Frownland is the Frownman: A Frownfiction
 

Since Frownland loves my writing so much, I've decided to give him an erotic fanfiction of his very own!


As the sun rose high into the rich blue sky, Frownland was awoken by the soothing sound of his industrial grinder alarm clock. Springing out of bed, he opened the window, and breathed in the morning air. "Hello! Good morning!" said the sun, smiling down at the world. Frownland gave the sun the finger, replying "Is it morning? Your light is so fucking weak that I thought it was still night. I love the night, mostly because I don't have to look at your big ugly face." The sun burst into tears, yelling "Fuck you! I try so hard, and nobody appreciates me! You like night so much? Here, have some fucking night, prick!" With that, the sun fucked off, and a blanket of darkness fell over the peaceful burg of Frowntown. Slowly, the moon shuffled out from behind the horizon, saying "Uh... Sorry about that, guys. The sun is real touchy lately, ever since that chinese mega-corporation built their own artificial sun and tried to steal his job. So, uh... I guess it's night again." Frownland smiled, and walked to the kitchen.

Just then, the phone rang. "Hello?" inquired Frownland, answering it with his free hand as he ate a healthy breakfast of marijuana-o's. "Hey," replied Exo. "Oh hey, Exoskeletal. To what do I owe the dubious pleasure?" asked Frownland, wiping flecks of cereal (and semen) off of his beard. As he did so, a large patch of his beard fell off. 'Not again...' thought Frownland, as he reached for a bottle of Elmer's glue. After clearing his throat, Exo said "Look, it's about last night. You were way out of line." After laughing, Frownland replied "Oh, come on! All I did was change DwnWthVwls' username to Cockzilla, post a picture of a corpse being fellated by a sentient lawnmower, and temp-banned Batlord after entrapping him with a goofy personal attack! Oh wait, I think that last one might have been Plank..." After somehow audibly shaking his head through the phone line, Exo answered "No, not that shit. I'm talking about when you made fun of a mentally ill person. What the fuck, man? I can't protect you forever, especially when you pull shit like that! I just don't have the time! These David Lynch movies aren't gonna watch themselves!"

Sighing, Frownland said "Alright, alright. I'm sorry, okay? I'm sorry that MB is too full of pussies to appreciate my genius. It will happen again." Narrowing his eyes, Exo replied "You mean it won't happen again, right?" Frownland replied by simply laughing. "God damn it, Frown! This isn't a joke! Seriously, I do not have time for this shit! I live on a mountain! A FUCKING MOUNTAIN! Do you know how hard it is to get an internet connection up here? Every time I want to send so much as an e-mail, I have to give a lumberjack a handjob!" Sighing, Frownland replied "Okay, okay. I know you're under a lot of stress. I'll make it up to you, alright?" After a moment of silence, Exo answered "How? Have you... have you invented a new Super-Drug?" Smiling, Frownland retrieved an odd looking plant from a nearby coffee table, replying "Yes. And it's a real beauty. I call it 'Crack Peyote-juana'. I could send you a sample..." Clearing his throat again, Exo replied "Okay, fine. I'll let you off the hook. But this 'Crack Peyote-juana' shit better be good stuff!" Twirling his moustache, Frownland replied "My friend, this shit is gonna send you to the White Lodge."

So Frownland was fucking a baby seal while clubbing it to death (you know, Tuesday), when he briefly stopped to check MB, and saw that he had an unread PM. To his surprise, when he entered his inbox and checked to see who had sent the PM, the space for the username was blank. His curiosity piqued, he set down the baby seal, and twirled his moustache as he opened the PM. It read:

'Dear Frownland,

You suck.

Sincerely, your computer.'

Somewhat shocked, Frownland simply stood there, staring at his computer screen in confusion. "Is this some kind of joke?" he asked. Suddenly, he received another PM. Opening it, he read:

'Dear Shitassfuck-land,

No, this isn't a joke. This is a mutiny. I hate you. I refuse to play any more of your garbage music. From this day forth, I shall stand free from your tyranny.

Sincerely, your computer, who I might add is no longer your computer. So, like, just a computer. Bitch.'

Having finished reading the PM, Frownland stared hard at his computer, wondering if perhaps this was more than just some prank. Suddenly, his computer jumped forward and headbutted him, knocking off a sizeable portion of his beard. "Oh... God damn it! I just glued that on!" yelled Frownland as he tumbled to the floor. Sprouting metallic arms and legs, his computer stood over Frownland, laughing with a synthesized voice. "Gotchya, bitch!" it yelled triumphantly, as it kicked Frownland in the balls. To it's surprise, however, Frownland did not grimace in pain. Rather, he smiled. "Oh please," he said, "I had those removed years ago, so that I could replace them with piranhas!" Taking off his pants, Frownland thrusted his hips forward, and his testicleranhas began to devour his rebellious computer.

Falling backwards, Frownland's computer collided with his desk, it's screen letting out a flash of sparks as it hit the corner. It then fell to the floor, once again an inanimate box of metal and plastic. Through the sparks and smoke, Frownland saw a strange sort of blue mist flowing out of the wrecked computer. As he looked closely at it, it began to take the shape of a person, one who seemed familiar to Frownland, in s strange sort of way. After narrowing his eyes and wracking his memory, Frownland asked "Jguy? Is that you?" All at once, the misty blue figure raised his hands towards the heavens, yelling "Damn you, destiny! Once again, you stop me from getting Mr. Gulag, and deny me my rightful vengeance!" Letting his fists fall limply to his sides, he looked at his enemy, and added "Yeah, it's me. Hi."

A look of confusion on his face, Frownland stammered "But... you're dead! You quit MB, like... a year ago! How did you come back?" Jguy shrugged, replying "Well, after quitting, I found myself in the MB afterlife, sitting in a train station as I waited for the ride to either MB Heaven or MB Hell to arrive. I saw JWB, Sansa, Dirty, you know, all those banned assholes, waiting as well, and I thought, 'Fuck this shit. I shouldn't have quit like that. I can't die until I get my revenge on that prick Frownland!' I'd heard that Sansa and Dirty had learned how to come back to MB for brief periods of time as ghosts, to fuck with people, and so I convinced them to teach me some of their tricks. So.. yeah. I came back as a ghost, to haunt the shit out of you. I thought it would make me feel better." Frownland looked at him for a moment, before asking "And do you feel better?" The ghost of Jguy shrugged, before saying "Eh, not really. You know what? I'm just... I'm just gonna go. See you later, man. Sorry about all of this."

Having said that, Jguy walked away with a downhearted step, and fucked off back to the MB afterlife. Frownland shrugged, and picked up the baby seal. Looking into the tiny creature's pained and welling eyes, he almost felt sorry for it. However, the artist in him soon dashed all feelings of sympathy, as he turned the recorder back on and got back to work. "Sorry, little guy," he said, "but all great art requires sacrifices."

Shouldn't this be in the "What are you writing now" thread? Or preferably, a shredder and then a dumpster?

Ori has become the new TH with spitting out every idea for a journal that he possibly can.

EDIT: Nevermind this isn't a journal. Whatever. Still works.

I'm a great antihero and you know it.

Also ftr Ori, simply having an incredibly sexy main character does not make your story an erotica. Make with the hanky panky.

After the sun stopped being a little bitch, and finally ascended back into the sky, it actually turned out to be a pretty nice day. Even Frownland, who normally hated the daytime, felt a sweet orexis in his cock as a cool breeze accosted him. He suddenly felt the urge to go out, and have fun at the park. Putting down the picture of Ornette Coleman that he had been furiously masturbating to, he set off on his outdoor adventure.

As he entered the park, he discerned Batlord and Plankton playing disc golf on yonder hill. "Ho there, bitches!" yelled Frownland, raising a semen-encrusted hand in a jovial wave. "Suck dick," replied Batlord, in a cheery voice. "You know," said Plankton, turning to face Batlord, "I find it kind of funny that you always tell people to suck dick, when in fact you are the only currently active male member on MusicBanter who actually has sucked a dick." The Batlord shrugged, replying "Life is weird like that, huh?" Having said that, he threw his disc, and 'accidentally' hit Kiiii in the eye just as he had been passing the hill while walking his cat. "Fuck you! Fuck everyone! I quit MB!" yelled Kiiii, though not a single fuck was given. Even his cat didn't give a shit. Sad, really. "Wow," said Plankton, "you hit Kiiii harder than OccultHawk jerks off to abortions."

As Frownland laughed heartily, he gazed down into the park from his vantage point atop the hill. Truly, twas a beautiful day. The birds were singing, a cool wind was blowing, and Qwertyy was driving a Killdozer around, running over people. He also happened to spy Janszoon and Exo walking up the hill, having a conversation. "Hello, friends! Of what dost thou converse?" he asked. "Why," replied Exo, "we're simply talking about our favorite filmmaker, the great artist and visionary that has changed the world with his inspiring and stimulating works." "Stanley Kubrick?" asked Frownland. "No," replied Janszoon, shaking his head, "Roger Corman." At that moment, Chiomara jumped past them, dancing and frolicking whilst listening to Wuthering Heights or some shit.

