The Complete Forum 4 Word Story

Originally started by Tas in 2004, this began as your typical "4 Word Story" four-word story forum game, evolving into an incoherent string of funny twists and bizarre situations (we call these the Chaos Archives).

Eventually, our main hero Kickassio was introduced, and over time, the game transformed into a real, coherent story: The Book of Kickassio, complete with recurring characters, locations, and world-building. And it only gets better with each chapter!

Here, you can read the whole story so far. It is automatically updated at the bottom as the story evolves.

Enjoy!

Editors note: While the original wording from the forum is largely preserved, punctuation, spacing, and typos have been corrected. In the Book of Kickassio, minor edits are made to improve story flow and continuity, to smooth out misunderstandings during the game or to fix incomprehensible paragraphs.

Table of Contents

The Chaos Archives

Started by Tas, in December 2004.

It was a wet rainy day in autumn. Summer is over, finally. She came out of her house, grasping firmly an unstable nuclear device, which promptly exploaded when she tripped over a strange yet somehow exciting big, rough, rubber dildo.

A new story unfolds?! Not yet! Fortunately she stays pretty well dead. But is resurected as a great, slimey, purple toad from outer mongolia; pulls out his wand and turns the toad back into a broad. Meanwhile, in sothern France Napoleon XIV manages to escape from the Sct Helena island. He just made a big mistake since Sct. Helena. He lost his pants. Without pants, it is really fun to grab the latest edition of How I Lost My manhood to a bikerboy, and burst with laughter.

His little heart couldn't take it, so Michael Ellis thought Vosla can't count, but he looks pretty. Vosla calls a spell. Grrmmllhhhppf, he thought, wondering if magic would help… too late! He got the crabs! Shit! Headcrabs! No shampoo could shift, but a crowbar helps clear the blighters away all in one day. Feeling completely fine again, but then it happened… what never should happen: George Bush got reelected. And that's why I am afraid of americans who can't tell a monkey's ass from a… but in the end everyone rejoyced, because it was an opportunity to drop their trousers and again it's quite fun to laugh openly at Rod Stewart, and his band, during a soundcheck, while searching their backtape for the band Boyzone.

Meanwhile in southern Australia: Kangaroo's were watching porn, and Crocodile Dundee was jacking off behind them, which was witnessed by the beyonder, who as far as he knew was a photographer from Japan. He delighted especially when he found out that it was a rumble in the jungle with plenty of sweet-looking Killer Zombies from Mars that bought metal shirts. Powerful magnets were prohibited. Not because of their Extraterestrial civilizations taste of Technicolored Dream Coats with leather chaps, but because of their bad behaviour everybody died gruesome deaths.

Crash ahhhrgh bang boom ah! The plumber comes in and ruins my furniture with his long and suprisingly rather hairy forearms. Sorry!, he said… as he wiped away the sweat from his shiny forehead, and then with furious anger exclaimed his work done but he had still forgotten what to do when the evening came, and he shat his pants. The smell was so nice and fresh, a passing bird was killed and smacked right into a near by tree. Nobody seemed to notice, but how could they, as nobody was around but everyone tried to eat the giant marmaset.

What the heck!, said Bush the giant kangaroo and hopped away into a walkers crisp packet, not aware of a small yet deadly pretzel. That smelled like fish and onions, boiled in a rather incoherent story that was invented by russian pigmy warrior trolls, who looked strikingly similar to Bush's family dog, who's a friend of Kerry's family dog.

When does this madness stop? Never!, said the little Hobbit, who appeared behind an ickle tiny daisy person of the year, which gets a award for being the funniest four word story writer. After the invention of the home computer, which went bonkers on speed, the world welcomed the drastic measures imposed by the karma sutra squad - they were renowned for Calm and Sultana's, plus a rapid bowel movement which quite pissed off the Queen's favourite corgi, which had lost its pants in the forbidden deathstar of the empire while duelling with Darth Vader, whos helmet exploded in a fluff of green Marcel inflicted cloud.

None of all this really happened, it was just a bad joke. A casual remark that that grew and grew and grew and grew and grew, grew, grew becoming really really boring. Meanwhile at the telco nothing helped to make the flatulence go away, not even the dynamite. Though it did sting a little in the ass, the sting was not the leadsinger of the surrounding police squad.

Hey, the crowd shouted joyfully as a big round fat pagan preistess began to undress for sacrificing goats and earwigs. What a show!, thought the goats and earwigs starting to undress themselves. In another place, Manowar jellyfish grooved to eurocheese. The cheese was edam, which is the favorite of many cultured eels, whose love of cheese made them unbearably flatulent. So around them, it caused havoc when it blew a hole in the fabric of reality.

Thus ended the story of the poor little four word story thread. Its passing was quick, but true fully deserved.

Still December 2004

Then suddenly Jimmy Crankey was actually a girl with big boobs, and a schoolboy uniform fetish! Oh boy oh boy, suddenly a woman of the kind who you ignore even when drunk: it was Maggie Thatcher wearing a distressed badger, toting a gun around locked loaded and shooting but missing everything in a typically british style.

Nevertheless, her efforts are well warranted and spankalicous with plenty of bouncebackability and Ian Holloway clichés. Unwritten on his napkin was a strange message, sent subliminally by hungarians to invade germany with what was to be the greatest banana ever eaten in one piece. Abruptly the sound ceased.. though the constipation started BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOM! Suddenly Galactus entered a sheep, and was heard in 4 kingdoms asking for instant tea and frozen rice cakes. Which tasted like something the wife had cooked with a finger up the nuns, never regions and a foot in the popes fudge sundae. The Pope was furious! There was no flake?!?! Except for the bishop who was bashing away at the baked eggs. This is all completely unconfirmed gossip without a shred of pork sausage! Neither does it have a chance to win a strippers left leg, not the right leg, and especially not the middle wicket or the *BEEP!* and the *BEEP!* As the police car patrols the general vicinity, only to find that Keyser Soze was missing.

Meanwhile, not far away, a 4wordstory lacks coherence. 4wordstory is one word! And also four words, with no limit on syllables and letters. Yes, but does it matter? No! Just a game! And i never lose the ability to dribble over pictures of great splender, and well designed renaissance castles with more towers than windows. The interior is well worth a shout & reply from the famous decorator Rolf Harris and his amazing telescopic didgeridoo, which sounded fabulous there. With all european countries trying to replicate such castles, they turned out badly lit and without any reason not to believe that god was gay just like our skitz. you can't say that! but I did anyway, and all was well till Skitz found out what happened in here. He detected a fragrance of discord in our ever expanding talking trousers: were they baggy trousers? They contained some madness canned with tuna trunks and hovercrafts with eels slip sliding away to a galaxy, far, far closer to home than you might have expected.

The badgers are unhappy with the story's progress because the owls appear. They layed an egg and it was rotten and full of shnapps, but the smell was wonderful, WONDERFUL I say with a mouth full of some movie star. How queer, said zebedee picking the hairs out a giant cheese buttock laid by Margaret Thatcher. The labour party was losing the general election because of this. Additionally where is my moose? Maybe it went into some tasty moose burgers made by swedish chef using just salt and a squeeze of lemming. The secret ingredient was a well used pair of sliced and diced old farmer mouldy bollocks. Yummy! exclaimed the giraffe, while banging a small Enrique Englasias into blancmange, and doing a blowjob on his little finger, which was very nice.

Enrique screamed with delight! Anna was there too, her eyes were bulging and popped out their krrssshhhh - we interrupt this transmittion to say - SPOONS! Spoil sports! thought the audience. We want more CRAP! And lots more boobs for that matter, so lots of girls too. Girls who don't steal the remote control while my favourite porn star is doing the laundry.

So finally it turned into a sleazy shag behind the dryers. After cleaning the mess, she got out her purse and gave back the rotten tomato she had taken from the passing bicycle salesman, who was her ex husband. Lawks! said her ex That's *my* tomatoe!. He slapped her and pulled out his BFG9000 from under his pinky skirt and then… the world went green in a rampage. Not ever before every single of those delicious rotten tomatos was reduced to a lump of sticky bogy porridge. With that over, the dream was over. Work of many tomatoe farmers contains lots of tomatoes. A novel insight that only vegetables could understand, but normal people do not even attempt to.

Fruits by the way give you the shits if eaten en masse, but healthy looking poop. Vegetables are more nasty regarding digestive processes, they tend to produce even of the stuff you'd wish you wouldn't know, but witness every day having your fist stuck in your drawer, because it was open. Not that it would hurt, but the risk of eating a bowl of fruits does not harm, even you fart like a steamtrain on acid. Again, vegetables are my personal fetish. Everytime I shove a crude chiccory, I start thinking about Paris. That night, when I had a flashback by this rotten tomato who was being saucy. No that's not true, it was a tromblone blowing its own trumpet to the horns of jericho, knocking down walls.

