DQN Short Novel (Part 35)

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The topic of the chapter meanders from the author's sexual tastes, to road safety, to the Mystery of the Druids, to the nomenclature of arbitrarily large numbers of micro-organisms.

The chapter contains 114 posts, 2687 words and 16452 characters.

Chapter Dragon Dildo, Part 2: In the Briar Patch, GSSiblings To Issho ~ ラブラブ 150% EDITION ~[edit]

Lobster McLobsterson was in a bit of a pickle. Despite all of his best efforts, the DQN Short Novel had reached volume three of the trilogy. Lobster McLobsterson's employer had been very specific about this, that the DQN Short Novel series was to either become viable for widespread public appeal and sale, or that it was to end quickly. Neither one of these things was yet accomplished. Lobster McLobsterson contemplated hiring George Bush CXXIX to kill all the writers, but decided that that would just end up being the kind of story that the general public would not like, and that the writers would just come back from the dead and make the Novel even more DQN than ever before.

However, Lobster McLobsterson had an even bigger problem on his hands. He was in the briar patch, and he was allergic to lolis, shotas, rappers, clones of rappers, and ghost razorback hogs. His death was slow, painful, and kind of gross to see. Since Lobster McLobsterson was two centimeters tall, nobody important even noticed.

Cats Smoopy cat was busy irradiating the town water supple, warm breasts. The kind with nice pink areolas sitting atop them slightly pointing upwards. Ones that, with a little squeeze, provide a little resistance before giving to the squeeze. Wait, what was I writing again? Oh. Cats Smoopy cat was irradiating the town water supply on accident.

Tits. Hoo-ah! Big ones, little ones, nipples staring right out at ya, like secret searchlights. Legs. I don't care if they're Greek columns or secondhand Steinways. What's between 'em, passport to heaven. I need a drink.

The author got up from his desk and groped around, looking for the rest of that bottle of vodka. Instead, he found his own severed calf. He looked at the butchered bovine with tears in his eyes.

"Maple!" he cried. "Who did this to you? Oh god, it was me! Now I really need a drink!"

He stumbled over to the bathroom and cupped his hands under the cold, irradiated water. He splashed his face and swallowed water in big, messy gulps between sobs. The radiation caused the author to develop a pair of breasts. Sadly, all the mammaries in the world could never make up for the loss he had suffered that night. He vowed to never write a short novel again. However, he did not know that he would later be forced against his will to write prequels to the the Backwards Short Novel.

Uh, Gerbils Smoopy gerbil. Gerbils with breasts. Gerbi... ger--

The new author sat down at his desk, the dust covered old typewriter in front of him mirroring his own weariness. Slowly, gently, he began to type.

It was early spring, and the GSL was hosting one of her world famous tea parties. The weather recently had been raining breasts! Wow! What an event it was!

A strange rain indeed. So strange was it that naturalists from all around came to see it. They identified all sorts of beasts--ocelots, lions, bears, camels, more bears--even a few bigfoots fell from the sky. However, it seemed clear to everyone that there was one variety of beast that was stangely missing. While the rain certainly could not contain every kind of beast, the variety that was missing seemed that it should be there, but it was not. This variety of beast was lesser spotted the Third Von Hannover peanut-eating champion! ( ゚ ヮ゚). Lesser Spotted the III Von Habsburg was kidnapped from Lesser Spotted castle by angry peasants earlier that week.

Penis or goat? You decide.

"Goat penis!" shouted Penis McGoat, rather rudely. The Scottish goat loved to be the center of attention. Unfortunately for him, at that moment everyone's attention was squarely focussed on Smoopy, Dogs Smoopy dog, Cats Smoopy cats, and Gerbils Smoopy gerbils whose own attentions were focused on Hogs Smoopy hog, Chickens Smoopy chicken, Penis McGoats Smoopy penis mcgoat, Mr. Grays Smoopy mr. gray and Robbers Smoopy robber. ( ゚ ヮ゚) And the rest of the cast of America's new favorite reality TV programme, "Here Comes Honey Smoop Smoop" were all killed in a horrible freak accident.

