The Tale of Keith the Telemarketer

Once upon a time there was a tiny island nation that lived under the tyrannical rule of a jar of strawberry preserves. All the people of the island lived in fear and squalor but none were willing to stand up to their dictator.
On that island their lived a young telemarketer named Keith. His friends called him Keith of the Iron Hand, because he had lost his hand in a horrific telemarketing accident and had it replaced with a prosthetic one made from an old iron gauntlet. Keith lived with his lovely wife Carol and their six children, Greg, Marsha, Peter, Bobby, Cindy, and Slagatron the Tormentor.
One day, Keith came home to find his lovely home in ruins. It seemed that the jar of strawberry preserves fancied his wife and so sent death squads to kidnap her. Keith ran inside to find that his children had also been taken, presumably to be melted down and turned into sheet metal.
Keith decided that he wasn't going to take it anymore. He went over to the government controlled call center where he worked and told them he was there to kick ass and solicit money from people on a list. And he was all out of lists. He drew the AK-74 assault rifle that was standard issue to oppressed island people and began firing wildly into his workplace. His coworkers returned fire and soon dozens of people were dead. At this point, as Keith cradled, the bloody head of his dying best friend while ducked behind a cubicle, explosions all around him, he began to question how shooting up his workplace was supposed to get his family back. And so, as his best friend bled out in his arms, Keith stood up, and silenced the room full of heavily armed call center employees. He then delivered an impassioned speech urging his fellow telemarketers to rise up against the oppression of the jar of strawberry preserves and take back their country. Most of them were running low on ammunition, so they decided to follow Keith on hsi quest for liberty.
After a quick trip to the gun store, followed by a stop at Island Steve's Torches and Pitchforks Emporium, the angry mob of telemarketers arrived at the presidential palace, having been joined along the way by several hundred other islanders, many of whom were just along because of a passionate love of angry mobs. The guards were quickly overwhelmed and soon Keith led his followers right into the private quarters of the jar of strawberry preserves. There, his wife was chained to a desk, dressed in a metal bikini, and his children were all tied up, suspended precariously over a vat of molten steel.
The jar of strawberry preserves held a gun to Carol's head and told Keith he had to choose between his wife and children. Or at least it would have, except that it was an inanimate glass jar filled with fruit. Keith smashed the jar of strawberry preserves with his metal fist, rescued his family, and became the new dictator of the island.
Three weeks later he was deposed by a piece of toast.

The Making of the Amigo

A group of engineers stand around the design table at Isuzu headquarters in the late 90s. An enormous pile of cocaine and prostitutes dominates one corner of the room. A hand briefly emerges from the cocaine, gropes a hooker, and then withdraws.
Engineer 1: Alright boys, let's get started on our latest design.
Engineer 2: Do we really have to make another one? I mean, we're not even going to be staying in America for much longer.
Engineer 3: Exactly! We don't need the American market. And what bigger "fuck you" can we possibly give them than the shittiest car in existence!
Engineer 2: Brilliant!
Engineer 1: Now, I'm thinking a 2 door version of the Rodeo. Except considerably shittier and harder to maintain.
Engineer 4: Hey, what's with this big pile of cocaine and hookers? Were we doing something with that?
Engineer 2: Well, uh, I think he was planning on some sort of joke with that, maybe a scarface reference?
Engineer 3: Well, Scarface is really more of an 80s thing, he was probably going to make some sort of American Psycho reference.
Engineer 4: Has he even seen American Psycho?
Engineer 1: Guys, guys, this is getting out of hand. Let's get back to the car.
Engineer 2: Well first of all, let's put it on a four-wheel drive Chassis, even though it's got 2 wheel drive.
Engineer 3: Won't that increase the chance of it flipping over?
Engineer 2: Don't worry, we'll put a tiny note on the shades.
Engineer 4: How about we put a sunroof in, and then destroy every spare sunroof shade in existence!
Engineer 1: So if they lose it, and they don't want sun streaming constantly into their car, they'll have to fly to Japan to get a new one!
Engineer 2: Now, the clutch is an extremely vital part of the engine.
Engineer 3: Obviously.
Engineer 1: So, let's make it out of play dough and wood chips!
Engineer 3: An excellent idea! And let's make it so you have to take apart the entire fucking engine to replace it! Any other ideas?
Engineer 2: Let's use 11mm bolts on the spare tires!
Engineer 1: But, the standard metric sizes are 10mm and 12mm... Brilliant!
Engineer 3: And the only way to change the headlight bulb, is to smash the whole fucking thing in with a hammer!
Engineer 4: Hmm... I feel like there are more vital parts of the engine we can make out of fucking cardboard...
Engineer 1: Alright guys, so what do we call this bitch?
Engineer 2:... The Amigo?
All four engineers burst into fits of laughter and fall to the ground, they then crawl over to the pile of cocaine and hookers and curse the name of American consumers.