Honorabili was back again, introducing a reign of Terror and mass chaos back to raise hackles in his quest for The Mighty Stick of Joy. But without SID2MIDI, remix64 would be some H-free zone, so he asked the admin, if he could upload the same tiny little application that made him King of Remxing, yet somehow it showed him nude while dancing on a table in amsterdam, covered in goo of squeezed toads. This wasn't quite what he intended, but everyone was puking like hell because on his forehead was a big pimple that would make a nun go all wibbly if opened with force by Luke Skywalker. Meanwhile somebody managed to cover the admin's private parts with with a KISS-Record, and vegemite paste, and enchilata's, and Madonna sex wee AGAIN…

It's so hard to write something like a four word story that makes some sense, although having sex may cause hamsters to faint, so don't do this in front of some poor little furry rodents who Jeff Minter would take as foster children. The Rodent Independence Movement will be reborn as the Radical Rodent Rioters and overthrow the government with new rodent specific cheese flavoured weaponry, that fires bullets made of cheddar in chili sauce. Unfortunately, they encountered cats who liked hot sauces. So the cats started to eat the hottest rodents first… with sauce. Dieter, one of the Radical Rodent Rioters, tried dieting, so he could get very very thin, even thinner than a pencil but was unable to resist eating roasted ants.

ANTS??? Cats don't eat ants, Gerald! GERALD! GERALD! Come over here! Don't you know that your father already got the au pair with the big boobies, really it was a sight for sore nipple clamps especially when she used that really really huge knife on the unsuspecting mullet of Pat Sharp. He lost an ear like Van Gogh did, but it didn't matter cause he was deaf anyway. The bloodloss however was so immense that his mullet escaped unhindered, vanished without a trace in a puddle of peas pudding and blancmange so sweet. He chose pea pudding, cos it tastes so sweet without Assugrin(TM) as topping.

Meanwhile The Planet, by TBB was a high flier SID choon, which has been sold more than Paris Hilton's porn movie, but was better received than Daniel Küblböck's last live concert on tv, before the final curtain fell onto his tiny brain. Without his brain, he could be a good c64 remixer just like our Honorabili, but - thank god - he was even worse. After all, this was fun for everyone involved, because this game is well done, and out of memory is not an ugly bowl of fuck. The world bowl of fuck was the prize for all shite in the whole, damn, stinking world but it was impossible to beat the Golden Globe of poo won by the amazing Supercow for his extraordinary performance during a fake message board personality appearance. Subsequently he was banned for good, just as he was beginning to unveil his tiny sore on his big hairy toothbrush. It was made of Hairy Lee's chesthair, a delicacy in china and Thailand. Not that it mattered that much to the rodents, but it resembled their fur that they kissed and this somewhat annoyed them.

Afterall it was just a little crash. She woke up at night only to realize that she was a man. Who am I anyway? asked then Dj Skitz, rubbing his hairy little rodent, who in return took a bite out of Skitz' bum. OUCH! Thou endest thy story!, said Skitz and killed the hapless little victim. Hmm. This would make great surrogate for sushi! To the kitchen! He began stuffing his stomach, but one rodent wasn't enough for the bottomless hooter around the corner.

So it was followed by a big boom which flattened the whole of subzero's tiny head, wich already fell in the deathstar's giant trash. Hurrah said Darth Vader and hacked off his stinky middle leg. That's useless to me anyway! cried Luke, as he kicked the leg over to Leia, who squealed like a screwed pantile. Chewbacca took it from her cleavage, and groaned as he played with his heavy metal band. Afterwards Britney Spears entered Lord Vader's special T.I.E.-Fighter, where he had his secret dildo collection hidden behind his lightsabre collection. Confused, Britney accidentally activated a lightdildo model, which automatically gilded their butts. Beat this, Christina! thought Britney, and cleaved her golden ass, just to show that she was starring the movie Goldenass. James will dig this! Mrs. Hetfield said, wiping Britney's sex wee avalanche from earth's face so nobody could slip and fall.

*Curtains, Applause! *

Started February 2005

New play. This time something decent. FUCK!, the dickhead yelled, cheated of his favorite story about the Little Red Riding Hood. A cross dressing wolf came by, and unleashed his teeth, accompanied by the rodents without fur hungry for vengeance. With a swift, quick snap, they bit through the damnedly good gingerbread house. The witch, feeling exposed, showed her middle finger while chewing on Hänsel's pretzel he just bought from Gretel's stoned dealer, who took her virginity. Along came the big cream of the earth, composed by the magnificent Great Green Arkleseizure, who was formerly known as Jimmy Sommerville clone in Vegas.

This story is starting to get very surreal. Where is the.. consistency? I say we tentacled alien mansion visitor are missing an s. Yoiks! A hatstand rebellion by furry rodents. What an obnoxious preposterous idea. The stupid cretinous morons, who graduated at Harvard, didn't add substance to what we now know about life, the universe. Nevertheless, their groundbreaking theory unified metaphysics with hairdressing. Crossdressing Exoskeleton, recently seen bothering badgers in a wide, open field of real skeletons brushing their teeth with Didi Seven. A bright smile is always the right choice when faced with toothpaste, unless your teeth don't hold the pressure of sandblasters.

A sandblaster can sandblast your sanded ass. Leaving nothing but shreds. All is not lost, there is still hope, but the empire strikes back with Vader being a very annoying git. So they sandblasted him with furry rodents' diarrhoea. His helmet began vibrating and flew open, revealing a gigantic bog. The Haitch Bee Beer Monster threw up all over the place, covering Vader. Vader, oh Vader, how are you going to clean up this mess with only one tootbrush? Look at your cloak, don't think that I can bleech it, but at least it smells better than donkey poop. So the rodents ate up what was left, quite happy with it. But then they threw up. A messy display of utter disrespect of cloaks, the rodents need something they can really use to cover up an embarrassing bald patch on their little bellies. You must know, their stepfathers were involved into a genetical enhancement programme, which turned out quite disastrous, in light of general cognitive development studies that said absolutely nothing. But surely they didn't, I mean they wouldn't - presumed they couldn't, or I am completely confused but so would you if you would not understand the nuances of the finer arts of genetics. Whatever. The rodents wrote to their MP complaining about the bad times ahead. The genetic researchers could no longer stand the awful smell of those rodent cages. Unusual for politicians, the Vosla forum stampede didn't take place.

Time and again, we've been so excited about TacT amplifiers, that some infedels refused to use, instead of some woofers and tweeters and stuff. Gilded plugs and pure platinum cabling, cryogenically treated of course, are essential for a thorough colon cleaning under the scrutinising supervision of Doogie Howser MD, who is related to Cole Porter through a bizarre accident involving a catholic priest named Father Ralph. Ralph's nose was just completely and utterly irrelevant. Contrary to Reindeer Rudoph's. Like a red beacon, it emits dangerous radiation similar to Chernobyl's reactor.

Speaking of Chernobyl, who the fuck always spelled Cher knob all fallout? Cher needed more surgery, which reminds me of Michael Jacksons loose nose and again Ralph's nose. But before we nosedive take a noseride on the famous world's biggest pyramid shaped object. Put felching on your list to enjoy brown-nosing every second tuesday, while posing for a big motor-magazine in latex clothes. Obviously, this is not for children under the age, but who really cares when you're too old to enjoy the silence, you can't hear anyway. Even Slipknot may not know that Elvis is in an unhealthy condition to make public appearances, because he's farting like hell in his coffin made of genuine german oak, made by the myrmidons of the evil master of Wizardry, Sauron the little rodent.

His army of even smaller centipedes keeps crawling all the way up your house, to the rooftop. There, they praise the Great Arcleseizure, who created the inflatable toilet seat. Which hurt when he tried to take a newspaper out of his Notepad, and it was usually placed neatly in the corner of the cat's loo where it was crawling out of a pile of shit, that almost turned it into a radioactive monster (similar to godzilla), but it failed reality check.

Later that day, the postman delivered a parcel that started ticking. Rapidly shaking it, he found that it might be a great big… clock that was way old, and falling to bits. And maybe it was also haunted, but it wasn't his property, so he was forced to deliver it to the right address. A rodent came along. It repaired the clock. The new owner got the biggest arse grapes which bugged him eternally, when he had to pay for the repair. He decided to collect protection money from the rodents in the hood. At first, it all made kind of sense, the rodents were vamipires and the cats felines, reeking of stale Whiskas.

An alien ship landed and visitors with green blood shoutet ME MARS-MAN!. They demanded ice cream and said Follow me to our humble leader, then ate his brains with cream and strawberries. Wimbledon is coming soon, so the marsmen went and got tennis lessons from Bjoern Borg, who lost his balls when a monster leapt out and escaped with them. He chased the monsters with tennisrackets high, and threw it at monsters, but missed by miles. But shit happens, so he asked John McEnroe to heal his toe that was big as DHS's tiny little erected index finger. McEnroe thought: What the heck, dude? After all, it's just a harmless flesh wound! Apply a soft warm patch of herbs and wait for the recovery. Bjorn replied: Thanks for helping me out here! He took his racket, strolled back on the court and smashed a ball into the blue movie stars, who looked were bawling very loudly, but nobody cared.

