Gather around, children, and listen closely. I’m going to tell you a story, a fable, in fact, about a very special place hidden away deep inside the very centre of the great forest.          The place was a village, and the village was Durkinburkmeist. It was a dwelling of laughter and happiness, and it is here our story takes place. The inhabitants of Durkinburkmeist weren’t many in numbers, but grand in terms of their capacity to overlook this fact and procreate regardless of genealogical proximity, and, as it could be construed as customary to introduce a story of this kind with a brief exposition of the main characters, they were the following.
         The village was organised hierarchically with rulers, administrators, clergy and commoners. At the very top of the social ladder were Oldanddry and Oldanddrooling, the chipmunk Siamese twins and judicial leaders of Durkinburkmeist. Oldanddry was the village elder, having been forcefully ejected from his half-sister’s womb moments before his brother. Being the eldest, he was also – as a matter of logical consequence – the judge of the land.
         Oldanddrooling, on the other hand, was not without judicial influence. Oh, no, kids. You see, being the second oldest member of the community meant that he was the sole representative of the recurring jury. Of course, since Oldanddrooling was more or less a vegetable, hanging limply from his older brother’s shoulder, bestowed with only a defective arm and hand, three teeth, half an eye, and about as many strands of hair on his scalp as one might expect there to be flowers growing out of the buttocks of Beelzebub, he was forced to communicate telepathically with Oldanddry and have him utter his decrees aloud for all to hear on his behalf instead. Or so, I ought to say, Oldanddry had always claimed the case to be.
         Only two trials had ever been held in the village of Durkinburkmeist; one concerning Cassandra the rock’n’roll spider’s loud disturbances after dark. She was issued a fine of three pinecones and an apple, if she could find one. The other case concerned Willy the malnourished and wide-eyed racoon, who was expulsed from the community perhaps for obvious reasons after it had been discovered that his clandestine hobbies included not only receiving handjobs from Celeste, the chlamydeous, barely legal, deer streetwalker of the village, but also being an amateur taxidermist. Now, that wasn’t very nice of him, was it, boys and girls? You wouldn’t want someone to pull out your insides and stuff you with sawdust, would you? No. And that’s why the animals of Durkinburkmeist never uttered Willy’s name. The mere mention of him struck fear into their fragile little hearts.
         Whereas Oldanddry and Oldanddrooling wielded the power to pass judgement on others, and had ample knowledge of the law, it was the anonymous hedgehogs that enforced it. They were the only officially authorised executioners and keepers of peace, the police of Durkinburkmeist, and therefore also, and obviously, all of them involved in a massive money-laundering scheme. The animals of Durkinburkmeist respected the anonymous hedgehogs, but they revered Craven.
         Craven the Raven represented the spiritual side of the community. He was the high priest of the village, as well as the local sales rep for High Times magazine. His followers, the flying monks of Durkinburkmeist, lived and prayed in their monastery high up in the treetops, closer to God than anyone else in the village, and left most others alone, as most others did them, for altitudinal reasons, but were revered in a way that escapes this modest narrator’s every attempt at describing it.
         So, kids, that about covers the authoritarian portion of the community. How do you like the story so far? Really? That’s great!
         Well, there were many more animals in Durkinburkmeist; Candelabra the bumblebee – a busybody who was hoping, in vain, to become the first female (and insect) to ever hold the position of community leader; Maya the slug, the village postman – oh, postwoman, I’m so sorry… – who had an uncanny ability to find and deliver letters you thought had gotten lost years before, but who sadly never managed to deliver any on time; etc, etc. You get the picture, boys and girls, and I can see you’re eager to get back to watching cartoon network and pushing your thumbs into other bodily orifices than your mouths, so I’ll just go ahead and introduce our humble protagonist before going on with Part II.
