallic cylinder that was mostly submerged in water…and there were also a few small brown dots outside it…
In Hell…Snuggle was interviewing an applicant for his vacant Greed position. This was the only position he had left, having filled Envy and Sloth, but it was the hardest one to fill. Due to actual dwarfs being in short supply in Hell, he had to resort to taller beings. He’d just remove their shin bones or something later to make them shorter.
The applicant’s name was Gerald Rivers, a river otter who led a life as a serial journalist – that is to say he interviewed creatures all across the world without their consent. He took a final swig from his juice box that Snuggle had so generously gifted to him before the interview and tossed the box into the fire…well there was fire all over the place, so he just tossed it I guess. Confident in his performance thus far, he demanded Snuggle tell him how much the job paid.
Snuggle said nothing, then pulled something out of his desk. It was a small black handle with a clickable top that opened up to a red button. Staring at this clearly inadequate applicant, he began clicking the top. Curious, Gerald asked him what he was holding (and how much it was worth). Snuggle smiled and said that it was a detonator. Now confused, Gerald asked to what, to which Snuggle replied in a clearly mocking laugh that it was “to the poison he just drank!” – then Snuggle pushed the button…
At an unnamed facility, called P.E.N.I.S….Finally getting a rest after nearly 18 hours of work, Dr. Jonathan John Johnson sat at his desk and sighed. A stack of papers about a foot tall lay on his inbox. He couldn’t deal with that shit right now, he needed to work. After all, those mines weren’t going to sweep themselves!
The monitor buzzed and lit up as it powered on. After typing in his password and logging in, he started sweeping away. In the middle of his first game, a pop-up jumped in front of his game screen. He frowned and stared at it. It was an all-white page with two words written in black letters. The words were ‘BAGOCK, MU’FUCKA!’ After a few seconds, the screen went black.
Cursing aloud, he pushed the monitor’s power button. Nothing happened, so he pushed it again. Still nothing! He was frustrated now, what the hell was going on? As he pushed back his chair and went under the desk to check his wires, the lights in his office went out. His head banged against his desk as he jerked instinctively. Grabbing his head and cursing again, he stood up and moved cautiously around the desk towards the light switch. As he rounded the desk, the lights turned back on. Reflexively, his eyes shut and his hand went in front of his face. Due to this, he couldn’t see TurboRooster standing in front of him…
In the Realm of the Nameless…The Medium stood before his Masters, having been recently exonerated for his crimes. The Nameless had of course discovered his transgressions, and given the loss of their entire platypi army due to his treachery, his punishment had been severe. However, They still required his services. After months of painful torture spent with Their newest recruit, They determined that he had learned his lesson. And indeed he had that, for no one could have spent that much time with this creature and not been stripped of whatever free will they had left.
The creature himself was standing before the Nameless alongside the Medium. Standing is one way to put it. In actuality, he had no legs. For you see, his particular diet did not have the required vitamins and nutrients to sustain legs. So instead he had to have surgically-implanted tripodic robotic legs grafted to his pelvis. Nevertheless, there he stoodish, staring at the Nameless creatures, sucking on a piece of skin…