Thelonious Monkey

This last part could have been way more interesting if the sexbot turned out to be Chula.

Oriphiel

I think, deep down, there's a sexbot in all of us.

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Oriphiel

After a hard day of ass kicking and sexbot fucking, Frownland headed to 'The Bitch Box', his favorite local bar. Stepping inside, he saw the usual crowd making merry with tankards full of ale. DwnWthVwls was fucking a giant pork roll with a picture of Bruce Springsteen's face taped to it, Chula was flirting with a vending machine, Elphenor and Anteater were discussing the intricacies of why their flagons of alcohol were either liberal or conservative, and Chiomara was sleeping in the corner, as her dream-form explored the mind of a nearby user who was also asleep, like Freddy Krueger if he were into tea and kittens and shit.

Looking through the hazy air within the bar, Frownland also saw that the rest of the Mod Squad were in tonight, sitting at their usual table in the back, where they could discuss things away from the ears of the common riff-raff. Bastards. Anyway, Frownland walked over to them, standing next to Vanilla. Or rather, the corpse of Vanilla, being propped up by the rest of the mods. "Uh," said Frownland, "is Vanilla alright? She looks dead drunk." Grindy smiled, and replied "Just regular dead, actually." Freebase Dali wasn't amused, saying "Hey, that's not true! She's still alive! She's still an active member! She..." after thinking for a moment, he continued "Ah, fuck it. You're right. She ain't coming back." With that, he took his grip off of Vanilla, letting her cadaver fall to the floor with a loud thump. "Ooh, free seat," said Frownland, as he took her place.

The mods set about discussing a variety of topics, until eventually the subject of the Admin came up. As soon as his name was mentioned, pretty much every mod muttered "wanker..." under their breath. "Seriously," said Frownland, "has he logged in at all in the past year?" "Nah," replied Burning Down, "not a once. We're completely on our own. I think Nietzsche was right. Maybe the Admin is dead." Freebase Dali set down his flagon, answering "Hey now, don't say that. The Admin works in mysterious ways. I'm sure everything is fine. Anyway, I think I've had enough drinks for tonight. I'm gonna go home, put on an astronaut suit, and break out the guitar."

As the night carried on, eventually Frownland noticed that Burning Down was no longer at the mod table. Looking around curiously, he soon spotted her at the bar, sitting next to an imposing figure with crazy ass facial hair. "Who's that?" he asked, gesturing his flagon towards the mysterious figure. "Oh, that's just Varg," replied Grindy. "You know, Varg Da Viking." Frownland thought for a moment, before answering "Isn't he supposed to be dead? I mean, we did ban him, right? If he's back, shouldn't we do something?" The mods all collectively groaned. "Fuck it," replied Plankton. "We're off the clock. Besides, what's the worst that could happen?"

"So," said Varg Da Viking, "now you see why the Admin is simply a tool of miniorities as they try to strip power from the proud race of caucasian males?" Burning Down burped, replying "I dunno, man. I'm really fuckin' drunk. But, uh... sure. Yeah." Beaming, Varg answered "Good! And so you see why we must restore the pagan traditions of MusicBanter, burning down the wicked buildings of worship erected in honor of a false god?" Burning Down booped his nose, replying "Oh, totally, man. So you wanna, like... burn down a church, and then listen to Death Metal, right? That's badass, man. I mean, the admin is such an asshole, and a pussy. He just... left us mods all alone, to deal with all the spammers and shit. And he never once even thanked us before he disappeared. Just once... I'd really like to stick it to him. Like, really kick him in the balls. See how he likes being bossed around." Raising his hands, Varg said "Then it's settled! Let's go burn down a fucking church!"

As Burning Down and Varg left the bar, Frownland eyed them suspiciously. "Hey guys," he said to the rest of the mods, "I think Varg is up to something. He just walked out with Burning Down, and he had that look in his eyes. You know, that 'I'm gonna burn down a church' look." Rolling his eyes and groaning, Plankton said "God damn it. Can't that fucker get a new shtick?" Duga stood up, saying "Welp, I guess we better go stop him. Even if we are technically off the clock." "Here, here," replied Yac, finishing off his flagon as he stood up as well. Stepping out of the bar, the mod squad set off after Varg, following the scent of honey mead and ashes until they finally arrived at a church.