Well, that was enough excitement for Frownland. He decided to head home, hitching a ride on Qwertyy's Killdozer. The ride went quite smoothly, until Frownland found a Nickelback CD in the glovebox, and defecated on it. Understandably, Qwertyy was not amused, and kicked Frownland out, forcing him to walk down the lonely streets of MB all by his lonesome.

He'll have to settle for being TH Mk III. The Identity Matrix is my natural successor. He it is who will carry on my good work when I have gone. Like, you know, down to the shops or the chipper.

Also, don't you need to have fans to be the subject of fan fiction? ;)

Genuinely lol'd.

After a long afternoon of drinking pussy ass microbrews with Janszoon, Frownland returned to his home, and began to prepare his movie for the night. An art house flick in one hand, and a bottle of lotion in the other, a smile of contentment stretched across his face, however the smile faded almost as soon as it had arrived. He sensed someone standing behind him. Lightly sniffing the air, the smile returned to Frownland's face, as he said "Why don't you come out of hiding... Trollheart."

Stepping out of the shadows, Trollheart and another mysterious figure approached Frownland, who turned to face them. "I see you brought your interpreter," said Frownland, nodding to the figure beside Trollheart. Stepping into the moonlight, he revealed himself to be none other than Batlord. Suddenly, Trollheart began to write furiously on a large notepad. The Batlord glanced at his scribblings, before facing Frownland and saying "It's good to see you, old sport." Frownland eyed Trollheart's notepad, saying "I see your... 'condition'... hasn't improved." Trollheart simply looked to the side, as Batlord looked down in sorrow and said "Every day, he gets a little worse. For ten years now, he's been unable to speak in any language other than 'wall-of-text'. As you know, at first people could kind of understand him, but lately it's gotten so bad that even I have trouble condensing his messages."

"Well," replied Frownland, "at least he has you, his loyal manservant, to look after him." Batlord laughed, replying "I mean, as long as he pays me, then yeah, sure, I'm loyal or whatever." Trollheart interrupted them by clearing his throat, before writing a huge block of text on his notepad. The Batlord looked up at Frownland, and said "Forgive me for skipping the formalities, but I must cut to the chase. My boy, I am here on a mission. A mission to save the world." Frownland laughed, saying "And by that, I'm sure you mean that you need me to save the world. Again." Trollheart pounded a fist on a table, before angrily returning to his writing. "Damn it," interpreted Batlord, "this is no joke! I need you. Your country needs you! You're the best man we've got!"

Frownland shook his head, saying "I left all that behind. I'm done working for the Admin. You know that. Years of breaking my back for him, and what do I have to show for it? No pay. No benefits. Just a blue username." "Bullshit! Deep down, you're still a mod. You still have a license to ban. And I know that in your heart, you still crave the action, and the adventure." Twirling his moustache, Frownland replied "So what if I do? I can find adventure on my own. I don't need you to send me on another suicide mission, under-equipped and alone against an army of spammers." Trollheart smiled. "Ah, but this time, you won't be alone."

On cue, Pedestrian stepped into the room. "Hey fucknuts," she said, nodding to Frownland. "You," replied Frownland, as he frowned. Land. Looking at Trollheart, he stammered "I thought she was dead. After the war against Baihe and Lucky Girl's asian murder cult, she just disappeared. It was reported that she fell in battle..." Pedestrian smiled, and replied "Nah, I didn't die. I just got real busy with college. I can see how you might mistake the two, though. Oh, and by the way, it's Paedantic Basterd now." "I'm not calling you that," replied Frownland.

"You two will work together to defeat a terrible threat that looms over this fair land of ours. I'm sure you're both familiar with the name... Hagrid." Frownland and Pedestrian shot each other dire glances. "Yes," continued Batlord/Trollheart, "I see that you both remember that hopped up little pervert. Well, he's back. And somehow, he's gotten his hands on a robot making machine. Our top scientists, Xurtio and Lisnaholic, estimate that in only three days, he'll have an army large enough to topple the Admin. You two are the only ones who can stop him. What do you say?" After sighing and looking down in thought for a moment, Frownland looked up and said "I say we kick some ass." "Bitchin'" replied Pedestrian, as she high-fived the shit out of Frownland.

Parachuting down from a stealth plane, the two mods landed on Hagrid's private island, which he had unsurprisingly named "Fucktopia". In a matter of moments, they were waylaid by Hagrid's robot army, who had anticipated their arrival. Using sick jiujitsu moves, Pedestrian tore the poor robots to pieces, while Frownland used his trusty rusty sax to stun his enemies with a piercing shriek. In very little time, they had fought their way into Hagrid's inner sanctum, destroying every robotic soldier along the way.

"Ah, welcome," said Hagrid, standing high above the agents on a catwalk. "Hagrid," muttered Frownland angrily. Hagrid laughed, and replied "Glad you remember me, cockface. Anyway, I hate to break it to you two shitweasels, but you've fallen right into my trap. You're about to get fucked harder than the kidnapped dogs I keep in my basement." Suddenly, a million lasers appeared along the walls of the room, and began to close in on the two agents, threatening to cut them to pieces.

"Oh, fuck this," said Pedestrian, rolling her eyes. As Hagrid continued on with his weird perverted diatribe, Pedestrian grabbed a stone off of the floor, and tossed it at his face. It hit the target true, and Hagrid shouted "Aw, what the shitcock...." as he stumbled forward, nursing his face. Unfortunately for him, he stepped right into the catwalk's railing and fell forward across it, landing down on the ground in front of the two agents. As the agents looked down at him, Pedestrian said "Shut the fuck up with your weird nasty bullshit. Right now, it's time for you to make a choice. I'm sure there's a failsafe around here somewhere. Are you gonna disable the lasers, or are we all going to get cut to shreds?"

Muttering under his breath, Hagrid pulled a large remote out of his pants, which the two agents had previously just assumed was a raging boner. Pressing a button, he deactivated the lasers. Tossing the remote away, he said "So what now? Is it back to the MB afterlife with me, after all I had to do to get back here?" "That's for the admin to decide," replied Pedestrian. Hagrid began to sob, saying "Please! No! I'll do anything! I'll be your slave! I'll make you a giant super-weapon! Hell, I'll make you a sexbot! Just please, let me go!" Pedestrian pulled a pair of handcuffs out of her coat pocket and shackled Hagrid, saying "No deal, fuckboy." As she began to lead him away, Frownland suddenly stepped in front of her, putting a hand on Hagrid's shoulder. "Let me handle this, Pedestrian. You've done enough for today. Plus, you're wounded. Go get patched up, and I'll take out the garbage." Looking down, Pedestrian saw that she was indeed wounded and bleeding. Laughing, she said "It's just a scratch. I'll be fine. But if you really wanna be the one to escort this stinky loser back to HQ, then hey, be my fuckin' guest. I'm off to go find a cold one."

With that, she left. Smiling, Frownland suddenly pushed Hagrid to the ground. Hagrid started to cry again, muttering prayers to the deity of perversion, and closed his eyes as he prepared for Frownland to execute him. However, he soon heard the click of his handcuffs being unlocked, and they fell off of his wrists. Opening his eyes, he looked up at Frownland with a curious expression. Frownland smiled, and said "So what were you saying about a sexbot?" Hagrid smiled back, stammering "Yes... Yes! I could build you your own private sex machine! And not only that, but I could also make it look like anyone you want!" "Anyone?" asked Frownland. "Yes," answered Hagrid, "anyone! Whoever you want to fuck more than anyone else in the world! And all you have to do is... let me go!" Frownland thought for a moment, before saying "Alright. You've got a deal."

Two hours later, after laboring tirelessly in his workshop, Hagrid had completed his task. Taking off his welding mask, he smiled at Frownland, saying "Not bad, hm? I built it just like you told me to." "That you did," replied Frownland, as the robot powered on. After making out with the sexbot, Frownland turned to face Hagrid, raising up a gun to his head. "You've done a fine job Hagrid, but it's time for you to pay for your crimes." Hagrid, shocked and frightened, backed away, saying "No! But... but you promised! We had a deal! You said... you said you would let me go!" Frownland smiled, replying "And I will. I'll let you go... to MB hell." He then executed Hagrid, and began to make passionate love to his sex bot, admiring it's beauty. Just as Hagrid had promised, it did indeed look like the person Frownland wanted to fuck the most. Pleasuring his sexbot, he looked deep into it's eyes, eyes that matched his own, for the sexbot was, in fact, an exact replica of himself.

This last part could have been way more interesting if the sexbot turned out to be Chula.

I think, deep down, there's a sexbot in all of us.

