We enter part five of this shitshow of a story to find Mecha Mutant Space Jesus, Fucko the Clown, and Sir Reginald holding onto the scaly backs of the dinosaurs Gertude and Sinclair. Or they would be if Reginald wasn't busy throwing up from air sickness. Some dramamine and sativa later, and they're back up in the sky…wait, no he's tossing cookies again. Welp, this is going to be a minute.

Sensing that he would have to set the pace of what they were doing, MMSJ asks the adventurous party, "So, what are we even doing?"

Gertude answers, "We have to see the oracle. She will let us know what we should be doing."

Sinclair adds, "Yea, once we lost the remote and she managed to find it after only twenty minutes of searching in and around the couch."

"So where's this oracle live?" Fucko pipes up.

"About three days and nights of flying once we get past the Grove of Assorted Elves, which we're currently flying over right…now," Sinclair answers, pointing out a bunch of pointy eared mystics having themselves a nice little druid orgy down in a fucky little forest. Fucking furries. 

"Ugh…" Sir Reginald utters at the sight of such depravity as the shapeshifters below form what looks like a multispecies centipede. Why are they forming such an abomination? Dude, I just work here, don't make this any weirder than it has to be.

More absorbed by the journey ahead, Fucko sighs. "Three days and nights? But we have a fast travel option."

"C'mon bud, you gotta write some action eventually for this story," MMSJ interjects.

Fucko just rolls his eyes as he speeds up time regardless using his superpower of bullshitting the reader into the belief that they're getting their money's worth for this phenomenal verbiage that not even the gods could muster up with the full power of their mothers' nineteen hearts. Gods are eldritch abominations in Magiland, just fyi. 

"So, we're here already?" MMSJ sighs, already bored with the fourth wall breaks.

"Yes, you've arrived just when you were supposed to," says a wizened old woman brandishing a crystal ball who was waiting for our psychedelic adventurers.

MMSJ hops off his chosen dino and spits battery acid into his palm. "Mecha Mutant Space Jesus, nice ta meetcha!"

The oracle is hesitant to shake the crazed DJ's hand, which has already melted some in the brief time since that last paragraph. No big deal though, because MMSJ has Tribble DNA installed on his genetic mainframe and just grew a new hand once that one was blood, bone, and raw MIDI files.

"You are very unusual people, you two are," the oracle proclaims. "But, I know you are the chosen ones because the tea leaves told me to expect you. Some people who would be my parents if I hadn't disowned them named me Nancy Reagan, but I hate that name, so just call me Jan."

Sir Reginald glances over at Fucko, his face still twisted in a green hue. "Nancy Reagan?"

Fucko throws his hands up. "I don't know for fuck's sake! That's what my phone's keyboard's autocomplete feature told me to write. I'm serious, I just work here."

MMSJ tries to smooth things out for the reader. "You're saying that your delusion that the CIA communicates to you through technology is what's piloting this story?"

"They do! They really do! This isn't a bit, this is just the nature of my insane, schizoaffective life," Fucko shouts, exasperated. 

"You guys know the CIA?" Jan asks, curious.

This catches our heroes off guard. Fucko speaks first. "Yea, they trained us to be as loco as humanly possible so we could juxtapose what amounts to 'normal' culture and help awaken more people to their true spiritual power in a move we like to describe as 'weaponizing religion.' Also not a bit; you're reading awakening propaganda right now."

"They trained me to be more crazy than humanly possible, which is why I moonlight as a blender on the International Space Station in my free time nowadays," MMSJ finishes up that exposition with a bit of dazzle camouflage to boot.

Jan takes this all in. "Alright, well that's good, but it changes things. I was originally going to send you to the Cave of a Million Zubats to retrieve the macguffin staff of plot armor, but since you are in and in with the glowies, your best option to stop the skeletons and confront that ugly imp is to head to Queen's Landing and find those spooks. If anyone has control of the situation, it will be the guys who caused the crack epidemic in both real life and this fantasy land we exist in."

And just like that, the tremendous trio that is MMSJ, Fucko, and Sir Reginald departed for Queen's Landing while the flying dinosaurs Gertude and Sinclair were abruptly killed by a random meteor shower. Some days just don't go your way, but I'll tell you one thing; Queen's Landing is loaded on fantastic fictional drugs and a penchant to do them verily. Tidy ho!