Sorry these chapters are so few and far between, but that's just the way
this will work.
Disclaimer: Nobody loves you.
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Ickyboo pressed the scented cloth to his nose to block out the stink of piss-coated corpses.
"Mmmm, lavender...." sighed Ickyboo fruitally. He felt that it was his duty to undo the heinous accomplishments against the dead that Constable Plush Bottom had enacted. Therefore, he had brought several men, Young Nazbutt, and Smiley, who delighted in jumping into the coffins with the corpses and telling them what he wanted for Christmas.
They were nearly done with the cleaning and sorting of bodies (and heads), when Smiley grabbed the head of a former Widow Windowslip, and chucked it at Young Nazbutt. Within minutes, a fierce volleyball tournament had erupted, one which the town would never forget, and Ickyboo would always try to.
The players were hampered slightly when the head of the widow burst in a glory of brains, spiders, and congealed piss, but they simply moved on to the next head, ecstatic to be out having fun.
"That's it!" snarled Ickyboo, as he grabbed Young Nazbutt, hopped on Footpowder, and tore off into the woods. Or, as Footpowder would have it, into the wall of the nearest barn, and only then into the woods.
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Ickyboo and Young Nazbutt rode erratically through the creepy and unpleasant woods. Suddenly, Ickyboo witnessed some smoke curling expertly above the branches.
"Maybe the psycho who's killing everyone lives there," commented Ickyboo proudly.
And, so, they approached a cave, from which the smoke, now smug from someone noticing how good it was at curling, still rose.
"You wait out here," said Ickyboo to Young Nazbutt, "Or else I'll beat you."
Nazbutt obediently sat down on a large rock, and contemplated the amount of ostrich burger Footpowder might be expected to come to.
Ickyboo tiptoed into the cave-hut-thingy, wielding a handgun and a blowfish.
"Hello? Helloooooo?" he asked stupidly, staring straight over the head of the cave's inhabitant, a squat, ape-like woman in a dirty shawl.
"I'm right here, dipshit," said the quite smelly creature.
"BLLLLH!" exclaimed Ickyboo. More calmly, he added, "azzzsszz."
"My name is Wenchy Wench, and this is the home of the Wench Burger," she stated. "Or not. Depends on whether you like your innards tied in knots and punctured repeatedly."
"Of course. Most things do," said Ickyboo intelligently.
"Yes, yes they do," she acknowledged.
"Have you been killing people recently?" questioned Ickyboo quite subtly.
"No. Not recently, at least. That'll be that stupid smelly head," she growled. "Would you like to sit down? I can make us some tea, and we can talk about it."
"Why, yes, that would be quite nice," smiled Ickyboo.
At the table, Wenchy poured two cups of nice, hot tea.
"Would you like milk?" she inquired.
"Why, yes, of course. So...you too believe that a rampaging head is responsible for the deaths of the villagers?"
"Of course I do. It's true," she replied, as she cut the head off a bat, and squeezed its blood into Ickyboo's cup. "I'm not some nut, you know, I only believe things that are true."
"Thank you for your hospitality," said Ickyboo, sipping his tea.
"Oh, I don't get many visitors, so I tend to treat the ones I do have properly. None of that 'Tell-me-your-name-or-I-lay-a-trap-of-syrup-and- pungy-pits' you get in the towns around here. Quite a painful experience, that."
"Yes," winced Ickyboo. "It is."
"My God. I was joking!"
"So, anyway, about this rampaging head," prodded Ickyboo.
"Don't prod me. Your hands are filthy," complained Wenchy.
"Oh, my apologies. As I was asking."
"Yes, well, I know where that dead thing lives, so I'll just tell you the directions, and you can do what you like. You might want to write this down."
"Oh, no, I have no pen. I'm sure I can remember," said Ickyboo in earnest.
"All right then. You seek the psycho sprinkled with wood chips, the Headfull Horseguy. Follow the possum trail to where the wolf shits. Follow to the Outhouse of Doom. Climb in to the Horseguy's resting place," screamed Wenchy disturbingly, just before her face exploded, and her tongue knocked over every pot in the room.
"Yuck!" commented Ickyboo, and, stopping to grab her DVD player, he left.
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Outside, Ickyboo was confronted by Young Nazbutt, who was holding determinedly onto the arm of a struggling Katrino, who was obviously on a particularly bad magic carpet ride.
"I think we should take her back to town," explained Nazbutt. "She was trying to get into a fox burrow when I found her."
"All right," consented Ickyboo, and they walked back to Stupid Hollow, leading the useless (and hopefully doomed) Footpowder.
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I'M GUNNA MAKE TOOOAST!
