The Waning Moon Gurgles Once More

Sea-fish, a fish-headed man with a dish full of dog food he was devouring, came upon a steep hill. Upon this steep, dark hill.. which was surrounded by the shadows of the Afternight, Sea-fish, a man, a fish, a man-fish, found himself in a conundrum of epic proportions. For upon his bowels was a rumbly, tumbly sound, which did not agree with the sight of the locked, titanium outhouse in front of him. An outhouse.. for shits and giggles.

So alone from the crowd, from the racing rats from some towering city clinging to rocky foundations on the coast below, Sea-fish banged on that titanium outhouse door. Banging with the all the ferocity and fury of a poltergeist having sex with a wall at an abandoned Denny's in Detroit. With the anger of Zeus after finding out that Lifetime was airing reruns, that Hallmark was airing Chuck Norris, and the weather channel airing good weather, Sea-fish banged his gilled fist upon the titanium outhouse door.

Sea-fish only eyed down below spitefully with his gazeless, stupor of a gaze. The enormous moon being enormous and waning in the sky. He spotted the faint sight of the Mexican restaurant he had recently been in, thinking of Oxford commas, and the bastards who probably gave him a date with the toilet for the hundredth time.

"Onggggggggg!" Sea fish would think angrily, as the children ran away and screamed.
            The voice of someone ancient who sounded like they were chewing on their lips came from inside the outhouse, "Uueehh, Uuehh, ju- ju- just a sekond."

"Ongggggg!" Sea fish bellowed as the notion to adopt a prairie dog became more than a thought.

"Oooeeehh, uueehh, that's not the rainbow." The voice said, before the door swung open.

A flush came from the grotesque container. Shadow, incomprehensible porta-potty darkness, and a smell to die for floating through the air in a thick green smog. Sea-fish stepped back in an 'Ong' of both horror and relief, unable to see the strange weirdo which had destroyed this wondrous, safe-guarded panic-room of good fortune.

A modern-day shelter for those who had made the mistake of a dinner date of grease-laden enchiladas, soft-taco, burritochos accompanied by a cardboard Spanish quintet (who had most definitely, by the smiles on their faces, had been drinking).. and served by the hairiest female fallout of Lucha Libra. Modern-day luxuries for the modern-day fool.

It started raining air-fresheners. Sea-fish quickly armed himself and began spraying, fighting back the dark green cloud as it killed babies of all species, even ones which hadn't come into existence yet. The weirdo which walked out of the outhouse was a stocky, well-dressed man with a huge mouth, chewing on spinach and scratching his ass. He said not a word but walked off the cliff, falling to his seeming demise-- only to get up unscathed from the buglike apparatus of his gelatin-like body and began stumbering (yes, that) towards the nearest Convience-Mart-Center.

This was all too much for Sea-fish, who Onged from his eyes as he was hit by cans of air-freshner subsiding from the dreary Afternight sky. He waddled with wax shoes towards the outhouse door and slammed it shut.

"Help!" A familiar voice. Maybe too familiar. Maybe so familiar that it if it was put into recorded stories it had to have been from a past one. Maybe so familiar that Sea-fish would immediately recognize it, as well as its circumference, barometric pressure, tonal temperature, and the direction it was spouted from-- deep below the dire porcelain of the portable toilet seat. It was, it could only be one person, fighting for his life in a sea of fecal sludge. Orelius Monocles, threatened by the lure of immortality as Shitpires loomed around him.

Sea-fish onged a long, loud Ong of Orange and pulled a fishing pull from his throat. He had little time to fuck around. He cast, the string bobbing in the grotesque sea of grotesQuery, 'Query', the 'ping' without the following. Sea-fish tried to reel his friend in, Orelius screaming as an enormous hook went through the worst part of him-- his overpriced hat. But the Shitpires were trudging closer, viciously hungry for the subject of highest carnality and ruthlessness, empirical evidence supporting bacterial-terrestial discoveries.

"Oh Orelius!" A woman screamed. "Oh Orelius please! Please save me!"

"That Whe Couble-Dappucino!?" Orelius murmered back in a pledge of truth. "There's not enough room for two people to grab this hat before one of us gets ripped to shreds in a hand-basket full of Life-saver gummies!"

Suddenly the wind kicked up and blew the entire titanium outhouse along with its pit of fecal contents right out of the ground. And so flying through the air in a barreling motion of the most intense nausea, somehow, in some way, Orelius and the seven Shitpires-- whose appearance should not be explained under any experiential circumstance, went blasting through the battered, beaten throne. From which the whole lot of them was kicked out that door into the open sky by the natural Scientific forces of barreling motions as explained in Section 3 of "Barrel" Barker's handy Barrel hand-book, Third Edition, Twice Edited, Once Reviewed."

As it seemed that Orelius Monocles and Sea-fish were falling to their utmost demise, they fought for their lives in a kickboxing box-off-kick-off, against those fiendish and all-too recently mentioned Shitpires. Monocles and Sea-fish gurgled the fiercest of gurgles, as they received stains worse than dirt, bleach, wine, and coffee combined with paint.

Would their gurgles prevail? Who was the mysterious woman who screamed at Orelius for help? Was the second alien murdered in the escape pod with an IDE cable? And most importantly.. who would Sally take to the prom?

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