Everything had grown eerily quiet.
The high pitched death squeaks the Clarts made as Hom-Ken skewered their heads faded into the jungle.
Even the strange Goidian beasts noises which has hitherto busted my nut throughout my time in the jungle, seemed to disperse into the ether.
I followed a clear line of trampled vines and fookercreepers. Some grey shadow had beaten this path through the thicket in haste. And I followed, though me knees did shake.
As my hand swept aside a handful of wild rim-yr-maw shrubs, I beheld a small wooden shack atop heavy frames of coarse timber. A set of rickety wooden steps led up fourteen feet or so to a doorless entrance. I stepped up with caution. I had been briefed about General Shan-Gri-La Vulva from my erstwhile cabin crew on the voyage down the Clydoto. The man had gone clinically insane. If the mental dictator Kurasawa Perineum wanted him dead, I had much to fear from my impending meeting with him. But, Rambling Bob's life depended on it. These stupid underground cunts knew of his whereabouts, and I had vowed to find him.
I stepped into the hut.
A voice, darker than the dark of the underground jungle spoke forth...
"STEP CLOSER, RAMBLER. I HAVE BEEN WAITING FOR YOU"
Jez
