“Gasp!” gasped Broderica.
“Gaaasp!” gasped Krumbumbum, her top falling off and resultingly flashing everyone.
“Gasp,” gasped Biscuit Pisser.
“Biscuit Pisser what in the hen kind of a gasp was that?”
“Oh cluck off Shitface what do you mean what in the hen kind of a gasp was that?”
“You cluck off Biscuit Pisser you know what I mean what in the hen kind of a gasp was that now what kind of a gasp was that!”
“What are you even talking abou—”
“Yea Biscuit Pisser I agree with her what kind of a gasp was that I mean really it was like you were barely even gasping!”
“Krumbumbum you can zip your clucking lips like I wish you would zip your clucking nonexistent tits up so I can stop magicing compelled to stare at them!”
“Nobody’s making you stare at my tits Biscuit Pisser. Also, I didn’t know my tits were the crotch of a pair of pants that I could just zip up with a zipper. Thanks for letting me know, I’ll get right on that.”
“Now wait just a clucking second with that shit Krumbumbum why couldn’t you just magic yourself up a big old zipper right in the middle of your flat chest and zip zip zip it on up?”
“You two need to stop body shaming me. Honestly it’s disgrossting. Who would want to be associated with you two? Nobody. That’s who.”
“Cluck off Krumbumbum I’ll stop body shaming you when you stop gasp shaming me!”
“Excrete me?”
“You clucking heard me you veiny old vitch! Don’t you clucking gasp shame me if you don’t want me to detail all the ways in which your wrinkly old cougar body is disturbingly dissatisfying to behold!”
“Blahhh hahh haahhh hah haaah hhaaaahh haaaacck hack ack ack ackkk—” choked the deep doodoo captain after a rather lengthy inhale from his tank of mystery, “-haaaaaaaack! Whew! Excrete me!”
“Sure whatever you’re excreted.”
“Excellent excellent,” the deep doodoo captain had dropped his accent, “Now, wouldn’t you ladies like to know exactly why I’m in,” he stopped suddenly and froze, taking a dramatic pause.
Biscuit Pisser blinked, impatiently waiting for the deep doodoo captain to unfreeze and continue his thought. She waved a hand in front of his face and groaned.
“Stop it Biscuit Pisser you’re going to distract him,” fussed Krumbumbum.
“—deep doodoo.” The pause was complete.
“
Well we do,” Krumbumbum pointed at herself and Broderica, “but there’s no saying whether Biscuit Pisser does what with that pitiful mockery of a gasp she let out a moment ago.”
“Wait a second,” the captain in deep doodoo held up a shaky hook hand and accidentally dropped his mask, “her name is Biscuit Pisser?”
“That’s Barroness Von Biscuit Pisser to you, chuppy!”
“Okay then. Cock hamn. Now, let me tell you every detail of my deep doodoo cover.”
WSHHHHH
A small magic machete sliced through the air and sheathed itself in the middle of the deep doodoo captain’s forehead. His eye patches fell off, revealing light gray eyes that immediately crossed and then rolled into the back of his skull. The deep doodoo captain slumped, his head nodding backward as blood spurted and drizzled.
“GaaaaaAAAAAAaaaAAAAaaaaAAAAaaasp!”
“Hah!” chortled Broderica, “And you said that earlier gasp of yours was legitimate. What an absolute mockery.”
“Are you two not phased by this?! That was terrifying! Who did that?!”
Krumbumbum and Broderica shrugged. Krumbumbum’s top fell back off.
Biscuit Pisser turned around to the door of the capatin’s chamber and then began to shudder. “H-h-h-feathery shit. H-h-feathery clucking shit.”
“What’s your problem woman?” Broderica swilled from her boob flask.
If you discover this tale on Amazon, be aware that it has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road. Please report it.
“L-l-l-look beh-hind you.”
Broderica and Krumbumbum began turning—
“N-no! Not like that! D-don’t m-m-move too much! J-j-just use your per-peripherals.”
They froze, squinting painfully.
“Wh-what the cluck are you t-two doing s-s-squinting? I said u-use your peripherals! You n-n-need your eyes w-wide as possible!”
They huffed in frustration and widened their eyes.
“Not that w-wide feathery clucking cock y-y-you’re going to p-pull a muscle or s-something!”
They huffed again and held their eyelids moderately open, focusing on their peripheral vision to the best of their abilities.
“What in the cluck is that thing?” Broderica spat.
“It looks kind of like a ostrich,” Krumbumbum balked.
“It does! Shit! What’s it got under its wing there though?”
“Huh? Oh feathery cluck. That is so not what I think it is.”
“I don’t know woman it looks like a magic machete to me.”
“How in the unfeathery cluck would a clucking ostrich know how to weild a magic machete?”
“I k-k-know what it is! I-i-i-it’s a ghost!”
“Excrete me?”
