Eyooo this is a backpack nutsack attack comin' at you courtesy of my main boy Elarix from the Star Fox section and Foxhole community. He requested this personally so here's to keeping his vision true and alive! As always I'm accepting positive reviews and paid dues HAHA but for real if you'd like to subscribe to my hit me up and I will take your money faster than diarrhea after eating an entire jar of pickles and drinking the JUICE! LMAO! Please like and subscribe!
- backpack

A Very Foxy Road Trip
Backpack, backpack.

4:20 A.M.

The wrapping of knuckles on Slippy's bedroom door is much like the rapping of Eminem - mostly staccato and generally offensive.
Slippy looks at his clock - it's four in the goddamn morning. Slippy hammers his alarm, like that will change things, because he is half asleep but he still knows nothing should be waking him up at this hour.

As it turns out, the alarm clock was not the knuckles wrapping on his door like a bad rapper with too much publicity.
It was one of his roommates, Star Fox. His real name was Fox McCloud, but he insisted on being called Star Fox. It's a really annoying habit, and you should generally refrain from trying to force a nickname like that.

"Hey SLIMECUCK. BETOAD! HAHA! That's like a BETA TOAD, you get it?!"

"FUCK OFF, Fox, I'm sleeping."

"Bitch what did you just call me?" Fox is really upset, Slippy can hear it through the door, even though he doesn't want to.

The bad wrapping continues, just like the rapping in Eminem's career. Slippy wraps a pillow around his head. "I can't hear you, asshole, I'm trying to sleep."

"Slippy, you're not asleep, you're talking to me," he says, clearly exasperated.

"Yeah, asshole, I'm trying to sleep. Please fuck off."

Star Fox starts kicking the door, splinters forming around the lock. Slippy doesn't know why he keeps getting his door fixed. This is like the fourth time Fox has kicked it in.

The door caves, loosening the hinges while the lock sprays sharp wooden shards all over Slippy's face and bed.
Thankfully, his eyes are closed for the impact, but he is trying to spit wood off of his sticky tongue.

"What did I TELL you about locking your door, Slippy!"

"Not to or you'd-"

"I'd kick it in, yeah." Star Fox poses heroically. "You see, Slippy, I'm a goddamn hero. So when I call on you, it's important, you understand?"

Slippy silently sighs. "I guess so."

"Good." Star Fox beams with his eyes closed. "I'm gonna need you to get out of bed and follow me now."

"Why."

"Don't say why!" Star Fox points dramatically. "Just follow!"

Slippy gets up out of bed while actively complaining. "You know we're going to leave in like three hours on a nine hour drive. And you're gonna make me drive. Do you really want me feeling sleep deprived and-"

"You're talking a lot and not following me!" Star Fox beams. "Get your lazy ass out of bed and pull yourself up by your bootstraps and stop being some kind of ambiguous queer! Okay?!"

Slippy rolls his eyes and gets up. "I'm coming.'
Whatever gets this asshole to leave him alone, he'll try to do it as quickly as possible.

Slippy Toad wished he didn't live here, but Star Fox fucked up his credit on bad Arwing operations. It wasn't very good, and neither is this.

The toad Slippy Toad follows Fox into the community bathroom.

"Look," Star Fox says, pointing into the bowl.

It still stinks like poop in the room, and Slippy has a good idea what he's in for. So he plugs his nose with his pointer and middle finger and looks into the toilet.
He tries to give him lip service. "Wow, Star Fox, it's like a banana. That's a really big and good poop you pushed out of your asshole, there."

"You bet your sweet tits it is! HAHA!" He says, doing another hero pose, with his hands on his hips, what have you. "You'd better get a closer look!"

"Only if you back away from the toilet," Slippy sez. "I'm not looking into that toilet with you anywhere near it."

"Excuse me!" Star Fox scoffs. "What! Are you some kind of queer, trying to have sex with me!"

"No, Star Fox," Slippy says, beleaguered. "I'm not trying to have sex with you."

"So you admit it!" Star Fox says, pointing like Phoenix Wright, or someone else who points really good like that.

"Admit what, Star Fox?" Slippy is so done. So. Done.