Looking up at the sign above the door, which said 'The First Church of the Admin', Burning Down hiccuped, and asked "So... we're, like, gonna burn it down?" Smiling as he pulled out a box of matches, Varg replied "Indeed. In fact, my friend, I'll let you have the honor of setting it ablaze." Burning Down blinked, replying "Me? You want me to do it? Why's it gotta be me?" Varg put a hand on her shoulder, saying "Why not? After all, who am I to rob you of the pleasure of personally getting payback on the admin?" Burning Down hiccuped again, before replying "Yeah... I guess that makes sense. Like, why should I let you have all the fun, right?" Varg handed her the matches, saying "Now you're getting it. I'm so proud of you, pupil. Now, set the church ablaze."

Just as Burning Down had struck the match, the mods arrived on the scene. Seeing the lit match in Burning Down's hands, Frownland yelled "No! Don't do it!" However, it was too late. The match had already begun to slip out of Burning Down's fingers, unto a trail of gasoline leading into the church. In a flash, the church had become a blazing inferno. "Muhahahaha!" laughed Varg maniacally. In a nonchalant fashion, Yac walked up to Varg, and whacked him on the head with a banhammer. "I'll be back!," yelled Varg as he gave the mods the finger, turning into a misty blue haze as he was sent back to the MB afterlife. "God damn it, Burning Down! Why did you let Varg talk you into burning down a church?" asked Plankton. Burning Down shrugged, replying "I dunno. I guess I was just tired of the Admin ignoring us all the time. I thought maybe, if we misbehaved a bit, he'd notice us again. That, and I'm really really drunk. I'm sorry, you guys."

"Hey, it's okay," said Duga, as he put a hand on Burning Down's shoulder. "We all make mistakes." Grindy put a hand on Burning Down's other shoulder, saying "Yeah. I mean, who hasn't burned down a church every now and then?" Staring at the flaming church, Yac said "Hey guys, should we maybe do something about this fire?" Taking off his backpack, Grindy began to rummage through it, saying "I'm way ahead of you." After a moment of searching, he finally found what he was looking for, smiling as he pulled out a bag of marshmallows.

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Oriphiel

Okay guys, I'll let all of you decide what the next chapter should be about. Here are your options:

1. Frownland and Batlord go to a waterpark, and get kicked out for getting shitfaced and beating up a baby.

2. Psy-Fi and Chiomara have an excellent adventure in the psychedelic world of dreams, and Kiiii sticks his dick in a garbage disposal.

3. JWB v.s. Elphenor: The revolution will not be capitalized.

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Key

I'm terrified but curious. Though you should probably switch Psy-Fi and myself as I don't really see a reason to stick my dick in a garbage disposal. And he just seems like the kind that would do that.

Oriphiel

Here, I'll give you some more options:

4. Goofle uses science to give every woman on the planet a penis, so he can circumsize them all as revenge.

5. Kiiii's cat starts working out and becomes super buff, and then kicks the shit out of all of the people who were mean to Kiiii, starting with Frownland.

6. Frownland uses magic to turn Batlord into a woman, and then impregnates him with his own Batlord semen, forcing him to be both the mother and father of an unholy Batlord spawn.

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Frownland

Number six but whatever I do to the kid has to be horrific.

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Studies show that when a given norm is changed in the face of the unchanging, the remaining contradictions will parallel the truth.

Oriphiel

Fuck all of the options above. I'm gonna go with this instead:


On a boring and humid night, a mysterious silhouette walked down a gaudily carpeted hallway, before stopping in front of a glass door. Looking up, the shadowy figure read the label on the portal aloud in a spooky voice: "Frownland Investigations: We Fuck the Helpless". The figure sighed, glad to have finally found their destination, and turned the doorknob.

