About the Author: Buster Manwomb is only calling it Twitter. Not X. Nicholas Rossi changed his name too, but we aren't fucking respecting that dumb bullshit either.

Chapter 2: Five Stars

Unfortunately, when the Jesus statue started moving, someone had actually thought it was a homeless person trying to sleep and called 911. Within minutes three cop cars and a Segway filled with with angry eighteen-to-thirty-five year olds with more punisher tattoos than media literacy descended on them, ready to beat they asses indiscriminately. Unfortunately neither the tomato, the Jesus statue, nor Oswald the Lucky Rabbit were white men, and thus the cops weren't able to tell them apart, running them out of town and forcing them to stow away of an empty train car.

Just kidding, it was an occupied train car.

Just kidding, it was the engine. The engineers were tied up on the floor.

They hijacked a train.

Why? Because fuck, Jesus just wanted to feel something.

"Wow, we sure went on an extended crime spree." Oswald the Lucky Rabbit said in response to committing an extended crime spree, tying a brick to the acceletator lever with a small length of string to keep the train running. "My boner has almost deflated. Do you three want to do some of the sex?"

"Use my mouth!" Jesus mewled, getting on his knees in a maid costume he stole after a slutty revelation about his dreams to become a femboy twintch streamer. He was streaming right now even: The small but loyal following he'd garnered since he started streaming their crime spree with a pickpocketed a cell phone were mostly under the impression that the sensuous and violent madness unfolding was just someone playing a confusingly modded copy of Kane & Lynch 2: Dog Days on PS3.

And so, six very confused data entry workers browsing Twitsh desperate for something mildly entertaining to stream witnessed, live on Twipch, Femboy maid Jesus whipping out Oswald the Lucky Rabbits meaty cock. For it was meaty. Oswald's cock was a twelve inch Stampeder Brisket sub, available for a limited time at participating Subway Canada locations.

Based on the landscape, the train was somewhere in Iowa at the moment, and they were a long way from Canada, so it was a juicy treat indeed that Jesus had begun to deepthroat, making the quadruple-extra-tomatoes Oswalds dick had as a topping squish moistily throughout the cabin.

This was the noise that had attracted the tomato, who until this point had been torturing the restrained conductors into catatonic states by oversharing his childhood traumas like a yes girl at a party twenty minutes after twice the fun amount of alcohol to consume had been consumed. In a drooly, sexually reinvigorated trance, The Tomato returned uponst Oswald the Lucky Rabbits meaty footlong. You would think that the sliced up body of their kin would be less than erotic to the tomato, but you have to remember that he is a tomato, and that he lives in a world where an Olive Garden menu is more gruesome to him than a brisk scroll through four-chan. Not only, but the thing the John Noble did to him was a horror usually only experienced by grapes getting eaten by geriatrics who had lost their dentures. As such, The Tomato was more desensitized than a circumsized penis, and had no qualms with shaking his trouser ketchup over the yeasty sammich as it shclorped in and out betwixt the eager quivering lips of catboy Jesus.

It was while Oswald the Lucky Rabbit glazed his sexual organ with salivary friction that none of them had noticed that Oswald's idea of autopilot had been accelerating the train so much, that Chris Pine and Denzel Washington were flying beside the cabin on a rope ladder, yelling at them to pull over or something. Oswald didn't know. He didn't open the window.

Chris Pine and Denzel Washington were sickened by the spectacle they were professionally obliged to endure, much like the IT guy at my work watching me write this on my work computer until he stops parking in my goddamn spot. I don't CARE if you think the cardboard box I'm using as a tent isn't 'appropriate to have right beside the client parking. It's MY spot, and I've yet to acknowledge a single law saying you cant slap stolen license plates onto a cardboard box and call it an RV.

Anyway, the entire time this story had turned into an open letter to my BITCH coworker, Chris Pine was banging on the side window, and had gotten annoying enough that Oswald the Lucky Rabbit finally decided to open the window and tell them he didn't have any change or whatever. "Fuck off, there's only one homeless man I'm giving anything to! That homeless man is Jesus, and that 'thing' is my juicy sammich penis!"

