Monday, December 12, 2016

Warty Hugeman and The Girl With the Nazi-Ray Eyes: A Warty Hugeman Time Travel Adventure

Art thoguhtfully provided by CPRM

Chapter One: Someone Shot Nostalgia In The Back

Baron Von Overman menaced Warty with his Scepter of White Rage. "You will never escape my Scepter of White Rage, Hugeman!" he screamed from his Nazithrone.

"Suck my asshole, Fritz," Warty replied.

"HUGEMAN!" The Baron screamed. The Scepter bobbed up and down and an interdimensional portal tore open the fabric of reality near Warty. Nazi cloned kanonenfutter troops began to emerge from it.

Warty grabbed the first one through, broke his arms and legs with efficient blows, and wadded up the gibbering young Aryan. He punted the dripping ball of blood and brains back through the portal and it zipped closed neatly. The various limbs of the troops in the process of coming through dropped to the throne room floor in a semi-charred heap.

"Get him! Get Hugeman!" the baron yelled at the dozen or so kanonenfutter that had made it through. They looked up from the pile of charred comrade parts and rushed Warty. He grabbed the first one that got close, spun him around and drove the stiffened fingers of one hand into his lower back. Warty tore his spine free and crushed the skull of the next one with it. He ruptured trachea, fingerfucked eye sockets, broke necks, and punched heads clean off until all of them lay dead around him and he was covered in gore.

Wiping blood and spinal fluid out of his eyes, Warty realized The Baron was chanting on his Nazithrone and rubbing the Scepter of White Rage up and down with long, languid strokes. Another portal was beginning to form to his right. Warty picked up a severed arm.

"You finish that invocation and I'm going to fuck you with this arm, Fritzy," Warty promised.

"Too late, Hugeman!" The Baron screamed. "Now is the time you suck my asshole!" White fire jumped from his Scepter.

Warty threw the arm at The Baron and covered his eyes as the room exploded with light. He could smell the laws of physics being broken and there was a thunderous crash of feedback noise.

When he could focus again, Warty stood to face what The Baron had brought through the portal. His balled fist went slack.

She was perfection. Icy and tall and blonde, full breasts straining against the fabric of her brown shirt, long legs in jodhpurs and black leather boots. And she wore a sneer he longed to fuck right off her face.

"You face our ultimate weapon, Hugeman," The Baron chortled, slinging the dripping Scepter of White Rage around. The girl ignored The Baron completely as she moved to Warty.

"There's not a woman alive I cannot master, you fat little turd," Warty told him.

Her eyes were covered in mirrored sunglasses that she lowered as she drew closer. Warty readied himself. Her irises were the color of methane hydrate and her pupils were not round.

"NAZI!" she screamed and beams of pure hate shot out of her swastika eyes.

Warty took a few steps back and smirked at her.

"That all you got, baby? I get this much hate at the gym when I do squats," Warty said. He walked toward her through the waves of hate.

The girl tore open her shirt and freed her perfect Aryan breasts. Her pink swastika nipples crinkled with power.

"NAZI!" she screamed again and hate flowed from her nipples, pure and milk-white. The rays pounded into Warty like warhammers.

"SO MUCH NAZI!" Warty screamed, but still he managed to step toward the girl, his clone-gored hands reaching for her perfect throat.

The Baron was capering beyond the girl, excitedly pulling on his scrotum like he was trying to rip it off. "More power!' he cackled. "Destroy him!"

She tore away the jodhpurs and exposed a white-blonde pubic swastika that hovered over a prim labial slit.

"NAZI!" she screamed a third time. Each hair of her hate-muff stiffened and fired themselves at Warty, little follicular jets burning as they shot toward him. They burrowed into his skin where they struck.

Her perfectly smooth, perfectly Caucasian genitals were the last thing Warty saw before he slipped into unconsciousness.

Chapter Two: There's A Taste In My Mouth As Desperation Takes Hold

"I know you are awake, Hugeman," The Baron said. He was trying to pitch a terrifying timbre in his voice, but it just came out sort of squeaky.

"Coffee," Warty said, not opening his eyes or moving. "Bacon, eggs, sausage, and ham… You bring me any carbs and I'll fist your sister."

"This is not a hotel," The Baron said.

Warty opened one eye and looked around. He was on the floor of a clear glass or plastic cube in the middle of a large and dark room. The timesuit was gone and he wore a baggy jumpsuit that crinkled like gift paper at every small movement. He pushed himself up into a seated position. He felt the crotch of the jumpsuit and frowned. The Doomcock and his deadly testicles were gone.

"Yes, Hugeman. I have unmanned you," The Baron said. He held up the Doomcock and waggled it back and forth. "This is very impressive. In what century did you have this made?"

"Century? That's brand new, Fritz."

"Come, come now, Warty. We know you are a time traveler. How else would you have found us here in the 31st century? We know you were born in the late 20th. And you are hardly immortal. Or do you think you will be the first Warty Hugeman I have captured? The first I have killed?"

"Maybe you caught one of my wuss-ass interdimensional duplicates, but I'm the real Warty Hugeman. That big black doomdick of mine that you're stroking is going to be the last thing you ever see, Fritz."

The Baron laughed contemptuously. "We are dismantling your timesuit as we speak. We will unlock its secrets and the timestream will be open to us. The Twelfth Reich will stand forever!"

"That's what the other eleven said, dipshit."

The Baron grimaced, his face turning purple. He turned sharply on his heel and stalked away.

Warty heard a woman scream "Heil TimeHitler!" That's when Warty realized the girl with the Nazi-ray eyes was in the far corner of the room.

"Heil TimeHitler," The Baron answered. He was still fuming.

Warty laughed to himself and stood. The only light in the room was shining down on his clear cube prison. He tapped one of the walls. It sounded like glass. Warty drew back a huge fist and punched it at about half his strength. The wall absorbed his punch by deforming slightly but snapped back into place immediately.

"The prisoner shall not attempt to escape!" the girl yelled.

Warty punched the wall again, putting everything into it. The wall moved out a few inches under his blow and snapped back.

"The prisoner shall not attempt to escape!" she said again and ran to stand at attention by the cube.

"This isn't glass. What it is? Some sort of force field?"

"The prisoner shall not speak unless addressed!"

She was dressed in the same outfit she had come through the portal in: brown shirt, jodhpurs, boots and glasses—her blonde hair in a severe braid.

"What did you drug me with? My head is killing me and I have a horrible taste in my mouth."

"The prisoner shall not speak unless addressed!"

"Yeah, yeah. I get it. But I'm not going to stop talking, so you might as well stop telling me to. But seriously, wow, what a terrible taste in my mouth. It's like old salami, but also sweet, too. Can I have a beer or something?"

The girl nodded sharply and typed something into a pad strapped to her wrist. Warty watched carefully as a long metal spigot dropped down through the clear roof. A drop of water hung down from the spigot. Warty touched it and water began to flow.

"What, I'm supposed to drink out of this like a gerbil or something?"

One corner of the girl's mouth moved slightly and Warty knew how he was going to get out.

Chapter Three: My Favorite Weapon Is The Look In Your Eyes

Warty tore off the arms of his baggy jumpsuit.

"The prisoner will not alter their clothing in any way!" the girl yelled.

He wadded the arms of the jumpsuit together and threw them into the corner. Warty began to forcefully rub his biceps and triceps, kneading the skin to activate his oil glands. His bulging muscles began to glisten in the actinic lights of the cube prison.

"What is the prisoner doing?"

"I'm self-oiling. Jealous?"

He struck a sudden pose, knotting his musculature together. The girl took an involuntary step back.

"Stop that," she blurted.

"Stop what?" he asked and tore open the front of the jumpsuit, exposing his massive pectoral muscles.

"Your body…" she began.

Warty reached over to his water tube, took a handful and rubbed it over his head.

"My body," he said.

Warty let the top of the jumpsuit fall down around his waist. He ran through a set of poses designed to destroy the rational parts of her mind: The Front Lat Spread, The Front Double Biceps, The Side Chest… on the Rear Lat Spread she cried out. By The Side Triceps, her knees buckled and an alarm began to cycle.

"Nein!" screamed The Baron as he ran into the room. "Nein!"

The girl snapped to attention.

"What do you think you are doing, Hugeman?" The Baron demanded.

"Just a little isometrics, Fritz," he replied innocently.

The Baron slapped The Scepter of White Rage against the girl's side and laughed.

"You cannot seduce her, Hugeman. This girl is the result of fifty generations of selective Aryan breeding. She is of the finest stock. A living weapon for the ZeitFührur! She wants nothing of your mongrel genes!"

"Of course not," Warty murmured and slipped back into the Front Lat Spread.

The Baron shifted his weight uncomfortably. "I am sending in more guards!" he snapped.

Warty only smiled at him, looking back over his shoulder from a Rear Double Biceps.

"Be brave!" The Baron told the girl. "Remember your breeding and your oath to the ZietFührer!"

"Ja, Baron," she replied.

Warty dropped to the floor and did knuckle pushups until The Baron scurried away. He sprang to his feet when he was gone.

"Fifty generations of breeding?" he asked, making a fist to ripple the muscles in the forearm of his free hand. Warty ran his hand slowly down his abs and into the loose front of his jumpsuit.

"Yes," she said. She shifted her hips and crossed her feet like she needed to pee.

"How did they manage that?"

"Your technology, Warty Hugeman. We cannot travel in time, but we can violate locality to speed up gestation and maturation. It still took the ZeitFührer over three hundred years working in secret to create me." She looked down at herself and smiled.

"Should you be telling me this?"

"No, Warty Hugeman."

"Then why are you?"

"You…" she looked away.

Warty got very close to the transparent wall of the prison cube.

"You are the only real man I have ever met," she whispered.

Warty stepped back and tore off the jumpsuit completely. A huge pink penis jutted from his waist like an angry forearm.

"But," the girl stammered, "we took your Schwarzewaffe!"

"I grew another," he said as six more guards stomped into the empty space. They headed right toward him.

"I've learned to always have a back up."

Warty backed up a few steps as the new set of guards approached the cube. They were all yelling at him in broken German. He waited until they were all close and struck the Most Muscular pose. A huge pair of testicles slid out of his body and all the guards fell over.

