Parsnip
23rd Dec 2006, 22:15
Well, here it is, guys - I know you've been waiting for it. I warn you - it's not for the feint-hearted - there's some sick fuckery going on in hear. My imagination has been suckling on the teats of a long-dead mythbitch - and this is the result. Some people say it's "better that wrighto". They're not whrong.
Hold onto your values - they're about to be taken up the shitter.
Chapter Three: Meat My Mother
‘Well, I guess it’s my job too!’ responded the Tadotian to Dhorasoo’s earlier exclamation (see end of chapter one). ‘I’ve been sent by the Gregorian Princes of Tadot to destroy the Dark One once and for all!’
The planet Tadot was positioned on the opposite side of the star system to Flarge, and the two planets really were polar opposites when it came to their visions of how the star system should be ordered. The Tadotians saw the Blaartian Council as a bunch of lily-livered pen pushers who wouldn’t know how to run Blaart if the manual on that very subject, written by God, smacked them in the face with the force of an eighty-gigatron blast of phenotic energy! Meanwhile, the Blaartian Council view of the Tadotians was that they were a gaggle of free-loading wastrels, mavericks without a hint of consideration for The Rules. The Tadotians were quite happy with this view.
Tadot was governed by the Princes of Gregoria, an ancient family of benevolent dictators and their hangers-on. It tended to be the case that the Gregorian males went out into the star system, battling monsters and finding new enemies; while the women, children and elderly stayed at home and ran the Tadotian Empire. There were, however, a few exceptions to this rule and they were known collectively as the Nanjiros: a band of fighting ladies who could take on the most extreme of missions, that even the bravest Tadotian Prince would be too scared to even think about.
Lucian, the current incumbent of the throne of Tadot, Uber-Prince of Gregoria, had called Bitchbastard to visit him one day. When she arrived, he was quite taken with the attractive young warrior maiden, who appeared, at least on the surface, to be mutation-free.
‘Tell me, young warrior maiden, are you ready to face the ultimate challenge? Are you capable of taking on the Dark One and ridding the star system of its primary force of evil?’
‘Yes, my liege,’ responded Bitchbastard in her dulcet tones. ‘I shall do everything I can for the planet of Tadot and the Princes of Gregoria!’
‘Excellent! Then go to the Royal Armoury to be tooled up. The professors will then inform you of the latest theories on the Dark One’s whereabouts. Then it’s up to you. Good luck, faithful Nanjiro.’
And with that, she had set off on her quest, ending up in this bar in Illium, talking to strangers.
‘Have any others gone before you, as they have me?’ asked Dhorasoo.
‘Why yes, of course. Many have searched for the Dark One. All are now dead, or worse. I am the only person to have located his presence on this planet though!’
‘What methodology did you use to locate him? I acted on the tip off from a snout.’
‘I have this evildar crystal, a kind of radar for evilness. I bought it from a mage on the snow planet JUkl. Such is the awesome energy contained within the Dark One’s presence, I was able to locate his whereabouts within Blaart. Only, the crystal has packed up now I am on this planet. Maybe the evil is so close it has overloaded it.’
‘Could be, yeah,’ responded Dhorasoo, indolently. He couldn’t believe that this Tadotian was making as good progress as he was. It was well unfair! And a woman! Still, she was quite fit and, on the surface at least, mutation free. ‘So, what are your plans, Tadotian? And could you please tell me your name? I’m Dhorasoo.’
‘OK then Dhorasoo, I will. It’s Bitchbastard. Yep, I hate my name, and there’s really no need to look like that. So, are you one of those bionical mechwarriors? Looks like you got some pretty rad kit sewed into your skin there, Dhorasoo!’
Dhorasoo brightened up at this interest in his gear, and went through it all at length. Then they talked about other things: the planets they had visited, the monsters and freaky aliens they had encountered and defeated, the latest deltacruisers and meta-weapons. After a while, their talk lulled into a silence, which Bitchbastard broke:
‘Anyway, I reckon I’m going to get loaded in this bar and then pass out in the street, before continuing with my quest in the morrow. Wanna join me?’
Despite the utter ludiocrity of her moniker, Dhorasoo felt an irresistible urge to hang out some more with this saucy minx. ‘Yeah, why not? Let’s get para!’ he replied, confidently.
