IC: Beesknees Bonearse Birthday Bash

[Sycorax]

"Oi oi oi, nothing could be finer then ter be in my waginas in thu mooooooooorning...." Sycorax was singing, toads cringed, windows shattered into myriads of shrieking shards, crotch crickets committed suicide in the thousands by tying a length of mangy minge hair round their throats and jumping to a hanging death, then rattling with their many comrades against the swollen veinous ankles supporting the massive volume of gelatinous blubber that draped over her frame. Mottled greyish skin with a tinge of luminous green, thinning hair falling over her shoulders and out onto the floor, crusty, pus filled eyes, looking as if they had just survived a thousand year debauch (in fact they had) and a nose with a finger embedded to the second knuckle, seeking to discover the meaning of life or at least a chewy snack hidden deep inside.

Sycorax had just woken, in a good mood miraculously. She had dreamt of making mad passionate love to a stunning man of amazing beauty, a rowing team, a football team, the entire court of a long dead king and for afters one of Hannibals elephants, so when she had woken, her bed was literally an ocean of tuna taco encrusted pustulence and ooze mingled with the horrendous ejaculate that still dripped ((drip oi drip oi drip oi)) to the floor as she waddled obscurely across the room. On top of that she had looked in her crystal ball as she woke and before it shrieked and turned black and shattered it revealed that on the morrow, that horny old goblin (and gobble he did) Beesknees Bonearse was having a birthday and Sycorax had it in her head that she was going to be all the cake he could eat... (and eat she hoped he would)

"Oi oi oi, meh pussy may git a little action it moight it moight indeed iffn oi can get me 'ands on im afore me scrawny as bin of a sister Baba Yaga gits her manky maw wrapped around is scrummy fun stick!!!"Visions filling Sycorax's head of heaving bosoms bouncing (they had once a long long time ago in a galaxy far far away, now they just sagged like the wrinkles on a walruses ass) and her humping Beesknees until his eyes shriveled in their sockets, his breath exploded in gasps and thunderbolts flew from his arse as he screamed for her to stop... such a lovely daydream it was... Now she had to bake a cake, worthy of the mighty manhood that she hoped to engulf in passionate frenzy, a cake that would inspire his rogering rocket to ram her in tantalising escalation's, a cake that would make sure no matter what, that the more she rode that wild, untamed stallion the harder it would buck... Sycorax grabbed a tod and sucked on it as she wandered into her cavernous rat infested pantry and began looking for her recipe book...

[Baba Yaga]

[align=justify:61ce666f6b]Baba Yaga had been busy in her bedroom making a mold of her vagina with all the mould and dripple-dangles dripping down as the awful pitch of Sycroax's booming music caused Baba to cringe. The tunes of undescribale horror screaming through Baba's ears causing her to drop the pottery mold of her vagina, watching in sheer dread as it busted into a million course peices except for the clitoris, long and prune like. Green and black maws flapping wildly as Baba shrieked  out with dismal tones of vulgar swearing and other obsene curses only a witch could possibly invent "Suck me foiking underwear yer clump of mullet meat!" Barging from her bedroom, through the door using the bulk of her fat that had accumelated over numerous centuries, wood splintering into a thousand peices, swadust and wood mites. Flabby crusty arms waving about while clawed black hands held the remnants of her pottered clitoris around in the air like a flat sausage balloon. Marching straight up to Sycorax busy in her pantry like a priest up an choir boys asshole.

"Thou bawdy common-kissing flap-dragon!Look!!" Waving it about more voilently in Sycorax's face "Ye caused me to smash me pottered vagina. Twas making it for Beesknees so dat he didn't 'ave to go hundreds of years without 'aving some warty-old-muff-muffin 'an cud stick 'is pecker in it and 'ave a-bit'o'funny with me pottered cunny. Oi hope, pray n dream that yer shall endoore much wailing 'an gnashing of teeth, for smashing me lovecave. Yer gorbellied beef-witted mammet!Oi hope yer cake tastes like daises dipped in excretment! Her other clawed hand grabbing at ingredients, powdered dog turds, semen from a bee and other yummy treats- hoarding all her best treats and shoving them down between her saggy vinegary gherkin tits then swatting the toad from Sycorax's hand only to stomp at it a few times as it jumped around trying to avoid the huge pointy toes and nasty heels. 'Stomp... stomp.... stomp" the toad yelling 'Croak... croak... CROAK!!' then SPLAT!!

Blood and toad guts exploding not only over her dust covered witch boots but also Sycorax's and Baba knew she would be miffed because it was her favourite pet toad named Bumwart. Again waving the mold of her clitoris around "Yer spoiled 'is pressie yer frothy urchin-snouted joithead, plague on yer cake!! A PLAGUE ON YER CAKE!!" And there is was, jack'o'latern black teeth rotted and chipped gnashing out curses upon the cake... cursing the cake and all its ingredients. The cake wouldn't rise, instead stay as flat as a pancake. The flavour would be nothing a goblin would enjoy, instead of tasting like children it would taste like shitty bunny bums and festering carrots. Intead of attracting Beesknees... she would once again arouse the Graveyard Squabbler from its grave.!!! bwahahahaha[/align:61ce666f6b]

[The Grave Squabbler]

sniff, sniff, sniff "Me thinkz der smell of rotten twat has awoken me from my slumber upon a bed of carrots. Nerrrrrp!" Dry gagging erupting from twitching bunny nose as one beady eye opened involuntary. "Nerrrrrp! twerp, nerp nerp!" Hind leg reaching behind the leathered, part velvet, part festering rot only to sratch vigorously. scratch, scratch, scratch again vigoursly scratching to remove the many crotch cricket and hunger starved fuck fleas that had fallen between the cracks of Baba Yaga's chicken house. There had been more attacks of dirty vagina bugs since Sycorax had moved in, sratching her flaps and knitting with her pubic hairs. Squabbler shivered with an emotion of disgust that gripped and ripped at his insides like a mass of maggots, which it probably was. He just didn't care to poke around in his fur and give himself a woody.

"Nerp, nip, nip nerrrrrrp!" mashed up carrots vomitting forth chunks of week old carrots. Sharp pointy teeth chewing on the bits, enjoying the putrid, acidic taste exploding upon his zombiefied tastebuds. Want not, waste not. Stirring from the warmth of compost, rot and carrot juice. Mottled white fur in patches flying along with clumps of dead flesh flying through the air as the bunny did backflips in attempt to itch the itchy bits behind its ears. ..itch, itch, itch the rabbit becomming both flustered and frustrated at the failing attemtps to rid himself of vaginal parasites continuously falling between floorboards. Not to mention the duck lice breeding with the other sexual and flesh eating parasites these two windbags infest their junkyards with. The smell of rotted cheese, onion, garlic and taco's filtering downwards from tattered old petticoats and long pubes where the bugs bungee jumped from to their deaths or in the fur of the slumbering rabbit.

What were they planning? Was it the bastard knobgobblins birthday? Surely there couldn't be a god that he would land this lovely opportunity in the lap of an avenging bunny? Or was Satan slowly returning the pact both had made, Satan got his ass and soul for an eternity of selling people poisonous carrots and being able to bunny hump old bitches legs? Was his efforts and sore asshole finally paying off? Being Satan's bitch and sex bunny did have its perks after all. Squabblers nose twitched, whiskers falling off from the severe phase of decomposition setting in and the mange of parasites, twatterpillars and cuntipedes slithering through its slimey, bloodied fur. Awful little beasties.

