A book of quotes

In the beginning, there was the beginning. Then other shit happened. One day, two very specific shits happened, by the names of John and Dave. John was blank, Dave was blank. Until one day, they were cast out of their sect of dirt worshipping harlots. Thus began the Libel.
And so they wandered the desert in search of something, anything to quell the boredom in their lives, and began referring to themselves as prophets.
It was on one such day, that they stumbled upon the town of Hlumful-Glurk. Whilst perusing the bazaar, the honourable and kind Dave did spy a poor and starving beggar, who had AIDS and leprosy and shit. The ever generous man, Dave, did then look to the stalls and procure a fish, which he did then bestow upon the lowly scum.
The sceptical John, did then inquire; “For what have you done this, bro?”
But Dave did but smile serenely, and say; “Buy a man a fish, and he shall eat for a day, buy him a fish every day for the rest of his life, and he will eat forever.”
The beggar did then thank the benevolent stranger, Dave, but the pillar of integrity, Dave, did not care, as it was simply his calling.
The frugal John however did protest; “But bro, we are but travelling prophets, how are we to afford such a daily taxation?”
But again did the magnanimous Dave smile. “Bitch please.” He softly spoke. “Life shall provide.”
The beggar, Ted Nelson, did then pipe up. “Oh, great and kind sir, you should create a holy book of your teachings, and those of your lord of life.”
“Oh poor, lowly street sucking dolt, whose life I have made ten times better.” Dave said with characteristically true purity of thought. “Surely, you have birthed your allotted one good idea. But for this, I must obviously travel the land. How am I to provide you your daily fish if this is so?”
Dave did then pause for thought, before pulling forth from his robe a pair of manacles, which he did then cast upon the filth with much righteous glee, for the beggar now owed him.
As Ted Nelson struggled with joyous mirth, the three did depart to find shelter for the night.

That night, Dave did rest in a stately bed fitting of his stature at the local inn. It was here that he first went to work on his bible of life, or Libel as it was to be called. However the pen he used was soon found to be cursed with wickedness and would not do as he commanded. As he wrote blotches did appear, the text twisted out of form, and letters mixed and changed by themselves.
“I think I just hate paper.” Spoke the otherwise illustrious author, who could not conceive of such sin.

Dave did then go down to the stables, where Ted and John were sleeping as the lord of life had intended they do. The two were woken by the sheer light of Dave’s aura, and with great and just conviction did Dave cast unto John the Libel’s crude beginnings. He then commanded his lesser to document it as he had intended it should be.
The lazy John however, did protest that it had not been his idea in the first place, bro. But a righteous smiting soon set him back on the path of life.

The following day, Dave did take one Camel from someone, not sure who, as was his divine right. Foolish John was to walk beside, and Ted Nelson was tied to the Camel, and being dragged through the sand faster than he could run.
Empty-headed, John did then ask of the all-knowing Dave where they intended to go now, bro.
“First things first, my dog-brained child.” He said with a voice of absolute reason and clarity, as he did cast back a fish in Ted’s direction, a deep kindness in his heart. “We should head for the place of most sin. Ikea.”
A number of days later, each with a new fish for Ted, they came upon the zenith of all ungodliness, but the bold prophet, Dave, did find it to be under siege, by a Marxist Roman splinter group, and the well-mannered Dave did ask very politely and with utmost tact, to see their leader.
Dave and his underlings were brought before their general, whom they referred to as White-Owl. He was a large, intelligent tactician and almost as good a leader as Dave. Almost. He did ask, who they were, and what they wanted.
Dave did then say; “We are on a great pilgrimage, a quest to document the true meanings of life. We need to get into Ikea.”
White-Owl did then turn away dramatically; “None can enter Ikea. It is a sick and evil place. It is a linear, confusing struggle filled with banality and the occasional stylish piece of furniture. Then it ends in a warehouse.” He clenched his fist to the heavens. “A perfect analogy for life, we cannot allow it to continue.”
Dave did then daringly proclaim; “My party and I shall aid you in breaking their defences, but first there is something I must know!” He looked right into the general’s eyes. “Which Roman Emperor invented Anime?”
White-Owl was taken aback. “In return for your aid, my people must give up their oldest, greatest secret?”
“Rest assured, I understand the gravity of my request.” Dave dashingly replied. “But this is to bring the light of true wisdom to humanity.” Dave did then look to the loyalty of his useless party. “Back me up guys.”
Ted Nelson was unconscious, but at least John could manage a shrug.
White-Owl did then ponder the offer. “If you can open the fire exit to the warehouse, you have a deal. For I shall not risk my men in that maze.”
And they did then perform the blessed predator handshake.