"You're queer!" Star Fox laughs. "You're queer and you like men! HAHAHAHA!"

"Yeah, Star Fox. Sure. I'm queer and I like everything," Slippy silently sighs. "Can I go back to bed now."

"You haven't taked a good look at my turd," Star Fox says, posing heroically. "Go ahead, take a look."

"Star Fox, did you even wipe?"

Star Fox seems offended by the question. "Of course I didn't wipe, you asshole! Toilet paper ruins the composition! Look at my turd, you asshole!"

Slippy looks at the turd again and he vomits in the toilet on top of it. (the turd) "What does that do for your composition, Star Fox. I'm off to my mother's womb."

Star Fox wipes his ass, pissed and then flushes. "You're just mad because you don't get as many bitches as me!"
The poopwater overflows the bowl of the toilet and leaks out under the seat. Star Fox sticks his head out of the bathroom and screams "MOOOOM!"

But there's no answer.
He strides angrily out into the foyer and leans against the bottom of the staircase railing. All he can hear is the hiss of her oxygen machine. "MOOOOM! GET YOUR ASS DOWN HERE! MY TOILET IS BROKE!"

*record scratch*
A Very Star Fox Road Trip
a story by Backpack, backpack.

6:33:45 A.M.

Slippy is driving the car and all of the passengers are shaking up their beers before cracking them open and screaming into his ear. Calling him a pussy and a girl because he won't drink. Chanting the word "faggot" like it was some kind of motivational tool.
And still, stinking like beer and running on empty, he pulls the car out of the driveway.

Over the rolling hills of the outskirts of Corneria City, the sun starts to rise. Slippy wonders if that sunlight splashing over the horizon is god warming his heart, but it isn't. He knows better. Star Fox bellows into his head all day about how god isn't real, and you shouldn't love your sex doll, you should just have sex with it.

Slippy doesn't really know what that means, but he's affected by it.
It gets said to him more than you could possibly imagine.

His eyes flutter closed. He begins to imagine things.

A Very Star Foxxyy Road Trip
a story by Backpack, backpack of the backpack bootswiper map fame.

4:20:96 A.M.
Star Fox rips off his shirt in front of the stupid bitch. And she takes it, like the woman she is.

"Hey BITCH." He says to Krystal, unironically. "I want to have sex in your asshole. I hope that doesn't make me a furry huhuh!"

He specifically requested not to be a furry in this so it's important to note that when Star Fox shoots his dirty load inside of Krystal's asshole, it's not gay, OR FURRY. Seriously, guys, this hatemail is getting ridiculous. I would never do something gay if it wasn't in service of the great country of CorneriAmerica.

Anyway. Star Fox plops his dick into this stupid bitch that think's he's a hero. He pounds at her like an unruly piece of cutlet - one that needs to be punished bad inside her.

Krystal says something like "You're super crazy sexy to go into that orifice, but what about this one?!"

When Krystal opens up her super secret sexy hole that he hadn't even masturbated to in his wildest dreams that's when Star Fox know's he's dreaming.

He wakes up screaming.

4:20:69 P.M.
It turns out Star Fox doesn't shut up for long. He starts screaming in Slippy's ear, something about Delta Omega Pi. Then he funnels a beer into his waxtrap.

Slippy screams. The wheel is cut sharply and the wheels of the vehicle roll over all kinds of rocky desert terrain.
When the beer enters his body nobody in the car is sure if they'll survive this endeavor.
The car skids wildly off the road and across the loose desert rocks even against the brakes until it comes to a full uncomfortable stop.

Slippy screams. "I DON'T WANT ANY OF YOUR FUCKING BEER STAR FOX. I AM TRYING TO DRIVE."

"What are you, some kind of toadlicker?" Fox asks, jabbing his buddies in the backseat before turning back around to face Slippy.

Slippy glares daggers into Fox's brain. Fox doesn't notice. "Do you want to get there, or not?"

Fox throws his hands, mocking a defensive stance. "Don't shoot, Mr. Toad! We wanna get there in one piece!"

"Huhuh! Yeah!" Falco guffaws. "We wanna get theyah without seein' you lick the poison off ya mothe's cunt or whateva! We know how hahd you toads is to get off!"
Peppy elbows him in the ribcage while smothering his own snickers like the liberal media often does against capitalism or whatever.