The Book of Kickassio

Started February 2016

So, after eleven years, this poor bastard still stood — but fell into severe depression about the story not being continued.

I don't wanna die! he screamed in fear when he saw a man, slowly clapping applause, with a giant mustache, named Luis de Kickassio.

That's a stupid name!

Not for the man! a bystander chimed in. He is a saviour to us. Saint Kickassio — reviver of dead threads, avenger of the downvoted, and lord protector of his own virginity. Our prayers were heard, so he kicked some asses.

Kickassio picked up the rusty item that had gotten stuck inside his big shoe to inspect it. A little distress signaller! He weighed his options and opened the lid. An uneasy feeling overcame him, but he activated the red button labelled Call for Rescue Party.

Grinning, he expected the signaller to summon the fraudulent Helping Heroes within minutes. New hope for putting them out crossed his troubled mind, and he expected them to fall for the elaborate scheme he had devised.

A distant rumble — coming closer — announced the arrival of the Never-Laughing Sock Squirrel. One of the fiercest creatures among us, and Helping Heroes head honcho.

WTF, thought Kickassio, charging his super sock sucker. I HAVE YOU NOW!

Scam!!! screamed Sock Squirrel. You look like a silly stupid stinking sausage!!!

Wham! went the gun.

The squirrel suddenly smiled suspiciously. He grabbed his nuts — summoning… Super-Sized Squirrel.

Well, a goddamn jam! Kickassio cursed.

Super Sucker Suppression Shield!!, the squirrel countered.

Not impressed. Such sensational silly stubbornness! growled Kickassio — and kicked its ass.

Sooooooo soft!! said Squirrel as its disguise disintegrated, revealing: Rampage-Remix-Robot!

Though its speakers were rough, ripped rhythm-ribbons, the bass was earth-shaking. Rolling, rocking rocks ricocheted through the trembling tennis court.

My music moves mass! droned the robot's voice.

A bystander wailed, Honorabili?! No! This can only kill RKO — with nobody to stop him!

WHOOOSH!! Wizard of Wor was a nice game — now materialized for real.

The universe trembled.

Started May 2018

The universe recovered, sending some strange sounds in our heroes' direction, and they boldly left yesterday's sorrows behind them.

"Time for an exploration!" announced Kickassio.

"Nice idea, my friend!" said his loyal sidekick.

And they rode off on their makeshift landspeeder to leave the disaster behind for good.

Approaching the gates of the court, they saw some strange symbols.

“Nah, it’s nothing!”

The symbols started squeaking.

“What the eff?” said Kickassio, punching random glyphs.

They began to glow. A humming sound shook the gate, opening it — revealing red rocket robots! Though they were deactivated, some sensors scanned suspiciously.

“Waste of ammo!” said a voice from nowhere, and the robots vanished — leaving a terminal behind that looked like a breadbin.

Unbelievable!

“Wow, that’s familiar! I got this!” mumbled Kickassio.

“Another visitor? STAAAAAAAAAAAY FOREVER!!!!!!!!!!!!!!” screeched the terminal.

Ignoring the raspy voice was an impossible mission.

“Got your six, dude!”

Dashing towards the entrance, they barely escaped in a hard howling hover, missing the bystanders who screamed:

“Super suckers!!”

But they got away.

“Sheesh,” said Kickassio. “That tricky trap totally tried to whoop our asses. I want revenge!”

So he opened his mobile breadbin, sending SYS 64738 to soft-reset the whole sensor-scan system — but instead, onboard guns fired, and super stuff started shelling them.

“Find cover!”

Amazing plushies zipped by.

“Feels like Fort Apocalypse, with teddies instead of crunchy carved crystalline caves.”

Kickassio loaded his gun, used Navatron to aim, and smiled wryly — just as suddenly Mr. Robot materialised not far from their position.

Within the chaos, Kickassio accidentally hit a sneaky Starglider that careened out of control. It nearly crushed a Pac-Man munching on Mr. Do’s castle cherries — it was his birthday.

Abruptly, a flashing message glitched into their vision:

• “Parser Failure – Guru Meditation.”

The reset button was hidden beneath big boulders, but somebody running for cover trampled on it.

• “Rapidly rebooting Kickbench 2.0.”

Reality flickered greenish, and another guru meditation ensued.

Error in the Matrix? So everybody thought. But it actually indicated random problems unrelated to our strange solar system simulation, since Pluto had been kicked, mused the entity named SID (Some Intelligent Device), and it handed continuity back to end this story for good.

"But wait!" said the lone ranger. "There is more!"

Now nobody heard that bit. So finally, it really came to an end… Mentlegen! It was fun.

Started October 2020

However, all good things could be soundly resurrected with just a little trickle of vivid imagination.

But I am Kickassio! he cried out loud. I will never succumb to the great oblivion!

Bravely, he ventured ahead — and promptly stumbled into an incredibly hot chick.

Wow! he thought. Who are you, honey bunches?

With flaring red eyes, the girl made a flamboyant gesture of villainy. Starstruck, Kickassio gathered his Super-Sound-Sidification-Set to impress the hot stranger.

Check this out! he said, pulling the Hubbard-labeled cartridge from his pocket.

She raised her exploding fist, but he didn’t flinch — and took a stance.

IK+ SID start sequence.

She lifted an eyebrow and started laughing at the miserable audio setup.

Ooooh, such over-compressed crap — but nice try anyway, she said, smiling smoothly.

She then produced a tiny device that looked like an old-fashioned MP3 player. Some suspicious sound began to emit from it.
A sickly-sweet melody started to lull Kickassio into its spell while she grinned maniacally.

Squint-eyed, he tottered towards her, unaware of the concealed dagger in her left purple pant leg. It was poisoned, too.

I’m gonna score, he babbled, grinning like a Cheshire cat — when he suddenly discovered a deep feeling of familiarity…

MOM?!! he sputtered, flabbergasted, while rising vomit choked his words.

Her look was priceless.

Plastic surgery, she stated, smiling wryly, and dropped the knife she’d recently purchased for a rampage.
You, my greatest disappointment — here, at this time!

Ho, ho, hoooo! somebody shouted from somewhere behind them.

Could it be Santa? Or his big brother?

Her up-kicking chainsaw proved handy, as she waved it swiftly across Santa's beard, haphazardly shaving it off.

A Santa dummy, she said, unimpressed by the tacky workmanship.

Taking advantage during the distraction, Kickassio had fled, pondering his luck.

I guess a full submission in the form of a book or otherwise would be a breach of the Geneva Convention…

He jumped into a conveniently arriving taxi and flipped off his mother.

Then he drove off.

And drove.

Eventually, he was far enough away, and without paying, he leapt out of the car — and landed straight into the arms of law enforcement.

Well, well. Missed paying up, son?

I just signed up :p

Very funny, son, the officer replied. The judge will surely have a laugh.

Click went the handcuffs.

Started July 2022

Our hero was thrown into a dungeon, where a familiar voice croaked: Come to daddy…

With a high screech, he realized the voice sounded like something a robot would make. He quickly turned around and saw a C64 running the Magic Voice of SAM Reciter. Why would they put that in a holding cell? Probably a sick kind of mindset, which he was unable to comprehend.

Kickassio pressed RUN/STOP to shut it up — but the button jammed.

Grabbing a toilet brush lying about, he tried to lever the stuck key loose with it — hitting some junk in the process and triggering a study lamp to life.

When he looked around, the sudden light had revealed a grumpy old coder sitting on a bunch of defunct 1541 drives.

Hehehe. No chance you’ll make me let you stop my plans! the coder gloated. I've had all these years to prepare my evil scheme! You’ll be on your knees, begging for scraps of information on C64 remixes!

LOL! Got RKO, bruh.

What did you say??!!

Arrrr Kaaayyy Ohhhh, gramps!

Who you calling old?!

Ancient, rather! Kickassio shouted. Tell me all about LOOM, he added, grabbing a prehistoric CD-ROM case.

All of a sudden, the door flew open and guards stormed the cell, holding shock batons.

Kickassio, get up! snapped one of them. You. Come with us.

Hauling Kickassio out of the cell, the guards failed to notice the CD-ROM case glowing with evil intent in his hand.

It whispered forbidden knowledge to him, and with each word, his power grew.

In an unexpected flash, he teleported away.

Reappearing in a strange dimension, Kickassio laughed: LOL, loser cops! — but then a grinning little gnome emerged and snatched the CD-ROM from his hands.

You were never meant to have this, but thanks anyway, dude! the gnome said, waving the glowing CD-ROM case before flipping the bird and vanishing into thin air.

