Broderica, Lady Krumbumbum and Biscuit Pisser stood by an ostrich groomer’s tent next to some public outhouses. After reaching the end of the godfighting arena tunnel they had magically teleported to an out of order stall in said public outhouses. There were many onlookers who assumed they had been up to unscrupulous activities, especially after they had on arriving in the stall tripped over eachother and broken the wooden seat while screaming ‘cluck’ over and over again on account of their shock and numerous new splinters.

“That’s it, Petunia, let it all out,” said a nervous, shriveled man as he petted the back of the large purple ostrich profusely defecating onto the street.

“Cluck this place is disgrossting!” screamed Biscuit Pisser, drawing attention to him and his companions, all of whom were covered in sewage.

“Biscuit Pisser quiet down people are staring,” hushed Krumbumbum.

“What did I clucking say about you calling me Biscuit Pisser Krumbumbum? What the cluck did I say to you about it you little tipped over teapot?!”

“Can you please quiet down? You’re making Petunia nervous.”

Biscuit Pisser turned around to witness the weak eyes of Petunia’s owner.

“Why the cluck should I care whether Petunia’s nervous? Cluck Petunia!”

The man cowered, and whispered. “Please stop. Petunia wouldn’t like you saying that.”

“Oh go cluck yourself!” Biscuit Pisser turned back to Broderica and Krumbumbum. “Anywhatsit I think we’re kinda clucked. That Jeffrey with a G fellow is bad business.”

“Clearly,” agreed Broderica, “He had no idea how to take care of those hamned gods. Worst kept gods I’ve ever seen I daresay.”

“Have you seen a lot of gods before, Broderica?” asked Krumbumbum.

SCREEEEE

Petunia was a little constipated and was taking it out on her owner, giving him quite a pecking.

“No but I’d imagine they are usually in better shape than those sacks of shit.”

SCREEEEE

“Petunia please stop!”

“Feathery clucking chickens man can you and your stupid ostrich just cluck the clucking hen off already I mean shit what the cluck is wrong with you?!”

“You’re making Petunia self conscious with all your swearing if you’d just control yourselves a little she would never be having trouble!”

SCREEEEE

He was once again hammered with her pecker.

“Alright Biscuit Pisser let’s go find somewhere to catch a drink. I’m starting to sober up and it’s honestly quite frightening. Not a fan.”

“Are you forgetting something?” Krumbumbum tutted.

“What, how flat you are?” Broderica smirked.

“Cluck off! No, that I’m a clucking wizard,” she materialized a large handle of gin as the word ‘ALCOHOL’ boomed through the air, “Vitch.”

SCREEEEE

“Must you—” peck “—cast your disgrossting—” peck peck “—alcohol spells—” peck peck peck “—around dear Petunia?” peck peck peck peck peck peck peck

“If Petunia gave a shit she’d do something other than cluck you up you cockhamned shrimp slider!” Biscuit Pisser cackled and cackled, and the man sighed. “Why, she’s lazy as shit I mean look at that fat vitch!”

Petunia suddenly stopped pecking her man with her pecker and glared at Biscuit Pisser. Her eyes glowed a smoldering red, which no one had noticed earlier. They grew shin as slits.

SCREEEEE

Petunia lunged at Biscuit Pisser like a flaming osprey, thrashing her neck around like a large feather noodle and gnashing her pecking beak like a mouth made of chainsaws.

“Feathery shit! This vitch is crazy!” Biscuit Pisser screamed, pissing himself.

“Is this why they call him biscuit pisser?” Krumbumbum asked Broderica.

“Hah! No. He wishes!”

Krumbumbum puzzled over this new information as Petunia captured Biscuit Pisser’s beard in her jaws and yanked him off the ground with it, swinging his ragdoll body around in circles.

“Feathery cluck!” Biscuit Pisser cried.

“Okay, this might be—” Broderica burped a stinging burp, having taken a farty swig of gin, “—something we need to get concerned about.”

Petunia chomped down on Biscuit Pisser’s beard voraciously, severing it with a snip and sending him flinging across the town square into the cart of a humble carrot seller, whose eyes watered stingingly as Biscuit Pisser knocked all but one of his carrots into a nearby sewage drain.

“AaaaaAAaaaaAAaaaAaaagh!” Biscuit Pisser cried, crumpled on the floor like yesterday’s fantasy newspaper, a welcome convention in older people’s lives but increasingly losing to the power of magically holographic newspapers which were not on paper or crumple-able at all.