Soon, Dave and his freeloaders were at the ominous slidey doors at the base of the blue, corrugated monstrosity.
Dave did then quite rightly assert that since Ted Nelson was the most expendable, he should go first. Dave did then proceed to toss him in by the scruff of his neck, followed by a fish.
When Ted Nelson didn’t collapse from the existential nightmare of Ikea, John went in, followed by Dave, bravely guarding the rear.
“Onward, brave pawns of lifeism! Purge this place of its unholy ways!” Dave did cry, he then sat in a trolley and placed another on top such that no evil could reach him. Then, taking a hat-stand, and removing the base, he created a spear with which to skewer the enemies of life through the gaps. Lastly, he shackled Ted Nelson to the trolleys and commanded him to push.
But then they did spy Ikea employees, with dead, lifeless eyes and blue polo shirts, come here to assault the bringer of purity. And also John and Ted.
It was here that the gallant Dave, from within his mobile fortress, issued the command for John to charge, and for Ted to be careful where he pushed him.
Ted, who was a half-starved, stick-thin weakling, tried his hardest, and managed to achieve walking pace. Whilst John made the cowardly decision not to charge forth on his own, and so just kept pace. Eventually he got bored, which was just like him, and he started helping Ted push.
They ended up pushing Dave too fast, and John fell over, leaving Ted being dragged along the polished floor tiles by his ankle. When he impacted his unarmed, passive foes, the powerful Dave, muscles rippling, knocked down the entire group, skewering one through the heart with his hat-stand.
Then, the slow, dim-witted John, managed to catch up and, unsure what to do, started strangling the survivors. At least he was helping for once.
Still buzzing from his crushing victory over the forces of evil, Dave did then stand up, taking the top trolley off to do so, and dropping it upon Ted. Arms raised to the polystyrene-panelled ceiling, he declared that the lord of life was truly with them this day, and officially named himself after the glorious after-battle; “From this day forth, you shall know me as Afterglow!” He laughed raucously for some time, before issuing his next divine commandment. “Now, into the maze, loyal manservants! Afterglow demands that this place be cleansed in holy fire!”
“If you work for Ikea, you work for death, I guess.” John stated the obvious.
“Put that in the Libel!” Afterglow declared fervently, slapping the subordinate on the back with holy force, before replacing the top trolley and gesturing to Ted to get a move on.

The brave warrior and his sods then found themselves at the entrance of the accursed Ikea labyrinth. From inside his bastion of glory, Afterglow did then turn unto John. “Servant! Hear your master and obey! Place your left hand upon the same wall and move ever forwards, keeping it as such. Ted, follow him.”
The work-shy John begrudgingly did so, and not long had passed when they came upon an Aisle of office chairs, and snakes. At which, the pussy stopped.
“Underling! Why have you stopped, do you not lust for the lamentation of Ikea’s women?” Afterglow quite rightly demanded of the cur.
“It’s just that, I hate snakes. Not as a species, just as people.” John said, for once not sounding completely stupid.
“That is indeed a truism!” Afterglow roared, dripping with testosterone. “Into the Libel with it!” He then turned his majestic face to Ted, and spoke thus; “Here Ted, take these matches and burn the snakes.” With great multi-tasking skill, he unshackled his ward and handed him a damp matchbook.
Ted Nelson did then take this and went to the nearest snake. He then spent some time looking for a match that would light, before finally finding one, and holding the flame up against the snake, which was a boa constrictor.
In response, it leapt upon him, followed by the rest of them.
Afterglow did then turn again to John. “Quickly boy! Push me through the aisle while the snakes are distracted.”
John did so, and though he didn’t complain, he was definitely thinking about it. Upon reaching the other end, the two did then sit and wait patiently for Ted.
About half an hour later, he was able to crawl over and join them. “Oh god.” He did then whine. “I’m dying.”
“Oh very well, I suppose you have endured much at the lord of life’s behest.” Afterglow conceded with utter and excessive generosity. “Allow me to alleviate your burden, oh pusher of the citadel.”
He did then take a nearby Adder and draw a pentagram on the ground. Then, after a moderately complex and slightly grotesque blood sacrifice, he instructed Ted to eat the snake’s intestines, eyes, and reproductive organs.
Ted did so, and ate them as if Afterglow hadn’t actually given him a chance to eat any of the fish, which certainly wasn’t the case. He then felt himself being instilled with a vague sense of not being in as much pain.
With that, they continued deeper into the labyrinth, John still keeping his hand crudely as such.