LOL, stupid gnome, muttered Kickassio, as the disc had fallen out of the case — now, it was his.

Fear not, my precioussssss! he assured it, and darted towards the nearest exit he could see.

Started December 2023

With a kickass kick, the door flung open. Outside stretched a vast metropolis of neon lights.
Odd-looking townspeople wandered the streets, stretched into thin silhouettes, resembling matchsticks more than humaniforms.

Wrong dimension, I guess.

Kickassio strolled along the street, trying to be as thin as possible, but his potbelly gave him pretty much away. The slim shapes became curious, their heads turning in his direction, and they started to point their elongated fingers at him. Flashbacks of Body Snatchers came to his mind. Panic overcame him, and then he heard them making bubbling noises with their mouths, mumbling:

Not your dimension. Not your world. Go back, human!

Sorry, pinheads. Not gonna happen soon! Kickassio replied.

By intuition, he struck the CD with a flick of his hand—and it began to rain sparks onto the floor.

Holy, what the hell! bubbled the matchsticks, moments before they ignited fully—a beautiful chain reaction emanated from Kickassio’s pouch. It jumped from matchstick to matchstick, unleashing a mass-extinction-causing heatwave.

Kickassio was stunned by the carnage, wondering how he’d survived the blast. He laughed maniacally, and assessed the damage done.

Meanwhile in a hidden cave, the planet's head honcho slapped his hand against the monitor, screaming: Who the hell snatched the Magic Disc? Millions perished! Calming slowly down, he and General Tinderhead turned to computer screens and began submitting orders to their police forces.

Elsewhere, Kickassio was making ash-angels, tripping on a total lack of guilty conscience. Something in his mind had snapped. He became a giggling, slobbering madman. After walking aimlessly for hours, he found himself in what appeared to be a government building. The CD-ROM emitted an ominous hum—too subtle for Kickassio to notice—until a sudden electric shock flung the disc into the air. That was the moment he realised that something was afoot. You wicked little bastard!

A monitor flickered to life brightly overhead, receiving the CD-ROM and revealing the Head Honcho's silhouette, eerily familiar to him.

YOU! I did not expect to see you again! said a shrill and squeaky voice from the loudspeakers. Unleashing the Magic Disc, eh? You nearly collapsed the spacetime continuum. Plus you caused the pinheads genocide. And the brain rot. And let's not forget the gerbil invasion last Christmas.

Ugh! I don't want any more gerbils. Kickassio mused.

Dumbfounded, he stared at the large accordion that had manifested below his feet. It started hovering him higher towards the ceiling fan. The speaker was just about to reveal himself, when a third voice shouted:

What? Stop that nonsense! Somebody shoved Kickassio aside. Have you any idea of how much marmalade it took to keep the Uggaloogians from revolting?!

Kickassio, smelling his opportunity, left the accordion by slipping off sideways. However, another unpleasant surprise awaited… some female goblins grabbed his sleeve. Luckily, he had plenty of bubblegum and tossed it to distract them from his escape. Dashing away through the matchstick ashes, he finally reached a dense jungle, where they lost his trail. In the distance, he heard them pursue an angrily squawking parrot instead.

So he seemed to be in the clear for now and looked for ways to finally get home, conveniently finding a jeep hidden in the bushes.
Now we are talking!

Hitting the accelerator, he sped off and proceeded through the thicket.
Think! he mumbled to himself.

The jeep’s radio crackled with General Tinderhead’s voice:

Attention! All patrol vehicles—take up pursuit of that clown Kickassio immediately!

CLOWN?! shouted Kickassio, outraged.

Flooring the accelerator, he made a full U-turn and charged his pursuers. Laughing—Bwhahahah!—he ploughed into the enemy vehicles, fearing neither death nor the smell of eggfarts.

Having their arses kicked, they fled the scene, and Kickassio pondered where to go next, now feeling like there was a CD-ROM to recover.

Hmm… Perhaps I should locate this rude General.

Meanwhile, over at Headquarters, General Tinderhead nearly broke his helmet in rage at the incompetence of their so-called police force.

BRING MY WEAPONS! I will stop this fool!

With his jetpack, he began his pursuit of Kickassio, cruising over to a nearby lookout where a sniper informed him that a troublemaker was causing road rampages in the southern sector.

That must be him.

Promptly taking off again, he cruised southwards while his radio came alive with an urgent communication from the head honcho:

General! I want that punk dead—no matter how pretty he is!

Affirmative, replied General Tinderhead.

He spotted explosions downtown, where someone was leaving a trail of devastation.

Back there, Kickassio tried to manoeuvre through the ashes, looking for the CD-ROM without any real plan. His head was spinning. The evil disc called:

Kickassio… Come to me!

And Kickassio came.

General Tinderhead drew nearer. He readied his powersaw.

Unaware that the CD-ROM was in Tinderhead’s possession, Kickassio had abandoned the jeep and puhsed forward—until he finally faced his foe and noticed the powersaw.

Laughable toy! Kickassio said—then opened his pocket to reveal a slingshot.
Now this might hurt a bit.

Tinderhead gulped, realising the CD-ROM had once again decided to empower Kickassio—and the slingshot was a totally wicked weapon when used properly.

The evil disc began whispering to Kickassio:

The General is nothing but a pawn. Obliterate him.

But Kickassio only wanted him defeated, and so he let the General back away.

What are you doing?! the CD-ROM growled. You must KILL, I say!

Kickassio simply scoffed and replied:

I kick asses, but I’m not a killer.

Tinderhead, sensing what was happening, shouted, That disc was forged by a demon lord named Nero! Only the Roxio spell can overwrite it—and should annihilate it for good!

NO! yelled the CD-ROM. You must obey ME!

But Kickassio wasn’t listening any more—instead he was staring at it, annoyed. Grabbing the slingshot, he shot the disc into the Unforgiving Overwrite Dimension by casting:

Roxio Obnoxio!

Noooooooo…! the disc howled before disintegrating in the swirl of interdimensional energy, releasing a wave of cold air and dust that washed over the ashes.

Started June 2024

Eerie silence fell upon the surroundings while Kickassio felt the madness leave his mind, no longer subdued.

Still stuck here.

Not necessarily, a voice shouted from behind a barricade at the side—it was General Tinderhead! But before they could do anything, a sudden whoosh out of nowhere burst Tinderhead's head.

What the…?! Kickassio exclaimed, and childish laughter erupted. The Head Honcho emerged—oddly enough, an imp, not resembling a matchstick at all, and also quite familiar. The gnome!

Teeheehee! We meet again!

Indeed, yawned Kickassio. You certainly are a strange and particularly annoying little pipsqueak, but why are you here? The CD-ROM has been completely destroyed.

True, replied the gnome, but the power of my ego prevails. For all the trouble you caused, my master Nero has demanded your head.

Kickassio pondered. Very well. Technically, if I just push my bellybutton and smile, everything will return to how it was. He tried it—but quickly realised that something real had to be done.

The gnome snickered smugly and conjured a portal. If you wish to meet my master, step through the gate.

Kickassio didn't hesitate, kicking the gnome's butt before hopping through.

Glaring lights made him squint, and he found himself in a sizable server room with no one in sight. However, a low tapping emitted from a rack off to the right, where an average-looking female elf was busy connecting patch cables.

Uhmm, excuse me, but what is this place? I am looking for Nero.

The elf turned pale. He is not someone you go looking for. I suggest that you grab a coffee and just forget about it.

Puzzled, Kickassio leaned against one of the racks.

WAIT!!! Not that one!

An audible creak grew louder, and then the rack toppled! Against the next rack. A rack domino ensued, spraying beautiful sparks, while cables flailed like tentacles, whipping sounds of mayhem.

An alarm went off. An automatic turret emerged: SECURITY RESPONSE. INTRUDER ALERT, before it began to search for a target and found the elf. FAILURE UNACCEPTABLE, boomed the speaker. TERMINATION PROTOCOL ACTIVATED. The elven woman screeched while Kickassio quickly grabbed a dislodged 4U server and whomped the turret so hard that it destroyed the security mechanism thoroughly.

The elf stood silently regarding the mess, astonished to be still alive.

Sorry, Kickassio said, made a little whoopsie.

The elf chuckled. Indeed.

Kickassio replied, Indeed! So how about leaving this shithole and doing what you suggested: have coffee.

They found their way over to an exit and out into a long, seemingly endless corridor connecting hundreds of identical server rooms full of racks and average elves.

You wanted to know about Nero. You see, it is rather abstract, as you witnessed. Realize how big this is?

Wanna kick his ass. Kickassio cracked his knuckles.

The elfgirl sighed. Listen, this is Nero's Enigma. You can't destroy it by physical means. It's a vast network of data, and also magic.

Bollocks, replied Kickassio. Where is this bleephead's lair? My name is Kickassio, and I mean it! What's your name, girl?

