The Parody of the Hero for Killing the Demon who Dreamed Him Boss positioned itself so that it was directly beneath the prolapsed anus of the arse of the Designated Swallower. Its prolapsed anus was now flapping outside the hole in the ceiling, and indeed slapping the Parody of The Hero for Killing the Demon who Dreamed Him Boss in the face. This didn't make him happy, sad, or disgusted; it was just something that was happening.

All the while the Designated Swallower endured the rumbling of his stomach; his massive, larger than him in fact by this point, stomach. It was the size of three other Science Priests at this point; his stomach; that stomach; its stomach ready to burst. It pleaded against its rumbling; it pleaded with it not to burst. All this simultaneous with its commencing the process of negotiating out of its body the gargantuan faeces of semen it was brewing inside himself. The challenge was to achieve this task at the same time not shitting out entire cavities of internal organs.

Reaching beneath the – practically – toilet hole of the panel directly above the face of the Parody of the Hero for Killing the Demon who Dreamed Him Boss, avoiding his own slapping prolapsed anus hitting him in the arms; hitting the face of the Parody of the Hero for Killing the Demon who Dreamed Him Boss, the thing – scalpel-saw now in his hand – took hold of the thing's skull for the necessary utilitarian performance of the next part.

He used this, he saw this, they saw this, in this manner, the scalpel-saw: it plunged the scalpel-saw directly into the skull of the Parody of the Hero for Killing the Demon who Dreamed Him Boss; and set about carving off its skull cap.

He did this thereby exposing the mangled cortex of the poor manipulated – he couldn't help feel for the thing clearly only an engineered – organic robot, that was having its brains scooped out by the replaced hoover implement in the hands of the swollen bellied Science Priest. The Designated Swallower was having enough difficulty fighting his own prolapsed anus out the way, reaching beneath himself out the hole under him, performing this task.

Finally succeeding he sucked the entire interior contents of the Parody of the Hero for Killing the Demon who Dreamed Him Boss' skull just beneath him:

The more brain sucked out the more violent were the involuntary convulsions of the thing still grasping the ceiling bars: The thing was fitting up mad style, throwing its body left and right, full on epileptic seizures that racked its entire frame agonisingly. The Boss threw himself in every direction, enduring the sucking out of its biological soul in the form of the material that formed its brain. Which constituted to whatever limited – and it was limited, the extent that it did, his solitary thinking organ. It was him, they were sucking out, because – none of this had been sufficiently entertaining.

But despite all this, and rather miraculously, the Hero for Killing the Demon who Dreamed Him Boss maintained the whole time its hand-hold on the bars in the ceiling.

The Designated Swallower, insanely massive belly the whole time dangerously close to exploding with the semen shit that it was obviously currently forming, finally finished the process of sucking out the things entire living thinking organ with the sucker tool provided.

The entire contents sucked out, the thing hanging there, still somehow hanging there, its fits momentarily – they ceased. Eight eyes rolled backwards in its skull-fucked coupon; hanging, merely hanging, it hung. Miraculously it still managed to hang there.

The Designated Swallower reached beneath him and inserted his/its prolapsed anus in the exposed brainless skull of the Parody of the Hero for Killing the Demon who Dreamed Him Boss.

And then began the torturous process of shitting.

The gargantuan semen shit that was exploding its stomach – this, would be the new brain of the Parody of the Hero for Killing the Demon who Dreamed Him Boss.

And then. And then whatever that meant, in terms of who he was, his identity, final reality – and being able to live after having witnessed this.

Could someone tell him that this wasn't evil?

These fucks had to die.

All of them.

Its new brain would be a shit, a piece of faeces, the matter of which, was semen.

It would be processed in the normal manner that a shit was, but instead of the original matter from which it was composed being food, it would instead be semen. - This new brain, instead of being a brain with the neurological matter that constituted a normal brain, would in this instance be a brain composed – not of this, but instead of a shit.

And in fact even more precisely a shit that itself was not composed of the normal material that composed a shit, but instead, rather, semen.

The thing's new brain would be composed of a brain not composed of the usual brain matter but a faeces, that itself, was not composed of the normal faeces matter. But of semen. What this brain would be, instead of a brain in fact, would be a semen shit. This semen shit. Instead of a brain, would be used for thinking. Not to mention the several other complex tasks brains did. The complex functions of a brain, in this instance, would not be performed by a brain, but by a faeces made of ejaculate. A semen shit, in other words. This would be its brain now.