And so, they set out through the bars of Illium, getting more and more soused, until they finally came to prop up the bar in one of the seedier areas of the town.
‘Don’t worry, I’ll get ‘em in,’ said Dhorasoo to Bitchbastard, waving his creditdebit card around. When he turned back to her, with their drinks, he found her deep in conversation with another man. I’m not having this! he thought, and steeled himself for a brawl. But before he could land the first blow, she spoke to him.
‘Dhorasoo! This man can help us in our search! He knows about the Dark One!’
‘Really? Oh, that’s ok, then. What’s his name?’
‘My name,’ intoned the man, ‘is Malachinod! I am a sage priest, one of the few true ones left surviving the all-powerful malice of the Dark One! I have been chronicling the actions of that monster for the last eighty-two years.’
‘Well, I am pleased to make your acquaintance, Malachinod,’ responded Dhorasoo, politely. ‘We both seek to destroy the Dark One, so that the evil pervading the star system can be obliterated once and for all!’
‘Come hither, come hither. I will tell you all I know…’ was the response of the sage priest. And so they huddled together as the old man talked of what had been, what might have been, and what will be, possibly. He spoke of a man named Turbo Gerald.
* * *
Turbo Gerald was a sick fuck, and no mistake. A giant fat fucker with a face to boot, he was a vile specimen, it was true. He spent all his days sat in his enormous chair, positioned in the middle of his shop, which sold knives, guns and trinkets, with his creditdebit machine cradled in his lap so that he could receive payment for his wares. As he didn’t have all that many customers these days, he would often spend his time wistfully daydreaming about events past, both good and bad, his fingers flickering around under the creditdebit machine, scrabbling about his groin. As we join him in his reminiscing, he had mentally travelled back in time, to the one event that has dominated his life. It isn’t a pleasant one, dear reader.
<flashback>
Young Turbo Gerald ran into the front room. ‘Mother! Mother!’ He had hurt himself, his finger was bleeding.
There was no response from Mother. Perhaps she was in another room. Up the stairs he ran, finger still weeping blood like the tears that fall from the eye of a sad, lonely old man. He could hear noises coming from her bedroom, grunting and sighing. That must be where she is! he thought, the poor sap. He burst through the door, into the room. And then he saw it.
Gods, it was foul. His mother lying back with a sick smile on her face as an man with an octocock mutation plugged her every orifice with one of his 8 love-lengths. As his mother screeched out her latest climax, she opened her eyes and saw Turbo Gerald staring in open-eyed horror at the perversion before his eyes. She screamed a different scream this time, a scream that said My son has seen me being rogered mercilessly. He knows I am a slut! Hearing the scream, the man withdrew all of his cocks, angry that his moment of ecstasy had been denied him. He turned, his knobs flailing about, to attack Turbo Gerald.
‘Run Turbo Gerald! Run!’ called his mother, secretly pleased at the coitus interruptus. Being shagged eight times at once was fun, but being pumped full of eight pork swords’ worth of population paste was more than a little icky. But she was still scared for her son, and she knew just how angry the man was.
Turbo Gerald was stuck fast, made a statue of fear. The man approached, grabbed hold of him and with his mangaknife, cut through the boy’s trousers and severed his penis. Holding it aloft, the naked brute then ate the dismembered member, in front of Turbo Gerald and his mother, before making good his escape.
</flashback>
‘Hello? Hel-lo?’ yelled Dhorasoo, trying to get Turbo Gerald’s attention. His reverie broken, the fat slob stopped fingering the festering wound in his groin (which due to his constant fiddling had still not healed properly thirty years later, as it still provided him with some small crumbs of sexual comfort. It was his dream that one day he would find someone willing to debase themselves enough to actually lick it) and turned his attention to the visitor, no! the visitors to his establishment.
‘What can I do you for?’ he asked, with a slimy smile on his face, the sort of slimy smile that a slug or a snail might do after defecating into a love-rival’s porridge. He eyed up Bitchbastard, who was just his sort: an all-action girl-hero with lovely legs and a cracking pair, and looked, at least on the surface, to be mutation free. He could’ve sworn she winked at him. Or was she recoiling in horror? It was hard to tell.
‘We were told you might have some information that we seek,’ replied Dhorasoo, not liking the way Turbo Gerald was eying up Bitchbastard. She was his – or so he thought!
