Dragon Ball Z Uncensored

[Roy]

Lunar Plexus is like Jyuza.

[Seru]

He sure is.

Just like Jyuza.

[Seru]

A lot of pressure on Plexus

To Her Holiness, the Honourable Gretta Pius the First

As of my writing this I'm sure you're fully aware of the tragedy in Arkard as well as the subject's affiliation with this poorly disguised FTUW replacement. You of all people should know how destructive this type of organized carnage can be. Not only will it threaten the foundation we set in New America, it threatens the very lives of our followers. Therefore I'm making the following recommendations.

-Demote or eliminate Agent Solar Thorax. If it comes out he's responsible for the subject's existence our credibility will be crippled.

-Increase recruitment among street youths. The only way to stave off the recent waves of violence is with faith, plain and simple. Society must be rebuilt and we shall provide the nails.

-Eliminate subject Lunar Plexus. To our organization the subject is a cancer, the only sensible cure is to cut it loose. He was also responsible for the deaths of 114 of our members during the Arkard massacre. I'm loathe to recommend this next suggestion, but I believe we'll need to gather the other three cardinals to handle this grim task. The subject isn't to be taken lightly.

Thank you for you time and God bless,

Cardinal Infinite Leper


Pope Pius grimaces slightly and crumples the letter into a ball before casually tossing it into the flaming maw of her forty foot fireplace (Width AND height!). She turns to the cowering devotee that delivered the letter.

"Tell them to pull Cardinal Bone Musket off of whatever machine they've got keeping him alive today. It's time to test his faith."

[Seru]

Abadon all hope

It only took me a week to track down Lunar Plexus. His newfound celebrity and the trail of bodies left in his wake made him a hot topic among New Americans. It also significantly shortened my search. Some of the people I spoke to had taken to calling him a serial killer, the Moonlight Slasher (Fucking lame!). Others claimed he was a hybrid werewolf and the moon drove him to kill. People are idiots. One glance told you he was a monster. It would also be more apt to call him a serial genocidist. I imagine once he's finished with New America he'll travel the globe wiping out each nation systematically. I actually admire him, at least he had a goal in life. It almost sounded romantic.

I got word that he'd be fighting at a local martial arts tournament in the city of Abadon, Donk Fuck. I guess he wanted to give his victims a sporting chance for once. As I walked the streets I noticed a lot of people wearing red and black crucifixes. The cool thing about them was how the chain connected to the centre of the cross so they hung like an X. I asked a group of kids where they got them and they pointed toward St.Daedalus' Cathedral, a Catholic # Reload church. I thanked them and continued on my way. I'll join another gang before I deal with a fucking church. I guess I'll stick with pentagrams. At least with Satan you don't have to deal with any extra baggage.

I asked a few people for the location of the fights. Most of them quickly corrected me and called it a "Kumite". As I drew closer I figured it would be easier to follow the anguished screams than ask for further directions. Finally I came to a burned out factory, a massive crowd was spilling out the doors, crowding around the broken windows and doing everything humanly possible to get a glimpse of the horrors taking place centre stage. And there he stood, tall as a demon, deathly pale, a muscular Asian man draped over his shoulders, performing a move wrestling aficionados called the torture rack. Finally Lunar Plexus grew bored of the man's indecipherable pleas for mercy and snapped his spine, leaving the twitching corpse to be torn apart by the crowd, hunks of flesh and blood soaked memories their only souvenirs for the night. Lunar Plexus headed to an area in the back of the building and I quickly followed.

I was never great at breaking the ice so I just walked up to him and started talking.

"Um, hi."

He looked me over the same way he did the first time we met. Thankfully I wasn't sitting in a pool of my own urine this time. But the night was still young.

"Ah, Hyle of the former Uber Arschlochs, a street gang stationed in Arkard. The sight of your whimpering made me quite ill. I'm glad you're now able to maintain your composure in my presence."

At least he didn't forget.

"That's a strange greeting."

"A greeting would lead you to believe you're welcome. And believe me, young lady, in a place like this you're an unwelcome sight."

I guess first impressions really are everything.

"Why is that?"

"Because people come to these events to celebrate death. If they knew him personally they might think twice. How old are you?"

I had a hard time keeping up with his train of thought.

"Nineteen."

"Still too full of life to be contemplating the end. Be patient and wait. I'll come for you eventually."

That had to be the most chilling thing I ever heard.

"Listen, I've come here to help you."

"If I required the assistance of a contemptuous slut I have complete access to several government sanctioned brothels. Experience is everything after all."