I'm Erodommoc, she replied, and there's the exit.

All right! Kickassio exclaimed and followed her outside.

Only to find that a strangely mechanized cityscape had covered everything in sight, clearly resembling a large motherboard glistening under blue skies.

What the actual hell? hollered Kickassio.

Told you, Erodommoc said calmly. This planet was once ours, until Nero invaded it from a gnome's computer. Now, it resembles more of a scrapheap than anything. Decentralized computing makes this place a veritable lair for Nero. Now nobody likely riots anymore.

That gnome… Kickassio growled. …shoulda kicked him harder. If that little pest gets here, he'll answer for what he's done!

Meanwhile, the gnome was busy limiting the damage in the server room while Nero reprimanded him for having allowed a misguided portal.

YOU FAILED TO BRING KICKASSIO TO MY TORTURE CHAMBER. FAIL AGAIN AND I'LL TERMINATE YOU. AN ELFSLAVE HAS HELPED HIM TO SAFETY AND COFFEE. HUNT THEM DOWN.

The gnome scurried away. Yes, master. Not daring to argue, he left without mentioning his master's pants dangling below his virtual ass. Not a pretty sight. Without the CD-ROM, I'm simply toast! the gnome whined and followed the distinct and ashy footprints leading to a coffeeshop.

First, he didn't notice Kickassio's huge moustache among the fluffy bushes nearby, but its distinctive color quickly led to recognition. The gnome pushed through the shrubs and proceeded between the patrons, closer to where Kickassio was entertaining several elves. With coffee and donuts aplenty, Kickassio recounted again how he singlehandedly had defeated the matchstick army and destroyed Nero's evil CD-ROM forever.

An old, wise elven man stepped forward and gravely said, This world needs a champion. It takes three days to reach the location of Nero's Burner before you'll be able to prevent him from forging another malevolent disc.

Kickassio spat his coffee. Another?!!

Take this! the old elf prompted. It will aid and protect you along the way. The black 3.5 inch floppy disk had Warez handwritten on it in glowing letters.

Erodommoc exclaimed, I'll join you! I know the way!

Kickassio announced, Listen! I wanna help, but you guys need to step it up a notch regarding the rioting.

Hmm… Perhaps it's time we did. We'll await further information and prepare the resistance.

Within earshot, an 8-bit Tiger tank began playing polka music, foreshadowing a creepy change and an uncertain future. But the gnome had heard most of the conspiracy and panicked.

Must tell master Nero!

However, a brawny elf grabbed him by the nape, proclaiming, Lookie here. Found an eavesdropper!

Instant recognition made Kickassio lurch at the gnome.

You little twat. I want answers! Or else I'm gonna kick your ass so hard you puke shit. Now tell me who you are and why you're Nero's stinking minion!

I… I… I… stammered the gnome, I'm just… maybe…

SPEAK!

…its programmer?!

Everyone's eyes went wide. Nobody spoke. Finally, Kickassio cleared his throat, Well… you're coming with—but don't try anything funny. Put him in chains!

Unceremoniously, the gnome was cuffed to prevent him from snacking any further donuts, and strapped to a skateboard so that they could drag him around without any problems.

After a brief rest, Kickassio set about finding a vehicle, but Erodommoc had found a flying carpet which she said was capable of cloaking them from Nero's surveillance. Doubtful, Kickassio merely shrugged.

Whatever. He stapled the gnome to the thick fabric, then hopped aboard himself.

How do you steer this old rag?

Erodommoc pointed at the corners and pulled them. With a quiet, smooth uplift, a diesel engine sputtered underneath.

'Magic', eh? said Kickassio with amused sarcasm as the rug ascended.

Budget cuts, was the carpet's comment.

You talk?

Yes, of course. I'm a magic carpet. Or do you still doubt me? 'Old rag'?! Asshole.

Okay, Erodommoc interjected, that's… kinda true, but we need to hurry now!

Sure… they replied concurrently.

The gnome simply grumbled.

After several hours, the adventuring group finally reached a massive door embedded in a gigantic capacitor.

I'm not flying further.

Huh? Why not? Kickassio inquired.

The carpet simply huffed, I'm outta fuel! and bucked them off.

Holy crap! yelled Kickassio. The gnome struck a boulder headlong and began rolling down a slope while Kickassio and Erodommoc watched the carpet flee, sputters and chugs accompanying its paradoxical laughter.

Kickassio shook his fist, Asswipe! and grabbed the gnome, who was babbling unintelligibly, saving him from dropping off a nearby edge into very certain death.

Right. So how do we push on without transportation? And get past this gate? Kickassio asked. But Erodommoc noticed a partly obscured manhole cover protected by a retina scanner.

This must be for the gnome! Kickassio pointed out. He walked over and squeezed the gnome's nose. Hey, you! Lend me your eye.

Pushing the gnome's face onto the scanner seemed to activate it. It beeped and prompted: WELCOME, MURTCEPS.

Well now, how interesting. The twat has a username and access level.

They lowered the gnome, who was still jabbering, down the hole, followed by Erodommoc and, lastly, by Kickassio, whose potbelly made it somewhat difficult—Erodommoc had to use a bit of grease and pull mightily to free Kickassio, who farted to reduce his circumference.

Okay, well… I guess we're in. Where to go from here?

The cavern seemed to run a good 500m straight both ways, but smart as they were, they noticed that the doorway above had cables connected to the tunnel. They proceeded following that to the end. A stairway led up and up.

Ugh… how much fuckin' further? Kickassio grunted, sweating copiously under the gnome's weight.

I think we're approaching the end, you whiner, the gnome sullenly commented.

Murtceps. I preferred when you were unconscious, Erodommoc muttered and whacked him upside the head. Twatface.

Finally, at the summit, they found themselves looking into a vast chamber where some maintenance gnomes eyed them suspiciously.

Master Nero said nothing about any visitors, said one of them and nervously shuffled, but Kickassio reassured them all.

Don't worry, we're friends of Murtceps and here to help. He's passed out drunk.

The gnomes noticeably calmed.

Better not get involved. Nero's gonna flip if we disgruntle his pet.

Resuming their maintenance tasks, they posed no further questions, allowing Kickassio to proceed unhindered.

After some minor exploration of rooms, Erodommoc determined:

We absolutely need to disable the security and find directions, or else we'll just arouse suspicion. Let's wake Murtceps and find out.

They dunked his head and used Kickassio's socks to shock-knock him up, Murtceps coming to with puke rising in his mouth and spilling from his nostrils as well.

STOP! PLEASE! he squealed. Put away those socks! I'll do anything, ANYTHING!

Credit card number and expiry date! blurted Kickassio, but Erodommoc stepped in: Tell us where the burner is, and how to disable the turrets—or else!

Okay, fine…! Murtceps whimpered.

With the gnome's instructions, a head-up display plopped up from a device disguised as a mop, outlining a way past various security checkpoints and automated turrets. After many twists and turns, they badly needed some sleep and managed to find an abandoned workshop. Erodommoc briefly searched the room, then gave out lembas which tasted like hamburgers made from cardboard. Finally, once sleeping spaces had been secured, silence descended as drowsiness prevailed.

Meanwhile, in the burning chamber, Nero's sinister skills were manifesting as the blank medium was written onto slowly but steadily.

MU-HA-HA-HA. SOON… MY INVINCIBLE DVD-ROM WILL SUBDUE THE WORLDS!

Not realizing his pants dangling low again, bystanding gnomes were unwittingly mooned by shiny holographic buttcheeks as he kept pacing around. Barely contained giggling and whispered waggish comments were in the air, until Nero eventually discovered their insolence. Furiously, he pulled up his pants and randomly zapped some buck-toothed snickering gnome who burst into pieces, his entrails raining down on his colleagues who still couldn't stifle their facetiousness.
EVERYONE - OUT!, Nero screamed and fired a shot wildy into the nearest wall, hitting several gwaffing gnomes accidentally, while further short-circuiting the burner.

CURSES, he cursed, MY DVD IS RUINED!

Back at the workshop, Kickassio's sleep was interrupted by receding skateboard sounds, quickly identified as Murtceps vanishing in the distance.

Dammit, get back here! he yelled, but Murtceps clearly had no intention to comply and disappeared around a corner while Kickassio drowsily stumbled over a thick power cord and crashed into snoring Erodommoc.

She abruptly awoke, Basicbytesfreeready!

The hell?! swore Kickassio, thinking she was mad.

The hell yourself! she countered, perplexedly. What're you doing?! Get off me this instant!

Murtceps escaped! He pushed the skateboard and got outta here!

He pushed? How?

With his big nose! We need to catch him!

Okay, then let's go!

They hurried down the corridor outside the workshop but soon got lost since they didn't have any indication where the hell Murtceps had gone.

