Andrew once again walked through the familiar door of his one time place of residence.
The days of being known as Andrew the Skullsplitter were over and it was back being
known as Prisoner No. 97N909. He was convicted November 3, 2004 for crimes
against humanity when he unleashed The Walker’s reign of terror onto the world the
previous day. Sentence was life without the possibility of parole. The demonic shrub is
expected to continue wreaking havoc on the world for another four years before it
returns to its dormant state, and there is no telling what horrors would be unleashed onto
the world in that time period. But Varg was out of the picture, which is all that mattered
to Andrew. Now, for those of you who have been following this and actually have sort
of not horrible memory, you might be thinking, “Hey anonymous writer, why doesn’t the
band just march back to Oz and blackmail the warden again since they can pretty much
get anyone out of jail they want since it’s really just an Ernie Hudson stunt double hiding
behind a giant head projection?”
That won’t happen because the band doesn’t pay enough attention to these chapters to
remember that detail from Chapter VIII: And Copyright Infringement Bind Them, and
even if they did, they’re tired of bailing Andrew out of jail. Especially after releasing The
Walker onto the world. People in Clad in Darkness’s current line up are very anti-
shrub. So with Andrew back in jail, Byrone, I mean, Brian Rendina, their temporary fill
in drummer, has now become a full-fledged member. Andrew might be in prison, but it’s
Brian who’s getting the harshest punishment. Being in Clad in Darkness is a fate worse
than death, which Brian won’t know until it’s too late.
It has been hinted at on numerous occasions that trolls are not the smartest of creatures.
But what the troll did this time really outdoes all past instances of dumbness: he let
Tyrone drive him to practice. The troll has a fairly decent longboat that for the most part
runs fine despite the more than occasional annoying electrical malfunction. Tyrone’s
longboat has a history of deciding not to run, and it looks somewhat rusted and decrepit.
Longboats are generally made out of wood, so the fact that it is rusty should give you an
idea of how bad of shape this thing was in. Tyrone also got the idea that he knew how to
get to Fort Big Sexy better than the troll, even though the troll had traversed the murky
waters many more times than he had. Tyrone also refused to listen to the troll’s attempt
at logical reasoning by stating the road they’re on won’t connect to the road they’re tying
to get to because parallel roads have this tendency not to intersect each other. So after
traveling aimlessly in Creidhne knows where for a several days, Tyrone eventually
decided to take the way the troll recommended, which oddly enough turned out to be the
correct way. Imagine that. Someone who had been driving to a destination for over a
year knew how to get there.
Nearing Fort Big Sexy, Tyrone decided to stop for seafood. This seemed innocent
enough (aside from the fact you’re in a bloody boat and you should just scoop up fish
from the water and wouldn’t need to actually stop anywhere), but after feasting on
seafood the longboat wouldn’t start. Apparently the battery had died (since when do
longboats have batteries?), so the troll dialed the MacGyver hotline to help them with the
car. They sent out a MacGyver unit who upon arrival made a new battery out of a
vacuum cleaner hose attachment, a cabbage, and a rake. Sadly, what the MacGyver
didn’t know is that Tyrone and the troll are in a black metal band, so this was in fact an
evil deed. Whenever a MacGyver does something that is not considered morally good,
he loses all his MacGyver powers. So while this vacuum hose, cabbage, and rake
battery would normally work, it became an explosive when built by someone without the
necessary MacGyver powers needed to create complex machines out of random crap
that’s always conveniently lying around. Tyrone’s longboat exploded killing the
MacGyver, so the troll called to get a ride from Brian. To follow the trend of things going
wrong, the troll’s cord was destroyed while John did something to it, so instead of
playing the troll just pranced around in feather boas while Coy and John lamented over
the trollishness and tried to figure out why no one takes this band seriously (which of
course, this story has nothing to do with anyone not taking the band seriously).
To dry his tears from the horrid trollishness of the last practice, John decided to visit
Predophile or whatever the bloody hell she ended up being named in the last chapter and
have some marathon frost giant sex. Unfortunately, his salty tears over the bad practice
were (oh no) replaced with (not again) tears of the (anything but what I think it is) milky
(goddamn it not more this crap) variety (I hate you mister/miss anonymous write
man/woman). As John slumped down in bed next to his disappointed, frustrated and
bored lover, Big Jim Slade burst the wall. That’s right, former Kansas City Chiefs tight
end Big Jim Slade. Big Jim Slade is outfitted with whips, chains, and a sexual appetite
that will get your socks off! I mean, knock your socks off. Big Jim Slade ran over to
Predophile and scooped up her and ran off to satisfy her in ways John could only dream
of. And John sat there, content as can be, since he knew Predophile was in good hands
with Big Jim Slade. Steve punched John in the nose and said he had no cojhones as he
sat contently as his woman ran off in the arms of Big Jim Slade. But in truth, Steve was
just really upset because he was going to miss out on the threesome they were planning
on, ass to ass to Steve, which is probably the most fundamentally wrong idea ever put in
any sort of literature.
Steve was really getting fed up with John so he called the MacGuyver hotline to help him
blow up John. MacGuyver constructed a highly explosive device out a stick of chewing
gun, chicken bone, and hand grenade. Now, this was quite an ethical conundrum for the
MacGuyver unit. Assassinations are evil, so making an assassination attempt would
nullify his MacGuyver powers, but it was John, and killing a member of Clad in Darkness
is good so it would restore his powers, so the explosive device was made. But Steve
was evil, and the explosive was created and backfired blowing Steve and MacGuyver
out of existence leaving a giant smoldering crater behind right were Steve stood. So
since Steve didn’t really die until now, naming the last chapter Requiem For a Steve was
perhaps premature, but since we are dealing with John, premature oh forget that’s way
too obvious. Just say last chapter’s title requiem was for minor short-lived character that
no one cared about Mini Steve, and we can allow this story to continue its never ending
descent into nonsense.
A pagan holiday engulfed by a currently slight-more-popular religion was rapidly
approaching. While neither John, Coy, nor the troll, were either practicing pagans or
followers of the faith that ate the holiday, they were broke and needed money to lavish
useless material crap on their providers of sex. So they all took easy slacker jobs at an
antique store owned by the family of, um, I give up. I can’t keep track of her goofy
names. She was once the Falconer of Wanker County before Mr. Coy ate her and stole
her name.
The Cladling’s job was making platefuls of cookies. This is the current low point in the
history of Clad in Darkness. Joining them was Jeff (um, we’re going to ignore the fact he
died whining annoyingly at the Battle of Fort Big Sexy) and a short, black haired chap
named Stoy. Tyrone wanted to work at the store but the rest of the band forbid it. He
has that aura of destruction and him being there would be like the forest all over again,
except a lot more expensive.