         Angus wasn’t just a worm and our humble protagonist. Oh, no, kids. He was also a criminal and a mental deviant, what with him suffering from multiple personality disorder’n’all. He had four personalities in total, the Angi, all of them sick and twisted in their own special way. Angus 1 was prone to egregious acts of violence. Angus 2 was a racist. Angus 3 was a sexual delinquent. And Angus 4 was a drug-addict, a drug-dealer, a wannabe-telemarketer and a scientologist. The Angi shared Angus’ body equally, but the leadership really would have been in Angus 1’s hands, had he had any. Worms don’t have hands, you see, kids, which is why dry-humping damp rocks is to them what regular, unglamorous, one-handed masturbation is to the rest of us.
         Now, the morning of the day, on which we come to look at the goings-on in Durkinburkmeist, Angus had been caught red-tailed peddling pinecones to minors outside the Moss Grove Elementary School and had later also been found to have broken into the wicker shop owned and maintained by Oldanddry’s and Oldanddrooling’s cousin’s daughter, who was also another one of their half-sisters, and to have poisoned Penny’s, the runaway orphan kitten’s, milk with arsenic on his way to the wicker shop, thus robbing Penny of a life, and, I’m sure, rendering it the shortest and least productive of the nine she was given at birth, alongside – and pardon my non-sequitur – a healthy sample of the HIV virus.
         Anyway, the ones among you destined to grow up to become doctors and stockbrokers have probably already figured out that a trial ensued. Remember how I took care to mention the judicial representatives of the community, kids? Huh? No? Well, no matter. The future fluffers and jailbirds among you will just have to trust me on this one.
         ‘Angus the worm,’ began S. P. Hincter, the flatulent skunk and attorney of Durkinburkmeist, ‘I have spent the past two hours proving your guilt in this heinous matter.’ He farted loudly and gazed disdainfully at Angus, who hadn’t stopped smiling since the trial had begun.
         ‘What do you mean you’ve proved? I confessed right from the start, you fur clad abomination against nature!’ The racist reference at the end was courtesy of Angus 2.
         ‘Your Honour, ladies and gentlemen of the jury,’ S. P. went on, passing gas again and turning to face Oldanddry and Oldanddrooling, ‘This worm is a disgrace to our community. His criminal record is a proverbial curriculum vitae of delinquent behaviour, and I see no light at the end of the tunnel. I am forgiving by nature.’ This was a lie. ‘But I fear that I’ve never before encountered a case this horrifying and cruel in my entire career.’ He had said this on both previous occasions that the court had assembled as well, including during his final speech for the first and thitherto only one.
         Oldanddrooling inspected Angus with a judgemental absence in his one assumedly functional eyeball, and drool dribbled determinedly from the corner of his mouth.
         ‘I believe we have heard enough of this dreadful business today,’ Oldanddry said. ‘The jury will now reach a verdict, and when I have announced it, I will pass judgment on this worm based on that verdict.’
         Oldanddrooling made noises like a propeller with his lips and drool ran symbolically down his front, as though he were trying to convey to the animals attending the trial that the jury was now convening.
         ‘The jury has reached a verdict,’ Oldanddry said sternly. ‘Will the defendant rise?’
         ‘Not a chance, four-eyes,’ replied Angus scornfully.
         An anonymous hedgehog rolled into the scene, uncurled himself, and hit Angus in the stomach. Angus coughed, but it didn’t take him long to start smiling again.
         ‘That the best you can do?’ He laughed. ‘You wear a dress when you’re at home by yourself, too?’
         The anonymous hedgehog pulled him by his head until he was facing the judge and jury with as straight a back as one can possibly have, without actually having one.
         ‘The jury finds the defendant guilty on all charges,’ Oldanddry began and cleared his throat demonstratively before going on with his own role in the spiel. ‘For the partial murder and the drug dealing,’ he said, ‘the law states that Angus the worm is to receive a fine of three apples and a bushel of red berries, as well as a slap on the back of the hand.’
         Angus bellowed with laughter and wiggled about as best he could to demonstrate his obvious lack of a pair of hands, or even just the back of one for that matter. The anonymous hedgehog hit him in the guts again and glared at him in a manner that for just a moment seemed to Angus to not be without a slight homoerotic tinge.
         ‘But for the breaking-and-entering,’ Oldanddry went on with a sadistic smile, fuelled by the purest and most obvious nepotism, ‘I sentence him to be drawn and quartered.’
         ‘Balls!’ Angus responded.