Slippy feels yet another piece of him die in that car. Among these freaks, these jackals that don't seem to understand him at all.
There's a moment where he sees a rock ahead of him in this moment, the one we're talking about. He sees that rock on the shoulder of the highway in the desert and he fantasizes about driving head on into it at full speed.
But he knows he can't reach full speed at this distance. He couldn't reach a quarter of the speed of full speed. That's barely a nickel in dollar terms.
Slippy is hyperventilating. The gang throws some homophobic slurs at him in his ear, but it's all in good fun, like when they do it in the foxhole. Just bros doing locker room talk at one another.

It takes him a second to realize over his breathing that the engine in his old car has stalled out. He puts the vehicle in park while continuing to step on the breaks, out of habit.
Turning the key, he listens to the engine beg him not to have to do this the same way he begs what he wishes was god.

Slips wishes he believed in god, but he hasn't in a long time. He's more afraid of why situations like this exist, rather than looking for answers for them.
But he wishes he had something to pray to, just so he could know this journey would end sooner rather than later.

But even when the engine turns over, he knows his prayers aren't answered. He knows the trouble in his life is his friend until the end, and the roar of the engine as well as his colleagues makes sure he knows that.
Cans of beer are shook and broken open, spraying as they open, raining like foul fountains, reminders of where his in life and where he could never be.

As he puts the car into drive, he makes some promises to himself that he doesn't know if he can keep.

Wolf Hydration
.a story by Backpackpackpackpackpackpackpackpackpackpackpackpackpackpackpackpackpackpack

His foot slammed on the accelerator as he wonders why there is no god. The car speeding down the highway.
Rocks and cacti speeding past the field of view as Slippy slips along the highway in his car with other people involved in that car also.
You wouldn't believe how many times Slippy thought the same moment in his life was repeating over and over, and over and over, and over and over, to his existential horror.

As the light leaves the horizon he relies on the headlights of his car to guide him. As his passengers scream Sublime lyrics into his ear and shotgun beers he wonders how he got here.

The sun has fallen and his eyelids just as heavy as the weight of the night as a blanket all over the place that is called the horizon and what have you.
I think I'm a pretty good writer.

But I guess that's when I have to describe things. The headlights blaring against green signs on the night highway.
Inviting gas stations, food establishments, hotels. Until Slippy can't hold on anymore.

Until operating an automobile becomes dangerous, Slippy is unslippable. But once it does, he suggests looking for a motel.
This was a mistake. They mock him in ways he doesn't understand. Almost in a language he doesn't understand.

"HEY FROGLEGS" Falco shouts at one point, seemingly in reaction to him suggesting a motel so that they can sleep, but it's almost half an hour later, so it's hard to tell. "WHY DON'T YOU GROW SOME WINGS SO YOUR ASS DOESN'T HOP."

"Okay," Slippy says, taking the next exit. The nexit, for shortsies.

Everyone laughs but Slippy and Peppy. Peppy is confused. "Is you saying his ass hops?" Asks Peppy.

"EW DUDE THAT MAKES YOU GAY" Falco says, in all caps. "THE ONLY THING MAKING ME OKAY WITH SLIPPY BEING GAY IS THAT HE IS UP THEYAH AND I'M BACK HEYAH. AND I'M STILL NOT OKAY WITH IT. BUT IF YOU QUEEYAH BACK HEYAH THAN WE GONNA HAVE SOME FUGGIN' PROBLEMS"?"

"No I think that makes you gay," Peppy Snickers, like the candy. "You're the gay one if you said what you said was true."

Slippy tries his best to tune it out. He wonders what theoretical god could possibly have anything to do with Delta Omega Pi, and how ashamed it must feel.
The entire night, Slippy is unable to get any sleep due to Fox jumping on his bed. Every time Slippy thinks Fox is about to stop, he doesn't.
This bleeds into the cacti passing him by and the unforgiving stretches of road, the stink of beer permeating the car, the screaming of the passengers, "CHUG! CHUG! CHUG! CHUG!" over the same three Sublime songs over and over, and over and over and over and over.