The girl with Nazi-ray eyes stepped over their twitching bodies, lifted a hand to the cube and Warty felt a rush of displaced air as it disappeared.

"Rosawaffe," she grunted and grabbed it with both hands.

Chapter Four: Got Caught Raping An Angel, Got Caught Stealing Fire From The Sky

They made savage love on the bodies of the dead guards. She screamed and bit him as he broke the thick band of her hymen with an audible pop. The girl reached up and tossed her glasses away, her swastika eyes boring into him. Warty turned her over and took her roughly from behind, slipping a spit-covered finger into her perfect pink anus. She ripped the faces of the guards as she scrabbled for purchase on the bodies, thrusting back ever more desperately, impaling herself on him. He slapped her bucking ass with his free hand and it sounded like a rifle shot in the empty spaces of his prison. He ejaculated again and again, mixing semen with her blood and the blood of the guards and the thick erotic discharge she produced in delightful excess.

They parted and fell back together on their bed of ruined corpses. Her breathing was loud and ragged as the aftershocks of dozens of orgasms shook her body. She rolled over and tried to hug him to her, but Warty moved away.

“Warty doesn’t snuggle,” he said. He wiped his still erect penis off with a guard’s hat and stood up. The light streaming down lit his muscles as he stretched like some enormous cat.

“Warty Hugeman, you are a god,” she whispered. He grinned at her.

“What is your name?” he asked.


“Anna, put your clothes back on, we need to get out of here,” he told her. She nodded silently.

Warty found the largest dead guard and pulled his clothes off. They barely fit him. He had to tuck his penis down one of the pant legs to get them on and settled for just an undershirt when the back tore out of the jacket. He found that their uniform’s holsters were all empty.

“No guns? Where are the guns? I need lots and lots of guns. Big ones.”

“None of the guards are armed,” she said. “I was never told why.”

Her last act of getting dressed was putting her mirrored glasses back on. Warty looked at himself twinned in her eyes.

“Do you have to wear those?” he asked.

“Since the surgery,” she said. “I was not born like this. I’ve had… modifications.”

“Did you want them?”

“The ZietFuhrer wanted them. That was all that mattered.”

“Let’s get out of here. They brought you through a portal, but you’ve been here before, right?”

“Ja. I mean, yes,” she said.

“Where would they keep the stuff I was wearing when you showed up?”

“There is a central laboratory on the floor below us. The timesuit will be there, and most likely your pubic arsenal as well.”

“You know about the timesuit?” he asked.

“I have studied you my whole life, Warty Hugeman. Your history, your equipment, your travels, at least what we know of them. I was bred to destroy you. You are the reason I exist.” She took a couple steps back and looked at her feet.

“Goddamn, that is fucking hot,” Warty said. “I’d take you right now if I didn’t need my stuff. Help me fuck The Baron up, and I’ll take to a place where MDMA is in the water fountains and every houseplant shits lube right into your hand.”

Warty planted his foot in the crotch of the body he had stripped for its clothes and wrenched its right leg off. He swung it experimentally as a club.

“I’m ready,” he said.

Chapter Five: Everybody Happy As The Dead Come Home

"Where are all the guards?" Warty asked Anna after twenty minutes of creeping quietly through deserted corridors.

"I do not know. It makes no sense. The last time I was here there were many personnel."

Warty was following her as they talked and kept cupping her ass with his enormous hand.

"You are insatiable, Warty Hugeman," she told him. He nodded and grinned.

"I'm sick of sneaking around. Let's head for that lab you mention and get this show on the road."

Anna turned and slapped him suddenly and then kissed him.

"Come, Warty Hugeman," she said, laughing. She slid a strong hand down the outline of his penis in the pants before taking his hand and pulling him along as she headed down a long flight of stairs. Toward the bottom, Warty began to hear sounds of machinery and felt spacetime begin to throb around him like a sore tooth.

They rounded a corner after the last step and saw The Baron gesticulating wildly in front of an open, shimmering portal. Young men and women--Aryan and tall and beautiful--were lined up, two by two, and were marching in a neat column into the portal. Warty saw that the machine generating the portal was hooked up by a mass of wires to his timesuit. A low growl formed in his throat.

The Baron looked at a comically large timepiece as the last of the Aryan couples disappeared. Warty looked around. The Baron was all alone, and Warty ran at him.

"Ah, Hugeman," The Baron said, turning. Warty stopped short. "About time you got here. Imagine, a time traveller turning up late." He clicked the timepiece close and tucked it into a pocket.

"What the fuck is going on here?" Warty demanded.

"Say goodbye to her, Hugeman," The Baron said. He gestured with The Scepter of White Rage. Warty turned to see a portal open beneath Anna and then another open in front of the time portal. Anna fell and screamed until she disappeared.

"Where have you sent her?" Warty demanded.

"Somewhere you will never find her."

Warty advanced on him. "I'm going to wring your fat neck."

The Baron underhanded The Scepter of White Rage at the open time portal and it closed without a sound. The Scepter fell and shattered, scattering pieces all over the floor.

"You will never find her, Hugeman," The Baron said. Warty punched him in the face.

"Of course I'll find her. I'll give her your skin as a Fuckmas present."

The Baron lay on the floor, his nose smashed flat, his mouth dribbling blood.

"You never do find her, so you can never find her. Closed loop, Hugeman."

"Fucking paradox. You asshole." Warty balled a fist.

"She's pregnant, Hugeman. She will be the mother of my army. That's why I took your Doomcock, so you'd grow another." The Baron began to laugh. "An army of Aryan Hugeman. The universe is mine."

"But you said she was the end of the breeding program."

"The end and the beginning. You just fucked your own great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great- great-great-great-great-great-great-granddaughter! And she had sex with her own great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-"

Warty punched The Baron in the throat before he could get out thirty-eight more greats.

"Father," The Baron finally rasped.

"Oh, shut up," Warty told him. "Fifty generations. I probably have as much consanguinity with her as I do you."

The Baron struggled to move and failed.

Warty unhooked the timesuit from where it was wired into The Baron's makeshift time portal. He tore off the pieces of the guards' uniforms and slipped into it.

"If you broke this being an idiot," he told The Baron. "I'm going to take you to a place where I can pay to have you raped to death by porcupines. And a place like that exists. I spent a weekend there once. It was hilarious."

The Baron groaned weakly.

"Self-diagnostic," Warty muttered into the suit microphone. He searched on the vast workbench next to the time portal. He found the Doomcock and slipped it into a pocket. His Doomtesticles were nearby, held tightly in a vice.

"Assholes," Warty said, retrieving them. They seemed fine as he examined them.

"FULL FUNCTIONALITY," the suit reported.

Warty kicked the shattered pieces of the Scepter of White Rage away and squatted down next to The Baron, his testicles in hand.

"You know what's going to happen now, dumbfuck?" he asked The Baron. "You are going to die and never lead your army. This was all for nothing."

"Hugeman, I am just a portion of the ZietFuhrer. A fingernail clipping," he whispered. "You are fucked."

Warty sighed and held up a forefinger. A needle slid out and he stabbed it into The Baron's neck and read his heads-up display.

"I got you, motherfucker," Warty said, jerking the needle out roughly. "I'm going to find you. We're out of the loop now. Paradox can't prevent it."

He laid his testicles on The Baron's chest almost tenderly.

"I'm going to leave now. About three seconds after you see me disappear into the timestream those are going to make it about five times as hot as the surface of a star in here. And in every direction for about a mile. That should take care of whatever Reich you said this was."

"You'll never find your child!" The Baron said.

"Probably not, but you have fun melting in a hell of nuclear fire."

Warty whispered a time coordinate into the suit and was gone.


Friday, October 2, 2015

Warty Hugeman and The Endless Asshole:The Complete Adventure


Warty Hugeman and his adequately functioning robot helpmate Simon bounded across the folds and wrinkles of the moon with effortless grace.

"What about 'Farto: The Living Asshole?'" Warty asked.

"It is a good name, Warty, but aren't all assholes living?" Simon replied.

"Assholes can be dead, but I guess it is a bit redundant to say that it is a living asshole given that is the whole attraction of visiting it."

Simon made a rapid series of clicks and whirrs that the timesuit interpreted as laughter.

"We could just call it 'Butt,'" Warty suggested. "It's simple and to the point."

"Warty, seismic tremors are incoming."

They both adjusted in mid-leap to land near a giant butthair to anchor themselves to. The entire moon began to rumble.

"We are definitely calling these 'Fartquakes,'" Warty said, through chattering teeth. The outgassing event continued for seven full minutes, thrusting the asshole-shaped moon even faster toward the center of the galaxy. At the current rate of punctuated acceleration, Simon had calculated that the fleshy orb of buttflesh and its methane geyser would meet the black hole in the center of the Milky Way in a little less the 8.6 million years. Already the sky was almost pure white with the dead light of a billion suns.

"Atmospheric methane density has increased," Simon announced. The timesuit was getting better at translating him; when they first met, Simon talked like a robotard.

"How far has it been since the last sample site?" Warty asked.

"Five kilometers."

"I'm going to sample again."

Warty plunged his harpoon down into the buttmeat of the moon's surface, leaning on it to drive it deep. Buttblood spurted into the methane-rich air. The harpoon screeched after a moment and Warty pulled it out.

"The readings are the same, Warty Hugeman. I am forced to conclude that this entire moon is a single, living butthole of staggering proportions."

"And it's all ours Simon," Warty said. "Think of what we could do if we could harness it, steer it. We could cropdust entire solar systems!"

"Warty, I have been consulting the historical files. What about designating this moon 'Balloonknot?'"

"That's perfect, Simon! I love it! Come on, robopal. Let us plumb the mysterious depths of our Balloonknot!"


Hours later the two indefatigable analnauts stood on the rim of the huge buttal cleft that split open the face of Balloonknot.

"It's down there, Simon. I wish there was some other way, but this giant hunk of butt is blocking our sensors. Unless we go spelunking, we'll never know how Balloonknot works."

"I was not programmed to feel fear, Warty Hugeman. You taught me that. I can delete those files if you wish."

"No, Simon. Feeling fear when confronted with a rectal opening large enough to use a mountain as a butt plug is what being human is all about."