Ouch.

"That's not what I mean."

"Women have other uses? Enlighten me."

I laughed genuinely this time, mostly because I knew he wasn't kidding. He started to grow impatient.

"You're planning to fight for Caligula, correct?"

"It's the quickest way to eliminate those that pose the most significant threat to me. What of it?"

"Well, it's like professional wrestling right? And you need two things to excel in pro wrestling, talent and showmanship. You've got the talent, I'm here to enhance your showmanship. I'll promote you. I'll help you build up your reputation. Sooner or later the crowd will demand to see more of you and you'll have the opportunity to fight stronger opponents. And that's what you want, right?"

He mulled that over for a second.

"So you'll help me gain access to Caligula's more prolific competitors? How exactly will you convince the members of his organization to elevate me? Fucking them?"

That truthful streak wasn't going to win him a lot of friends.

"They'll be swayed by the crowd of course. The other part of pro wrestling is business."

"Wouldn't it just be simpler to kill the crowd? That way their opinion can't taint the process."

He was hard to talk to, always logical to a fault. The only way I could convince him was to think like him.

"Well, without the crowd many of the fighters wouldn't have a reason to participate. Most of these men are prima donnas, greedy glory hogs that live for the spotlight. Take that spotlight away and they'll disappear. It may take you years to track them down."

Something about my description of the other competitors made him smile, like he was reminiscing about something from his past.

"I like the way you think. There's a final match in this worthless little contest. Show me what you can do."

I quickly applied some black lipstick, tore my shirt to my navel and stepped out into the seething heat of the Kumite.

[Seru]

The bell tolls for a cock

I stepped out into the seething heat of the Kumite. A sea of hands immediately swarmed toward every part of my body, I had to bite and scratch my way to the centre ring. They had no microphone so I was forced to shout. Luckily I've always been a screamer.

"Gentleman, allow me to present to you the pinnacle of evolutionary design. He's a towering mountain of DESTRUCTION, a seething trench of CHAOS, a impenetrable fortress of MUSCLE, a tsunami of DEATH, he creates rivers of BLOOD, fields of CORPSES, forests of LIMBS and deserts of SKULLS. His voice causes AVALANCHES, the earth QUAKES beneath his feet, TORNADOES emerge from his mighty lungs, volcanoes ERUPT simply to put an end to his apocalyptic march. His very presence causes men to go sterile, he's the reason women have abortions. Would you want to raise a child in a world this man inhabits? A world that houses this affront to God?! This man is a walking hysterectomy machine! Fathers, lock up your daughters and cut out their cunts! The terror of New America has come to town! His dick! His fucking dick! Herpetologists have officially classified it as the only albino anaconda alive! Not content with swimming in a Trinidadian swamp, this mighty reptile killed itself so it could be reincarnated as this man's cock! He's gleefully murdered kings and queens and reduced the homeless to pork and beans! HE'S TRAVERSED THE DEPTHS OF HELL AND SKULLFUCKED SATAN ON HIS THRONE OF FLAMES. HE ASCENDED TO HEAVEN SIMPLY TO FIST GOD'S ASSHOLE WHILE HIS OBEDIENT SHEEP WEPT TEARS OF BLOOD. HE'S THE BEGINNING, THE END, THE EVERYTHING. BIRTHED IN A BLACK HOLE AND BORN FROM A STAR, HE CAN OBLITERATE EXISTENCE WITH THE SNAP OF HIS FINGERS. AND TODAY HE'S DEIGNED TO PERFORM FOR YOU PATHETIC DREGS OF SOCIETY. RISE TO YOUR FEET AND AND AVERT YOUR GAZE, FOR I GIVE YOU LUNAR PLEXUS."

I dropped to my knees, bowed my head and pointed to the backstage area as dramatically as I could. They had seen him in five matches already but when he stepped out from behind the curtain this time the audience exploded in a blood hungry frenzy. As expected he hardly paid them any notice, which is exactly what I was hoping for. Stay aloof and people might believe what you tell them. And looking at him now I almost believed that speech myself. These people were treating this soulless killer like a lost messiah. They really have some fucked up priorities.

The announcer of the event stepped forward, his red and black crucifix glinting in the light of the bare bulbs swinging overhead. There was a change in schedule.

"I'm sorry to say that Knuckles Cougarfucker has been permanently retired."

The crowd swarmed toward the ring in protest, though no one dared climb onto it. Not while he was standing there.

"However, we do have a substitution. Straight from New Vatican City, a high ranking member of the Catholic # Reload priesthood and a truly blessed being, Father Henry O'Cocksmith!"

Two horrible fiddlers stepped into the arena followed by a seven foot wall of muscle. This walking tribute to the human growth hormone whipped open his priest robe to reveal two nude girls straddling his erect penis like a pony at a petting zoo. O'Cocksmith even galloped toward centre stage, the two girls squealing in ecstasy with every buck along the way. He swung them off after stepping into the ring and they went sailing into the audience where they were quickly gang raped and murdered.

"A glorious evening to you and yours. My name is Father Henry O'Cocksmith, pleasure to make your acquantince. I just hope your acquantince can accommodate my pleasure."

Unfortunately he was speaking to me. He began rubbing that ape's arm he called a dick against my leg when something unexpected (And welcome!) happened. Lunar Plexus, who had grown quite listless watching this ludicrous spectacle, wrapped his hand around O'Cocksmith's boner and plucked it from his body. A font of blood burst from the gaping wound and O'Cocksmith began frantically running around the ring bathing the first four rows in a crimson shower.

"Perhaps now you'll be able to focus."

O'Cocksmith's ball sac, still dangling from his body, began spilling it's contents onto the ring mat. In his panic O'Cocksmith accidentally stepped on his own testicle and took a header into the crowd. I stepped on the other one. He clawed his way back into the ring, his face as red as the squirting geyser where his manhood used to be.

"YOU MOTHERFECKIN' GOBDAW, YA GON' AND YANKED OFF MY TALLYWHACKER. I'M A GONNA FECKIN' KNOCK YER ARSE TO DUBLIN. GIVE ME MY DICK YOU SON OF A WHORE, GIVE IT TO ME NOW! I'LL STITCH IT ON WITH ME OWN TWO HANDS IF THAT'S THE WAY IT'S GOT TO BE. HURRY NOW."

Clearly annoyed, Lunar Plexus bit into the flaccid phallus like it was an apple, tore out a huge chunk (Including the main vein, which dangled between his teeth like a strand of spaghetti.) and casually tossed the remnants to the audience.

"Now it's useless. Are you thoroughly prepared?"

O'Cocksmith almost dived in after his mangled dick but the audience was already divvying it up. He turned toward Lunar Plexus in a rage. Then he looked toward the ceiling.

"Forgive me lord, for I'm about to sin."

He crossed himself and made a gesture toward the two fiddlers. They quickly dug through their pockets and produced two syringes each. They tossed them to O'Cocksmith and he jammed all four straight into his heart.

"In the name of the father!"

He ripped off his robe and pushed down on the first syringe. A thicket of veins exploded across his body.

"The son!"

The second syringe. His veins grew even larger, the font of blood began spraying like a fire hose and his muscles began to twitch.

"And the HOLY GHOST!"

The third syringe. His muscles began to expand before our eyes. He produced a bible from his pants pocket and stuck it between his teeth.

"THE MEEK SHALL NEVER INHERIT THE EARTH!"

The final syringe. O'Cocksmith's body violently lurched, it looked like he had induced a seizure. His muscles expanded again, though the results were terribly unbalanced. His right side was nearly double the size of his left, his head became engulfed in a sea of lumpy muscle. You could see every vein in his body, some had ruptured his skin and each pulse of his heart painfully displayed. All this and they hadn't even so much as thrown a single punch.

"Men go to such extraordinary lengths when faced with the impossible. You're a credit to your species."

"FUUUUUUUUUUUUCK YOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOU."

Just a warning to my readers. I'm about to use a lot of exclamation marks and capital letters. It's the only way I can properly capture these moments.

