KSSHHKKKSKKKHHHKKKK

Werthers was jarred awake by the impact of the glass bottle that had fallen from cock knew where and landed on his rubber clad head, which now ached terribly.

CREEEEAK CREEEEAK

“There he if! There he cluffing if!”

Werthers was still tied to the back of the airbike, but the aura outside had changed. It was smoky and cloudy and the sky glowed with pielight.

“Peddle fafter cock hamnit he’f going to get away!” Pripkin ejaculated.

CREEEEAK CREEEEAK

Werthers noticed the impact of the glass on his head had somehow shaken loose the leather strap by his neck, allowing him to crane his neck around to notice a figure sailing up and then gliding down through the fog on a rent-a-pogo-stick.

CREEEEAK CREEEEAK

“Fpeed up fpeed up cockhamnit! We can’t let that mothercluffer get away thif time!!”

CREEAK CREEAK CREEAK

“I’m going as fast as I can!”

CREK CREK CREK CREK

“Well then maybe you’re juft not going hard enough!”

CREK CREK CREK CREK CREK CREK

“I’m going as fast and hard as I can!!”

CREK CREK CREK CREK CREK CREK CREK CREK

“You will cluffing go fafter and harder when I tell you to!”

CREKCREKCREKCREKCREKCREKCREKCREKCREKCREK

“I can’t help how erratic he is, bouncing up and down and up and down all over the place with that huge stick and whatnowof!” Ronaldo ejaculated, gasping for breath.

“Don’t you ftop now you cluffing moron!”

PPPSKSKGKGGHHHPPHHSSSHHHKHKKKKKFLFKDLKKFFT

Ronaldo had gone just fast and hard enough that not only had they caught up to the man on the pogo stick but had actually moved right into his trajectory and on his current bounce from the ground the man had collided headfirst with the airbike, shattering it to bits as he continued to sail into the sky. Nobody had but a second to swear to the chickens before they were caught in the thick, soupy tendrils of the merchantilewinds.

The merchantilewinds were a strong force of climate found only in the harsh outskirts of Caldonia. Skytrains often followed the undulations of the merchantilewinds as to reach their destinations quicker and alive-er, as the winds were known to get very jealous of what they deemed ‘lesser winds.’ For this reason the merchantilewinds’ absolute nemesis had been the Windless Forest. The merchantilewinds were quite glad it had burned down.

Werthers felt as if he were being squeezed together with Ronaldo and Pripkin by a large, windy snake and then thrashed around like a common prarie llama in a dog’s mouth. If he had had anything in his stomache, he would have spilled it as Pripkin and Ronaldo both did.

They quickly found themselves rising higher and higher into the sky, their decidedly hard-headed pogo stick weilding prey nowhere to be seen. As they twirled like tops and bathed in their stomach slop the three men suddenly saw a large troop of hooded figures on discount rent-a-brooms. They looked decidedly ominous. Upon closer inspection Werthers noticed for a moment that some of the figures were attempting to, robes and all, squeeze themselves into gaudy blue overalls. Bizarre.

On they twirled, higher and higher into the sky and decidedly growing quite cold. So cold indeed that some mucus had just frozen across Werthers’ lips. In fact Werthers was wholly convinced he’d never have use of his lips again when—

BU BU BUKAWWWFFFFSHHHHHHHHHHHHH

A geyser of flame cut through the merchantilewinds and melted the three from near icicles to slightly sunburnt. With this flash of heat the winds receded like they’d accidentally touched a hot stove, dropping Werthers, Ronaldo and Pripkin like a trio of fresh baked potatoes.

And it was like potatoes indeed they bounced on the wooden hull of the skyrate ship. And it was like potatoes indeed they looked on account of all of their new numerous bruises. And it was like potatoes indeed they felt, because—

“Oh cawkhammit! I cwuffing wost anofuh toof!” ejactulated Pripkin, tonguing his gums in disgrosst. Then, he did a double take, looking up to see a giant chicken staring him down. Then, he did a triple take, looking down to see his giant cigarette holder snapped to bits at his mangled feet.

“Um, boss?” Ronaldo jabbered.

“What do youfe want?”

“I don’t like how this chicken is looking at me.”

“Well fut the cwuff up about it and go to thewapy. I don’t give an aff’f wat abowt what you wike and don’t wike!”

“Are you telling me you aren’t uncomfortable with those dead, soulless eyes?”

“Hafen’t youfe evuh wead a bwibbwul?”

“I’m sorry boss but a what now?”

“A bwibbwul!!”

“What?”

“A BWIBBWULL! BWWWWIBWWWULLLL CAWKHAMMIT!”

“Oh you mean a bible don’t you. What with it being a chicken and all. Yes I’ve read a bible I don’t much appreciate you questioning my literacy.”

