Chapter XVII: The Cunts, the Retards and the Faggots
Steve finished the final word of his latest epic, leaning back in triumph. His last few days had been spent in a strange haze of alcohol, ketamine and writing, leaving him particularly confused. Never the less, he had finished his work, just in time for the glorious contest held by Sir Bucky. He quickly handed his grand tome into the library, to be entered in with all the other classics such as the local Ogre's tome "How to be an Accountant: Featuring animals, maybe", the local Squinty's tome about other Squintys, and the classic "Fuck, sweaty men in baths makes me so fucking.. Gladiators! I mean Gladiators! Gladiators are cool!" by his old friend Mr Lacker. Steve didn't particularly fear his competition, so decided to saunter back to his home in the Council's tower.
After a long walk, Steve finally arrived back at the tower, pushing the door open with a tired groan, before collapsing to the ground, violently shitting himself and passing out.
Some amount of time later, he awoke, finding himself lying somewhere other than where he fell asleep. At first, Steve assumed that the Council had tufted him into a coffin, and began to scream in horrified terror.
"Are you alright?" a nearby voice
Hearing a friendly voice, especially in Cystia, Steve assumed he was about to be raped, had been raped, or was in the process of being raped. His screaming lowered down to a whimper, as he looked up to see a woman in one of those stupid modest dresses. Steve wondered if she was the chick from Misery, and he'd been kidnaped to write a sequel to one of his books, before remembering that no one actually ever read his stories, and he was still probably about to be raped. Still, the bed he was in was pretty comfortable, so he decided it wasn't worth resisting, and tried to get back to sleep.
"You probably shouldn't sleep. You might have a concussion," Annie Wilkes from Misery said.
"Probably," Steve agreed, before once again closing his eyes and pressing his face into the pillow.
"I really think you should get out of bed, if you're able," Annie Wilkes from Misery said.
"Ugh," Steve grunted, before clambering out of bed. "Fine, fine, have it your way. Where am I, anyway?"
"You're in the Council of Nine's tower," Annie Wilkes from Misery explained.
"That can't be true. If that was the case, you wouldn't be here, and I'd have been stabbed a few more times in my sleep."
Steve paused, confirming that the wet patches covering his body were various places he'd puked upon rather than stab wounds, before continuing.
"Who the hell are you?"
"Oh, I'm..." Annie Wilkes from Misery said, before talking for an extended length, as Steve zoned out and began to feel self-conscious about the fact that no one had even tried to rape him in his sleep. However, in his stupor, he caught that she was a Mormon and had a kid, and came up with an appropriate replacement for whatever her real name was.
"Alright Mormom, show me about the place. What's changed while I was in my stupor?"
Mormom quickly led Steve around a tour of the tower, as he zoned out and thought about how no one had tried to rape him again. He noticed the Australian fucker's room was empty, and assumed he'd suffocated on his chest hair, or however Australian's die. He was bumped into the blind one on the way walking down the stairs, and paused in confusion as she spoke other than gibberish.
"Oh shit, he's here," May complained. "I thought we killed you."
"What? English? You're not supposed to speak English. How is that fair?!" Steve said. "I don't like this. Change it back!"
Steve drew his dagger, lunging forward in an attempt to stab out the language part of the blindy's brain so she'd go back to speaking English, before missing and tumbling further down the stairs.
"Are you OK?" Mormom cried down the stair case, as Steve sighed, standing up.
"Oh, you're alive," Lady Mizal noted. "Ugh."
"Hey, what the fuck's going on?" another voice asked.
Steve watched, as some winged motherfucker showed up. Steve paused, looking at him feeling annoyed. This fucker certainly seemed like someone people would want to rape in his sleep.
"Who the hell is this?" Steve asked.
"I'm new here," Angel Fuck answered.
"We're letting in new people!? Why is that something we're doing! I liked the old people! Well I didn't, but I hated them less than these new fucks!"
"Oh, Steve's alive," Bucky said, walking into the room with a pile of books in his hands. "Did you finish your contest entry? I'm trying to read through them now."
"He's back!? I thought we hated him and he left! God, I never understand what's going on. There's like fifty of us now!" Steve complained.