“L-look Sh-Shitface it’s got to be! It’s the g-ghost of the ostrich we k-k-killed! It’s out for b-b-blood!”
“Oh cluck off Biscuit Pisser,” scoffed Krumbumbum, “Everbody knows ostriches don’t have souls.”
“MAAaaAAAawwwwffffqqquaaaAAAAaawk!” screeched the ostrich, sending shivers crawling over the women’s spines.
“What in the cluck kind of an ostrich squawk was that?” Broderica wrinkled her brow with a belch.
“M-m-maybe it has g-g-ghost laryngitis.”
“Biscuit Pisser I think you’re full of shit. I’m turning around.”
As soon as Krumbumbum started to turn around, the ostrich shivered.
WSSHHH WSHHH WSHHH WSHHH WSHHH
A barrage of magic machetes shot through the air as the women scrambled to the floor in fear.
“AAAAIEEEEK!” Krumbumbum shrieked toplessly.
“I don’t like how it magics when birds attack me!”
BBKKKRRDDSSSSSKKKTTTTCCKKCKK
The wooden wall before them, now stained with the deep doodoo captain’s blood, shattered into bits. The thick yellow beak of the chicken pecked through.
“AIEEEEEEEEEK!”
CKKK CKKK CKKK
The beak snapped and clapped as the beast bobbed around, gnashing apart more bits of wall and some of the deep doodoo captain’s fanciful oil paintings.
“This clucking nuts,” mused Broderica between swills of tit flask, “ehrp, excrete me. This is clucking nuts.”
“Avast! Restrain the beast, mehardies!” garbled a skyrate from behind the chicken, “Bearrgfore it casts a flame upon us!”
Quickly a thick rope gag constricted itself around the beak of the chicken, quieting its clucking and stifling its thrasing. The ladies shivered sweatily.
“Where’d the ostrich go?” Biscuit Pisser asked. They all stared at the door to the captain’s chamber where an ostrich stood there no more. “There totally was an ostrich there, though, right? I mean we didn’t all just imagine it or something?”
The magic machete that they surely had not imagined was in the ostriche’s wing only a moment before tumbled from the air and into Biscuit Pisser’s open hands.
“Aaaah!” she jumped. “Eeew. It’s still warm.”
“Yaaarg!”
“YaaaAAAArg!”
“YaaAAaaAAArg!”
“YaaAAaaAAAAaaaAAAAaaaAAAaaarg!”
“Um, excrete me,” Broderica finished off a flask and tossed it into a priceless abstract sculpture, “But what is this odd skyrate call and response system my ears are being badgered with?”
“Gatharr round, mehardies!”
A slew of skyrates poured in through the gaps in the woodtwerk beside the chicken’s beak, their lack of hygeine muddying the air.
“O nan o nan,” growled the skyrate who continued to address their companions as ‘mehardies,’ “Aye say. It appearrs the woman with the mustache tharrgt easly rivals me own harrgs killed the cap’n.”
A hush fell over the crusty crowd, as did more than one silent but deadly bout of flatulence.
“Why are they all looking at me?” shivered Biscuit Pisser.
“Connect the dots, vitch!” Broderica tossed asunder another flask, knocking over a candle and starting a small fire that after burning some documents quickly extinguished itself. “Look at what’s in your hands!”
“Where do you keep getting those flasks?” Krumbumbum asked incredulously, taking a hand off her dress that just so happened to conceal a nipple. “I can barely remember the last time I cast a spell for that.”
“Let’s just say I’ve got sticky fingers,” Broderica chuckled, then watched as some of the skyrates around them fishing around in their pockets, “On the account of all of the, um, that is, I was meaning to imply that, um, the fine liquors I’ve been drinking keep spilling over on my hands from the flasks, and um getting them sticky, that is.”
Suddenly, all of the skyrates braced to their knees, faced Biscuit Pisser, and bowed. The skyrate that had barked orders at the others earlier locked eyes with Biscuit Pisser and smiled.
“Aye aye, cap’n.”
“Excrete me?”
“Aye aye, cap’n.”
“Um, what the cluck is going on?” Biscuit Pisser whispered to Krumbumbum.
“Isn’t it obvious woman? They think you killed their captain. Now you’re the captain.”
“Is that really how it twerks?”
“Aye, cap’n. Least that’s how it twerks when yer former cap’n is a total arrrrgsehole.”
Numerous skyrates nodded in agreeance.
“Well then,” Biscuit Pisser leaned back, stroking the magic machete like a long cyclindrical cat. “Well well well well then. Cap’n. I like it. I could get used to it.”
The skyrates cheered in adoration.
“Oh cock,” groaned Broderica, “Biscuit Pisser on a power trip. This is SoHard all over again.”
Biscuit Pisser’s eyes glazed over. “We don’t talk about that, Shitface.”
“Just a reminder. Reign yourself in.”