DQN Short Novel (Part 43)

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Wherein the author comes close to being sexually assaulted, has an aneurysm, is eaten, and is discouraged from writing about fish. Not necessarily in that order. Also, a Touhou character has a mental breakdown.

This chapter contains 133 posts, 1946 words and 11312 characters.

Chapter 2.71828: The Bombastic Bison of the Bolivian Blood Basin[edit]

It was always raining in Sheboygan these days. Randy McNally cursed his luck for being on fire. What with luck being a non-physical object, McNally could not just extinguish it with the abundant precipitation around him either. Indeed, the best he could do was curse at it and hope for the best.

Alas, McNally's luck ran out and he had to call the service and ask for replacement. However, they didn't want to give their luck out and, instead, just sent him, somewhat predictably at this point, fire. Randy opened the package of fire and, upon seeing its inflammatory contents, became inflamed.

Suddenly, the ghost of Vladimir Ilyich Lenin exploded in delight, for Smxxpy had arrived. He was just in time for showing up fashionably late to the 600 GET party, which was taking place at the fire temple of DQN Systems, Inc.'s corporate retreat island, where a group of executives had embraced pseudo-voodoo as their religion and abandoned civilized society in favor of nature worship and curse-laying, living in grass huts and wearing leaves. Their main form of currency was guano, formed into 3-inch diameter 1-cm thick patties. They also chose to speak in a pidgin language of English, Japanese, Esperanto, and the sound of trying to speak French while doing some auto-erotic asphyxiation.

Just then, the party was crashed by none other than Vince Vaughn and Owen Wilson.

There were no survivors.

Meanwhile, Vince Wilson and Owen Vaugh were going to smash their wieners together.

There were no survivors.

Meanwhile, in Azerbaijan, a little girl was drinking her own bottle of chocolate milk.

There were no survivors.

Meanwhile, in Australia, a bunch of clueless tourists was standing the wrong side up. Everyone stared at their dangling, hairy, scrotums potage. It looked delicious and nutritious, rich in protein while low in saturated fatty acids. Four out of five doctors in the audience agreed that it should be part of a healthy breakfast, while the fifth thought that it should be part of a healthy brunch. SMILE!

But there one problem remained: what is a what is a what what what? As it so happens, what what, in the butt. I said what what, in the butt. No, seriously, what what, in the butt?

The writer leaned back in his chair completely distraught by a silhouette of a stranger holding a giant dildo in his window. He wrote everything down and ended this paragraph with

HELP ME! CALL THE POLICLE PLEASE! I AM ABOUT TO GET SEXUALLY ASSAULTED IN THE SAFETY OF MY OWN COSY LITTLE HOUSE!

Sympathetic of the author's plight, the reader shouted "Policle! You have to save the author; his anal sanctity is at stake!"

The Policle were busy eating policicles, so they handed the task over to Ranger Rick. But Ranger Rick was too busy rickrolling at long range, so he handed the task over to the author himself. Thus, the author got up, went outside and punched the giant dildo wielding stranger in the face.

"Thank you so much, author! How can I ever repay you?" Asked the author.

"All in a day's work, author." Replied the author.

Meanwhile, at the galactic core...

Richie is a crack addict who grew up with Gino and Bobby McDoggerson, the twin sons of a certain Mister Gray, who was last seen being swallowed up by a black hole. His sons regarded this turn of events as as a diversion made by </div> so Richie did some crack so then crack got 2 butts and the addictions caused the butts to multiply exponentially. Once there were 512 butts but the butt cracks were full of holes, most of which were soon submerged at the bottom of the sea.

And then, with a gut-busting subsonic rumble, they farted. Just kidding they didn't. Spaceman Spiff did.

"Zounds!" exclaimed the author, "My novel is full of butts!"

Little did he know, there weren't even that many butts. But Fidel Castro's cigar was going to add one more.

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"Aaaaaargh!" Exclaimed the author. But screaming couldn't save him now. The enraged fifty foot tall radioactive landlord Squeeks picked him up by the feet and and swallowed him whole, before laughing maniacally. "Muhahahahaha!" he laughed.

But even the enraged fifty foot tall radioactive landlord Squeeks wasn't safe from Beady Eyes, who had just returned from the mystical land of the Clonepa thread. Clonepa himself was having a mint prion cupcake.

"I don't even know what a prion is," said another Clonepa as he stuffed his face, and ate a lot. Then he died.

"Déjà vu" said a French artist, "Didn't a Clonepa die from prions already?" Then he died.

And then Beady Eyes, faced with a thread that by its very nature could not be derailed, died.

The thread, now empty of participants, then died. Cursed never to rest, it became a horrible, shambling fiend of the undead.

Just then, the GSL burst into the thread with a tray full of fresh cookies, saw all the corpses, screamed, and ran back out, dropping the cookies all over the bodies. The cookies were the greats. The GSL decided that this reality was no good, so she destroyed the universe and created a new one in which the DQN Short Novel was a comic book.

