CHAPTER FIFTY-FIVE

But he definitely noticed the reptilian eyes when they crashed through his window, propelled by a meaty, half-ton dino-piston of rage and mounted in a sturdy, bone-plated skull.
It crashed right into Jonathan, sending him flying out the front door.
Jonathan jumped up off the lawn, dusted himself off and sauntered back into the house, punching down a couple loose hanging door boards as he went.
"Hello, Rumpbeard," he said, stepping over the threshold. "Fancy seeing you here."

CHAPTER FIFTY-FOUR

Jonathan Mooseknuckles had just stepped inside his home, feeling pretty swaggy after the sex-in-public, when the phone rang.
"Mooseknuckles, talk me" he said. He was, like, 600 years old and sometimes went a little too far trying to sound young.
"What up, Ebrola?!" It was Marco, one of his friends from school and also from being a vampire.
"Yo, yo, yo!"
"Broseph!"
"What it is!"
"What's uuuuuup?!"
"Que pasa?"
"Ça va?"
This went on for some time. Eventually they got down to business, though. Vampire business.
"You comin' tonight, dawg?" ask Marco, the matter-at-hand finally penetrating the thick fog of his bro brain. His broin.
"I already came once!" yelled Moosknuckles and the conversation once again spiraled into a horrible loop of bro-isms and dudeology.
It was hard to hear and not super pleasant to write.
"Hey, Marcoroni, can we drop it for a minute? I'm alone here."
"Oh, thank Christ," said Marco.
"Yes, the original vampire. What'd you want to talk about?"
"Oh, I was wondering if you were planning on coming to the soiree tonight?"
"Maybe I am. Where is it?"
"The Beef Curtain."
"Ugh. That place is tacky," whined Mooseknuckles.
"Yeah, but they're good to us."
"Yeah, OK. I'm in."
"Great, see you there."
"Lates."
For the entire course of the conversation, Jonathan Mooseknuckles failed to notice the reptilian eyes watching him from the tree line.

CHAPTER FIFTY-THREE

Let's check in on Jonathan Mooseknuckles.
When last we saw him, he was nutting in some lady in a bar after tearing apart a racist misogynist. Also, some pirate dinosaurs or dinosaur pirates, I guess, were looking for him.
You may remember the pirate captain, Rumpbeard, as a T-Rex.
That's different now. Now he's a pachycephalosaurus. I can make changes like that. I'm the narrator.
If you can't quite picture a pachycephalosaurus, here's a snapshot. They're about nine feet long, bipedal. They weigh about 250 pounds. And their heads! Oh man, their heads. They've got a hard, domed noggin with a crown of nubbly horns it can use to ram stuff. Like a police car. Or a teenage boner.
Rumpbeard was a pretty typical specimen.

CHAPTER FIFTY-TWO

Shersh caught Vonce up to speed on Snuffles. They wolfed up and began to search.
"No eating him when we find him, though."
"Right!"
She lobbed him his leather coat.
They trotted around the carnage in increasing circles. Shersh was the one who found Mr. Snuffles' tracks. They followed them about 20 yards where they ended... and another set of bloody moleperson footprints began.
They led toward one of the tunnels.
Shersh and Vonce sprinted after them.

CHAPTER FIFTY-ONE

The sex thing wasn't the unjust universe thing, just to be clear.
That's about to happen right here.
"I love getting your motor running," Vonce said, his fingers tracing lazy curves along her human belly.
"You remind me of my first car, which is crazy for me to be nostalgic about because I'm a teen and so far it's my only car."
"Oh yes?" said Shersh, happy to have some chatter occupying her otherwise empty, orgasm-cleared head.
"Yeah," said Vonce, simultaneously pinching her nipple and his. "It's a Volkswagen Rabbit."
Shersh sat bolt upright.
"Mr. Snuffles!"

CHAPTER FIFTY

Vonce and Shersh lay in a panting, furry cuddle on the Bilf skin rug.
Bilf had been an insufferable, selfish, rich, spoiled, controlling, rich prick and his ex-boyfriend flaying him, turning his skin into a parachute-cum-rug (not that cum) and then defiling his soft pink skin with an act of wild lupine jubilation lends credence to the idea that there is justice in the universe.
There's an upcoming thing, though, that may make you question that.
"Your heart," said Vonce, his head resting on Shersharmjorp's furry chest, "It's beating like a rabbit."
'Rabbit,' thought Shersharmjorp. What did that remind her of?
Oh, right!
"Be right back," she said, darting into the house.
She came out a human. A fully naked human.
"Use this on me," she said, handing over the sex toy.
Vonce did.

