Poo Fight

In the days of high adventure, and a land long lost,
the peaceful people of pickle island were picking
their prickly fruit and drinking from their ponds.
That was before the dark times, before the poop
wars had sprung. No one knows who threw the first
poop, nor why, but it was said that once the first
poop had been thrown, poop throwing would not cease
for another thirteen years.
Our story begins in the darkness of the poop dungeon
where Pickle Homer and Bonky hang in chains for the
crime of throwing poop at an imperial magister.
>who, who's there? pickle homer asks
>me, bonky
>no, i mean who else?
>it is i, the imperial magister
>oh you scoundrel. you've put us away and now
you've come to gloat?
>no, his chains rattle, i too am imprisoned
 - for the crime of throwing poop!
>oh you dirty poop thrower, pickle homer spits at him
>bonky cautions his friend, lest a spit war commence
>the three prisoners hear an iron door swing open in the dungeon
>who was that? says the magister
>it's the gaolor, pickle homer says, forlorn
>what horrible mischief will he practice on us?
>the gaolor approaches, his belly round with unspent poop
>he slaps this great big belly and it quivers
>like a bowlful of jelly
>it's christmas time! he cackles
>and one of you shall have a present.
>who shall it be?
>should it be...
>...BONKY?
>no, no, no! cries bonky, i've been a bad boy this year!
>so you have. yes. indeed. well, then. shall it be...
>...PICKLE HOMER?
>no, no! the present is far too large! it is only befitting
it hits a greater target!
>hmmm. the gaolor approaches the magister.
>the men's eyes meet in the dim, flickering torchlight
>have you been a good boy this year? asks the gaolor
>i... the magister hangs his head.
>bonky whispers to pickle homer that the imperial magister
cannot bring himself to admit that he has been a bad boy
>i have not been a bad boy! the magister shrieks into
the echoing prison.
>the gaolor laughs
>a dismal, grainy, greasy laugh
>and with sudden and tremendous alacrity
>he spins around
>and whips off his leather gaolor pants
>and spabbles an unwholesome load of diarrhea across the
face of the magister like a tremendous slap of water whipped from a bucket
>the magister screams
>the gaolor is still sputtering and bubbling
>pickle homer and bonky's eyes widen in terror
>for they know the gaolor is only getting started
>suddenly a fierce tear is heard
>the magister flinches, certain it is another torrent
of rotted medieval diarrhea
>but the gaolor swings unsteady on his feet
>and finally
>plummets headlong into the fire
>oh thank goodness, weeps the magister
>but the gaolor begins to burn
>the prisoners cough and sputter in the smoke of manflesh
>this is an emergency! shouts bonky
>his intestines are going to catch!
>pickle homer violently shakes in his chains, calling
out to the guards
>they hear the sound of clanking mail and metal armor
rushing along the corridor to their cell
>the door swings open
>a young guard of twenty three years old with large,
thoughtful brown eyes looks in at them
>he turns to look in the fire
>just as the gaolor's fetid insides catch
>and the whole room detonates at once with an unholy
fart that cannons out and bathes the room in a mix
of liquid gore and shit
>i'm burning! yells pickle homer
>bonky reverts to his most primordial horse-self
>his neighs are catastrophic
>the magister, unfortunately, bore the brunt of the
explosion
>his body, limp
>it is unclear the extent of the damage to his person
>but searching in the gloom, pickle homer's eyes
>pick up on a wet pair of lips
>glistening on the stone flags of the floor
>more guards rush in to investigate the screaming
>and slip across the floor
>right into bonky
>who overcomes his animal terror
>and clips the keys from the guard's belt
>and flings them to pickle homer
>pickle homer unlocks his shackles and swoops
>down onto the guards, disarming them.
>he carefully unlocks bonky's shackles
>get into the shackles, pickle homer gestures to
>the guards with the saber
>the guards grudgingly shackle themselves
>pickle homer and bonky take flight from the
horrible room
>they run free down the halls,
>the wind fluttering in their ears
>cool against their poop lacquered skin
>we're free! bonky calls out
>not yet! pickle homer cautions him
>we must still escape the fortress of Gaskill the Gourmond.

-END OF PART ONE-