Broderica and Krumbumbum noticed that Biscuit Pisser’s newly cut beard was short enough to make it appear a normal common person instead of a crazy man locked in a sceptic tank for cock knows how long, and regarded his unexpected hansomeness with surprise.

“Stop clucking staring at me!” he screamed as Petunia thrashed her way forward, reeling her head back for another fowl pecking.

Broderica leapt into action, or at least, into a stance that alluded to her taking action. Instead, she turned to Krumbumbum, dramatically swishing her hair around.

“Krumbumbum,” Broderica whispered, “cast a spell or something!”

“What do you think, Broderica, that I can just cast spells willy nilly like some kind of magical sprinkler sprinkle out magic all over the place just by touching myself in the awkward places in strange repetitions needed to cast wizard spells? Am I some endless tap, some tab you never even have any intention of paying?”

“Um, cluck yes you are vitch.”

“Thank cock. Glad to hear we understand eachother.”

With a smug grin, Krumbumbum pinched and wiggled her earlobes, clenched her jaw ten times, and shook her rump thrice. On the third ass cheek jiggle, a large magiacally grand piano suspended by a worn pulley system apparated above Petunia, as did a fifth story apartment building which appeared so forein as to have been from an entirely different flavor of reality werein nobody wore tunics. The pulley system’s rope promptly snapped and the piano fell on top of Petunia, flattening her into a purple pancake.

“Petunia!” cried the man currently bloodied from her pecker. He rushed over to the squashed bird. “Oh Petunia! My darling! My pride and joy!”

“It’s just a stupid ostrich you malignant cluck!” drawled Broderica, finishing off the gin and tossing it askew. It shattered to bits on impact with the ground, multiple bits flinging into the eyes of Petunia’s handler.

“Aaaah! My eyes!” he cried, “You’ve blinded me! I’m blind!”

“Oh go buy an unblinding spell you hamned locust,” chided Krumbumbum.

“Why you imbecile!” cried a flowery mustached man from the ostrich tent. “Do you know who that ostrich was?”

“Of course we do!” Krumbumbum sighed, “Clucking Petunia!”

“Not its home name! That was Seared Briscuit!”

Broderica chortled, accidentally coughing up alcohol and sending it through her nostrils. “Seared Briscuit?”

“Haven’t you ever gambled on ostriches before you absolute louse?” the man exaspertadely huffed.

“No, just on blind luck,” Broderica sighed, reaching her arm back to emphasize her bossoms.

The man was not interested in women and thus immune to her attack. “Well if you were cultured at all you’d know Seared Briscuit is the third time golden doiley winner of the stanley chalice!”

“That was a lot of stupid words,” Broderica chuckled.

“Why, you’ll owe a fortune in damages! Guards! Guards, we need your assistance immediately! This hansomely bearded man killed Seared Biscuit!”

Two lanky, besuited men twirled around like armoured fairies, their helmets adorned with pardisical plumage.

“The pigs!” screamed Biscuit Pisser, quickly picking up the remaining carrot and hurling it at one of the men’s helmets. It bounced off, sending the helmet twirling around and the man, dizzied, tumbling to the ground.

“Dump some parmesan on this wagon!” shrieked Broderica as they scrambled off through the crowd, knocking people and jewlery carts and giant jewelry cats over in the process.

Skirting around the crumbling streets they stubbed their toes and somehow managed to magic much drunker than ever before by sheer force of physics in the case of Broderica.

“Cluck! I’ve got to hurl!” Broderica belched, eyes darting around for a nearby vomitorium. Fortunately they were in the tourist district of Bighead and there were plenty of vomitoriums nearby, the only issue being that they were pay per puke, which did not suit her sensibilities. Neither did the sudden intrusion of Biscuit Pisser and Lady Krumbumbum.

“What the cluck are you doing in here?” Broderica slurred. “I’m trying to vomit leave me alone to vomit in my vomitorium come the cluck on now!”

BBLAAAAAAHHHHMMMM

Broderica barfed seductively.

“How was that hot?!” ejaculated Biscuit Pisser.

“Maybe one day you’ll learn, Biscuit Boy.”

“Wouldn’t Piss Boy make more sense?” asked Krumbumbum. Broderica and Biscuit Pisser stared in shock.

“What the cluck vitch what are you clucking trying to say?” squacked Broderica.

The petty squabbling continued for an almost indefinite amount of time.