Warty and Simon dove off the edge of the cleft and descended rapidly down the foul decline, even swinging from asshair to asshair occasionally, like the apes one of them was a close cousin to. They rested when they were nearly to the bottom, perched on a skin tag as large as a sailing ship of old. It was dark down by the craterous anus, and both had sifted to false color light amplification.

"How does something like this even work, Simon? I mean, we can't find a mouth or other openings, but this is all living flesh. Shouldn't it just be frozen solid?" Warty ruminated.

"I do not know, Warty Hugeman. Most living creatures with an anus also have a mouth, making sentients like you [toroidal/doughnut-shaped]." Simon said.

Warty jerked at the insertion of the timesuit's translator to provide equivocation of what Simon had expressed. It did it constantly in his early interactions with Simon, almost making anything Simon said into indeterminate gibberish. Hearing it now set off an alarm in a small backroom of Warty's mind.

"But the connection of the mouth and the anus doesn't have to be strictly physical," Simon continued. "Perhaps the mouth of this creature is thousands of light years away and the waste it generates is translocated to this organ who's function is strictly execratory.”

The alarm in Warty's mind grew louder. Something was very wrong.

"I note a posture of alarm, Warty Hugeman," Simon transmitted subvocally.

"It's too soon," Warty said. "Given the projections, we still had hours before the next one."

"What is it?" Simon asked.

"Fartquake. FARTQUAKE!" Warty screamed.


"We'll anchor in place. This skin tag as obviously weathered thousands of fartquakes," Warty reasoned.

He ripped open his carryall and began pulling out equipment. Cables and ropes and a piton gun were passed to Simon and he began studding the base of the anal skin tag with anchors. There was little blood, but the skin tag twitched every time Simon fired into it, and it writhed when Warty used his enormous strength to drive a large harpoon to the hilt to act as an anchor of last resort.

"OK, Simon. You first," Warty said, reaching out for the cabling.

"No Warty Hugeman. I should secure you first," Simon said.

"Good idea," Warty said and gathered the slack skin tag flesh round him.

"Did you not wish to know why I should secure you first?" Simon asked.

"Nope, just do it. Hop to, now." As soon as Warty finished speaking, the nearby giant anus puckered and shiver went through the entire backdoor canyon, as if it agreed with him on the timetable.

"You are very important to me, Warty Hugeman," Simon said, as he cocooned Warty in the tag meat with a web of cabling woven at robotic speed through the pitons. "You freed me from my cruel creators and gave me a freedom no one else in my product line will ever experience."

Warty sighed inwardly. This was not the first putatively male artificial humanoid to confess its love for him. Few manbots could resist Warty's sociopathic flat affect or his massive quads.

"Look, Simon. I really like you too, but…" Before Warty could finish interrupting him, Simon stepped away and then lashed himself into the tagflesh.

"You were saying something, Warty Hugeman?" Simon asked

"Don't worry about it," Warty said, right as the apocalyptic farting began.

The lavish display of starlight in the sky above Balloonknot lit up the canyon as the buttal cleft was split open by the escaping gas. The fart seemed to go forever, the pressure waves slamming into anal skin tag, making it lurch sickeningly. The anus snapped close once, causing the skin tag to shoot upward. Warty briefly thought that it was over, but a secondary fart was lurking behind the clenched anus and battered them once more when it came rushing out.


"Warty Hugeman, can you hear me?" It was Simon's voice coming over the timesuit's speakers. He sounded very far away.

Warty felt the skin tag shudder as Simon tore the pitons out to release him. Simon caught him as he fell forward and gently lowered him to the ground.

"What happened?" Warty asked thickly.

"The secondary fartquake had a… projectile component. One of them hit the skin tag hard enough to knock you out," Simon said. He helped Warty to his feet.

"I had dream, Simon. Or maybe a vision. You and I lit a fartquake and used it to roast an entire planet right down to the bedrock.” Simon laughed in robotic delight. "Where could we get a Zippo big enough, Simon?"

"We must first find out what is causing the methane outgassing," Simon said.

"Of course, of course. We must make for the anus as quickly as possible." Warty electrified the gloves of the timesuit and burned his harpoon free of the tagmeat.

"Yes, Warty Hugeman. I have plotted a route to the rectal center."


Even with being forced to dodge the occasional pulsing surface veins and avoid anal crevasses large enough to swallow a thousand time-traveling strongmen, the pair made good time. Within two hours they were at the puckered center of the titanic butthole.

"Once we slip through the anus itself, the sigmoid colon should be empty enough for us travel freely," Warty said. "Hold still, Simon."

Warty used the enormous reserves of the timesuit to spray Simon with a thick coating of industrial grade lube and then himself with the same.

"Are you ready?" he asked Simon.

Simon nodded and then ran toward the center of the sphincter, building up as much speed as he could on the hot, rubbery flesh. With a cry he jumped and executed a perfect swan dive into the anus. He stopped at his shoulders.

"Simon?" Warty transmitted. "Are you OK?"

"I am undamaged, Warty Hugeman. But I cannot move. This anus is tighter than either of us could have ever imagined."

"I'm coming, Simon," Warty told him.

Warty had to stifle a laugh. Simon's legs and torso stuck straight up in the air.

"Do you want me to pull you out?" Warty asked. "We could try again somewhere else. There a kilometer of sphincter to choose from."

"I do not think so, Warty Hugeman. Please attempt to push me through. I believe the pressure is lower just a few meters below me, but I can find no purchase against the rectal walls."

Warty Hugeman pushed downward on Simon's feet, but the angle was awkward and the surface under his feet treacherous.

"Simon, I have an idea. Retract your genitalia and then armor your crotch," Warty told him.

Simon was silent for a long moment. "Uh, OK, Warty Hugeman. You may proceed."

Warty pried apart Simon's legs and put his right foot in Simon's crotch and then stood up on the one leg. The beginnings of a strangled cry was cut off when the transmitter link went dead.

"You OK, Simon? Simon?"

"Proceed," was all Simon said.

Warty steadied himself on Simon's feet and then jumped as high as he could and came down on Simon's crotch. He moved a few inches deeper into the rectum. Warty jumped again and again and again, coming down on Simon's crotch with as much force as he could manage. When Simon's pubic area was firmly in the anus, Warty began pounding Simon's feet with his massive fists until they disappeared.

"Simon? Are you through? Is there a way into the sigmoid colon?"

Simon answered after a full minute. "Yes, Warty Hugeman. I was able to claw my way through."

"OK, I'll be down in a minute."

Warty thrust his hands in the anal opening that was still visible from Simon's passage and pulled the walls apart far enough to sink into to his waist. And then bracing his lower back, he brought his knees to his chest and pushed out with his feet. The anal fissure grew wide enough for him to be able to crabwalk down into the unknown spaces below.

Warty laughed when he finally was able to drop down next to Simon.

"I don't know how we are going to get back out," Warty said, "but at least that part is over."

"I'm glad to see you didn't have the same difficulties as I did."

"You totally loosened it up for me, Simon."


"Up a head, Simon. I think I see a light." Warty turned off the lights of the timesuit. A faint glow lit up the next colossal bend in the endless colon.

"I see it as well, Warty Hugeman. Maybe our journey is almost at an end," Simon transmitted.

They both began to move faster through the intestinal tunnel. The light grew so bright they could make out every ghastly detail. There was a kernel of corn larger than the house Warty had grown up in. There was something that might have been a thoroughly chewed and digested Lincoln Continental. They marveled at a polyp larger than a football stadium.

When they made it around the colonal bend, they saw the source of the light. It was a colossal machine propping open the entire large intestine. They ran toward it. The scale of it was unbelievable. It was larger than most spaceships Warty had ever stolen. There was a crease in the bottom of the great circular collection of pipes and valves and intricate, if massive, cogs. The machine towered over them as they got closer.

She was waiting for them when they finally arrived at the base.

"Took you long enough," she said. She was in her mid-twenties and beautiful, a transparent bubble helmet showing off her heart-shaped face. While Warty studied her, she pulled out a pistol and shot Simon in the face.

"Simon!" Warty screamed, catching him before he fell to the muck-encrusted floor of the colon.

"I'll kill you, bitch," Warty growled, weapons springing from his hands and pants.

"Calm down," she said. "That's not Simon. Go on, look."

Warty looked down at Simon's ruined face. Bone and blood and brains spilled out.

"Robots don't bleed," she said. "Unless they are on their period, of course."

"What it is this?" Warty demanded, shaking the corpse of the impostor of his robotic friend.

"Some Time Institute idiot, after your suit as always. You should just let them a have an old one, you know. In every universe they've gotten a hold of one they just blow themselves up trying to take it apart."

"What is this place? Who are you?"

"This is the engine of Balloonknot," she said, sweeping her hand up at the machine. "I invented it so I could drive this butt planet around."

"Why?" Warty had let the body go and was picking bits of gore off the timesuit.

"So I could find you, of course. Spread enough rumors around about a giant ass planet, and you were bound to show up. Especially with your ego."

"What you do mean by that?" Warty was growing bored and angry and felt like he had been tricked.

"Didn't you recognize it? It is your ass, after all." Her giggle was high and clear, like shattering glass.

"How could it be my ass? My ass is right here!" Warty said, snaking a hand back to check.

"Well, it's one of your asses. There are an infinite number of them, after all. In the universe this ass is from, you decided to never stop getting bigger. When you were eventually killed, only your butt and parts of your pelvis weren't parceled up to feed your trillions and trillions of victims. Truly Giant Warty was a real evil bastard. I stole your butt for my own use."

"Why would you do that?"

"I'm your daughter, silly. I'm Alys Hugeman."


Dr. Warty Hugeman and the Mad Professor Syzygy

“Is this supposed to frighten me, Professor Syzygy? I’m not someone who frightens easily.”

“You will know an eternity of fear before this infinite day is over, Dr. Hugeman. I shall lecture you on it! I shall hold a seminar!” Syzygy screamed. His miter board fell of his head as he gestured wildly with his crackling plasma yardstick.

Dr. Warty Hugeman struggled to break the unbreakable student desk he had been tied to with unbreakable bonds while suspended from an unbreakable rope over a pit of writhing ultravipers. He knew the lethality of the ultravipers; he had bred them himself in order to wipe out the royal family of an alternate Earth ruled by superintelligent and sexually depraved chipmunks. He had made a monument out of their shat out bones.

