The King of the Road
(Part 3)
by Lemon Chester 

Author’s note: In previous chapters, King Luthor of Kuntnose, having lost his kingdom to dark enemy Rupert, forged an army and/or social club consisting of Bainbridge, the conformist knight; Linux, the dark leprechaun; Feedle, the husky dwarf; the dog Farts; and Munchen, he of the creatures who laugh at jokes they do not get. Tragedy struck when the eldest member of the group and Vegas longshot to make it in one piece, GiGijerod, whilst battling the ancient fire demon, fell into a gopher hole and disappeared forever. Luthor and his posse valiantly found a detour around Volcano Mountain and annexed an unused part of the dark forest for a short-cut to the castle Oogh, where they hope to capture the almighty Cockring of Power to aid them against Rupert.

“Oh, woe is us,” lamented Feedle, swinging his ax carelessly to chop down foliage ahead of them, mostly just for fun. “And pity be on poor GiGijerod, who so valiantly gave his life in our quest!”

“Well, I wouldn’t go that far,” said Bainbridge, rather quietly.

Feedle, possessing a complex about his height that made him put on a tough façade, jumped at Bainbridge and held him fast. “How dare you! You would mock the name of our fallen comrade!”

“Not his name. His actions were rather questionable,” said Bainbridge with fear. “Not that I belittle GiGijerod. When he was sober, he was quite the kind heart and powerful staff. But let’s face it, he started that whole thing with the fire demon.”

“Coward!” yelled Feedle, swinging his ax dangerously close to Bainbridge’s metal head. “I suppose you would sit in fear while the fire demon complained loudly of your choice of jukebox music?”

“I honestly do not believe it would be as big a deal to me, and the scuffle in the inn with the fire demon seemed all too avoidable, from where I sat.” Luthor, having had enough, stepped between the two of them. His mighty hands separated the dwarf and drinking buddy.

“Ladies, please! We are on a mission of greater import than squabbles over Patsy Cline music.” He silently prayed for his lost comrade. “GiGijerod sacrificed himself, though his sacrifice was possibly avoidable and unnecessary—but it is not for us to argue. We must carry on. We cannot look to the past, for we will walk directly into the tree of the future if we should.”

Munchen laughed inappropriately.

“Quiet!” shrieked Linux, spinning around with his throwing stars drawn. He always said the same thing whenever Munchen laughed, but this time it was for a different reason. He could hear the sound of stalking. The stalking of them. He threw his stars haphazardly, and pinned a diminutive, shriveled creature to the tree by his excess flab.

It was a hideous, shrunken little thing that might have once been a man. But not anymore, oh, lordy, no. Now it was raspy, cringing, unphotogenic. It referred to itself as Scrottum, and it, too, sought the Cockring of Power.

“Pleasssee, massssterssss! Do not hurt Scrottum! Scrottum is friend! Scrottum can help you! Scrottum is a friend to your cause! Scrottum is kind of friend to return car with full tank of gas if Scrottum were to borrow! Scrottum good reference for job application, only need to ask! Scrottum get your back in a fight, Scrottum not just talking out Scrottum’s ass!”

“What’s your name?” asked Luthor hesitantly.

“Scrottum, dumbass!” the thing shrieked, then shrunk back in fear. “Forgivesss Scrottum, massstersss. Scrottum sometimes get snappy due to overwhelming darkness vying for control inside.”

They were not sure they could trust this thing, this Scrottum—but if they were going further, into the darkest reaches of the Road ahead, they would soon learn Scrottum was their only chance.

For more of this great story, buy Lemon Chester’s novel
The King of the Road How to Write a Contrived Novel
It’s not as hard as you might think. You see authors all the time who are struck by the muse, punched in the balls and thrown by the stairs by inspiration, and they come up with a brilliant can’t-miss idea people find genuinely interesting. We hate these people.

Murder in the Toolshed
It was at this time I, his loyal assistant Cap’n Trails, called upon his abode. The sound of nipple-exciting music filled the abode.

Timefuck
Being plugged into the timeline creates an unusual distortion affect we call time fucking. What it means, scientifically speaking, is that a being’s experience of time as a linear creation is destroyed and time afterward becomes moments lived randomly, in one or two minute spans so as to be less confusing to mentally challenged readers, much like pieces of a puzzle being picked up arbitrarily instead of in order of which piece they’re connected to.

The Bitcher in the City (Part 2)
What a big fat fake. A useless tool that ought to have his head popped by God’s very own fingers. I got to feeling a little nauseous in the stupid club so I went outside. By the time I was at the door I heard Mervin yelling that I looked familiar again, but I didn’t want to talk to him no more.