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Dynamite! Explosions! The rest of his life was arbitrary now.

For a man who cons

idered himself 'not-a-queer' he was certainly going the wrong way about this off
er. You'd be insane not to call him a hypocrite. This was not what he was used t
o. He baffled himself that he had agreed but now he was way too far gone. Most w
ho went by his coined title of 'not-a-queer' would have slit their gasp-sacks so
oner than agree to this. Moswald Watermelon was not such a person. Moswald Water
melon was immortal for one thing.
Moswald Watermelon had been present at every single event in the history of Gala
exia. He didn't like girls much. He found them attractive. He liked tits, and en
joyed their scent (which would woft through his 6 gaping nostrils with 700% more
potency) but had decided in recent years (800 years or so) to disregard them se
xually out of the sheer annoyance of their familiarity with him.
"Women refuse to leave it, you see", he he commanded over the seminar with his b
ooming Galaexian voice which was sculpted beautifully with his 3-pronged Torrain
ian tongue he inherited from his mother. "Women are beacons of hate, they inhale
the logic and love, exhaling mystery and malice". The audience fed on his every
word as he was the chef at a soup kitchen in the worst slum of Faminex 9.
"Hands up delegates, who of you would wish a slow and painful death upon another
who wore the same outfit as you to the annual Disconaut ball?". Audience eyes c
ircled the room and although faces were smirking from the mention of the very po
pular ball; not a hand was raised. Moswald continued, "Of course, and now hands
up who would more than likely get a digi-snap with said outfit thief and under t
he caption write 'suit bros'?". A flurry of hands shot to the air almost in unis
on before the sentence was finished. The room had been filled with a contagious
sensation of ecstasy.
"To be blunt we must ask the question: How can you expect a bitch to know how to
thwax your cunk when she can't tell the difference between the holovision and o
mnibox remotes?". A seminar delegate let out a loud chuckle but was silenced alm
ost immediately as his face was imploded by beam of dark matter shot from the st
age. A hush came across the crowd as the fellow delegates meerkat'd back to the
dark wide eyes of Moswald Watermelon. "A laughing matter this is not!", he procl
aimed shifting his neck across the audience. His stern expression broke into a s
mirk and his eyes brightened up. "Haha, imagine I was like that...", he chuckled
as a wave of cheering and applause washed over the crowd. Over the cheering Mos
. The crowd jumped to their feet and let out a roar of regalement. 7 Pyromian bu
sinessmen in the back row burst into flames, their convulsive laughter quietened
by the sound of the rapturous tears sizzling down their cheeks. The fire spread
as fast as one would expect with combustible audience members. Luckily, Fabrici
o Giovanni, (the local gelateria owner) who was on hand catering the seminar, br
ought events to a chilled and delicious close.
And here he was, the Galaexian visionary, guest of honour at the Disconaut ball,
weeping into the shoulder of a man. As his whimpering came to a close, he whisp
ered in the blonde gentlemen's ear "...of course, for fuck sake, YES I'll marry

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