Gerald the Potted Plant

Good God Man, I haven't made one of these here blog posts in quite some time. Clearly this is the work of the decepticons. But what should I write about? I mean, I can't just type randomly for like 15 minutes in the hopes that the random output of my thought process will be found entertaining to the zero people who read this blog.
I set off to South America to find something to blog about. I took with me forty men and a hamster. I trusted every one of those men with my life. But not the hamster. Something about him just seemed... shifty. We took off down the amazon river about mid-day when suddenly we were assaulted by the indigenous thong people of southern Uganda. But why were they here in Brazil presumably? I think that's where the Amazon river is. Well, I'm sure it runs through several countries but Brazil is fucking huge, am I right? So yeah, probably got some amazon action going on over there. Anyways, what the fuck was I talking about? Oh, right, the Ugandans. Fifty men died in the initial assault. Which is odd, because I could've sworn I said we started with forty. I took the twelve remaining men, and the hamster, and made for the relative safety of a nearby cave. Unfortunately, it was not actually a cave, but the mouth of an enormous worm. Luckily, the worm turned out to be extremely friendly and released us after eating only three of my men. Then he decided to grant us 4 wishes. What is it with talking animals and granting wishes? Did they, like, find another talking animal and wish for the ability to talk and grant wishes? How would that work out if they couldn't talk in the first place? Unless the magic animal can understand them or something. Or they just assume that that is what they would wish for, if they could talk. That could explain why they are so prolific. Hey, Listen? Can you hear that? You can tell she's naked... but I digress. For our first wish, I asked for the ability to command the loyalty of sea creatures. This prompted a lenghty debate between myself, the worm, and the remnants of my crew as to what constitutes a "sea" creature. I think that term generally includes all ocean-dwelling life. However, the worm was quite insistent that it only refers to creatures found in the body of water specifically known as a sea, as in the Black Sea, Dead Sea, etc. Well, I thought that was bullshit so for my second wish I wished for a big fucking gun to shoot the goddamn worm in the face for being so uppity. So he gave me the gun, I shot him, and then it occurred to me that we didn't get any more wishes. Luckily we still had the hamster, and so we were able to get home safely. Did I say hamster? I meant aircraft carrier. I often get those two confused. His name was Gerald, and he was one shifty motherfucker. Speaking of Gerald, I havent watered my Green Ivy plant, Gerald the Potted Plant in quite some time. I would be quite upset if he were to die. So I guess since I couldn't find anything to write about, I shall have to put if off until another time. Peace, bitches.

My Newest Story

Disclaimer: The story gets really dark and fucked up quite fast. In fact it kind of stops being funny and just gets sorta depressing. My Bad! Enjoy!

