ground. They were shot at point blank, their brains spilling onto the ground and fluff bursting into the air. A mass grave was dug and hundreds of cute corpses were dropped into it with the aid of the Claymore’s mini-dozers. As they packed the dirt over the grave, J urinated on it with a fist raised high.
“Let us never speak of this again!” he declared as he zipped up.
“Definitely,” said one crew member, pumping the last of his semen into the anus of a dead Grongorgan with pins in its eyes.
The corpse had retained a creepy smile.
Jemima, inflicted with only a few superficial wounds, ran up to J.
“Thank the gods that your labia majora is alright,” said J.
“Thanks to your guidance and… inner beauty,” she said with a glow in her face you could toast marshmallows with.
“I’m only a man,” said J as he narrowed his eyes and dramatically turned his head to the sunset in the east.
The frame pulls back to reveal the surviving crew leaping up and down in celebration. They whoop and wave bloodied bones in the air. Close-up of a bloody blue paw emerging from the mass grave.
“Huggie…” is said softly, muffled by the soil.
A vinyl boot crushes the hand.
(iii) an exquisite celebration in the name of the gods
The celebratory orgy had begun in the battle preparation room. Crew lay on their stomachs and ate the remains of their fallen comrades. Ensign Tamagotchi was served with a combination of tarragon and basil. After the feast, the Roman showers commenced. Naked men standing in clusters of three vomited on another naked man on his haunches. Naked women standing in clusters of three vomited on the