Having then found their way through the kitchen section, and having resisted the temptation of trying all the beds, they then found themselves blocked by a great, steel gateway of spikes, writings, and ancient magic, with a single hole for a key.

Then, with typical lack of ambition, John did say; “So did we lose then? Can we go?”
“Silence, foolish wretch!” Afterglow did then assert with stunning certainty. “The lord of life has provided us with a key that will take any hole!”
“Err, que?” John said, fumbling with basic concepts as usual.
“Your penis, dolt! Penetrate that ancient bulwark!” Afterglow decreed, the sun shining out of every orifice.
“I’m… Not sure my penis is a valid input.” The good-for-nothing said, trying to weasel out of it.
“Don’t worry John! Your penis is a valid input!” Afterglow said, his holy rage boner spinning out of control.
John finally did as he was told, dropping his crusty short-shorts, and inserting his pathetic wang into the hole.
It was then that the evil within the door flowed up through John’s tiny shaft, and into his brain, filling him with a bizarre and violent libido. He began thrusting with bone-shattering force in and out of the keyhole, spewing such filth and nonsense as; “Such is the power of pork sirloin!”, “Hump it or dump it!” and most interestingly; “Ain’t nothing like heroine fuelled gay sex, woo!”
When it was all over the now excessively lubricated door swung open without so much as a sound. John collapsed onto his back and stared at the ceiling, looking like a sailing ship but with a really tiny mast.
“You see that, Ted?” The Adonis, Afterglow, beamed. “That was a true display of faith.”
Chaining the unconscious second class prophet to the battle wagon, they proceeded through the door and onwards.

They eventually stopped for the night in the rug department.
Afterglow, exhausted from his holy crusade, settled down under some rugs, and instructed his charges to keep watch.
After a little while, John turned to Ted. “So, what kind of music do you like?”
“I haven’t heard any in years.” Ted replied.
“I’m a classical man myself. Nice and calm.”
“Do you think Da- Afterglow will ever let me go?”
“What about sports? What sports do you like?”
“No seriously.” Ted said, annoyed. “Do you think there’s a chance?”
“Golf’s good. Nice and calm.”
“Are you a slave too? How long has he kept you?”
“What? No. Anyway, do you have a favourite movie, or…?”
“I’ve never seen a movie. I was born on the streets.”
“I like Texas Chainsaw Massacre. I found myself strongly empathising with leather-face.”

“What did he do to you?”
“What, Leather-face? Nothing. Is it raining?”
It was not in fact. It was the sound of Marxist Roman arrows hitting the roof, letting the beasts of evil within know that their end was nigh.
This awoke Afterglow, and, rising like an angel from the mound of rugs, he stood proudly before his followers amidst beams of fluorescent light. “You hear that men? That is the sound of our brothers of life fighting proudly for their faith! Come! We must open the way for their righteous cohorts to assault the keep of darkness!”
Afterglow practically back-flipped into his rolling cathedral, and put the other half on again. “Onward!” He roared. “To the garden section!”
They burst through, to find the section barren and devoid of life, since this Ikea didn’t actually stock plants. There were, however, plenty of garden implements.
And Afterglow did eye these up most thoughtfully. “Men!” He called out to his minions; “Take whatever you can find, strap it to the After-Tank, and carry it yourselves! For these foul beasts whom we must slay will surely not go without a fight!”
It was then that Ted and John began to gather a variety of tools, including garden forks, hedge trimmers, lawnmowers, shears, loppers, trowels, and a rake, and attach them to his death-dealing chariot.
Then John did take up a strimmer and place a plant pot upon his head, and Ted took up a basic gardening set, including gloves, a trowel, a hand fork, and a handy-dandy packet of sunflower seeds.
Afterglow then laughed gutturally like a true Viking, and declared them the Flowerpot Crusader, and Garden Centre Avenger respectively, and ordered them onward, through the café, to the final warehouse area, where lost souls may pick up their coffee tables.

But as they stepped into the warehouse, they were confronted by the dreaded flat-pack knights, forming a shield wall against any advance, their allen keys gleaming under the electric lighting, and their wood effect helmets looking nothing like the chipboard they actually were.

