The Batlord

The Lay of Sigurd: Remixed Part III a.

While travelling to Gnitaheith to slay Fafnir, I became so weary that I could barely stand. My throat was raw and cracked from the ragged breaths that I had to force into my fatigued lungs. Each step was a force of will, every mile an eternity. I did not know how much longer I could go on. PSYCHE!!! That's fucking bitch shit! A badass motherfucker such as myself could run ten miles and still fuck your sister. I even punched a bear on the way. That bitch. So anyways, after a journey of several days, Varg and I finally entered the land of Gnitaheith. The ground was scorched and cracked. The few trees that remained were blackened and dead. A fetid mist hung over the land that stung the eyes and burned our lungs. It was a truly bleak landscape. Needless to say, I had a raging boner. What can I say, barren wastelands make me horny. Varg was considerably less enthused by all this than I was, but fuck him. Dude smelled like hot dog water. After about half a day of trudging through this bitchin' desolation, the fetid mist finally parted and we saw a hill.

Upon seeing this, Varg spoke, "Hidden in that hill is Fafnir's lair." "Bout fucking time! I gotta take a shit that could choke an ogre. After I take a dump, we can go and ruin that asshole's shit", but Varg stopped me and said, "That is not wise. There is a river near here that Fafnir drinks from every night whose banks are sheer. My counsel is that we hide behind the bank and wait for the dragon to come, and then pierce his belly with our swords when he bends his neck to drink." I thought that was a pretty gay thing to do, but perhaps discretion was the better part of valor in this case. With that, we made our way to the river, which we discovered after several minutes. It was as Varg had said, a swiftly moving river with almost vertical banks half again as high as a man. The fuck am I talking like this for? Have I contracted gay or something? I sound all epic and shit. Fuck it. I'm too lazy to go all the way back and rewrite this shit, and changing shit up now would make the tone of the narrative inconsistent. I'll just have to deal with it and hope I don't grow a clit and start using body wash. So yeah, after I popped a squat on a dead turtle, we went to the river and started to wait.

It was still several hours till dark, and the awkward silence was getting pretty lame, so I figured I might as well try to start some sort of conversation to pass the time. "So...dragons, huh? They always seem to be guarding some kind of treasure. What's up with that? It's not like they can just walk into Best Buy and get a TV." Varg nodded at this, "They are like the Jew. Always coveting gold that is not their's but unwilling to earn it with the sweat of their brow. They take as much as they can from honest, hard working people and hoard it for themselves as misers. I will take back what they have stolen for the rightful rulers of this land." I'd had enough of this dick sauce, so I tried to subtly change the subject, "Uh...yeah. So, your last album kinda blew ass chunks. Do creative juices not mix well with prison rape juices or something?" We waited in silence after that.

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