“Do you really expect me to tell you where the timesuit is?” Warty asked, sneering.

“No, Dr. Hugeman. I expect you to die!” Syzygy chortled.

“You stole that from a movie!”

“No I didn’t! I was saying that a billion years before Ian Fleming was even born! Fleming stole it from ME!” Syzygy swung the plasma yardstick at a globe on his desk and it exploded into flames.

Warty struggled more, straining his muscled bulk at his bonds. “Are these things really unbreakable?” he asked, after the Professor calmed down.

“Completely! I took them from a Pain Brothel in the Dominatrix System!”

“Is there any particular reason why I'm naked, Professor?”

“It's not like that, you oversexed goon!” Syzygy shook the turgid Cervix Smasher at Warty accusingly. “You know I had to get this off of you.”

“Be careful with that, Professor. It's very sensitive.” The Professor screamed in disgust and dropped the massive set of weaponized genitals. 

Warty strained against the ropes once more. They needed to be weakened. He concentrated and sent a command to his feet and wrists to begin producing acidic sweat. He let his fingertips fall off and used the diamond edges of his fingerbones to saw at the ropes. A thin trickle of explosive prostatic fluid began to run from the connection valve of the Cervix Smasher. His salvia glands initiated production of blinding venom. His canines grew two inches. He loaded a fart of concentrated VX gas into his rectal cannon.

“I’m going to slap you to death with my robocock when I get loose, Professor. I suggest you start running now.” The ropes began to part under the onslaught from his fingerbones. A powerful charge was gathering in his pubic hair. “If you’re fast enough, I might leave some small part of you slightly unfucked.”

Professor Syzygy stared in horror as Warty pulled one foot loose and then the other, the unbreakable ropes parting like rotted silk.

Wednesday, April 23, 2014

Suitable for Ages 3 and Up

Lil' Warty Hugeman and The Diabolical Nursery of Dr. Buttouch:
A Lil' Warty Adventure Tale 

Lil' Warty Hugeman scaled the side of the sofa. It was a good vantage point; he could see three entrances to the living chamber they had broken into. Warty reached down to help Lil' Marissa up. It was like she weighed nothing. Lil' Warty Hugeman was a very muscular toddler.

"Thank Ba'al you still have your strength, Warty," Marissa said, her unfused soft palate giving her the cutest lisp.

"Buttouch's weapon was able to de-age our bodies, but it couldn't strip away our essential natures. I have always been strong, all the way back to the day that I tore myself out of my mother." He patted his six-pack with a powerful hand and smiled at the memory.

"Now that we are out of the lab I can get status updates on my bioware," Marissa said. "I think I can instantiate my suit."

Warty nodded and farted wetly into his timediaper. He wasn't sure if what the timesuit had been reduced to was functional at all. His infant nervous system wasn't coupled to the suit any longer and only the crude exterior controls worked. The onboard Limited AI was barely more than a graphing calculator after being hit with the de-aging beam and Warty had been forced to lock it out of general systems. He was afraid if he attempting a time jump, the timediaper might take only his pelvis to a different spacetime. Warty rather liked his pelvis.

Marissa struggled out of her "Little Stinker" t-shirt and peeled off her diaper to stand nude on the couch cushions.

"You could have warned me," Warty said, turning his back to her.

"Don't be such a pussy," Marissa said. "Were both babies, for fuck's sake."

"It's just weird."

"You've seen me naked a thousand times," she said, wiping her wispy blond hair back with a chubby hand.

"This kind of shit is how rumors get started," Warty pouted.

Marissa began trying to summon her suit from unspace, focusing her attention on the bioware construct of the suit in her mind's eye. It was usually so easy, ever since hoodwinking the Brainarchy out of the upgrades. She just had to imagine herself wearing the suit and it appeared. She formed the image of her adult body, tall and strong, a silvered abstraction in the suit as it engulfed her completely. She grunted with the strain.

"Are you pooping back there?" Warty asked.

"Shut up, I almost had it."

Marissa furrowed her smooth brow until the answer came to her. She was no longer her adult self. She was not longer strong or tall. She imagined a baby—stubby legs and arms, lolling giant head—and let the silver swallow it. Marissa open her eyes and saw that she was wearing a silver onesie.

"Uh, that doesn't look right," Warty said.

"I thought you weren't looking," she said.

"There's a, uh, smell when you instantiate your suit."

"A smell? What are you on about?"

"It's not a bad smell," Warty said, holding up both hands.

"What does it smell like?" Marissa demanded.

"It smells like what it smells like." Warty shrugged and grinned, showing his toothless gums.

"Does it smell bad?"

"Not anymore."

"What do you mean by that?" Marissa put her little hands on her baby hips.

"Look, can we talk about your bioware odor after we get the hell out of here?"

"So now it's an 'odor?'"

"By all the Gods of Death Metal, give it a rest, woman!"

"We are going to talk about this when we get back to the fortress."

"Yeah, yeah," Warty said. He jumped off the side of the couch and held his arms out.

"You are a very weird-looking baby, you know," Marissa said, before jumping into his strong embrace.

Monday, April 14, 2014

Frequently Asked Questions

Q: Is Warty Hugeman real?
A: Warty Hugeman is all too real.

Q: What will Warty do when he finds out you've been spreading lies about him?
A: I have been commissioned by Mr. Hugeman to chronicle his adventures. The only lie I've ever told you, dear readers, is that he's not coming for you.

Q: Where was Warty Hugeman born?
A: In the drug-addled nightmares of a dying whore.

Q: Under what physical principle does your alleged "Warty Hugeman" purport to travel through time?
A: Warty Hugeman uses the the Hawking radiation from micro black holes to generate an instantaneous Einstein-Rosen bridge through unterspace to travel in space and time. Everyone knows this, moron. Stop being such a moron.

Q: How much can Warty Hugeman lift?
A: The weight of three Scolarian MegaOxen in a 1.3 Earth standard gravity field.

Q: What god does Warty Hugeman pray to?
A: None. Gods pray to him.

Q: Is there an evil, alternate universe Warty Hugeman?  You know, like Spock with a beard?
A: There are thousands and thousands of alternate universe Warties. They all push against the boundaries of our universe in an attempt to cross over. They will do anything to get here. We are the only universe that ever invented The Bloomin' Onion.

Q: Is Warty Hugeman available for hire?  You know, for events like business summits, conventions, and kids' birthday parties?
A: Warty only does bachelorette parties. En masse.

Q: Can Warty morph himself into a version of Warty that another Warty cannot lift?
A: Warty cannot morph himself until after The Crisis of Infinite Warties in 2097.

Q: Which Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtle is Warty's favorite?
A: Michelangelo, because Warty once ate a pair of nunchucks. They were delicious.

Q: Can I get an autographed copy of a complete set of Warty Hugeman adventures?
A: Hopefully this will possible in the future. Right now the best you can do is go into a bathroom, shut the door, turn off all the lights and say "Warty Hugeman" five times in a row.

Excerpts from interview with author, unpublished piece commissioned by The Journal of the Royal Society of Henchmen, Minions, Goon and Cultic Adherents.

Q: What was the inspiration for Warty Hugeman?
A: The man himself. He is the time-traveling hyperviolent omnipervert that we all dream to someday be.

Q: Is there a message in the Warty Hugeman books?
A: No. But hopefully a future edition will feature a word jumble.

Q: What charity do you donate your Warty Hugeman profits to?
A: Bully International. They promote and support the efforts of bullies all over the US and Canada.

Q: What is Warty Hugeman's political affiliation?
A: King Warty himself is a Royalist.

Q: My kids want to read your books. Is Warty Hugeman appropriate for children?
A: Lil' Warty Adventures will begun publication sometime next year.

Excerpts from interview with author, unpublished piece commissioned by io9

Q: Are you a woman?  I only like science fiction written by women or women-like people.
A: I refuse to answer that on the grounds that it may affect sales.

Q: Which Dr. Who is Warty's favorite?
A: The really gay one.

Q: Have you considered writing a Warty Hugeman/Dr. Who crossover?
A: Yes. Warty has sex with the TARDIS until it explodes and takes all the hot Companions with him to Fuck Planet, The Planet of Fucking. And fucking ensues.

Questions from Hit and Run comment section interview with author, 2014 March 28

Lord Humungus
Who would win in an arm-wrestling match, Warty or STEVE SMITH?

Warty, because he has opposable thumbs and STEVE SMITH cannot wear a backwards baseball cap due to abnormal cranial structure.

Warty Hugeman or Chuck Norris?

They once fought to a draw, but that was in the 1970s and before the degeneration cause by the background radiation of filming Walker, Texas Ranger caused Chuck Norris to do infomercials.

What, if any, connection exists between W.H and Geddy Lee? It seems like there ought to be one.

They have met many times in many times. "TheFountain of Lamneth" is a thinly disguised biography of Warty Hugeman.

Does Warty have any Presidential aspirations?

Warty Hugeman has been President many times. He has ruled as King, Emperor, Tsar, Pharaoh and Caesar. He was the horse that sexed up on Catherine the Great. He held the sheet music while Nero fiddled. He had sex with a Pyramid.

Is it true that Warty's middle name is "The"?

Warty Hugeman does not have a middle name. He sold it back to his father to buy his first car.

invisible furry hand
What was Warty Hugeman's first car and how did he fit into it?

1979 Pontiac Firebird and with ease. He wasn't born a huge man, he made himself one through will, tenacity and super science.

invisible furry hand
Is it true he refused to enter Bill Maher's vagina?

Yes. There are some places not even the strongest of us can venture.

Will there ever be a movie or television version of Warty Hugeman?

Negotiations are in the works, but Warty is holding out for when MEGAVISION is finally invented. Imagine a TV show that is also a national disaster and you will grasp the merest drop of the glory that is MEGAVISION.

I thought he was waiting for SMELLOVISION.

MEGAVISION engulfs all 18 of the human senses.

Even smision?

Especially smision.

