(When we last left our travellers, Mickey Mouse, the Abominable Charlie Brown, and their companion, Owen the Spermatazoan, they had just been robbed by Ms. Pacman and left to fend for themselves in the nomans land between Blakistan and Fudge Pakistan. How will they survive? Find out now.)
"What in the name of the ever-present and uncaring God are we going to do?" asked Mickey. "That bitch stole my bling."
"Graggh," commented the Abominable Charlie Brown.
Owen hunched in the corner and simply wept. "She stole my spleen."
"Ah, fuck it," said Mickey. "If we could run that shit in Brooklyn and excape the FBI, what's a wartorn, warlord-controlled borderland gonna stop us? Hell, maybe we can take over the Poopie racket like we did with the Tuss back in Bed-Stuy. But one step at a time, and the first thing I say we do is ditch Owen. He's friggin annoying."
"No, no, please," begged the talking sperm. "You can't leave me here to die."
"I don't see what's stopping us," said Mickey. "Besides, you were the one who got us into this mess."
"But I'm important," whined Owen. "I was on Oprah."
"Hey," said Mickey. "I love Oprah, too. I'd suck that woman's coochie all day long, believe me. But you know what? I don't even think you're who you say you are. In fact, I bet you're nothing more than some Republican hack trying to sneak into Fudge Pakistan for a discrete homosexual encounter."
The Abominable Charlie Brown pulled the mask off Owen, revealing the ghastly countenance of none other than Karl Rove.
"Just as I suspected," said Mickey. "Let's get out of here."
The sun beat down on the unforgiving landscape like the LAPD on a "nigga." Shadows moved behind every boulder. In the distance howled the ass-mastiffs - the vile feral dogs with tails at both ends that had turned many an unsuspecting traveller into a doggy suppository.
Blackened rubble and often bones dotted the terrain where unfortunate travellers had stepped on land mines - relics of a long-standing religious war pitting tribal Christians against those who (due to a long-forgotten case of bad penmanship) followed Ghrist.
Mickey and his lover were street smart, but they were no match for the bandits that had been following them ever since Ms. Pacman had paid them her tribute. There was little the bandits had not seen, and while many a "G" back in Brooklyn rapped about "taking out a zombie with chainsaw to the head/ like that nigga Bruce Campbell in Dawn of the Dead," most of the inhabitants of this wasteland had smitten their first undead before they had hair on their balls.
It might have been a fair fight, had they not been dealing with the most ruthless of all bandits in the land: Burt Reynold's Moustache.
"Hahaha," said the handsome 'stache leaping out from behind a pile of rubble. "Thought you could pass this way without my escort, eh? Hahaha!"
Snipers appeared from all around with AK's and grenade launchers, as Burt Reynold's Moustasche put a cruelly curved knife to the mouse's throat. "I wouldn't move if I were you, Chuckie," warned the bandit. "I've dealt with abominations like you before. And besides, you wouldn't want anything to happen to your precious little mousey, would you?"
Three scarred brutes whose tongues had been cut out long ago approached the Abominable Charlie Brown with cold-forged iron shackles. "That oughta hold him," laughed the talking moustache. "Hahaha."
As the Abominable Charlie Brown was manacled, Burt Reynold's Moustache looked lustfully up and down Mickey Mouse's adorable figure. "I think my men could use a new concubine. Hahaha."
"Hahaha," mimicked Mickey, "kiss my ass." The mouse wriggled his distended rectum from his pants and gave the bandit king a smooch with his anus.
Burt Reynold's Moustache looked Mickey Mouse up and down. "I oughta kill you now." He laughed. "But you got balls. And not only that but you got a prehensile rectum that really turns me on. Men! Set up camp. We're gonna have fun tonight."
Chained to a boulder and guarded by men with heavy artillery, the Abominable Charlie Brown could only watch as the tent shook with laughter, knowing that his lover was going through the same nightmare he had experienced when Screwtoons McFoolery had imprisioned him in the Dimension of All Anal Action. But what was there to do but wait, and hope for an opportunity to escape and wreak vengeance on their captors?
Days became weeks and weeks became months. The Abominable Charlie Brown was forced to pull caravans like a beast of burden when they travelled, and when they stopped, he pushed a water-wheel round and round, propelling some sort of Rube-Goldberg device that made pancakes for Burt Reynold's Moustache out of his heavy labor. Mickey Mouse's ears were cut off and sold as souveniers. He was fucked up the ass with a cactus while the Abominable Charlie Brown was made to watch. There was no end to the cruelty of Burt Reynold's Moustache; but the two lovers, unable to communicate more than the occasional wistful glance, knew their time would come. They had a card up their sleeve and it was this: the bandits had dealt with zombies before, sure; but what they did not know was that the Abominable Charlie Brown was a zomborg - part zombie and part cyborg. If it were just him by himself, he would have long ago ripped the brigands limb from limb. But there was no way to wreak his vengeance without assuring the death of his lover.
So the Abominable Charlie Brown, who not so long ago would have scoffed at the notion of "love," endured the whips and waited.