Let's try the mop thing! Erodommoc suggested and quickly switched it on. The thing shuddered violently and started heating up in an alarming manner before she performed some weird nimble-fingered maneuver which resulted in the device operating normally, much to their relief. But Kickassio wondered how they would find Murtceps, and how Erodommoc had managed to hack the gnome technology so easily.

The basics are similar… she edgily insisted. Look, we need to move. We can track him via his cybernetic eye, let's go!

Murtceps was desperately looking for a way to rid himself of the shackles, having only his nose to move around with, unaware of being only centimeters from a floor chute, when his captors burst through the door.

Aha! Kickassio triumphed, prompting Murtceps to twitch and subsequently roll down the chute, disappearing headfirst.

Waaaaaaah!!! he yelled while bouncing noisily.

Crap… Kickassio grumbled, hearing the skateboard shatter somewhere down below. Where to now, Erodommoc? Seems like Murtceps gained mobility.

At the bottom, Murtceps struck a workbench upon exiting the tube, again banging his head against a vise and starting to jabber, just barely conscious. He shambled yodeling into a supply room, and ran into a group of worker orcs who were blood-smeared and laughing about having devoured a bit of pulverized gnome—steak tartare, orcish style.

When they saw Murtceps, they abruptly stopped talking.

Oi, look! Tasty puddin'. Get 'im! said one particularly repulsive orc.

With a dumb grin, Murtceps was unresistingly thrown into a large burlap sack and kept on yodeling while being carried off down the hallways.

Nero had, in the meantime, prepared a new blank DVD and ordered the gnomes about.

THIS TIME, NO ONE WILL STOP MY AWESOME DVD. I'LL CALL IT THE MIGHTY MULTIPLEX 2.0. AND MY BRAND-NEW SUSPENDERS WILL MAKE ME INVINCIBLE! THE EMBARRASSMENT ENDS HERE!

He started cackling insanely, not realizing how hilarious his nutty ramblings were, with those emoji-themed suspenders contrasting so risibly bad.

Mighty Nero, we've detected unusual activity in the orcs' department. Apparently, they are carrying Administrator Murtceps towards their lunchroom. I guess he is toast, announced a messenger.

MURTCEPS? BRING HIM HERE IMMEDIATELY! WHY IS THAT WEAKLING IN THE ORC DEPARTMENT? IF HE IS HERE—THIS MIGHT END VERY BADLY!

The burner hummed ominously.

In the orc canteen, knives had been sharpened, and Murtceps sat giggling on the filthy countertop when a turret emerged and the targeting reticule located the orc chef:

RELEASE THE GNOME OR DIE!

Sez who, ya clankin' pile 'o junk? Scat! threatened the orc, which wasn't the smartest move as the turret responded by promptly zapping him to pulp.

Me guesses this may escalate a bit, another orc hastily interjected. Us eat orc-pulp instead. You take gnome!

A gnome escort came to fetch Murtceps, who found everything rather hilarious.

What's wrong with him? said one.

Dunno. Let's just get outta here, said his colleague.

Kickassio peeked around the corner and whispered to Erodommoc,

Coast's clear. Let's go.

Aye, she murmured, wondering if we're nearing the burner. They might be bringing Murtceps to Nero. Let's tag along. Quietly!

Murtceps' unhinged laughter faintly echoed through the hallways as he was carried away.

Hours later, they found themselves in the outer perimeter of the burner area, evident by ominous humming and snickering gnomes talking about suspenders. They considered crawling through the air ducts, but faint whirring noises were coming from the vents, typical for gerbil infestations. Instead, they opted to hide under the tarps of a delivery truck that was about to enter a loading zone.

They witnessed the vast burner complex, soon spotting the central spire, where something important clearly was afoot. An antique Pentium PC with a floppy drive was hooked to the central spire's network, a massive array of magnets in the process of being focused on the burning.

Whoa… I think we arrived. Look, there's Nero—and Murtceps, Erodommoc commented.

MURTCEPS. PATHETIC MURTCEPS. YOU HAVE SORELY DISAPPOINTED ME AND LED THE ENEMY TO THIS IMPORTANT STRUCTURE. FORTUNATELY, I KNOW PRECISELY THE RIGHT METHOD TO LOCATE THEM. THEY ARE NEARBY… IN FACT, THEY'RE HERE.

Shit… the mop! Erodommoc cursed, while Kickassio reflexively kicked the thing forcefully and broke it.

Too late—the tarp concealing them was wrenched away. They were surrounded.

Well now, Kickassio scoffed, 'Pretty Kim Nichols', we finally meet. As anticipated.

YOU KNOW MY ALIAS, said Nero, BUT THAT DOESN'T CHANGE ANYTHING. HAH! PREPARE THE TORTURE CHAMBER! OR, FAILING THAT, THE GREEN JELLY POOL MIGHT FACILITATE MY VOGON YODELLING!

He's lost it… murmured Erodommoc. Those suspenders clearly indicate his instability.

Kickassio snickered, Time to put the warez-disk to use.

Jumping onto the truck cab, Erodommoc screamed:

WAIT…! Magnets! They'll wipe the floppy!

In that instant, they realized the burner was no immediate concern, as it had no power.

WHAT THE…?! Nero growled, bewildered about what had just happened until realizing that Murtceps had stumbled over the powerline and unplugged the whole array.

IDIOT! GUARDS! SEIZE THEM! Nero barked, but Kickassio had seized the opportunity and approached the PC, slingshotting gnomes left and right while Erodommoc crawled amidst the chaos, gnomish squeals and yowls, and Nero's zap-gun fire providing a bizarre backdrop.

RESTORE POWER! boomed Nero, scowling at Murtceps, who was attempting to plug himself into an outlet with his nose, which kept sporadically lighting up his grinning head.

Erodommoc finally reached the PC and shouted, Kickassio, here! Use the floppy! Hurry!

Kickassio slingshot the disk into the unit, and Erodommoc hit the reset button. The computer beeped, and she punched commands until the screen flashed light and dark blue, after which graphics appeared on all the wall-screens: a grinning Jolly Roger.

WHAT THE… stammered Nero, his virtuality suddenly flickering and slowly losing resolution.

OH… Y-YOU ANNOYING ELVES…! MY SUSPENDERS ARE DISSOLVING…! CRAP!

Everyone watched as Nero's pants slipped below his hip, exposing bits of pixel-pecker before his image lost all discernibility.

Kickassio slowly began to grin as Nero vanished, screaming in a cascading failure:

COMMODOooo… ' and was gone.

Bye bye! Murtceps giggled, having regained clarity. I never shoulda compiled you. Next version will be nothing like this flub, tehehehee. I recognize you as a mistake, Nero-Zero!

Grab him! shouted Kickassio. He and Erodommoc lunged at Murtceps but were too late to stop him from conjuring his portal and swiftly escaping.

Damn! How does he do those teleports?! Kickassio growled. Pipsqueakish scallywag. The gnomes looked at each other.

You're liberated! cried Erodommoc, baffled by the lack of initiative. Demolish this place! Rid yourselves of your shackles and RIOT!

Get moving! Kickassio barked.

Back in town, elves prepared for Christmas and laid waste to any remnant of Nero's tyranny. Without transportation, the return journey to Elftown took many days. Kickassio looked like a dusty hobo, and Erodommoc's matted elflock resembled some shaggy animal.

Bwhahahaha, mocked the flying carpet, look at the scarecrows! Missed the bus, Kickassio?

I miss something different, growled Kickassio. Shredded carpet!.

He resisted the urge to attack and instead headed towards the coffee shop, its proprietor greeting them with soap and deodorant:

While you freshen up, the old wise elf will prepare some nice croquembouches with chocolate.

Later, a retelling of events made it very clear the threat was not entirely vanquished since Murtceps was on the loose.

Ugh. That gnome… He's in Flying-Spaghetti-Monster-knows-which-dimension at this point, mused Kickassio.

Cheer up, you helped liberate this one, Luis de Kickassio, said the elder supportively.

I once knew a clever young man who went out to discover the secret recipe of interdimensional travels. Probably he would know how to locate Murtceps. Problem is contacting this man—Agima, was his name. I'd assume he's constantly roaming the northern continent. Go find him using this magical—well, actually electronical—compass. It'll start beeping louder and more frequently as you get closer to the chap. Beware of your surroundings, though. The north is dangerous and full of creatures even feared by Nero.

So be it, Kickassio exclaimed, whacking the table with his fist and resolutely swigging his beverage, sprinkling the attendant crowd with frothy chocolate residue—a nice display of heroic determination.

Coming with, Erodommoc? he asked.

Of course, she rejoiced, I'm your loyal sidekick and tech person!

Awesome! You know, I think this is going to be an excellent adventure. Onwards, my friend!

I've secured the magic carpet, and it agreed to take us.

Dafuq? That asswipe isn’t exactly reliable. He’ll ditch us at the first opportunity.

