Dear Diary,

For the life of me, I cannot understand exactly how some people can continue to be so goddamned stupid.

Seriously, I get that the world holds a plethora of ways to become ignorant, stupid, or just plain dumb. Looking in the dearth of mirrors in the here and now I can count flavors of neurospicy that encourage or even instigate lack of forethought, trauma that makes introspection and planning painful, and odd privilege that encourages lack of self-education. Not that I fell prey to the last one, although my self-education usually wound up being on entirely impractical topics instead of shit that would keep me safe or make me a living or some shit like that. At the same time, I think I still had half a dozen girl on girl on girl positions I'd seen videos of that the three of us hadn't tried yet, and we hadn't ever really explored the nigh infinite possibilities of one or more of us being guys for an evening.

Then there are folks like Larry, who grew up in an environment where on top of abuse and ostracization for something as utterly out of his control as being short, he was also trained to look on women, Bag, non-Dan, and pretty much anybody 'non-Lancaster' as somehow less human than him. Lachlan missed the ostracization for being short, and I'm pretty sure he never quite realized how much his own dad looked down on him for being such an utter himbo, but even that sweet dumb bastard wound up firmly believing that anybody whose name didn't end in Lancaster was just... less.

Hell, the Lancasters are generally admired in Phileo society, and apparently the Gods hate Phileo because we're the progressive, egalitarian ones. Makes me completely understanding how somebody with an apparently functioning brain like Swanson could accept serial rape, murder, and slavery as normal acceptable part of civilized behavior. Makes somebody like Johnson, who apparently has ten times as many Thralls as anybody else because Thralls who are treated like actual people work harder, are happier, and make way more fat happy Thrall babies, show up as that much more extraordinary just for, y'know, treating people like people.

But that's all about someone winds up with their head firmly planted up their ass from circumstances outside their control. What gets to me are the guys and gals who are sitting there, not understanding that the world need not smell and taste of rectum interior, who hear someone say 'your head is up your ass' and don't seem to get that pulling it out might be better. Like, I can't help but think, 'do you like the fuckin' taste, or something? Your partner likes non-vaginal so much you decided to put some oral in their anal? Seriously, what the living fuck, people?

Then there are the ones who go beyond mystifying me and outright piss me off. The ones where you grab them by the back of the neck, forcibly rectify their cranial rectal inversion, make them look at the spectrum beyond pink and brown, let them smell the flowers and taste non secondhand foodstuffs, play them some music and whisper ASMR shit in their ears, and fuck, give them a hand job while staring deep in their eyes just to forge a human connection with someone for the very first time. Who then, for some reason I cannot goddamned fathom, bend over backward to shove their head back up their asses in an even more uncomfortable fashion than I found them in.

Seriously. What the ever loving fuck, people? Even Larry, when forced out of his anal hermit crabdom, eventually managed to pry Bonnie away from lip lock long enough to say, 'wait, if my skull isn't spreading my lower intestine, I get to keep her?' before her mouth snapped back to his like one of those fancy rare earth magnets, then weld his own ass cheeks together just to prevent falling back into his old habits. Okay, we all know he didn't actually do that, because Bonnie fondling his prostate is obviously the only way the all time micro-penis champion got her pregnant, but still, her wrist deep super action grip means she can grab him by the hair and yank him out if he slips back into bad habits. Which knowing that pair will probably wind up with her double pregnant or some shit.

Yeah, I give him shit, but he and Bonnie deserve all the happy they can afford, and I say that knowing Lancaster's bank account and pretty Bonnie Obol's ability to pinch a penny. Shit, Larry's practically the poster child now for cranial rectal inversion being the ugly pupal form of rich, deadly butterflies or some shit.

As I lay there on the stage, enjoying how the misting rain practically steamed off of me, only to fall back again moments later, trying to ignore how much my emergency tentacles could detect of too much Johnson fitting into too little Domnu, I heard the crowd grumbling. I pushed myself up on one elbow to watch as the crowd parted to let not just Gregor, but a small army of Warriors, Thralls, and Lizard Bois, who were apparently Trolls, move down the Green toward me.

Saffron, who'd collapsed to the ground not unlike I had, but rolled over to be almost in touching distance of me, moaned out, "Tabitha? Goof?"

"Yeah, Kitten?" I flopped my head over to look at her. She had the too tight to get on without Loki insta-costume bullshittery jeans and I could see the texture of her nipples etched into her white tank top of our Thunderstruck set from stretching and soaking too much. "Damn. You like that outfit?"

