About the author: Only recently recognized as 'not a wolf' by the American government, Buster Manwomb is being actively hunted by the IRS and various billionaires for listing 'Fraulein Whooping Cough's Performance Art Enterprises' as a church, and paying smelly people to dress as various billionaires and suck off the bull statue on Wall Street.

Chapter 3: Gaylords of Oz

The Bloomin' Onion opened the door, slamming it shut as soon as he saw the swirling, toothy vortex of moose that coked up oil patch workers swear are a frequent terror in rural Alberta.

"What the fuck, mate?!" The Bloomin' Onion screamed as the cabin started getting pelted by moose.

"Oh yeah, moose tornados." Pablo nodded. "One of the ten plagues in the Canadian edition of the bible. Wouldn't be 2020 without another one of those, eh?"

And then it stopped. Daylight shone through the windows.

The opened the door and stepped outside. The bloomin' onion looked around. "Fuck me sideways, are we in OZ?!"

"I don't think we're in Kananaskis anymore, Pablo." Steve the sandwich thought aloud.

"Ah well, let's go find the yellow brick road." Pablo sauntered offwards.

"Bugger that!" The Bloomin' Onion found the corpse of the witch the cabin landed on, stole her slippers, and started kicking them together. "There's no place like home!"

And then Mike Myers ran up in a fat suit and bit his whole body off.

"That's where yar home is!" Mike Myers declared with a thick enough Scottish accent that Smash Mouth threatened to play in the background. "In mah BELLY! ...Oh lookie here, chicken sandwiches! I'll have at ye for me dinner!"

And than the gay chick fil-a sandwiches shot him, scaring him off.

"God, I love firearms." Pablo declared, turning to Steve the Sandwich. Want to go back inside and have some more gay sex?"

"Only if we can send the pictures to Chick Fil-A."

"Of course!" Pablo guzzled a Gatorade as he led Steve the Sandwich back into their headquarters of sex.

Elsewhere, deep in the offices of Chick Fil-A HQ

"Ahhh, fuck!" Chickafella belched eloquently upon hearing the news of the Bloomin' Onions consumption. "Even as we speak, those Chick Fil-A products are out there, still associating our brand with gay sex!"

There was a large Silhouette standing before Chickafeela's desk, just far enough out of the light that you the reader can't see who they are. They said nothing.

"I guess it just goes to show, never send a Bloomin' Onion to do a man's job." Chickafeela smoked a cigar as he dropped that morning's batch of sexually explicit pictures from the Chick Fil-A sandwiches onto the desk. "I'll pay you three million to kill each target. Six million each if you can get them to announce that they're straight, first."

The silhouette stood there, unmoving.

Chickafella sighed. "They don't have any parents."

The silhouette moved into the light: Marcus Fenix body, veiny get. Taquito stand, shake with rage. "Orphans…." He grumble dangerous, jumping the window.

To be continuity…

Chug butt, is the only way

Kimchi Patch kids, Nicotine patch Kids

It's only cannibalism if the balls touch