397 days later, the GSL's tea party was finally wrapping up. Literally no one cared. 0 people.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"Driving gloves. Check. Driving shoes. Check. Driving jacket. Check. Looks like I'm ready"

The Gab Gitzbi was preparing to run over some bitches.

Meanwhile...

"Driving Smoopy gloves. Check. Driving Smoopy shoes. Check. Driving Smoopy jacket. Check. Looks like I'm ready."

The Gabs Smoopy Gitzbi was preparing to chase down his lifelong rival, the Gab Gitzbi. What happened next remains a mystery to most, but the widely accepted course of events is as follows: upon entering his car, Gabs Smoopy Gitzbi exploded violently, tearing his brand new Driving Smoopy jacket to Shreds Smoopy shred! Simultaneously, Banananose Maldonado smiled to himself, and muttered "What a horrible night to have a horrible night."

Banananose was then run over by Gab Gitzbi, who turned his head as he passed and yelled, "Take that, bee-yotch!" Since Gab's attention was no longer turned upon the road, he did not notice the oncoming brick wall, with which he promptly collided, exploding nearly as magnificently as his late rival and tearing his brand new mixed drink to shreds. The shredded drink and the shredded Driving Smoopy jacket touched, producing a Drinking and Driving Smoopy jacket, which promptly got a DUI, along with a drop of sunshine that fell unnoticed through the fiery planks of the metaphorical pirate ship called life.

The ridiculous notion that sunshine could take a liquid form was regarded by VIPologists as the greatest DQNity to even fall unnoticed through the fiery planks of the metaphorical pirate ship called life. The metaphorical pirates, however, knew something that the VIPologists didn't: the location of the metaphorical treasure map.

It was printed under the lid of the metaphorical treasure chest. Having learned this, one VIP lurker exclaimed: "うほ、いいmetaphorical treasure chest!やらないか?"

The metaphorical treasure chest replied "It carries out and i(ry."

And so, the VIPologists set out in search of the metaphorical treasure. The first stop on the map was the small port town of 100 GET, where they hoped to leave at the very next post.

"Holy Ra! My nipples have been stolen!" exclaimed the ghost of Akhnaten, who happened to be floating by. This distracted the VIPologists for just long enough for the metaphorical pirates to wrest the metaphorical treasure chest from the VIPologists' soft, atrophying hands.

As Life sped toward the western horizon with its metaphorical jolly roger flapping in the breeze, without any warning, cause or reason, the entire metaphorical universe metaphorically exploded.

And then the reader's brain exploded.

Before the chunks of brain had a chance to splatter all over the reader's computer monitor, one pirate said "!أكل بلدي القضيب" The airborne pieces of grey matter replied "I'm afraid I must decline; I am currently following a rather unnegotiable trajectory which terminates on that computer monitor over there. I hope you understand. Furthermore, I was under the impression that your entire universe just exploded. If I may ask, how are you still able to speak?"

As it happens, this particular pirate was not metaphorical. He was a very literal pirate, who could articulate his feelings into words with ease. If the pirate's articulate feelings had been translated into English, it might have communicated something like "Would you care to help me find the literal treasure, for which I dearly long and would give my soul, the location of which is detailed in the literal treasure map under the lid of the literal treasure chest, which, incidentally, contains the literal treasure?"

The brain proceeded to splatter.

The literal pirate, The bilingual tripate (as he liked to call himself) decided to go for a quick pillage down to the konbini, since he was fresh out of curry flavored cup ramen. Unfortunately, the konbini was. This provided more ammunition for his upcoming politically charged public diatribe.

"The konbini's continued existence had caused nothing but problems for all involved. The solution is clear," the literal pirate argued, "The konbini must explode. There is no other way."