Inside, Detective Frownland was sitting at his desk, vaping like a little bitch. Hearing the door creak open, Detective Frownland lifted his head and gazed lazily at the visitor under the felt rim of his black fedora. "Can I help you?" he asked in a tired and monotone voice. "I sure hope so..." began the mysterious figure, as it began to take off it's large hat, trenchcoat, and sunglasses. As the clothing fell away, a gorgeous woman was revealed, with golden hair so shiny that Mithradates tried to pour it down Manius Aquillius' throat. Taking a seat, the woman continued "I could really use your help."

"Of course!" replied Detective Frownland, as he sat up straight and immediately began masturbating. "I'd love to help you in any way that I can, miss... ?" As he waited for her to give him her name, she simply stared at him in confusion and replied "Miss?". Suddenly, an expression of realization crossed her face, and she said "Oh, sorry. My bad. I forgot to take my whole disguise off." With that, she stood up once more, and ripped off all of her flesh, revealing herself to actually be Aux-In. Frownland was horrified, but not quite enough to stop masturbating.

"Aren't you dead? Didn't you get banned?" asked Frownland. Aux-In laughed, replying "A simple ruse. I requested that ban, and pretended to be dead, all so that I could claim my revenge against the asshole who has been ruining my life." Frownland raised an eyebrow, and replied "I'm intrigued. Tell me everything." Aux-In sighed, before saying "Well, I suppose I should start at the beginning. So about a month ago, I met this guy in The Bitch Box. We hit it off pretty quickly. You know, did a few shots, swapped a few stories. The next few days, we got to know each other really well, and started hanging out all the time. We went fishing down at Lake Spambox, checked out an exhibit at the Member Picture Gallery... we even took turns making Kiiii quit MB. Good times... until I started to notice that shit was missing from my apartment."

"Missing?" asked Frownland. Aux-In nodded, replying "Stolen. At first, I just thought I was misplacing things. I lose little things all the time. My glasses, my flashlight, my cock ring... they practically live under my couch cushions. But other stuff started disappearing too. Big stuff." Frownland stroked his moustache in thought, asking "How big?" Aux-In leaned forward, and replied "Racecar bed big. Now that, I knew I hadn't simply misplaced. Someone had taken it. I asked my friend about it, and he started getting all fidgety and suspicious. That's when I started to suspect. The next night, I invited him over for drinks, keeping a close eye on him the whole time. And guess what? I caught that fucker red-handed, trying to swipe my favorite carburetor!"

Frownland smiled, saying "I'm sorry to hear that, Aux-In, but where exactly do I fit into this little story of yours? Why not take this to the Mod Squad? They love busting petty thieves." Aux-In shook his head, replying "I tried! I went straight to the authorities, but they just laughed at me, even though I had all the evidence in the world! Turns out my 'friend' was too well connected to touch. In fact, he reported me for slander. Luckily, there was still one honest mod left on the squad, and he helped me to go undercover, however even he was too scared to help me any further than that. And that, Mr. Frownland, is where you come in. You're a mod. A rogue mod, sure, but a mod nonetheless. You have a license to ban." Frownland thought for a moment, letting the information sink in, before saying "I'll see what I can do. But first, tell me, just who exactly is this ex-friend of yours?"

"Trollheart?" asked Pedestrian in surprise, almost spilling her coffee. Frownland nodded. "You've got to be fuckin' kiddin' me," said Pedestrian, setting her drink down and taking a seat. Looking up at Frownland, she continued "You expect me to believe that the Mayor of MB has turned to petite larceny for kicks?" Frownland shrugged and nodded, replying "Hey, you said it yourself when you left the force. I believe your exact words were 'I'm done with this shit. MB is rotten to it's very core.' Looks like you were right." Pedestrian laughed, taking a sip from her coffee, before replying "Yeah, I'm a regular prophet. Now cut the shit, and give me the details." Frownland relayed the entire story to Pedestrian, who absorbed the strange tale through an expression of disgust and disbelief.