CHAPTER FORTY-NINE

Once again, Mr. Snuffles saw everything.
He was a rabbit, so his vision in the dark was pretty good. And he just felt comfortable in earthen holes.
In fact that eyesight, coupled with the fact that he was neither giving nor receiving a faceload of wolf junk let him see something the wolves had missed.
There was one more moleperson. She'd been hiding under one of the many piles of molecorpses.
She slid her way out now and slowly, carefully made her way toward the rabbit.
Mr. Snuffles twitched with excitement.

CHAPTER FORTY-EIGHT

The molepeople had circled Shershie. Despite all her rage, she was trapped like a rat in a cage. Or a werewolf in a circle of genetically mutated molemen.
They hissed and gesticulated at her. She snarled and snapped back, her ferocious bites causing the attackers to pause a moment and really consider the full implications of the bite.
Shersh was unsure of what was about to happen. She did know one thing, though: for once in her teens she wasn't horny.
Then a fluttering from above. A sound like a sail luffing in a farty breeze.
It was Vonce, wolf-Vonce, gliding down from the surface on his Bilf-a-chute. He landed gracefully on the pads of his paws.
"Shersh," he nodded at her, "Sup?"
And now she was horny again.
She kept it at bay, though.
"Wanna help me take out these mole... people?"
Vonce then noticed the circle of filthy, ugly, stinky motherfuckers.
"Yeah," he said, "let's... rock and MOLE!"
(sorry)
He tugged hard on the Bilf-a-chute straps. It had been slowly settling but with the jerk he sent it down and sideways. Bilf's flayed skin trapped a handful of molemen with a sick, sticky sound.
Vonce charged the skin mound and caromed off it, vaulting into the mole horde. Shersh charged in toothfirst, biting as many grubby legs as she could.
She reasoned it'd be harder for them to fight if they couldn't stand up.
She was right.
The strategy had the added benefit of making it super easy to bite their heads off.
Shersh and Vonce started off actually eating the heads, popping them off like, well, there's not really an analogous human experience for it. Maybe, like, the free samples at the grocery store? But there are way more than you could possibly eat. Also: they're filthy. Eventually you wind up taking the sample, biting into it, smiling and nodding and rubbing your belly at the vendor as if to say, "So good! I would totally eat a million of these!" and then turning around and discreetly spitting the cheese or whatever into a napkin.
Shersh and Vonce didn't have a napkin, though. They just spat the heads onto the ground. And by the time they were done, the ground was slick with brain and blood and lousy with bone and whisker.
Which somehow made the post-slaughter porking even hotter.

CHAPTER FORTY-SEVEN

Shersh's wolf howl just faintly escaped the event horizon of the hole.
It was hard for Vonce to hear it, though, because Bilf was shoving him into the pit and yelling "I just knew you'd fall for me again."
They both grimaced. It wasn't a great line.
Vonce grabbed Bilf's hand as he fell back into the nothingness and they plummeted together.
"We'll die as one!" Bilf shouted triumphantly.
Vonce didn't say anything. He just turned into a wolf and ate Bilf's head.
Then he filleted Bilf and turned his skin into a parachute.

CHAPTER FORTY-SIX

Shersh finally got the mole person pinned and bit its throat, tearing out a long stretch of gross stuff that's supposed to stay on the inside of living things.
She howled in triumph.
Then she realized there were about fifty more of the mole things watching her.

CHAPTER FORTY FIVE

You can imagine Vonce's expression when he came across where Shershie's house had been. And if you can't imagine, Google a video of horse breeding while looking at yourself in the mirror.
Clods of dirt and grass were still falling off the rim of the chasm and raining into the void below.
Vonce peered down. He couldn't see anything but the edges of the hole fading into blackness. Like looking into a big dirt butthole. Or Sarlaac, I guess.
"Man," thought Vonce, "I'd sure hate to fall down there."
Bilf quietly approached from behind.

CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR

Shersh wheeled around and swatted at the hand on her shoulder.
It was a moleman! Or molewoman! Hard to tell, really.
The thing shrunk back from her flashlight.
"Who are you?!" she shouted.
But, of course, molepeople don't speak English.
Instead it just reared up and attacked.
Shersh got wolfy real quick and fought back.
It was brutal! Fur, teeth, claws, dirt, blood. All illuminated dramatically by the flashlight rolling in the dirt. If only this were a movie! Then we'd see what was happening in an intensely dramatic, cinematic battle.