Maws reaching for the rope that bound it, twisting and chewing at it with sharp needle like teeth only to finally be set free. "I'mmmmmm freeeeeeeeee!" the squeek was shrill, quickly stuffing a carrot into its gob to force himself to shut the hell up. Surely the twitchy ears of the witchy-bitches would have detected its liberation from their bonds and now on its way up through the floor boards to take its revenge out on the plotting and planning of their declared birthday party to the mean old bumgremlin, Beesknees Bonearse. Leaping from its haunches, head butting through the floor boards as tooth and claw fought for its objective. To tear out the eyes of the witches, then sew up their lips so that no more would the world have to suffer than insufferable smell of putrid 1000 year old cornmeat and cheese sauce. That no more would bunny rabbits be sexually abused and molested for the sick perverions of witch and goblin.

Front paws forming a threatening scratching action at Baba Yaga and Sycorax just before it leaped through the air, front claws and paws flexed to do some very serious damage on the ass of Sycorax. Claws digging in through torn, grimey old dress and into the fatty rump of her fat ass. Teeth gnashing wildly in a frenzy. "Nerrrp! Tis I, ther Squabbblerrrrr and I have come, nerp.... for the salvation of my bunghole. NERRRRRPPPPPP!" Suddenly sharp teeth biting into the ass of Sycorax before retreating and spitting out the bits of terrible tasting Strasburg. A cross between parmesan and kippers. "Blarrrrrrrg! spit, spit, splutter, spit more carroty vomit projecting forth directly towards Baba Yaga who would cop it right in the face if she didn't think quick enough to either open her fat trap or dive across the floor like a whale scoring a home run. "I shall avenge,the carrrrootttttts!" biting again though harder this time into the flabby sausage buns of Sycorax's buttocks before screaming a triumphant cry.

Alas it wasn't triumphant enough. Baba Yaga's duck 'Whizzpopper' decided to defend its mistress. Duck feathers flying as a loud booming QUACK came out from the beef curtains of Baba Yaga's dress. Was that duck up her vagina? Bunny eyes staring unbelievable at the emerging duck from that vision of pure horror. A witch giving birth to a psychopathic duck? "O NOZ!" yelled the bunny. What unspeakable evil was this? What woman immortal or not could or would give birth to a duck? It was sickening; it should be recorded in Ripley's Believe It Or Not. Stunned to the point Squabbler wanted to just have a heart attack from the sheer force of disbelief, nearly keeling over to return back to its hole in the floor boards where both the bints had buried him, not alive. Duck wings flapping, duck bill gnashing while webbed feet came launched at him with unspeakable speed, tearing him off the bent over full moon like the reaper himself come to take his body to the embrace of the devil, again.

"O NOZZZZZZ NOT THER DDDDDDUCCKKKKK" scrambling for his unlife, crawling beneath the pantry cupboard only to ascend the shelves, his weight too much for the building to bear. CREEEEEAAAAAKKKKKK then CRASH the nails gave away from the wall bringing the full bulk of the pantry on top of all occupants, duck and all. ”GEEEEEEE WHEEEZERSSSSSSSSSSSS!!!!!” was the last of the calamity shouted from the zombie x mutant bunny. Vials of poop, piss, bugs, intestines, penis’s and poached vagina’s smashing upon them all. ”O POOP!” before a cloud of thick pink colored smoke exploded, covering everyone and everything within the small space of the kitchen. Even the chicken house sneezed as massive legs emerged and it ran blindly through the forest squawking. ”Hocccus farkingggg Pocus, assholes!” Squabbler yelled out through the condensed smog. All else was still, but what would be the repercussions? Only the duck would possibly know.

[Whizzpopper of Duckbane]

[align=justify:c92ab44d0a]Only the duck WOULD know. Whizzpopper the popping duck psychopathically challenged in all its derangement now angry, irritated at being disturbed by a rude mentally challenged zombie rat.  Disturbed as the duck was disturbing for once upon a time it was happy swimming around in a vast vagina, warm, moist where plentiful of food slithered and crept from every sweaty fold of skin and flap. It could swim around there euphorically without a care in the world except for times when it felt an appearance was called for. Times like today when its idyllic happiness was being threatened. It at first came with a bowel induced rumbling traveling through the stretched catacombs of shit and gas, the ducks beak rising to the wall of uterus only to blink in blank wonder. Whizzpopper wasn’t a smart, intelligent duck by any means, retarded in the duck department of academic ducks, being stuck in a void of all womanly mullet flaps doesn’t grant you  much in the intelligence department, so where Whizzpopper lacked in brightness it made up for it in violence and duck martial arts, Ickythump.

How rude could a mutant rabbit, vampire-shit-sucking-zombie bunny be? Interrupting the caterwauling orchestral brilliance of quacking symphony along with synchronized splashes of fanny juice splashing over its soiled sullied white feathery back ”Quack-qua-quack quack quack. Que que que que, que-qua quack qua quack!” beak chippering away, duck tail wagging in happy unison as its webbed feet swam beneath the murky, sallow juices. Diving beneath the lapping waves in search for any wayward swimmers, sperm, its favourite type of tadpole. Unfortunately these days those were extremely rare, and that alone made Whizzpopper very, very grumpy. It wasn’t until the flatulence hit its little peaceful cove that wings flapped wildly, neck stretching out while duckbilled beak snapped viciously producing the disharmonious battle cry of ”QUACK, WHATHEFAAAARK-KINGHELLQUACKFARRRKQUACK?”

Suddenly the body of the duck rising out from the festering Edinburgh cheesy waters where clumps of what looked like blue vein cheese bobbing up and down from the now stormy seas.  â€QUACKBASSSSSTARDQUACKQUACKS!!” Wings flapping menacingly as puffs of dirty smelly feathers plumed through the air. Webbed feet rising out of the water, frantically running across the pithy greenish hued juice, wings flapping harder in order to inflate air beneath its wings so that an advance plan of attack could be made within the air just before the vicious smelly fanny fart would explode from Baba Yaga’s gapping hole of despair. Whizzpopper would use this massive accumulation of air to aid in his declaration of war and destruction upon the bunny and Aunty Sycorax, rip their faces of with clawed webbed feet and beak their eyes out with its protruding spiteful bill. Then it came with a sudden WOOOOOOSSSSHHHHHHH flatulence, particles of debris and duck vomiting forth past those grey flip-flop-flabby bits, dandruff covered pisshole into the world outside. POP!!

It would have looked like the ugly old witch was giving birth to a rancid duck to any idiot without a brain cell, then again a zombie x vampire x dwarf rabbit wouldn’t have much of a brain, except for a decaying carrot and pylons of shit. But for now the only objective for the duck was getting some payback and to kick some bunny ass, even if it had to make a trip from hell to do it for getting past the smell without throwing up deserved a medal for bravery and dedication it itself. Body swinging and twisting from side to side, working its way free from the walls of stink attempting to suck it back in. The ducks lucky guess was that once something went up there, Saggy Tits the Witch didn’t want it to get out; it may be the only thing stupid enough to venture up there in the first place. Not that the duck had a choice, it was forced up there unwillingly. It bit her, it clawed at her, pecked at her warts and still fat, obese hands stuffed the duck up her petticoats. Perhaps the duck stopped fighting when the nauseating odor and pisshole dandruff became too much and knocked it out cold.

