There was something of a theory in Caldonian physics, a heavily debated and occult field all its own, of something called a romantic event whoreizon. Not to be confused with the conversational event whoreizon, which could keep outside events from happening due to said strength of a given conversation, a romantic event whoreizon was when the unified desire experienced in any given romantic moment could indeed prolong its summation to an extreme degree. That is to further say that, the more two people suddenly found themselves wanting something romantic to happen between them, whether or not they were even indeed aware of it, the harder it would be for it to happen, as a law of physics.

This could, in a way, also describe and explain the way in which Dr. Krumbunculus had wholly and rather disappointingly failed to attract the attention of the lady in the witches’ locker room earlier in his adventures in youthfulness. Then again, maybe striking out there really was just due to his youth. Either way, he found himself in this moment completely without mental faculties, as if some vital part of his brain and reasoning had either simply fallen out, dissolved, or never been there in first place, and he had naught a semblance of an idea of what he was doing or where he was or why he was or when he was or how he’d got there in first place. Such is the tricky nature of the romantic event whoreizon, whereupon all one’s mind becomes but a mere puddle in the presence of vital, posessive pheremones.

“We can’t do this,” the Purple Puma said. Dr. Krumbunculus could almost feel her tongue tickling his disappointingly clean-shaven, youthful face as she did, and in the moment, he almost didn’t mind being so young after all.

“I mean, we really, really can’t do this,” she continued.

And then, of course, they did.

That is to say, their mouths embraced in that most compelling of ways, their heart beating faster and faster, running a race together where they both might just win. Before Dr. Krumbunculus knew it, they were rolling in the grass together, and everything looked blurry and perfect all at once. Time moved in slow motion, a side effect of the romantic event whoreizon no doubt, as they continued to tussle and rumble over the soft, tall grass, kicking up dirt and bugs, including a few incredibly rude gnats.

“Hey, cluck you guys!” spat a gnat.

“Yea, cluck you guys!”

“Yea, you two look clucking stupid!”

“Yea, get a clucking room!”

“Yea, cock hamn, no decorum from these two sons of vitches, huh?”

“Yea, no clucking decorum, huh?”

“Yea, what the cluck is this, a clucking hotel?”

“Yea, this isn’t a clucking hotel, you clucking animals!”

“Yea, take a clucking hint, you cockhamned exhibitionists!”

But all these terse, high-pitched cries were but fodder for their ears, which were almost popping from the amount of saliva the two were exchanging. It was a moment of intoxication. Ecstasy. Bliss. The world had faded to a foggy blur. They were the suns and, well, they were both of the suns. They were the sand dunes of Dunelandia, they were the overoppressive government regime of Orwellia. They were the dragon people of the sky society of Dragonlandia and the merhumans of the underwater nation of Merlandia. Eternity was in one another’s eyes, not that they were necessarily looking in one another’s eyes, but if they had, they’d surely have seen eternity.

SPLSHHHH

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BLLL BBBBL BBBLL BBBL LBBLL BLBLLB LBLBLBBBLLL

Cold. Cold and wet, and not the hood kind of wet.

BLL BLBLBLB LBLBBLBL BLBLBLBLBBLLL

Dr. Krumbunculus tried to move, but it was all he could do to flail, flail endlessly, hopelessly against the forceful current. He tried to feel for the Purple Puma, but he only ended up touching himself as he hurled through the knotted, murky mess of flowing riverwater.

BBBL BBBBMMMMP BBLBLLLBLLL

A large fish had just smacked into Krumbunculus’ right temple, seemingly on accident, though one could never be certain. It was, regardless, quite irritating.

BBMPPP BLBLBLBLBLBLB LLBLLLLL

Another large fish had smacked into him, although this one had hit him square in the cullions. Feeling rather blue, and not just from lack of air, Dr. Krumbunculus fought with all his might to get to the surface of the river. And yet, the more he fought, indeed, the harder it was to reach the surface. Indeed, he felt himself sink down, down, lower and lower, terrifyingly lower, until suddenly, something happened. That is, Dr. Krumbunculus hit something. It was squishy, and it even felt wet, which was strange considering the fact that he was underwater. He felt it wrapping around him, pulling him further and further down. He attempted to focus his battered, blurred vision, but all he could see, troublingly enough, was red.