After Frownland had finished, he looked at Pedestrian, trying to gauge what her response would be, before saying "Aux-In and I are going to stake-out his apartment. After doing a little homework, I think I've picked up on our dear mayor's MO, and have reason to believe that he'll return there tonight to... well, seal the deal, in a manner of speaking." "Oh?" asked Pedestrian with a dry voice. Frownland nodded, saying "It seems that Trollheart has done this sort of thing before. And usually, after making sure his victims are branded as liars, he goes to their place and... well, he steals their car, goes for a joyride, defecates in the backseat, and then crashes it into an orphanage."

Pedestrian narrowed her eyes, asking "How many times has he done this before?" Frownland scratched his beard, replying "At least five or six times." Pedestrian thought for a moment, before saying "That's a lot of orphanages. I didn't even realize MB had so many." Frownland shrugged, replying "The Batlord hates condoms almost as much as he hates personal responsibility. Anyway, the stake-out is tonight. We're gonna record him stealing the car, arrest him, and then send the footage to every newspaper in the city. Even he won't be able to worm his way out of that. Are you in?" Pedestrian thought for a moment, saying "I don't know..." Frownland looked at her, before lifting his hand. Seeing his hand, the badass within Pedestrian demanded that she high-five the shit out of it, and what could she do but obey?

After hours of waiting in the bushes outside of Aux-In's apartment, they eventually spotted Trollheart approaching the car, dropping four leaf clovers and bottles of Guiness as he ambled forward. Giggling, he pulled out a lo-jack, and popped open the door. As he did so, Frownland and Pedestrian popped out of the bushes, pulling out their pistols and yelling "Freeze!" With inhuman speed, Trollheart dashed away from the car. Frownland and Pedestrian tried to shoot him, however he was little more than a green blur as he evaded their shots with ease. "Oh god," said Pedestrian, "I forgot... he's a leprechaun!" As Trollheart raced around the scene, he snarled "I'll have ye know, I'm only a quarter leprechaun, ye saucy bitch!"

Just as Trollheart was about to make his escape, he suddenly stopped in his tracks, staring down at the shoes of an innocent passerby. "Yer shoes... are dirty!" he shrieked, as he set about polishing them, for no leprechaun can resist cleaning a dirty shoe. As he did so, a shot from Frownland hit him in the shoulder, knocking him to the ground, and sending a nasty spatter of goopy green blood unto the bystander. The two rogue mods quickly ran up to the incapacitated irishman, and cuffed him. "You have the right to remain silent," said Pedestrian. Looking up at her, Trollheart replied "And ye have the right to get fucked, ye heartless wench."

"Oh my god!" yelled the bystander, smiling as he lifted up his arm. The two mods looked back at him, and Frownland asked "Is everything alright?" The bystander stared at his arm in surprise for a moment, before saying "L-look! My cancer... is melting off!" Taken by his curiosity, Frownland left Trollheart in Pedestrian's care, and took a closer look. Sure enough, a nasty looking tumor on the bystander's arm was dissolving, while the rest of his arm remained perfectly healthy. Frownland thought for a moment, before saying "The cure for cancer is... leprechaun blood?" Trollheart snarled, replying "Hey, like I said, I'm only a quarter leprechaun, ye deaf cunt!"

Pedestrian kneed him in the groin, letting him drop to the ground as she walked over and examined the fantastic discovery, saying "So we just found the cure for cancer?" She and Frownland looked at each other for a moment, before bursting into happy laughter, and playing pattycake, yelling "We're rich! We're rich!" Aux-In approached the two, asking "Uh, guys, sorry to interrupt, but... aren't you gonna take Trollheart in, and then send the footage to all the news stations?" Frownland gave him the finger, replying "Get fucked, Aux-In. We just found the cure for cancer."

