DQN Short Novel (Part 21)
4 - i-210100 equals 5 and this chapter contains no penises, lacerated or otherwise. Sorry to disappoint.
This chapter contains 80 posts, 1566 words and 9110 characters.
[raep] Chapter 4 - i-210100: The Penis with a Thousand Lacerations
My name is Susan Yang. There are seven people in my family. My mother is very friendly and funny. She's like a friend. My father is handsome, but a little bald.
Friendly and funny.
Handsome but bald.
Suddenly, Susan Yang and her entire family were crushed under a falling blimp - the very same blimp, in fact, that once served as the Hindenburg's stunt double. A nearby black cat licked its front paw, sniffed at the ground in front of it, and thought to itself "This is bullshit. Cats don't think," as if realism was something the authors of this novel had been striving for. Everyone's a critic.
Anyway, said cat was promptly struck by a stray piece of debris from the stunt blimp, and died a slow agonizing death on the baking hot pavement. Let this be a lesson to aspiring literary critics.
Mr Gray had somehow managed to avoid death from blood loss by thinking very hard about prostate stimulation, and thus cutting off most of the blood flow to his injured member.
Mr Gray's good friend Francis Bacon never ate bacon. He had developed a distaste for it due to people always making lame jokes about his name. This of course resulted in the bacon manufacturing union kidnapping him and forcing him to become their mascot. He found that wearing a big stuffed-animal version of himself oddly comforting. Slowly, he began to realise that he wasn't wearing a costume at all - he had actually been hallucinating all this time. "My God!" he pondered. "I've been hallucinating lately!"
He sighed and scratched his belly. After one too many hallucinations, he no longer cared what was real. All that truly mattered to him at this very moment was the concept of prostate stimulation. "Why is ours in there of all places?" he silently questioned. Though such trivialities did not really matter to him in the end.
And thus, a star was born far off in another galaxy.*
* This has no relevance to our story yet, but will be a great driving force later on.
Francis looked like shit. This was hardly his fault; he had, after all, been spending an insurmountable amount of time stimulating his prostate and stimulating his fizzbuzz and stimulating his avacado and simulating his stimulation of the aforementioned stimulation targets in three different computer models on fifteen different cmputer architectures each. The vacuum-tube models had really been bogging him down.
Finally, after months of intense stimulation, he concluded that the proper way to cook an onion is to cut it into tiny pieces, bury them under the ground all over the world, and ask a DQN how to cook an onion. However, this method was not feasible because, as we all know, onions were wiped out in the disastrous brunch but at least the orangutans were hungry enough to invent an synthetic onion-like substitute called noino. This was also useful as an aphrodisiac for baboons, but then, so is the sight of a concrete wall.
The noino possessed a DARK and TERRIBLE secret: It was more than half cholesterol by weight, but battered and fried noino rings are just sooooooooooo delicious.
The only person who did not like noino rings was Harold, the emperor of everything. Everything was ruled by Harold, and Harold was ruler of everything. But the executives That Be had decided for an unwritten reason that Harold was unfit to be ruler of everything. They had no bravery for experimentation. A bean can full of robots exploded. Fake people decided that the previous paragraph's non sequiturs, which were butts developed by prostate exams must have been developed by CLONEPA seperate people. But online, they swabbed the Christmas and realized that one bummer exhausting poster to bill the winner of three wood tournaments was actually composed by a single poster shooting to schedule, under budget.
Harold opened the books. He wanted his power back.
Harold whipped his metaphorical head around (as supreme being, he had no true head) to see none other than The Great Sky Shota, searching for his sister, who was, as we have already established, in hiding after faking her death.
"Have you seen a loli around here, looks a little bit like me, perhaps exuding godlike power?" asked the GSS.
Harold knew that he had only one good response for this. After taking some time for a dramatic pause, he said "Eat a butt."
In the next instant, Harold was gone, as ephemeral as the eaten butt. In Harold's absence, everybody soon grew obese from eating noino rings, until, inevitably, the noino rings ran out! Worse yet, there were cheap noino ring knockoffs flooding the market, but none could truly satisfy the craving desire in a young girl's heart for ＴＲＵＥ～ＬＯＶＥ and delicious snacks. However, knockoff noino rings did make for a good loofah in a pinch.