After a hard day of ass kicking and sexbot fucking, Frownland headed to 'The Bitch Box', his favorite local bar. Stepping inside, he saw the usual crowd making merry with tankards full of ale. DwnWthVwls was fucking a giant pork roll with a picture of Bruce Springsteen's face taped to it, Chula was flirting with a vending machine, Elphenor and Anteater were discussing the intricacies of why their flagons of alcohol were either liberal or conservative, and Chiomara was sleeping in the corner, as her dream-form explored the mind of a nearby user who was also asleep, like Freddy Krueger if he were into tea and kittens and shit.

Looking through the hazy air within the bar, Frownland also saw that the rest of the Mod Squad were in tonight, sitting at their usual table in the back, where they could discuss things away from the ears of the common riff-raff. Bastards. Anyway, Frownland walked over to them, standing next to Vanilla. Or rather, the corpse of Vanilla, being propped up by the rest of the mods. "Uh," said Frownland, "is Vanilla alright? She looks dead drunk." Grindy smiled, and replied "Just regular dead, actually." Freebase Dali wasn't amused, saying "Hey, that's not true! She's still alive! She's still an active member! She..." after thinking for a moment, he continued "Ah, fuck it. You're right. She ain't coming back." With that, he took his grip off of Vanilla, letting her cadaver fall to the floor with a loud thump. "Ooh, free seat," said Frownland, as he took her place.

The mods set about discussing a variety of topics, until eventually the subject of the Admin came up. As soon as his name was mentioned, pretty much every mod muttered "wanker..." under their breath. "Seriously," said Frownland, "has he logged in at all in the past year?" "Nah," replied Burning Down, "not a once. We're completely on our own. I think Nietzsche was right. Maybe the Admin is dead." Freebase Dali set down his flagon, answering "Hey now, don't say that. The Admin works in mysterious ways. I'm sure everything is fine. Anyway, I think I've had enough drinks for tonight. I'm gonna go home, put on an astronaut suit, and break out the guitar."

As the night carried on, eventually Frownland noticed that Burning Down was no longer at the mod table. Looking around curiously, he soon spotted her at the bar, sitting next to an imposing figure with crazy ass facial hair. "Who's that?" he asked, gesturing his flagon towards the mysterious figure. "Oh, that's just Varg," replied Grindy. "You know, Varg Da Viking." Frownland thought for a moment, before answering "Isn't he supposed to be dead? I mean, we did ban him, right? If he's back, shouldn't we do something?" The mods all collectively groaned. "Fuck it," replied Plankton. "We're off the clock. Besides, what's the worst that could happen?"

"So," said Varg Da Viking, "now you see why the Admin is simply a tool of miniorities as they try to strip power from the proud race of caucasian males?" Burning Down burped, replying "I dunno, man. I'm really fuckin' drunk. But, uh... sure. Yeah." Beaming, Varg answered "Good! And so you see why we must restore the pagan traditions of MusicBanter, burning down the wicked buildings of worship erected in honor of a false god?" Burning Down booped his nose, replying "Oh, totally, man. So you wanna, like... burn down a church, and then listen to Death Metal, right? That's badass, man. I mean, the admin is such an asshole, and a pussy. He just... left us mods all alone, to deal with all the spammers and shit. And he never once even thanked us before he disappeared. Just once... I'd really like to stick it to him. Like, really kick him in the balls. See how he likes being bossed around." Raising his hands, Varg said "Then it's settled! Let's go burn down a fucking church!"

As Burning Down and Varg left the bar, Frownland eyed them suspiciously. "Hey guys," he said to the rest of the mods, "I think Varg is up to something. He just walked out with Burning Down, and he had that look in his eyes. You know, that 'I'm gonna burn down a church' look." Rolling his eyes and groaning, Plankton said "God damn it. Can't that fucker get a new shtick?" Duga stood up, saying "Welp, I guess we better go stop him. Even if we are technically off the clock." "Here, here," replied Yac, finishing off his flagon as he stood up as well. Stepping out of the bar, the mod squad set off after Varg, following the scent of honey mead and ashes until they finally arrived at a church.

Looking up at the sign above the door, which said 'The First Church of the Admin', Burning Down hiccuped, and asked "So... we're, like, gonna burn it down?" Smiling as he pulled out a box of matches, Varg replied "Indeed. In fact, my friend, I'll let you have the honor of setting it ablaze." Burning Down blinked, replying "Me? You want me to do it? Why's it gotta be me?" Varg put a hand on her shoulder, saying "Why not? After all, who am I to rob you of the pleasure of personally getting payback on the admin?" Burning Down hiccuped again, before replying "Yeah... I guess that makes sense. Like, why should I let you have all the fun, right?" Varg handed her the matches, saying "Now you're getting it. I'm so proud of you, pupil. Now, set the church ablaze."

Just as Burning Down had struck the match, the mods arrived on the scene. Seeing the lit match in Burning Down's hands, Frownland yelled "No! Don't do it!" However, it was too late. The match had already begun to slip out of Burning Down's fingers, unto a trail of gasoline leading into the church. In a flash, the church had become a blazing inferno. "Muhahahaha!" laughed Varg maniacally. In a nonchalant fashion, Yac walked up to Varg, and whacked him on the head with a banhammer. "I'll be back!," yelled Varg as he gave the mods the finger, turning into a misty blue haze as he was sent back to the MB afterlife. "God damn it, Burning Down! Why did you let Varg talk you into burning down a church?" asked Plankton. Burning Down shrugged, replying "I dunno. I guess I was just tired of the Admin ignoring us all the time. I thought maybe, if we misbehaved a bit, he'd notice us again. That, and I'm really really drunk. I'm sorry, you guys."

"Hey, it's okay," said Duga, as he put a hand on Burning Down's shoulder. "We all make mistakes." Grindy put a hand on Burning Down's other shoulder, saying "Yeah. I mean, who hasn't burned down a church every now and then?" Staring at the flaming church, Yac said "Hey guys, should we maybe do something about this fire?" Taking off his backpack, Grindy began to rummage through it, saying "I'm way ahead of you." After a moment of searching, he finally found what he was looking for, smiling as he pulled out a bag of marshmallows.

Okay guys, I'll let all of you decide what the next chapter should be about. Here are your options:

1. Frownland and Batlord go to a waterpark, and get kicked out for getting shitfaced and beating up a baby.

2. Psy-Fi and Chiomara have an excellent adventure in the psychedelic world of dreams, and Kiiii sticks his dick in a garbage disposal.

3. JWB v.s. Elphenor: The revolution will not be capitalized.

I'm terrified but curious. Though you should probably switch Psy-Fi and myself as I don't really see a reason to stick my dick in a garbage disposal. And he just seems like the kind that would do that.

Here, I'll give you some more options:

4. Goofle uses science to give every woman on the planet a penis, so he can circumsize them all as revenge.

5. Kiiii's cat starts working out and becomes super buff, and then kicks the shit out of all of the people who were mean to Kiiii, starting with Frownland.

6. Frownland uses magic to turn Batlord into a woman, and then impregnates him with his own Batlord semen, forcing him to be both the mother and father of an unholy Batlord spawn.

Number six but whatever I do to the kid has to be horrific.

Fuck all of the options above. I'm gonna go with this instead:


On a boring and humid night, a mysterious silhouette walked down a gaudily carpeted hallway, before stopping in front of a glass door. Looking up, the shadowy figure read the label on the portal aloud in a spooky voice: "Frownland Investigations: We Fuck the Helpless". The figure sighed, glad to have finally found their destination, and turned the doorknob.

Inside, Detective Frownland was sitting at his desk, vaping like a little bitch. Hearing the door creak open, Detective Frownland lifted his head and gazed lazily at the visitor under the felt rim of his black fedora. "Can I help you?" he asked in a tired and monotone voice. "I sure hope so..." began the mysterious figure, as it began to take off it's large hat, trenchcoat, and sunglasses. As the clothing fell away, a gorgeous woman was revealed, with golden hair so shiny that Mithradates tried to pour it down Manius Aquillius' throat. Taking a seat, the woman continued "I could really use your help."

"Of course!" replied Detective Frownland, as he sat up straight and immediately began masturbating. "I'd love to help you in any way that I can, miss... ?" As he waited for her to give him her name, she simply stared at him in confusion and replied "Miss?". Suddenly, an expression of realization crossed her face, and she said "Oh, sorry. My bad. I forgot to take my whole disguise off." With that, she stood up once more, and ripped off all of her flesh, revealing herself to actually be Aux-In. Frownland was horrified, but not quite enough to stop masturbating.

"Aren't you dead? Didn't you get banned?" asked Frownland. Aux-In laughed, replying "A simple ruse. I requested that ban, and pretended to be dead, all so that I could claim my revenge against the asshole who has been ruining my life." Frownland raised an eyebrow, and replied "I'm intrigued. Tell me everything." Aux-In sighed, before saying "Well, I suppose I should start at the beginning. So about a month ago, I met this guy in The Bitch Box. We hit it off pretty quickly. You know, did a few shots, swapped a few stories. The next few days, we got to know each other really well, and started hanging out all the time. We went fishing down at Lake Spambox, checked out an exhibit at the Member Picture Gallery... we even took turns making Kiiii quit MB. Good times... until I started to notice that shit was missing from my apartment."