“Are we really going to fight armoured knights?” The pleb, Ted, asked with a glance at his own loincloth.
“Quell your fears! You can head-butt all kinds of things!” Afterglow said, quieting the thought. “Charge!”
John and Ted attempted to recreate their previous success in the same manner, and this time John let go before falling over, so maybe he’s learning.
The great, clattering, blade-covered, speeding monastery to destruction crashed into the knights, breaking their formation, and fatally splintering three. Whilst Ted, flailing along behind, managed to trip a fourth. However, this time the saintly carriage was split asunder by the shock of battle, spilling the heroic Afterglow onto his feet behind the line.
John then hit the front of the line, and tried to do some good. Though he managed, somehow, to loosen one of their joints, he was predictably turned away, the wimp.
Afterglow, however, then let out a mighty roar of fury and zeal. He leapt, spinning into the air, slicing arms off left, right and centre. In a hypnotising dance, he pirouetted, lunged and twisted about, flawlessly dodging every blow, and ever ending a foe with each of his. Not a single movement was wasted.
Meanwhile, Ted was using the trowel, and, screaming at the top of his lungs, slowly beheaded the knight he had tripped with twenty-seven consecutive blows to the neck.
John then realised that he should be doing something (about time, right?), and returned to bring the last knight down with his strimmer, from behind, with the sun in his enemy’s eyes, and also Afterglow had already loosened that one.
“The fight is not done yet, willing disciples!” Afterglow then reminded them. “Open the gates!” He then ran over to the fire exit, and pushed it open, setting the alarm off.
Then, he did see spread before him, the entire Marxist Roman army, their banners depicting the eagle holding the hammer and sickle. They began to march forth as the fire bell rang, and with perfect discipline, filed in twos through the door. This took some time, as there were roughly four thousand men and horses in all.
Once through, they did secure the warehouse, and White-Owl entered with his honour guard, resplendent in their golden segmentatta and ushankas.
“You have done well, friends.” White-Owl did then comment. “You have proven yourselves friends to Rome and the revolution.”

Afterglow did then correctly prompt him for his side of the bargain. “You owe me thine secret Centurion.”
With a look of reluctance, White-Owl nodded, and dismounted such that they might speak quietly. “You must understand.” He said in slightly hushed tones. “This is not something I divulge willingly, nor easily.”
Afterglow did nod respectfully, for he knew of the stakes at hand.
“The emperor who invented Anime was Caligula. We refused to let it get out. We couldn’t. His name would bring shame upon Weeaboos everywhere. It would destroy everything we worked so hard to build.”
And Afterglow did put his hand upon White-Owl’s shoulder, and did so say in response; “No, friend. For in this knowledge, Caligula is redeemed.”
A single tear ran down White-Owl’s cheek, and his Communist heart sang, for he had truly found a new comrade.
But whence the last legionnaire did close the door behind him, a great rumbling did then emit from the depths of the hellhole in which they stood, and it became clear that the bowels of the building were now shifting, rearranging themselves and moving to trap Life’s saviour and those other people.
And John did then throw open the fire exit once more, likely in an attempt to run away, and did then see that what had once been a way back out into the wastes, was now simply a new passage, leading to kitchen appliances.
Upon seeing this, Afterglow did again place his gleaming hand upon White-Owl’s shoulder. “Brother-comrade, surely evil is still at work within this place. We must strike its heart, and you must lead the way!”
And White-Owl did nod knowingly, for this was his task. “Come with me.”
And White-Owl did lead the shining messiah and his snivelling underlings through the warehouse, and did thence turn down an aisle. He did then stop, and climb upon a step ladder, and pull down a flat-pack emblazoned with scripture reading `fönster till djävulen’, and did pass it to Afterglow. “We must build this contraption.” He spoke. “It will open the way.”
Afterglow did then righteously propel it upon his unworthy hacks, and told them to do their divine duty.

In their abject stupidity, it took the loathsome wretches a week to construct the fönster till djävulen, and thus the Marxists dug in. This they did with the materials to hand, constructing walls of carboard and MDF, defensive spikes of table legs, watch towers of coffee tables and shelving, and guard posts from chipboard and bed frames. Everywhere could be seen Legionaires, getting by on what rations they could scavenge, mostly swedish meatballs, swedish apple cake, shrimp sandwiches, salmon lasagne, salmon fillet (with lemon and dill sauce), marinaded salmon plates, marinaded salmon wraps, cinnamon-bun-and-hot-drink-meals, soft ice cream cones, hot dogs, and Ikea hot drink (coffee & tea)s. Over the course of this time, scouting parties rounded up the remaining Ikea employees, and imprisoned them in makeshift cells, made from fridges, wardrobes and washing baskets.
In honour of the new base, White-Owl did commision a ceremonial opening, in which a goat was to be sacrificed to their pagan gods. In leiu of a goat however, an Ikea employee was selected for his choice goatee and sufficient back hair. The Legion’s priest then did slit his throat upon an altar made from kitchen surfaces.
The idiot John, did then comment to Ted Nelson. ”I don’t know why they bother with the throat slitting.”
”Well, how would you do it?”
”I’d stab him, that’s what I’d do.”

