EVENIN' SQUIRE
HOWSABOUT A LITTLE BIT O' THE OLD WHISKERS AND WHEELS, EH?
FUCKIN' SPENDID GUVNA!
SO THIS JUST IN: EMILIA CLARKE GOT HER TITS OUT YET AGAIN
AND THEY WERE JUST AS GOOD AS THEY ALWAYS WERE
IT WAS LIKE SEEING AN OLD FRIEND AGAIN, VERY MUCH APPRECIATED
ALSO THORN OF EMBERLAIN COMES OUT IN THREE AND A HALF MONTHS GET HYPED GET HYPED
IN FACT SHIT PREACHER COMES OUT IN A FEW DAYS GET HYPED GET HYPED
ALSO LET'S BEGIN
Chapter 4: It'd be nice to get him a half decent whiskey, but we'll just have to see what monies we can get together
It had been three days since Doran and Ser Pounce had been deceived by a fat paedophile and his accomplices, who were under the employ of those devious antagonists Penu and Fernandez. As we rejoin their story, Ser Pounce and Doran had painstakingly tracked these bastard villains into a pub car park. (In case you haven't guessed, we're pretty much abandoning this medieval setting in favour of writing whatever will be funnier. If it really matters that much to you, just kind of imagine it's like a mucky carriage park or something, who even cares). Ser Pounce and Doran were parked in a convenient bush, Ser Pounce peering over Doran's shoulder through the shrubbery. They were lying in wait, for the BASTARDS to show up. And lo and behold, they emerged through the pub's back door, staggering from the alcohol they just consumed. And in their hands - gasp! - they were holding bustling bags full of the world's leaves! This injustice will not stand!
'Hurry Doran, to glory!' said Ser Pounce. Doran nodded, conviction in his eyes, and began spinning his wheels frantically. His speed was facilitated further with the addition of two small hamster wheels he had engineered into the wheels, and the two hamsters ran oh so fast to increase the wheelchair's velocity. Of course they were slave-laboured like you wouldn't believe, long hours with low pay, but the money they were receiving was helping them pay their college fees. With great speed, they burst from the bush, clumps of shrubbery flying everywhere. The villains turned around, shock evident on their fat stupid faces, and thought about running, but their legs threatened to stumble out from underneath them! They were trapped!
Quick as a flash, Lieutenant Pick-N-Lick found his legs being knocked out from underneath him with the fury of a thousand suns and the general weight of like a big wheelchair. He fell to the floor, helpless, not even having time to scream before his face was crushed under the wheels in a fucking brutal fashion. In that moment, Ser Pounce had leapt into the air, and with one perfectly executed punch, spun around and smacked the fat paedophile right in his fat paedophile face. The fat paedophile shrugged off the hit, his blubber absorbing the blow like a chortling elephant seal. He wasn't so smug as to laugh in Ser Pounce's face, knowing that this was a worthy opponent indeed, requiring respect. Forbidden Love raised his own hammy fists and started raining down a meteor storm of pain on Ser Pounce; the wily protagonist ducked and dived, weaved like a zipping bumblebee around the powerful blows that would no doubt knock him down into the mud if he got hit by one of them. 'Doran, I require assistance!' shouted Ser Pounce, but Doran was experiencing difficulties attempting to reverse his wheelchair off of Lieutenant Pick-N-Lick's face, his wheels embedded in his face like a wafer biscuit smushed into a tasty ice cream. Perhaps the ice cream also has like a chocolate flake on it, or maybe some sprinkles or something. It's not important what flavour the ice cream is. It's strawberry, going by the sheer amount of gratuitous gore of Lieutenant Pick-N-Lick's mushy face. Yeah, strawberry.
Ser Pounce, knowing fully well that he could not draw his infamous sword 'The Whisker' in this fight, as this is an honourable pub car park fight, the combatants utilising nothing but fisticuffs and their wits. Fortunately, he was a very witty animal. Many people often said so; he provided insightful satirical commentary about the state of Westeros, talking about how religion is the opium of the people and other such stuff. For he too had also had that discussion with the High Sparrow, when the High Sparrow comes in and regales his stories of shoe-making and then having sex with a lot of people, and then not making shoes, and then becoming shoes, and then never wearing shoes again. For you see, the High Sparrow had uncovered that people are more likely to worship another because of his belief in God, and not his belief in shoes. Ser Pounce took this information to heart, and he made clever witticisms about it to his peers, who laughed heartily at his insight and intelligence. Like sometimes he'd go up to his mate and say, 'High Sparrow? With his lack of shoes, he's more like a Low Sparrow! Perhaps he ought to invest in some high heels so he can live up to his literally lofty title!' (Perhaps we misunderstood Jonathan Price's anecdote in this week's episode, but we needed to write our tenuous link to the source material).