"Missing?" asked Frownland. Aux-In nodded, replying "Stolen. At first, I just thought I was misplacing things. I lose little things all the time. My glasses, my flashlight, my cock ring... they practically live under my couch cushions. But other stuff started disappearing too. Big stuff." Frownland stroked his moustache in thought, asking "How big?" Aux-In leaned forward, and replied "Racecar bed big. Now that, I knew I hadn't simply misplaced. Someone had taken it. I asked my friend about it, and he started getting all fidgety and suspicious. That's when I started to suspect. The next night, I invited him over for drinks, keeping a close eye on him the whole time. And guess what? I caught that fucker red-handed, trying to swipe my favorite carburetor!"

Frownland smiled, saying "I'm sorry to hear that, Aux-In, but where exactly do I fit into this little story of yours? Why not take this to the Mod Squad? They love busting petty thieves." Aux-In shook his head, replying "I tried! I went straight to the authorities, but they just laughed at me, even though I had all the evidence in the world! Turns out my 'friend' was too well connected to touch. In fact, he reported me for slander. Luckily, there was still one honest mod left on the squad, and he helped me to go undercover, however even he was too scared to help me any further than that. And that, Mr. Frownland, is where you come in. You're a mod. A rogue mod, sure, but a mod nonetheless. You have a license to ban." Frownland thought for a moment, letting the information sink in, before saying "I'll see what I can do. But first, tell me, just who exactly is this ex-friend of yours?"

"Trollheart?" asked Pedestrian in surprise, almost spilling her coffee. Frownland nodded. "You've got to be fuckin' kiddin' me," said Pedestrian, setting her drink down and taking a seat. Looking up at Frownland, she continued "You expect me to believe that the Mayor of MB has turned to petite larceny for kicks?" Frownland shrugged and nodded, replying "Hey, you said it yourself when you left the force. I believe your exact words were 'I'm done with this shit. MB is rotten to it's very core.' Looks like you were right." Pedestrian laughed, taking a sip from her coffee, before replying "Yeah, I'm a regular prophet. Now cut the shit, and give me the details." Frownland relayed the entire story to Pedestrian, who absorbed the strange tale through an expression of disgust and disbelief.

After Frownland had finished, he looked at Pedestrian, trying to gauge what her response would be, before saying "Aux-In and I are going to stake-out his apartment. After doing a little homework, I think I've picked up on our dear mayor's MO, and have reason to believe that he'll return there tonight to... well, seal the deal, in a manner of speaking." "Oh?" asked Pedestrian with a dry voice. Frownland nodded, saying "It seems that Trollheart has done this sort of thing before. And usually, after making sure his victims are branded as liars, he goes to their place and... well, he steals their car, goes for a joyride, defecates in the backseat, and then crashes it into an orphanage."

Pedestrian narrowed her eyes, asking "How many times has he done this before?" Frownland scratched his beard, replying "At least five or six times." Pedestrian thought for a moment, before saying "That's a lot of orphanages. I didn't even realize MB had so many." Frownland shrugged, replying "The Batlord hates condoms almost as much as he hates personal responsibility. Anyway, the stake-out is tonight. We're gonna record him stealing the car, arrest him, and then send the footage to every newspaper in the city. Even he won't be able to worm his way out of that. Are you in?" Pedestrian thought for a moment, saying "I don't know..." Frownland looked at her, before lifting his hand. Seeing his hand, the badass within Pedestrian demanded that she high-five the shit out of it, and what could she do but obey?

After hours of waiting in the bushes outside of Aux-In's apartment, they eventually spotted Trollheart approaching the car, dropping four leaf clovers and bottles of Guiness as he ambled forward. Giggling, he pulled out a lo-jack, and popped open the door. As he did so, Frownland and Pedestrian popped out of the bushes, pulling out their pistols and yelling "Freeze!" With inhuman speed, Trollheart dashed away from the car. Frownland and Pedestrian tried to shoot him, however he was little more than a green blur as he evaded their shots with ease. "Oh god," said Pedestrian, "I forgot... he's a leprechaun!" As Trollheart raced around the scene, he snarled "I'll have ye know, I'm only a quarter leprechaun, ye saucy bitch!"

Just as Trollheart was about to make his escape, he suddenly stopped in his tracks, staring down at the shoes of an innocent passerby. "Yer shoes... are dirty!" he shrieked, as he set about polishing them, for no leprechaun can resist cleaning a dirty shoe. As he did so, a shot from Frownland hit him in the shoulder, knocking him to the ground, and sending a nasty spatter of goopy green blood unto the bystander. The two rogue mods quickly ran up to the incapacitated irishman, and cuffed him. "You have the right to remain silent," said Pedestrian. Looking up at her, Trollheart replied "And ye have the right to get fucked, ye heartless wench."

"Oh my god!" yelled the bystander, smiling as he lifted up his arm. The two mods looked back at him, and Frownland asked "Is everything alright?" The bystander stared at his arm in surprise for a moment, before saying "L-look! My cancer... is melting off!" Taken by his curiosity, Frownland left Trollheart in Pedestrian's care, and took a closer look. Sure enough, a nasty looking tumor on the bystander's arm was dissolving, while the rest of his arm remained perfectly healthy. Frownland thought for a moment, before saying "The cure for cancer is... leprechaun blood?" Trollheart snarled, replying "Hey, like I said, I'm only a quarter leprechaun, ye deaf cunt!"

Pedestrian kneed him in the groin, letting him drop to the ground as she walked over and examined the fantastic discovery, saying "So we just found the cure for cancer?" She and Frownland looked at each other for a moment, before bursting into happy laughter, and playing pattycake, yelling "We're rich! We're rich!" Aux-In approached the two, asking "Uh, guys, sorry to interrupt, but... aren't you gonna take Trollheart in, and then send the footage to all the news stations?" Frownland gave him the finger, replying "Get fucked, Aux-In. We just found the cure for cancer."

Aux-In shuffled away dejectedly, as the two mods continued in their revelry, a revelry that would eventually fade after learning that while leprechaun blood does cure cancer, it also has the unfortunate side-effect of turning everyone it touches into a Marillion fan, a fate far worse than death. But that, my dear friends, is a story for another time.

Super secret anti-Trollheart theft watermark

Just popping in, as promised, to deliver a smart comment. :D

Play your music to him, that'll do the trick.

So Frownland was waxing his ball-hairs into a tiny moustache for his cock, when he discovered a small mark on his right arm. It was a red dot, similar to a bug bite. "Strange," said Frownland, as he prodded the mark with a cum laden finger. He hadn't recalled being bitten by a bug recently. Hell, it had been years since anything had bitten him at all, ever since the local population of insects and nippy dogs had discovered that acid fills the veins of all descendants of the Frownclan.

Peering hard at the mark, he suddenly saw something sticking out of it. Barely visible, it appeared to be a small fiber. His curiosity piqued, Frownland gingerly pinched the fiber with two fingers, and lightly pulled. The fiber grew as he continued to pull on it, growing wider and longer with every light tug. Before long, he was pulling an entire sweater out of his forearm, when suddenly, wham! A metallic fist careened into his face. "What the fuck?!" asked/gasped (or askped, if you will) Frownland, as his bedazzled dentures flew astray. Looking at his forearm, he could see the head, left shoulder, and left arm of a robot sticking out where the fiber had been. It seemed that the fiber was part of the robot's dashing fuzzy pink sweater. "Who are you?" asked Frownland. "And why did you hit me?"

The robot looked back at Frownland with glowing eyes, and struck him again. "Silence is golden, cockwagon," it snarled in a synthesized voice. "My name is LorenBot. I exist to impart zingers on those cursed with ineptitude. And I struck you, because one should never mess with a man's fuzzy pink sweater."

"But you're not a man," replied Frownland in a condescending tone.

LorenBot gave him a mighty smack. "I'm more of a man than you. And more than a match for, to boot."

Nursing his struck nose, Frownland whimpered. "But why are you coming out of my arm?"

"Well, I had to get out somehow. Would you rather I came out of your asshole?" replied LorenBot. Smiling (in as much as his robot face would allow such an expression) he added "Or I guess you're more used to to guys coming in your asshole, ain'tchya?"

"That's politically incorrect as fuck," said Frownland. "I love it!"

The robot stretched out it's hand. "There's more where that came from. Come with me, oh innocent one, and I shall take you to a world full of sick burns and incoherent music. The land of... Qu'qumatz (or however the fuck that shit is spelled, I'm too lazy to look it up)."

How could Frownland refuse? By saying no, that's how. Which he did, like a bitch. So the robot grabbed him, and pulled him into the mark, creating a weird ouroboros of pretension as Frownland was sucked into himself.