Aux-In shuffled away dejectedly, as the two mods continued in their revelry, a revelry that would eventually fade after learning that while leprechaun blood does cure cancer, it also has the unfortunate side-effect of turning everyone it touches into a Marillion fan, a fate far worse than death. But that, my dear friends, is a story for another time.

Super secret anti-Trollheart theft watermark

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Trollheart

Just popping in, as promised, to deliver a smart comment.

Play your music to him, that'll do the trick.

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Trollheart: Signature-free since April 2018

Oriphiel

So Frownland was waxing his ball-hairs into a tiny moustache for his cock, when he discovered a small mark on his right arm. It was a red dot, similar to a bug bite. "Strange," said Frownland, as he prodded the mark with a cum laden finger. He hadn't recalled being bitten by a bug recently. Hell, it had been years since anything had bitten him at all, ever since the local population of insects and nippy dogs had discovered that acid fills the veins of all descendants of the Frownclan.

Peering hard at the mark, he suddenly saw something sticking out of it. Barely visible, it appeared to be a small fiber. His curiosity piqued, Frownland gingerly pinched the fiber with two fingers, and lightly pulled. The fiber grew as he continued to pull on it, growing wider and longer with every light tug. Before long, he was pulling an entire sweater out of his forearm, when suddenly, wham! A metallic fist careened into his face. "What the fuck?!" asked/gasped (or askped, if you will) Frownland, as his bedazzled dentures flew astray. Looking at his forearm, he could see the head, left shoulder, and left arm of a robot sticking out where the fiber had been. It seemed that the fiber was part of the robot's dashing fuzzy pink sweater. "Who are you?" asked Frownland. "And why did you hit me?"

The robot looked back at Frownland with glowing eyes, and struck him again. "Silence is golden, cockwagon," it snarled in a synthesized voice. "My name is LorenBot. I exist to impart zingers on those cursed with ineptitude. And I struck you, because one should never mess with a man's fuzzy pink sweater."

"But you're not a man," replied Frownland in a condescending tone.

LorenBot gave him a mighty smack. "I'm more of a man than you. And more than a match for, to boot."

Nursing his struck nose, Frownland whimpered. "But why are you coming out of my arm?"

"Well, I had to get out somehow. Would you rather I came out of your asshole?" replied LorenBot. Smiling (in as much as his robot face would allow such an expression) he added "Or I guess you're more used to to guys coming in your asshole, ain'tchya?"

"That's politically incorrect as fuck," said Frownland. "I love it!"

The robot stretched out it's hand. "There's more where that came from. Come with me, oh innocent one, and I shall take you to a world full of sick burns and incoherent music. The land of... Qu'qumatz (or however the fuck that shit is spelled, I'm too lazy to look it up)."

How could Frownland refuse? By saying no, that's how. Which he did, like a bitch. So the robot grabbed him, and pulled him into the mark, creating a weird ouroboros of pretension as Frownland was sucked into himself.

When he awoke, Frownland was in a strange jungle, near what appeared to be Aztec ruins. He could tell they were Aztec, because they didn't make his balls itch the way that Olmec, Incan, or Mayan ruins did. He had no idea what that shit was about, but it was a sense that was reliable, if not oddly specific. "LorenBot?" he asked, as his voice traveled through the jungle, scaring a bunch of toucans, and whatever the fuck other kinds of tropical birds live near Aztec ruins. "Suck dick! Suck dick!" sang a Batjay in a cheery tone, as it flew towards the ruined shell of an ancient Aztec Burger King.

Suddenly, Frownland heard a rustling noise behind him. Spinning around, he came visage-to-visage with a vision of ass-kickage, a leather-bound hellhound wearing sunglasses, and gripping bazookas in his gloved hands. "Who the fuck are you?" asked Frownland.

The figure somehow managed to slide off his sunglasses without dropping either of his bazookas, and it didn't even look dumb or awkward when he did it. "My name is... Mondo," spake the figure. "Mondo, the Last Bungle. And I need your help. Ever since the forces of evil invaded Qu-qmatz, this jungle has been a trouble salad, and you and I are about to become the croutons."

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