With his previously established wits, he looked around him for a tactical advantage. He found it in the form of a bunch of bananas, carefully placed on a nearby table by a monkey who was eating at this establishment. With a silent apology to the monkey from whom he was stealing from, Ser Pounce snatched the banana bunch from the table, and began eating away at the bananas voraciously. With frantic speed he gnawed away at the bananas, feeling their potassium goodness warm his soul. Forbidden Love did not understand Ser Pounce's tactical genius; he only saw a little cat to be punched! But what he didn't know was that cats… are pretty good at eating bananas.
Before you could say, 'if I were to feed my cat a banana, would I have to take it to the vet afterwards?', Ser Pounce had ate the shit out of all those bananas, and in his little paws he held the keys to his salvation; a load of banana peels. And with quick succession he chucked those banana peels on the floor in front of Forbidden Love as he began another evil war stomp. But because Forbidden Love is like fat and terrible, he could not see past his belly on the floor, and thus did not see the slippery hazards right in his path! Gravity did the rest of the work, as he flopped on his back like a fucking retarded fish who jumped out of water like a fool. And with a swift punch to the collarbone (the right one), Forbidden Love was down for the count. And then Ser Pounce did a back flip off of Forbidden Love's bloated belly, landed on two legs, and shouted out, hands raised above his head, 'THE EVIL HAS BEEN PURR-GED!' Many passing pedestrians and wild animals applauded this well-executed line.
Spoilers Gimp bailed out though. But not before saying, 'Fans of David Carradine, do not get too excited when you see his presence in the cast list for 'Death Race'. He is only in the film for the first five minutes in a voice-over role.'
To which Doran, shaking off the horrible feeling of dread that had come over him after hearing Spoilers Gimp's voice, said, 'Hey, no, that's not correct. 'Death Race 2020' was one of my favourite films, and I distinctly remember David Carradine's presence in that!' To which Spoilers Gimp paused in thought for a second.
'No, wait. I mean the 2008 film, with Jason Statham.'
'Oh,' said Doran. 'Well that sucks.'
Spoilers Gimp offered no retort; he was already gone. The leaves were safe… for now.
ANYWAY, TIME WENT ON.
We now find our heroes in HMV. Ser Pounce had heard a song in passing that he'd never heard before, and he'd gone to HMV in an attempt to track it down, for he had heard that HMV was the source of all sounds in the Seven Kingdoms. So whilst Doran was looking at the album 'In The Aeroplane Over the Sea' by Neutral Milk Hotel, Ser Pounce had sought out a sales assistant, as the sheer number of CDs and vinyls here was rather daunting. He tap-tapped a passing sales assistant on the arm, reading to ask for a hand. But he realised - this sales assistant had no arms! And therefore, he could not offer a hand, as he had no hands! But don't worry - the sales assistant turned around revealing that he did indeed have arms, he was just hiding them in his jumper! Oh what a palaver! Or should I say, what a pullover! Which was the jumper he was wearing! Hahahaha. The sales assistant said, 'Sorry, I was hiding my arms for a second, seeing if I can do my job without arms. Can I help you with anything?'
Now Ser Pounce had never visited a musical establishment; indeed, the only music he listened to was that scientifically created 'music for cats' that Tommen played for him, but all that did was give him a rather empty feeling inside. Didn't satisfy his sought-after passion for the sick jams. And so Ser Pounce was not sure how such a shop worked. All he could do was say, 'Here there Guardian of the Tunes, can I like describe a song to you, and then you can tell me what it is?'
The sales assistant furrowed his brow, but he didn't get to this position of being able to fuck about at work consequence-free by backing down from an occasional challenge. 'I'll do my best,' he said confidently.
'Okay,' stared Ser Pounce. 'So it starts with like thirty-two seconds of like rain noises, and then this sick guitar comes in, right. Maybe a little too heavy for my cat ears, but you know, I'm not complaining. And then the lyrics kick in, and I'm not exactly sure what they are, but it's something like, 'Trapped in purgatory, a lifeless object, alive, awaiting reprisal, death will be their acquittance.' Something like that, anyway.'
The Guardian of the Tunes rubbed his chin in thought. 'Sounds like you're looking for something pretty damn edgy. Tell me, did you get a desire to seek out OCCULT RITUALS when listening to these sick jams?'