She smiled. Slowly, like exhaustion had too much a grip on her to allow her to do it fast. "I liked the way you looked at it."

"Can you see my face right now?"

Her head twitched, but didn't turn. "No? What are you wearing?"

"Still got my Sporty Spice shit on. Loving the sports bra. We gotta get you one of these." I sat there just watching how her heaving lungs made things jiggle entrancingly. "Uh, did you want something?"

She snorted. "Oh. Yeah. If I manage to flop myself on top of you and think really, really worshipful thoughts at your nether regions, can you handle your end of handling my end enough to knock me unconscious?"

"Damn, Kitten. All this rain and you're still a fuckin' thirst elemental? Impressive."

She sort of wormed her way about an inch closer to me, panting as she said, "you. Rain. Bouncy. So... fuckin... hot..."

"Y'know, there's a whole crowd watching us still."

"Fuck 'em."

I laughed, then choked on rain. "Holy shit, Kitten. All of them?"

She snorted out rainwater her own self. "Yeah. Sure. Why not. That much Just Happening will surely destroy my mind, probably my brain along with it, but what an epitaph for school children to read three thousand years from now. 'Imperator Aetos Diaz was brain-fucked by her dog in front of a stadium of screaming slaves'."

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"Are... are you sure you're okay, Kitten? Are you fuckin' high or some shit?"

She giggled. "Oh, definitely."

"On what? Can I have some?"

"Horny. Sure." She couldn't really do anything but twitch, but, y'know, duBois training, big natural knockers, wet white tee shirt. Jiggle physics activated all the goddamned neurons. Then she stopped, groaning, as apparently her shoulder muscles told her to stop that shit. My own abs did sort of the same thing to me.

"Ma an Mama siwwy."

Saffron paused mid-groan to snort out, "damn. There go my plans for world domination."

"Uh?" Yeah, scintillating conversationalist when exhausted, I am not. My eyes slid closed, and I enjoyed the feel of the rain misting on them.

"You're my world, beloved Goof."

"Aw... wait."

Right about then Gregor made his unwanted presence known. "Pitiful Philean sluts." I flopped my head back over to look toward him, letting one eye slip open just enough to see his troops deploying to either side of him, including a quad of Trolls bracketing him on the diagonals. "How can you expect to face my Champions in battle when simple frolicking lays you low?"

I slow blinked with my one open eye, then, leaning into the stage amplification Spell, said, "look, Greg. Do you mind if I call you Greg? It sounds so much less disrespectful than shitdick, and I'm trying really hard to be diplomatic right now. I'mma call you Greg. Anyway, Greg, I'm Seneschal hereabouts, and as such I'mma say if you wanna stay in the longhouse, go ahead. I'll stay right here on the stage until you've figured out who gets their ass kicked first. You've got eight chances left to convince yourself to do the smart thing and surrender, and I am absolutely tired and horny enough to say that you've got until nightfall at the end of Saturday to send me your first victim. Champion. Jarl. Chew toy. Yeah, chew toy." A thought burst into my brain like a firework. "OH, SHIT! My Jotnar femur! It's getting rained on!"

"Enough of this." He waved a hand in the general direction of the stage. "Take her. Take the one next to her. The menial and the child are yours."

That flipped a number of switches Greg would regret switching. The stage rumbled with a subsonic growl that set off a few bowel movements and opened a few Troll cloacas. "STOP." Everyone froze; not really important, I'd been talking to Marie. "Murder Mittens? Keep Isnomi off them, I don't know where they've been." Her growl changed pitch, sounded almost like humorous acknowledgement somehow.

Menace, of course, just whined, "mama!" from about eight feet in the air over by where Marie's growls came from.

I rolled over on my side, facing away from Saffron and toward shitdick and his ancillary dipshits. "Kitten?"

"Yes, Beloved?"

"Put away the Glowing Midnight, because hot though it is, I really was in the mood for denim and see through titty shirt. Also, I can't believe I'm saying this out loud in public, but do what you do better than anybody else I've ever met." She giggled, fabric rustled, then squished, and a wave of pure, unfettered Worship hit me from behind. Focused on my ass of all things, but fuck it, got the job done, and cooled my temper quite a bit while she was at it. "Okay, shitdick, amending our deal. If you send something other than a single combatant at me, that burns one of your tries, and after I neutralize the fuck out of all and sundry you send, I'm gonna kill you in the most painful and embarrassing way I can think of before you get another go."