CHAPTER FORTY-THREE

Vonce hated himself.
He'd never thought of himself as a cleave-it-and-leave-it sort. That's referring to his penetrating Shersh's wolfy vagina with his boner pole and then parting ways in the woods.
So he resolved to make it up to her.
He picked up some gifts at the Walgreens then headed for Shersh's home.
Bilf followed at some distance, seething.

CHAPTER FORTY-TWO

At first, Shersharms attributed the falling sensation and utter blackness to the killer orgasm she'd just given herself with her rabbit.
Not her pet rabbit, Mr. Snuffles, but the sex toy.
Sexy Supernatural Teens isn't sponsored by Rabbit (yet), we just recognize a fine product. Also, Mr. Snuffles was in the room and had watched her self-abuse with a surprising amount of understanding, horror and fascination. Like if you were trapped in a room where god was masturbating.
Shersh eventually realized, though, that the weightlessness was different from her normal, post-orgasmic euphoria and she gingerly made her way to the window. Not quite pitch black out there, but close.
She opened the window and a rush of wind blew her back, carrying the smell of earth. And Geddy Lee.
Then the impact of landing.
The whole house shook pretty hard. Books fell off shelves, the china hutch was ruined and Mr. Snuffles' cage was sent sidelong across the floor.
Shersh landed on her bed and was no worse for wear.
She grabbed a flashlight and opened her bedroom door.
The halls and stairs were in surprisingly good shape.
S-rock slowly made her way out of the house, Mr. Snuffles following like an obedient dog.
The air was hot and musty and thick. Like a dirt floor basement. Or a coal miner's taint.
She cast the beam of the flashlight about like she owned the damn battery factory. The house had landed in a rather large cave that appeared to be made of dirt. And it appeared to have been dug out. Several dark holes indicated a handful of tunnels, hence the cool breeze she was feeling.
She looked up.
Her house had fallen quite a distance. She had no way of knowing exactly, but she saw a hole of daylight way above her about the size of a quarter.
"No way the house fell through a hole the size of a quarter," she said to Mr. Snuffles, "Must be perspective."
She was correct, of course.
Shersharmjorp nearly leapt out of her skin when she felt the clawed paw grab her shoulder.

CHAPTER FORTY-ONE

"Lower the sails, shutter the cannons and drop anchor, ye scurvy dogs!"
The pirate ship stopped in the river.
"We're here."
The pirates scuttled off the boat. Some by rope ladder, some on lifeboats and some just tumbling over the side. The pirates were pretty frickin' pumped to be off the dumb boat.
They immediately busted out some bungs of liquor and also into some of each other's bungs in some consensual, celebratory sodomy.
"All right, all right, all right," said their leader Rumpbeard, shortly after his ecstasy. "That's enough. Let's get a move on."
At this point, the river nymph stepped forward. These guys were interesting.
"Hey, I'm the river nymph," she said by way of introduction. "You boys seem like you really know how to party."
Rumpbeard agreed that they knew how to have a good time but he also wasn't super into sharing his booze.
"So," began the Nymph, "What brings you guys to Hormonetown?"
Rumpbeard was relieved he wouldn't have to share.
"We're looking for a man most peculiar," said Rumpbeard, "Most peculiar indeed."
The Nymph raised an eyebrow. Intriguing! So much better than the soul searchers.
"Go on," she said, "Perhaps I can be of assistance."
"He's said to be handsome. Young seeming, but actually quite old. He's smart, aye, but he's arrogant too. Ring any bells?"
The Nymph yawned. She was over the pirate thing. "This man have a name?"
"Mooseknuckles," Rumpbeard rasped, "Jonathan."
"What are you, a ringwraith?"
Rumpbeard said nothing. He hadn't seen the Lord of the Rings trilogy.
"Yeah," sighed the Nymph, "I know the guy. He was doing some shitty soul searching on my river the other day. Head in town."
"Thanks, m'lady," said Rumpbeard. He felt she'd earned some rum and offered her a small bottle. It was a big act for the pirate.
"I'm a river. I don't really need to get drunk."
"Oh, good. I'll just keep this then."
There was an awkward moment.
The Nymph coughed.
The pirates shuffled their feet a little.
"Well."
"Goodbye."
The pirates lumbered off, the land rumbling under their feet.
That's what happens when a herd of pirate-dinosaurs moves all at once.
Rumpbeard was a t-rex.