Monday, April 7, 2014

Warty Hugeman and The Doomcock of Doom: The Complete Adventure

Chapter One

Warty Hugeman strode into the vast Main Hall wearing the finest fashions looted from 50,000 years of human vanity. His shirt was woven from the softest nipple hairs of the giant echidnas that obliterated Africa in the 35th century, genetic abominations from yet another failed attempt to reterraform Earth. His pants were cuttleshark leather, the still-active chromatophores rippling with colors painfully beautiful to the human eye. His boots were each carved from a single piece of butter-soft mimetic mastodon ivory. A cape of the blackest megasilk was tied with an elaborate knot at his throat and it billowed out behind him like a sail lost to a fierce storm. His weapons were simple and elegant: a sword pried from the hand a tyrant dying on a long-ago battlefield, a handgun that could destroy a city with a single pull of the trigger.

He felt thousands of eyes slither over him, oozing jealousy and fear.

The Time Plunderer's Ball was a vast one million second long party in a closed time-like loop on a tiny little moon orbiting a dull planet parented by an uninteresting sun that was tucked away in a boring globular cluster. It was billed as hyperexclusive, but the whole thing was set up to be one of the worst kept secrets in all of history. You could only go if a time traveller that had already spotted a future version of you at the party invited you, but since everyone who was anyone eventually made it to the Ball, it meant almost all time travellers there ever were or will be ended up there at there at some point. It was started by a pair of piratical bastards as a trap to kill other time travellers to thin out the competition, but they had miscalculated their CTL and the party always restarted for them just as their frame of reference brought them to the moment they were supposed to trigger a bomb in the moon or a solar flare or something. Accounts differed. Most people Warty tried to ask about it just told him to enjoy the party and drink up because the bill was never, ever going to come due.

Trap or not, the etiquette for The Ball was strict. It was utterly gauche to talk to yourself at The Ball. Warty didn't even nod to a younger version of himself that was drinking and playing cards with a few people he vaguely remembered. Warty did make note of the primitive timesuit the younger version wore. It looked dated and frankly ridiculous, like your high school haircut. There was another Warty--or maybe just a Wart--looming over the party on a balcony, gripping a railing, wearing a featureless body suit that swallowed light completely. All Warty could see was the outlined absence of his futureself.

Everywhere around him time travellers were displaying looted artifacts, telling the story of elaborate scars or boasting about conquests.

"Cleopatra? Cleopatra? Everyone's had that fucked out hag by now!" a TechnoViking roared to a small, bespectacled researcher from a Time Institute. Warty couldn't tell which Time Institute; he had encountered hundreds of organizations calling themselves that, often working at cross-purposes to preserve their idea of the "proper timestream."

"Did she try to stick a crocodile turd in her pussy first?" the TechnoViking continued, poking the little man hard in the shoulder. The Viking was almost as large as Warty, with a carefully combed beard, flowing blond hair and a Time Axe slung casually over one shoulder. It was laughable technology compared to the timesuit; the Galactic Northmen had to cleave a wound in time and step through, hoping the cut was just right to take them to their destination. More often than not they stepped out into empty space and died.

"Oh, leave him alone, Sven," Warty said. It was a calculated gamble. Warty wasn't sure if he knew this one, they all looked so much alike they were probably clones or forced zygote propagation, but most of them seemed to be named Sven.

"Hoogemoan!" Sven boomed. "Meet my new friend." He clapped the Time Institute stooge on the shoulder and nearly knocked him to his knees. He was a nervous type, sniffing the air like a prey species. His only interesting feature was a gruesome scar like jagged lightening along the left side of his head.

"Hoogemoan?" the stooge asked, rubbing his shoulder.

"Hoogemoan. Hooge-moan, you deaf little creature," Sven thundered.

"Hugeman?" the stooge managed.

"That is what I said!" Sven redden and reached behind him to get his axe.

Warty stepped between them. To the stooge he held out his hand, making the spray of vacuum impact diamonds along the knuckles glitter.

"I'm Warty Hugeman." He grinned as nicely as he could. He had killed dozens of these guys in various encounters and in many different incarnations, but there was no sense in scaring this one. The Ball was neutral ground.

"Warty Hugeman?" the stooge gulped. "Oh, Jesus. Oh, fuck. You aren't supposed to look like that any longer!" He began pawing at the time harness so many of them used, frantically trying to calculate a time jump.

"Calm down there, friend," Warty said. "I'm not going to hurt you."

As Warty approached the stooge slowly, a huge shadow fell over them both. Looking up, Warty could see that the massive futureself had vaulted the balcony railing and was falling toward them. Before he could react, Wart(+?) had seized the stooge. With a single gesture he ripped off the Institute harness and stomped it to junk. The stooge was screaming a abject terror until Wart(+?) grabbed him by the throat and shook him.

"What's going on?" Warty demanded. Wart(+?) turned and hit him with the stooge. He could hear dozens of bones breaking in the little man's body as he crashed against him. Warty flew a few feet and landed on a table full of drinks, scattering a group of Aztechnocrats that were touching themselves as they shared a manufactured race memory of a long summer day spent ripping out a thousand hearts with obsidian blades. A set of headphones had landed near Warty and he could hear the screaming victims and the chants of religious ecstasy. Over it, much louder, in the shocked silence of the ball's guests, he could hear the wet firecracker sounds of rapidly breaking bone.

Eventually, Sven loomed over him.

"What the hell is going on?" Warty asked him.

"Your Eventual wadded the little man into a ball and then jumped away with what was left," Sven explained as he help him up.

"I don't remember that happening," Warty said. He looked for his younger self. Warty(-18 Subjective) was waiting to catch his eye, and then cocked a brow. Warty shrugged and his younger self shimmered of out the current frame of reference.

"You need a drink, Hoogemoan," Sven said. "Many, many drinks." He threw his arm around Warty's shoulder and led him away, taking care to step right on the frightened scrap of penis hanging out of the rucked tunic of the High Priest of the Aztechnocrats.

Chapter Two

Warty was almost drunk when The Parade of Curiosities began.

Sven was in the second hour of recounting his sexual exploits through time to the various creatures sitting at their table. Highlights so far included urinating in the cavernous vagina of Pope Joan and titty-fucking General Kei-Ong before her defeat at The Groomsbridge Massacre.

The Forstock Twins huddled together in a single chair, passing a glass of something that looked like curdled red wine back and forth. An enormous gengineered panda absently stripped narcotic bamboo as it listened, nodding at Sven's litany of famous names he had sexed up on throughout history. There was even a amorphous blob of glitter with them that claimed to be a post-real intelligence from "otherways in time." Warty suspected it was just some asshole with a holoprojecter taking the piss, but it was happy to gamble poorly with credit chips it claimed to be willing into existence, so Warty didn't run a backscatter defense protocol through his suit's countermeasure suite.

Sven broke off when the first exhibit of The Parade got close.

"Hoogemoan, what is this thing?"

Warty turned in his chair to see a disembodied brain on a floating platter, crackling vines of electricity running through the folds and channels of its surface.

"The Pretender Brainiarch of 2458, a corrupted clone of a renegade Brainarch that it sent back to blah blah blah. Stealing a planet or something," Warty told him.

"Not much of a capture," the panda said, its voice deep and melodic. "I've heard it's not much smarter than an Aquaculture Technician Grade 2."

The Forstock Twins tittered at this. Warty could never tell the weird little bald fuckers apart and he was far too drunk to remember the panda's name. It had a number in it. Maybe.

"How does it have sex?" Sven wondered.

"Who cares, Sven? It's got to shit out of something... won't be good enough for you?" Warty said. Sven's roar of laughter spit beer all over The Forstock Twins.

"A velociraptor? What is this, amateur night?" the panda scoffed. A ring of short robots herded the brightly plumed dinosaur through the hall. When it got too close to a herder, a crackle of electricity could be heard over the quiet laughter of the crowd.

"It looks like an evil chicken," Warty said. Dinosaur hunts only interested him if they were bare-handed and afforded him ample opportunity to trample as many butterflies as possible.

As the velociraptor pinballed between the robots, a savory smell of cooked flesh wafted over to Warty. His erections were immediate save for Node 7, a small error light blinked in the lower left of his visual field. Even with the lavish spokesman money, he was going to make those dipshits at Futurecock fix the Hydra model or he was going to break off each of the seven shafts in the orifices of corporate officers. He was mentally composing a threatening t-mail when the velociraptor screeched.

"You fucking assholes! I'm not really a dinosaur!" it growled in passable Relativistic Time Creole. It drew out its esses like a cartoon reptile.

"Ah, I see. An extreme genoretrotype like myself," the panda said. "But cruder." The panda squirmed with smug dismissal.

"Looking in the central database of the parade," Forstock Left said.

"I and we see that it is one of the first of your clade." Forstock Right finished.

The panda's eyes drifted to the ceiling as it read the entry on an implanted display.

"Ah. That is impressive then. The first experiments on that scale were so secret the details were lost. All the subjects and scientists were killed by some fringe don't-play-god types and the research destroyed. I'm going to kick Ned Ludd in the balls the next time I run into him. And I'm going to use my claws."

It wouldn't change anything, Warty thought glumly. Stupidity will always out, even if it comes in under a different name.

"I wonder where it learned RTC?" the glittercloud asked in a tinny voice as it floated up to the table, throwing in what Warty considered unnecessary static and bleeps and bloops. It had been away at the bar for such a long time getting the next round that Warty had hoped it was gone for good.

"I'm off to take a piss," Warty announced.

"I shall join you, Hoogemoan," Sven said. As he struggled to stand, he slipped and his head cracked loudly on the hard stone floor. He was out cold.

"Can someone roll Sven over into the recovery position?" Warty asked as he left.

He dodged a merwolfman being wheeled around in a grandly appointed aquarium, sidestepped a stampede of modular AI components all shouting in binary at one another, and shoved aside the gleaming chrome skeleton of a tripedal whale that was chatting up a smoothly gorgeous strain of Herpes Simplex 798--lovely in an evening gown the way only a sentient dick sore can be.

At least the bathroom itself was largely deserted. It was normous due to all the various facilities it had to offer for the assorted post-humans, transaliens, cisaliens, cyborgs, glitterclouds, insubstantials, mutants, post-mutants, cishumans, reverts, retrotypals and other sorts of sentients in attendance--and all their pets.

He stepped up to a normal-enough looking urinal and unzipped. The Furturecock Hydra had barely begun calculating urine flight paths when he heard the familiar crackle of an electromagnetic pulse grenade and everything went black.