O'Cocksmith rushed Lunar Plexus who patiently stood his ground. O'Cocksmith, barely able to lift his own arm above his chest, HAMMERED Plexus in the stomach, sending him CAREENING across the stage and through a concrete pillar. Lunar Plexus stood up, dusted himself off and picked up a piece of the rocky debris. Then he DASHED across the room and SMASHED THE LUMP OF CONCRETE OVER O'COCKSMITH'S FUCKING FACE! The crowd simultaneously held up their hands to cheer and fend off the downpour of gravel. O'Cocksmith returned the favour by HEAVING Lunar Plexus over his head and slamming him into the mat with excessive force. The support structure beneath the stage couldn't handle the punishment and all three of us and the mat took a five foot plummet to the floor. This caused O'Cocksmith to lose his footing and gave Lunar Plexus an opportunity to counterattack. Plexus snatched O'Cocksmith up off the ground and grabbed him by the wrists. Then he lifted his giant leg and planted his massive foot smack in the centre of O'Cocksmith's chest. Lunar Plexus started PRESSING DOWN on O'Cocksmith's chest while pulling on his arms, attempting to TEAR THEM off his body! Unfortunately even a beast like Lunar Plexus couldn't rip through all that muscle in time before O'Cocksmith kicked out Plexus' knee and escaped, though it was clear that both his shoulders had separated. He tried to pop his arms back into place but he couldn't find the bones in the mass of muscle. So O'Cocksmith simply began FLAILING HIS ARMS and smacking Lunar Plexus with a windmill motion, though it was obvious this attack had little impact. Enraged, O'Cocksmith started HEADBUTTING Plexus in the chest, which was a brilliant maneuver considering his neck was cushioned by a sickening wall of meat. Lunar Plexus, showing disdain for his opponent's abilities, lifted him up sideways and SNAPPED HIM over his knee kidney first! Then he flipped him over and did it again to the other kidney!

"I would warn you about pissing blood but it seems you've already got that problem. And I doubt you could piss anyway."

Desperate, O'Cocksmith BIT into Lunar Plexus' bicep which caused him to loose his grip. Now free, O'Cocksmith started kicking at Lunar Plexus' legs, though he might as well have been a flea biting at his shins. Lunar Plexus reared back and struck the bridge of O'Cocksmith's nose with a straight jab, shattering it completely and forcing him to breathe in agonized gasps.

"You...you feckin' gobdaw. If I had a quart o' whiskey in me..."

An audience member obliged and threw Lunar Plexus a bottle! He quickly smashed it over O'Cocksmith's head and jammed the sharpened husk into his broken face, twisting it and shearing off hunks of flesh. I can't describe O'Cocksmith's screams.

"S...s-s-s-sweet m-m-m-merciful mother."

O'Cocksmith collapsed to his knees, utterly defeated. Unfortunately for him, Lunar Plexus' mercy is not something one should seek.

"It's tragic you've lead a life full of sin."

Lunar Plexus leaned down beside the whimpering O'Cocksmith and laid a hand on his grotesquely gigantic shoulder. The audience froze. I did the same.

"Because today you're kneeling on the threshold of God."

He grinned and made a sweeping motion toward the sky.

"I'm saddened that I can only do you one favour before the end."

Lunar Plexus thrust his other hand downward and crammed it into the dripping wound where O'Cocksmith's dick once hung with pride.

"Allow me to grant you peace."

O'Cocksmith began choking on blood and I noticed Plexus' arm sliding deeper and deeper into the priest's body. I could even see the outline of it inching up his chest.

"Your maker awaits."

"F...forgive me...f-f-f-father...for I ha-ha-ha-have...AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHGGGGGGGGGGGGGAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH."

Lunar Plexus quickly pulled his arm loose from the body, a throbbing heart now clutched in his bloody hand. He crossed himself with it, threw it on the floor and grinded it beneath his heel.

"Sinned."

The night died along with Father O'Cocksmith, the sun's light engulfing his body as it sat lifeless in the centre of the ring. Lunar Plexus pulled the crucifix from his neck and crushed it in his bloody hand, throwing the splintered remains over the corpse. And then he addressed the audience.

"Witness the demise of a pious man. A fool to the end. Live for yourself or don't live at all. It's that simple. We shall meet again."

I want to fuck this guy so badly.

[Seru]

Yeah, I didn't work today.

[Seru]

Enter Bone Musket

Though he didn't show it at the fight, some of O'Cocksmith's blows took their toll on Lunar Plexus. His chest armour was badly dented from the repeated headbutts and there was an enormous purple bruise centred between his pectorals. I did my best to prop him up on our trip back to his residence (Apparently he had acquired quite a few across the country.) but that's a tall task when you're 110 pounds and you have to support 500. We took a quick detour through a back alley when I heard slow, methodical clapping coming from behind us. From out of the shadows stepped a man in a black and red robe, average height, slightly underweight, wearing a cardinal cap emblazoned with the British flag. With cheekbones as sharp as a knife, he grinned at me with decaying teeth and gave me a wink, then turned his attention to the mighty Lunar Plexus.

"Fu fu fu! Yer a tough ol' sod ain'tcha? Never seen a man take a beatin' quoite like dat. Bloody superstendous."

I think he was British. Then he slimed his tongue across dry, cracked lips, thrust out his pelvis and turned toward me.