CHAPTER FORTY

Bilf plotted.
He dreamt up murderous schemes. Falling pianos and anvils, pitfalls and traps. Running Vonce's body through a grid of chicken wire. Cutting the car breaks. The bus breaks. The life breaks.
He conjured bird attacks, dog attacks, piranha attacks. Bombs, explosions. He fantasized about the white heat of the fire he would cause, seeing Vonce's final second in slow motion as the force of the blast tore off his skin like a rotten apple sliding out of a peel. He imagined catching an extremity as it flew through the air, hollowing it out, coating it in shellac and then using it as a cup.
He imagined a sniper's bullet hitting Vonce's head in history class. The class where they'd first fallen in love. Vonce's dumb stupid handsome face exploding with all this brains and feelings.
He cooked up some real mean stuff for Vonce's trenchant junk. Clamps. Caustic lubes, vaginae dentatae. Guillotine-like traps. Thousands of biting ants. Slowly cooking his weiner with a magnifying a magnifying glass.
Just really abusing it.
Oh! And sticking stuff in the dickhole. Definitely that, too.
Bilf thought of all this because it gave him pleasure. None of it would happen, though.
Vonce would die at Bilf's hands but it would be intimate. Personal.
Simple.

CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE

Tina's ghostly adventure turned out to be real dull.
Just another instance where Shersh failed to learn anything important from her mother.
Tina made her meatloaf, made a mess trying to eat it (because she's a ghost and has no body), refrigerated the leftovers and then disappeared as she slid up the stairs.
Shersh sighed, went up to her room and rubbed one out. Not because of anything she'd just seen, mind you, just because she was a teen.

CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT

Man, Jonathan Mooseknuckles had seemed like kind of an unredemptive douche before but I'm kind of rooting for him now.

CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN

Jonathan chipped a couple nails and swole up his right fist in the exchange.
Prepneck lost an eye, most of his teeth, swallowed a cue ball and traded some skin for glass.
He'd be in the hospital for a while and die in about three years, sad, drunk and alone in a gutter. Like all misogynist racists should.
Jonathan, meanwhile, enjoyed a night of no-strings-attached, vigorous, consensual sex with the lady right there in the bar.
He did it billiards style, which is to say balls first. And the other patrons all cheered them on.

CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX

The seduction was going EXTREMELY well, thought Jonathan.
He was already horny and turgid and could feel heat coming off her. Laughing. Eye contact. Slightly brushing his junk against her.
She'd brushed first, of course, he wouldn't jump to that part of the game without a signal.
"So," he said, licking the fatty deposits off the rim of his glass.
"I knew it!" yelled the bartender from across the room.
Jonathan ignored him.
"Wanna take this somewhere else?" suggested Mooseknuckles.
She hadn't quite responded when a meaty spatula of a hand swatted the glass out of Jonathan's grip.
"The hell you do!" the hand's owner yelled.
Chairs squeaked. Jonathan stood. The DJ played the "record scratch" .mp3.
"Is you hitting on my woman?!" It was the handowner again.
He was beefy, over tan. Wearing a polo and overalls, improbably. Somehow he had both HGH-fed glamour muscles and a cornfed beer belly.
"I'm just trying to get to know her," said Jonathan.
"Yeah, know her carnally," said the handowner.
"...Carnally," said Jonathan a little too late.
"You think this is funny?!" said the redneck-prep... the prepneck.
"No, it's kinda bringing me down," said Jonathan. His halfsie boner had wilted.
"You stay away from my woman," said the prepneck, pointing a girthy finger in Jonathan's eye. Jonathan could see a callous on his fingertip and surmised it was from playing a Jimmy Buffet/Dave Matthews medley.
"I think she's free to do what she wants. If your relationship's good, what do you have to worry about?"
"What are you," said prepneck, dropping his finger and stepping chest-to-chest with Mooseknuckles, "...some kind of race traitor?"
Jonathan was confused. Yes, she was black. And Jonathan white. But prepneck was also white.
"But wouldn't that make you a ra-"
"IT DON'T HAVE TO MAKE SENSE!" shouted prepneck, "It's racism! It's by definition irrational!"
Jonathan had had enough.
"Ok," he exhaled, "It's gonna get nasty."