Getting her big box of crayons, she immediately drew the devil which came to life and sent her to hell forever where she was never to be seen again.

The devil was feeling a little down. He wanted to live the earth-life, but he looked like a red beast. Worse, people often mistook him for Liza Minelli. Still, he was not unwavering on his quest for the earth-life. He went to a costume store to buy a clown costume. Of course, this did not make him any less terrifying. He sneaked into a box with a handle on the sie, waiting for someone to wind up the handle.

"Ima spook all dem!" said the devil.

However, unfortunately for the devil, the next person to wind up the handle was none other than Dr. Robotnik, who was rather upset because he had just gotten the news that the cookies were ruined. He was ruined. The story was ruined. Or it would have done, except I don't know anyone called Bill. Dr. Robotnik checked the box marked "bill me later". The devil was still in the box, as the handle had been insufficiently wound when the news about the cookies came round.

The flowers bloomed on the long-necked beauty of Gainesville. Spears and blood leaked love and peaches. That was when Baobab realised her S&M fetish had been a huge mistake. Colorless green ideas dreamed violently. The violent dreaming caused anyone having the ideas to instantly get an aneurysm.

Meanwhile, in a parallel universe, a giant livid purple pulsating lantern fish was fleeing from a hammerhead shark. Chasing the shark was a giant livid purple pulsating people heater. As it scooted along the surface, water flashed to steam with a horrendous shout.

"STOP! I've heard enough." yelled the editor. "Underwater stories are boring. It won't sell. It's almost as bad as sewer stories, and only slightly better than ice stories. Rethink this part of the short novel or I'm dropping this project!"

The dejected author told the pulsating purple people heater to pack it in, and then he died. A new young, enthusiastic author was next in line to be fed to the DQN Short Novel meat grinder. His head was full of ideas about Aztec temples and conveyor belts. Thus the short novel was re-imagined as a video game plotline. However, this particular video game plotline imagining was one of those colorless green ideas, and the author got an aneurysm and died.

The DQN Short Record-Keeper noted this death and went to check whether or not a new record for author death speed in the DQN short novel. To find the records, he would have to brave the Recordarium, a great labyrinth library which shifted depending on what you were looking for, putting your goal in the most inconvenient location possible. The DQN Short Record-Keeper wasn't sure why the DQN Short Records were kept here, but he assumed it was because the DQN Short CEO made some impossible request and somehow it got filtered through the DQN Short Bureaucracy and and ended up as an order to keep the DQN Short Records in the Recordarium. Whatever, the DQN Short Record-Keeper though. His job is to keep the DQN Short Records, not question why they're in the worst library ever conceived. Then, as though simply to prove a point, the library spontaneously caught fire.

There were no survivors.

Meanwhile, in Gensokyo, a futanari rape party was taking place. Of course, there were no futanaris to be raped in Gensokyo - how preposterous! - so the party was a failure.

"Well, poop." said Marisa, "I guess I'll have to go beat up some fairies for fun instead, then."

But then Cirno showed up armed with a rocket launcher and a big veiny strap-on, and slid one into Marisa's vagina and the other into her anus. Unfortunately for Cirno, she had the rocket launcher pointed the wrong way, and blew herself up. Convictor Lamaxanadu launched an investigation of the situation. Nitori was to be questioned in case she had any involvement with Cirno acquiring a rocket launcher.

Suddenly, Clonepa appeared wearing a frilly dress and a ridiculous hat and released a barrage of tasty cupcakes. Everyone else was horrified at the sight of an old man with a ballsack on his face dressed in a frilly dress. But beady eyes was turned on by his friend's crossdressing escapades - how sick! Really, Beady Eyes should just stick to regular crossdressers like the rest of us! The ballsacks are just obscene!

Noticing beady eyes' reaction, Clonepa's head inflated rapidly, like a pig's bladder attached to a garden hose. Within seconds his head exploded, spraying everyone in the vicinity with pa goo (which, although chemically completely different, bears a distinct similarity to SpongeBob).

Marisa decided it was time to quietly sneak away, but couldn't resist the tasty cupcake that had landed in front of her. It was all done up with nice frilly frosting, just like Clonepa used to make. Wracked with grief over her headless friend, she forced herself to enjoy her late friend's last precious gift. She shoved the cupcake down her throat, one painful mouthful at a time. Her eyes stung and her cheeks streamed with tears. How had it come to this? How could fate be so cruel? Why even continue living in a world where your best friend's head might explode at any moment, for no reason at all?

Marisa collapsed into a sobbing heap of limbs, frills and cupcake icing. Everyone else looked nervously at one another, and were immediately derailed.

In 1459, Gorub McDuckinson of Walchester, New Yevville had no mittens. Because of this, the other residents of Walchester, New Yevville decided to start a new chapter.