Half an hour later, with the polite cheers of the masses in the background, Angus was held up and hung from his neck in the middle of the town square. But since this is not entirely unlike being skewered by a fisherman’s hook, in fact slightly less awkward even, and since he had picked up a trick or two from Needle-eye Thompson, the butterfly outcast who had spent most of his pupa state in juvenile hall and with whom Angus often hung out when he was bored, he found his own hanging rather laughable, and thus mocked the people and the proceedings even more for this.
         After a while, four anonymous hedgehogs were summoned, and each one was tied with a piece of string to a different segment of Angus’ body and ordered to pull him apart.
         ‘You ain’t seen the last of me, you fuckers!’ Angus shouted at the crowd. By the way, boys and girls, you should never say fuck, or fuckers, or any derivative thereof, because it’s not nice, and because every time someone says a word like that three of Santa’s elves have painful aneurysms and die.

The four anonymous hedgehogs dragged the four dripping remnants of his remains to the four corners of the woods respectively and returned to the centre of their peace loving community for the ensuing festivities just before dark. And, oh, what a party it was…

Part II – The Second Coming

In case you didn’t know, kids, cutting a live worm entwine ever so often results in two new live worms ‘rising from the ashes’, so to speak. If you haven’t tried it before, I highly recommend you get to it, as it is a highly healthy and natural recreational activity for boys and girls, and don’t be disheartened by failed attempts. You know what they say – “If once you don’t succeed, try, try again.”

The four Angi awoke, each in his respective corner of the woods, and disconcerted by the silence in his mind. You see, the pieces had grown back to whole versions of the original Angus, but it would seem as though his four personalities had now truly been split and divided equally amongst him and his makeshift clones. The part that grew out of the head was the ultra violent Angus 1. The racist Angus 2 got the heart, for in Angus’ case not much else occupied its place. Angus 3, the sexual deviant, grew out of the groin, and the scientologist was left with the arse.

As the process of rebirth takes a while, kids, they could only assume that a long time had passed and that their execution had long since been forgotten by the other animals. And since anyone with half a brain would surely turn around and find some other dwelling and not cause any ruckus, the Angi, each believing himself to be the sole survivor of their death sentence of late, obviously set their sights on Durkinburkmeist and decided to take advantage of the others’ unexpectedness and go there to kill them all slowly, painfully and with as much blood and guts and tormenting foreplay to murder as possible. Revenge, after all, is a dish best served rare.

Meanwhile, in Durkinburkmeist, all was well. Brightly coloured flowers were dancing in the wind. Maya was delivering a handful of three-year-old postcards. And the little bunnies were frolicking in the grass. The warmth of the peak of summer had reached the village, and happiness and laughter were all around.

The first animal to encounter one of the Angi was Lisa, the hungry hamster. She was an adolescent compulsive eater and as cheery and nice as she was unattractive.
         ‘Hi there! Who are you?’ She asked Angus 2 as he approached her. ‘Have you go’ anything to eat, mister?’
         ‘Silence, you disgusting heap of fur and lard!’ Angus 2 said politely and proceeded to beat the shit out of her.

Next in line were two of the bunny rabbits, Peter and Linda. They had been dating for quite some time now, and all around the village there were whispers of them being madly in love, as they were already the proud parents of a whole pile of illegitimate and, as was the case with several of them, deformed babies. Deformed, because Peter and Linda weren’t just lovers. They were siblings as well.

When Angus 3 saw them from afar, they were engaged in passionate lovemaking of the calibre most often restricted to German hardcore pornography. You see, kids, when a daddy bunny and a mommy bunny really love each other, they like to tie each other up and ram plugs into each other’s orifices. Whips and pliers are also favoured items among nice little bunnies still in the dating phase of their relationship. Anyway, Angus 3 anally raped Peter while Linda, tied to a tree, looked hopelessly on, and then treated her to a monstrous bukkake before killing both of them by strangling them with Linda’s garters.

On the other side of the forest, Angus 4 was forcefully injecting Tootsie the owl with a hefty dose of heroin that he had bartered in exchange for a handjob on his way to Durkinburkmeist, and could hardly stop laughing as her eyeballs outgrew her skull and her head popped open, spraying brain matter all over the place. He then went to the overly crowded squirrel kindergarten and repeated the same procedure on everyone there.

Angus 1 was a tad luckier than his peers with his first catch of the day. He had come upon S. P. Hincter, the flatulent skunk and village attorney, and was now pondering the most painful manner of dispensing with him as possible. After a while, though, he saw Angus 2-4 appear at the scene of the crime-to-be, and being so overjoyed to see his brethren again, alive and well, he decided to go for brevity instead.
         ‘I strongly object,’ S. P. squealed as Angus 1 picked him up and broke his back, leaving him twitching and farting on the ground.
         ‘Hey, whaddaya know! He did have backbone after all!’ Angus shouted jokingly, and he and the others joined in a big warm hug, standing on top of S. P. Hincter’s convulsing body and complimenting him on the aesthetic quality of his violent seizure.