His audience, which consisted of cloned dodo birds and razorback hogs, was getting restless. They longed for love and the glory of The Mystery of the Druids.

Sensing this desire, the literal pirate said, "And now, a dramatic reading of The Mystery of the Druids, with occasional footnotes about the necessity of konbini destruction."

And so begun The Mystery of the Druids:

In the fantastic castle city of Esmeralda, there lived Spinal Tap then explained in a song, who quickly died of a fatal case of a seven-word name. Meanwhile, video games were drugs, and vice versa. One dealer of said drugs, who was named Druggdeler. Druggdeler was very insecure of his name because no matter what he did the cops seemed to always figure out what he was up to. He thought his name may be the thing giving him up, but he could not be sure, so he called his friend Accomplis.

"Yo Accomplis! What's up with the pigs? Is it my name?"

"Yo Druggdeler! You talkin' about Goscone? He's cool, man."

Goscone, who happened to be in the same room, overheard the transaction and became rather indignant at being referred to as a pig. He had to admit he did eat quite a lot, however.

"I am not a pig and I am, in fact, long dead."

"Yeah, Goscone is totally dead!" - the other dead and long abandoned characters concurred.

Accomplis shivered and begged his friend to hurry up as lollygagging inside a mortuary was getting on his nerves.

"Now Listen! This ain't no make believe! Come on! Open your eyes and see! Now get up! Get up and follow me! 'Cause I'm gonna show you what your future will be!" said Gosghost. Druggdeler and Accomplis simply looked at Gosghost with a sort of quiet pity. They knew he was going to explode; it was only a matter of time.

Sure enough, they decided to stage a high-level assassination in cause a war, but there was no one to target at the time. There was much planning left to do.

Druggdeler suddenly realized Ghostcone is a much better name than Gosghost.

"Ghostcone!" interjected Druggdeler

Ghostcone/Gosghost suffered a small explosion. It was more of a pop than anything.

"Aauuwuaa" hooped Ghostcone.

Hogs Ghosts Smoopy ghost hog came to see if Ghostcone was alright.

"Snort snort snort!" interjected Hogs Ghosts Smoopy ghost hog.

"Uuuu?" Ghostcone the ghost formerly known as Gosghost said. Then, Ghostcone the ghost formerly known as Gosghost's eyes lit up as if possessed and he began to boom: "Leis of chamomile and arcs of shard! Hear my prophesy of life and lard! In three days hence The Druids shall come, be prepared with Fire and Rum!"

Ghostcone then passed out, exhausted from the great energy exerted in the prophesy.

"Did you hear that? Those druids must be our assassination target," exclaimed Druggdeler.

"I'll help!" Accomplis said helpfully.

"Snort!" snorted Hogs Ghosts Smoopy ghost hog.

And so Druggdeler and Accomplis drafted a plan to assassinate the mysterious Druids involving molotov cocktails made from cheap rum.

The sun set three times and rose three times - although not in that order - and, before they knew it, the day of the Druids had arrived. A vast swirly interdimensional portal opened on a nearby mountaintop, accompanied by various whooshing/howling noises and over-the-top particle effects. The Druids unceremoniously watched TV and drank beer.

It was time to strike. Druggdeler used Hogs Ghosts Smoopy ghost hog as an invisibility cloak to sneak in for the kill(s).

"FIRE!" commanded Druggdeler. Accomplis duly fired the molotov cocktails, unfortunately in the wrong direction.

"I'll take you to burn. Fire! I'll take you to learn. I'll see you burn! You fought hard and you saved and learned, but all of it's going to burn. And your mind, your tiny mind. You know you've really been so blind. Now's your time burn your mind. You're falling far too far behind. Oh no! Oh no! Oh no! You gonna burn!" Sang the Druid.

Sang, the Druid, was in fact a fire druid.

They smashed through the druds' TV screen and set it aflame.

