Once upon a time there was a wannabe author named Nicodemus PassieAnnie who wrote fan fiction, but he bastardized the stories and characters of an author he worshiped named Jane Rae Brite. Jane Rae was not happy about this, so she asked him to stop bastardizing her characters.

She sent him a cease and desist order, but he lined the cages of his parakeets with it and claimed it was not valid. Civil suits are expensive, and Jane Rae made the usual amounts of money, which was to say not enough to sue his pants off without having to give up her favorite chocolates.

Finally, she discovered a low cost group of animalistic mercenaries known as the Unholy Squirrels of Doom. The USofD agreed to take the job on for peanuts and acorns. So the author struck a deal with them to rid her of the nasty wannabe Nicodemus PassieAnnie.

Then the hundred legions of the dreaded Squirrels rowed their long boats up the Chicago River and encountered a lake fossil. Lake Fossils are delicious with a little garlic and lemon, so they killed the Lake Fossil and ate it with a liberal helping of vampire spiders toasted over an open fire.

They had to go overland to reach Morris, Illinois where the dastardly wannabee PassieAnnie lived. In the course of their travels, they collected all the books by PassieAnnie that contained the libelous material that had so angered their employer and burned all the copies they could find of Tabloid Purposes and Ethereal Gazette while toasting more vampire spiders and roasting the rest of the steaks they had sliced off the Lake Fossil.

After many adventures on the road, including taking in a concert that was hosted by DJ Pathogen, the Unholy Squirrels of Doom arrived in Morris.

Rumor of their coming had been so frightening that the PassieAnnie homestead appeared to have been abandoned when they arrived. The doors and windows had been boarded over. They found a note in the door that read simply:

“He’s in the basement.” It was signed “Grandma Shirley.”

The Squirrels unlimbered their gigantic battle axes, pushed their horned helmets back, and started whacking at the door. Being a cheap modern door, the flimsy wood gave way within a few solid whacks.

They burst inside and the place smelled of stale beer and farts. It was nasty, but the Squirrels of Doom were very determined.

Down in the basement they followed the stench of unwashed human and found a bed. Upon the bed was a fellow they knew must be PassieAnnie, but he was strapped into a bondage sleepsack, with his face partially covered and a gag in his mouth. They took a piss on him, but it could not get past the latex sack.

They soon had him covered with a huge number of wooden faggots, tossed beer and gasoline atop him and lit them. Although he squirmed and tried to get loose, PassieAnnie could not escape from the incredible bondage sleepsack.

Then they danced around the flames and sang victory songs about how gay they were. Afterward, they partied in the backyard and told stories about their brave deed in destroying the evil PassieAnnie. When the festivities ended, they collected their acorns and peanuts and went home to Fitchburg, Massachusetts, where they lived happily ever after.

The End.

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