"Welly welly well! Ain't you a sexy liddle bird? Wouldn't mind a roll in the 'ay wit you. Fancy a snog of my swizzlestick, eh? Fu fu fu fu fu!"

"Sorry pal, I've got all the asshole I can handle right here."

"That's a rather gloopy way o' puttin' it, love. Me ticker was all thumpity thump thump and ya broke it right quick. I'm a sensitive soul don't ya know? I feel a sharp sadness in my guttiwuts."

He pressed the back of his hand to his forehead and leaned against a broken brick wall, feigning defeat. Then he reached into his robe and pulled out a sack of gold coins.

"Maybe a bit o' the pretty polly will change yer' mind, eh?"

"Not interested."

He hurled the sack of coins at Lunar Plexus' feet turning the alley into a clanking cacophony.

"Oh, I see 'ow it is. You'll be off lubbilubbing this starry-eyed veck while ol' Bone Musket is salutin' his number one all by his lonely lonesome. Dirty pool, love."

"Bone Musket?"

"Cahdinal Bone Musket actually. Pleased to greet ya."

"And goodnight to you as well."

I went to leave when he stepped into our path.

"That's quite all right, love, I snapped off a bit o' me love stick in some full breasted birds early on. Gave 'em a ripe bite of the ol' apple that I did! Fu fu fu fu fu!"

I looked up at Lunar Plexus. He was completely disinterested.

"Enough wit' the sheep shite. I ain't 'ear for you my lovely, I'm 'ere for the gent on your right."

That caught his attention.

"Slooshied me some information about you lad. Says 'ere you ain't nothin' but a bloody faker. Could make a weaker man booey hooey hoo for his Em's's goo goo basket. Though I'm guessing you don't have a Em, eh? Lucky lady, looks like you needed to be birfed by a bloomin' Greek titan!"

"Do you have a point?"

"Do I 'ave a point? I got a point on me knife ya ill mannered slovo! I expect you to flash those zoobies and give a 'earty how do ya' please when you're addressing a cahdinal of the Catholic # Reload church."

Then I noticed the red and black crucifix hanging from his neck. He caught my gaze.

"That's roight love, 'ope you appreciated my 'appy liddle present. Ol' O'Cocksmith can be a right pain in the arse when 'e wants to be. God rest 'im."

"Wear me down and attack me at my most vulnerable. An antiquated strategy but still highly effective."

Lunar Plexus shoved me aside and stepped toward Bone Musket. The limey prick backpedaled so quickly he nearly tripped over his own feet.

"Fancy a bit of the ol' ultra violence, chap? I wouldn't mind a round or two meself. I'll 'appily oblige by givin' you a knock on the ol' rassodocks, ya bloody sod. Make ya' swim in a channel of yer' red krovvy, that I will."

Bone Musket threw up his hands like he was about to go through 80 rounds of bare-knuckle boxing with The Great Gun of Windsor Tom Cannon.

"Say 'ello to the duke and the duchess. They a rowdy pair of ruffians they is!"

He threw a single punch. Then he scurried into a corner kissing his fist.

"BLOODY 'ELL. That's like punchin' a fuckin' wall! Though I think a fuckin' wall 'as a liddle more give, eh? I ought give you a bash in the chops were I equipped to do so. Make that puss of yours real 'orrorshow. Bloody yarbles!"

He raised both his hands again, though this time he pointed at Lunar Plexus with the classically cheesy finger guns.

"'ad me a revolver and you'd respect ol' Bone Musket a little more I think."

He pulled the faux triggers and BAM, the tips of his fingers exploded. Lunar Plexus lurched, two quarter sized holes smoking in his chest.

"Boom boom boom, 'eaven comes crashing down on you oh my brother."

Bone Musket dashed forward and crammed his middle fingers into the still smoking wounds. BOOM, Lunar gritted his teeth and fell to one knee, twin trails of blood cascading down his chest.

"Sippin' a bit too much of the ol' moloko, eh? Lookin' a bit mappy ya' towerin' slovo. Fu fu fu!"

Lunar Plexus swiped at him like a bear, though he could only manage to graze a knee. POP, the knee exploded as well tearing through Lunar Plexus' thigh.

"My my my, we're gettin' a bit a'ead of ourselves ain't we? Creech out a prayer to ol' Bog ya' grazhny bugger!"

Bone Musket slammed his palm into Lunar Plexus' bruised chest and pressed down on his wrist. CRACK, Musket's arm recoiled like an elephant gun and for the first time I heard Lunar Plexus groan in pain. The twin trails of blood joined a waterfall of living plasma. Musket rested his other palm on Lunar Plexus' forehead, his crooked, yellowed teeth oozing with satisfaction.