The last shove from webbed feet dislodged the duck and sent it hurling directly for Squabbler ”ArrrrgggghQUACK!GOINGTOGETTTYOUYOUFARRRRKINGSMELLYARSEDWABBIT, SQUACKSQUACK!!!” Feathers, quacks and abuse being thrown from all angles of the pantry, now fully crowded from everyone trying to foil Sycorax’s plan for baking cupcakes and aphrodisiac poisoned muff muffins for the horny old fuckstick, Beeskness. Duck insanely cursing the very existence of the rabbit and the stinky-slop-slut holed wretches. Witches that were totally blubbery bitches fighting over some randy old critter that smelled like dick cheese and ass biscuits, in reality something more like play dough and ass. The zombie bunny was attacking Sycorax, Baba Yaga was attacking Sycorax so it only made sense that the duck attacked the rabbit. The rabbit needed to be taught a lesson in manners and twitchy-witchy etiquette. If there was such a thing as witch etiquette? If there was, these too swamp donkeys surely hadn’t learned it.

The duck made its attack, beak, claw, wing and webs. Madness gripping its poultry fried brain beyond reason, quacks becoming more undecipherable and incoherent, tearing out bunny fur, bunny tail and all ”SQUARKFARRRRKYUFARRRKINGGGGFFFFESTERINGGGGROTTTINGGGRRRRRAT!!!!!!SSQUARKSQUARK.IAMGGGGOINGGGTORIPPPPYURFARRRRKINGGGGGBUNNYBALLSSSSSOFFFFFFFF!” every carried syllable spat, saliva and spittle spraying all over the unsuspecting rabbit. The attack fierce, merciless and relentless until the shelf caved away from the wall of the chicken house, feeling the entire house shake and tremble as another loud chicken noise boomed from above, below and all around BRRRRRRROCCCCCKKKKKKK!. The entire house shaking and shifting as massive chicken legs rose from the bottom of the house and began to run through the forest knocking down trees, pagan’s houses and any children playing in the woods.

Potion, lotion, brew and soup ingredients spilling over the heads of the old bags, rodent and flapping Whizzpopper. Things that stank beyond belief, bits of excrement of bats, dogs, dragons and goats, penis and vaginal flaps, eyeballs, tongues, herbs and basil. Broken glass slicing bare feet, screams of hair pulling, crotch kicks and titty punches echoing through the house already making them into a conglomerated milkshake from it running blindly through the greenery like its head had been severed from the trunk of its feathered body. Whizzpopper still trying to attack the bunny through the turmoil and calamity churning and turning them about, Squabbler retaliating back by whacking Whizzpopper on the beak with its carrots only pissing the duck off more, no one should piss a duck off, they are just too random in counter measures and in this case Whizzpopper had a dozy working its way through the bowels. The duck could not determine if what was coming was a fart or a shit, there wasn’t time to second guess to the situation and instead just back it out.

Tail and ass pointing over towards the bunny as it came for another carrot duel, belly muscles clenching, squeezing out the lucky dip just as the rabbits face was right up in it and about to violate the duck with the carrot. Black and white spray spewing out in a mass of sloppy shit along with the loud, sonorous echo of a wet fart Bbbbbbbllllleeeeerrrrrrrrfffffffffffzzzzzzzfllllleerrrrrrrrrp-p-p-p-f-f-f-f. Squabbler would be drenched in a shower of crap that not even his carrot could block should it hit its bullseye. The duck placing left wing in bill and looking around over its back innocently ”O, ITHINKKKKIJUSSSST…SHARRRTED!” The ultimate weapon, both shit and fart fused together to make the infamous deadly SHART BOMB. [/align:c92ab44d0a]

[align=center]Yes, the duck did know… the duck knew everything.[/align]

[Titwillow The Cat]

The smell of mice and rotting tuna in the pantry of the chicken house had finally dragged Titwillow from his slumbers, where he had dreamed of humping legs like a dog, killing mice the size of great hairy watermelons and drooling over a dead fish that was his and his alone... Curled up in a bag of moulding flour (which the girls used for bread), he slowly stretched dislodging the remnants of the rats corpse he had snacked on. As he stretched another handful if the lice ridden fur fell out, it was only fair that he did so, after all he coughed up furballs, why shouldn't Sycorax, his human and her crony Baba Yaga who Titwillow hated with a passion. In fact he regularly pissed on her pillow, her chair, her shoes and he had pissed on her duck at least twice.

Jaw spreading in a massively typical feline yawn, he stood and eyed his domain that he suffered the witches to share, after all a cat was the master, the humans just a convenient  way to get food and worship as was the right of every pussy, especially the mangy, tattered, pussy that Sycorax proclaimed as her own. Titwillow loved when Sycorax stroked her pussy, he loved the lingering caress of those fat flabby fingers as he lay curled in the tuna aroma of her lap. Stepping down from his bed, he looked to see if Baba Yaga had left her shoes anywhere, after all a cat needs to dump on waking, but alas, she was wearing them, so he moved to the bag of rolled oats, the basis for the glooped out porridge so often eaten and after scratching to dig a small hole in the surface, crouched and in blissful ecstasy, dumped a long, thick slab of kittypoop. Turning he scratched just enough so that it would be well buried and the witches would find a surprise in their breakfast...

Sniffing the pantry, he heard the stomp of Sycorax and hoping for food, leaned into her leg and purred, the sound mucusy and bubbling from his nostrils, droplets falling to run down Sycorax's ankle leaving the only clean appearing space on her body. But she was busy and ignored him... So again Titwillow turned in his search for the source of Tuna in the pantry... Just as he was about to give, he heard a scratching coming from neath the floorboards and poised himself to pounce... A head popped through and Titwillow hissed for it was the hated Zombified Bunny, the Squabbler and Titwillow set himself to attack. Only at that point, all hell commenced to brake loose. The Squabbler attacked Sycorax's fat arse, which pissed Titwillow off no end for only he bit that arse, it was his property but again he was foiled for from the crotch area of Baba Yaga came the most horrendous sound, and then... Titwillow's mind was blown... So much so that he momentarily forgot he was a cat a spoke "Mroooow the fuck..." For from the great hairy muff mountain of Baba Yaga... flew a kamikaze duck which promptly attacked the rabbit.

Sniffing disdainfully, Titwillow sat, licked his crotch and watched for when one of these obnoxious creatures lost, he would there to eat... But that wasn't all that was happening as with a crash and a lurch the chicken house, did the bolt and the entire contents of the pantry crashed down over Titwillow including the bag of oatmeal that he had been slowly filling with cat nuggets. That was simply wrong, the cat hissed long and loud, it spat (large chunky hairball sized goobers flying in all directions, then Titwillow attacked... Sadly the first thing in Titwillow's path was the tree truck sized leg of Sycorax. Front paws grabbing sinking claws in deeply, back legs sweeping down in rapid succession, razor sharp claws ripping scaly, slimy skin away, and mouth wide exposing leprous fangs sinking deeply into the fatty flesh.This wasn't so bad, pain is relative, but violence had another effect on this poor innocent kitty... Arousal... Severe Arousal... Leg humping, cat icky spitting arousal... So teeth and claws embedded deeply in Sycorax's leg, and a cat humping violently like a dog until...