Shitdick sneered. "Empty threats. Take them."

His men moved. Not, like, advancing yet. Well, okay, the sixteen trolls along the wings stepped forward immediately, and the four around him moved into guarding positions. The three dozen Thralls were a step behind them, probably because they were obeying the old conscripted soldier adage of 'never go first'. The dozen Warrior types all pulled weapons, rolled their shoulders, growled, hunched over, did whatever they needed to do to activate self-buffing Skills. Or just look intimidating. Something like that.

I didn't really have the time or energy to fuck around.

I mean, with Saffron literaly pumping Worship into my ass, I had plenty of energy, but no way was I wasting all of it on shitdick and his shitdickery. Especially when I suddenly got a much fuzzier flavor of Worship joining in.

It definitely stretched some of the old Co-Location muscles in painful ways, but I popped up a me in midair behind each Troll, crouched behind each Warrior, and an itty bitty me next to each Thrall.

Mana Blades flashed. I disarmed the Trolls. Literally. Each Warrior got holes through both kneecaps, left kidney, right lung, and a taint punch to underscore my point. Some of those got a little sloppy, but a fist aimed at the solar plexus through the taint did not exactly command less attention when it hit the testicles instead. The Thralls were just following orders, so they lost pinkie toes. Left ones, because Tabitha's Horny Brain demanded satiation. Fuck me if you don't like it. No, literally, Saffron and I are super tired, and you can only watch a dude work his hips like Johnson for so long without getting urges. Also, skeevy or not, I wasn't about to remove the emergency coring tentacles from Domnu any time soon, but she and he had apparently found an appropriately secluded spot. Distracturgification.

I pushed myself to my feet as, slashing once at shitdick as they did so, each of my Co-Located duplicates collapsed into me. Sixty four Mana Blades taking one swipe each over less than a second left him without functional limbs, kidneys, or lungs. Four of me held him upright from behind and dragged him over to dangle in front of me where I stood on the edge of the stage. "I'mma 'splain something, shitdick." I tried to figure out Domnu pulled her trick for a moment, then shrugged and Mana Bladed his front half from the waist down off. I looked down, pouting as his half-testicles remained obstinately un-dangly. I reached down and flicked one with a fingernail, which broke it free. It snapped off instead of dangling, and wheezy shrieks filled the nearby air.

I looked him back in the eyes, reached down, grabbed, and yanked his bits off. "I do not," I declared over his continued whiny wheezing. Some of his intestines fell out when I yanked, forcing me to skip back. I shoved whatever had come off in my hands into his whiny bitch mouth, holding it closed and massaging his throat like a recalcitrant cat with a pill. "Ever make."

He swallowed, and I clutched his neck, pulled my fist back, and rammed it through the back of his skull. "Ramp it up a bit, sweeties?" I watched as the conspicuously Priest-free crowd paid way too much attention to the corpse in my hand to pay attention to the hotties literally worshipping my ass from behind. I leaned over, activated Revive, and when shitdick dangled whimpering from my arm, finished up with, "empty threats."

I held him up and scanned the crowd. All of them stared, wide eyed, breath held. "If you do anything to anybody in any of my Jarldoms, including Johnson's, or to anybody else I care about, I will take the time to get creative with torturing your ass to death in public next time. You have seven tries left. You have until end of day Sunday to send your next contestant for 'King Shitdick is wrong'."

Message delivered, I tossed him upward, grabbed him by the ankle, stepped to his throne room, and dropped him headfirst onto his throne.

I flopped back to the stage, flipping myself around to look at adoring Saffron and Marie, vaguely upset when despite my reorientation, Worship kept flowing in through my rock hard glutes instead of, y'know, my front bits. Leaning on the stage amplification, I announced, "okay, everybody. While Jarl's on vacay with his new Mistress, I'm supposed to take care of y'all. Since King Gregor might do dumb shit again, I'm gonna ask y'all to keep the Green clear, and would sorta like it if you'd stay out of the stands after Anundr's sloppy bullshit. If you're visiting, you're free to stay in the longhouse or wherever there's a roof that won't put a local out in the weather, but you might want to head home. It's safer. Otherwise... uh... just do whatever you'd do if Johnson were around. If you need me, I'll be right here canoodling with my wife."

No fuckin' clue why those lunatics took so long to stop cheering.