"Bang."

I shut my eyes and turned away. Shame that I did because the next thing I knew Bone Musket's arm was flopping by my feet. Another man had entered the alley, though you could only tell it was a man based on his build.

"'ell's bells, that was certainly unexpected."

The mystery man twirled what looked to be a rapier around his finger and stabbed Bone Musket in the thigh, causing his leg to go up in a smoky blaze.

"Bloody Jesus, Mary and Joseph. You gloopy son of a fishwife! Kiss my fuckin' sharries, Thorax!"

The swishy fruitcake with the sword flashed me a smile, jumped over Bone Musket and took off in the opposite direction. The idiot opted to follow after him instead of finishing the job he started. Fucked up priorities. I quickly turned to help Lunar Plexus but he was already standing, almost recovered despite his gaping chest wound. Most shocking was that his face had contorted in rage.

"You know him?"

He spat out a copious amount of blood.

"I am him."

[Seru]

Run that through a spellchecker.

You'll be here all night!

[Seru]

Tough crowd.

[Big Fagot]

I'm still running it through a spellchecker.

[Seru]

</3

[Action Hank]

This Bone Musket seems all right!

[Roy]

It seems as if a good way to generate heat for THIS crowd would be to make a guy British.

[Seru]

He's really just a way for me to jerk off with my useless knowledge of Nadsat.

Though after double checking I realized I used horrorshow incorrectly.

Fourteen-year-old me would be very upset!

[Action Hank]

There's never a bad excuse to use Nadsat.

[Seru]

Pander Handling

Due to reasons that will be elaborated upon later, this particular chapter in THE LEGEND OF LUNAR PLEXUS wasn't chronicled by a member of the primary cast. Therefore, here's a couple thousand words of me being a dick.

NIGHT. Very atmospheric, permeated by a dark moodiness that creates a sense of dread and terror. And the moon's out! After all, in the LEGEND OF LUNAR PLEXUS the moon doubles as both an overall theme and as a prime slice of symbolism. Which proves once again you don't have to take an English AP class to find first class story telling.

TWO VERY DIFFERENT FIGURES ARE STALKING THROUGH THE NIGHT, the half ton, nine foot abomination Lunar Plexus and the dainty yet devilishly trampy Hyle. What a natural parallel!

Lunar Plexus, despite the fact that he just got a chest full of explosive gun powder/bone marrow (Please look forward to THE ORIGIN OF BONE MUSKET promo coming directly after this one.), is more or less completely recovered. Hyle, Lunar Plexus' unwitting manager/only friend/older sister/younger sister/daughter figure/potential lover, was doing her best to comfort her managee/only friend/younger brother/older brother/father figure/potential lover. Of course, since she was a goth skank that could only eke out an existence by spreading her legs, this proved mighty difficult. Lunar Plexus lead her to his promised palatial estate, a sprawling mansion on 2000 acres of heaven.

Hyle, being the naturally inquisitive type, couldn't help but wonder how a demonic beast like Lunar Plexus managed to land such a plum piece of real estate when he clearly didn't have a source of income. Lunar Plexus, being the unnaturally brooding type, brooded his way to the front door of the mansion in silence. Then they opened the door. Then they entered the mansion. Then they shut the door behind them. Much like you would if you entered your own house. Very relatable.

Desperate to veer the subject away from Lunar Plexus' brush with death and subsequent salvation in the form of his limp wristed original, Hyle asked about Lunar Plexus' home.

"What's the deal with this home?" she asked.

"What did you want to know?" Lunar Plexus replied in a gruff yet accommodating tone.

"How can you afford a place like this?"

"Afford?"

"Yeah, how'd you pay for it?"

Lunar Plexus, clearly unfamiliar with the finer points of property ownership, pointed toward a slumped corpse in the corner.

"I acquired it from the previous owner."

"Oh," thought Hyle in one of those comic thought clouds complete with quotations around the O and the H, "At least I can put a face to the smell."

Weary from the long and lonesome night, Lunar Plexus retired to a couch in one of the side rooms.

"Can I get you anything?" Hyle asked as matronly as possible.

"Alcohol. All of it. One glass."

And off she went into the kitchen to fetch a trash can full of booze. Kind of touching, all this unexplained devotion. These two have one of those classic professional wrestling relationships. Think Macho Man and Miss Elizabeth, Shawn Michaels and Sensational Sherry, Hugo Andore and Poison. Though Hyle doesn't have a dick and never got spinning piledriven by the mayor of Metro City. She'll probably get loaded up on illegal drugs and find herself murdered by by Lex Luger, but that's a given. A girl's got to dream.