Titwillow, a satisfied smirk on his maws, unclenched his grip, stepped away and proceeded to lick the last droplets from himself, before turning his gaze upon Whizzpopper the duck. How good could this get a bird (it had feathers) that smelt like Tuna left out in the sun... Seriously that bird was all a cats dreams come true and Titwillow had some very odd dreams. He had wondered where the duck had got to for he had his eye on it for snacking for ages and now he knew. It had been being basted in the tuna factory that Baba Yaga had between her legs and so often swatted Titwillow away form whenever he sniffed to closely

[Beesknees Bonearse]

glump glump glump

Hands placed beneath chin while sorrowful eyes glanced downwards to the bones scattered all over the ground. Black pin-like orbs staring over at the scratched writting upon the earthern wall in blood that had blackened with age. Scambling over to the finger he had used to write with and sadistically plopping it in his black-greyish maws, chewing mindlessly. crunch crunch crunch Razor sharps needle like teeth working over the decaying flesh to get down to the tiny bones of his last victim. A little girl that had been skipping around his ring of toadstools all happy and gay. He hated happy and he hated gay just as much, reminded him of the pestering rabbit always interupting his love sessons with the beautifully stunning witches, Baba Yaga and Scyorax not to mention the rancid taste of their amazingly fishy bearded clams. To a goblin there was nothing more attractive than pubic hair. The more there was, the more appealing it was. "Cunnikins, fish taco's, fur burgers, hair pies, hairy axe wounds, itching Jenny's, Jack nasty faces!!" were only a few of the delightful words mumbling out through his lips while chewing on the last fragment of bone before a loud burrrrrrrrp bursted from his ramblings.

They had promised him a birthday orgy. They had promised him games of hide the salami, titty twisters and nonny-no. They had promised him hours of hardcore lesbian action with unwilling faeries. They had promised him a birthday cake. And most important of all they had promised him a fucking birthday. How hard could it be to bake a few magic mushroom biscuits, boiled worms in sesmic after-birth sauce, fried faery burgers with magic mayonnaise, crispy critters with mouldy mango, creamed mice dips with chicken vagina's on the side. Last and not least a fucking birthday cake with icing and the fucking trimmings on the top. Beesknees Bonesarse knew they wouldn't go to the trouble of baking a cake and both of those volumptuous witches bursting out of it, naked and covered in icing. No that would be way too much to ask. Too much trouble, too much preparation. He thought of hinting to them with simplictic wants would make it easier, therefore more likely he would get a party. Now he knew how unloved her truly was. Ideas of other goblins with their moss covered pork steeples ramming in and out of those quivering masses of juicy, loose beef curtains.

His spirits were sinking lower than the left flap of Baba Yaga, and far lower than Sycorax's ass cheeks when she shook her jello. A single muddy tear slid down hideously ugly features. Beesknees knew he was not the most handsome of goblins, all he had to offer was the massive kit-kat stick between muscular thighs and a gnarled staff he used to hit children over the head with before dragging them down into the murky burrow between the roots of an old massive oak tree. His home. Home Sweet Homes. Here he would reside until he grew old, grey and needed viagra just to get it up. It would take him all night to do what he once could do all night. And do it pretty much into next week. Oh woe was Beesknees, even the small dried up peice of organ that was his heart sunk lower in his chest, then again that could easily be indigestion from the finger he had just sucked on and eaten. God knows how long the thing had been sitting there in the dirt, possibly the goblin cat Titwillow after licking its balls had licked the finger, the damn cat was always getting into his shit and messing about in it just to spite him. The cat, the duck and that damn rabbit all had it in for him. It was a conspiracy. He made a wager to himself that those three assholes sabbotaged his birthday and locked his loves away in a cupboard.

He must save his loves from a fate far worse than death. Being raped by randy forest critters.

[Sycorax]

[align=justify:76f86d6ead]What had begun as a morning filled with the promise of thick, prime sausage stuffing, of thickly crusted dried love juice spattered all over her calloused clam bake, of fanciful frolicking, bollicking and other forms of depraved ollickings that only two utterly demented witches and a goblin who gobbled nicely thank ee very much could engender in the subtle tranquilities of the Disenchanted Forest. "Baba Yaga, Oi yer prancing pus ridden, flap gummed cow. What ter ferk does ye tink ee is doing. Yer've spoiled me cake which was going ter make ole Beesknees have n erection that could nah go soft till ye and me had erupted and drowned alf ter forest..." She shrieked.

Baba Yaga cursing the remnants as from the floor a scratching distracted Sycorax's attention, then that dung-befuddled carrot munching, poor excuse for a fart ridden vibrator (everyone needs some bunny lovin' was what the box the Squabbler came in (take that came in however you like)) erupted from the floor (much as she had hoped Beesknees would erupt) and attacked her ass. Spinning in circles trying to shake off the zombified mammallian version of a crotch munching bungee jumper, Squabblers teeth and claws ripping deeply into the fibrous fatsicles dangling from her bloated beefiness.

"Oi ferk ya... Oi, geroff yer mangy sex toy... geroff" Jumping up and down, her five hundred pounds of blubbery bodice, bouncing in directions defying gravity and description. Baba Yagas stampede upon ingredients, Sycorax's jumping jibbliness the house suddenly carreening off in a random direction, the pantry collapsing over them, then the bleeding duck emerging from Baba Yaga's great hairy hole of horrors, and to top it all off, a bloody great greasy duck shart flying before her own beloved pussy attacked and humped her leg was too much. Especially since with Titwillows explosive orgasm, it meant someone had got sex and it wasn't her or Beesknees.

Outside the sky would darken, birds would fall dead into the befouled earth, sweet innocent looking deer would turn and rip the throats from the wolves pursuing them as Sycorax spoke "Ferkityallllllll". Normally this would have been exactly as it sounded, the angry shriek of a witch saying 'Fuck it you all' but due to the falling pantry, the horrendous mishmash of ingredients, and the fact that halfway through she copped a nose full of cat tainted flour, Sycorax sneezed. So it came out as "Ferkitaaaaaa....aaaaaa....oooo...aaaaaayallllllllll" which was actually one of her spells that she had never managed to get the intonations correct and had no bloody idea what it did or for that matter, why it did it.

The amazingly disturbed wad of ingredients, Baba Yaga's curse, the bunnys flatulent magical presence, Whizzpoppers sanctified sharting and Titwillows perverted pussiness combined in manical magic, one long, viscous, terrifying glurping sound, followed by the sound made when one has eaten too many rotten ducks eggs and only just makes the bowl before their ass explodes erupted. Pink vapours, leprous scents, scabrous tuna waftifying to blend with dried cat turd. smoke billowing from the remnants of the flour bag then a blinding flash... Sycorax coughing up lumps the size of babies heads in the billowing fumigation, her eyes watering so much that it cut channels in the caked on grime of ages, the smoke clearing and there on the floor of the wildly cavorting chicken house, the perfect replica of Baba Yaga's masochistic muff and lo and behold, a triple decker, choc virgin slurry iced, viagra laden cake with pubic hair decoration, real nipples in place of the popped cherries clitoral candles and a singing hamster dancing on the top layer...

All she could do was gaze in wonder, completely ignoring the blood running from her ass where the rabbit had its wicked way with her, the kitty cum dribbling down her leg into her shoe and mutter "Oi oi oi" since after all, this was the first spell that had gone right for her since she worked out how to put her cherry back when she was six years old...[/align:76f86d6ead][/color]

[Baba Yaga]

[align=justify:ce9c3b65d5]It had gone from chaos to mayhem all under thirty seconds. The raping taunchy ravishing of a bunny bonking up the jaxxy, a flange flapping duck spraying shit and sloppy bumburps all over her nice clean chicken house. The monstrosity of a randy pussy spitting magical mayonnaise up the saggy baggy flaggy mutton legs of Sycorax... to this cake of godlike perfection. Through the turmoil of powders, zags and zims zipping all ZIPP-ZIPP-ZIPP-ZOOM-WHIPWITWHIPWOOO a-bout the room. Exploding like firecrackers up a squirrels nuthole lit by a wispy grouchy fairy with sparkles and fairydust. Lights flashing, powders of all the colors of the rainbow erupting in a massive POOF above the quacking duck, the humping feline and everything else rebelling against the wondrous ways of the witches. It was obvious, the animals were on a mutiny, sent by the Devil himself. On Baba's behalf it was absolute mastery how she evaded all the natural ingredients of Whizzpopper and Titwillow, swirling and circling in balletic turns and sways... she almost looked graceful. As graceful as a witch could, ten times under weight, greenish-white hair and a face only a goblin could love because her mother sure as hell didn't. In fact Baba Yaga remembered, her mother tried to strangle her with her own umbilical cord. Fancy that.

Momentum had it... spin...spin....spinning...and more...spinning 'Round and round she goes. Where she stops. No one knows? No one even cares!!!'. Not even the duck or cat could determine the random mathematics already in the equation not to mention the chaotic effects fluttering through the atmosphere in conjunction with the cake. A bit of dabbling there and a bit of diablery there. 'ZIPPETY BOOPITTY BOO'. And there is was, an image that could make a witch weep. A cake, a cake to behold. The mother... no GODDESS of all cakes. A triple-decker, chocolate cake that would make a virgin spread her legs and smear it on. A virgin slurry slur of a masterpiece. Viagra laden, pubic hair smeared to form slithers of gumminess which made Baba Yaga drool green slime and maggots. Flesh hanging around her eyes tightened as opalesque cataract infested eyes widened in disbelief "Farrrkin' gotta be kiddin', by ther Devils'n'Demons, what dark spell twas 'tis, ey?" shaking a boney finger at Sycorax before examining the cherry nipples, clitwax candles and a skimpy little hamster doing a hamster dance in the middle. "Drats, ye old yeasty-gaited cockgummer! Foiled me agen did ye? Wellll, noit fer long, moldwarped muttonmews. I'llll git ye and yer lil kitty too!!!!"

To Baba it didn't matter how much tuna clitoris, marshmallow coated scrotums, penis jam, vaginal cheese, busted cherries, pig bowels and bottled farts went into making this cake for soon Sycorax's art would be doomed. Black, blistered maws made no attempt to stifle the loud, sonorous cackle that exploded like a hamster while Beesknees had his evil way with it. Yes, Baba knew what the hamster was for and pretty soon, it would dance the dance of hamster love no more. It would be the first victim of her demonic mastery. The same bony, booger-smothered brown crusty finger that had pointed at her rival, now aimed at the hamster, cursing the hamster and the chocolate titty-clit cherry cake. But especially the hamster "Oi curse ye, ye spawnnnnnn of Satan, fer ye will discover ye dangle bitz n carnal embrace wif me neighbor's goat. May ye have your gonads stung by a swarm of killer bees, ye conglomerate furball of festerin' analbiorth" wiggling her finger around as a gaseous drizzled from the fingertip then ZAP!!! a bolt of lightening striking the cake, zapping the hamster into a marzipan cute little hamster wearing a pink tutu and diamond encrusted tiara... before the effects of her wicked spell worked its decadent wickedness.

Smoke finally cleared, a puff of feral smoke that smelled like shit and pies rising from the emanation of sheer terror, the thing of all witches worst nightmares. A pink layered cake, silver tiny balls of sugar placed around the edge where white trimming offered a lacing effect. Over the top were pink and red flowers, sprinkles and fresh whipped cream floral daisies. The clitoral candles that were burning bright were now singing happy pink and white striped playing the tune HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO YOU over and over and over again. Proudly Baba looked over to Sycorax, finger moving to her parched lips and a plume of rotten fish breath blew against the flesh. "Oi, oi, oi, fark wif da best, ooze loike da rest... tut....Amateur, yah!" She beamed; this was a moment to treasure for always. But the worst damage had yet to be done, for along with the roasting of the hamster and the bastardizing of the cake. Party invitations were sent all throughout the forest of DisEnchantment. All the cute little forest critters delivering pretty pink and glittery invitations out to all the goblins and creatures of darkness, not to mention the cute and fury halloween snacks. Invitations that so politely read:[/align:ce9c3b65d5]


[align=center]Sycorax would love for you to attend the Birthday Party

of

Beesknees Bonearse.

Please bring soda pop & fairy bread.
There shall be fun games, bubbles and balloons.
Cake and lollies.

BYO your own fairy costumes
no need to RSVP or bring STD.

Love Sycorax & Titwillow[/align]

[The Grave Squabbler]

[align=justify:bc144bbb4b]It had all gone carrot up, the Squabbler had gone for the ass of Sycorax but in all the commotion somehow he managed to get sucked up into the void of all nastiness. Carrot stuck halfway that he could feel he was tickling her tonsils. White furry muzzle gagging uncontrollably, front paws shoved right up there that he felt like he was chewing on his own balls while back haunches fought with all their might to free himself from the house of horrors. Ears twitching back and forth, tickling the insides of the bowel walls and all the zombie rabbit could hope for was that she didn’t have a nutty turd up there, and instead hopefully a fart so that he could be blasted out of there and be the first rabbit on the moon… at least the moon had plenty of cheese much like Baba Yaga’s slosh-toosh. All he needed was a spare cracker. Perhaps the duck had one to spare? Baba Yaga’s cheese should never be without a pepper water cracker or sayo.

Stone the fucking crows… Squabbler was more worried about the duck for his cute little bunny tail was exposed and he knew how horny that damn hellcat can be, first opportunity to have at a nice little tight bunny ass. While it wriggled and jiggled in rhythmic dance like Beyonce in tight jeans, Hey this booty is too bootilicious!! left, right, left left, right, left, right right, wriggle it, just a little bit. And the Squabbler wriggled it just a lot more than just a little bit. More like three fat pigs fighting under a blanket, just this time it was from a thundering quivering anus. A mouth that went north and south, knew no boundaries and certainly no end.

He was about to curl his tail up and just die, like most small animals when stuck knee deep in shit with no escape. Curl up and die, thinking of a happy place. A field of carrots and lots of playboy bunnies to hump all day and all night. Blue skies, fluffy clouds and pretty flowers. His happy place, a home away from home. NERP NERP FRUCKING NERPPPPP!! Incisors biting furiously away at whatever flesh it could get its nasty little teeth into. ”ACK!” Coughing and spluttering away, he had never tasted anything so foul and horrid, not even a rotten zombie carrot tasted as bad as Sycorax’s ass! It was then that the moldy-decomposing bunny saw something wriggling from the catacombs of poo-shoot and foul-smelling poo gas. Squinty eyes couldn’t make out what it was, but it was blue and wore a funny white hat???  :smurf:  â€WTG?!@!” exclaimed the rabbit. The little blue thing returning to the statement of sheer rudeness, his kind despised vulgarity to every extent. :smurf: ”Greetings… I got smurfed and lost my smurfy way. I smurfed a smurf in my nose and now I am all smurfy snuffy. Can you point me to the nearest exit… that would be very smurfy of you.” Squabbler eyed the blue creature up and down, one ear cocking up in question. ”Nerrrrp… what the fuck are you. Get the fuck out of my ass you blue piece of blueberry turd, nerppp”

The smurf looking at Squabbler with an insulted expression, replying back it’s squeaky rubbery tone :smurf: ”No need to be so smurfy rude! All I did was ask a smurfy question for smurfs sake.” then throwing its little arms up in the air then on its annoying little waist. ”Fuck you bubblegum butt” Suddenly Squabbler lashed forwards grabbing the smurfs head between sharp pincer maws, then shaking violently. …slam slam slam against the ass walls of Sycorax. Rippppppppp biting the creatures head off as the tiny body flew across landing with a wet SPLATTTTT!!!. ”Take that buttwipe, nerrrrrp!” burping loudly. However he didn’t take into account the taste of smurfs :smurf:  . The zombie-festering rabbit started foaming blue foam at the mouth starting a frantic panic. ”NERRRRRP, ME GOTS THE HERPIES!!!!!! I ATE A LIL HERPY WART, NO ME GOTS A BAD CASE OF THE STD’S.” Pulling and fighting even harder to get out. Pulling, pushing, tugging, toiling… then finally a burst of POP!!! exploded causing Squabbler to fly through the air and land in the center of a pink iced, hamster marzipan cake… foaming blue at the mouth in torrents. Unable to speak, spitting bubbles everywhere.

”Fllluffff spurt…flllllerrrffffff…. Grrrrrrooowwwwllll…..muuuuuurffffff herrrrrpyyyyy warttttttttzzzzzzz” foam flying everywhere, cake flying everywhere, duck feathers, cat humpings, fat asses, saggy tits all flapping about him. ”Crrrrrraptacularrrrrr, aeeeeiiiiiiiii meeeee gottttttssssss the herrrrrrrpiessssssss!!!! Asssssholllllllezzzzzzzzzz!”[/align:bc144bbb4b]

[align=center]:smurf: :smurf: :smurf: :smurf: :smurf:
The blue bastards are on a rampage to take over the DisEnchanted Forest. [/align]

[Whizzpopper of Duckbane]

[align=justify:e3f426f9a8]The cake was about to have its twisted revenge on the zombie-maggoty rabbit. There was only one innocent in this entire fiasco and that innocent was not in the chicken house with the two mangy witches, a sucking fucking psycho rabbit yelling about smurfs? And a cat humping the beefy leg of Sycorax, the duck shuddered violently. There was no sign of the boney ass horn dog Beesknees, nor his mushroom intoxicated cookies. Smurfs? What the fuck was a smurf anyway and what was one doing up the codwollop of old vinegar tits? The way the bunny had flown out of Baba’s ass had to be a record for the fastest projectiled rabbit. PUUUUURP WHOOOOSHHH PARFTAPARF-PAF PAF SPPPPLATTT!. ”HHHOLLYYY FFFFARKINNN BATTITZ BUGZZZZ!!!” the quacking duck exclaimed while spittle flew all over the witches, the rabbit, the cat and the cake. Brown eyes, saggy thighs, this duck had seen more than what he cared to. It wasn’t so quacked up to be a duck. Not in this poultry-louse infested henhouse. The only thing missing was that these two crones no longer had any eggs and no cock wanted to go near them.

Poor Whizzpopper was the only duck fuck Baba had in a long time, so long in fact the cobwebs clung to the sides and bats flew out every time she opened her flabby, sappy thighs. Not even the duck could help flying out from the garlic-cheese muff-cave, he had to catch fresh air sometimes. Deep sea diving was not one of this ducks strongest merits, had not been for the maggots and worms Whizzpopper would never have volunteered to duck up there and nibble at the dribbles. Seafood cocktails, crabs, crayfish, box jellyfish… it was better than being in a Chinatown fish market just a whole lot smellier. With the rabbit out of the picture and taking out half the pink, icy, sweet cake with it as with awe the duck watched the marzipan decoration ram fair and square up the bunnies butt hole like a cork in a wine bottle. ”QUACK!!THATZZZZ GOTTAHURTZZZ GHIYS!!” squawking away loud enough to her heard over the commotion.

Nothing prepared Whizzpopper for the next terrifying deed. A small white pointed hat emerging from the puckered prune between wobble-wobble fleshy buns. The duck peering at the smurf with one hungry eye as the other eye rolled around it its head like a marble trying to watch everything going on so it did not miss out on anything interesting. Duck bill uncontrollably chattering, snapping at mid air thinking the protruding object was a snack provided, shake and bake. Whizzpopper would gleefully give him compliments to the chef, nothing topped a biscuit cooked in a Dutch over and he loved gingerbread men the best. ”QUACKQUACK!!!” wagging his duck tail happily. He had been taught to beg for treats, to perform, do backflips, duck farts on demand not to mention slap her baggy titties around with wet webbed feet while nibbling on purple-grape nipples. He didn’t enjoy it much, but hey, it got him treats and that was all that mattered.

Wiggle, waggle his tail went only to droop at the next sequence of events. Something else popped out from behind the red pointy strawberry colored hat, grey hair and a beard. WHARTTHAFARRRRKKKKK!!! Whizzpopper thought to himself, raising a duck brow and examining the strange, blue, protruding object ”ZO-MYGAD! ALIVINBREATHN FFFARKINNNN BUMMMGGGRAPEE!@!” Eyes bulging from the shock, the madness, the insanity of it all, a small blue head exploding from the clenching muck hole just below the fuck hole. ”A smurfy hello. I am  :bigsmurf:  Poppa Smurf” The blue face offering a smile, a white gloved hand waving all nice and friendly. Whizzpopper studying it for a moment before replying in his usual nutty psychotic fashion ”QUACK!...IDONTTGIVEAFFFARKKKWHOYOUARRRRE…BBBUT IFIWANTDTOHEREFROMANASSHOLE…CUNTFUCKCAKECRACKSNIFFER…I…WOULDDDDHAVVVEFARRRTED! QUACK!!” Spit and tongue flapping everywhere, wings flapping all around and making more of a ruckus.

The smurf looking dismal as if dragged the body of a headless smurf out with him shaking a gloved hand at the rabbit. ”He smurfed one of my smurfs, that was not very smurfy, not on your smurfy life it wasn’t”throwing the dead smurf across the room, it slid just between Whizzpopper’s webbed feet. Whizzpopper looked down at the dead blue thing, shrugged, then back up at the smurf. ”QUARK…DONEANNNNICENUMBERRRR… SSSSSILLYLILFFFFARRRRKERRR!” A long tongue protruding from the ducks beak, slurping over the upper bill as Whizzpopper leaned down, picked the smurf up by the leg, threw it up in the air. Beak rising up to great it, then swallowing it whole BBBBBBBUUUUURRRRRP licking his lips before pondering how squiggly a live smurf would be??? ”MMMMMMM…TTTTASSSSTESSSSLIKKKE….CCCCHICCKKKEN!” he didn’t really know how chicken tasted but at the time it sure sounded good.

Now Poppa Smurf looked like a very appetizing meal, porky, meaty and more than likely tender too. Webbed feet starting to quickly move, beak snapping before him as head went down and beak went in for the kill. Due to wet webbed feet the friction on the floor was slippery; he skidded and slid all over the place. Webbed feet frantically moving to stabilize, failing and going tail up. Ass to floor just managing to grab the red hat by chance, shaking it in his beak, skidding along leaving a brown, slimy trail behind him ”GETTTT….ITTTTTT” Looking back behind himself, the snail trail behind him… turning a bright shade of red. He really did hate shitting himself, it was awfully embarrassing and he was tired of having the nickname Beef Stew. That was what he left behind himself in tense situations as this. Hopefully Baba Yaga would stitch Sycorax’s ass up before any more of those blue fuckers flopped out into the world.  A blue plague upon them all.[/align:e3f426f9a8]

[Titwillow The Cat]

He saw, he came, he conquered.

Flying across the room after his orgasmic release, landing on his feet, after all he was a cat, when all hell broke loose. Ingredients dancing about, everything from bats wings to his own floury dehydrated turd dancing about until with an explosion of insanity a cake appeared, and what a cake, the most terrifying concept of a cake any pussy every contemplated jumping out of. And Titwillow did indeed contemplate getting inside purely for the pleasure of leaping hissing and spitting at Beesknees.

Salivating at the thought of taking a long hard dump after eating the dancing hamster, if only to shut the furry little fucker up from its insane humming, what did it think it was doing 'The Hamster Dance?' Then Baba Yaga taking umbrage that Sycorax had actually got it right and working her magic, turning the cake into... WTF... Titwillow blinked, raised his paw, licked it slowly and wiped his eyes in disbelief "Mrowwww" Pink and pretty, Candles singing happy birthday and worst of all, the hamster that he lusted after for sexual pleasure then lunch, vanquished to become a Marzipan decoration.

"Hiss Hiss... spit spit" he was a very pissed off cat, the Squabbler having vanished somewhere, and the object of his sexual desires turned into marzipan, did any of these witchy bitches realise how hard that would be on a pussy's penis when he went to hump it, not to mention the sugary sweetness when he tried to eat it afterwards... A rumbling coming from Sycorax's guts and Titwillow exited stage left, no way was he gonna sit behind that crap cannon when it fired. Last time some guy (that by some odd chance looked like Mel Gibson although it looked like Mad Max coming out of that hole) covered in slime had come flying out screaming "FREEDOM' landed in the soup pot and was boiled alive for dinner.

Titwillow watched carefully as the rumbles grew louder, eyeing the damned duck and its manic glances, he knew given a chance the duck would happily nibble on his knoblets and try ripping them off. The rumbling, grumbling getting louder the with a brappppp from hell boiled over. The rabbit fired out like the guy who had answered the personals ad baba Yaga had posted telling all how a young, virginal girl who had little in the way of morals and when he had seen her, he ran so fast that when he hit the tree that just happened to get in his way, he knocked himself out cold. Then... a blue mouse popped forth, whoa back... Bubblegum flavoured? had Sycorax been into the viagra again... Have mercy, wasnt the old bat already horny enough to take on a bull elephant.

Pondering moving closer just in case the thing was edible, watching the Squabbler frothing blue at the mouth and in the grip of some perverse nightmare, (if cats could smirk, Titwillow was smirking). The duck making its way over and eating the damn thing before Titwillow could even get close... "Hisss" he hated that damned duck, then from the depths of hell, (or Sycorax's ass) another blue thing, but this one talked...

"Mrow the fuckles" what in hell was a smurf, were they edible, and did they work like the little blue pills, the witches pumped into Beesknees whenever he wasn’t looking. Rising, making ready to pounce, Then... The bloody duck was on the move... Titwillow determined not to miss its prey, not to a fucked up, sucked up, bucked up duck on steroids. Preparing to leap, the duck shitting itself. Titwillow stopping mid pounce, falling in a heap, then quickly rising head dropping and licking his nuts. No way was he getting into this mess.

Still eyeing the smurf, tongue licking happily away at the burnt skin of his nutsack, getting horny as he did and wondering if these smurf things had any usable holes, then deciding, why share and continuing to lick himself in ways that most guys would be desperately jealous of. "Mrow, mrow, purrrrrr purrrrrr" Oh yeah baby, cum for daddy... whose ya daddy (Ok so Titwillow is a sick twisted fuck with no life, you try living in a chicken house with two horny old bags, a duck and a fucked up rabbit and see how long it is till you try licking your nuts).

[Horny Smurf]

"Tra la, la la la la, la, la la la la, Tra, la, la la la la, la la la la laaaa"

Horny Smurf was skipping through the Disenchanted Forest singing, the front of his tight little smurf pants, adding a lovely friction to his smurfliness. He had awoken that morning with a rock hard smurfy smurfness and given it a hell of a good smurfing while thinking about the smurfy smoothness of Smurfettes secret smurf and moaning the whole time, "Smurf me babeh, smurf me"...

Nothing like a good smurfing in the morning even if you had to do it yourself, Horny wasn't that fussy. As long as his smurfy sausage got a good polishing on a regular basis, everything was just fine and smurfy. A loud noise off in the distance of something madly crashing through the forest. Maybe Gargomel had eaten to many smurfy mushrooms again. Horny stopping in his tracks, the traditional fight, flight or flee response going out the window with this smurf. When danger rose its ugly head, Horny did non of these, instead his mind when immediately to f... smurfing. He'd get one last smurfing before he died.

The crashing getting loud, Horny's smurfliness growing bigger threatening to burst from the front of his pants, closer, bigger, closer, bigger, closer, harder... "Oh yeah babeh" then a final crash and... "What the smurf is that" a house ran by on chicken legs, the fear running through his blue veins reacting and with a moan of terrified excitement, Horny smurfed like he had never smurfed before in his pants. The chicken house continueing its mad dash, Horny weakly leaning against a tree, his eyes glazed, his smurfliness now shrinking as its load was spent, visions of those long chickens leegs smurfed into his brain. He would have to follow that house and find out what it was and if anything just smurfy lived inside. Well he would as soon as he got his breath back and clean up the warm smurfy mess in his jocks...

[*Alice*]

[align=center]"ALICE! ALICE? WHO THE FUCK IS ALICE?"[/align]

[align=justify:05b6437626]Skip, skip snippety skip black shoes click clacking along the pathway as blonde tresses bobbed up and down to the beat of quickened step. Somehow and somehow Alice had been distracted off her traveling path from Wonderland to Timbuktu… and she didn’t have a foggy clue where she had ended up. ”Heaven’s!!” Alice spoke aloud to herself hoping that someone or something would answer her back but like always only silence. ”Oh Alice you always get yourself into serious jiffy-jams.” Sighing and continuing with her skip past shadows of gnarled trees and dark hollows. This place was dark and had a funny smell, something like burnt chocolate chip cookies and garlic… tiny pixie nose lifting as nostrils flared to try and find where the scent originated from. To this place, she preferred Wonderland; even in all its madness… this place however took on a new field of madness in her threadbare mind.

It was then that this sparrow flew past, wings rapidly beating against the wind only to skim on the waves of air like it was surfing and Alice couldn’t help but giggle as her big blue eyes followed its flight direction. Running behind it, frantic legs crossing the dew-damp grass that brushed against her bianca stockings leaving grass stains in their wake. A tiny hand waving about in the air as her honeyed voice called out behind it. ”Yoo-hoo, Mr. Sparrow! Yoo-hoo” Continuing to run, hand still waving about in the air, jumping over fallen branches and leafy debris as pink and purple leaves were kicked up in the air behind her, billowing like autumnal rainbows. ”Oh Yoo-hoo Mr. Sparrow have you a little time to spare for a poor lost little gir?.” There was something held in the sparrow’s white gloved feet, tiny talons clenched around the folded up piece of pink paper covered in glitter and sparkles… a letter.

How wonderful, the bird-life here actually corresponded with mail ”How civilized!” again she exclaimed to herself while running behind the busy bird on the wing, they say a bird in the hand is better than a bird in the bush; then why couldn’t she get her hands on this bird or at least have it the time that it would land and speak. Could birds even really talk? Growing impatient with the poultry renegade, breath slowing to a cramped exasperating pant ”Oh don’t be rude. You could at least respond you know, like I don’t have better things to do than chase small birds”. A sigh of relief pluming between her lips, taking a moment to regain her breath before asking the question, again, this time with impatience easily noticed in her tone. ” I asked where you were going, and what is it with that pink letter?” Pointing at the letter caught in its feet only to have one clawed foot take the letter and move it to yellowish beak, allowing Mr.Sparrow to land upon the twig of tortured willow.

Alice had been right, the willow was tortured for it groaned even at the slight weight of a sparrow ”My bones! My poor old bones!” Cocking an auburn eyebrow at the tree, exclaiming in a surprised frustration ”Bones? Do trees have bones? I thought they only have twigs, how funny!” returning her interest back to the sparrow as it wiggled its tail and puffed its feathers dropping the invitation from its beak. The pretty piece of pink paper drifting down only to land softly upon the ground and Mr. Sparrow chirpily retorted… ”Little girl, you can see I am an extremely busy bird. I have invitations to deliver… for a birthday party.” Eager feet bouncing to and fro from leg to leg, anxious to get its job done and no doubt return to its daily worm foraging. ”Oh… well could I have one? I am awfully famished and would ever so love a piece of birthday cake. I like cake. Do you like cake?” Blue eyes blinking up at the bird. Its tiny little top hat tilting from the brown mottled brow in its dance of impetuosity.

”I see no harm could come of it.” Fluffing its feathers once more so it resembled a fluff ball with only a yellow beak sticking through the fluff ”Just be warned, do not pat the cat and do not look the duck in the eyes. Watch out for suspicious peanuts in the brownies and never excuse yourself.” ”How odd!” Alice thought to herself while trying to think of all the reasons why Mr. Sparrow would say such odd things? ”Why Mr.Sparrow? To not speak is a sign of muteness or ill-manners. No one likes a guest who does not use her manners especially at a Birthday Party and I have no gift!” To not bring gifts to a birthday party was the ultimate sign of discourtesy, punishable by a smack on the bottom and sent to a cupboard. Before any explanation was given the bird flew off, leaving only last words of no comfort ”BEWARE THE PEANUTS!” Alice shaking her head, moonlight locks flagging over white cotton shoulders puffed with lace and embroidery. Yelling out condemnably ”BUT WHAT…ABOUT THE PEANUTS???”

Were the peanuts the force of evil in this land? Alice couldn’t think what was so evil about a peanut or even scary about a peanut… other than those nasty sugar-peanuts that got stuck between your teeth or the shell of the peanut getting stuck in the back of your throat rendering you to choke. Since the peanuts were in the brownies that explained a lot to the rationale of a child. Turning back around, stooping down while the hem of her white dress and blue apron hung to cover her knees. Dainty hand picking up the invitation and opening it with care. Eyes scanning across the words written thereon. ”Hmmm but what about a map, how can I even find this party?” flicking the bit of paper over and over, looking for a map, hands flying up in the air and crashing down against her thighs then rising to her hips, left foot stomping ”Oh poo!” Had it not been for the cheery tunes of Crappy Birthday to you, Crappy Birthday Rotten Beesknees, Crappy birthday to yooooooou!”

”Crappy Birthday? How curious!” feet again running in the direction of sound, skimming through the grass and one two occasions nearly sliding in the moist soil, a fall that would have inflicted bruises on her bruises. Flowers screaming as her feet trampled over them ”Arrrrrggggghhhhhh help me! Help meeeeeeee!” and another ”Hey watch it FAT ASS!!” exploding behind her. From Alice’s experience with flowers, she already knew of them as rude daisies and expected nothing different. What was so special about flowers anyway? Not bothering to excuse herself or apologize, she ran towards the song that grew louder and louder as she approached closer. Eventually arriving at another path, where small forest critters skipped and scuffed. She wasn’t used to ‘Happy Birthday’ being sung in such a fashion, but the tune was catchy.

Deciding to skip along with them, invitation swinging in her hand while lips sweetly sung the words ”Crappy Birthday to you! Crappy Birthday to you! Crappy Birthday rotten Beesknees. Crappy Birthday to you!” her harmony was perfect, she loved singing and did enough of it in Wonderland and recitals to her parents to give her some authorization on what sounded good and what did not. Alice always took care in the correct recitals and mannerism of speech- never permitting herself to speak with wagging tongue. It was when one of the forest critters, stopped and quickly spun around, brown beady eyes looking her up and down while its gnawing teeth chattered and clattered together. ”Yer know it be rude to sing along to songs uninvited. We don’t like sing song-a-long intruders.” Tiny paws resting on its hips, Alice returning the same attitude and mimicking its pose and correcting its speech.

”I believe it is “You” not “Yer”… and I am NOT a sing-song-a-long intruder, anyone is allowed to sing, and I’ll sing if I want to… so there!” Jutting her hip out at the ”…so there” then sticking her tongue out with cheeky defiance. She had enough experience with testy critters, bugs and flowers and wasn’t about to take sass from this one. ”Besides I have an invitation to this party and I am going to sing all the songs I want to sing-song-a-long to!” A single nod followed her words, chin rising into the air with a ”Hmmmph!” and skipping past the forest critters who all looked at her with jaws dropped. Alice didn’t care, all she cared about was cake. Stopping mid-skip, leaning down and plucking one of the presents from one of the critters with a loud, audible YOINK! another nod of attitude before scoffing again… ”…so there!” and continuing on her way regardless of a chipmunk bursting into tears. For all Alice cared it could cry and damn river and paddle in a canoe along it.

Muttering to herself in contempt ”Hhmph! Not sing along indeed.” skip…skip…snippety… skip. A row of pink balloons rising above the hedge of hawthorn. ”Finally Alice you are on the right track, look balloons!” it was a joyous event, hand plucking one balloon and skipping along with it still singing this worlds birthday rhyme. Invitation swinging to and fro in her hot, eager little hand. Soon she arrived at a clearing where an odd looking house on chicken legs stood. ”How curious!” Alice exclaimed even louder than before, gingerly approaching the house only to bob down and examine the scaly yellowish chicken legs of the house, the steps rising high into the air forming what looked like a beak in the efface of architectural insanity. ”A chicken house! What’s next?” gathering the hem of her dress in the fingers of her other hand, attempting to walk up the steps only to have the large chicken house jump away from her foot ”Oh be still, I haven’t the time for silliness!!”

Huffing to herself, and trying to walk up the steps… the chicken house dancing about in a fuss. Alice’s face turning into a scowl ”BE STILL WOULD YOU! I HAVE AN INVITATION!!” shaking it about in front of the house while taking yet another step, finally the chicken house keeping still enough to let her climb the damn things… and step by step Alice began to walk up the stairs towards the door. From the outside Alice could hear a dreadful noise and calamity, plates smashing, yells and even stranger sounds rising above the noise of crashing and smashing, was a duck in there?. ”Oh dear, that isn’t the appropriate behavior!” then remembering the Mad-hatters tea party and ‘Twinkle’ the tea-mouse in the teapot. Alice wasn’t sure if she was ready for another one of those parties, but she would be brave. Hand rising to the door and knocking three times then stepping back. Hand smoothing out the creases of her dress and apron, then her hair… one must always look their best for they never know who they shall meet.[/align:05b6437626]