"We need the numbers," Mizal said.
"Fuck that, we're becoming like the Simpsons or something, with like fifty thousand episodes! Soon we're going to focus on side characters like Mr IAPS or something. I don't want this!" Steve howled, his complaints growing louder as he watched a Male Squinty walk past, while they wouldn't even let in his Girl Squinty for being too happy to be a villain. This was bullshit.
Meanwhile, everyone else just kind of went back to doing what they were doing, leaving Steve to bitch by himself.
"Tim Tim Tim?" Tim asked, appearing from behind behind the curtains.
Steve wondered what Tim was doing behind the blinds, before the crashing realization that they now left Tim in and the Council of Nine were a bunch of faggots hit him. Steve fumbled for his dagger, wondering how long it would take to bleed to death if he slashed his wrists, before realizing he'd lost it somewhere on his tumble down the staircase. He sighed, before deciding not to kill himself just yet.
"Lady Mizal, you cunt!" Steve said, hurrying after the uppity bitch. "Why do we have so many people!?"
"I told you, we need the numbers," Mizal replied. "Now fuck off, you cunt."
"Why do we need the numbers?" Steve asked.
"A war is about to start, and I'm trying to prepare! Now fuck off! If you want to be helpful, go kill yourself so I don't have to deal with your shit!"
Steve paused, wondering if it was worth it trying to explain how he did try, but he couldn't find his knife, before stumbling away, back to the doorway. He pushed the door open, heading into the streets, before pausing as he saw the large, dark shapes of towers around the town. Those were new.
"Hey, what's going on?" Steve yelled inside the Council of Nine's tower.
Surprisingly, the Undead King walked out of the tower, looking to Steve.
"What are you whining about, faggot??"
"Fuck off, you rotting coc... I mean, what's the story with those towers?"
"They're from the other factions," the Undead King said.
"What, like the Sages and Architects and them?" Steve asked.
That wouldn't make sense, seeing as if they were based on the orders, there'd be only one new tower, and three gaping holes for the other faggots in their inferior orders.
"No, for the new gangs arising. Do you even pay attention, or has syphillis rotted your brain?"
"Gangs?" Steve asked.
Perhaps this was the competition Mizal feared. It would greatly increase Steve's chances of getting stabbed to death by his many, many rivals, so that was bad. However, gangs tended to mean that the street value of ket and MD plummeted, so that would be sweet.
"Who the hell are the gangs?" Steve asked.
"Well, there's us, for one," the Undead King said said. "The Villains, the same assholes you hang out with, the general villains of this place. Then, there's the Abused and the Fools."
"Go on," Steve said curiously.
"The Fools, led by the undying Ford hivemind, are just a bunch of people who do weird shit to each other in their tower and try to be funny. Really, don't pay them any mind. Then there's the Abused, led by the pale fucker Saika, where he's assembled a group of trolls and enemies of the state, forming them in order to oppose anything mean, spiteful or cruel. Really, a bunch of little bitches."
"Mean? Spiteful? Cruel? I'm those things! That's everything good about the site!" Steve said, wondering how quickly his enemy list had just grown. "I might actually need to team up with Mizal to sort this shit out."
"Oh, we're going to sort it out," the Undead King said. "War is coming, and it's about to start. Should be fun."
"So we have the Cunts, the Retards and the Faggots, and we're about to massacre each other. Grand craic, that is."
All of a sudden, Steve wasn't in a mood to die. Not when there was such a delightful scrap coming his way.
I cannot wait for what will no doubt be a thrilling next part to this story.
I had several chuckles over this. Mormom. Heh.
It's great to see you doing these again. Recent events have turned out to be hilarious for me as a spectator.
I hope Saika (I honestly never liked him much anyway) and his merry band of salty kids provide more motivation/stuff for you to use to write more of these. They always make me laugh. :)
Satire does seem to be a strong point for Steve.
Chapter XVIII: Shams and Shrooms
General Malk was not a smart man, but he knew three things. He knew how badly the sting of losing a lover and a best friend felt, the price of a gigolo in the Northern docks, and where to get good shrooms. It was the third bit of trivia that Steve was enjoying right now, before later enjoying the second bit and finishing the night reminding Malk of the first bit whenever Steve got bored and "stabby".
