FicWad

NOW HIRING: We needeth a sneaky young person as a part-time President. Must be over nine years of age and own thine own fruit basket. Damn hours and double-damn pay at $7! per slut.

Thou art reading the Book of Hondo. Now back to the story:

And it came to pass one day in Asgard that the God of All Things Found Under Couch Cushions didst begin to ponder the limitations on his godly power, and he didst decide that he deserved more.

Upon reaching this conclusion, the God of Dammit stood and spake unto the God of Overwhelming Obesity, saying: ‘As of now, I declareth myself the God of Sex.’

‘No!’ spake the God of Everything Else, ‘Sex falleth under the Everything Else category, and as I am the God of Everything Else, I therefore am the God of Sex.’

‘I context,’ spake the God of Stupidity, ‘for I really believeth that I shouldst be the God of Sex.’

‘Out of the question,’ spake the God of Bouncies.

‘But what if Sex falleth under the Couch Cushions?’ demanded the God of Hawai’ian Shirts.

‘How canst sex fall under couch cushions?’ spake the God of Bald Bastards. ‘That doth beg the question, what exactly is the definition of sex?’

‘After eight years of Bubba, I no longer knoweth!’ cried the God of Magic. ‘I am confusticated!’

And the Gods of Hondo didst turn to Count Chocula™, and Matt said unto him, ‘I shouldst be the God of Sex, right, Chocula™?’

And Count Chocula™ was silent.

‘We shall take that as a yes,’ spake the God of Everything Else.

‘Stupid Count Chocula™,’ spake the God of Stupidity ‘…He doth always side with Matt.’

And so they didst vow to settle this in a manner befitting the Gods of Hondo.

But, after not being able to think of a worthy Contest, they didst decide to seeketh counsel from the Ass-Kickin’ Apostle.

And it came to pass that the Dudes were corrupting the youth when the Gods of Hondo appeared unto them as mummified cats and Matt said unto them: ‘Derrick wisheth to challenge me, but we canst not think of a Contest worthy of a godly dispute.’

‘We ask thee, Scoot,’ spake the God of Orange Juice Drinking, ‘to think up a contest that is worthy of the Gods of Hondo.’

And Scoot didst quantemplate as Kungfucius had taught him, and said unto them, ‘We shouldst settle thy dispute according to the rules of Hondo.’

‘Rules?’ the Gods of Hondo didst ask in unison.

‘Aye,’ quoth Scoot. ‘Doth not the Seventh Commandment say: “Thou shalt settle all disputes by playing Rock Paper Scissors.”?’

‘Oh, right,’ spake the God of Grape Squishies, ‘we have forgotten about the Commandments. But Rock Paper Scissors is too basic for gods such as we.’

‘Complain not to me, for those art thine own rules,’ quoth Scoot, ‘If thou followeth them not, then what sayeth we shouldst have to?’

‘Fuck! I hate being a role model,’ spake Matt.

‘Canst we not just pull a Pope, and sayeth that the rules don’t apply to us?’ asked the God of Hawai’ian Shirts.

‘No,’ spake the God of Reruns, ‘that wouldst be too Catholic.’

And so Scoot didst call upon all of the Dudes to quantemplate with him.

‘I have an idea,’ quoth Yoco.

‘Shut up, goat-boy,’ spake the God of Dammit.

‘But ’tis a really good idea,’ quoth Yoco. ‘Why don’t we maketh a harder form of Rock Paper Scissors! That way thou canst still follow the Seventh Commandment, and the Universe won’t have to instantly disappear and be replaced by something even more bizarre and inexplicable.’

‘That wouldst be a plus…’ spake the God of Resisting Arrest.

‘Sweet merciful crap!’ cried Nori. ‘Is it actually possible for something to make less sense than the Gods of Hondo?’

‘Let us never find out,’ spake the God of Religion. ‘I thinketh thine idea might just work!’

And the Gods of Hondo didst vanish from their midst, only to reappear moments later.

‘We, the Gods of Hondo, have decided to use thine idea, Yoco,’ spake Matt. ‘and we shalt call this advanced form of Rock Paper Scissors the Godly Challenge.’

‘And because ’twas thine idea, thou Brian Fritz Pud Yoco Peppy McBean Skanky-Bitch, shalt be official ref of this and all future Godly Challenges,’ spake the God of Odnoh. ‘As we art both going to sacrifice thee, we knowest that thou showeth neither of us any particular favor.’

And so it came to pass that a challenge worthy of a godly dispute was devised.

‘Hold on a second, Scoot, or whoever the hell is writing this,’ spake Matt.

What? quoth the Narrator.

‘First of all…’ spake Matt, ‘Why must thou sayeth “quoth the Narrator” when thou art speaking? It doth make thee sound like a dumbass.’

I must, quoth the Narrator, otherwise our listening audience wouldst not have a clue who is speaking.

‘How the flying fuck dost thou have a listening audience in a book?’

And so the Narrator didst cast the Gods of Hondo into the Land of the Teletubbies to be butt-raped by Tinky-Winky (thanks for the wonderful mental image, Rev Falwell), and then driven insane by the constant hugging and the high-pitched, incomprehensible squeaking.

‘Aaargghh!’ screamed the Gods of Hondo in unison, ‘ ’Tis like Deliverance, only with less river and more anal raping!’

‘Narrator! Please!’ cried the God of Humor, ‘Bring us back to the Dudes and away from the constant fulfillment of Tinky-Winky’s urges and desires!’

Only if Matt apologizeth, quoth the Narrator.

Is this the end of the Gods of Hondo? Canst they escape from the Teletubbies?

‘Hey!’ cried Matt, ‘This isn’t funny!’

Resumed the Narrator, Wilt Matt apologize? Find out in the next grab-ass chapter of the Book of Hondo!