Fun Adventures in the Magical Forest of Fun!
Once upon a time in a magical forest there lived a tiny race of creatures known as the Snerflings. They lived in a tiny, matriarchal communist village under the wise leadership of their high priestess. In appearance they resembled a cross between hamsters and attractive human teenagers. Also, by sheer coincidence, their naming conventions sound hilariously vulgar to humans.
“Good Morning Donkeyfucker!” Cuntface said as she waved to her good friend across the road.
“Cuntface! Always a pleasant day when I see you!” Donkeyfucker walked over to stand by Cuntface and leaned on a nearby Toadstool.
“So Donkeyfucker, have you heard the high priestess is choosing another apprentice?”
“Ah yes! I believe Anustooth and Shitbrains are the top candidates!” Cuntface suddenly looked glum.
“Oh Donkeyfucker, do you think I could be a priestess someday?”
“Why of course!” Donkeyfucker reassured her, patting her on the back, “You may not be as smart as Shitbrains, or as pretty as Anustooth, but you have the most important thing of all! Heart!” Cuntface smiled warmly at this and gave her friend a hug. “Oh look! There’s a wagon coming down the road! I think it’s that squirrely scavenger Kenneth again!”
“Oh joy!” Cuntface said, gazing down the road, “He always finds such funny toys from the humans!”
Sure enough, Kenneth the scavenger’s wagon ambled its way down the path, pulled by a pair of adorable ducklings, Fuck and Dickbreath.
“Hello Kenneth!” Donkeyfucker called out, waving to his friend, “Have you got any new wonders from the human village?”
“Why yes I do, Donkeyfucker!” Kenneth said excitedly as he hopped down from his wagon, he then turned and began rooting through the various gadgets and goo-gaws piled therein. He pulled out a large gold disc with two leather bands coming out the sides of it.
“This is something they wear on their wrists!” Kenneth exclaimed proudly, “I’m not entirely sure of its purpose but these little markers seem to correspond with the shadows of a sundial, so I assume it has something to do with time.”
“Why would they need a device to tell them what time it is when they can just look outside?”
“Who knows,” Kenneth said as put back the watch and pulled out another disk, made of sheepskin this time, “Perhaps the little symbols remind them to eat or something. Humans are notoriously retarded. Now this next item is really interesting, it folds out into a long tube, closed at one end.”
“Like a sleeping bag?” Cuntface asked, as Kenneth unrolled the condom.
“Sleeping bag?” Donkeyfucker responded, “Don’t be silly! Humans are nearly as tall as the trees!”
“I hypothesize that it is to keep small items dry in the rain!” Kenneth said, as he shoved the unrolled condom back into his wagon. Finally he withdrew a large ring, made from blackened steel and covered with strange symbols that glowed with a mysterious red light. On one end, the ring got larger and was fashioned into the shape of a grinning skull.
“Now this thing I think they wear on their fingers, but I think it makes a pretty bitchin’ hat.” Kenneth said as he put it on his head.
“What’s that writing on the side? It doesn’t look like regular human writing…” Donkeyfucker said as he gazed into the symbols.
“Hmm…” Kenneth responded as he tugged off the ring, “I’m not sure, I have heard that there are different villages of human and… Donkeyfucker? Are you okay?”
Blood streamed from Donkeyfucker’s nose as he stared transfixed at the symbols on the ring. Cuntface shook his shoulders and he snapped out of it.
“Whoa… That was… odd.” Donkey fucker said, as he put a hand to the side of his head, “We’ll see you later Kenneth.”
“Bye Donkeyfucker, Cuntface!” Kenneth said as he climbed aboard his wagon and continued on toward his house.

