Much Like an upskirt being seen only by you, my broken hoof is almost at full health. I am too be bed-bound for an entire six weeks, and sadly, only three have gone by. Still, I don't worry about losing any sanity, for I'm already a blood crazed goat-god, so here's lookin' at all of ya that supported meh, I shall cherish everyone equally, and I won't forget.
Well, it was great posting with all of ya guys, even if it was for a short time. Selphie! Sorry I missed ya, just know I love you like hell, and thank you for helpin' me endure all the pain, I'm glad to say that I've endured the worst with as little hurt as possible thanks to you.
Take care everyone, so long.
Black buzzards fly overhead as a consistent banter of verbal feces continues to flow ever so gently from Scythe’s mouth. The scorching hot sun located within the deep holds of the blackened abyss envelope the happy newly weds as they ride toward Norway on a hearst pulled by several members of the participating wedding which was held at a Churches Chicken down in Lynwood located in some other thread or something. A quick stop at a stone blackened castle located on fourth street and 666 avenue led to the drop off of Reanna, Vinny, Lancewindu, his light saber and Naz. Waving goodbye to the others, a skeletal jerk who died at the hands of Scythe for calling one of his past goats fat, limped up to the hearst and grabbed the reigns of two hermaphrodite goat-steeds that have been plucked from the stables. Apparently in Scythe and Selphie’s newly redone characterization of hell, all the mammals happen to be goat-esque, or in some odd twisted goat shaped manner. The third tormenting sun rose up from the ashy horizon, and a gargoyle along with Vinny was heard defecating. A whip of the reigns and the two newlyweds were off to their honey moon.
“We have yet to reach the pinnacle of rapture.” Calmly assures Selphie.
“Well, why do we have to wait?” Asks Scythe in a retarded manner.
“Because we’re going there.” Answers Selphie.
“…….” Retorts Scythe.
“I’m ever so warm sitting up here on the roof of the car, is there anything you can do?” Asks Selphie.
“Well, Driver! Ride faster, that’ll cause more air to hit our sweating bodies, which will cause us to cool off.” Orders Scythe.
The calm skeletal chauffeur took the order by heart, and accelerated the hearst kicking up sand on the forsaken mass of land.
“Thirsty? I’m gonna et a soda from inside the car, they’re keeping cool next to the air conditioner vents at full blast inside.” Says Scythe.
“Wait, the car has AC? Then why are we sitting atop the car? Can we just get IN the car?” Asks Selphie.
“Umm… You know, it’s best to just pin this on me being an idiot.” Reports Scythe.
“That’s why I love ya.” Says Selphie with a smile.
Creeping in through the window of the hearst, the couple sits down on the driver and passenger seats of the comfy automobile.
“Hmm, we’re going quite slow, can you just drive us to the point of rapture?” Asks Selphie politely.
“I don’t have a license. I’m a goat.” Answers Scythe.
“Wait, yes you do!” Corrects Selphie. “I’m sure you had one.”
“I do, but I don’t have one in hell.” Explains Scythe shamelessly.
“Damn it Scythe, drive!” Yells Selphie.
“But I drive, I’ll surely run down the noble goat-steeds honorably pulling our rust-bucket.” Explains Scythe.
“Yeah, and you’ve never backed down from chaos.” Declares Selphie.
“Hmm, oh chauffeur, do you mind checking the grill of the automobile, there might be an insect plastered on it.” Hollers Scythe.
With gradual movement, the skeletal jerk brings the automobile to a stop, not realizing that the motor has started. Stepping down from the black shiny hood, he peers deep into the hearst’s grill. Without warning, his pale skull is smashed to pieces by incoming force brought up by the moving hearst being driven, poorly, by Scythe. The goat-steeds flail in the air as each shoots to the opposite direction both rolling over the projectile like hearst jetting straight by them.
“Hahaha, look Selphie, I’m driving just like Halle Berry!” Exclaims Scythe.
“Yes, I see you.” Says Selphie.
Upon driving several miles, the point of rapture was within sight. The point of rapture, it was the point, in which a rapture occurred letting Scythe descend into hell. For you see, the world everyone lives in, is even more hell then actual hell. Think of it as a woman with boiling hot steamy crabs nestled neatly within her wire-like pubic hair inside an all-you-can-eat crab shack. Some call it a “paradox“, others call it, “you think way too much Scythe”. However, to the happy couple, it was a descend, more then an ascend.
