The lights faded back to the long eared woman, who was shivering.

“I-It sure is c-cold out h-here, a-ahyuckedy!”

A long rope ladder with wooden rungs unfurled from the top of the stage, the source of whicch was obscured by a thick canopy. Three grimy looking men climbed down. Another man, portly and wearing a thick wooly suit climbed down afterwards. He was panting, and had large, prosthetic jowls.

“Ao naow, whao dao wae havae haear?” snorted the jowled man, chuckling and bending over to poke his shiny black nose at the tethered woman’s rump.

“Stop it!” she screeched, bucking a leg back.

“Faeisty laittle waesel, thais oane ais.”

“Maurice! Leave it! Maurice what the clucking hen is wrong with you leave that hamned thing alone! Leave it!”

The lights faded back inside the tavern, where the mustached man was hiccupping with glee as he continued to down empty flagons. A tall, burly man with surprisingly limp wrists walked over to the long wooden car they were sitting next to with their drinks, batting gue pink eyelashes at the bearded cartender as he sat down. Then he looked over to the mustached man.

“Hey! Vomitface! Vomitface, it’s me!”

“Whhat? Who again are you, sirrah?”

“Oh come on now Vomitface ol’ chup you’ve got to remember me! Does this look familiar?” the man mimed grabbing someone by the hips and thrusting vigorously.

OOOOOOOOO

moaned the audience.

“Oh! Oh. Oh…” Vomitface gasped and chugged two flagons of ale. “Nice, um, nice to see you again, Thermalpasteapold.”

“Likewise. Why didn’t you ever call?”

“My, um,” Vomitface gulped down more false ale, “my, uh, my magickaphone is uh, broken. The, uh, small green goblin jumped out of it and turned into a giant, ehrm, mongoose.”

AHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAA

cackled the audience.

“Oh, I see. Yea, I just hate when that happens. Say, you wanna go for a walk?” Thermalpasteapold reached an arm slowly around Vomitface. “I really need to stretch my legs.”

OOHOOHOOHOO

“I, ehrm, you just sat down at the car though, chuppy.”

Broderica gagged. “Ack. This is rubbish. Bring back the woman!”

“You know Shitface they’re not actually a woman in the play they’re a man they’re just usually a man played by a woman in the play.”

“Ugh whatever. I just don’t like this bit. I mean come on, a giant mongoose? So unrealistic!”

“I don’t know, I mean, Vomitface kind of reminds me of somebody I know. Seems like a fairly plausible character.”

“Will you two shut up already please I love this part!” fussed Krumbumbum as she readjusted her top.

“Ye ‘ere!” a red spotlight glowed as the tallest of the grimy men entered the tavern and pointed a hand that was actually a rusty whisk at Vomitface.

GAAAAAAAASP

“Me here?”

“Aye, ye ‘ere! Ye look like a right sozzled napsack! Fancy a game eh Louisiana Drop ‘em?”

“What the cluck kind of a card game is that?” grimaced Broderica.

“Shut up and watch vitch.”

All lights pointed on Vomitface, leaving the rest of the stage in tense, climactic shadow.

“Sure, why not.”

AHAHAHAA

Vomitface stumbled over to the table and sat in one of the seedy goons’ lap.

“Woah there,” remarked Vomitface, “Seems to be quite a sharp splinter in that seat.”

AHAHAHAHAHAAAA

“Not too huge or anything but yes quite sharp quite sharp indeed.”

AHHHHAAAHAHAHAHAAAAA

Vomitface turned his head to look into the eyes of the man whose lap he was sitting in. He jolted to his feet with a shriek. “Oh dear me dear me I do apologize sirrah I do apologize my bad my bad.”

As Vomtiface stumbled to his drunken feet he slipped and fell over onto Maurice, accidentally wrapping his arms around his neck in a stranglehold for balance and unwittingly choking the jowled figure out.

“Aowuchies. Raoight iaon thaie kaieoppers,” Maurice flopped like a ragdoll, tongue dangling wildly.

OHHHHHHHH

“‘ey what ‘ave ye done to Maurice!”

Vomitface vomited streamers all over the three gambling goons.

AHAHAHHAHAAAAHHAAAA

“This audience changes their mood rather quickly,” grumbled Broderica, adjusting her heaving boobies. “It’s like they’re all a bunch of women or something.”

Krumbumbum pulled up her dress. “Broderica you’re probably the worst person to watch a show with I’ve ever met.”

AAAOOOOHHHHHH

The audience was groaning as the streamer vomit covered creeps grabbed the woman pretending to be a man pretending to be cock knew what and hoisted them over their shoulders, climbing up the wooden ladder rungs.

“It’s so sad,” sobbed Biscuit Pisser.

