Biscuit Pisser, Sir Broderick and Krumbumbum hopped off Brumhilda, all twisting their ankles. Krumbumbum took a moment to fix everyone’s limbs then readjusted her top to cover her nipples. Sir Broderick finished off two glass flasks and then chucked them out the open side of the railcar. Biscuit Pisser grabbed a halfway charred dinner biscuit laying on the floor, stuffed it her pants and soiled it graciously.
“That’s right. I clucking did that.”
“Nobody cares, Biscuit Pisser.”
“Shut the cluck up, our lady of toplessness.”
“Both of you idiots cluck the hen off,” Sir Broderick interjected, “Now, let’s go get my cockhamned ass!”
“Shitface, how do we even know your ass is here and didn’t just like die on one of the three crashed skyships?”
“Shut the cluck up Biscuit Pisser. We’ve come this far we can’t just not storm the skytrain now.”
Sir Broderick charged forward, kicking the door to the next railcar open and pushing burning debris and people aside like leaves. Krumbumbum and Biscuit Pisser followed with disenchanted sighs.
“Ia’m gaoing tao staya herae. Ia feael quaite unsafae.”
“What a vussy,” Pamela whispered to Green Garey as they both slid down the side of the chicken, followed shortly by Purple Perry.
“Purple Perry,” Pamela pontificated, “please accept this temporary badge to ensure anyone who’s anyone knows you’re with us on official Royal Gourd business and cannot be prosecuted for any action taken by yourself or others going forward.”
“Aye would be honarrrrged.”
They sashayed off through the skytrain together.
As the marble jawed statue man trembled atop Brumhilda like a pile of sentient twigs, three figures clambered up from the wreckage, their fingers filled with chicken feathers. It was Werthers in his unbeloved ostrich suit, Blithers Pripkin and his increasingly crooked cigarette holder, and Ronaldo, who was now wearing a sad dash of lipstick.
“What a gweat bit of wuck!” cackled Pripkin. “I can hawdwy bewieve fat we ended up on thif fkytwain fo eafily!”
“We couldn’t have done this without you, Worms. The syndicate owes you a lot. But since we don’t really have anything to give you yet, how about another cigarette?”
Before Werthers could respond, another lit cigarette was struck through his false beak and into his human mouth.
They started off in down the corridors of the skytrain, far behind from the other two groups of three, or at least it seemed that way because of all of the smoke and screaming. Most people were flailing insanely as they burned to bits. There were a couple old folks that were sitting, reading the newspaper and sipping tea as if they were not burning alive while they were burning alive.
ffzzzz “Werthmagoon, come in, Werthlampoon?” fzzzz
Werthers rolled his eyes and continued walking through the carnage.
ffzzzz “I have intel” fzz ffzzz “that you might be” ffzzzz “interested in, partner. It’s a” fzzzz “Code Brown.” ffzzzz “There is word that” fzzzz fzzz “the enemy has” fzzz “arrived aboard” ffzzzz “the skytrain that we talked about” ffzzzz “last time” fzzzzz “Please” ffzzz “say nothing at all” fzzz “if you” ffzzz “understand me” ffzzzz
Werthers said nothing.
ffzzzz “Hello?” fffzzz “Hello? Werthquelle?” fffzzz “Did you say anything?” fffzzz “I guess not” fzzzz “rude” fffzzz
Further up the skytrain, Sir Broderick, Biscuit Pisser and Krumbumbum had happened upon a shipment of grain alcohol and were greedily helping themselves to it, flames dancing around them all the while.
“Hey,” glug, “Krumbumbum,” glug, “I think,” glug, “I might,” glug, “become a,” glug, “teetotaler,” glug, “after I,” glug, “reclaim my ass,” glug.
“You’re,” glug, “full,” glug, “of,” glug, “shit,” glug.
“Guys I think those oinkers are going to have caught up to us soon. We ought to go.”
“Cluck,” glug, “off,” glug, “and have a,” glug, “drink, Biscuit,” glug, “Pisser,” glug.
“Look, if I’m being honest here, like honest, I’m honestly still hungover. You know from earlier.”
“You,” glug, “clucking,” glug, “buzzkilling,” glug, “vitch.”
A soft hee haw prickled Sir Broderick’s ears.
“Everybody clucking stop drinking!!” he ejaculated, snatching handles of liquor and smashing them to the ground, further igniting the flames around them. “Did you clucking hear that?”
Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.
“What? You losing the last piece of your dignity?”
“Woman you just shoved a biscuit in your pants and pissed all over it. Don’t talk to me about dignity.”
“Cluck off Krumbumbum. It was actually impressively absorbent.”
“Stop clucking talking about biscuits and piss I just heard it again!”
Another soft hee haw.
“It’s coming from the roof! Quick! We’ve got to get up there!”
“That would be a hood idea,” Krumbumbum said, looking at the flames surrounding them. “But I’m also rather sleepy.”
“Yea I’m with Krumbumbum I could really go for a nap I’m sure there are beds in one of the other railcars let’s just—”
“Shut the cluck up you idiots and help me open this cockhamned hatch!” Sir Broderick ejaculated, struggling with the greasiness of the elliptical hatch wheel.
“Ugh fine,” Krumbumbum sighed, let her top tumble off her shoulders, and reached up, popping the hatch open as if by magic.