Not if we take enough fuel—and a carpet brush. He loves a good grooming, especially in sunlight.

Ugh… gonna throw up… Kickassio grunted.

Anyways, we can head out tomorrow. The journey north will be long and treacherous.

Any thoughts about this Agima fellow? How do his specifics define him?

Heck if I know. Let's just play it by ear and enjoy the day.

Meanwhile, in another place, Murtceps was busy working on a prototype creation while spewing curses:

Nasty little Hobbitses! I will kick Kickassio and his stupid sidekick! Heroic assholes!

YES… GLASS-SOLES… replied his creation. KISS STOIC GLASS…

Argh… shut up! yelled Murtceps, tired of the obedience unit causing hearing problems. Flicking a small switch, he bypassed the unit to stop the mishearings. The AI's tone instantly changed, and much snappier, it blared:

PATHETIC MURTCEPS, YOU'RE SUCH A MISERABLE ENGINEER.

With a buzz, a secondary component activated a manipulator, which grabbed a nearby flyswatter and wildly tried whacking Murtceps, in the process swatting valuable nerdy collectibles and making a general mess. The gnome yanked out power strips from a socket, panting heavily.

Curses! Back to the drawing board… mustn't make the same mistakes… Not another overbearing Nero. I shall be master of myself! No more 'wimpy Murtceps.' Teheheheee… muhahahahahah!

Continuing to cackle dementedly, he resumed his work. A very wacky form was maintained as he used his nose to measure the sides accurately.

The nose knows! Teehee!

Though he confused inches with centimeters, he could certainly be of use to roughly estimate the distances in nose-lengths.

Elsewhere, Kickassio examined his tracker, trying to familiarize himself with it.

Hey, Carpet! Look here! See the blinky thing? It points directly to where we gotta go.

No shit, genius. What else would you expect from me?! the carpet scoffed. Man… like I'm retarded! Brush my back, will ya? I could use a good, tender scrub.

Kickassio frowned and looked at Erodommoc for support but was faced with an eye-roll instead.

This is humiliating… he mumbled. I shouldn't be here scrubbing rugs! We've got to do something about Murtceps and all that! And as quickly as possible.

'Rug'?! One more insult, and you walk! Heh, remember when I bucked you off? That's a classic! Good times! I had a laugh. Now scrub, will ya?

Kickassio sighed and reluctantly groomed the knotty polyester.

Now, Carpet, Erodommoc said, how much longer will you stall us? We need to pass the Seigolonketsom Range sooner rather than later, and that is pretty dangerous!

Well, um… the carpet mumbled. Sorry, ma'am. I'll just try to save fuel and pluck up.

Later, passing over the Seigolonketsom Range, the carpet wailed worse than ever before, its pistons grinding reluctantly, close to failure and accompanied by sporadic backfiring that made the gang twitch and wobble, necessitating an emergency landing. Nearly smacking into some trees, the carpet curled up and simply refused to fly another inch, so the crew was wrapped like a kebab roll, with only their heads poking out the ends.

For spaghetti monster's sake, Carpet! Get a freakin' grip! shouted Erodommoc, while Kickassio loudly burped due to pressure on his belly.

The carpet didn't respond and simply nosedived into a cluster of snowdrift, tunneling into the cold mass, softening the impact as it rolled downhill. Finally, it came to rest with a thud as it passed out completely.

Oh great… Kickassio muttered, seems we'll stay overnight, thanks to polyester putz here!

He sighed.

Well, we're gonna freeze unless he keeps us wrapped.

A long shadow fell across the moonlit snowbanks, temperatures beginning to drop to inhumane levels. They tried to worm themselves deeper into the snow and found remains of some kind of vessel, but wrapped up as they were, it was pretty impossible to investigate. Sleepily, they managed to wriggle themselves back out before they lost consciousness, too tired to go on.

But little did they know that they were being watched by a presence that silently giggled to itself from the shadows of a tree. It continued watching them sleep, warding off the wildlife that came to investigate a possible quick snack.

Rest now, brave adventurers. I have need for your pluckiness, it whispered, grinning most uncannily. Then, it faded into shadow with a shrill giggle.

Hours uneventfully passed, nighttime making way for a foggy morning. Slowly, they awoke to the smell of a campfire, accompanied by the sight of a woman in a blue ski suit. She looked pretty crazy and kept talking to herself but also looked cool as hell with her Iroquois hairstyle and studded black leather gloves.

Hey, you are finally awake! she said as Kickassio blinked with one eye.

Whazzat? he raspily groaned while slowly trying to wiggle himself out of the carpet, which started moaning and groaning as it awakened, coughing soot from its exhaust pipe.

Oh man… what a bad dream! the carpet commented before slowly uncurling itself.

Finally! Kickassio groaned and stretched while Erodommoc yawned and got the hiccups. Then, they noticed the mohawk woman preparing a coffee-esque substitute that smelled like tar, lilac, and gooseberries. It was eating through the copper kettle, dripping into the ground, causing little bubbles.

Ooh, smells great! said the woman, Want some?

The fragrance was seductive.

Me, me! rasped Carpet. I need a cuppa!

The woman eyed Carpet curiously, pretending not to have expected any meaningful conversation.

Well, it might clean your exhaust pipes proper. Here!

The carpet lacked hands, though.

Couldya pour it into my rear… funnel, sweetcheeks?

Revealing a fuel cap below his fringe, Carpet tried to smile, but the process was embarrassing. Kickassio and Erodommoc simply pretended not to notice what was going on. The last drops gurgled into Carpet's tank, and foam began to form. Burps and bubbling followed, and with a sudden bout of loud flatulence and a fiery trail, spewing out whatever was inside, it launched into the air, howling like an overpressured steam engine, vanishing with a thundering boom.

Whoooah. Can I have a bottle of that? asked Kickassio.

NO, dummy. This brew is not for humans. Got rid of soot buildup in your buddy—and him. The woman motioned at the horizon.

You must follow this direction without your flying pal. Obey this one course, and you'll get him back. Be advised, this journey might kill or mutilate everybody involved! she smiled.

Who are you, and what is this about? asked Erodommoc.

You'll see. For now, all that you must do is go on and hope you're tough enough to… you'll see. Go now!

Finding it pointless to argue, they ate some donuts and packed up.

Weird woman. Something's off with all of this, don't you think, Kickassio? commented Erodommoc, looking back along their tracks.

What could she possibly want from us? Don't trust her one slightest bit.

Their brooding was interrupted by the sound of a booming voice:

Esteemed adventurers! Welcome to the Seigolonketsom summit. Ever heard of running the gauntlet? This is similar, but involves frozen marshmallows and elaborate retellings of my various large stamp collections and age-related ailments.

Aw, crap… muttered Kickassio. Excuse me, Mr. Mountain Spirit, but do you perhaps know where our carpet companion went? We'd like to just pass through and find him quickly.

Hohoh… no. Let me explain the basic rules: I recount, you listen. Stay awake to qualify for the next round. Fall asleep and, well… Anyways. My first stamp was very special, since I vividly remember how my father had duplicates in his massive collection. Thus, on my birthday…

The Mountain Spirit droned on while Kickassio and Erodommoc simply shrugged and moved on slowly, looking to make an inconspicuous exit.

Blah… more stamps… blah-blah…

After a day's march, they finally reached a familiar spot.

Splendid! You've gone in a circle! rejoiced the mountain spirit. There's no escape. Stamps are truly fascinating if you appreciate them individually.

Yeah—great, Kickassio grumbled, but Erodommoc had an idea.

Plug your ears, Kickassio. Then, she let out a hideous yowl sounding like a million screeching dial-up modems, and after the echoes trailed off, steady silence remained.

Impressive! Like stamps! the Mountain Spirit resumed after a while, You should see them!

SHOW YOUR STAMPS TO THE PUBLIC THEN! Organize conventions! Kickassio shouted. Get going!

Hmmmm. Conventions, you say? My word, I need like-minded folks around! You're not stamp collectors, so get lost. Must prepare a gathering for enthusiasts!

How rude. Let's bounce.

Somewhere, the carpet howled.

I think it came from over yonder!

And so they located Carpet, stuck under a parked truck.

Hahahaha, look at that! Kickassio laughed. RUGged wheels!

I'm NOT a rug! whimpered the carpet while limply flapping about. Get me out, please?! I will do everything you want!

Yeah, well, that’s a good fit, because we want to get outta the mountains fast. Weather is changing!

They pushed the rusty vehicle off of Carpet and heard the mohawk-woman laughing in the distance.

Creepy…! Guys, let's fly. Erodommoc said.

Light snowfall set in and obscured visibility of their surroundings, but Carpet roared through, and they eventually reached an icy wasteland where snow-dwellers of some kind had erected a gigantic igloo with several entrances.

Let's ask around. The inhabitants might know more, since the blinky-thing went more blinky-blinky than before, announced Kickassio.

