Chapter 1 - Sodomites
Sandor rolled off Tyrion, edging away from the pile of cuddlejuice-soaked bedsheets. His breasts rose upwards as he breathed heavily, culminating in a vicious downward strike. He was wearing a double breasted suit jacket with an impeccable fit and peaked lapels, orphaned from the trousers by the means of lovemaking.
"Did you call the Ram-man yet?" Tyrion enquired, his eyes caressing Sandor's throbbing lapels.
"Of course. He will be waiting for us at the ElecktroShnitzel," Sandor said, pointing at the cuddlejuice that splattered to form the map of Downtown.
"I hate that place," Tyrion snickered, pleased. "I always loved their Dunka-Dunka concerts."
Sandor glared at Tyrion's heavenly body. The only piece of attire covering him was a plain white dress shirt, a sign of polite vulgarity. The contrast stitching on the collar resembled something rude when looked at from an 83 degree angle. Sandor licked his lips at the sight and started wiping the splatters of cuddlejuice off the ceiling.
Tyrion lashed out, his middle leg's toe striking Sandor's face. Blood and pieces of bone and cartilage flew all over the place. He snorted and wiped his face. "Balls fucker..." Tyrion muttered.
"Ready to go?" Sandor asked, slipping into his pants to cover his manhood and picking up his briefcase.
Tyrion nodded, buttoning up his shirt. The buttons on his shirt were miniature gates into the fourth dimension, breaking the flow of space and time. Every single time he would touch one of the buttons his finger would break the nose of a random Polish person, reminding him to consume more of their luscious gas-liquid.
As they approached the door to exit the small bedroom, Sandor made a sound that was somewhere between a sniffle and a publisher's dream. He stepped onto a touch-plate in front of the door. The sound of lamentation filled the room.
There were exactly 633.7 children on the other side, ages 8 to 30. Their blood curdled as they saw the pair of sodomites standing before them. The adrenaline stream entered their blood, only it was pure cocaine distilled with the urine of the Elder Gods. Lasers shot out of their eyes, burning a hole in the bedroom wall, which was also the ceiling, splattering blood and urine-paste everywhere. The puddle of cuddlejuice groaned and smoldered with the heat, its deathly throes a reminder of Fred Astaire's silent lobotomy. The floor under Sandor and Tyrion collapsed as deadly sperm gas filled the room.