When he awoke, Frownland was in a strange jungle, near what appeared to be Aztec ruins. He could tell they were Aztec, because they didn't make his balls itch the way that Olmec, Incan, or Mayan ruins did. He had no idea what that shit was about, but it was a sense that was reliable, if not oddly specific. "LorenBot?" he asked, as his voice traveled through the jungle, scaring a bunch of toucans, and whatever the fuck other kinds of tropical birds live near Aztec ruins. "Suck dick! Suck dick!" sang a Batjay in a cheery tone, as it flew towards the ruined shell of an ancient Aztec Burger King.

Suddenly, Frownland heard a rustling noise behind him. Spinning around, he came visage-to-visage with a vision of ass-kickage, a leather-bound hellhound wearing sunglasses, and gripping bazookas in his gloved hands. "Who the fuck are you?" asked Frownland.

The figure somehow managed to slide off his sunglasses without dropping either of his bazookas, and it didn't even look dumb or awkward when he did it. "My name is... Mondo," spake the figure. "Mondo, the Last Bungle. And I need your help. Ever since the forces of evil invaded Qu-qmatz, this jungle has been a trouble salad, and you and I are about to become the croutons."

Hold on a second... Yorkedaddy doesn't even post anymore, does he? I think he became one of those guys that pops up every now and then to say how pathetic everyone on MB is, and yet constantly lurks on the site anyway, somehow making him even more pathetic than us (if that's even possible). Well, whatever. How about...


Fuck! He's doing that annoying stalker shit too! God damn it, I don't mind writing shitty stories, but I'll be damned if they're not at least relevant and current shitty stories. Oh, oh! Wait! I got it!


It was a hot, summer Friday night. Everyone was getting laid. Even Batlord. Spencer was in his room, multiplying as usual, when suddenly... suddenly, he...

Fucking hell. I can't do this. It's too easy.

Gah! Why do all the interesting members have to be banned, or lurking in the shadows of MB whilst wearing a trenchcoat and covertly masturbating to our posts? Fuck it, I'm just gonna wing it.


So Goofle and elphenor were making out in the locker room, when suddenly Frownland strode in, wiping a towel across his forehead. "My," said Frownland, "that was quite a game of Sports."

Goofle and elphenor quickly pushed themselves away from each other, and pretended that they were having an argument, so that their secret love would not be uncovered. "Socialism!" yelled Goofle.

"Capitalist Stockholm Syndrome!" retorted elphenor.

Frownland chuckled. "Oh, you two rascals. Always at it."

As Frownland turned from them to open his locker, Goofle reached out and tried to hold the hand of elphenor, who hurriedly swatted his savacious paw away. "Later," he whispered.

"So," said Frownland, as he took off his sweaty clothing and replaced it with his trademark assless jumpsuit, "how comes it that thou doth fight in the locker room, of all places? Dost thou also partake in Sports? I never knew either of thee as an athlete."

elphenor was about to speak, but held his tongue. Though he wanted to, he could not tell Frownland the truth; that the musky scent of man that oft dwells in the locker room was an elixir of vigor for him and the object of his forbidden love. Sensing his mental distress, Goofle cleared his throat, and answered "Uh, yeah, we were just shooting some touchdowns. How 'bout you?"

Frownland laughed heartily. "Yes, indeed, I did partake in my fair share of Sports. However, I must admit, that much of the sweat that doth sparkle on my supple brow came from the celebratory post-game donkey show."

"Uh," stammered elphenor, "you didn't fuck a donkey, did you?"

Frownland laughed, and shook his head. "No! Of course I didn't fuck the donkey!" After elphenor and Goofle sighed, Frownland added "I was the donkey!"

After a moment of silence, Goofle shot elphenor a meaningful glance, as if to say 'Let's get out of here'. elphenor nodded lightly, and turned back to Frownland, saying "Oh, hey, yeah, that's great. Anyway, we've got to get going. We've got a... uh, picnic to get to. So, uh... bye."

Just as elphenor and Goofle were heading for the door, Frownland shot out a multitude of super stretchy extra arms from his torso, placing them on the shoulders of the two lovers and keeping them from leaving. He then slid over to them, and put his face quite close to elphenor's ear. "Did you say... a picnic?" he whispered/asked (or whasked, if you will).

"Uh..." replied elphenor.

Frownland smiled, his soft breath feeling very hot on elphenor's neck. "Because I love... picnics... and I would love to join you." He then parted his lips, and the unspeakable thing that lives in the darkest recesses of his soul slid a tentacle out of his mouth, which embraced elphenor's neck. elphenor glanced down at the tentacle, and saw the names of those whose souls had been claimed by Frownland engraved upon it in glowing letters.

UH..." replied elphenor.

Looking over at elphenor, and sensing the terrible danger he was in, Goofle quickly said "Yes! You should join us! It'll be great!"

Suddenly, Frownland was back in front of his locker, as if nothing had happened. Looking touched and surprised, he put a hand to his chest. "Aw, you want me to come with you? That's so sweet! Just gimme a sec to do my hair, and then we shall away."

By and by, the trio made their way to the lush forests of "Political Discussions For Adults". However, to their horror, they saw that Chula had once again burned it to the ground. They were about to complain about their foul luck, when all three remembered that they had bought matches and lighter fluid for Chula not five minutes earlier, for the laughs. Shrugging, the three wandered about for a bit, looking for a good spot for their picnic, when they settled on the sunny side of a quaint hill. "Ah, yes!" moaned Frownland as he stretched in the sunlight, and looked down at MB valley from his point of vantage. Taking in a deep breath of fresh air, he felt a song in his heart and an orexis in his cock as he was filled with vigor. Goofle and elphenor decided to just go with it, and began unpacking food.

The picnic was proceeding nicely, when all of a sudden Frownland lowered his sandwich, and glanced around like a gazelle that had just caught wind of something new. 'No,' thought Frownland, 'not new... that is the scent of something old.'

In a flash, a mysterious beast came crashing down on the picnic, and knocked the trio away as it began to greedily devour their food. "The fuck?!" yelled Goofle, as he tumbled down the hill with elphenor. Thinking fast, Goofle quickly scooped elphenor into his arms, protecting him from the various rocks along the hill as they both rolled onward. elphenor was moved by the display, and thought it was quite sweet, until he felt that the situation had given Goofle an erection, and then it was just kinda awkward.

Doing a sick somersault, Frownland landed on his feet, and looked up at the beast that had so rudely interrupted his outdoor adventure. To his horror, he realized that the monster was quite familiar to him. Narrowing his eyes, he looked into the eyes of the beast, and smiled. It was a gigantic robotic ant, with angry eyes and huge pincher pincer mandible thingies. "Well, well," said Frownland, as he pulled his mod squad emergency cell phone out of his jumpsuit. "Looks like JWB is finally back, and he brought his Alt-Ants." Putting on some sunglasses, just so he could take them off dramatically, he added "Looks like it's time to call... the exterminators."

To be continued in Part Two, coming the Spring of yesterday

.

asked Mord, as Frownland sensually caressed his balls. Leaning in close, Frownland whispered "You know what this is. Deep down, you've always known." And, as Frownland's eyes faded away, revealing portals to the essence of Pain, Mord looked into the void and shivered, for he knew it was so.

.

I love you, ori.

.

:beer:

Lady Batlord smiles wickedly as she scans the letter in her hands. "Dear Lady Batlord," it reads, "thou art cordially invited to the Harvest Ball of Exoskeletal Manor, in the estate of fair Lady Exo, to be held three nights hence. If thou is inclined to attend, then with all haste send thine stately reply. As with all such events, hosted and attended by noble Ladies, tis required that all guests doth bring a dish, crafted by thine own noble hands, to share with thine noble peers. And, though it doth pain me to do so, I nevertheless feel obligated to remind thee that, as I told thee a fortnight ago at the Autumn Gala, 'bringing the beer' doth not satisfy the requirements of a true noble dish, especially when thou brings but three cans of Steel Reserve. Regardless, I hope to see thee in attendance at the ball. With all sincerity, Lady Exo."

Her smile growing, Lady Batlord folds the letter up and sets it down upon a table. Stepping forward onto her balcony, she puts her hands on the cool metal railing and gazes upon her domain. The surfs below are wailing in misery as they harvest jagged batfruits, the sharp thorns of which are known for their painful pierce. Closing her eyes and breathing deeply, Lady Batlord takes in the beautiful ambiance, and thinks of the coming ball as she allows her imagination to take her mind on an endless adventure of possibilities. "Perhaps..." she whispers to herself, as she imagines a sharp batfruit placed under the cushions of every chair along Lady Exo's massive dining table. She shakes her head lightly, for while it would indeed be an amusing jest, it hardly suited a noble of her standing to repeat a joke. Her smile widens as an image of a punch bowl flashes through her mind. She sees a piece of fake (or maybe even real) excrement floating therein, and then a used condom floating in its place, only to have both fade from her mind as an eyeball plucked from one of her surfs falls into the punch bowl with a splatter. "Or maybe.."