‘Who sent you?’
‘Malachinod, the seer priest of Duinpump. He said you knew of the Dark One’s whereabouts.’
‘I know nothing. Malachinod lies.’
Suddenly up spoke Bitchbastard, her voice taking on a hardened tone that aroused both men – Dhorasoo grew erect while Turbo Gerald’s wound opened another half-inch. ‘No he doesn’t, Turbo Gerald. We had him hooked up to a truthcrystal. He couldn’t have lied even if he wanted to. Now tell us your truth, before we seal up that sex wound of yours forever!’ She brandished a laser woundhealer with gay abandon.
‘No, no, please don’t do that! I’m begging you!’ whined Turbo Gerald, desperate to retain his only source of sexual delight. ‘I’ll tell you all I know. First, though, I must look up the details in the Ledger of Light. It must be around here somewhere.’
‘You have a Ledger of Light?’ asked Dhorasoo, struggling to hide the awe in his voice. The Ledgers of Light were ancient, semi-mythical tomes penned by the Elves of Elviron, containing many of the known knowns in the current collective psyche. Their contents updated dynamically as unknown knowns became known ones, all in the same beautiful elvish script.
‘Yes, an ancient cloaked being once wandered in here to purchase a hybrid delta weapongrid. Just a small one, but with the facility to grow to one much, much bigger. He had no money, so swapped me the Ledger of Light for it. I think he had photocopied most of it anyway.’
‘Get on and find it then, fatso. We haven’t much time.’
Turbo Gerald pressed a couple of buttons on his control panel, embedded in the arm of his chair, and a robo-goat came springing from the darkness. Issued with instructions, spoken in pure machine-code, it rushed about the place searching for the book. As the hunt went on, Turbo Gerald eyed the two travellers afore him, with a lizardly look.
‘You pair are yet to make the beast with two backs, eh?’ he pointed out with customary accuracy.
‘Of course we haven’t!’ yelled Bitchbastard.
‘Hmmm… he doesn’t look the sort who could satisfy a woman of your calibre, I must say.’
Dhorasoo felt he had to speak up. ‘Don’t besmirch my sexual reputation, you lardbucket! Like you could ever bring a lady to conclusion!’
‘Oh, you’d be surprised, young warrior. I have a range of telescopic prostheses which could reach even the most hard to please wench’s pleasure zones,’ oozed the vile fat man. He was a rotund spider in the middle of a sweaty web, ensnaring one of these bastards into licking his kinky gash. He could sense that now was his time! He’d give them what they wanted, of course, in return – but they had to come licky-licky before any of his treats came their way! Turbo Gerald was sickness and evil rolled into one – a result of that one perverse incident in his childhood. Could he really be blamed for his actions? Was he any more in control of his desires and destiny as the rest of us? We are all pre-programmed by our genes and our upbringing – incidents that happen to us before we are mature might as well happen in the womb. And they knacker your life chances badly. Single or double predestination, it matters not to the likes of Turbo Gerald. He just does as his subconscious demands – it’s either that or go even more mad. That’s a not a choice, not a proper one.
‘Whatever – you certainly aren’t coming near me with one of those things,’ responded Bitchbastard.
‘Fine, fine… The offer is there if you change your mind,’ Turbo Gerald licked his foaming lips. ‘But you must admit it is only reasonable for me to request a little something in return for the knowledge contained within my ledger?’
‘That is a basic tenet of fair trade, yes,’ replied an increasingly uneasy Dhorasoo.
‘Well, well. What should I ask for? I have all the money I could ever need. I also have no need of any of your weaponry – for I am hardly in a fit physical shape to be able to use any of it. No, it is a service that you could perform that I desire.’
A tinny bleating from the robo-goat signalled that it had found the book. The tension increased exponentially.
‘What is this ‘service’ you crave?’ demanded Dhorasoo.
With a flourish, Turbo Gerald yanked aside the gusset of his underpants, revealing the glistening, congealed wound he had been harbouring for thirty years. A fly, which had been laying some eggs inside it, flew off. ‘I want one of you to lick this!’
‘I knew it was going to be that,’ said Dhorasoo, feeling nauseated.