"Fuckin haaaarsh, bro!" exclaimed one of the druids.

"What a BUMMER man" bemoaned one of the other druids. "Im legit pissed"

They didn't turn around to see where the molotovs came from , just stared dejectedly at the TV. Fire Druid Sang tried to rally the bummed out druids to attack Accomplis, the only visible attacker.

"Ggreeoooyaaaaaaaa! Attack that man wudllwywooleywuhoo!"

But the druids were too busy having a pity party. They sat around drinking pity tea with their pinkies out, consumed large quantities of pity pie, whacked pity pin~atas and pitied the tail on the donkey. It was great fun but one couldn't help feeling sorry for them. Druggdeler, feeling sorry for the druids, threw some pity pitas at them. The druids totally flipped the fuck out thinking it was a gift from the pita tree god.

The fuck flipped with such great velocity that it flew across the world, all the way to the ancient city of Teshrikalan, where it landed in a long-abandoned city square.

When the dust settled, the fuck got up and got a strange feeling like it was being watched. As it happens, it wasn't; this was actually a precursor to the fuck developing paranoid schizophrenia. But that's a story for another time.

Meanwhile, back in the Druids' abode, several DQNs were discussing the merits of Smoopy oriented programming on the Commodore 64.

"There aren't any" said a stupid fucking faggot who didn't know shit about Smoopy-oriented programming. Fuck that fucking fuck. The real experts, of course, knew that Smoopy-oriented programming was a disease.

A disease affecting hundreds and thousands of kittens and also millions and billions and trillions and quadrillions and quintillions and sextillions and octillions and nonillions and decillions and undecillions and duodecillions and tredecillions and quattuordecillions and quindecillions and sexdecillions and septendecillions and octodecillions and novemdecillions and vigintillions and unvigintillions and duovigintillions and tresvigintillions and quattuorvigintillions and quinquavigintillions and sesvigintillions and septemvigintillions and octovigintillions and novemvigintillions and trigintillions and untrigintillions and duotrigintillions and trestrigintillions and quattuortrigintillions and quinquatrigintillions and sestrigintillions and septentrigintillions and octotrigintillions and noventrigintillions and quadragintillions and quinquagintillions and sexagintillions and septuagintillions and octogintillions and nonagintillions and centillions and uncentillions and duocentillions and trescentillions and decicentillions and undecicentillions and viginticentillions and unviginticentillions and trigintacentillions and quadragintacentillions and quinquagintacentillions and sexagintacentillions and septuagintacentillions and octogintacentillions and nonagintacentillions and ducentillions and trecentillions and quadringentillions and and quingentillions and sescentillions and septingentillions and octingentillions and nongentillions and millinillions of parasitic micro-orgasms.

This didn't concern Druggdeler one but since he hated cats. Accomplis however had a soft spot for cats. He knew he had to work undercover so Druggdeler wouldn't make fun of him. Naturally, the parasitic micro-organisms were ignored.

Katana-san, Banana-chan. Whatever. Feckoff.

The art of the feck-off was a cause célèbre all across the Trinnium plains and the Nautillio valleys, all the way to the Deva mountains. Trainers, breeders, and hopeful amateurs brought their best feckers from the far corners of the map, hoping that their fecking would bring fame, fortune, and, most importantly, honor. They gathered once a year for the Grand Fecking Championships in the capitol city of the Trinnium plains territory. So famous was this city for the feckoffs that it became known as Feckonnia. This year, the feck-offs offered a grand prize greater than any they had offered before: a sum of one million feckles of silver in silver.

Accomplis knew that he had to get some feckles or feck-offs or whatever to cure the cats of the Smoopy-oriented programming disease. But first, he needed the help of Smoopy who had recently adopted the moniker OGs Smoopy OG to differentiate himself from the other Smoopys.

and then we all at some other planet yo. The aforementioned planet proceeded to fall into a black hole, and was never seen again.