Oh, how Krumbunculus hated warlocks. Just seeing them raised his blood pressure to an unsafe degree, which is why Dr. Krumbunculus had, when he was old enough to cast it of course, a special spell that lowered his own intrinsic physical revulsion to warlocks so as to take care of his health. Without that spell, it was all he could do to stop from attempting to rip the slimy man’s head off then and there.

“I bet you’re real proud of yourself, guy,” Dr. Krumbunculus spat, immediately surprised by his own boldness.

“What? What do mean, chup? Was the lady not to your liking? If so, hen, I understand. I keep telling her if she can’t keep it down to just not eat, but I think the popup stand a block away keeps giving her food poisoning. I’ve heard they don’t cast cleaning spells on their hands after they go to the bathroom. But she just keeps going back there, wants more tacos, what can I do?”

“Well, you could start by using your powers of illusion, seeing as you’re a warlock and have those, by using your powers of illusion to summon up the images of women to strip at this establishment instead of just hiring one. Wouldn’t that be much easier? I mean, hen, when I saw a warlock was running a strip club, I just assumed it was illusion based. Why in the hen would someone who could summon up their entire business through their own magical abilities decide to do it all non-magically instead? It’s illogical, and honestly bad business practice. You’re losing money by paying her instead of just summoning up some women that can dance while also not even needing to eat, much less women who get food poisoning from popup stand tacos.”

“Well, excrete me,” the warlock grumbled, looking quite angry indeed, “Motherclucking excrete me, mister young kid, thinking you know so much more than me, just because you’re pretty. Well, you can cluck right off. You don’t know so much, young’n. Yeah, I called you that. You’re youthful, so that makes you stupid. Remember that, you muscle-bound, youthful idiot. What in the hen would you ever know about running a business? You don’t know my overhead! Hen, you don’t know what it is to be a warlock! Maybe I don’t make my strip club an illusion because I don’t want it to be one! Is it so bad to want to provide something that’s real? Is that such a crime to you, you clucking elitist bass turd?”

“L-look, I didn’t, I mean, don’t get so twerked up—”

“Don’t get twerked up? Don’t you clucking tell me whether or not to get twerked up! If I want to get twerked up I will clucking get twerked up, understand? And, what’s more, if I don’t wanna get twerked up, then I clucking won’t! You have no say in whether I get twerked up or not, kid! No say at all!”

Dr. Krumbunculus could see the warlock’s skin starting to stretch and morph. It was making him very uncomfortable.

“I’m gonna cluck you up! I’m gonna cluck you up so bad, guy!” the warlock blathered as his body contorted with jerks and squeeks. His mouth grew larger and larger until it eclipsed his entire face, his eyes and his nose and his ears and his lack of hair shrinking, shrinking down until they became but nothing. As the warlock’s mouth continued to grow, his torso did shrink, and when the transformation was complete, what stood before Dr. Krumbunculus was a giant mouth with arms and legs.

“Oh, shit,” Dr. Krumbunculus whistled uncomfortably.

“LOOKS LIKE I’VE TRANSFORMED. LOOKS LIKE THIS IS WHAT I LOOK LIKE,” the warlock spat.

“Uh, that’s very loud,” Dr. Krumbunculus shivered.

“LOOKS LIKE THIS GUY HAS A PROBLEM WITH THE VOLUME OF MY VOICE. LOOKS LIKE I DON’T GIVE A SHIT. LOOKS LIKE—”

“Are you just going to keep talking like that, now?”

The warlock, befuddled from his own forcible, permanent transformation, seemed to be wondering just that very thing. He opened his mouth, which as already described took up his entire face, and attempted to say something that was not horribly loud, and did not start with the phrase ‘LOOKS LIKE,’ but indeed it was impossible.

“LOOKS LIKE I’VE GOT TO, YOU CLUCKING BASS TURD. LOOKS LIKE I’M STUCK THIS WAY.”

“Well, hey, don’t blame me. I’m just a guy,” Dr. Krumbunculus shrugged, preparing to walk away.