Ensuing their warm-hearted reunion, the Angi went on a four-hour berserker bonanza; raping, pillaging, murdering, vandalising, and generally wreaking as much havoc as could possible be imagined. But sadly, boys and girls, their fun was not meant to last forever, for just as they had disembodied one of the tree mice and were playing tic-tac-toe in the mess of blood and guts that was gushing out of his body (or her body – I’m really not quite sure, as it was well beyond recognisable by this time), Craven and his raven monks suddenly swooped in, surprising and surrounding them. At first, the Angi were shocked, but when the anonymous hedgehogs appeared after a while and told them to remain calm, they just laughed and mocked them accordingly. Eventually, however, they were detained and carried off to a holding cell by the ravens.

A new trial ensued. The legislative representatives of Durkinburkmeist hadn’t had so good a business-flow ever before, but for obvious reasons, kids, they weren’t rejoicing. Since S. P. Hincter the flatulent skunk prosecutor, had died of his back being severed by Angus 1, Craven had been chosen to speak in his stead. Not because he possessed some hitherto unmentioned competence in the mainstream business of “justice”, but because he was well-connected. After all, he was God’s next-door-neighbour.

Witnesses, many of them beaten, battered, and still bleeding, spoke of burying the dead. The animals attending the trial were already weeping before they had arrived, and having the witnesses regale them with anecdotes about torture and death didn’t do much to improve their mood. The Angi did their best to help them out, though, mocking them all and expressing nothing but distaste for the tears of the other animals, and pride for their own actions.

When Maya the slug, who was one of the few the Angi hadn’t touched at all, said she felt the Angi had shamed all slimy crawlies with their horrendous acts of violence, Angus 3 spat in her face, leaving her and much of the audience quite speechless. Angus 4 gave him the worm equivalent of a high-five with his tail.

The last witness to be called was the original Angus, Angus 1. He confessed everything mockingly. There was, after all, no way he could convincingly deny it all now. But Craven still persisted to ask his questions. Angus 2 acted as his own lawyer, in a way, to enable the defence to conduct a concluding cross-examination.

         ‘Angus, could you – in your own words – tell the court about the alleged breaking and entering,’ Angus 2 asked Angus 1.
         ‘But of course, Angus,’ Angus 1 replied.
         ‘Objection!’ Mickey the Mongrel cried out from the audience. ‘That’s the wrong case!’
         ‘Fuck off, dick wad!’ Angus 3 shouted at Mickey.
         ‘Silence! I order you to be silent!’ Oldanddry cried out, the body he shared with his younger brother bleeding internally, externally and severely.
         ‘The prosecution does not mind if the defence wishes to inform us about their previous accounts of violence,’ Craven added coldly.
         ‘Very well, carry on,’ Oldanddry said. Oldanddrooling looked like he was nodding in agreement, but in fact it was only his miniscule spine finally collapsing from the beating he and his brother had received from the Angi earlier that day.
         ‘Hah-hah, bitch!’ Angus 3 laughed at the chipmunk Siamese twins. ‘You’re so Raven whipped.’
         ‘Yeah, k-pssshhh!’ Angus 4 added.
         ‘Right, Angus,’ Angus 2 reminded Angus 1.
         ‘Oh, yes,’ Angus 1 began again, ‘well we went there as part of a political statement, you see. The wicker-shop was owned and maintained by the judge’s and jury’s cousin’s daughter and half-sister. It was sort of a sociological experiment. We wanted to see if the judge and jury would place emphasis on that particular “crime”,’ he drew little citation marks in the air with his tale, ‘or if they, or he, or whatever, would rule according to the law.’
         ‘And what was the outcome of this sociological experiment, do you know?’ Angus 2 asked Angus 1.
         ‘Certainly, Angus, it was just as we had expected. The judge and jury, being no less than a bloated heap of organs with so meagre a conception of morality, justice and common decency, abided rather by the rules of nepotism than by the code of the law.’
         ‘Objection!’ Oldanddry cried out vehemently and tried to bang his hammer against his pulpit, but failed as two of his badly beaten ribs cracked under the strain of it.
         ‘Why don’t you leave that up to me?’ Craven said, and then quickly turned to the Angi and added: ‘Objection!’
         ‘For what?’ Angus 2 asked.
         ‘This is ridiculous,’ Craven began. ‘This has nothing to do with the case at hand, nor are the raving mad speculations of your brother, or self, of any significance to this trial, nor to anyone else for that matter.’
         ‘You said you didn’t mind Angus talking about it, you hypocrite!’ Angus 4 shouted from his and Angus 3’s booth.
         ‘I have no recollection of ever saying such a thing,’ Craven protested.
         ‘Eat my crud, you nimrod,’ Angus 3 said, stood up and ejaculated violently right into Craven’s eyes.