Back at home, Kenneth looked at himself in an enormous human hand mirror. He straightened the collar of his suit, made from the skin of a Salamander, fierce reptiles that breathed fire and ejaculated a powerful acid. To finish off his outfit, he placed the ring on his head, skull forward. He looked at himself for a while, and then decided to add a cape, made from jet black cat-fur.
“There! I look like a king!” he said, beaming. That night he had a date with the prettiest girl in the village, Rhinotwat. He had a crush on her and finally worked up the courage to talk to her a few days ago. “It really is lucky that I found this beautiful ring today!” he said, as he admired himself once more. “It’s a shame no one will ever love me.”
Huh. That was weird. Kenneth didn’t think that at all and couldn’t think of why he would say such a thing. Except of course for the fact that all his friends are worthless and deserve to die.
No. That’s not right! Kenneth loved his friends! Before he could ponder this, there was a knock on the door of his hut. She was here! Kenneth hurried to open the door. Rhinotwat stood there, looking resplendent in a dress made from an albino gopher.
“Hello Kenneth! Lovely Hat!” She said, as Kenneth stepped out into the night and took her arm.
“What a sarcastic bitch,” a voice in Kenneth’s head said, “She hates your hat.” Kenneth ignored the voice and escorted Rhinotwat to his cart, which had been emptied of human debris. Fuck quacked enthusiastically as he and Dickbreath pulled Kenneth and his lovely date toward a massive tent set up by the side of the river.
Kenneth and Rhinotwat took their seats in the third row as the Circus began. The Ringmaster stepped into the center ring and addressed the crowd through a megaphone.
“Snerflings and Snerfettes! Welcome to the greatest show within the immediate vicinity! Tonight we have sights the likes of which you have never seen before and may never see again! Squirrels, Salamanders and Skwubs! Death defying stunts! And, for the kiddies, our hilarious troupe of clowns!” He then cracked his whip and the show began with a bang as a dozen Squirrel riding Snerflings rode around the center ring while another Snerfling was launched high into the air from a cannon. The flying Snerfling then caught a swing and began performing acrobatic feats.
Later on came Kenneth’s favorite part of the show, the Salamander trainer brought out four of the fierce reptiles and they began performing tricks. Two danced on their hind legs, while a third stood between them breathing a steady plume of fire high into the air. Meanwhile the fourth, with the trainer perched cautiously on his back, leapt from a ramp over the fire. Rhinotwat was frightened by this stunt and clung tightly to Kenneth’s arm, to his pleasant surprise.
For the final stunt, three of the Salamanders were taken back to their cages, leaving only the most well trained of the creatures. A herd of Skwubs, small, timid creatures covered with mounds of fluffy fur in a variety of colors that were the natural prey of the Salamanders, were brought out into the ring. Much to their dismay they were herded, by a pair of aggressive chipmunks, into the vicinity of the Salamander. As the Skwubs were pushed closer and closer to the feared predator, the Salamander remained perfectly still, keeping his eyes locked on those of his trainer. Eventually, the Skwubs were so close that their fluffy, colorful fur was brushing right up against the polished scales of the draconic beast. Still, the Salamander resisted its instincts and remained still. The audience applauded the beast’s restraint and finally the Skwubs were led away, to the tiny creature’s great relief.
Once the show was over, Kenneth brought Rhinotwat back to her house, which was carved into a tree stump in the North part of the village. They climbed down from the wagon and Kenneth walked her to her door.
“I had a really good time tonight Kenneth!” Rhinotwat said, as they stood together on her front steps.
“Me too!” Kenneth said, nervously adjusting his cape, “Maybe we can do it again sometimes, I mean, I really like you.”
“Oh…” Rhinotwat replied, awkwardly averting her gaze, “Well, you see Kenneth, I like you too. I think you’re really sweet and I want us to be friends. But I don’t think it would work between us. I mean, I have a reputation and stuff, and, no offense, but you’re the weird dude who collects human garbage. What would people say if we were together? And if we had kids! I couldn’t bring myself to give them a stupid human name like… oh, I’m sorry… I…”
Kenneth stopped listening to her. He silently turned and walked back to his wagon. Without looking back he drove home. Dickbreath looked back at him and quacked sympathetically, but Kenneth ignored him. As he got home and threw himself into bed, he faintly heard the sound of triumphant, mocking laughter coming from somewhere in his head.

The next day he set off to work with very specific human artifacts in mind. Rather than show them off to his friends he instead headed straight home. He was tired of them feeling sorry for him and pretending to show interest in the things he liked. Why should he bother sharing his life with them when they would never truly understand? He got home to find Donkeyfucker waiting for him. His fur was matted and he looked gaunt. The faint look of madness was present in his eyes. As Kenneth got down from his wagon, Donkeyfucker bowed to him, bumping his forehead into the soft dirt.
“What do you want?” Kenneth sneered, contempt heavy in his voice.
“I want what you want, friend.”
“I have no friends.” Kenneth said as he pushed past him into the workshop where he kept his finds. Undeterred, Donkeyfucker followed him, his movements giving off a sense of desperate need.
“Then I will be your servant!” Donkeyfucker said, “As long as I can be close to it!” Donkeyfucker gazed up at the ring, which had changed during the night. It fit Kenneth’s head better and had extended metal prongs upward. The runes had fallen into place beside bright sapphires that had grown almost organically from the sides in the night. It now truly resembled a crown.
Kenneth turned and looked at the Snerfling he had once called friend. He smashed him to the ground with a sweep of his right arm, then threw him an apron and wordlessly gestured toward the wagon, loaded heavy with human loot. Deep in his mind, he questioned himself. Why was he doing this? Donkeyfucker had always been a good friend, and didn’t deserve this sort of treatment.
A stronger voice then rang out through his mind, crushing his doubts. Donkeyfucker was worthless, just like all the others. The ones who called him a freak. In the end, he would meet the same fate them, but until then, he could be useful. The voice in Kenneth’s mind considered this line of reasoning for a moment. Perhaps there were others who could be useful…