Steve was pretty sure the fly on the wall was trying to warn him of something. He wasn't sure what. But it was definitely trying to warn him of... fuck, man, isn't Wonderwall, like, the best choone? Do you think, that's like, because it's the best choone, or do, like, you add vibes to a choone, and everyone adds their vibes to Wonderwall because they like it, and it becomes this cultural, like... you know, like this cultural "thing"... wait, what?
"Fuck..." Steve said. "Dude, shut the fuck up about Wonderwall, man."
Steve turned to yell at Malk for beaming him too many thoughts, before finding himself face to face with a Capybara.
"Oh, fuck..." Steve said, staring back at the Capybara, who stared back with its dopey eyes that are too far apart for reasonable depth perception and too close together to give it a wide view range, while the perfect distance apart for making them look like shitty trash animals.
The Capybara didn't respond, for it's vocal chords aren't capable of making any speech, or really any interesting sounds at all.
"Whoa! Man, are you... are you a dog?" Steve asked.
The Capybara, to those it may concern, is not a dog in any way, shape or form.
"Yeah, man, it's me, Malk, I'm a capybara," Steve heard the Capybara say. "You should, like, totally just kill everyone but you and me, dude, it'd be sick."
"What? Why, man? Do you want to eat them?"
"No, sham, don't worry, I'm a capybara, we only eat, like, dreams, man."
While Capybaras do not eat dreams, neither you nor I actually know what they do eat, so let us continue the story without wasting the time required to check.
Once again, the capybara does not have vocal chords capable of sound. It's brain is also not capable of telepathy, but instead designed for stumbling around wetlands, looking like a dopey prick that even David Attenborough couldn't fucking talk about without going mental.
"Yo, man, I totally would, but like, that's WAAAYYY too many people."
"No, Steve, there's only nine, it's the Council of Nine. You can kill nine people, you have a snake arm" the capybara didn't say.
"Fuck..." Steve said to his snake. "Are you, like, my penis? Fuck, I'm sorry about all that shit I've done to you, dude, I was just trying to... wait, what? Nine?"
Steve looked away from his snake arm, which, was like, fucking weird, man.
"Isn't it like, nine, like the letter? There's not nine of us, dude," Steve said.
"Sham, I'm a capybara, we can't lie," the capybara didn't say again.
Capybaras are, and I really can't stress this enough, not capable of the vocal communication required to lie, but if they were, they would do so constantly.
"Fair point, feen. I'm going to go duff those cunts and see what the craic is,"
Steve stood, grabbing his sword from its place embedded in last night's gigolo, before stumbling out to the hallways, where he bumped into the young prodigy weeb Wibbons.
"How are you, Steve?" Wibbons asked politely, courtesying as always, his or her or whatever's dress swaying in the breeze.
"Oh, fuck, man, where's your boobs gone? Weren't you a chick, or something? Do you have a penis?"
Steve aggressively groped Wibbons in an aggressive manner. The first minute was investigating the boy-girl's genitals, the next few were spent both enjoying it and trying to figure out whether the weird lump was a button or a teste tumor.
"Well, not much of one," Steve shrugged. "Wibbons, where are the others? Where's the rest of the Council? I need them assembled!"
"Steve, I don't think that's..."
"Run, Wibbons! Run as fast as your retarded Southern retard legs can carry you! I've seen Forest Gump, they'll carry you far!"
Steve hurtled Wibbons down the stairs. Rather than calling for a council meeting, he just seemed to scream in pain, which annoyed Steve, but did quickly draw the castle. Steve hopped on the bannister, sliding down it as he quickly took flight into the air, his wings carrying him to the bottom of the staircase.
Shit, those were good shrooms.
Steve's eyes blinked open again, as he realized he had missed the bannister and hurtled down three flights of stairs, landing on a broken Wibbons. Standing up and confirming nothing was damaged except his pride and every part of Wibbons, he quickly jumped onto the table with the skill of a gymnast tumbling down stairs. He started screaming orders, before once realizing his mouth hadn't formed actually formed any words. He looked around at the scum, the rogues, the dicks, the cocks, the pussies and the twats assembled around him, and realized he had their attention.