"What in the name of the ever-present and uncaring God are we going to do?" asked Mickey. "That bitch stole my bling."
"Graggh," commented the Abominable Charlie Brown.
Owen hunched in the corner and simply wept. "She stole my spleen."
"Ah, fuck it," said Mickey. "If we could run that shit in Brooklyn and excape the FBI, what's a wartorn, warlord-controlled borderland gonna stop us? Hell, maybe we can take over the Poopie racket like we did with the Tuss back in Bed-Stuy. But one step at a time, and the first thing I say we do is ditch Owen. He's friggin annoying."
"No, no, please," begged the talking sperm. "You can't leave me here to die."
"I don't see what's stopping us," said Mickey. "Besides, you were the one who got us into this mess."
"But I'm important," whined Owen. "I was on Oprah."
"Hey," said Mickey. "I love Oprah, too. I'd suck that woman's coochie all day long, believe me. But you know what? I don't even think you're who you say you are. In fact, I bet you're nothing more than some Republican hack trying to sneak into Fudge Pakistan for a discrete homosexual encounter."
The Abominable Charlie Brown pulled the mask off Owen, revealing the ghastly countenance of none other than Karl Rove.
"Just as I suspected," said Mickey. "Let's get out of here."
The sun beat down on the unforgiving landscape like the LAPD on a "nigga." Shadows moved behind every boulder. In the distance howled the ass-mastiffs - the vile feral dogs with tails at both ends that had turned many an unsuspecting traveller into a doggy suppository.
Blackened rubble and often bones dotted the terrain where unfortunate travellers had stepped on land mines - relics of a long-standing religious war pitting tribal Christians against those who (due to a long-forgotten case of bad penmanship) followed Ghrist.
Mickey and his lover were street smart, but they were no match for the bandits that had been following them ever since Ms. Pacman had paid them her tribute. There was little the bandits had not seen, and while many a "G" back in Brooklyn rapped about "taking out a zombie with chainsaw to the head/ like that nigga Bruce Campbell in Dawn of the Dead," most of the inhabitants of this wasteland had smitten their first undead before they had hair on their balls.
It might have been a fair fight, had they not been dealing with the most ruthless of all bandits in the land: Burt Reynold's Moustache.
"Hahaha," said the handsome 'stache leaping out from behind a pile of rubble. "Thought you could pass this way without my escort, eh? Hahaha!"
Snipers appeared from all around with AK's and grenade launchers, as Burt Reynold's Moustasche put a cruelly curved knife to the mouse's throat. "I wouldn't move if I were you, Chuckie," warned the bandit. "I've dealt with abominations like you before. And besides, you wouldn't want anything to happen to your precious little mousey, would you?"
Three scarred brutes whose tongues had been cut out long ago approached the Abominable Charlie Brown with cold-forged iron shackles. "That oughta hold him," laughed the talking moustache. "Hahaha."
As the Abominable Charlie Brown was manacled, Burt Reynold's Moustache looked lustfully up and down Mickey Mouse's adorable figure. "I think my men could use a new concubine. Hahaha."
"Hahaha," mimicked Mickey, "kiss my ass." The mouse wriggled his distended rectum from his pants and gave the bandit king a smooch with his anus.
Burt Reynold's Moustache looked Mickey Mouse up and down. "I oughta kill you now." He laughed. "But you got balls. And not only that but you got a prehensile rectum that really turns me on. Men! Set up camp. We're gonna have fun tonight."
Chained to a boulder and guarded by men with heavy artillery, the Abominable Charlie Brown could only watch as the tent shook with laughter, knowing that his lover was going through the same nightmare he had experienced when Screwtoons McFoolery had imprisioned him in the Dimension of All Anal Action. But what was there to do but wait, and hope for an opportunity to escape and wreak vengeance on their captors?
Days became weeks and weeks became months. The Abominable Charlie Brown was forced to pull caravans like a beast of burden when they travelled, and when they stopped, he pushed a water-wheel round and round, propelling some sort of Rube-Goldberg device that made pancakes for Burt Reynold's Moustache out of his heavy labor. Mickey Mouse's ears were cut off and sold as souveniers. He was fucked up the ass with a cactus while the Abominable Charlie Brown was made to watch. There was no end to the cruelty of Burt Reynold's Moustache; but the two lovers, unable to communicate more than the occasional wistful glance, knew their time would come. They had a card up their sleeve and it was this: the bandits had dealt with zombies before, sure; but what they did not know was that the Abominable Charlie Brown was a zomborg - part zombie and part cyborg. If it were just him by himself, he would have long ago ripped the brigands limb from limb. But there was no way to wreak his vengeance without assuring the death of his lover.
So the Abominable Charlie Brown, who not so long ago would have scoffed at the notion of "love," endured the whips and waited.
(Will Mickey and Charlie escape and get their revenge, or will the story return to the doings of Barton Buttmarten? Find out next week - and by next week, I mean whenever I feel like it - when The Odd Odyssey of Barton Buttmarten continues.)
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