We resume this God awful story someplace south of Spider Springs, for I'm implying that our heroes departed on the only path that did not lead to certain fuckery. MMSJ is munching on some caramel popcorn he picked from a caramel popcorn bush on the side of the road. Fucko has abstained from eating anything because he's still suffering some interdimensional jetlag. In between dry heaves, the sick clown lets the reader his friend onto his plan.

"This road should lead to (hic) Phat Butte, which is the capital of this (hurk) nameless country."

"I'm glad you put so much time and effort into creating a detailed lore for your stories."

Fucko pokes the sassypants in the chest. "Listen, I made the important bits real intricate and fun. This northern (hiccup) countryside is doomed to die in the first few chapters. It's like Helgen in Skyrim, y'know?"

Suddenly, at the mention of the most oversaturated RPG experience in the history of gaming, a large decontasaurus lands in the party's path. It opens its maw full of razor sharp fangs and lets out a blast of neon green flames ferociously into the air, intimidating all normal peoples within visual range. Fortunately, our dudes are so far out there, normal to them typically involved a few drunk munchkins and a shitload of research chemicals.

"Yes, hello, hi," MMSJ starts out to the flying dinosaur in question. "You're cool and all, but I for one would like to know what a decontasaurus is before we continue."

Fucko starts sweating. "Oh well, it's uh…like a pterodactyl mixed with a (hic) T-Rex if both of them…" MMSJ starts giving his pal a look that said he was calling his bluff. "Fine! I don't know that many (barf) dinosaurs but I figured that neither does the average Joe Shmoe, so it was worth the risk making up a dinosaur to up my clout with those smug sonsabitches that act like they know everything even when they're clueless."

MMSJ scratches his head. "Is that a demographic that needs to be catered to?"

"This is Reddit, toxic intellectualism is second nature to the hivemind."

"I thought this was Magiland?" the snarky protagonist quips.

"Don't you even start with me, dude. I'm not (urk) in the mood."

Meanwhile, the shunned decontasaurus pipes up. "Uh, hey, guys? I was supposed to be a major plot point or something. Can we, like, battle or something?"

MMSJ holds up a hand and wags his finger at the giant lizard. "No way, man, we're pacifists through and through."

The scaled menace rolls her snake eyes. "Oh great, just my luck. I get stuck in a story with no conflict."

Some more finger waggling ensues, from Fucko this time. "Oh no, there's plenty of conflict. For instance, I'm way too sober right now, and that's tragic."

The other hero known for his decades-long benders adds, "You wouldn't happen to have a little dino stash hidden away for a rainy day, would you?"

"As a matter of fact I do," the winged reptile replies. "My boo left some space weed from when they moonlighted as an extra in a sci-fi flick the other week, and I can't possibly finish it by myself. My name is Gertude, by the way."

"Nice to meet you, Gerty! I'm Fucko, and this is Mecha Mutant Space Jesus."

"No, I'm Fucko, and he's MMSJ," the annoyed clown corrected his loopy partner on a joke that clearly doesn't work without a visual component to the story.

And so, the trio flew a long way south, far past Phat Butte, to Gertude's treasure hoard, located in a cave carved into the side of a ravine called God's Crack. This was good, as the difficult to traverse landscape would deter the aforementioned horny skeletons looking for meat to wear, for a little bit at least. Shame about Spider Springs though; the inhabitants all got turned into moist flesh suits for the main bad guys of this nearly plot-less diatribe.

"So, this is what you guys do," Gertude snickers, higher than a giraffe's pussy on a waterslide, "Just fuck about in a pointless stream of consciousness as an artistic statement about the nature of how pure, undiluted creativity is so rare these days in a corporate oligarchy of a dystopic capitalist prison planet that forces its artists to conform and polish their work until it's a bunch of soulless, cookie cutter garbage that exists to sell questionable goods and services?"

"Yea, pretty much," MMSJ says, chuckling to himself as he floats above the couch, too stoned to pay attention to bothersome things such as gravity.

Fucko nods along, his portal sickness abating. "I didn't get brainwashed by the CIA to be considered normal by anyone but other schizoaffective nutcases who think they're also messiah candidates."

And just like that, the plot of this tale moved forward a half-inch while remaining a senseless barrage of random mumbo jumbo. Tune in next time to see what the two homies and their new imaginary dinosaur friend get into. I bet it has something to do with meeting a knight of the dinosaur-slaying variety. Fucking lawful good characters, amirite?