"Prah." Slippy says, at some point.

"IS THAT FRAG FOR CHUG CACK!" Falco responds.

Slippy thinks about that more than he wants to.

It doesn't seem to stop.
It just kind of gets worse.

The cacophony of everything around him drives itself down into his bones as though with a nailgun. Just an obstructive hiss and it's there. In his bones. With no way of escaping.

A sign passes over their heads. Slippy doesn't notice.

"Dude!" Falco says, tugging on Fox's sleeve like a baby, or some kind of child. "Strip mall! STRIP mall!"

"Slippy! Pull over now! That means tits!" Fox says, tugging on his jacket sleeve desperately.

"That's a billboard," Slippy says, casually, almost dead inside. "The exit is in three miles."

"I SAID PULL OVER, FAGGOT!" Fox says, handling Slippy's clothes like a dogcarcher handles an unruly dog. "THERE'S TITTIES NEARBY."

And so Slippy pulls over. And while he watches Fox and Falco look for titties that aren't there, Peppy whispers to him from the back seat.

"You're going to die like this," he says, not blinking, or showing any emotion. "You were born into a miserable life of toads who didn't love you, and now you'll die watching jackasses looking for titties that aren't there."

Slippy sighs. "Thanks Peppy," Slippy says.

He says.

When they get back into the car, they blame him for promising them titties. He admits he was wrong, even though he wasn't, just to shut them up.
Slippy watches the exit for the strip mall slip past his field of vision. It wasn't what they wanted anyway.

But he can't forget Peppy's words in the back of his mind.

Lupine Liquidation
a story by me.

The wheels drag them along the interstate with the grace of a greased bunny rabbit on the edge of its own self destruction.
You could say a thing or two to just about anybody involved, and you'd probably be right.

The magnetic tape grinds against the internals of the vehicle. "You saw yourself at the bottom and this is where it got you," Slippy whispers.
It's not a cry for help. We're way beyond that at this point.

The steering wheel resisting their attempts to turn as an internal part of them warms up.

There's an understanding, but it doesn't understand them.

When they grip the wheel, it's not for the sake of tension release. The vehicle rights itself, as dust and rocks kick themselves up across the windshield.
If it was about to rain, Slippy would say that. They'd say "it's about to rain!" and they'd make adjustments to the way that they're driving.

Not the case. Slippy's grip on the wheel loosens and the passengers begin to speak.

"What did everyone get?" Fox demands, looking through his own bag. "I need to take inventory."

"I got this wedding dress," Peppy exclaims as he explains, pointing to his body that is wearing the wedding dress. "Stupid bitch only wore it once! HaHA!"

"I got tapes," Falco says, dragging his cigarette like he drags his feet when someone calls him chicken.

"And you?" Fox asks, eyeballing Slippy.

Slippy sighs. They don't say anything.

"Alright, faggot," Fox says, digging his own plastic shopping bag out of the floorboard. "I got some smokes and I got a shirt that says this;" he reveals the shirt to Slippy, who isn't looking at him.
Slippy is looking at the road. Fox spells it out.

Fox holds up a shirt that says "you can't read what's written on this shirt right now because you're driving," and Slippy can't read it so they don't try.

"Did you see my wedding dress?!" Peppy asks Slippy, and Slippy did. In the rear-view mirror.

The vehicle accelerates. Slippy did see the wedding dress. He saw Peppy sniffing the garment before discarding it, like he did so many things before.

Their fingers unclench and the wheel slides back and forth just beneath their influence without any sort of direction.
The car drifting across lanes. Nobody seems to notice.

"Didn't you get anything at the stip mall bruh?" Fox asks dumbly.

"I got something alright," Slippy says, fondling the truth with their slimy fingers.

There's an edited piece of entertainment that wraps everything up nicely, Slippy assumes. That explains everything on such a level even they could understand it.
Slippy unholsters a revolver and stuffs it very deliberately into their mouth.

Before the screams fill up the cab of the vehicle, everything's cut off by a loud BANG and a lingering ringing.

And Slippy can't hear or feel a thing but if they could know or feel things at this point, they'd know it was finally over.