“LOOKS LIKE THAT CLUCKING LOSER OVER THERE JUST RUINED MY LIFE. LOOKS LIKE MY WARLOCK TRANSFORMATION WASN’T AS COOL AS I THOUGHT IT’D BE. LOOKS LIKE I PROBABLY WOULD’VE GONE FURTHER IN LIFE THUS FAR IF I’D HAD BETTER CONTROL OF MY EMOTIONS. LOOKS LIKE—”

Further down on Sleazy Street, there were curio shops that would sometimes catch the eye, where one could purchase such intriguing old trinkets such as taxidermied animals from two hundred years ago or false magic kits mass produced in Orwellia two months ago. Dr. Krumbunculus had an uncle in Orwellia. He wondered how he was doing. Last time he’d heard from him, he’d been preparing to be inquisited, or interrogated, or waterboarded, or to have his life put on a twenty four seven magicavision show for the entertainment of the rest of the nation, or whatever the hen else it was or could’ve been that they’d do to people who filed their taxes incorrectly. See, in Caldonia, they just made sure you never got the money, and that way you couldn’t withhold any taxes from the government. But Orwellia was a strange land.

Only half a block to the Choose-Your-Own-Adventure hotel. Dr. Krumbunculus was thrilled. However, he could see the cobblestone miniature-castle-style building without squinting, which was less thrilling, as it only served to remind him of his less than advanced age.

Regardless, all he had to do now was walk past all the sex magic shops and he was hood to go.The only problem was, of course, their salespeople were always very weirdly charming and outgoing, almost to a distrubing degree.

“Hey there, young man! Say, have you any interest in sex magic?”

Dr. Krumbunculus made sure not to make eye contact, not to even react, though he could feel one of his youthful pinkies twitch. He cursed his cursed, youth-stricken body.

“You know, young man,” the salesman continued, waddling up to greet him with a goofy smile, “Do you know one of the most important tenets of sex magic?”

He did not respond, and kept walking. Almost done, now.

“Young man, have you ever cast a sex magic spell with another young man? What’s more, would you like to? What’s even more, would you like me to watch?”

Dr. Krumbunculus was feelign waves of nausea as the salesman grew fidgety.

“Do, do you like mountain climbing, young man?”

This just struck Dr. Krumbunculus as absurd.

“You know the thing about mountain climbing is, you’ve got to wear the right pants for it. Yes, I can see you want to know why. Well. Let me show you,” the salesman pulled up his shirt to reveal a leather harness wrapped around his crotch, “You see, these harnesses are for support and safety, so that you don’t fall off the mountain. Only problem is, as you can undoubtedly see, there is a bit of, well, there is a bit of a bulge going on down there, it gets a bit pushed out if you will, which could possibly be very embarassing, especially if you’re going climbing in a big group as so many people often do. So, you need magic pants, you need pants to hide your bulge, you see. And we sell them at my shop.”

“Why don’t you just use magic to protect yourself while you climb?” Dr. Krumbunculus sighed with an eyerolll before realizing that he’d committed the cardinal sin of interacting, or that is, of not interacting with sex magic salesmen. He’d acknowledged one.

“Yes, well, maybe I like to feel strapped in, sirrah, did you ever think of that? You’d be surprised what you’ll consider arousing when you’re older, take it from me, yes. And, of course, what even more surprising is how powerful the magic is. Why, have you ever, for lack of a more appropriate phrasing, experienced the magic possible by gracing another person’s anus with your tongue, preferably whilst they are acting in the same way to your own anus? It is, truly, the stuff of great poetry.”

Dr. Krumbunculus stared at the ground. Three steps and he’d be officially off Sleazy Street.

“Hey! Young man! Hood sirrah! Do you want to learn a vibration spell? It’ll impress all the ladies, and make you very, very hood at chess!”

One step left.

“Come on! Hey, don’t you find the whole Chickens worship annoying? Isn’t that a thing with you new generations these days? Well, I hate cock! Yes, I hate cock! I’d never worship cock!”

And just like that, Dr. Krumbunculus had left Sleazy Street. He could breath a sigh of relief as the invisible modesty spell that surrounded the area muted the salesman’s voice as well as all the unbearable smells that accompanied it. Free at last.