"If you kill the universe there will be no more humans to poop on!"
Houser laughed. "Humans can't be trusted. Turn your back on them for a second and it is they who shall defecate upon thy thoracic region."
The joke was on Houser, though, because Veruni don't poop, they only ejaculate. Kartikeya stole Houser's cane, laughing intensely as he polished it with his jockstrap. Lacking the manhood to wield that unholy superweapon, for it is the mummified penis of Ragu O Ragla, the cane imploded, creating a second universe which Houser and Kartikeya became trapped within. In the pocket universe, cashiers were wind mice turned yellow by the crying of the Guardians, and Sol Niger gonads were used as currency, with testes being worth 410 gella and ovaries 680 gella each. Gella was not money, but rather food consumed by the unworthy fucklings serving the Great Queen Anglemoist.
Out of the Queen's chambers sauntered Fairydoon, dressed in but a mere elbucky-print thong which was forged from lasers, and brandishing his ARM Gunstar Hero, an unsightly yet debilitatingly arousing hybrid of sword and dildo. It was a universe where all worshipped the Great Guardian Sega. Veruni have anuses, and are a race of fairies. Unable to handle the faggotry, Kartikeya killed Fairydoon. Queen Anglemoist objected because he was her husband, and Kartikeya was being a right-wing stereotypist. Kartikeya laughed, then warped out of the dimension with Houser for a bromantic coffee date at the last Starbucks, salvaged and refurbished from the rubble of Hyades and towed by the might of fifty thousand Veruni spacecraft to sate the Filgaians' newfound craving for the steaming alien bean juice. It was run by Monsieur du Blonde, the last of the Hyadans barring Houser.
Fereydoon punched a rift in the sub-dimension, his hopes in reviving his lost race soaring to infinity and beyond. Fereydoon is not actually a Veruni; he is the last of his race, the once mighty asperninjas. He soaked the soil of the Sega world with his nostalgic tears, reflecting on an era when the jungles of prehistoric Filgaia were teeming with passive aggressive warriors of virtue and shadow. It was a better time, a time when crunching food in public led to immediate execution, and businesses were run by the truest of crasftsmen and craftswomen, the savants. But their natural enemies, the plains-dwelling samurautists, analyzed their flawlessly executed arboreal architecture to a fault, scouting out the sole weakness. The samurautists, jealous of the asperninjas' superior functionality, ravaged their civilizations, leaving but a single asperninja behind. He spun a vine cocoon and entered coldsleep, a survival tactic unique among his clan. For 50 million years he slumbered until he could wake and camouflage himself among the Veruni. Modern Filgaian races are all descendants of the samurautists, except for Fereydoon. It is for this very reason that he took so well to Volsung, for he feels an empathic connection, a kindred souls bond, in being a unique pariah among a world dominated by racists.
Fereydoon questioned what life on Hyades was like prior to the xenocide of the metal demons, heralding the birth of Ragu O Ragla to a human mother and a father comprised of dragon oil and fuck. Kartikeya laughed.