"Why are you screaming? Fuck off, Steve!" Mizal cried angrily, like a bitch.
"OK, so let's get this straight! How many of us are there?" Steve shouted.
"There's nine, dipshit!"
"Is there?!" Steve cried out. "Have you tried counting? There's me, Wibbons, Ebon, Mister IAPs, General Malk, the Necromancer, Mizal, Axiom, the blind one, the dickless boy Ford laid his eggs in, Chris, I'm pretty sure one of us had a pet Aussie, and either we had a pet monkey or, like, Friends is taking up way too much of my brain! Shit, was that seven? Fuck, what number was I counting to?! Shit, OK, and there was Digit the Weeb, and that Asian boy with phimosis, and Bucky, and the..."
"Not Bucky," Axiom said tersely.
"Not Bucky?" Steve asked.
A quick punch to the windpipe quickly cleared the name from Steve's lips, as he just realized this was exactly what the fly was trying to warn him about.
Steve slammed into the ground, flying off the table. He desperately grasped for a hand, grabbing the limp, sweaty wrist of Tim and yanking himself back to his feet.
"Tim," Tim said, confused.
"Oh, shit, man, you're here, too. Are you a council member? I thought we fought you! Oh dear god, man, are you confused too?"
Tim nodded, as Steve hugged him close.
"Thank fuck, man. Dude, did you figure out whether Wonderwall was like, great or had great vibes like put, you know, into it or wh... fuck it, never mind, we'll talk later. Let's figure out..."
"What's going on?" a large, Ogre-like creature asked, sticking his head in the window, before letting out a loud belch from its extended gullet.
"Oh, shit, man, what the fuck is that? Is that Mizal? Did she lose weight and like... oh fuck man, this is too much, this is too much."
"OK, fuck this shit!" Mizal said, like a bitch. "Steve, go OD outside and die in a ditch, we don't want to deal with this!"
Steve fumbled for his pocket, pulling out a leather pouch of fairy dust and giving it a hefty snort. He let out a yell, energy surging through him, before he stabbed Tim in the chest.
"Shut the fuck up about Wonderwall, dude!" Steve roared at Tim. "OK, everyone, listen up! We are sorting out who is in the council right fucking here!"
Steve quickly forced everyone to one side of the room at sword point. The gang, although quite capable of overpowering Steve, were too uneager to touch whatever vile liquids his clothes were drenched in, and for now let him do whatever pre-OD freak out he was planning on doing.
"OK, so let's start! First of all, I'm definitely in the castle!"
"Why are you in the council?" Mizal asked, like a bitch.
"Because I have the sword, you bitch!" Steve shouted. "OK, you're in the council, get over here. Who else? The Soul Banisher? Fuck, is he still around? Didn't he choke on a few galaxies? Fuck, me, is anyone going to get that reference? It's Stephen King, I'm referencing Stephen King! Fuck me, who else! Ax? Ax, what the fuck do you even do?"
"I have the keys to the tower!" Axiom said, as Steve nodded and hastily led her over.
"OK, next, we have the capybara! He's one of us!"
"Why?" Mizal asked.
"Because I'm pretty sure he ate my dreams, and I want them back!" Steve screamed. "There was the undead king, he's one of us because we need a corrupt ally, and like, that Ebon dude killed a bunch of pussies for us, and like, was a shadow and a spy or some shit. Fuck, I don't know, how many is that?"
"Six," Axiom answered.
"OK!" Steve nodded. "That's six of us! The last three are going to be decided by this fucking melee that Sir Bucky is throwing! Whoever duffs the most shams and fucking whatever is in, got it!?"
The potential recruits, apathetic to Steve's issues, nodded.
"Steve, this doesn't make sense. What about people not in the contest? What about those who are great proof readers but not great writers? We need to clarify the rules if we're holding a contest to decide membership!"
But Steve was not able to clarify the rules, as Steve chose that exact moment to overdose, and after some merry laughing, the Council members and their allies retired to bed
That, rather than the tiny penis or the curtsying, was what you took issue with, huh?
Both of these scribblings had me laughing audibly multiple times. The jokes about Tim and Mizal were the best. Good stuff, lad.