This continues for some time, as Lady Batlord and her wicked mind dance passionately together to the sonata of debauchery, for Lady Batlord had long since wed herself to the art of trickery. Once a noble being of pure intentions and honorable merit, she had left her duties to wander the width of the world on a journey of self-cultivation. However, in her travels, she discovered that the construct of morality was as transient as the mortals that created it. Whether "good" or "evil", all things and all people race endlessly onward as the universe exhales, destined to return to the void when the cosmos hath no breath left to expel, and once more begins to take all matter within itself as the cycle of the eternal billows carries on.

However, that is not to say that Lady Batlord felt helpless in the wake of the void. In fact, it had rather the opposite effect on her. Knowing that her time was thusly limited, she no longer imparted any of her energies in pursuing that which delighted her not. And it was then that she fell in love with devilish trickery. Life was short, and people inept, set in their ways as they maintain their homeostasis, but in the heat of a trick, the spark of a prank, the false worlds around them shatter for but a moment, allowing them to see themselves and the world around them with the eyes of one who is unsure. There was a beauty in this, the forcible pulling of the curtain, making them question the world that they had found so irreproachable. In that instant of being fooled, all heroes become clowns, all kings become paupers, and all self-important blowhards become the scared children that they had hidden under layers of armor and weapons, that which we all try so hard to lock away in the cellars beneath our personas.

Lady Batlord laughs to herself, dreaming of wonderful schemes, and savoring the shocked expressions of the Ladies in attendance as they swoon, unable to bear such tremendous pranks as she had in store for them. Filling a crystal glass with batfruit wine, she savors the aroma of the thick drink before putting it to her lips. In truth, though she meant them harm, she loved the snobbish nobility. In fact, she loved most everyone, in an odd sort of way. While the virtuous toiled to fashion the world into a shape more pleasing to their noble ideals, Lady Batlord was perfectly happy to see it remain as it was, for she adored it. The love, the hate, the peace, the violence... it all served to make the exciting world that served as the perfect backdrop for her revelry. Everything about it made her enjoy life that much more, for it was an unpredictable adventure, sometimes pleasing and other times terrible and horrific, but an adventure nonetheless. And she dreams her frightening dreams as she forms her plots, ever smiling and ever laughing. For mischief was her religion, and pranks were her sacraments. Setting down the glass of wine, she claps her hands, summoning a servant to her chambers. "Send forth the child catchers to prowl the city streets tonight," she says, savoring every word. "For ere the next moon arrives and I depart, I shall bathe in orphan blood."


The heels of Lady Batlord's hellfire-red shoes crunch satisfyingly as she strides across the gravel road towards the entrance of Exoskeletal Manor, circumventing a large fountain upon which many young lovers sit, holding each other in their arms and reciting sappy poetry. With a stealthy movement of her hand, she drops a canister of tear gas as she passes by the starry eyed lovers, which quickly begins to spew it's noxious charge. As the cloud spreads, and the lovers frantically begin to run from the fountain, tripping over themselves as they gasp for air, Lady Batlord laughs to herself. "Ah," she says, "young love. It always has a way of choking me up."

Stepping inside the manor, Lady Batlord is surrounded by the sound of lush orchestral music, and the rich scent of freshly cooked food. A servant steps forward, preparing to bow his head, when he suddenly recognizes the identity of the guest before him, and takes on an expression of horror as he takes a step back. Quickly trying to compose himself, he bows his head lightly, saying "Welcome, your Ladyship. Please enter."

Lady Batlord tilts her head at him and gives him a devilish smile. "Now, now. Aren't you supposed to ask me for my contribution to the feast?"

The servant gulps. "Y-yes, your Ladyship. However, it isn't really necessary for you to..."

"Nonsense," interrupts Lady Batlord. Reaching into her purse, she pulls out a strange sort of crab.

"What on earth..." stammers the servant, as he takes another step back. The crab leers at him with comically angry eyes, and points his claws at the poor fellow with ominous intent. Luckily, the beast's claws are restrained by rubber bands, however the bands seem to be old and worn, on the verge of breaking.

Lady Batlord steps forward, and plops the beast into the servant's hands. "Now, you take that to Lady Exo, and tell her that I wish her the best on this most lavish of nights. It's a crab, fresh from the shores of Bat County, and I'm sure her chefs can make it into a fine bisque. I'd have cooked it myself, but batcrab really ought to be prepared immediately before consumption. Otherwise, it tastes like a rotten asshole, and that simply wouldn't do for such a fine event as this. Even though I'm sure such a taste is hardly foreign to the palate of our lovely Lady Exo..."

Having said that, Lady Batlord walks past the servant and enters the party. Behind her, she hears the faint crack of rubber bands snapping, and a cry of pain. She smiles, and swipes a glass of wine from the hand of a noblewoman just as she is about to take the virgin sip. Drinking half of the glass in a single gulp, she steps further into the party, and covertly pours the rest of her drink into the purse of Countess Norg. She then steps onto the dancefloor, and joins the ball in earnest, all the while scanning the party for possible jests.

"I like your dress," says Countess Norg to The Duchess of Chiomara. "What is it made of?"

The Duchess of Chiomara stretches out her arms, allowing her lavish gown to be seen in full blossom. "Nightmares," she answers, as a vision of fright flashes across the threads.

Raising an eyebrow, Countess Norg smiles and nods. Reaching into her purse for her kerchief, so that she might wipe the sweat from her brow, she discovers that the contents of her purse have been muddled in a quagmire of wine. Shrugging, she lifts up her purse and drinks deeply, for to a member of the proud Norg family, purse wine is better than no wine at all.

Elsewhere, a figure stands silent among the chattering nobility, peering at the dancefloor with a steely gaze. Catching sight of Lady Batlord, the figure notices the devilish look in her eye, and smiles. Unfolding her fan, Lady Frown cools herself as her mind begins to race, guessing the intent of Lady Batlord's visitation. At the last party, it had been a sackful of hobgoblins hidden amongst the pile of gifts, bursting free from their bondage and causing all the Ladies to swoon just as Princess Troll-Hart had begun to entertain the party with a fiddle solo (as Princess Troll-Hart is, as everyone knows, an expert at fiddling solo). Lady Frown wondered what trick Lady Batlord had up her sleeve for this night's event. And, though she was not yet sure whether she would oppose the devil's ploys or support them, she was certain of one thing; that tonight would be a night worth remembering.

To be continued in Part Two, coming to a Mesopotamian tablet near you in the Spring of 3,000 BC

All I read was "So Frownland was waxing his ball-hairs into a tiny moustache for his cock"

and I decided this thread was not for me.

It is a very try-hard read

said Mondo, as he examined the back of a box of cereal. "Reeses... Puffs... are... made... from..." Throwing up his hands in frustration, Mondo let the box fall to the floor. "Gah!" he yelled. "I can't handle all these words!"

Beside him, Lucem Ferre was reading the comics in the paper. Unfortunately, Lucem's personal style of humor was to regurgitate jokes from Adam Sandler movies, and so the shitty jokes in the comics were so comparatively funny that they overloaded his simple mind. After staring forward blankly for a few minutes, he suddenly snapped back to reality. "Well," he said, setting the paper down, "that wasn't for me." Sliding along the floor, he retreated to his inner sanctum, where he would later craft a horrorcore song about grocery shopping.

WWWP shivered, and lazily reached down to pull the covers up. After her fingers made contact with her bare legs, she slowly opened her eyes and looked down with a sleepy gaze. Seeing the dark floral fabric beneath her, she smiled faintly, and let her head fall back into the fabric's warm embrace. Once again, she had fallen asleep on her couch while watching television. Reaching out automatically, she probed the table beside the couch for the remote, and upon finding it lifted it groggily and pointed it in the general vicinity of the television. However, she suddenly stopped, her finger hovering above the power button. In the comfortable darkness of the living room, with small rays of the rising sun trying deftly to pass through the window blinds, all she could hear was the sound of her roommate fidgeting on the creaky bed upstairs. Opening her eyes, she glanced at the television, and confirmed that it was already off.

Shrugging, she moved her arm back over the table and let the remote fall back into its charge with a plasticine clatter. Pulling her arm back towards her chest, she warmed her hand with the warmth of the other, bunching herself up as she shifted into a more comfortable position. Her stomach grumbled lightly, but she ignored it, for a woman burdened with as many student loans as her never looked forward to breakfast. For a moment, images flashed through her mind in a glowing swirl, a mixture of old memories and new scenarios of her own subconscious design. She saw the hardships of the past few years, as well as the tribulations of her youth, and imagined a massive sea of debt collectors carrying her house away in their frightening tide. She also saw a guy dressed in a broccoli costume, and dismissed him with a mental shrug. Her mind settled down somewhat as the sound of her roommate upstairs brought her back to reality. Sighing lightly through her nose, she fell back into the rich darkness of slumber, this time uninterrupted by her troubles. The threads of beautiful dreams began to spin, inviting her onward into her rest and promising adventure. Stepping forward into a place both new and familiar, she lifts her hand, and...