Finally, the dumb shits finished building the fönster till djävulen. It stood as a towering 30ft gateway, and cast an imposing shadow upon the assembled legion, made entirely of that weird fake compressed-carboard wood. However, for now it was just that, an empty gate.
So did White-Owl then proclaim; ”The last step is that the fönster till djävulen must bear witness to an act of great abhorrence.” and rightious devotion to Life.”
And Afterglow did humbly step forwards. ”Bring me every lost soul we have within the cells, some wooden pegs, a kitchen knife and a children’s easel!”
And the legionaires did bring these things, which he did earnestly take.
Afterglow, did then with a simple, honest smile, go to the wretched, wasteful prisoners, and take the ears of one, the eyes of another, the tongue of a third, and the gentials of a fourth.
He did then graciously return to his easel, and to the sheet of A2 paper upon it, pegged these things.

On completing this, he took the knife, and softly uttering ancient words of life in a voice like an angel, he drew blood from his own glorious veins. This he then spread upon the paper in the perfect image of the human form, a very well detailed and properly proportioned image, that perfectly captured male sexuality. Into the heart of this, he then triumphantly did finally plunge the knife.
Upon this, the holy blood that had pooled around his feet rose up from the ground, carrying him with it. His beautiful, soulful eyes rolled back into his head, and sweet words drifted rythmically from his lips.
”It’s astounding...”
The blood began to swirl gently around him.
”Time is fleeting...”
It swirled faster and faster.
”Madness takes its toll...”
Tendrils of it began to feel their way outwards.
”But listen closely...”
The display was mesmerising.
”Not for very much longer...”
They were finding their way towards the prisoners, who had also risen up from the ground.
”I’ve got to keep control...”
There was also a goldfish who had somehow been surviving in the bowels of Ikea.
”I remember...”
The blood was starting to enter the prisoners through their wounds, and also the goldfish.
”Doing the timewarp...”
They were starting to swell.
”Drinking those moments when...”
They looked as if they would be writhing from the holiness of it all if they could.
”The blackness would hit me...”
They were now overflowing with divine haemoglobin.
”And the void would be calling...”
They were bursting at the seams.
”Let’s do the timewarp again.”

They exploded, showering all four thousand and three men and horses with the purity of Life’s viscera. But it was not theirs to keep, as no sooner had it settled, than it had risen again, flowing back towards its majestic keeper, which it did then surely and magnificently re-enter through every orifice, before slowly lowering Afterglow back to the ground. Then the portal opened.
The gathered crowd was speechless at such resplendence, so Afterglow did turn unto his adoring fandom. ”And lo, ye have all born witness to the cleansing of these poor, tainted wretches, reborn through their absorption into me, their souls are now purified forever more!”
AND THE CROWD GOES WILD!!!!!!!1!!!
Ted Nelson was seemingly paralysed, his unfocussed eyes filled with astonishment. John was picking his nose and probably hadn’t even been paying attention.
And White-Owl did raise his great hammer to the corrugated roof. ”Onwards now, comrades! For Caesar, fo Lenin, and the rights of all workers!”
And thusly did the unyielding Afterglow, his plebs in tow, lead the Marxists through the portal, and into Ikea’s heart.

Upon stepping through the hellish threshold, the saint and his army did find themselves within a great cavern, at least one hundred leagues end to end, and one thousand fathoms deep. All about, the floor and ceiling was covered in stalacmites and stalactites, rivers of molten aluminium flowed and lost souls wandered, dressed in blue polos and carrying various boxes of furniture and homeware accessories. The centrepiece was a great, towering yurt, surrounded by pens filled with dire wolves, which Ikea employees could occasisionly be seen taking inside.
And verily, from the centrepiece did ride out the measure of Ikea’s forces. A strong backbone of flatpack knights, large swarms of employee cannon-fodder armed with those little pencils, an arcane managerie of animated furnitures of all types, and riding at the head of it all, a mysterious stranger, dressed in a white silk shirt, red velvet waders, and a golden cuirass.
And John did most detestably ask; ”Who’s that nerd?”
”That is OJ Simpson, the black prince. He owns shares in all the big furniture companies.” White-Owl did explain.