Hyle quickly uncapped every liquor bottle she could find and emptied them into a plastic trash can until it was brimming. At 5'4, 110 pounds, it was quite a feat dragging a practical cask of firewater to the unfriendly giant. But she did. It certainly beat life on the streets.

So am I the only one that CRAFTED a female character that didn't eventually get dicked tens ways from Sunday and periodically on Saturday? By which I mean Kunt, not Hyle. I seriously sold out with her. Maybe you pricks should take some sensitivity training, slap a coat of realism on your ridiculously outlandish characters.

So anyway, our stalwart anti-hero, the inhumanly proportioned Aztec doppelganger from Castlevania Lunar Plexus, grasped the can of booze with both hands, poured a healthy proportion of it straight into his chest wound and downed the rest with fervent abandon. Hyle, no longer able to keep her stupid womanly trap shut, broached the subject of Solar Thorax.

"Uh, you said that guy in the alley was you. What did you mean?"

"I'm his shadow."

Lame and overused twin symbolism generally floats right over a person's head the first time they hear it, so Hyle was still confused.

"What do you mean?"

"Have you ever heard of...Castlevania?"

Ha ha! Had she ever heard of Castlevania. This bitch was keeping her minge shut with a dozen safety pins. She chiseled her teeth into fangs at the age of twelve. She was an underage poster girl for Fangoria. Of course she heard of fucking Castlevania!

"I have," she said.

"I'm a doppelganger. Doppelganger 316 to be exact. A doppelganger of that wretched dastard."

Hyle was taken aback. No doppelganger had ever lived beyond an initial scuffle with their original.

"And what's wrong with that?"

Lunar Plexus hurled his empty trash can through a window.

"EVERYTHING IS WRONG WITH THAT. DID YOU HAPPEN TO GLIMPSE THAT PATHETIC EXCUSE FOR A HUMAN BEING? HE SHOULDN'T EXIST."

Wow, heavy. Hyle was taken aback once again. Expect that to happen a lot.

"Why do you even care? You're clearly not the same," Hyle said as she slowly stimulated the areola on her immaculate left breast, a perfect pink nipple rising to greet her sex starved tongue. She lashed her piercing around it until her loins grew wet with the moisture of passion, then playfully bit down on the hard nub until she was squealing in ecstasy. That didn't actually happen, I'm just trying to keep things interesting.

"Yes, exactly. Loathe the very idea, Hyle, it's a sincerely disgusting thought," Lunar Plexus said and he stroked the tip of his massive wedding tackle, blood flowing away from his sickening chest wound and stiffening his wanting member. That actually happened. Not that interesting.

"I suppose that's one man's opinion. You should ask a few I know, they would slap that pug ugly look right off you face," said a third voice, high pitched and nearly prepubescent. Lunar Plexus can only grit his teeth as an impossibly pretty man sashayed his way into the room, his silky smooth movements a triumph of form and grace. He gingerly picked up Hyle's hand and kissed it with creamy white lips, then he did the same to Lunar Plexus. Unfortunately he back-dashed the bitchslap that followed.

"An honour, my lady, to bask in the glow of your resplendent beauty."

It was the man from the alley. (!!!)

Hyle couldn't help but notice that Lunar Plexus had upended the couch he was lounging on and was making a beeline for the stranger. She stupidly stepped in his path. Unfortunately she didn't back-dash the bitchslap that followed. Luckily the prissy fairy caught her as she tumbled to the floor.

"How barbaric! Is that how you treat the fairer sex? And to think I might have considered you a brother."

And that pretty much made Lunar Plexus lose it.

"SOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOLAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAR THHHHHHHOOOOOOOOOOOORAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAXXXXXXXXXX."

Usually maintaining the composure of a Buckingham Palace guard, Lunar Plexus was transformed into a foaming lunatic. He began SHREDDING his chest with his fingernails, TEARING OPEN HIS OWN GOD DAMNED WOUND even more and generally making a mess of his own body.

"GWOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH."

He struck, the man parried. He clawed at his chest some more.

"SHAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA."

AN ATTEMPTED HEADBUTT. The man tapped the tip of his boot on Lunar Plexus' forehead and flipped away, Hyle cradled in his arms and shocked at what she was witnessing.

"GIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIII."