‘There is no way I am sticking anything of mine in there,’ stated Bitchbastard. Dhorasoo looked at her balefully. He would have to protect her from this hell. But to do so… it wasn’t worth thinking about. But whether he thought about it or not, it was going to have to be done...
Hold onto your values - they're about to be taken up the shitter.
Chapter Three: Meat My Mother
‘Well, I guess it’s my job too!’ responded the Tadotian to Dhorasoo’s earlier exclamation (see end of chapter one). ‘I’ve been sent by the Gregorian Princes of Tadot to destroy the Dark One once and for all!’
The planet Tadot was positioned on the opposite side of the star system to Flarge, and the two planets really were polar opposites when it came to their visions of how the star system should be ordered. The Tadotians saw the Blaartian Council as a bunch of lily-livered pen pushers who wouldn’t know how to run Blaart if the manual on that very subject, written by God, smacked them in the face with the force of an eighty-gigatron blast of phenotic energy! Meanwhile, the Blaartian Council view of the Tadotians was that they were a gaggle of free-loading wastrels, mavericks without a hint of consideration for The Rules. The Tadotians were quite happy with this view.
Tadot was governed by the Princes of Gregoria, an ancient family of benevolent dictators and their hangers-on. It tended to be the case that the Gregorian males went out into the star system, battling monsters and finding new enemies; while the women, children and elderly stayed at home and ran the Tadotian Empire. There were, however, a few exceptions to this rule and they were known collectively as the Nanjiros: a band of fighting ladies who could take on the most extreme of missions, that even the bravest Tadotian Prince would be too scared to even think about.
Lucian, the current incumbent of the throne of Tadot, Uber-Prince of Gregoria, had called Bitchbastard to visit him one day. When she arrived, he was quite taken with the attractive young warrior maiden, who appeared, at least on the surface, to be mutation-free.
‘Tell me, young warrior maiden, are you ready to face the ultimate challenge? Are you capable of taking on the Dark One and ridding the star system of its primary force of evil?’
‘Yes, my liege,’ responded Bitchbastard in her dulcet tones. ‘I shall do everything I can for the planet of Tadot and the Princes of Gregoria!’
‘Excellent! Then go to the Royal Armoury to be tooled up. The professors will then inform you of the latest theories on the Dark One’s whereabouts. Then it’s up to you. Good luck, faithful Nanjiro.’
And with that, she had set off on her quest, ending up in this bar in Illium, talking to strangers.
‘Have any others gone before you, as they have me?’ asked Dhorasoo.
‘Why yes, of course. Many have searched for the Dark One. All are now dead, or worse. I am the only person to have located his presence on this planet though!’
‘What methodology did you use to locate him? I acted on the tip off from a snout.’
‘I have this evildar crystal, a kind of radar for evilness. I bought it from a mage on the snow planet JUkl. Such is the awesome energy contained within the Dark One’s presence, I was able to locate his whereabouts within Blaart. Only, the crystal has packed up now I am on this planet. Maybe the evil is so close it has overloaded it.’
‘Could be, yeah,’ responded Dhorasoo, indolently. He couldn’t believe that this Tadotian was making as good progress as he was. It was well unfair! And a woman! Still, she was quite fit and, on the surface at least, mutation free. ‘So, what are your plans, Tadotian? And could you please tell me your name? I’m Dhorasoo.’
‘OK then Dhorasoo, I will. It’s Bitchbastard. Yep, I hate my name, and there’s really no need to look like that. So, are you one of those bionical mechwarriors? Looks like you got some pretty rad kit sewed into your skin there, Dhorasoo!’
Dhorasoo brightened up at this interest in his gear, and went through it all at length. Then they talked about other things: the planets they had visited, the monsters and freaky aliens they had encountered and defeated, the latest deltacruisers and meta-weapons. After a while, their talk lulled into a silence, which Bitchbastard broke:
‘Anyway, I reckon I’m going to get loaded in this bar and then pass out in the street, before continuing with my quest in the morrow. Wanna join me?’
Despite the utter ludiocrity of her moniker, Dhorasoo felt an irresistible urge to hang out some more with this saucy minx. ‘Yeah, why not? Let’s get para!’ he replied, confidently.
And so, they set out through the bars of Illium, getting more and more soused, until they finally came to prop up the bar in one of the seedier areas of the town.