Craven flapped about ridiculously, for that is what birds tend to do when hit in the eyes by someone’s ejaculate. Try it, kids, and see for yourselves.
         ‘Did he just masturbate in his face?’ Someone, who’s own face was so badly disfigured that no one really knew who he or she was.
         ‘Objection!’ Someone else in the audience cried out.
         ‘This is getting out of hand,’ Angus 1 recognised and peered at Oldanddry. ‘Can’t you do something about that crowd? Throw them out or something.’ Oldanddry propped up Oldanddrooling’s head again and ignored the Angi for a moment.
         ‘Oh, sod this!’ Angus 4 exclaimed. ‘Just tell him, dude!’
         ‘You’re right. I will,’ Angus 1 said, pointing at Craven who was still trying to get the spermatozoa out of his eye with a feathered hand. ‘We admit, man! You know we did it. We know you know we did it. So what’s the fucking point, ass-face?’ One of Santa’s elves had a painful aneurysm and died. And so did Oldanddrooling whereupon Oldanddry started crying. ‘Yeah, so we killed and maimed lots of your friends and neighbours, children and siblings. Big deal! This farce has gone on long enough. Bring on any punishment you see fit. We couldn’t care less about the mockery of the law.’
         ‘That’s quite enough,’ Craven interrupted, his eyes puffy and red and bulging inside of his dark skull.
         ‘That’s just what Angus said,’ Angus 3 proclaimed.
         ‘Silence,’ Oldanddry sobbed and attempted to prop up Oldanddrooling’s inert, swollen and saliva leaking head again.
         ‘I shall allow myself the privilege of this farcical trial’s last words,’ Craven muttered.
         ‘This’ll be a treat,’ Angus 2 laughed.
         ‘As high priest and local sales rep for High Times magazine, I see no other alternative than the following.’ Craven rubbed his eyes with his wings. ‘Angi, the crimes of which you stand accused and that you have even shamelessly admitted to have perpetrated have been a plague to this community.’
         ‘You think this is all we’ve done?’ Angus 4 asked.
         ‘Yeah, you don’t know the half of it,’ Angus 3 continued. ‘Didn’t you think it strange that so many have got lost and disappeared in the forest in recent years? That so many youngsters are addicted to pinecones? We’ve killed and raped more animals than you could even imagine, you overgrown bog roll!’
         ‘As I was saying,’ Craven broke in, ‘since your crimes have not been without a biblical touch to their severity, I find it apt that your punishment should be of no less than biblical proportions as well.’

Oldanddry banged his hammer and the animals stood up and went, ‘hear-hear,’ in unison.

         ‘My brother has conveyed his wish to me telepathically,’ he started.
         ‘Your hump of a brother’s dead, mate,’ Angus 1 interrupted, but was quickly silenced when four anonymous hedgehogs rolled up and grabbed hold of one Angus each.
         ‘My brother says,’ Oldanddry continued, ‘that you, Angi, for your crimes against the inhabitants of Durkinburkmeist, are to be crucified, and I aim to honour his dying wish.’ He banged his hammer demonstratively.
         ‘Hey, if it’s good enough for Jesus…’ Angus 2 commented, and the Angi all laughed and applauded.

Part III – Justice

Well, boys and girls, it’s time for the third, last, and shortest part of this little fable, and before I get on with it I’d just like to say how glad I am that so many kind boys and girls are listening to this. You’re the future of this sick and perverted world, kids, and for that I thank you.