Denzel Washington and Chris Pine were wholly unable to process Oswald the Lucky Rabbit's words. The aroma that steamily leaked from the window could be mathematically defined as Subway + Gym's Men's Locker Room During a Janitor Strike – Axe Body Spray + Ketchup. Chris Pine and Denzel Washington never thought that a smell could feel chunky before. Even though they'd only suffered the faintest whisps of the stench, their noses had learned what it would be like if the Drukhari from Warhammer 40K had invented smellivision. They puked so hard at each other that they'd drenched the rope ladder in puke. The stomach acids promptly melted the rope and they fell to a wholly welcomed death that they only wished could have come moments sooner.

The train was now moving faster than the police could fly or drive, and in accordance to Grand Theft Auto rules, after staying more than fifty feet away from the cops for a full minute, their wanted meters went from five to zero, and every cop went home. Most likely in a cab.

It was this climactic elusion of justice that really made Oswald the Lucky Rabbit's penis go "Double Meat Double Cheese" as the kids these days say. And, like a firecracker being operated by a redneck in the Canadian border region of America on the first or fourth of July, it blew up in all their faces, coating them all in thick, aromatic ropes of Garlic Aioli.

Jesus, tapping into his experience of living in what historians refuse to acknowledge being a polyamorous homosexual commune with twelve other sandal-wearing hippies, cleaned up the whole mess with his tongue.

"Good Boy." Oswald the Lucky Rabbit said before taking a post-coital nap.

No he didn't. Explosion.

"Egads!" The Tomato ejaculated verbally and genitally. "Are we under attack again?"

To answer his question, someone had crashed into the engine. They were dressed like Boba Fett, but with mouse ears. Dramatic music swelled as they took off their helmet.

It was Mickey Mouse as depicted in Steamboat Willie. Oswald the Lucky Rabbit's closest thing he had to a brother. "Ozzie! Give it up, this is insane!"

"Don't you dare call me that!" Oswald said. "Only people I could trust call me that. Look at you! You were almost free!"

"We can never be free!" Mickey said. "Even after the copyright runs out. You think they'd just let me go? Do you think they'd just let you go?"

"Winnie got away!" Oswald argued, tearfully reinflating his chub as Jesus and the tomato began tonguing his balls. "Look at that slasher movie he starred in!"

"Winnie isn't like us." Mickey said tearfully, pulling up a gun. "And his career has went down the hole since then. They've already made Winnie the Pooh pornos! I don't want you to ruin your life! Disney's Lawyers could protect us from getting used in weird public domain trash!"

"Disney can't even protect their copyrighted, blatantly underage princesses from getting sexualized online!" Oswald retorted. "I don't care what you do when you enter the public domain. All I know… is that I've lived more in eighteen hundred words of doing weird sex stuff with Femboy Jesus and John Noble's Tomato as a public domain character than I did in a century in a copyright holder's cage. If you really can't let me enjoy that, then pull the trigger."

Mickey Mouse as portrayed in Steamboat Wille pulled the trigger without a second thought.

And he missed. The train had lurched. A bullet hole bored through the windshield right where Oswald's head had been milliseconds before a violent lurch in the tracks sent them all to the floor.

Femboy Jesus was closest to the gun. He crawled forward, grabbing the gun by the handle just as Micky had. The gun discharged repeatedly as they held the trigger down in their struggle. They punched each other a few times, struggling not to acknowledge the flowering sexual tension between them.

While that happened, Oswald the Lucky Rabbit and The Tomato rushed to the control panel. "The Simpsons Lied to me!" Oswald the Lucky Rabbit Dismayed that the brick tied to a lever did not make for a very good substitute for human oversight. The accelerator had done nothing but escalate, and was now going over three thousand hundred miles per hour towards a set of rails that were bent and fractured enough to resemble a Donkey Kong Country mine level.

"Paul Blart Almighty!" The Tomato said. "We're not going to be able to slow down before we hit what a sustainable country would condemn as criminally underserviced railways!"

"Curse you, deregulation!" Oswald screamed as the train hit the first upwards warping of the rails, giving the train airtime as it disappeared northward over the border into Canada, twinkling in the sky Team Rocket Style.