'Hmm. No, not really. Drawing such correlations between a music genre and actual real-world atrocities would be folly.'
'Well then, perhaps I can't help you. For you see, I only dabble in such archaic thinking.' And with that he was gone.
Ser Pounce thought all hope to be lost. However, all good things come to those who wait… around in HMV in the metal section. For you see, he heard a husky whisper, saying 'Here, listen here. I think I can help you out here, cat dude.'
Ser Pounce turned around. 'Really now?'
'Yeah, cat dude. I think it's the song 'Raining Blood' by Slayer.'
'Well how could you know that? You aren't Music Guardians!'
'No… but we are Music!' Ser Pounce turned around in shock, and saw - woah! - four quite old-year old men, who made up the entirety of Slayer! Of course Ser Pounce didn't know that, but he did when they said 'We are the entirety of Slayer, and we wrote that there song, 'Raining Blood'!' They smelt of edginess and Satan.
'Oh, cool,' said Ser Pounce. 'Just wondering, because I heard it, and it sounded pretty good, and I wanted to hear it again.'
'Don't worry, cat dude,' said the entirety of Slayer. 'We'll perform it for you, right now!' And so they did. It was pretty good, but clearing away all the stuff in HMV and putting up an entire small stage. As they ended their song, the entirety of Slayer shouted, 'Thank you, all our fans! We will finish this here sick song, written by us, by saying, fuck you whoever's taking all the leaves from all our trees! We need them to keep the landscape verdant and aesthetically pleasing!'
Ser Pounce was all like 'Yo! We know who's taking all the leaves! And they're total dicks!'
The entirety of Slayer began to rage. 'This injustice will not stand! Tell us who we must face, and we shall annihilate them!'
'His name is Penu, and he is an alien. He also has a lizard with him, but the lizard isn't very threatening.'
'Oh no cat dude, not an alien! I guess it's a good thing we still have our Slayer Spaceship still around!'
'Gee, Slayer, are you thinking what I'm thinking?'
'I think we are!'
Doran entered the fray, having overheard what everyone was thinking. 'A journey into space, to settle things with the alien on his own turf!'
'FUCKING YES!' shouted everyone, who all celebrated with friendship high-fives and little air guitar movements. Behind the stage where Slayer had just performed, a big-ass spaceship in red and black materialised, a radical spaceship powered entirely with guitar riffs. And so whilst it seems a bit of an inconvenience that they have to play 'Raining Blood' over and over again, perfectly every time, in order to power their spaceship, it's still pretty cool to have. And you know what, Slayer are pretty humble about it. Like there's so much bullshit on Metal Hammer about Iron Maiden's stupid little plane; Slayer never once bought up their Slayer Spaceship? Then again, why would they ever bring it up on Earth, when they can be up in space performing sick guitar riffs to the tralfamadorians?!
So the entirety of Slayer ran into their spaceship, guitars in hand, ready to play some sick shredding riffs dude! Doran pressed a little button on his wheelchair, and the wheels transformed into little jets! The little hamsters would be working their fuzzy butts off today! Ser Pounce, meanwhile, got into his little cat sized biplane, complete with a little cat face on the nose. He put on his flight goggles and got ready for take-off! Doran put on his space helmet, because he would die out in space. Ser Pounce did not need a space helmet; we've never sent a cat out into space before, so for all we know a cat could be fine out there, and therefore wouldn't need a space helmet. Plus he's got his goggles on, so he's not entirely defenceless. And of course, he is no ordinary cat!
'Are you ready for take-off?' asked Ser Pounce to his comrades.
'Aye aye, Ser Pounce!' cried Doran, excited for adventure.
'Rock on, cat dude!' said the entirety of Slayer.
'Alright then! Let's go!' And so, Ser Pounce, Doran and the entirely of Slayer took off into the darkest depths of space! But remember friends, in space, no one can hear you shred!
SO THAT'S IT THEN
TUNE IN NEXT WEEK FOR THE CLIMACTIC SHOWDOWN BETWEEN THE GOOD GUYS AND THE BASTARDS
BUT WAIT, I HEAR YOU SAY (OR SHOULD THAT BE, I HEAR YOU 'SLAY'), ISN'T IT TOO EARLY FOR SUCH AN EVENT?
HELL YEAH IT IS, BUT DON'T WORRY, WE'VE GOT A PLAN FOR THIS
DON'T EXPECT ANYTHING REVOLUTIONARY THOUGH
OK
KEEP ROCKIN', SLAYER FANS