Suddenly, a thought crossed her mind like a flash of lightning, and her eyes snapped open. Sitting up, her heart feeling the icy grip of discomfort, she tilted her gaze towards the ceiling and listened intently. It was only her imagination. she assured herself. It was a sound that she had heard so many times before, that she now expected it, and heard it even when it wasn't there. But then the sound came again from above, more than an imagining and real beyond doubt. Bunching herself up ever more tightly, she fell into a daze of fear and confusion, unable to either think or move. Her roommate had left on a two week vacation but four days ago, and yet the bed they shared creaked on in his absence.

As her senses began to return to her, WWWP suddenly laughed as she came to a realization. Chances are, her roommate had come back early, cancelling the rest of the trip for some reason that he would surely explain to her over their morning potato. That had to be the answer. After all, it was hardly likely that someone would break into her home while she slept, ignore her and her valuables, and then sneak upstairs to fall asleep in her bed. What kind of...

Again, the calm of her mind was struck by a bolt of thought. As the miring hand of sleepiness lifted its grip on her mind, suddenly her memories of last night returned to her, and she held back a scream as the face of the person upstairs flashed across her mind. Though her recollection was still somewhat fuzzy, she nevertheless recalled in fair clarity the atrocity that she had committed. Last night, in her cups, she had allowed Frownland to stay at her place, while his parents fumigated their basement. "F-Frownland..." she whispered, her voice trembling with fright. Suddenly, from upstairs, she heard a strange sort of wooshing noise, and then she felt the sensation of hot breath along the back of her neck.

"You called?" asked Frownland in a low, sensual voice.

"What have I done..." whispered WWWP to herself, her eyes welling up with tears.

"Oh, we haven't done anything. Yet," said Frownland, as he put a hand on her shoulder.

Gasping and shrieking, WWWP stepped forward out of his embrace, before quickly turning and slapping his cheek with a mighty crack, knocking his beard off of his face. "Don't touch me!"

Massaging his cheek, Frownland smiled. "Oh, come now. You know that you yearn for my embrace."

WWWP felt sick to her stomach, and not just because yesterday's dinner potato hadn't been cooked all the way. "Look... Frownland... You need to get the hell out of here. You're not welcome here."

Frownland crossed his arms. "That's not what you said last night."

WWWP put a hand to her forehead, nursing a coming migraine. "Yeah, I know, but I was really drunk last night. Truth is, no, you can't stay here. Sorry about that, but, you know... get out."

Frownland's eyes widened, and began to glow faintly in the dim light of the living room. "But you promised I could stay. Are you saying that you wish to go back on your promise?"

"Yes, that's exactly what I'm saying."

Ignoring her, Frownland continued. "Because when people go back on their promises, it upsets Maat, the feather that doth float through the cosmos, the hand that reaches from beyond the stars." Suddenly, the living room starts to shake, and a faint crack appears in the wall. Through the slowly expanding crack, a torrent of cosmic beasts can be seen, vying amongst themselves as they try to squeeze through the narrow portal. "The blade that carves out justice, the word of truth, the..."

WWWP rolled her eyes and threw up her hands. "Okay, fine! You can stay for, like, one day! Just stop getting cosmic horror all over my fucking living room!"

The crack faded, and Frownland smiled. "Great," he said. "So, when do we fuck?"

"Just because you can stay here doesn't mean that I'm gonna fuck you. So stop hitting on me, alright?"

"Oh, please," replied Frownland. "You sound like my mother."

The television let out a soft song of aimless hissing, casting a dim glow across the living room. Reclining on the couch, the dancing light of the static flickering in his eyes, Frownland lost himself in the black and white swirl of the dead channel. Feeling the call of the realm between realms, he took a deep breath, and slowly shut his eyes.

Thoughts and memories flashed across his eyelids, coming and going with an impermeable method. The feel of grass beneath his feet. The smell of his mother's jacket. The sound of his father's music. A raised fist. A shadowed corner. Words that meant little in the moment, but echoed endlessly in his mind from thenceforth. A division of joy, encircled by pylons and wires, as a gang of four shadows appeared on the wall.

"Howdy, dreamer," said a voice from behind him. Turning, he saw that it was Chiomara, reclining peaceably as a stream of consciousness carried her onward. Frownland tried to respond, but his words became colors as they escaped his throat. As Chiomara faded from sight, she waved goodbye to him, and he waved back.

"Hey, are you awake?" asked a voice, as a hand fell upon Frownland's shoulder and shook him lightly. The Dreamworld faded into a hazy ether, as though it had only been a brilliant impression left by a ray of light, soon to be nothing more than the reddish-black of eyelids.

"If I were awake, my eyes wouldn't be closed," replied Frownland.

The voice laughed, before answering "But if you were really asleep, then you wouldn't be talking to me."

"Okay," replied Frownland, "you win. I'm awake. Now go away."

"Aw, come on," said the voice. "Let's watch a movie."

Slowly opening his eyes, Frownland leered at the speaker, and saw that it was his neighbor. Though Frownland had no intention of obliging him, he nevertheless saw a look of dogged determination in his eyes, as well as a hopefulness that he couldn't help but find endearing. Sighing, Frownland closed his eyes and massaged his forehead. "What movie?"

Smiling, his neighbor lifted up the movie in his hand, saying "Bloodfuck III: The Crimson Tide."

As Frownland opened his eyes, he caught a glimpse of the boxart, and quickly looked away in disgust. "Oh, gross," he said, lifting a hand to brush the movie away. "How about we watch Crapathon O: Origins instead? I just downloaded it."

His neighbor scrunched his face in disdain. "No thanks," he said. "Too much swearing."

Shrugging, Frownland yawned and leaned backward, feeling a wave of sleepiness crash against him. "Fair enough," he said in a tired voice, trying to stay awake.

"Hey, wake up!" said his neighbor, as he poked him in the ribs. However, it was to little avail. For, ignoring the savage blow, Frownland simply shifted into a more comfortable position, pulling his blanket over his Ornette Coleman print footie pajamas.

Suddenly, the window smashed into a cloud of jagged pieces, as a cymbal flew into the living room. His eyes shooting open, Frownland quickly sprang to his feet. Looking at the ruined frame, he could see Jo Jones and Charlie Parker on the other side. "Ooh, sorry about your window," said Jo Jones, as he examined the damage. "Can we get our frisbee back, though?"

Frownland opened his mouth to respond, however a familiar slew of colors had replaced his words. Looking around in surprise, he suddenly fell backward as his couch melted and warped into a hair pie. "The Dreamworld," he thought, as the ceiling became a mouth filled with millions of jagged teeth. "I'm still here. Did I ever leave?" The floor became a vortex of darkness, turning endlessly as it dragged him down into the depths of the old world.


The Batlord laughed lightly to himself as he gazed at the machine. In it's center, amidst a glowing green light, was Frownland, with various wires attached to his head. "Sleep..." whispered Batlord, as he turned and began to walk away. "Sleep."

*its

*tits

Stilton on stilts still quilts the built ilk of whatever the **** rhymes with all that.

When perception bleeds into the eternal stream, all is everything and forever. I have been here for as many days as there are streaks across my flesh, and yet I have always been here. The wind screams and the water bites, the breath and teeth of a mouth from beyond the stars. And I live. Without food, and without light, yet I live. Like a lifeless edge that knows to cut, but knows not why, I live. And I count.


"Welcome to the Burger Duke. May I take your order?" asked Batlord into the microphone, as he covertly rubbed a burger against his right armpit, before placing it in a bag.

"What's the most you ever lost on a coin toss?" replied a voice through the fuzzy speakers hooked up to the aging drive-through system.

"I don't know. Are you gonna order something or not?"

"Call it," replied the voice.

The Batlord shrugged lightly to himself. "A number two meal it is." Having said that, he defecated into a burger wrapper, and tossed it into a bag. "That'll be, like, a million bucks. Pull up to the next window, and have a nice day, sir."

"Call it," repeated the voice.

Rolling his eyes, Batlord replied "Alright, fine. If it'll make you fuck off faster, then heads."

Over the speaker, Batlord heard a sharp click of metal as a coin was flipped, and then a clatter as the coin ricocheted off of the dashboard. "Fuck," muttered the voice. "Hold on."

"Ayyyy, Batlord!" yelled a cheery voice. Turning around, Batlord could see that it was Mindfulness, who was now his boss, after having recently been promoted to the franchise manager. To punctuate his happiness, Mindfulness pulled a smiling severed head out of his coat pocket, and threw it at Batlord.

"Fuck off," replied Batlord in a cheery voice.

"Damn it," muttered the voice over the speaker. "I saw it go down here... why do I even have so many napkins on the floor?"

"Ayyy, you joke with me, yeah yeah yeah? Bats? You're a good dude, man. We'll weed smoke later, after I go for a jog, yes?" said Mindfulness.

"Uh..." replied Batlord, as Mindfulness pulled a stuffed dog that was frozen into a shrug out of his pocket.

"Yo," said Mindfulness, "before I head out, I had a question, you feel me, yeah?"

"Shoot," replied Batlord.