‘Don’t worry, I’ll get ‘em in,’ said Dhorasoo to Bitchbastard, waving his creditdebit card around. When he turned back to her, with their drinks, he found her deep in conversation with another man. I’m not having this! he thought, and steeled himself for a brawl. But before he could land the first blow, she spoke to him.
‘Dhorasoo! This man can help us in our search! He knows about the Dark One!’
‘Really? Oh, that’s ok, then. What’s his name?’
‘My name,’ intoned the man, ‘is Malachinod! I am a sage priest, one of the few true ones left surviving the all-powerful malice of the Dark One! I have been chronicling the actions of that monster for the last eighty-two years.’
‘Well, I am pleased to make your acquaintance, Malachinod,’ responded Dhorasoo, politely. ‘We both seek to destroy the Dark One, so that the evil pervading the star system can be obliterated once and for all!’
‘Come hither, come hither. I will tell you all I know…’ was the response of the sage priest. And so they huddled together as the old man talked of what had been, what might have been, and what will be, possibly. He spoke of a man named Turbo Gerald.
* * *
Turbo Gerald was a sick fuck, and no mistake. A giant fat fucker with a face to boot, he was a vile specimen, it was true. He spent all his days sat in his enormous chair, positioned in the middle of his shop, which sold knives, guns and trinkets, with his creditdebit machine cradled in his lap so that he could receive payment for his wares. As he didn’t have all that many customers these days, he would often spend his time wistfully daydreaming about events past, both good and bad, his fingers flickering around under the creditdebit machine, scrabbling about his groin. As we join him in his reminiscing, he had mentally travelled back in time, to the one event that has dominated his life. It isn’t a pleasant one, dear reader.
<flashback>
Young Turbo Gerald ran into the front room. ‘Mother! Mother!’ He had hurt himself, his finger was bleeding.
There was no response from Mother. Perhaps she was in another room. Up the stairs he ran, finger still weeping blood like the tears that fall from the eye of a sad, lonely old man. He could hear noises coming from her bedroom, grunting and sighing. That must be where she is! he thought, the poor sap. He burst through the door, into the room. And then he saw it.
Gods, it was foul. His mother lying back with a sick smile on her face as an man with an octocock mutation plugged her every orifice with one of his 8 love-lengths. As his mother screeched out her latest climax, she opened her eyes and saw Turbo Gerald staring in open-eyed horror at the perversion before his eyes. She screamed a different scream this time, a scream that said My son has seen me being rogered mercilessly. He knows I am a slut! Hearing the scream, the man withdrew all of his cocks, angry that his moment of ecstasy had been denied him. He turned, his knobs flailing about, to attack Turbo Gerald.
‘Run Turbo Gerald! Run!’ called his mother, secretly pleased at the coitus interruptus. Being shagged eight times at once was fun, but being pumped full of eight pork swords’ worth of population paste was more than a little icky. But she was still scared for her son, and she knew just how angry the man was.
Turbo Gerald was stuck fast, made a statue of fear. The man approached, grabbed hold of him and with his mangaknife, cut through the boy’s trousers and severed his penis. Holding it aloft, the naked brute then ate the dismembered member, in front of Turbo Gerald and his mother, before making good his escape.
</flashback>
‘Hello? Hel-lo?’ yelled Dhorasoo, trying to get Turbo Gerald’s attention. His reverie broken, the fat slob stopped fingering the festering wound in his groin (which due to his constant fiddling had still not healed properly thirty years later, as it still provided him with some small crumbs of sexual comfort. It was his dream that one day he would find someone willing to debase themselves enough to actually lick it) and turned his attention to the visitor, no! the visitors to his establishment.
‘What can I do you for?’ he asked, with a slimy smile on his face, the sort of slimy smile that a slug or a snail might do after defecating into a love-rival’s porridge. He eyed up Bitchbastard, who was just his sort: an all-action girl-hero with lovely legs and a cracking pair, and looked, at least on the surface, to be mutation free. He could’ve sworn she winked at him. Or was she recoiling in horror? It was hard to tell.
‘We were told you might have some information that we seek,’ replied Dhorasoo, not liking the way Turbo Gerald was eying up Bitchbastard. She was his – or so he thought!
‘Who sent you?’
‘Malachinod, the seer priest of Duinpump. He said you knew of the Dark One’s whereabouts.’
