Bandwagon-jumping myth'n'magic series.

Taking his sword, he sliced a sizeable wooden branch from a nearby dead tree with ease, and holding it aloft, caused it to burst into flames with just a gesture from his right hand. "I shall never return to this place again" he told himself, and straightened his posture as if to steel his resolve. He then tossed the burning makeshift torch casually over his shoulder onto the thatched roof of what had been his abode for the last 237 years, and walked away without once looking back.

A few minutes later he exclaimed aloud, "Shit! I forgot my lunchbox.... and that ugly fucking ring that Madwhore, or whatever his name was, gave me. Ah well; easy come, easy go."

Entering a clearing in the forest, Slag blew into the small horn that had been slung from his left shoulder, and almost immediately its sound was answered by a rustling from the nearby trees. Slag's magnificent charger 'Beauclopalot' appeared; saddled and snorting. Slag mounted the beast with ease, as he had done a hundred thousand times before, then climbed awkwardly into the saddle and rode off.

After a short ride through the forest, Slag turned onto the dirt road that led to the tiny village of Winkmawk. About half a mile from Winkmawk, Slag reached for the switch marked 'Stealth' on the dashboard of his saddle, and flipped it to the on position. Seconds later, both Slag and Beauclopalot had disappeared from view, giving the impression that a huge cloud of dust was making its way hell-for-leather toward the village.

"Tornado, tornado!" yelled Grobwump-the-Halfminded, who was on lookout duty in the village watchtower. He then began to feverishly beat the alarm gong that hung beside him in the tower, continuing to yell the word "Tornado" at frequent intervals, until he fell dead from the exhertion and excitement.

"Heh, heh! I love doing that." muttered Slag, as he thundered through Winkmawk, watching its terrified inhabitants scurrying for cover and frantically closing the shutters and doors of their neat little houses and cottages.

Once clear of the village, Slag slowed his mount to a steady trot, and caressed its single white horn lovingly. "Where to now, old friend?" he asked, half rhetorically. "I know! How about the private Witch Academy just up the road? I hear they're holding their annual sport's day today, and they're playing a game of Mallerblat against Hagrid Hall's second 13. - Should be some high jinks in the showers after that match, eh?".

Slag spurred Beauclopalot into a canter and started humming one of the ancient mystical tunes of Tachridor to himself.

I have longed for the continuation of this thread for a long time.

This marvelous tale, were it not for the interference of a stupid Yank, might have rivaled Harry Potter. (It's rumored that "J.K." reads AAD daily.)

Perhaps I'm just being silly. Perhaps I should be content to fuck with Matt and his frogs.

Forgive me. It's just that this shitstuff is some of the best shitstuff I've ever been privileged to participate in and...

'sniff' i miss it and...

*Zen. You're drunk. Go to bed.*

When I wake up, will Pete be there?

*No.*

Fuck.

*It was YESTERDAY, you idiot.*

It's been hours and hours and no one has come forward to continue this marvelous saga. If no one will help, I, like the Little Red Hen, will do it myself. I have studied great literature. I read a Dickens book once. The brown one I think, and...

*Zen? Did you read the WHOLE book?*

Well...No...But I got the 'gist' of it. It was about this guy that lived in the jungle and talked to monkeys and...

*Oh my god. that was Burroughs, not...*

And then he fell down this rabbit hole and...

*Oh god*

ate some mushrooms with Aldous Huxley and they went looking for this big whale and met this guy named Zarathustra who could walk on water and convince people to follow him around and they had tea and cakes with a Hobbit and Darth Vader tried to swing them to the Dark Side but 007 pulled out his Walther and blew the fucker away and...

*NURSE!*

Wait! It gets better! This goofy looking kid with glasses, Bill Gates, I think, invents a broom that flies and convinces everyone that HIS broom is best even though it crashes and the monkey guy tries it and crashes and tears the goofy kid's head off and tosses it into the kid's friend's campsite and...

*NURSE!*

As for Slagwarden,

*NURSE!!*

Hi Mr. Clown!

I'm Chastity and it's time for your sponge bath......

OOoooppps (giggle) clumsy me, I seem to have dropped the sponge

**** bends over and wiggles seductivly *****

May I have that silly old gown you are wearing? There... thats a good Mr. clown.

Now just lay down on your bed and Nurse Ratchett will be here in a minute with your meds and enema like the Doctor ordered.

"It's Nurse Ratchett and what do you have sticking out of your rectum?"

I assume, Nurse, that Chastity is taking my temperature.

"With a chrysanthemum?"

Slagwarden and Beauclopalot wandered the mulgy forest. They were weary. Their task was still before them. A successor must be found.

One day. as evening approached, they saw a light, a flickering light ahead in the turgid growth to the left of the path. As they quietly approached, they saw that it was a campfire. Cautiously, ever so cautiously they approached. Slag had turned off the radio but in the darkness, there was no need for "stealth".

Perhaps we might impose upon Matt to edit it so that Pete's original posts will persevere unblemished by fools.