When Warty Hugeman came to on the no-slip surface of the bathroom floor, he realized immediately that his penis had been stolen.

Chapter Three

Warty quickly pulled up the Find My Penis app on the timesuit's display. The Hydra was moving toward the main entrance to The Ball.

"Freeze," he ordered the suit and jumped to his feet.

"An exclusion field has been active for the last 4.87 seconds," the suit told him primly. No time-travel, no tricks like stopping time or recursion hops.

"How long was I out?"

"Local reference clock signal comparison indicates that internal sensors were out of operation for 264 seconds," the suit said. It seemed almost contrite. It was time to destroy its higher functions again, Warty only mentally noted. You never want to live inside anything that could develop a sense of humor.

"Suit functionality report. Anything else missing?"

"Nothing else was stolen. Suit functionality at 87%. At current repair speed, 100% in 158 seconds local subjective."

Warty took stock of his appearance in a giant mirror. The majestic cape was in tatters; it was made to billow and the time on the floor motionless had destroyed it. He ripped it off and threw it in a waste bin. Whoever knocked him out had taken a knife to his cuttleshark pants and his shirt smelled of piss. He stripped it all off. He let the timesuit substantiate into local space.

"The exclusion field has doubled in area of effect," the suit said. That meant the power supply for must have peaked. Warty glared at the moving dot that represented his penis as it sped away.

"Calculate a jump for when the field goes down. Put me in front of the idiot that thought it was a good idea to steal my penis."

"Acknowledged. Solution in… Hold… Your penis has vanished. Sensors read that the thief generated a jump once outside the exclusion field."

"Motherfucker!" Warty yelled. He slammed his massive fist on the counter beside the sink, spraying resin-bonded regolith shards in all directions.

The absence of his mighty multi-headed miracle manhood was a dull ache. At least they hadn't cut out the attachment ring or taken his magnificent ballsack. He was born with those spectacular jewels and remained quite attached to them. His long, thick, veiny and thoroughly original love sausage was floating in liquid nitrogen, waiting for him to tire of Futurecock technological replacements.

"The exclusion field is degrading," the suit murmured. "Time jump facility available concurrent with current field collapse estimate."

"First things first, suit." Warty subvocalized a set of coordinates.


Warty Hugeman materialized outside the Research and Development laboratories of Futurecock Industries, still needing to take a piss. He had been the face of the company for so long in the current frame of reference that the security guards let him into the facility immediately and escorted him to the Director of Male Genitalia (Nominal) and Crotch-Based Energy Weapons' office. He was a small and obsequious little man, oily in his manner, but he knew combat-model cocks like no one else.

"Mr. Hugeman. What a pleasure to see you," he purred, holding out his hand.

"No time for pleasantries, Dr. Weissblut. I need a replacement for my Hydra."

"Hydra? It is damaged? Were the power cells breached?" The little man's eyes were wide with terror.

"No, Doctor. It was stolen after someone used an EMP on my suit."

"Stolen? Why there's no telling how much destruction and pleasure could occur if that fell into the wrong hands!"

"Exactly, Doctor. I need you to re-equip me."

"But you have the only Hydra."

"I need something better than the Hydra in order to beat someone with a Hydra, Doctor."

"Of course. Give me a year, Mr. Hugeman. I'll have something for you."

Warty nodded and mouthed the coordinates. The room blinked out of existence for a fraction of a second. Dr. Weissblut stood before him as before, but the left side of his face had been burned down the bone and was covered with a clear mask.

"Mr. Hugdemaan," the doctor slurred. "On time ash uzuall."

"Doctor? What happened?"

"A small assident, sir. My assistant will help yoo; I mush retire."

The doctor left the room and younger version of him came back in. Whether child or clone, Warty didn't ask.

"Come with me, Mr. Hugeman. We will have to go to the fitting armory."

They walked together down a hallway that featured all the successful product lines from the century Futurecock Industries had dominated the recreational and military replacement cock market. There was the Mark 1, little more than a urethra drilled though the center of a white plastic dildo. It didn't even have vibration until the Mark 2. It was hanging up there as well, in all available colors: greasy pink, sterile white, and gleaming pitch black. So many memories. There was The Dominator, with counter-rotating rings, and The Sploosh, a knobby monstrosity that used sub-sonics to induce rapid overproduction of vaginal lubrication. Running along the top of the wainscoting were examples of the evolution of crotchal weaponry, from the simple penis bayonet to a scrotum-deployed MIRVmine. It wasn't until the two companies merged that the hybrid forms--meant for both sexual overpleasure and hands-free destruction of your enemies--began to be manufactured.

"After you, sir," the assistant said, when they reached the doors at the end of the hallway.

"Here is my father's final design, Mr. Hugeman."

In the small, colorless room, it waited for him on a clear pedestal. It was a triumph in black chrome, with a well-defined glans and circumcised expertly. As long as a forearm, as thick as a soup can, and even while switched off it seemed to hum with sex and devastation.

"It's enormous!" Warty exclaimed.

"That's what she will have said, Mr. Hugeman."

Chapter Four

Warty materialized in his underwater fortress. He had spent three days subjective on the island Futurecock used as a proving ground, learning the capabilities of his new penis. It had 480 different vibration and torsion settings and was strong enough to let him fuck an ancient internal combustion engine block in half with only a dozen shattering thrusts. The urethra could dilate to empty his bladder in a fraction of a second or squeeze down to make his urine a water knife that could carve through flesh. When deployed, launcher rails for missiles and mines made the entire length bristle like a manic porcupine. The frenulum was an arc welder, the corona glandis became a cutting edge spinning up to 700 rpm—more than a match for the toughest of hymens. Interfaced with the timesuit, Warty could program offensive and defensive attack scenarios. It could even run the attacks if he was unconscious, wounded or even dead. The thought of his big black doomcock avenging his death made the entire device shiver with electric pleasure.

The fortress was cold and dusty, barely used since he shared it with Marissa. Since she was annihilated from the timestream, he couldn’t even go back and see her from a distance. For a while he would murder the Brainarchy for their betrayal and then go back the day before the slaughter and murder them all over again. He had spent nearly a month subjective thinking up ways to kill them more painfully than he will/would have the next day, but it wasn’t going to bring her back. Finally he slung a boulder of antineutronium at their base the day before they would meet Marissa for the first time, years before she even became a Brainarchy agent. They died screaming, ignorant of what they did to deserve it.

Warty spit on, spoke to, coughed on and stared at the armory vault's biometric sensors until osmium alloy bolts as thick as his thighs slid apart and the blast-proof doors swung open. The serial killers and tyrants he had collected from the timestream were just a sideline to his quest to amass weapons of frightening power. He placed the citykiller pistol on its display shelf and slotted his sword next to it. He choose the gravity laser because it was small and could scale up or down for almost any situation and a big, ugly projectile handgun that could carry over a dozen different payloads. He tucked ammunition clips all over the pockets of the timesuit, as well as a variety of grenades and knifes. He selected the most heavily armored of his SmartCapes. The brochure said it could protect the wearer from a 5 kiloton airburst, but he had never put that to the test. The cape was also a full combat model and carried more firepower than a 20th century armored division. He removed the last of his party outfit, the beautiful mastodon boots, and let the timesuit grow out its own footwear. The soles could stick to virtually any surface and they were sturdy enough to withstand the purposeful stride of Warty Hugeman going to war.

"Suit," he said. "Wake everything up. Sensors, recorders, weapon and defensive protocols, everything." The timesuit hummed with activity.

"Playback starting from when I entered The Ball. Show me everyone that came in within 20 minutes on either side of my arrival. And generate an overhead of their movements near the bathroom."

Warty flipped through all the near time arrivals. He recognized a few and the suit was able to identify some from its archive files. Pikers and noobs mostly, jumped-up time pirates in stolen machines they could barely control that would eventually strand them somewhere unpleasant. Morlock food. Couple of Time Institute guys and a few more TechnoVikings that looked exactly like Sven popped up. A couple of heavy-hitters were easy to spot by their unhurried grins and wearable time apparati, but one was a friend Warty hadn't seen in a few years subjective and the other was a rival that he had already taught a few hard lessons. Neither were the type to try something so brazen.

"What are the greyed out profiles?" Three of them moved about the mock-up of the ball, one returning the bathroom several times.

"They possessed technology capable of blocking my sensors. The security feeds I was able to tap from The Ball also show evidence of interference."

"And there's nothing from the EMP grenade going off until you wake me back up?"

"There is an audio file from near the table you were sitting, but it is indistinct."

"Play it." There was a rhythmic crackling that remind him of a damaged vinyl record. Warty heard someone or something roaring in inarticulate rage. It sounded far away from the recording source. Someone—a woman maybe—screamed in terror closer to the microphone. More screams. Rising panic crashing like waves in a storm, then nothing.

"Calculate a jump to a bathroom stall outside the radius of the EMP grenade 20 seconds prior to detonation," he instructed the suit.

"Such a jump will result in a temporal overlap of approximately 510 seconds."

"I know that," Warty snapped as he loaded the projectile gun with shock rounds. He'd take the penis thief alive, find out what he or she knew, then use the Doomcock on them until there wasn't enough left to wipe a rat's asshole with.

"You will be dangerously close to yourself."

"I know that too." Warty thought about Marissa having her entire existence scribbled over after coming into contact with herself. He might be the last person in the universe who remembered she even ever was.

"Time jump coordinates locked," the suit whispered.

Chapter Five

Warty Hugeman peeked over the top of the bathroom stall. He watched until he saw himself come in. The mega-silk cape and creamy ivory boots. The liquid shift of hard muscles under tight clothes.

"God-fucking-dammit, I am gorgeous," he muttered. He ducked back down, running his thumb over the spiral pattern in the projectile pistol's grip in anticipation. The Doomcock had run through erection protocols and was fully deployed trough the timesuit. It bounced to his pulse. The dull crump of the EMP grenade going off. Wait. Wait. Wait.

Warty kicked open the door of the stall and stormed across the vast bathroom, the Doomcock flailing with deadly purpose. A small, lithe figure was hunched over his crotch, head-to-toe in light-swallowing black and masked.

"Hey, asshole." The figure looked up, the already detached Hydra in its hand. Warty fired two shock rounds into center mass. No effect.