“Well fen why doef the chicken make youfe uncomfortabwul?”

“I don’t know I just magic like it’s giving me a look you know what I mean?”

“Wewul that’f caufe it’f wooking at youfe!”

Werthers forced himself upright as they continued to squabble under the glazing eyeballs of the chicken before them. He looked around with a shudder to see a couple of ruddy face skyrates swabbing the deck.

“Wormy! Fank cawk youfe awived!”

Werthers froze, magicing sweat bead on his brow under his tight ostrichy casing.

“Wonawldo, giwfe him thif. We can’t twuft fese cluffing skywatef,” Pripkin handed Ronaldo the magic machete he had used while dressed in drag earlier. Ronaldo then handed it to Werthers obediently.

“Be careful with this thing, chupster,” Ronaldo chided, “It was loaned to me in bad faith by my great uncle’s sister, the urserous vitch, and now I’ve got a considerable lien on it.”

Werthers shuddered, which Ronaldo mistook for a nod. He proudly placed a porous puckering palm on Werther’s shoulder.

“Worms,” he began, with a teary sigh, “You’re the best hamn accomplice this side of,” Ronaldo whipped out a pocket compass and squinted at it, “East NorthernEasternWestSouthernward Caldonia. That is, this side of course, the west side of East NorthernEasternWestSouthernward Caldonia.”

Werthers nodded, his mind physically and metaphorically not dissimilar to a three day old brunswick stew. Ronaldo sighed a long, arduous, awkard sigh and tucked the magic machete under Werthers’ wing, tremlbing as if his hand were undergoing childbirth.

“You take hood care of that magic machete, you hear, Worms?”

Werthers tried to nod, but instead he fell over and nearly fainted, weak with what felt like a mild heat stroke.

“Ah, Worms,” Ronaldo carried on, not noticing the chicken cocking its head inquisitively at him as if he were an entree, “Always the perfect picture of stoicism. Even with death banging on your door like it has a knob fetish.”

AAAWWWWK

As Ronaldo finished his vulgar thought the chicken’s beak shot down upon him and tossed him into the air, then shot open wide in expectation.

Ronaldo squeaked like a mouse as he tumbled closer and closer to its wide open jaws. Suddenly, the chicken snapped its head forward and closed its mouth, missing Ronaldo completely and leaving him to fall back onto the deck in a clambering crash. It seemed confused, bored, and to be experiecing light gastrointestinal distress. It gave out a few weak clucks and took a couple of erratic steps backwards, looking around at nothing in particular.

Werthers propped himself back to his feet with help of the magic machete as Ronaldo quivered from his near eaten experience.

Suddenly, a particularly healthy skyrate in the distance perked up and tossed their bandanas, eye patches, peg leg, hook hand, tooth covers, piercings, stick on tattoos, bullets, underwear, cutlasses, dubloons, booty, booty shaping compression pants, five o’ clock shadow, chains, and buckles asunder to reveal none other than officer seargant Seargeant Officer Jarmish.

“Looks like my twelve long minutes of deep doodoo have paid off already!” he chuckled with pride, swishing over to the trio like a bowl of disguised gelatin. “And to think I had all those false ID cards made for ‘Crinkle Legged Stevenson’! Now come come, Worminslaughinton, we’ve got twerk to do!”

“Wait a cwucking fecond wait a cwucking fecond youfe!” Pripkin hissed, producing a miniature candy can gun with a large eclair shaped silencer attached from his left boobpocket. “Ftep away fwum Wormy or youfe’re gonna get it!”

“Yea, Worms,” Ronaldo rasped, pushing himself up from the floor, “Don’t worry, we’ve got your back, we won’t let this creep cluck with you.”

PSHHHHKKK

A large chicken foot shook and cracked the deck as it crunched over Pripkin and Ronaldo. Werthers shuddered, turning to officer seargant Seargeant Officer Jarmish.

“Well well well. Looks like you’re a bit of a chicken whisperer, eh, Werthwerther?” officer seargant Seargeant Officer Jarmish chuckled, placing an arm around Werthers. “Now that we’ve regrouped as planned, chuppy, we’ve got to split again. I’ve identified Soiled Trousers for you.”

Werthers said nothing, but wondered what on Gurth officer seargant Seargeant Officer Jarmish was referring to.

“You know? Soiled Trousers? The operative we talked about?”

Werthers sneezed.

“Look, Werthinwalsh, just take this,” officer seargant Seargeant Officer Jarmish produced a small box with a bright pink bow on it, “and give it to Soiled Trousers when you see them. You’ll know when you see Soiled Trousers, trust me on that one. You’ll have no doubt when you’re looking at Soiled Trousers.”