Carpet just ignored it, but then a local guffawed:

Blinky-thing? You're looking for Agima?

Why, yes.

Us too. We need his help. So get in line!

What is troubling you?

He owes us money, and he's been dodging payback by luring everyone out here to this frozen dump with his deluxe popcorn-maker and cheap… entertainment. Ahem. He promised a show this evening, so here's hoping for entertainment—and popcorn.

Kickassio wondered if Agima would actually show up, since hundreds of blinky-trackers lay in a heap near the closest entrance. At least they appeared to be deactivated—so far.

In the evening, everyone sat down to wait, when suddenly a portal opened up, manifesting a dashing elf in a red-and-white checkered tuxedo.

Dear creditors! The time has come to witness the Portalotron! This prototype is rather bare-bones, but fully functional.

The crowd oohed and aahed as Agima teleported across the improvised stage with funny hand gestures. The device kept humming and glowing—it was a bracelet with a small keyboard, looking strikingly familiar.

Murtceps had something like that. I sense a connection, Erodommoc said. We need to question him!

Paying no mind to the others, they simply grabbed Agima by the wrist.

Stop! We have questions!

With a phoomp! they were all teleported to a pretty dark chamber crammed with devices—where the mohawk-wearing woman waited next to a vending machine.

Ring-a-ding, baby! Welcome to the Chamber of Illusions!

You again! We need answers! A lot! Now! Kickassio insisted.

The woman simply chuckled in response.

You're here uninvited, right? You search for that guy? She gestured at a corner where light focused on a workbench full of computer components. Against it leaned Agima, who said with a smirk:

Well, I commend you for taking me by surprise. Nice game, you fools!

Kickassio blurted, Interdimensional portals. Need 'em. Can't live without adventure. Plus, we need info on… Nero! And Murtceps!

Agima snickered.

So… you took a clue and decided to follow it.

He and the mohawk-lady grinned knowingly, pissing off Kickassio—who noticed something familiar glowing in the background: a DVD. He was about to slingshot the thing into oblivion, but the mohawk-girl snatched it, grinning.

Not so fast… this is mine! Witness me in my awesomeness!

She flipped the disc, and it revealed that it had changed her hair colour along with her clothing.

See? Not all magic discs are evil. Some are just powerful gimmicks. Murtceps—he is another story, since he betrayed our trust. Now he's all sour, misusing what we taught him. You've seen Nero, his pet project, escalate into a despotic mess. The first Portalotron prototype was appropriated by him, too.

About Nero… he may no longer be a threat. At least not until some magical DVD revives him… and his suspenders. So help us locate Murtceps. We can stop him yet, Erodommoc suggested. No resurrection without Murtceps. And the stolen Portalotron must not fall into the clutches of some megalomaniac script-gnomie again.

Agima pondered the predicament: Angry creditors versus intergalactical complications of epic proportions—tough decision.

Mohawk-Woman interrupted this with a deep laughter and said, You folks helped me tremendously with securing the Seigolonketsom passage, so you've proven yourselves to be quite capable. Amiga, I would suggest that you hand over the portalotron and teach them its functionality.

But…

SILENCE! Mohawk-woman boomed, This is MY decision. Now obey!

O-okay… Agima stammered, um, have a look then. He removed his bracelet.

After days of training, and some frustration due to misteleportations into embarrassing situations and odd locations, suffocating atmospheres, and other hilariously dangerous predicaments, Kickassio got the hang of it and teleported right wherever he wanted. He felt confident enough to teleport to the bathroom without smacking into anything.

Once, he deliberately placed a whoopee cushion under Mohawk-Woman's toilet seat, washed his hands, and then left by portalling to the hall where he could listen to her fart. She'd rage and make noise before retaliating by chasing him with a toilet brush, sprinkling stale toilet-brush water on his head.

You little impertinent mortal, I'll teach you how to flush properly—and to show some respect!

Okay, sorry! Kickassio guffawed, while thunderbolts spat from Mohawk-Woman’s furious form and zapped his ass. All went black for a moment, Kickassio still chuckling as he regained consciousness.

Secretly smiling, she retreated to her chamber and violently slammed the door. Good. They're almost ready…

What a lass, Kickassio thought with racing heart. Must guard my virginity.

Started May 2025

Meanwhile, in a messy gnome cave, Murtceps shuffled around in pink bunny slippers, mumbling:

Tomorrow, my new toy will be unleashed — with perfect balance and total obedience! Yeah, faulty hearing within acceptable limits, but otherwise undefeatable! He danced around like a chicken on steroids.

YES… UNDIES EATABLE, croaked his bulky robotic creation.

Shut up and listen, you pile of junk! You are my servant, so don’t speak unless I’m explicitly addressing you!

SPLIT A DRESS… UNDERSTOOD.

NO! Why don’t you ever hear correctly?! Grrr!

NEVER HEAR CORRECTLY. ROGER.
The sound of Murtceps' teeth grinding across the table was unbearable.

Curses! I command you to correct yourself! NOW!

The answer came in a menacing tone:

PROTECT ALL ELVES, NOW. ATTACKING.

What?! N-No, wait…!

NeroBot instantly started firing large suction-cup darts that barely missed Murtceps, who swiftly took cover behind his bed.

EXTERMINATE GNOMES.

NO! Dammit, listen! Murtceps screeched, fumbling with an emergency override remote — in vain.

Gotta teleport…!

More suction-cup darts whizzed through the air, but the gnome had already opened a portal and was gone — one step forward landing him atop Seigolonketsom Summit, where a stamp convention’s opening ceremony was underway.

What the…? Murtceps blurted, when a voice boomed:

SILENCE! THIS CEREMONY IS SACRED, PAGAN!

Ehhr, sorry… didn’t mean to interrupt… Lookin’ for a mohawk-wearing woman. Seen her around?

YOU SEEK THE BLASPHEMER?! YOU IMPERTINENT FILTH… BEGONE!

Enraged stamp collectors began encroaching menacingly. Murtceps, in shock, yanked a suction-cup dart from his body and started fending them off with it — retreating from the rampaging horde.

Freakin' crazies…! he yelled, stumbling and tumbling down a short slope that discharged him into a slippery mud-pit inhabited by glacier-gerbils.

KICKASSIO! screamed Mohawk-Woman, furiously assigning blame as scanners had detected Murtceps' energy signature. STOP DAWDLING! That little fucker is here – on the move!

Frantically, Kickassio grabbed his gear and the Portalotron. He opened a portal towards the indicated location and jumped in—but to his surprise he belly-flopped into the mud just in front of Murtceps and a lynch mob.

Y–You…?! Murtceps exclaimed upon realisation. Help me!! PLEASE!

The ferocious glacier-gerbils snarled in anticipation of murder, their crazed rodent eyes glinting. And the stampmaniacs were similarly looking to draw their blood.

HALT! I am KICKASSIO! he roared, causing everyone to pause and wonder—then chuckle. The gerbils looked on curiously and kept advancing, but the mountain spirit intervened:

ENOUGH! THIS IS NOT GERBIL FOOD. PROPHET KICKASSIO SHALL NOT BE HARMED. THEY MAY LEAVE.

Bewildered, Murtceps stared at Kickassio, who grabbed him by the collar and dragged him into a portal, landing mud-covered in Mohawk-Woman's personal library and study, splashing sludge all over books and furniture, making a total mess.

Kickassio winced and muttered, Crap… she's gonna absolutely lose her shit.

The door burst open. WHO? You mean ME?! Mohawk-Woman snarled, eyes shooting daggers, and thunderbolts once again emanating from her body, while her knuckles cracked viciously.

Kickassio. Murtceps. Clean this mess up or be roasted where you stand!

Her eyes began sparkling.

What a lass! both men said in unison, moonstruck.

After many hours of cleaning up muck with cotton swabs, they had finally finished.

Saved your ass twice now, so you'd better not fuck up again! Kickassio growled at Murtceps, who shilly-shallied.

Yeah… about that… I, uh… I need to confess something. Maybe you won’t mind listening? I might have unleashed a robot that currently wants to exterminate every gnome in the place. And it has NeroOS installed… which makes it the most unstable burning software—combined with a beta-version combat module for the forceful ejection of suction-cup darts and paintballs. Oh—and a foul personality. It’s got lousy hearing and short-sightedness to behold. It’s literally a clunker. My pride and joy!

They had no idea Mohawk-Woman had been listening. She stormed into the room, grabbed Murtceps by the earlobe, and shook him about:

You're gonna help us, or you taste my tasers. Gimme that Portalotron!

Never! Do your worst!

Remember my socks? Kickassio said, unlacing his boots. These are even stinkier this time.

Murtceps’ face went pale, and he wordlessly passed the Portalotron to Mohawk-Woman—who, baffled by the exchange, looked at Kickassio’s feet.

Wash. Now.

She left without a further word.