"Run, you little shit," he told the thief as it turned to escape. "Run so I can catch you."

"Exclusion field active," the suit told him.

The thief slipped through the occlusion panels of the bathroom. Warty ejected the shock round magazine and let it clatter away on the floor. He slammed home a mag of shard rounds, non-conductive needles bonded with a polymer. Made to penetrate force fields and they blossomed when they hit flesh, chewing it to mush.

The main ballroom was bloody chaos and he lost the thief immediately. The exclusion field had crashed the life support system of the aliens in the room and the more extreme adapted humans. Everywhere people were struggling with their myriad time travel devices, trying to jump to safety or subjectively freeze time until they could figure out what was going on. Over the cacophony of their confusion, Warty heard the roaring from the recording. It was pure rage, pure hate.

He pushed his way back to his table. The Forstock Twins were gone already. The panda was amused by it all, still chewing his narcotic bamboo. Sven was sitting in his chair, but was slumped over his Time Axe. The back of his blond hair was dark with blood. The roaring was growing closer. A small creature that looked like a turd made from diamonds flew over his head, shrieking, and disappeared into the crowd.

"Have you seen a little guy in all-black carrying a giant multi-headed penis?" he asked them both.

"Oh, Hugeman. What a delightful question. Ask another." The panda had closed his eyes while he spoke, a wide grin his boo-junkie face.

"Sven? Sven? How are you doing?"

"I am drunk, Hoogemoan. And my head hurts," he said, a concussion slur in his voice.

"Perfect mood for you to help me kill this guy," Warty told him. Sven looked up at him with only one eye, but he was smiling. The TechnoViking rose to his feet. He looked down at the Doomcock.

"Gods, what a monster. What is that thing, my friend?" Sven started to bend over to get a better look, but suddenly thought better of it.

"Tactical pleasure weapon platform. Haven't you seen a Futurecock before?"

"No, Hoogemoan. We have no such thing in Asgard." An untapped market, Warty thought. His shares of Futurecock stock were going to soar.

"What is that noise, Sven? The roaring." He had to clap his hands together to get Sven to stop ogling the Doomcock.

"Something is loose from the Parade, Hoogemoan," Sven said, slinging the Time Axe over his back. "It is very mad. I can hear it in the loose bones of my skull."

"Track The Hydra," Warty sub-vocalized to the suit. A red arrow seemed to appear in the sky, pointing downward. It was moving away.

"C'mon, Sven." As they took off, Warty turned to the Panda. It had passed out, green ichor trailing from its slack mouth.

Sven and Warty pushed through the crowd toward the arrow. As they got closer, Warty realized the thief had stopped. He had a chance.

Sven pulled two slender creatures apart and they stepped pass them. A circle had formed, still backing away from what was roaring.

It was hideous, naked and enraged. A huge oblong head with a massive squashed nose and a mouth full of jagged teeth sat on a thick neck. The creature was nearly seven feet tall and covered in an ugly pebbling of razor rash and sported a massive erection that rivaled the Doomcock, but in ridged and veiny meat. Force cuffs, dead from the exclusion field, hung from its wrists and ankles. Held high over its bald head was his thief, the arrow bouncing up and down over him.

"What the fuck is that?" Warty blurted out.

The gross abomination threw the thief at Warty's feet and yelled in guttural English, "STEVE SMITH HATE TIME TRAVEL!"

Chapter Six

"Hoogemoan? What is this creature?"

"I have no idea, Sven." Warty watched as a securitybot crackling with taser nodes rolled forward. The creature back-handed the robot into a giant pink flamingo that burst into flames and screamed obscenities as it tried to flap away.

The thief stirred at his feet and Warty stamped down his arm, breaking it and pinning it to the floor. Warty reached down and pulled the hood off while the creature fought off more bots.

"You little fucking shit," Warty said. It was the Time Institute stooge from earlier, but maybe 25 years younger. Warty picked him up and shook him like a ragdoll.

"Where's The Hydra?" The stooge gaped like a dying fish, but managed to point with his crushed arm. Warty realized his beautiful seven-headed Futurecock was currently being used by a shaved nightmare to beat in the netgun of a securitybot.

Warty threw the stooge back on the ground. "Stay," he ordered. "Or I'll pull out your tibia and fuck you with it."

"If that thing manages to breach The Hydra's energy cells it will kill everyone on this moon," Warty said. A wild grin spread across Sven's face.

"I will go, Hoogemoan! It will be a good death!" The TechnoViking let out a manly scream and rushed forward before Warty could stop him.

"Who brought this thing here?" he demanded, turning to the crown as Sven and Steve Smith grappled. Dozens of fingers pointed at a frightened standard human that was surrounded by securitybots. Warty crossed to the human and loomed over him, the Doomcock dangerously close to his chestmeat.

"What is that?" Warty yelled.

"I just thought it'd be funny," the man said. He was a puny thing. Warty could break him with ease.

"Funny? Does this look funny to you? What is it?"

"It's Steve Smith, like it said," and he shrugged. Warty bashed the securitybots aside and picked him up by his shirt.

"How would you like to be dropped into a black hole, shitbird?"

"It's a Sasquatch named Steve Smith." Warty remembered Bigfoot from his childhood. Supposedly a relic species of over-sized ape.

"Bigfoot was just a myth," Warty growled.

"N-no. They are real. The last one somehow taught itself to sort of speak, shaved and tried to live as a human." He managed to grin at Warty. Sven screamed.

"And he likes to rape," the human said. Warty dropped him on a securitybot and let him sizzle.

"Hoogemoan! It has me!"


Warty saw that Steve Smith had Sven by the neck and was trying to tear away his seal leather pants. He had The Hydra clamped in his mouth to free both hands and was chewing on it. Warty called up a firing solution for the Doomcock. He was delighted to have a chance to kill the last rapist Sasquatch in existence.

"Target occluded," the suit told him. Steve Smith was hunched over Sven, still ripping at his pants. Sven was crying--an ugly, frightening sound.

"Dammit," Warty said, as he edged sideways to clear the shot, but the movement only made Steve Smith notice him. He shoved Sven at Warty suddenly and they both tumbled to the ground. The Hydra fell out of his jagged teeth as yelled.


Warty struggled under the unconscious weight of the giant TechnoViking as Steve Smith advanced on them both.


Warty stared in horror as the monster raised Sven's Time Axe over them and prepared to strike.

The swing of the Time Axe didn't connect with Sven or Warty, but glanced off the skull of the Time Institute stooge as he dived for the discarded Hydra. The Futurecock was in terrible condition, covered in split drinks and animal hair from the floor and leaked lube from dozens of joy pores. One tip had been chewed off by Steve Smith and it struggled to grow back two new ones to replace it. The Hydra writhed in the stooge's hands as he rolled away from the blow the axe, spraying blood from flap of skin carved off the side of his head and face.

Steve Smith roared and raised the axe again, ready to split the stooge in two. Warty kicked out and caught the beast in the knee, buying himself the seconds he needed to roll Sven off. Somehow the stooge was still mobile and began to run away through the crowd.

"BRING BACK STEVE SMITH CHEW TOY, SMALL MAN!" Steve growled. He staggered to his massive feet and lumbered after the stooge, the axe held over his head. The crowd melted away like Styrofoam from a blowtorch.

As Warty Hugeman stood, his suit informed him, "Your previous self is now awake in the bathroom. He has begun to track The Hydra's signal."

He crouched to check Sven's pulse. It was weak and erratic. Steve Smith had broken most of the bones in his face and deep claw and bite marks covered his arms and torso.

"Hoogemoan," Sven gurgled, the word coming out of his mouth in a froth of blood. "The Axe, Hoogemoan. It is active."

"I'll get it back for you, Sven. Just rest."

Sven cried out, "MY ASS!" And then he died.

Chapter Seven

Running. Warty Hugeman's rage shut out everything else. His long strides were mechanically perfect. The Doomcock churned up and down, intent with its own terrible purpose. There. The ache to kill. Warty felt his scrotum clench like a fist. Faces turning into screams, blurring into nothing. Steve Smith. Warty was gaining.

"LITTLE MAN!" Steve Smith bellowed at the fleeing Time Institute thief.

Warty fired off a volley of pubic missiles from the Doomcock, programmed to seek mammalian flesh, each with enough paralytic to bring down Pleistocene megafauna. Creatures all along the rent Steve Smith had torn in the crowd dropped to the ground, but none reached the great beast himself.

"Nearing edge of exclusion field," the suit told him. Warty only growled in reply.

Steve Smith had caught up with to the stooge enough to try swiping at him with Sven's Time Axe. The blunt end smashed into the his head with a sickening crunch and he dropped. Steve Smith stood over him, panting, lifting the Axe again, when Warty reached them both.

"Stop, creature!" Warty ordered, the timesuit amplifying his voice to just short of a bomb exploding.

Steve Smith turned and swung at Warty instead, the Time Axe beginning to crackle with energy. Warty let the SmartCape take the blow. Somehow he still felt it when it landed. Warty was impressed by Steve Smith's strength and savagery.

"Exclusion field collapse in 30 seconds," the suit muttered.

Warty lashed out as Steve Smith tried for a two-handed overhead blow and caught the monster by its wrists. He could barely hold onto the creature, even with his boosted musculature.

As they struggled, Warty was face to face with Steve Smith. Even for a relict demon ape ripped out of time, Steve Smith was extraordinarily ugly. Black, dead-eyes glittered from dark pits in his protruding double-arced brow. Under a gigantic, squashed nose, huge teeth with pronounced canines gnashed behind a lipless mouth on a jutting jaw. The roaring furnace of his breath stank of rotting meat and blood, but it was hard to pick out from the miasma of hot garbage that squatted in the air around his sweat soaked body.

In another, lower, arena, as fierce a battle raged.

In a factory-programmed attack and response scenario, long, thin spikes of osmium sprouted from the glans of the Doomcock when it was brought close to Steve Smith's penis. Steve Smith's penis began to gyrate in a rough oval as their hosts jockeyed for leverage. The Doomcock lowered its rigidity constant and began to flail as well, attempting to intercept the stochastic movements of Steve Smith's penis.