Lunar Plexus' double axe handle only met air, his lunge sent him through a wall, and his kicks sent his feet through the hardwood floor.

"UUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUURAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHH."

"ENOUGH."

The man threw a small vial into Lunar Plexus' wound, a terrible blue flame then erupted from the bloody crater. And just like that Lunar Plexus became calm once more. The man placed Hyle on her feet and waggled his index finger.

"Holy water."

"And who the fuck are you?"

"Oh, my ears! Such harsh language from such a rare flower!" The man pulled out a handkerchief and waved in in front of his nose, dispelling the unpleasantness that he had just been witness to.

This man, NAY, THIS GOD was premiere vampire slayer and five star dandy Solar Thorax. Seriously, this guy bears a striking resemblance to a certain half Canadian Japanese porn princess. Though unlike Maria Ozawa, Solar Thorax was masterfully adept at faking orgasms. And muck like Maria Ozawa, Solar Thorax enjoyed being savagely fucked by burly men while donning a schoolgirl's uniform. Just so there's no confusion, this mary is a screaming queen.

"My name, if you didn't know it already, is Solar Thorax," he said in a jaunty tone.

It was no wonder women adored him. And a certain small segment of men. Decked out in nothing but satin and lace, he had all the aesthetic appeal of a decorative throw pillow.

"The guy from the alley. Yeah, I remember," Hyle said as I describe exactly how she said it like this was a second grade storybook. Seriously, as much as I hate Hemmingway, and god damn do I hate Hemmingway, I had to admire the fact that he eliminated the whole he said she said literary trap. Even though I can never follow a conversation in any of his books. "And what do you want with Plexus?"

"Ho ho ho ho ho! Plexus! A pet name, how cute! I could just eat you up you're so wretchedly adorable!"

"GET TO THE FUCKING POINT," said Lunar Plexus, repeating what's on all our minds.

"Oh brother dear, you can be such a pill. I'm hear to warn you of course. You're being targeted by Vatican X," Solar Thorax said as he fussed with his billowy, ruffled collar.

"Vatican X?"

Yes, Vatican X. Established by Neo Pope Gretta Pius the First, Vatican X is home to principle hierarchy of the Catholic # Reload religion. Stationed in New Vatican City, the primary goal of Vatican X is to help repair the hellscape that is New America and some other shit that will be revealed later.

"Blah blah blah," said Solar Thorax, repeating exactly what I just wrote. "I've gone rogue, so now they're gunning for me. And considering what you are, it should come as no surprise that they'd want you dead as well."

"Let them come then. I'm above petty intimidation."

"Though not above their skills. Lucky I was their to save your bacon."

Hyle, sensing an uneasiness in the room, decided that enough was enough and it was time for a change.

And then from THIN FUCKING AIR appeared the most grotesque asshole to ever grace the cyberpages of a phony Internet wrestling league. Yes, PAPPY FUCKING ARSCHLOCH crashes their merry little party.

"Geh heh heh heh heh heh heh heh! Time fer a good hard dickin' Pappy style ya doe-eyed cunt squirts!"

One 4000 word epic battle later, which unfortunately didn't make the cut, Pappy decides to end the festivities by casting god damned Meteo. A TERRIBLE HELLSTORM OF METEORITES ENGULFS OUR HEROES AND THEIR STORY ENDS NOT WITH A WHIMPER, BUT WITH A BANG. SEVERAL THOUSAND BANGS TO BE EXACT.

Except it wasn't over at all. No, because one of the meteorites that obliterated thre ragtag gang contained a TIME DIAMOND. So everything that happened in the last 4000 or so words that didn't actually make it into this promo didn't actually happen! And then another fucking time diamond showed up and eliminated the existence of the previous time diamond so time diamonds didn't actually show up in this promo! Because that would just be silly. Time diamonds!

Back to Hyle's decision to emulate the late, great Owen Hart.

"All right Mr.Thorax. Thank you for your concern. You should leave before things became a little too heated. Again."

"Solar little lady, Mr.Thorax is my father's name."

And if you didn't hate him for using such a trite phrase, he probably went to get fucked by a bunch of dudes after he left.

And then, also much like the Hugo Andore and Poison relationship, Lunar Plexus decided it was time fuck Hyle's brains out. And again, without the extra penis. Aww.

Alternate title for this finely honed piece of literary fantasy, Love Story 2009.

[Ryoko's Biatch]

I'm not sure why they bothered with Poison's dick in that picture.

[Seru]

S/he's a cocktease.

[Rice]

moar

[Seru]

I think I've pandered enough.