But Afterglow did determinedly stare the foe down. ”OJ’s not a nerd, he’s just a murderer.”
And as they did see that there was to be a combat slog before them, White-Owl did order his legion to form the Testudo and advance. Meanwhile, Afterglow dutifully volunteered to remain with the honour guard, and oversee the battle unfolding.
As the formation did near the scattered, broken edge of the Ikea front line, which primarily consisted of the flatpack knights, flanked by employees, the communists did cry; ”Release the slavs!”
And thus they did release their packs of wild Slavs, dressed in Adidas tracksuits, flat caps and golden chains, armed to the teeth with bottles and cans of Vodka, their cigarettes creating a great swirling mass of smoke. And these Slavs did raise from their squats, the sight of prey caught in their hungry eyes. They had not been fed for days, as preparation for the coming battle. They charged headlong at the foes, prioritising the more exposed employees, and thus weakening the enemy’s flanks. Ripping and tearing at their flesh, they then began to fight for scraps, and literally tore the still screaming souls apart chunk by chunk, their cries of agony echoing off the cavern walls.
Then did the testudo meet the line of flatpack knights, and the two sides proceeded to have at each other.
From the little white general’s tent, things seemed to be going well, until OJ led a small force of animated chairs around the back of the Testudo, and violently attacked its rear.
And White-Owl did curse; ”Drat! Such trickery will be the death of my men!”
But Afterglow would not allow defeat. ”I have a plan!” He boldly announced. ”Load up my Garden Centre Avenger into yon trebuchet!”
Ted Nelson looked foolishly doubtful. ”Er, why!?” He stuttered like a nincompoop.
”Because it is your destiny to rail against the forces of evil in Life’s glorious name!” Afterglow stunningly replied, helping him into the siege weapon’s sling, and thrusting a fish into his hand, before cutting the rope, and unleashing the trebuchet.
And Lo, the prophet’s aim was true, for Ted did strike OJ must forcefully, and knock him from his clothes horse.
And Afterglow did laugh. ”Thusly does one end one’s opponent rightly!” And he did then enter his armoured carriage, and hook it up to a horse now, before ordering John to put on his rollerblades and man the new ballista on the top.

John did this most slowly and begrudgingly, with utter ingratitude.
And thus they set off to make use of the distraction Ted was providing to raid the great central Yurt, with John, now hanging onto the back, his rollerblades clattering along the cave’s uneven flooring, firing the ballista wildly and uselessly at anything that caught his inattentive eye, occasionally getting lucky and skewering a lost soul. About halfway however, John tripped and let go, landing in a heap against a small stalacmite outcrop. Afterglow bravely decided to continue alone, as John wasn’t going to be very useful anyway.

And Ted did then wake up to see that OJ had his fish in his mouth, and was also now waking up, the battle still raging about them.
And the words of the great and benevolent messiah did echo in his mind, giving him strength to fight on; ”It is your destiny...”
And he did then take ahold of the fish, pull it out of OJ’s mouth and, wheeling around, did proceed to strike him most wetly across the chops.
At this display of faith, OJ did look most perturbed, and went to draw his swagger-stick, but found it to be gone. It transpired to have landed a distance away, however much closer was Ted’s trowel, which he took up after a moment’s hesitation.
And Ted did go for another one, but OJ did duck, and strike forwards with the trowel. This Ted did attempt to dodge, but the resultant graze still left his visible ribs cut and bleeding.
But Ted did still fight on, and his next blow sent the weapon flying from OJ’s hand.
”Accursed wretch!” OJ did cry; ”Bear witness to power of citrus!” And with that he did activate his Orange Juice powers, which he hadn’t used earlier, since it depleted his body’s reserves of vitamin C. His arm then did melt into a pulpy mass, with which he struck Ted, knocking him flying.
And Ted did land near John.
And John did call to OJ; ”Don’t wear out that soulless husk of a body!”
And OJ did laugh.
And Ted Nelson did say; ”He seems to be getting stronger as he melts!”
But John did not care. ”Ok, sure.” He replied, stepping up to the foe.
And OJ did use his Orange Juice powers on John, slowly covering him from the feet up, in thick orange skin.
But John did not care. He looked down at his wristband, conveniently sat atop the orange peel. ”WWLFD?” What Would Leather Face Do? It was then that he started his strimmer. ”Let’s see if I can peel this orange without self-harming!” He chuckled quietly.
And OJ did watch in horror as the idiot graphically cut himself free from the otherwise strictly PG hindrance, the occasional spurt of blood escaping where he messed up.
”Dude!” He spluttered; ”You could have just peeled that with your hands! Like, what the fuck!?”
And John did emerge, covered in grizzly scratches, lacerations and smelling citrus fresh. But John did not care.