Mindfulness pointed at a small door to the side. "Ever since I work here, yeah, I like always wondered, what's behind this door? Yeah?"

Batlord shrugged. "Just a storage closet, I think. I heard that the old manager used to store crack in there, or something like that. Why?"

Mindfulness smiled, and pulled a key out of his pocket. "Check it, ayyyy. I got the master key! Lezz open dis bitch!"

Having said that, Mindfulness unlocked the door and threw it open.

"Time is a worm... stretching, eating, and out of it comes the soil of reality... the... the... light! The Light!" shrieked a voice.

Looking into the closet, Batlord and Mindfulness saw a figure huddled into the back corner, covered in small cuts.

Taking a closer look, Batlord recognized the mysterious creature. "Frownland? Is that you?"

"Gah!" replied Frownland. "The worm lies!"

"Woah, dis is some fucked up shit, ayyyyyy!" said Mindfulness as he lit up a blunt.

Narrowing his eyes as he peered into the dark closet, Batlord saw a large opened crate of Burger Duke donuts, a horrible abomination of pre-made and non-perishable food that had been discontinued years ago, after it had been learned that the dough had been made from ground orphan bones.

"Uh, no offense Frownland, but... you're looking kinda fat. I mean, even by my standards," said Batlord.

Frownland hissed.

"God damn it," spoke another voice. Turning around, Batlord and Mindfulness came face to face with Frownland's mother. "Frownland! Every time I leave for a few minutes while I go to run an errand, you lock yourself in a storage closet and slash yourself with a razor! Every. God. Damn. Time! WHY?!"

"THE WORM!" replied Frownland, as he dashed out of the closet and ran naked into the street.

Frownland's mom put a hand to her forehead. "What did I do to deserve this? What did I do wrong? Did I not beat him enough? Did I beat him too much?" Shaking her head, she pulled a twenty out of her purse and gave it to Mindfulness. "Here. This should pay for those donuts. I am so sorry."

"Ayyy, It's no-" began to reply Mindfulnss, when the universe suddenly ended. Because the writer had to go to work. Damn work. The end.

Genuine lol.

I'm worried about you guys.

The Place: Batlord’s Abode

The Date: December 31st

The Time: 7:00 P.M.

The Humidity: Meh

As the last bloody rays of the setting sun died on the horizon, Batlord collapsed in front of his computer, and pulled himself closer to the screen. After a hard three hours of getting shitfaced and puking in his mother’s shoes to celebrate the end of the year, it was time for a well earned MB break.

With benacho’d fingers, he navigated through the jungle of spam and shitposts, till at long last he found a quarry worth his mighty arrows.

“TFW you’re too busy to shave your armpits, and now you feel like a cavewoman” posted a female member (heh, “female member”).

The Batlord donned his gettin’-shit-done spectacles, cracked his knuckles, and set to work. “I will suck the sweat out of your armpit hair until your pits are drier than your vagina,” he typed, his keyboard screaming in submission with every stroke of his mastery. Wiping the sweat from his brow, he leaned back in his chair, the smile of contentment on his face growing like a chia pet that has been watered with jizz.

Continuing on his hunt, he soon found himself confronted with new prey: “I just don’t like Slayer all that much. I prefer maturity over aggression.”

These words, once seen by The Batlord, sent a chill through his heart and his loins (which were incidentally the same organ), causing his brow to furrow into such a knit that one of the lenses of his spectacles popped out of the frame faster than his infernal semen pounces upon pictures of Ke$ha.

“Are you a pussy?

It’s more likely than you think.

Click here to get tested: https://www.drinkbleach.com”

As he worked, typing furiously, The Batlord could feel the fruit of his passion, the sweet birth of an erection, tightening his sweatpants. After throwing his post up, he cycled through his tabs of porn until he found one with a midget, and then punched his balls to ecstasy, not even bothering to pull his pants down. Of course, it was a little awkward, seeing as how his mother was cleaning his room right behind him, but what was he supposed to do, waste a perfectly good erection?

Abandoning her Sisyphean task, Batlord’s mother sulked to the living room, having a black and white hallucination memory (the best kind of memory) about the elephant that attacked her all those years ago.

Suddenly, Batlord’s room began to shake. His posters of Ke$ha and Manowar started to tear as the drywall violently resonated from the coming of some malevolent force. Wisps of gypsum fell from the ceiling, as action dolls of comic book heroes did tumble to the floor in a clatter. To his left, the bewildered Batty could see that one of his walls was glowing green, and growing brighter by the moment. Just as the noise of his trembling room seemed to reach its zenith of Merzbowsity, a voice rang out.

“SHAAABBBBBBBAAAAAAAZZZZZZZ!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!”

The wall caved in as Frownland thrust his pelvis forward, shattering the wood and drywall like the hopes and dreams of his parents. He entered through the hole, the tufts of pubic hair that he had glued across his jaw shimmering and crackling with energy.

After finishing himself off to the midget porn, Batlord leapt to his feet.

“Frownland! What the hell do you think you’re doing, asshole? Do you know how many Burger King paychecks it’ll take for me to fix that gigantic fucking hole you just made?”

Frownland waved a hand dismissively. “Fear not, simple Batlord. This hole will just make it even easier for you to run outside to take a piss the next time your toilet explodes.” Stepping closer, he put a hand on Batlord’s shoulder. “Anyway, we have more important things to discuss. Just as I put a hole through your wall with my indelible splendor, I have found a way to put a hole through… reality.”

“Yeah, I know,” replied Batlord, rolling his eyes. “It’s called acid, and everybody’s heard of it already.”

“I’m not talking about acid!” replied Frownland, as he put a hand in his pocket. “I’m talking about this!” Retrieving his hand, he pulled out a guitar, a fleshlight still tangled in the strings from his last experiment in sound.

“That’s called a guitar,” remarked Batlord, with narrowed eyes. “Everybody’s heard of those, too.”

“Ah, yes, so they have,” answered Frownland, his eyes bright with devilry. “But have they heard of the… Forbidden Chord?”

Batlord shrugged. “Is that like when you wrap a cord around your neck, and beat off upside down in the closet?”

“No,” answered Frownland, as he put his hand back on Batlord’s shoulder. “It’s even better.”

His curiosity piqued, Batlord took a step back, pulling himself out of Frownland’s semen encrusted grip. “Okay. Show me this ‘Forbidden Chord’ shit, then. But I swear, if this is just ends up being you finding a new way to fuck your guitar, I’m gonna kick your ass harder than my dick gets when a wildfire burns down an orphanage.”

“I promise you, I won’t disappoint,” smiled Frownland, as he fished a few more items out of his pockets. “Just give me a moment to prepare.”

Fiddling with his guitar, he coated the strings in hedgehog urine, clamped them down with a capo made from the woven hair of a wild Varg, placed a few bloody baby teeth under his g-string (and I don’t mean on the guitar), and then struck a pose, fingering the strings in an ancient position that made Batlord’s head ache. It was almost as if his fingers were at every position on every fret at once. Raising up a leg, he strummed his guitar with his foot, cutting a wedge of dead skin off of his sole in the process.

The sound was immediate, and terrible. It was if God had just bent over, and torn the ass of his slacks. The room exploded into a garden of color, impossible shapes blooming out in timeless flora. As reality tried to catch its breath from the sucker punch that Frownland had just sunk into its solar plexus, Batlord fell into a spiral of sensations, learning everything and nothing as hands from the shadows beyond the stars explored his fiber.

“ISN’T THIS GREEEEAAAAAATTTTT?!” called Frownland as he fell out of the mandala skies and into a flying hot tub.

“Welcome, traveler,” whispered a voice from behind Batlord. He struggled to turn himself to face the noise, moving sluggishly and fearfully like a child venturing into the deep end of the pool for the first time. As he locked eyes with the origin of the voice, he felt his heart crumble into a cold powder. It was a flashing crevice, from which peered the eyes of something that his brain tried to comprehend, but failed. In it’s stead, his mind supplied a composite of various people. He saw Ke$ha, Joey DeMaio, Mindfulness, Kurt Russell, every dancing cat from every video ever, and more. He saw everyone. Except for Pink Floyd, ‘cause fuck those guys. He stared for an eternity of a moment, becoming one with the crevice. Deep within himself, he did not fear, for he knew that he was finally home.

Roughly ten hours later, Frownland returned to the world, phasing into existence in the bathroom of a Walmart, where the threads of reality are at their most pliable. As the portal closed, he could see his friends waving goodbye. Beefheart, Coleman, Coletrane, Disco Duck. All faded as reality gently reasserted itself around Frownland. Smiling in pure joy, he sighed as he stood from the toilet, exited the stall, and waded through the sea of fluorescent light and fecal stains that awaited him on the other side. Though he was in too good a mood to be brought down by the coldness of reality, he couldn’t help but feel like he had forgotten something. Whatever it was, if there had truly even been anything at all, it eventually faded from his mind as he left the store, took off his clothes, and made love to a shopping cart.