Cunting Faggot was the best blacksmith in the village. His grandfather had built the forge many years ago near an enchanted spring, with the help of a Unicorn Squirrel. That squirrel still lived, gracefully frolicking amongst the trees outside Cunting Faggot’s home. Every Tuesday, he rode the Unicorn Squirrel into town to find the finest scrap metal and ore to craft into tools, jewelry and other wares.
This evening he was putting the finishing touches on a set of plates for the high priestess. Around the rim of the silver plates he was engraving a ring of winged Skwubs gracefully dancing. Suddenly there was a knock on the door. He put down the plate he was working on, carefully put his tools back in their case, and answered it.
Donkeyfucker, one of the Snerflings from the village, stood there, along with a cloaked figure. He looked sickly, bent over, with patches of his fur missing in places. His eyes were glazed over with a yellow sheen.
“Hello Donkeyfucker!” Cunting Faggot said, nervously, “How can I help you, it’s a bit late, but if you would like to order something, I can write it down…”
“I need nothing.” Donkeyfucker said, “But the master requires your services.”
“Um… Okay… Is that him there?”
Kenneth stepped forward, and drew the cloak back from his face. His cheeks were gaunt and his once brown fur was now jet black. The crown now had a nose guard, and a pair of cheek guards, and had extended down to protect the neck. It now resembled a helmet more than a crown. Kenneth’s eyes glowed with a baleful red glow. Cunting Faggot ran as soon as he saw him. He took off into the forest, informed the high priestess, and the next day they came and burned down Kenneth’s workshop, killing him and his mad servant before any harm could be done. Then Cunting Faggot received a shiny medal.
None of that happened of course, that would be a much less interesting tale. Cunting Faggot’s mind was shattered like cheap glass as soon as he saw the helmet. He dropped to his knees and bowed to his new master. He then returned to his workshop to forge a gift, worthy of his glory.

Cuntface looked across the road to Donkeyfucker’s house. A window was broken and a family of roaches seemed to have taken up residence. She had not seen her friend there in nearly a week. He was never home, always over at Kenneth’s house, along with quite a few other Snerflings from the village. The last time she had seen the two of them, they had looked ragged, unhealthy. Something had to be done. She suddenly remembered that Kenneth’s brother Steve didn’t live far from here. She would pay him a visit. She might even pay the High Priestess a visit, but she hoped dearly it would not come to that.

That evening, Rhinotwat sat in her bedroom, gazing at herself in a mirror that Cunting Faggot had given her for her birthday. She put a little bit of beeswax in her hair and began styling it when she heard a knock on her door. Wiping the beeswax off her hands, she opened the front door. Outside, four figures stood glaring at her. Three were dressed like Skwubs and the fourth wore a black cloak.
“Uh… can I help you?” Rhinotwat asked, as it slowly dawned on her that the three Snerflings were actually wearing the carcasses of slain Skwubs. Before she could scream, a cudgel hit her in the head and she blacked out.
She awoke to a terrible smell. She looked down at her body and saw that she too had been wrapped in a recently killed carcass. At first she thought it was a Skwub, but as she reached down to pull it off she saw that it was a Salamander. She thought back to the last time she had seen Salamanders, at the Circus with Kenneth. She hadn’t seen him since that day…
Suddenly she heard a growl and looked across the room to see two of the Snerflings dressed as Skwubs leading a Salamander toward her. The Salamanders normally bright green eyes were glazed over and yellow. Behind the Salamander, the cloaked figure stood with the third Snerfling dressed as a Skwub, the head of his macabre costume slid off his head to reveal Donkeyfucker, a Snerfling from the village. The local boy looked emaciated, sick, and yet a broad grin stretched across his face, revealing yellow, poorly maintained teeth.
Her attention was snapped back to the Salamander as it blew a ball of fire right above her head. It was going to eat her! She didn’t want to die like this! She was too pretty to be eaten by some stupid monster! Then the Salamander knocked her onto her stomach and mounted her.