By now, the Marxists clearly had the upper hand, and were were pushing the Ikeans back, now allowing White-Owl to see John and OJ’s duel.
”Looks like he could use some help.” He mused. ”Send in the Bear Slav!”
And thus the Bear Slav was released from its cage. A great grizzly, dressed in a tracksuit, four gladiī strapped around each claw, a shield upon its back, and a bandolier of vodka across its chest, from which it made regular withdrawals. It paused briefly to remove the bundle of cigarettes from its mouth, before letting out a mighty roar, and crashing forth, bounding towards OJ like a freight train.
“Jiminy, you fellas are gonna give me scurvy!” He moaned, before finally transforming entirely into Orange Juice and literally running away.
It was a victory of a sorts.

Meanwhile, Afterglow had made great strides, by reaching the Yurt. However, when went to go inside, he found the entrance to be sealed by some unknown force. At this, he stopped to wisely ponder the matter. Finally, he concluded that the only sensible course of action was to perform a summoning, and bring forth the trickster god, the Great Unfound One.
And thus he did head back over to his armoured fortress monastery, and collect one of the mangled, still living bodies he had gathered on the way over. From this he did then rip a sheet of back skin, onto which he then etched divine writings of life. He then did roll this into a neat little scroll, bound it up with a retinal nerve, and placed it on the ground, in a circle of blood he had made by squeezing out a still beating heart. Lastly, he took from his robes a kazoo, and did blow upon it.
And then did a hole appear in the world, about five feet across, and through it stepped the Great Unfound One, who always appeared as a young, skinny, bespectacled man with a walking stick.
“Oh hey.” He said. “What can I help you with?”
And Afterglow stood proudly, unafraid, before the demon. “I need to get inside this yurt.” He declared.
“Oh, that’s funny. I don’t remember there being a yurt here. Oh well, here ya go.” And he did prod the entrance with his stick, causing it to instantly roll up into an open state. “Anyway, it’s real weird all this stuff’s here. I guess I’ll come back later, I need to go finish what I was doing. Stay safe now!” And he did draw out a new hole, and vanish.
And Afterglow did enter the yurt.
Inside, he found a great many things. He now stood in a butchering area, where the dire wolves were being turned into Swedish Meatballs, and Ramen for export. On the far side was a seemingly normal house, filled to the brim with bizarre trophies and apparatuses, some of which were spilling out of windows. In the centre was a large arena, made of wooden logs around a dirt pit. On the left was the Ikea customer care call centre, now emptied to muster for the battle outside.

And lastly, on the right was a throne atop a giant pile of scrolls, surrounded by women making sexy poses.
And Afterglow did make his way towards the throne, and as he did approach, a figure appeared upon it in a puff of smoke. It was a short, strange little man with a long white beard, a red robe, pointy blue hat, no shoes, and a striped staff in red, white and blue.
“Hey, er, yo! What you er, doin’ in my yurt there?” He demanded of the divine before him.
“I think it’s pretty immoral to make Ramen out of wolves, sorcerer!” Afterglow challenged right back.
“Well, er, ok, if you gotta problem with it, er, there’s jus’ one way we solve these things down in the er, underworld, see?”
“I accept!” Afterglow cut in, seizing the initiative.
“I, er, didn’t tell you what it, er, was yet pal.”
“I accept!” He reasserted.
“Well, er, ok then, er, follow me, alright.”
And the man did lead him over to the arena, and down below the stands. And the room was filled with the caged beasts of combat.
“Now, er, you gotta choose a baby see.” The man explained. “I’ll be all sportsmanlike, and, er, let you pick first, alright.”
And Afterglow did nod. “Let us see which of these babies is worthy of becoming a champion of Life.” And he did begin to walk down the row, eyeing each and making eye contact. Each and every one looked away, save the last. Right at the end, in the bottom cage, the baby glowered straight back, its eyes illuminated by the light of its cigar, the skull on its bicep distorting as it pumped the dumbbell in its hand.
And Afterglow did smile. “You know Life and its ways. You will be its champion!”
And the baby did nod and emit a baby noise.
And thus the fight was on.

About an hour later, they were ready to begin. The surviving Ikeans had fled back into the Yurt, and taken their places in the stands. As had the Marxist Romans who had pursued them inside, having been caught up in the spectacle’s rhythm. John and Ted had also somehow bumbled inside.
And the drawbridges on either side did lower, revealing each man’s champion. There was the baby Afterglow had chosen, and facing him there appeared to be a Sumo Wrestler.
At this sight, Afterglow was righteously incensed. “Silly old fool! That is no baby!”
“No, see it is a baby!” He argued. “Its got a diaper an’ everything, alright!”
“Goo-goo gah-gah.” The Sumo tried unconvincingly.
And Ted did comment; “He’s probably the worst cheater I’ve ever seen.”
And John did add; “I’d stab him, that’s what I’d do.” He was still bleeding and smelling citrus fresh.
But Afterglow was not listening. He had seen a tool left over from the arena’s recent construction. A chainsaw. He mightily took this up, and flung it to his champion, with a cry of; “Baby! Take this chainsaw and end this game!”
And the baby did catch it, and though he did stagger, he remained standing.