“Okay that was impressive. What spell let you do that?”
“It was ‘as if by magic,’ Biscuit Pisser, not actually by magic. I’m just not as weak as Sir Broderick is all.”
“That’s fair that’s fair Shitface is pretty weak.”
“Shut the cluck up and climb up here with me you imbeciles!”
The wind was wirring and whipping as the skytrain cut through it like a large, rectangular knife that was on fire and had wheels. As Sir Broderick’s liquor drenched face popped up from the hatch, followed by his body that gave the impression of a drunken seal, a couple things became clear.
First, his coordination as it concerned balancing atop a railcar was much worse than he’d expected.
Second, he could see the captain and Blitswald being pursued and attacked by two dogs and a donkey. A very familiar donkey.
Third, he couldn’t remember, because holy shit, that was his ass over there!
“Unhand—” Sir Broderick fell faceforward and hacked, “Un, unhand my—” he fell again, “Unhand my ASS you clucking—” again, “You clucking SCOUNDREL!”
The captain didn’t even hear him. Krumbumbum and Biscuit Pisser had found their way up the hatch, and to Sir Broderick’s chagrin had noticeably better balance than him.
“Had a few too many there, Shitface?”
“Oh go cluck yourself I’m barely drunk at all.”
“Sure. And I didn’t piss on a biscuit earlier.”
“Let’s not dwell on that too much Biscuit Pisser,” Krumbumbum tsked. “So, that’s your ass over there kicking the captain’s ass, eh?”
“No, that’s just some random donkey that I don’t care about,” growled Sir Broderick.
“Then what in the cluck are we doing here?!”
“He was being sarcastic, Biscuit Pisser.”
“Oh.”
“You were being sarcastic, right?”
“Yes, I was being clucking sarcastic. Now let’s get the cluck over there.”
Even though their balance blew Sir Broderick’s out of the water, neither Biscuit Pisser nor Krumbumbum could walk very quickly without stability, so their procession ended up being them all kind of leaning on eachother and awkwardly wading forward, Sir Broderick in the center almost being dragged forward by his companions.
“Watch the cluck out, you clucking ass nappers! Your time is up!”
“They didn’t hear you.”
“I’m pretty sure Sir Broderick knows that they didn’t hear him.”
“Oh.”
“You do know they didn’t hear you, right?”
“Yes I clucking know they didn’t hear me thank you let’s keep moving!”
“Hey! Hey you! Blitzkrieg or whatever the cluck your name is! I know that’s not your clucking bulldog you clucking asshat! Also I didn’t clucking kill it you slimy bass turd!”
“We’re still too far away from them for them to hear anything with all the wind, Shitface.”
“I feel like he probably knew that and was just letting off some steam.”
“Oh.”
“You did know that and were just letting off some steam, weren’t you, Sir—”
“SHUT THE CLUCK UP YOU COCKHAMNED VITCH CLUCK’S SAKE WHAT IN THE EVERLOVING CLUCK IS WRONG WITH YOU YOU KNOW YOU TWO ARE A RIGHT COUPLE OF PILLS IS WHAT YOU ARE I MEAN SHIT I CLUCKING SWEAR TO COCK I HAVE NEVER MET A MORE IRRITATING PAIR OF PEOPLE IN MY WHOLE CLUCKING LIFE CLUCK YOU BOTH YES THAT’S RIGHT CLUCK THE BOTH OF YOU CLUCK YOU STRAIGHT TO HEN YOU SOGGY MOTHERCLUCKERS!”
“Well they heard that didn’t they.”
“Yes they definitely heard that they just froze like they shat their pants or something.”
Indeed the captain and Blitswald had frozen, not unlike they’d just shat their pants or something, which was plenty of time for the two dogs to leap up on Blitswald and cause him to stumble down a hole into the roof and into a ball of fire and for Sir Broderick’s beloved ass to kick the captain off the side of the railcar.
A silver lamp laid, broken in half, in the captain’s place. It began shaking and floating and—
PPSSHHHHHHH
it shattered to pieces, some sticking in Sir Broderick’s shocked eyes.
A shining, purpley mass emanated from exploding shards and a joyous voice echoed through the air “Cluck yes! So hood to be clucking free! Thank you, Assafrass, you cockhamned hero!” Then it vanished into air.
“Who in the clucking hen is Assafrass?” Sir Broderick looked to Biscuit Pisser and Krumbumbum, who shrugged.
Sir Broderick sighed and watched as his ass turned around and looked at him vacantly. Then, it hee hawed once. Twice. Thrice. That was a lot of hee haws. Sir Broderick could magic his eyes watering, and only partially due to the lamp shards still floating around their periphery. He knelt as his ass ran up to him and jumped into his arms, immediately sending them both tumbling to the surface of the roof. They rolled around laughing and hee hawing joyously together.
“My ass! I got my ass back! This is my clucking ass everybody! Oh my cock my ass!”
“So,” Krumbumbum started.
“So.”
“What do we even do now?”
“Well. I mean we still have to get out of this mess alive, don’t we?”
“My ass! My wonderful ass! Look at how cute his face is when I scrunch it like this and oooh like this and ahh like this too!”
“By we I mean me and you, Krumbumbum.”