         ‘Hey, Angus,’ Angus 2 asked Angus 3, ‘do you remember when I was chatting up that bird and you told her she had chicken legs?’
The Angi laughed heartily. Meanwhile, the last of the animals were still preoccupied with screaming all sorts of slander and lobbing fruit and berries at the Angi.
         ‘Hey, Lady,’ Angus 1 told a centipede who had taken a swing at him with her purse, ‘I know you! I crushed your son’s skull with a rock while Angus over there,’ he indicated Angus 3 with a slight tilt of his head, ‘raped his sorry dead ass.”
The centipede left crying, and the Angi cheered victoriously, sang a few songs and were generally quite merry. They talked of times past and shared a few anecdotes, until finally the screaming mob had ceased their counter mockery and their throwing of berries and moss at the Angi, and had left to go to work or back home to get dressed and drunk for the ensuing festivities

Now, children, I’m sure you’re wondering how the shit one crucifies someone who lacks extremities. Well, it’s really quite easy. So easy, in fact, you can try this yourselves.

It was not without some trouble that Craven ordered some of the anonymous hedgehogs to nail the Angi to two twig crosses the raven monks had fashioned and planted in the ground – one Angi along each vertical twig, and the remaining two across the horizontal ones. Granted, they had all received a nail through both tail and face, but they were still alive. Not for long, though, kids!

It took only hours until one of them had died of dehydration. It was Angus 3, the sexual deviant. Poor guy. His drying corpse rested along the vertical cross to the right, face down, puss dripping out of its mouth, and now Angus 4 was sharing a cross with it.

A few moments later Angus 2 died of some sort of seizure. He was just about to advance to the third verse of a song he had been improvising entitled “Die, you fur-clad freak!” when his heart just gave in and he started spewing phlegm all over the place until he died. His corpse occupied the left horizontal twig, and Angus 1, who was nailed the right way up the same cross, said a little prayer in his memory.

         ‘Can you hear that?’ Angus 4 asked him, mid-prayer. Angus 1 listened carefully, working his head around the nail that ran through it as to be in a better position to detect any sounds on the outside of it.
         ‘No what is it? He asked perplexedly, and Angus 4 smiled sinisterly.
         ‘Check this out,’ he said.

Angus 4 flexed his body, heaving, breathing heavily and contorting his torso in ways he hadn’t even thought possible before. Then, after due preparation, he launched Angus 3’s corpse against the nearest pine tree, with a hard thrash against it with his own chest. Angus 3 hit it with a bang and a splash, and two pinecones dropped to the ground nearby, at which point Angus 1 finally heard it.

From nearby, the chatter and ballyhoo of the few surviving kids of the Moss Grove Elementary School could be heard, and Angus 4 whistled to attract their attention. Moments later what seemed like a whole class stood before them. A young and impressionable woodlouse buzzed and hopped his way to the Angi’s deathbed and Angus 3 arched his back and indicated the pinecones.
         ‘They’re yours,’ he said generously.
         ‘Nicely done, Angus,’ Angus 1 complemented him. ‘A few more victims before we die.’
         ‘No, no, my dear Angus,’ Angus 4 corrected him. ‘Not at all.’

Within short the kids were ingesting the cones as vigorously as only addicts are able to, and soon they buzzed back, disoriented and in a haze, to what remained of the Angi.
         ‘Give us more!’ The woodlouse commanded them, but Angus 4 was quick to explain to them, in a most pedagogical manner, that in the world of adults everything comes with a price, be it a certain amount of money or one’s ass.
         ‘Let us down from here and we’ll supply you with as many cones as you like,’ he told the kids, and they complied. Though, sadly, the nail running through Angus 4’s head must have hit a nerve, or something, because just as both he and Angus 1 were freed and had hugged, his eyes rolled back into his head, froth poured out of his mouth and his lifeless body fell to the ground.

Angus, the sole survivor of the Angi, was now surrounded by his dead selves, and shed some tears for his fallen clones before realising that empathy clashed with his personality, and dried his eyes.
         ‘Hey, mister, what about our cones? Give us more!’ The woodlouse pleaded, his head spinning like crazy.
         ‘Oh, but of course,’ Angus smiled and gave the pine tree a nudge. Another few pinecones fell to the ground, one of which landed right on top of half of the kids, causing quite an awkward stain on the ground, but the rest of them didn’t care, nor, obviously, did Angus.

So while the kids were feverishly OD:ing on the cones he had serviced them with, he slithered away into the distance, where he planned to recuperate and have himself sliced up into many parts, only to recuperate again, so that finally, the Angi could return and be avenged.

But that, as they say, boys and girls, is an entirely different story…