“He’ll take over Collagesity Heights. He’ll watch “Uncle Meatwad” over and over until he’s sick…”
From eating the popcorn, yeah. Then he’ll roll over and sleep. Then he’ll wake up and start it all over again. *We’ll* have to provide the popcorn and the drinks. He doesn’t like shakes, oddly enough.
How long can this go on?
Until it’s done.
“Karl, you’re an Ancient. You’ve got to help us. You’re the only good (hiccup) only good Ancient I’ve ever known.”
“Yeah, that’s because I have fur. I’ve changed. I’ve adapted to this place. I’m *Furry* Karl now.”
“Great,” responds Baker Bloch.
“Anyhow, I haven’t spoken to those cretans in many ages. I just lived next to the wad of ’em. Sure they came over all the time and I came over to their place. But it was mainly to complain.”
Baker looks down into his 5th drink of the night and thinks about crying. “Hucka D., you know, the blog spirit…”
“Don’t talk about spirits in this place,” Karl reprimands.
“He says we might not be able to get rr-rid of them. It’s their world now. Theirs.” He pointed up to the sky with his free hand.
“I’m going fishing with my cousin Crash down at the coast. I’m washing my furry hands of the whole mess. *You* guys deal with it. They’re not my type any more. There’s Crash now… hey, watch the rod!”
Baker Bloch looked over at the door of the bar. A pure bred, cartoon looking furry stood there. Karl’s cousin Crash. Trouble is, there were two of him to Baker Bloch, blurring in and out of each other.
“Two”, is all Baker could manage as they left together, rod in hands.
“Goodbye to you too, Baker Bloch,” Karl called back through the door. “And Merry Fucking Easter.”
Hucka D. was looking down on him as his alcohol poisoned head sank to the bar countertop. He actually hovered over him, like an angel. Something had happened that Baker Bloch would never get over. Karl probably wouldn’t return, at least for a long time. Carrcassonnee herself was packing bags. Yes, something had shifted. Unplanned maintenance.