“Rhinotwat was raped to death by a Salamander last night!” Cuntface explained to Steve, who listened quietly, stunned by the events being recounted.
“What does that have to do with Kenneth? He’s a nice kid. He would never do any of that stuff.” He said at last as Cuntface finished.
“There’s something wrong with him. Donkeyfucker too. I don’t know what it is, but I’m scared. You’re the only family Kenneth has; maybe you can talk to him.”
“I’ll see what I can do.”
That afternoon, Steve drove his wagon over to Kenneth’s home. His followers had expanded it greatly; newly constructed buildings squatted all around the land surrounding the main house. Everywhere throughout the compound, Snerflings with glazed eyes performed menial labor, making weapons, sewing clothes, and putting up more ramshackle huts. They ignored Steve and Cuntface, acting as if they weren’t even there. Even Snerflings that Cuntface had known for years did not even look up when she called their name.
Inside Kenneth’s house, the piles of human doodads had been replaced with artifacts that hurt to look at, pages ripped from human tomes of dark knowledge, and stacks of black iron weapons and armor. Kenneth himself, in a suit of black armor, was hunched over an enormous idol that he was busily painting runes onto.
“Kenneth!” Steve shouted. His brother looked back at him, sneered, and continued his work. “KENNETH! It’s Steve! Your brother!” Steve called again, picking up a shoe and throwing it at him.
The shoe knocked the crown off of Kenneth’s head and he screamed in agony as he dropped to the ground. Cuntface and Steve ran over to support him.
“It’s gone…” Steve whispered, his voice weak, “The voice is gone…”
“Kenneth!” Cuntface said, as she held his head to her chest, “We’re going to take you to the high priestess! She’ll know what to do!”
“Yes… yes, we need to get away. Don’t let anyone see you.” Kenneth said, as Steve brought him his cloak. They managed to get it on him and quickly made their way out of the compound. This time, all the Snerflings stopped their work and simply stared at them as they passed, sending chills down the spines of Cuntface and Steve.

The High Priestess lived in a fortified temple at the center of the village. Standing, ever vigilant at the gates were two Custodians, warrior priestesses in gleaming gold armor, who wielded long spears. Steve and Cuntface half carried Kenneth’s limp form past them into the High Priestess’s throne room. They brought Kenneth before her, and pulled the cloak away from his head.
“High Priestess! This is…” Cuntface began,
“Kenneth. Scavenger of Human Relics. I know of him,” The High Priestess said sternly, “I also know of the trouble he has been causing of late.”
“Please,” Steve said, “You have to help him, he’s not himself. I think there is something controlling him or something.”
“He is a subversive agent.” The High Priestess said, gracefully rising from her throne and approaching them, “He will have to be executed quickly before his ideas spreads.”
“Executed!?” Cuntface stammered, “But… but he is not himself! You have to help him!”
“The only help left for him is the sweet embrace of death. This is the fate of all who would threaten the Snerflings with subversive thoughts. This is how it is; this is how it has always been.”
“So you just kill anyone who disagrees with you!” Steve shouted angrily, leaving Cuntface to support Kenneth by herself.
“Yes. His followers shall be dealt with as well. We can have none upset the order we have created, from the most grizzled rebel to the smallest child, any who would destroy our peace must be silenced.”
“You’re a monster!” Cuntface shouted as she began sobbing and clutching Kenneth.
“YES!” Kenneth suddenly shouted, “That is what he has told me… it is not I who is the monster, but you! I am… I am the savior!” He began muttering deliriously and fell to the ground.
“Take him to the dungeons!” The High Priestess said, as a half dozen Custodians appeared from the hallways. Suddenly shouting was heard from outside and a mob of Kenneth’s followers burst into the throne room and surrounded their leader. They wore ebony armor and wielded swords. Donkeyfucker approached Kenneth and gingerly placed the helmet onto his head. Slowly the scavenger rose and began laughing triumphantly. The High Priestess backed away, fear evident in her eyes, as Donkeyfucker placed an ornate sword into Kenneth’s hand. He advanced on her with a grim smile on his face until she was forced back into her throne.
“Your reign has ended, Bitch. Now is my time.” Kenneth shoved the sword through her chest and into the throne, pinning her sputtering, bleeding body in place. His followers then fell on the Custodians, butchering them through strength of numbers. With an unnatural strength, Kenneth tossed aside the throne, High Priestess and all with one swipe of his hand. Another mob of his followers entered the throne room carrying a chair made from bones, seared black and polished, and put it in the place once occupied by the priestess. Kenneth turned and sat in his new throne as his zealots dispersed from the room to slaughter the remaining Custodians.