GSHHHHHHHHHHH

The unbearable gushing sloshed through his inner ears as they pop, pop popped again and again as the smell of strawberries rushed into his olfactory system. And, for some bizarre reason, it almost seemed to smell abysmal. Yes, abysmal strawberries. It was truly absurd.

Suddenly, Dr. Krumbunculus found himself soaring on a cloud, a cloud of cotton candy-esque appearance, though upon closer inspection it indeed seemed to be made out of strawberry gelatin.

As did the birds flying in a V formation around him. Gelatin birds, they were.

“What in the clucking hen is happening?” Dr. Krumbunculus cried as his cloud disappated and he fell, fell, fell through the air, gelatin wind whipping him like a custard. The ground was growing closer, closer—the ground?

WWWW SMMMMMMM SHHHHHH

As Dr. Krumbunculus thwacked into the surface of the ground, it stretched, stretched, stretched and then it bounced him right back into the air.

“AAAAGH—” Krumbunculus’ cry was cut short by a mouthful of a gelatin cloud. Soon afterwards, he hit the ground again, this time bouncing slightly less high. This repeated a hood deal, and Dr. Krumbunculus was near certain that he would soon be horribly maimed at best and terribly deceased at worst, and yet, as the ground finally let up, he found that he was more or less completely unscathed, save for all the gelatin clogging up his ears, nostrils, and other, less visible bodily orifices.

“How curious—ack!” Dr. Krumbunculus spat up some gelatin.

“Glmy glcock! Glit’s glanother glone glof glyou glpeople!” cried out a breathy, feminine voice that tickled Dr. Krumbunculus’ fancy more than a little, though he did find the accent a bit unfamiliar.

“You people?” Dr. Krumbunculus furrowed his brow. Sure, the lady, wherever she was, had a nice voice. But that didn’t mean he’d stand for prejudice, especially prejudice directed at himself.

“Glwell, glI glthink glyou’re glpeople, glare glyou glnot gla glperson?”

Dr. Krumbunculus turned around, seeing a life-sized sculpture of a lady made entirely of gelatin standing before him.

“Well, isn’t that bizarre.”

“Glyou gldidn’t glanswer glmy glquestion.”

Krumbunculus shook as he watched the gelatin woman’s quivering lips move.

“My cock! You’re a person!”

“Gluh, glduh!” she snorted in gelatin-based laughter, “Glbut, blare blyou?”

“Yes! Why, I guess we both are!”

“Gland glyou’re gla glman, gltoo…” she smiled wide, “Gland gllook glat glyou! Glso glyoung gland glnot glat glall glfat!”

“That’s an odd thing to say, almost a total nonsequitor,” Dr. Krumbunculus responded with a slow nod. Something about this gelatin lady was starting to look ravishing, and not only because she was probably edible.

“Glyou’re gfunny,” she giggled, sloshing up next to him. Yes. Strawberries. Strawberry gelatin, in fact.

And once again, Dr. Krumbunculus felt the pull of the dreaded romantic event whoreizon.

No.

Somewhat cognizant enough to not be completely lost to the sauce, he pushed through it, and planted his lips right on hers with a forceful lean forward and a grasp at the back of her jiggly head of jiggly hair. Oh, and ever did she taste so delicious…so bubbly and warm, indeed…

“Hey, what the cluck, guy?”

PPFF PFFF PFFFFT

Dr. Krumbunculus looked around. He was lying on a large, cold stone jutting out of the middle of the river. He’d apparently started trying to make out with Purple Puma again, and right as she’d begun attempting to give him mouth-to-mouth, no less.

“Holy shit,” Dr. Krumbunculus rasped, “What a clucking trip.”