Then, spitting out the stub of his cigar, he pulled the starter cord, and revved the two-stroke into life.
And the Sumo Wrestler did look perturbed.
And the baby did begin to toddle menacingly, revving over and over, before finally leaping up and burying the blade in the Sumo’s fat stomach.
And the baby did continue to rev. And the baby did become covered in various organ fragments. And the Sumo did collapse, but the baby did not stop.
The baby did not stop until the entire carcass had been split in two lengthways. Only then did he cut the ignition, shoulder his weapon, pull out and light a new cigar, and stare down the strange little man.
And the strange little man did look perturbed.
But then did the Great Unfound One return, appearing from a hole in the centre of the ring. And he did look around with an expression of interest, before turning to the strange man. “Wizard Whitebeard? What are you doing in my basement?”
And the man did regain his composure. “Oh, er, hey Wally. I just er, thought I’d move some things in, er, if you don’t mind, see?”
“What is all this stuff anyway?”
“Oh, er, I started a Swedish furniture company, for er, all the babes, y’ know?”
“Oh, Wizard Whitebeard! Come on now, move all this stuff back to your place.”
“Do I, er, do I have to?”
But then Afterglow did speak. “Hey! My baby won remember!? You need to stop with the wolf ramen and the chain furniture stores!”
“Of course your baby won.” John added, stating the obvious again; “Your baby had a chainsaw.”
“My baby had the blessings of life.” Afterglow quite correctly replied. “Which sometimes manifests as chainsaws. Isn’t that right, Chainsaw Baby?”
Chainsaw Baby nodded, and emitted a babble.
“Aw, shucks, I guess you’re right.” Whitebeard admitted. “Ok, everybody, er, go home we’re, er done, alright.”
And all the Ikeans started to file out.
“Well, er, I guess you can have all this if you want it Wally, ok.” He went on. “I’m er, gonna go chase some tail, er, see you!” He disappeared in another puff of smoke.
Meanwhile, in the crowd, an odd moustached man dressed yellow and black pushed his way through, mumbling; “Guess what I’m going to be doing in about fifteen seconds…”

As he did, the Great Unfound One took a look around and said; “Well, guess I’m done here. See you everyone.” Before opening another hole and stepping through.
That’s when the odd moustachioed gentlemen tried to leap through after him, only to have the hole close around him, cutting him in half, and leaving just his legs behind.
And White-Owl did shake his head. “Some motherfucker’s always trying to ice-skate uphill.”
And Afterglow did drop into the arena and approach Chainsaw Baby. “You are a strong fighter.” He said, his radiance shining for all to see. “Will you join our party as we wander on our pilgrimage through the wastes of this most sinful world?”
And Chainsaw Baby did nod again, and also babble some more.

When Afterglow and the Marxists did leave the yurt, they stopped to release the dire wolves from their pens.
And the wolves did play happily with the Slavs, and all was well.
Then it was that John did say; “This is gonna yurt you more than it’ll yurt me!” Before setting the yurt on fire, without asking anyone first.
But as the holy contingent did go to continue, Afterglow did notice that Chainsaw Baby was missing. He appeared from the depths of the pen, riding the largest dire wolf of all, standing four feet tall, and without so much as a saddle. And Chainsaw Baby did look non-chalantly at them, his Chainsaw resting against his shoulder, and the group did continue to White-Owl and his honour guard.
And White-Owl did smile as they approached. “Friends! That was tougher than the Safeway wars, and longer than the battle of Woolworths! The Roman revolution has deigned to bestow upon each of you a gift!” He did laugh.
And the group was happy to accept.
To Ted, they gave a shirt and some sandals.
To John, they gave a neckerchief emblazoned with the Hammer and Sickle.
To Chainsaw Baby they gave a Chainsaw Holster his new mount could wear.
And to Afterglow, they gave a set of their honour guard’s golden segmentatta.
Then, having done what they set out to do, Afterglow and his followers turned back to the fönster till djävulen, and departed back to their original plane.
On the far side, they found no sign of the Ikea that had once stood. It was gone from this world, leaving only the desert behind. So, with a sense of achievement, Afterglow did steer them anew, onwards to their next adventure. Which was, in his words; ”To clear Caligula’s name!”

This is the new evolution of literature. Without a doubt. Congratulations man, you'll be famous for centuries to come.