In the confusion, Cuntface and Steve had managed to escape from the temple. They looked back and saw smoke rising from the outer buildings as Kenneth’s followers battled the last pockets of Custodian resistance. A massive hole in the wall had been eroded by Salamanders in a rather comical humping fashion. However Cuntface and Steve were in no mood to laugh.
“What are we going to do?” Cuntface said, wiping the tears from her face once they were safely at Steve’s house, , “Kenneth is gone! And Donkeyfucker…”
“We have to run. We’ll find a raccoon who can take us as far from the village as possible.” Steve said somberly, “It’s the only thing we can do. We can’t fight that! You saw what they did to the Custodians! And they have Salamanders!”
“You’re right Steve. I’m going to go home right now and pack.”
“Just take what you can carry, then meet me back here. We need to be as fast as possible.” Steve watched her go, and then began packing his own possessions. He paused when he saw a sketch, made years ago, of himself, Kenneth, and their father. A tear rolled down his face as he threw it away.

The once white walls of the temple had been stained with blood. A line of spears stood in front of the gate, with the head of a Custodian on each one. The influence of the helmet corrupted the earth itself as black vines spread themselves across the walls and choked the beautiful flowers that once grew all around the perimeter into nothing.
Kenneth sat in his throne room surrounded by his minions. The helmet was bigger now, with black spikes jutting from its side and a tall brush of jet-black hair. Everything was going according to plan. He was in his rightful place as ruler of the village. Except this was not his place. The village was not enough. No, Kenneth could not stop until all knew of his greatness and power. The world would be his, and then it would burn. Every living thing had been judged and found wanting.
His thoughts were interrupted by Donkeyfucker approaching his throne. He was little more than skin and bones now. What fur he had was grey and dull and his flesh was covered in pustules and scratches. In his hands was an object, covered with a sheet, dripping blood.
“I bring proof of my devotion, my master” Donkeyfucker wheezed, still grinning like a madman. With a slight flourish he removed the bloody sheet to reveal the head of Cuntface.

From the back of the Unicorn Squirrel, Kenneth led the slaughter of the village. The Squirrel’s beautiful white fur had become blood red, its shiny horn was dull and black and its proud tail was withered. Kenneth’s minions swept out into every house, burning and massacring. A family of four ran into a courtyard only to be incinerated by a pair of Salamanders. Donkeyfucker roamed a nearby farm, systematically murdering the herd of Skwubs. Suddenly, he fell to the ground, a green-fletched arrow protruding from his chest.
Kenneth looked with mild interest in the direction the arrow came from. A motley collection of armed Snerflings, mostly hunters and farmers, charged toward the village, screaming battle cries. With a mere thought, Kenneth directed his followers to break off from the slaughter and engage this new threat. A vaguely familiar face broke off from the crowd of interlopers. Kenneth felt like he knew him somehow, as though he once called him friend, or something more…
Steve swung his axe and decapitated the once majestic Unicorn Squirrel, sending his brother toppling to the ground. A zealot swung a sword at him and he parried the blow, and then gutted him with an upward stroke. Another came at him with two daggers. Steve raised his axe and buried it in the insane Snerfling’s skull. Before he could pull it out, Cunting Faggot, the blacksmith came at him with a massive warhammer. Steve sidestepped the blow, but it shattered the handle of his axe. He kicked out, catching Cunting Faggot in the chest and causing him to drop the hammer. Steve then picked up a sword and decapitated him. He picked up the hammer he dropped and continued toward Kenneth.
For some reason, Kenneth could not fight back against this strange person. He was still trying to figure out where he knew him. This is a waste of time. Kill him. Finish him off. Kenneth placed his hand on the sword at his waist, but couldn’t bring himself to draw it; there was something inside him that was stopping him.
Kenneth stared blankly at Steve as he raised the hammer. His glowing red eyes began to flicker as the soul of the scavenger fought for control against the malevolent force that had consumed him. With all his might, Steve brought the hammer down on Kenneth’s head, smashing the helmet into shards and crushing Kenneth’s skull. Steve let go of the hammer and dropped to his knees. All around him, the cultist’s began dropping to the ground, the psychic death scream of the demonic helmet overwhelming them. Steve went to his brother, still somehow alive, sans the top of his head.
“Thank You,” Kenneth whispered, before his eyes became blank and his breathing stopped. One of the hunters approached him, throwing down his axe and disgust.
“What do we do now, Steve?” he asked.
“The only thing we can do, Fagballs,” Steve replied. “We rebuild.”