Chapter 4 – Climax
The shadows took up glittering forms of research directors which were clad in labcoats sewn elegantly and without mercy out of mosquito flesh. They wielded barbershop accessories, singing in the voice of the duet that didn't. Sandor and Tyrion were transported to two different places in space and time before engaging.
Sandor spun around and kicked the dickhead in his left testicle, which shattered all of his bones. Sandor then made the bone fragments into uranium hollow point rounds and sent them towards the rest of the fuckers. They bled out gravy which, upon the contact with the ground, sprouted wings and spawned children of its own.
Sandor jammed his hand into the first skinhead's body, tearing past the shit-sack, and pulling out the stomach, releasing a sickening crunch onto the earth. The sound wave hit the Berlin Wall, and lessened the lifespan of the community of homosexuals living within.
Sandor tore open the stomach and found Cuntsplitter inside, a fishing rod glowing with a greenish-purple color, fabricated from the thawing blood of an Iron Maiden, polished with a lovechild of the Seventeenth motherfucking Baron, and perfected with an oil rag that was used as underwear in hell. Words "PEDICABO TE" were engraved on the meaty shaft throbbing with acid.
A vicious backhand slash hit the second labcoated fucktard, spraying bloodied gravy shitstains all over as he split into two fucking halves. Sandor discovered that the legs of the evil bastards were made entirely out of scissors, so he rubbed the sub-atomic metal particles of the scissors off with his fingertips and manipulated the genetic code of the third asswipe, causing his fucking head to explode in a shower of cracker jack clothes and blood.
The researchers overwhelmed Tyrion and caused a nuisance, so he ripped out his bottom right buttcheek and wrought it into a bench press from Hell. He rode it like a sled with Hellhippos embedded directly into the front of the doom-machine. Their hoove-like padknickers, each dressed into a trenchcoat, moved with the speed of light, making the sled shoot into space and sending waves upon waves of fuckstorms at his adversaries, boiling the fat in their body. He set fire to the leather trenchcoats with a zippo lighter, causing whorefire to appear spontaneously underneath the fuckfaces, causing their eyes melt into their sockets and their eye-sockets to collapse into their fucking manhoods. A cloud of glitter-dust has arisen from the wreckage and propelled itself towards the remaining foes at the speed of thought, wrecking their fucking bodies into physical manifestations of ruin.
There was only one survivor, an elderly manchild who's life goal was to not do much. He sang the psalms spawned for naught by his own deranged intelligence, hysterically blissful at the concept of self-fulfillment. Sandor rushed in and slashed at his legs with Cuntsplitter, sending the broken bones to protrude from the fleshy stumps, until a huge fucking hand came out of the ground beneath him and pulled him into hell, to undergo an face-transplant surgery.
Cuntsplitter laughed.