Meanwhile, the Grand Master of All Time and Continuity happened to glance at the DQN short novel and immediately threw up. It should go without saying that he was the ashamed owner of a big fat poodle, whose tendency to howl showtunes in three-part harmony whenever he spotted an exposed buttock often unnerved him.
It was this harmony that triggered the vomiting, for they had spied the exposed buttock of Mr. Gray, which had escaped its textile confines when Grammar Dude, the guard of Mr. Gray's prison at the time, got distracted by the use of "which" to refer to a person. Later, Grammar Dude committed suicide by hanging himself off of a dangling participle.
Meanwhile, Mr. Gray attempted to explain the reason why his buttock was exposed.
>"which" was referring to the exposed buttock, which had escaped its textile confines, not Mr. Gray himself
And then the universe exploded. And then it exploded again. And then it exploded one more time, just to be sure. It exploded a fourth time for no particular reason. And then it un-exploded, because it wanted a change of pace.
Meanwhile, the rotting corpse of Grammar Dude, having committed suicide due to shame after correcting a mistake that was not truly a mistake, swung silently in the breeze at the end of a rope tied to a participle.
The participle in question was nailed to an awning on the mansion of Thrush, who could not find his humble servant (who was secretly the Great Sky Loli). Thrush's voice echoed through the halls as he called for her: "Youjo! Youjo! Tsurupeta youjo!"
That was not Thrush's voice. It was the Nico Nico Douga video he had loaded in the background.
Meanwhile, in a remarkably similar mansion just down the street, Tharsh and his evil twin brother Thursh (who were, of course, completely unrelated to Thrush) were plotting an evil plot.
This evil plot consisted mostly of "like putting a like dragon dildo in that asshole's fridge" and "biotronic mechrofuusion of persons with commonly mixed-up names" for the purpose of "ＳＨＥＮＡＮＩＧＡＮＳ."
Inevitably, all good intentions were feigned; the plot went into action immediately and the results were horrible.
The two brothers broke into Thrush's mansion with a large draconian phallus and their mechrofuusion device in tow. They placed the plastic dragon dong in the fridge and attempted to abscond. However, their mechrofuusion device was switched on during the escape attempt and Thursh and Thrush were drawn into it.
15 minutes later, Thrursh emerged from the machine. The GSL watched from behind the bread crust receptacle and instantly decided that her dress was not frilly enough and didn't have enough ribbons. Tharsh, meanwhile, was on the midnight train going anywhere, and also PCP.
Everyone else on the train was programming simple arcade games on their netbooks. A sudden gust of wind swept through the carriage, and the lights went out! From the shadows, a DQN began his announcement: "Due to culinary restrictions, this train is no longer heading to anywhere. We have changed to a direct course to the Bamako Salt Mines. We apologize for any convenience."
The programmers all began to wail uncontrollably - how could the train not be heading to anywhere and be on a direct course to the Bamako Salt Mines‽
"Parse error!" shouted one. "Invalid syntax!" cried another. On the floor next to him, a programmer in the foetal position was rocking back and forth and mumbling "This DQN has performed an illegal operation and must be shut down" over and over again.
Then, just as the train was about to crash, the entire scene froze.
With a frustrated 'pomf', the Great Sky Loli sat back in her strawberry-pink chair and frowned. She massaged her forehead, then after a moment and heavy sigh leaned forward again. Her Virtual Universe Machine's pause feature was admittedly quite useful, but its debugger was frustrating and archaic. She knew it would take at least 5 cups of peppermint tea before she could knock the kinks out of this one.
The Chaos Dunk of Doom, better known as Deborah, was universally recognised as the worst blitzball player in Besaid. However, this was not important. What was important was that the GSL hated blitzball and this whole Chaos Dunk business was really getting in the way of her fixing the universe so that she could go back to living in hiding as a simple maid. With a few quick keystrokes, she resetted the entire thing.