‘I know nothing. Malachinod lies.’
Suddenly up spoke Bitchbastard, her voice taking on a hardened tone that aroused both men – Dhorasoo grew erect while Turbo Gerald’s wound opened another half-inch. ‘No he doesn’t, Turbo Gerald. We had him hooked up to a truthcrystal. He couldn’t have lied even if he wanted to. Now tell us your truth, before we seal up that sex wound of yours forever!’ She brandished a laser woundhealer with gay abandon.
‘No, no, please don’t do that! I’m begging you!’ whined Turbo Gerald, desperate to retain his only source of sexual delight. ‘I’ll tell you all I know. First, though, I must look up the details in the Ledger of Light. It must be around here somewhere.’
‘You have a Ledger of Light?’ asked Dhorasoo, struggling to hide the awe in his voice. The Ledgers of Light were ancient, semi-mythical tomes penned by the Elves of Elviron, containing many of the known knowns in the current collective psyche. Their contents updated dynamically as unknown knowns became known ones, all in the same beautiful elvish script.
‘Yes, an ancient cloaked being once wandered in here to purchase a hybrid delta weapongrid. Just a small one, but with the facility to grow to one much, much bigger. He had no money, so swapped me the Ledger of Light for it. I think he had photocopied most of it anyway.’
‘Get on and find it then, fatso. We haven’t much time.’
Turbo Gerald pressed a couple of buttons on his control panel, embedded in the arm of his chair, and a robo-goat came springing from the darkness. Issued with instructions, spoken in pure machine-code, it rushed about the place searching for the book. As the hunt went on, Turbo Gerald eyed the two travellers afore him, with a lizardly look.
‘You pair are yet to make the beast with two backs, eh?’ he pointed out with customary accuracy.
‘Of course we haven’t!’ yelled Bitchbastard.
‘Hmmm… he doesn’t look the sort who could satisfy a woman of your calibre, I must say.’
Dhorasoo felt he had to speak up. ‘Don’t besmirch my sexual reputation, you lardbucket! Like you could ever bring a lady to conclusion!’
‘Oh, you’d be surprised, young warrior. I have a range of telescopic prostheses which could reach even the most hard to please wench’s pleasure zones,’ oozed the vile fat man. He was a rotund spider in the middle of a sweaty web, ensnaring one of these bastards into licking his kinky gash. He could sense that now was his time! He’d give them what they wanted, of course, in return – but they had to come licky-licky before any of his treats came their way! Turbo Gerald was sickness and evil rolled into one – a result of that one perverse incident in his childhood. Could he really be blamed for his actions? Was he any more in control of his desires and destiny as the rest of us? We are all pre-programmed by our genes and our upbringing – incidents that happen to us before we are mature might as well happen in the womb. And they knacker your life chances badly. Single or double predestination, it matters not to the likes of Turbo Gerald. He just does as his subconscious demands – it’s either that or go even more mad. That’s a not a choice, not a proper one.
‘Whatever – you certainly aren’t coming near me with one of those things,’ responded Bitchbastard.
‘Fine, fine… The offer is there if you change your mind,’ Turbo Gerald licked his foaming lips. ‘But you must admit it is only reasonable for me to request a little something in return for the knowledge contained within my ledger?’
‘That is a basic tenet of fair trade, yes,’ replied an increasingly uneasy Dhorasoo.
‘Well, well. What should I ask for? I have all the money I could ever need. I also have no need of any of your weaponry – for I am hardly in a fit physical shape to be able to use any of it. No, it is a service that you could perform that I desire.’
A tinny bleating from the robo-goat signalled that it had found the book. The tension increased exponentially.
‘What is this ‘service’ you crave?’ demanded Dhorasoo.
With a flourish, Turbo Gerald yanked aside the gusset of his underpants, revealing the glistening, congealed wound he had been harbouring for thirty years. A fly, which had been laying some eggs inside it, flew off. ‘I want one of you to lick this!’
‘I knew it was going to be that,’ said Dhorasoo, feeling nauseated.
‘There is no way I am sticking anything of mine in there,’ stated Bitchbastard. Dhorasoo looked at her balefully. He would have to protect her from this hell. But to do so… it wasn’t worth thinking about. But whether he thought about it or not, it was going to have to be done...