The portal rips open, and the vehicle becomes submerged in the ghey oxygen which inhabits this toilet earth. The entire time, the couple’s honeymoon is postponed due to a Bloigen crossing located in front of them.
“Bloigen, you missed the wedding, it was great, people died and there was fried chicken!” Yells Scythe.
“You hear that Bloigen, fried chicken!” Assured Selphie.
“Don’t you realize it’s out here? Shh, it’s near.” Informs Bloigen.
“What’s near?” Questioned Scythe.
“You know…” Said Bloigen.
From behind a bush, a racket of early 1987 GWAR music is heard as a distant fade. With eager eyes, the couple and the penguin spy a clever jedi smiley appeared to be dancing. With a swift move, Bloigen cuts down the smiley with a light saber fueled by ghey.
“Okay, this is getting weird.” Proclaims Scythe.
To the couple’s surprise, they have reached their destination. The marble and stone made hotel appropriately named, “Sex-Mongor”, stood within a few miles.
Soon enough, the couple entered their room and with a shrug, Selphie lets Scythe fall on the bed after carrying him through the reception desk clerk’s office, the salad-bar, ten flights of stairs, a quick movie that happen to be half-way over and a stop at the potty.
“You carry me divinely.” Said Scythe.
“Anything…for you…” Coughed and wheezed Selphie.
Night falls, and twin wolves howl, as the couple tears away their linings. Unrolled bandages fly everywhere as they both scream in sickened ecstasy. Raw nails tear the flesh on Scythe’s back as their moans turn the hallways into a scene of horror. From the distant, Capt. Rex is seen holding a sign reading “go scythe!!!”. Selphie smiles with eager ideas of planned madness as she unbuckles Scythe’s belt, and somewhere within the southern states, there’s someone’s grandma being thrown off a train. Such are the thoughts of the vastly confused purring goat demi-god. Such confusion brought by the fact that he has no idea what pleasures await him.
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Breasts fly toward every direction as Selphie’s dress is ripped open. Selphie counters with a tittie twister that leaves Scythe in tears. She finally pulls off his pants housing his grotesque goat-like hoofs, then decides to unbuckle his shackled Princess Daisy which gives Elton John nightmares.
“Whoa! That’s what it looks like? You have both??” Yells Selphie.
“Well, yeah, doesn’t everyone?” Questions Scythe.
“Umm, no, you’ll find out I guess.” Answers Selphie.
Moans turn to screams as heated semi censored sex occurs. From deep within Selphie’s insides, a lone egg is stolen by the slimy tendril that has emerged from the Princess who’s noisily exploring Selphie. The trip back from the fallopian tubes leaves Scythe with a snickers as the stolen egg is internally dropped inside Scythe’s womb.
“Where’d you get a candy bar from?” Asks Selphie.
“If I told you, you won’t want a bite anymore…” Answers Scythe, horribly watching Selphie take a bite of the Snickers bar.
“Oh yum, yum.” Protests Selphie.
“Remember where I found my long lost Optimus Prime action figure? Yeah, there you go.” Explains Scythe.
With widened eyes, Selphie’s expression turns to disgust as she shoots out the half chewed morsel of Snickers bar which is accompanied with a half a gallon of milk which erupts from Selphie’s mouth directly into Scythe’s mouth which happen to just be at the wrong position.
“Ghargh, yuck!” Yells Selphie.
“Where’d you get milk from?” Asks Scythe spitting out the half drunk milk from his mouth.
“Hey, things are already pretty damn confusing as they are, so buck me, and don’t look back.” Assured Selphie.
Wrapping her legs around Scythe’s waist, the two took turns in unexplainable thrusts of might and recoil.
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Morning comes, and Selphie lays in bed with a bride of Frankenstien-like hair-do.
“What the hell was that?” Asked Selphie. “It was great!”
“I don’t know, but whatever it was, there’s a bill here we owe to the Nazis, there’s Kristy Alley’s corpse over there, and I think the walls are bathed in Paris Hilton’s blood. Man, that’s crazy.” Explained Scythe.
“Cwazzy!” Responded Selphie.
To the happy couple’s dismay, what ticked inside both of them was about to emerge soon enough, and deliver endless hours of comedy, for children are quite funny when closely watched.