“Wow, you’re crying?!” laughed Broderica. “This spell must’ve really made a woman out of you.”

“I always cry at this part!” Biscuit Pisser professed. “I relate to it deeply.”

Broderica puzzled over the implications of Biscuit Pisser’s deep relation to the events onstage as she glanced around the room, realizing that many of the men they sat next to were indeed crying. There was also someone with a deep booming voice maniacally bawling in one of the far back rows.

The lights dimmed save for a searing spotlight, drawing attention to an immaculate purple tower labeled ‘UNIVERSITY’ wheeling in from the left of the stage. The spotlight fell with a jerk to the bottom of the stage, then jerked to the right, then up, then—

“N’nahce j’awb Y’yoo’stace, y’a h’amned m’mawlluskuh!”

“A’ahw l’laeeyuh a’wfuh’m P’P’urs’val! ’s d’oin’ th’ beys’ ‘e c’cayun!”

“Y’yoo n’ m’maw ‘r t’ew k’kahnd t’tuh h’hiyum! ‘d n’nevrah g’awn s’ s’awft ‘fns y’a h’hadden’ l’eddim!”

“Will you two gillwillies shut the cluck up already?!” blurted Broderica.

Large bean eating crickets flatulated in the eerie quiet that followed, distracting everyone long enough for Y’yoo’stace to fix the position of the spotlight and a studious looking man poke his head out of the window. He wore a bright white smock and thick black glasses that magnified his eyes to an absurd degree. He was holding two bubbling beakers.

“Aah, thienth!”

“What?” squacked Broderica.

“Just let him speak.”

The actor cleared his throat and began again.

“Aah, thienth!”

“What the cluck is he saying?

“He’s saying science, Broderica,” tsked Krumbumbum, “this actor just happens to have a bit of a lisp.”

“Thienth, thienth, thhethe tho I thegin? The thingth you can do with thienth are jutht ekthtraothdinathy. Thienth maketh the thorld tho athound. Thithout thienth, the thould not hathe toathterth, nor thould we hathe penithillin, or penthilth, or tinthelth, or thimbleth, or—”

“A bit of a lisp?” projected Broderica. “I can’t understand a hamned word thith idiot ith thhhhhaying!”

“—or thandalth, or mothballth, or—”

Krumbumbum rolled her eyes. “If they call the usher on you, we’re not friends.”

“—or lithardth, or thithardth, or antth, or pantth—”

“What was that? Lizzards and gizzards? Ants?! Don’t those just exist? Who wrote this shit?”

“It’s an ancient text Shitface stop questioning the meaning and enjoy the show.”

“How can I enjoy something that doesn’t make any sense?”

“I’ll thithe a demonthtrathion. Thienth thoeth a little like thith,” the thientith waggled an eyebrow knowlingly then poured two of the beakers together.

FSSSSSSHHHHHBOOM

A pink smoke cloud cleared as the thientith was left covered in black charr, holding two bursted beakers.

“Yep, thatth thienth all right!”

AHAHAHAHAHA

The light illuminated the background of the stage as Thermalpasteapold skipped into view beside a tall blue rectangle labelled portapottie, shaking the stage. The barkeep followed.

Thermalpasteapold twirled around like a gargantuan seal of a ballerina and leaned over towards the barkeep. “So, whaddaya say? Should we have ourselves a go then?”

The barkeep looked Thermalpasteapold up and down. “Eh. I think I’m hood, actually.”

AHAHAHAHAHAHAAAAA

Then, the barkeep laughed and pushed Thermalpasteapold into the portapottie, which tumbled over.

OHHHH

BOOOOOOOOOOM

Sparks, confetti and fog filled the stage. When it cleared, in place of the tower was a pile of blackened rubble.

“Oh dear, oh dear me…all my prethiouth thienth inthtrumentth…at leatht I thtill hathe all the knowledthe I memorithed, thhich ith a great deal of knowledthe, in fact, all I hathe truly lotht ith meaningleth material that I don’t ethen own! Now if I had rethiethed thome thort of ill fated blunt forthe trauma to the head and rethultinthly thotten a concuthion, then, and only then, would I truly hathe lotht anything.”

A large ‘flaming’ textbook suspended by a thin wire slowly glided downward and bopped the thientitht unconvincingly on the noggin, sending him flailing backwards in a melodramtic uproar.

AHAHAHAHAHAAAA

The thientith popped back up like a whack-a-prarie-dog and shook his head.

“Now, thhat thath I talking about? Thienth? Thhat ekthactly ith that athain? Thome thort of catherole?”

AHAHAHAHAHAAAA

On they watched as the thientitht met up with Vomitface and argued unintelligibly about something.