It was a land of dragons and magic… because that’s what sells these days apparently.  Heaven forbid you people approach reality and its many horrors…  No… instead… it’s a land with big fucking frogs and people pulling bunches of flowers out of their anuses.  May you all fucking choke on it.

            “I am Tzaerqun” said the noble barbarian who merely serves as masturbatory cover material for a whole generation of sexually confused boys, girls, men, middle-aged women and everyone else who can’t face the stark fucking reality that nobody looks like a waxed gorilla pumped full of steroids.
            “What?” said Fungicide the wizard.
            “I am Tzaerqun” said the barbarian again, his loincloth slipping slightly to reveal he’d been thorough in his ministrations.
            “Sorry… how do you say that again?” said Fungicide.
            “Tzaerqun.”
            “Fuck it, we’ll let the guy who has to read the audiobook deal with it.  Instead, I’m going to call you Ted.”
            Fungicide put down his drink and buggered a slavegirl.  Ted watched and generally ruined the experience for everyone.  If cameras had been invented Ted would have taken pictures because, frankly he’s a creepy a-sexual pervert.  Everyone would feel threatened if Ted had anything under his loincloth and so Ted had to take what he could get.
            “Now,” said Fungicide, placing the slavegirl to one side, “let’s go kill the dragon.”
            “Why would we do that?” asked Ted.  “You spend all your time in brothels and bars…  No dragon could fit through the door…”
            “Ugh” said Fungicide, rubbing his temples.  “Look… we live in a civilization that still has to walk everywhere after the horsepox killed everything with hooves or in intimate contact with said everythings...  There is no organised sporting league.  There is nothing else to do but wait to die of a fever.”
            “Does the dragon have gold?” asked Ted hopefully.
            “No… why would it have gold?  What the fuck would it do with it?  Are there dragon whores?  No” Fungicide grunted, a really bad migraine manifesting itself.
            “Is he threatening a fair maiden?” asked Ted.
            “Fair maiden?  Around here?  They all have eight stillborn kids, the pox, syphilis, scabies, mange, untouchable vaginal walls, and mouths full of rotting teeth…” Fungicide had no choice but to be sick over his robe.  “Ugh, you ever get migraines?” he asked Ted, wincing.
            “No” said Ted.  “I get occasional sinus headaches though.”
            “Do you take anything for them?” asked Fungicide.
            “I chew my own faeces” said Ted proudly.
            “Does that help?” asked Fungicide desperately.
            “No, and it tastes like shit” said Ted.
            Ted didn’t laugh at this because anyone that big and muscly is retarded.  You have to be retarded to get that big.  Your thighs chafe against each other and you’re left with weeping sores.
            “Oh god… here comes another one” wailed Fungicide and again soiled his robe.
            There was a mystical quality to the wizard’s vomit.  He remembered eating nothing that spilled down his front.  Yet, as he probed with his finger, he found a lump of undigested gum.  He popped it into his mouth theorising everything already tasted of sick and it might take his mind off the pain.
            “Urgh” grunted Ted as diarrhoea spilled down his legs.
            “Oh, you have that too?” asked Fungicide. 
            “Near constantly” said Ted.
            They ordered another two plates of un-refrigerated meat stored in a sack in a warm place and watched as it was cooked only on the outside.  Throughout the cooking process the chef repeatedly coughed into his hand, scratched his poxed anus and inserted his fingers into the barwenches.
            “You get that thing where your bones go all bendy?” asked Fungicide, lifting his robe to reveal a fine case of rickets.
            “No, I smear them with my own faeces…”
            “Deliberately?” asked Fungicide, growing fascinated by the barbarian’s new approach to medicine.
            “No” said Ted miserably and began eating his meat, occasionally offering a bite to the frothing three-legged dog that sat on the bar.
            Fungicide had to force his meat down.  He knew it was the only cure for the fact he couldn’t see very well.
            “Do some magic” grunted Ted, growing bored of watching another group of barbarians assaulting every female patron they could reach.
            Fungicide produced a stick.
            “Behold my wand” he said.
            “That’s a stick” said Ted.
            “No, it’s a wand.”
            “It’s a stick.  You can see where the squirrels have been chewing at it.”
            “Don’t make me unleash its power, oh unbeliever” growled Fungicide.
            “What is its power?” said Ted.
            “It focuses my mighty magic…”
            “Into a stick?” asked Ted.
            “You will see…” screamed Fungicide.  “I hereby curse you to the death of impotentus.  Kagglybagglybooboo.” 
            He jabbed the stick in Ted’s direction.
            “So when does the curse kick in?” asked Ted.
            “Eventually” said Fungicide mystically, his voice full of dark portent.
            “Ugh” yelped Ted and discharged his bowels.
            “See… fear my power” yipped Fungicide excitedly, doing a little dance that ended with him fouling himself.  Then he paused.  “Oh god… what are those wriggling things?”
            “I guess it’s my soul escaping” shrugged Ted.
            The dog began to roll in the mess and then returned to eating from Ted’s meat.
            “Urgh… migraine…” yelped Fungicide and vomited over the dog.
            “Some teeth came out” said Ted, poking his finger at the brown mushy lumps that looked like over-soaked Cheerios.
            “I found another lucklump in my testicles yesterday” Fungicide said conversationally and palely.
           
            The pair finally emerged into the daylight.  The mighty journey to battle a terrible foe began with a single step.

            “Fuck that” said Fungicide as they re-entered The Doused Whore.  “It felt like something was drilling into my brain.”
            Ted stared at Fungicide’s head, especially at the numerous luckbulges and power-pustules that marked him as a powerful wizard.
            “Your kind seem weak in the hours of daylight” said Ted conversationally.
            “I burn really easily” Fungicide grunted and realised that it was true in more ways than one as he relieved himself on the bloated carcass of a fallen warrior that served as The Doused Whore’s urinal.  “We’ll go when it’s dark” he suggested, wiping his hands on his face.
           

back to duck.