Disclaimer: Nobody loves you.
############################################################## ##############################################################
Ickyboo pressed the scented cloth to his nose to block out the stink of piss-coated corpses.
"Mmmm, lavender...." sighed Ickyboo fruitally. He felt that it was his duty to undo the heinous accomplishments against the dead that Constable Plush Bottom had enacted. Therefore, he had brought several men, Young Nazbutt, and Smiley, who delighted in jumping into the coffins with the corpses and telling them what he wanted for Christmas.
They were nearly done with the cleaning and sorting of bodies (and heads), when Smiley grabbed the head of a former Widow Windowslip, and chucked it at Young Nazbutt. Within minutes, a fierce volleyball tournament had erupted, one which the town would never forget, and Ickyboo would always try to.
The players were hampered slightly when the head of the widow burst in a glory of brains, spiders, and congealed piss, but they simply moved on to the next head, ecstatic to be out having fun.
"That's it!" snarled Ickyboo, as he grabbed Young Nazbutt, hopped on Footpowder, and tore off into the woods. Or, as Footpowder would have it, into the wall of the nearest barn, and only then into the woods.
###############################################################
Ickyboo and Young Nazbutt rode erratically through the creepy and unpleasant woods. Suddenly, Ickyboo witnessed some smoke curling expertly above the branches.
"Maybe the psycho who's killing everyone lives there," commented Ickyboo proudly.
And, so, they approached a cave, from which the smoke, now smug from someone noticing how good it was at curling, still rose.
"You wait out here," said Ickyboo to Young Nazbutt, "Or else I'll beat you."
Nazbutt obediently sat down on a large rock, and contemplated the amount of ostrich burger Footpowder might be expected to come to.
Ickyboo tiptoed into the cave-hut-thingy, wielding a handgun and a blowfish.
"Hello? Helloooooo?" he asked stupidly, staring straight over the head of the cave's inhabitant, a squat, ape-like woman in a dirty shawl.
"I'm right here, dipshit," said the quite smelly creature.
"BLLLLH!" exclaimed Ickyboo. More calmly, he added, "azzzsszz."
"My name is Wenchy Wench, and this is the home of the Wench Burger," she stated. "Or not. Depends on whether you like your innards tied in knots and punctured repeatedly."
"Of course. Most things do," said Ickyboo intelligently.
"Yes, yes they do," she acknowledged.
"Have you been killing people recently?" questioned Ickyboo quite subtly.
"No. Not recently, at least. That'll be that stupid smelly head," she growled. "Would you like to sit down? I can make us some tea, and we can talk about it."
"Why, yes, that would be quite nice," smiled Ickyboo.
At the table, Wenchy poured two cups of nice, hot tea.
"Would you like milk?" she inquired.
"Why, yes, of course. So...you too believe that a rampaging head is responsible for the deaths of the villagers?"
"Of course I do. It's true," she replied, as she cut the head off a bat, and squeezed its blood into Ickyboo's cup. "I'm not some nut, you know, I only believe things that are true."
"Thank you for your hospitality," said Ickyboo, sipping his tea.
"Oh, I don't get many visitors, so I tend to treat the ones I do have properly. None of that 'Tell-me-your-name-or-I-lay-a-trap-of-syrup-and- pungy-pits' you get in the towns around here. Quite a painful experience, that."
"Yes," winced Ickyboo. "It is."
"My God. I was joking!"
"So, anyway, about this rampaging head," prodded Ickyboo.
"Don't prod me. Your hands are filthy," complained Wenchy.
"Oh, my apologies. As I was asking."
"Yes, well, I know where that dead thing lives, so I'll just tell you the directions, and you can do what you like. You might want to write this down."
"Oh, no, I have no pen. I'm sure I can remember," said Ickyboo in earnest.
"All right then. You seek the psycho sprinkled with wood chips, the Headfull Horseguy. Follow the possum trail to where the wolf shits. Follow to the Outhouse of Doom. Climb in to the Horseguy's resting place," screamed Wenchy disturbingly, just before her face exploded, and her tongue knocked over every pot in the room.
"Yuck!" commented Ickyboo, and, stopping to grab her DVD player, he left.
##################################################################
Outside, Ickyboo was confronted by Young Nazbutt, who was holding determinedly onto the arm of a struggling Katrino, who was obviously on a particularly bad magic carpet ride.
"I think we should take her back to town," explained Nazbutt. "She was trying to get into a fox burrow when I found her."
"All right," consented Ickyboo, and they walked back to Stupid Hollow, leading the useless (and hopefully doomed) Footpowder.
################################################################### ###################################################################
I'M GUNNA MAKE TOOOAST!