The torturous process by which the semen shit was transplanted into the cerebral cavity of the Parody of the Hero for Killing the Demon who Dreamed Him Boss – a transplantation, that was also a defecation, started like this:

He was forced to see this. This abuse was forced into, across, through – all of that – into, his consciousness. It was unavoidable; it was happening – and if he had to see it. Then. He had to see it:

The Designated Swallower, above the hole, reached beneath himself, through that hole, and set his prolapsed rectum carefully into the cerebral cavity of the Parody of the Hero for Killing the Demon who Dreamed Him Boss, hanging there from the ceiling waiting for this.

And then shat.

And then shat.

And then shat.

And then shat.

And then shat.

And then shat.

And then shat.

And then shat.

And then shat.

And then shat.

And then shat.

And then shat.

And then shat.

And then shat.

And then shat.

And then shat.

And then shat.

And then shat.

And then shat.

And then shat.

And then shat.

Oh and then – victory! – oh blessings it shat. Oh Holy shitty, shitty victory. That holy victory.

And then shat.

And then shat.

And then shat.

And then shat.

And then shat.

And then shat.

And then shat.

And then shat.

Holy/holy/holy victory – how it shat. How it shat it – all!

Holy!

– Holy shitty victory. Holeeeeeeeeeeee! Happy victory. That happy, happy victory. Oh victory.

That happy, Holy victory, how it shat.

His rupturing belly rumbling, veins popping, stretch marks fit to burst –

the Great Evacuation

began –

he shat, he shat, oh how he shat that holy mass of the decision arrived at into the cerebral cavity, of the, Parody of the Hero for Killing the Demon who Dreamed Him Boss.

He saw the shit too that pulled the things prolapsed rectum off its body, sitting it gently upon the inside of the massive cavity of the giant's skull; filling the brain shape with the great milky shit; settling out in sedimentary layers into each of the corners, arriving at the formulation of a mind from ejaculate-faeces, or, whatever, shit-ejaculate.

He kept shitting; and the shitting in fact, the defecation/transplantation, wouldn't end, in the thing's head, until it filled it all up, and it did fill it all up.

And in fact the extra matter kept pouring; kept pouring from the rupturing-living – for how much longer – corpse of the terribly cute Designated Swallower – the best of a generation.

He kept shitting until, rumbling belly still fit to burst above, the gloopy semen faeces ran right down the face, out the brain cavity, and indeed covered the giant, commenced to, head to toe in the semen faeces in an humiliation that he couldn't help but think was completely intentional. But not of the Boss. Him.

It was a humiliation of. – Him.

This new thing, he obviously – they – had to fight, clearly, its brain was a semen shit. At this point no longer merely a parody of him; it was a parody of the worst moment of his life. This had happened – an hour ago, whatever, he didn't know, a couple; they'd been notching and loosing a while.

It was a parody now of the moment when a Science Priest had jacked one enormous gloopy load all up him – only psychologically manageable, in terms of the fact that this load was still on him, because this layer of semen was covered by the guts of the foul thing he'd immediately, after that act, murdered. – For which crime, by the way, he reminded himself, its entire race would perish.

Therefore, to recap, the thing was no longer the Parody of the Hero for Killing the Demon who Dreamed Him Boss, but the Parody of the Worst Moment in the Life of the Hero for Killing the Demon who Dreamed Him: When He'd Been Cummed Up Boss – an unmanageably long title unfortunately but nevertheless who the spunk brained fuckhole actually genuinely was. This was the final ontology of the fuck wit, and this fact had to be, without prevarication, confronted and in these terms.

The endless load that was also a shit kept coming out the destroyed arse of the Designated Swallower, above the Boss; until the whole thing was covered in spunk; still maintaining the parody of the Dream Slave's visage beneath all that... spunk.

It had a new brain.

Now.

Detached, he coldly observed the demise of the Designated Swallower, as all of his organs – its worst fears realised – were shat after the semen shit that was finally totally arse-birthed out of him. All his insides were shat out, and he collapsed in on himself above, emptied of all fluids, shits, semen shits, and organs.

He wondered now; now that clearly this was a new Boss that they were facing the title of which was: