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Fred Recounts this portion of our story many years later from the
comfort of a medieval nursing home (in other words he was in some
neglected ditch or ravine, dying slowly of disease and malnutrition).
“It’s hard to say whether the next few days of my life were tortuously erotic or erotically tortuous,” he remembers fondly. “Pain like that would be welcome now. I’m so old and sick and thirsty...” The interviewer, one Morgmardt the Minotaur from the Floating Islands of Watagazo, huffs loudly and stomps his feet in objection. “Stop your bitching, old man,” he thunders. “Just answer my questions and leave the rest to me. I don’t want to hurt but I will, old man. So just obey me, vile human scum piece of dog shit.” He clears his throat and adjusts his spike collar. “Let’s just go to my next question; how do you want to die?””Quickly,” Fred croaks weakly. The minotaur smashes Fred flat with his enormous mace and “Done,” he says.But anyways back to the main happenins down in tha cave, ya’ll. Inside the Chamber of Erotic Torture, some stuff happened and the story progressed dramtically and all this other stuff is going on and stuff...
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10/7/2004 8:49:24 PM
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