The Doomcock finally connected with a graze and ape blood spewed from a nick in the superficial dorsal vein. Steve Smith's penis responded with a lunge that delivered a terrific slap to Warty's testicles, but their defensive carapace had been activated as soon as genital hostilities began. The Doomcock struck the same blow in reply, driving spikes deep into Steve Smith's massive, deeply-wrinkled scrotum. The Doomcock realized its mistake when it tried to pull back for the next attack scenario. It was stuck.

Steve Smith's penis began pounding on the Doomcock as Steve Smith tried to free his hands. Damage was reported from a dozen sectors along the Doomcock's central shaft as erotica detectors began to scream homopanic into the vast computing space of the Doomcock's central processor. In desperation, the Doomcock released the spikes in order to free itself. To cover its retreat, The Doomcock fired kinetic kill projectiles from its urethral railgun. They ricocheted off Steve Smith's testicles in a hundred directions.

What could Steve Smith's scrotum possibly be made of? the Doomcock wondered.

Warty gathered all his strength and pushed Steve Smith away. He knew he was never going to win without weapons. The creature was simply too strong. Steve Smith began circling him, the Time Axe now glowing a bright Cherenkov blue.

"The Hydra is now outside the exclusion field," the timesuit said.

Warty saw that the bloodied and concussed Time Institute stooge had crawled away from the fight. He cradled The Hydra in his broken arm and was setting coordinates with his other hand on a time harness. Warty started edging toward him, but Steve Smith growled and menaced him with the Axe. A hum was building to a scream within it.

"Hey, Steve Smith… That little man has your chew toy," Warty said.


"Well, go and get it. He's just a tiny little man."

Steve Smith started toward the stooge, but the thief disappeared, escaping into the timestream. The shaved sasquatch turned back to Warty.


"Of course not, Stevsie." Warty watched the countdown to the exclusion field collapse. He planned on freezing time and seeing how far he could get Sven's Axe up Steve Smith's ass, but couldn't decide which end to start with.


Warty brought the SmartCape around to take the blow and the suit said "Exclusion field nullified."

As the Time Axe came down, it ripped a jagged gash in the fabric of spacetime and Steve Smith disappeared into it.

Chapter Eight

"Track that fucking animal," Warty told the timesuit.

All around him people and creatures were disappearing as they took advantage of the exclusion field collapse to travel away from The Ball. Most just blinked of out of the local reference, but some dissolved, took a step sideways out of time, wavered in and out like a badly tuned viewscreen, ascended into a column of sourceless light, were seemingly consumed by a bolt of lightning with all the attendant thunder or opened a gaudy wormhole to step through—creating pressure differentials that caused dust devils of party trash to swirl around all over. After a few seconds, Warty was alone.

"Unable to resolve temporospatial coordinates of Steve Smith," the suit said.

"Track Sven's Time Axe. It has to have some sort of energy signature."

"Unable to track Time Axe energy signature. Sensors cannot detect anything beyond threshold of Time Axe temporal portal."

"So that thing could be anywhere or anywhen with a fully functional Time Axe?"


Warty stepped around to the other side of the shimmering wound in time left by Steve Smith's exit. There was sunlight from a much older star than Sol on the other side and something that might have been a dwelling.

"The temporal portal is closing."

With no other path through which to wreak his vengeance, Warty Hugeman stepped though the tear in time.


"SYSTEM MALFUNCTION" hung in the middle of an endless expanse of night, in lurid blood-red letters a mile high.

Warty couldn't breathe and his lungs were on fire. He reached up to take off the mask of the timesuit and he could barely lift his right arm. He could feel something writhing about his crotchular region, but with the suit down he had to hope it was the Doomcock and not some other weaponized genital platform.

"High gravity planet," he said thickly. He could barely hear his own voice. He probed his teeth with his tongue. The fake one that would activate his internal oxygen supply. It had a funny little ridge on the side to make it easy to find, but all his teeth were smooth. Did he have the emergency oxygen supply implanted yet? Where was the tooth? This is a stupid way to die. His thoughts were jumbled and flowed like slow glass.

The sky-filling words blinked off and were replaced: SYSTEM INITIATING…

Upper left bicuspid. The little ridge was worn away to almost nothing. It had been there a long time. Warty licked out the correct sequence and oxygenated blood brought his brain back to full consciousness.

"Suit? Answer me."

SYSTEM INITIATING… blinked off and on.

"OK, I get it."

The sky went dark again and stayed that way for an eternity. Finally words began to scroll past.


Hundreds of status updates from the Doomcock began scrolling up the viewscreen faster than he could read them.

"Turn that shit off." They stopped scrolling, but the newest update was left on the screen: AMMUNITION RESERVES 17%.

"Activate the fucking visor." He was treated to a view of an alien sky, thick orange sunlight streaming in. The visor was streaked with something gooey. Two micromissiles streaked past, fired from his crotch.


Warty struggled to his feet as the Doomcock fought on. He was surrounded by a low wall of burned meat and shattered and limbs.


Something leapt over the wall straight at Warty, snarling. It looked like a ground wasp having anal sex with a bronzed gorilloid. The Doomcock fired a hypersonic dart and the creature split in half vertically, spraying ichor.


The Doomcock sprouted a forest of barbs, spikes, blades and spines along its length and the head blossomed into a four-taloned claw.

"Suit, what the hell happened?"

"Travel through the Time Axe transit portal was incompatible with current on-board technology."

"Well, fuck. Where is Steve Smith?"

"Unknown. Suit sensors are offline."

"Fix them."

"Systems and structural damage extensive. Please see a qualified service technician."

"What is the status of the time core?"


"Initiate repair systems."

"Please see a qualified service technician."

"For fuck's sake."

Warty pushed his way through the chewed meat wall. The autochthons hadn't faired very well against the Doomcock. It was hard to tell what parts went with what. A few dozen were dead, at the least. The dwelling he had seen through the time tear was on the other side. Warty realized it was a hive.

"Can I breathe the local air?"


"Will it kill me?"

"Not quickly."

Warty vowed that when he got home the AI core was going to get wiped and the physical substrate it was stored on was going to be given to the Doomcock for lunch.

He lifted the time suit's helmet from his head and took a cautious sniff. He expected the usual blood and burst intestine reek of battle, but the air carried a heavy caramel scent.

Without the helmet, he could hear grunting and cursing. Warty pulled out the gravity laser and walked toward the sound.

On the other side of a low rise, Steve Smith was beating a wasp-gorilla to a pulp with Sven's Time Axe.


Warty raised the gravity laser and whistled at Steve Smith.

"BIG MAN! WHERE LITTLE MAN?" Steve Smith yelled.

"I'm going to rip you in half with this, Steve. And then I'm going to feed you your legs."

Steve Smith roared and began running at him. Warty pulled the trigger of the gravity laser. It was a fan-shaped spread. Steve Smith's legs would be bathed in heavy light until they crushed down to the size of a golf ball. But nothing happened. He pulled the trigger twice more. He threw the useless gun at Steve Smith's face and braced for impact.

Steve Smith leapt at him, covering the last yards in the air, and they both went down into a steaming pool of caramel gore. The Doomcock was rammed into the blood and mud by Steve Smith's knee. As it struggled to free itself for attack, it sent panicked error messages to the suit AI.

Steve Smith was on top of Warty and bashing him in the face with a massive fist when the timesuit said, "Time core restoration estimate 1.6 million seconds."

Warty dug his free hand into the meat over Steve Smith's ribs until the flesh tore and replied, "Two and a half weeks? What the fuck am I supposed to do on this shithole planet for two and a half weeks?" The suit's reply was lost in Steve Smith's roar of anger and pain.

"Suit! Reverse the polarity of the in-system musculature matrix!"

"That would burn out the system and you would be unable to move."

"OK. Don't do that then."

Warty wrenched a slab of flesh from Steve Smith's ribs and shoved it into his mouth. Steve Smith smiled around the meat and began chewing.

"Electrify the suit surface."

"This will drain the remaining charge in the laminar battery system."

"Just do it!"

With a sizzling boom, Steve Smith flew off of Warty and landed in a heap some meters away.

"Suit? Suit? Goddamn it," Warty said. Unable to move, he watched the alien clouds swirl above him as the suit recharged.

Chapter Nine

Warty managed to turn his head enough to see where the ape-man had landed. He had hit him with so much electricity, Steve Smith's heart should have boiled in his chest, his eyes should have burst and what he used for a brain should have been reduced to bubbling goo. The creature was still alive, somehow; his chest heaved with breaths that howled in and out of his gaping maw and his rough hands grasped at things unseen. Steve Smith looked like he was merely having a nap.

Warty's body was flooded with relief when the polite tone sounded and the suit began to reboot. When he could move his arms, he reached for the projectile pistol. It was gone. So much for putting a few rounds into Steve Smith's face.

Warty had seen the natives overhead a few times, but they keep their distance as he struggled to his feet. Steve Smith yawned and stretched like a grotesque house cat. Warty was down in a defensive crouch as the beast rose. The Time Axe crackled as he lifted it.


"Steve? Is your grammar getting better?"

Steve Smith's only reply was to begin lumbering toward Warty, swinging the Time Axe wildly. Each swing was a jagged gash in space and time. A siren began screaming through the timesuit's auditory interface.

"By the Golden Balls of Baldr, shut that damn thing off!" Warty yelled. It mercifully ended as Steve Smith grew closer.

"What's the problem? Side text only." Warty feigned a kick at Steve Smith's right knee, then stepped in under the raised Axe to deliver a double fist punch to the ugly wound over his ribs. Steve Smith howled and staggered back, dropping the Time Axe to clutch at his side.

"TEMPORAL IMPLOSION EVENT IMMINENT," the suit flashed in the corner of Warty's eye.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck." The suit was telling him that time was so fractured in local space that a singularity was about to form, a infinitely slow moment where the rules of physics shat themselves into a laughing fit.

As Steve Smith groped for the fallen Axe, Warty lashed out with an iron toe strike to his throat. The beast's windpipe held, but Steve Smith flew backwards to the ground and didn't make a move to get back up.

Warty turned to the wounds the great ape had cleaved in time. The oldest ones were not yet closed, and might have even been bigger. Warty watched with dread as two of them touched and merged, a theoretically possible event he shouldn't have been able to survive.


"Turn that off." The suit couldn't decide if being crushed down into an infinitely slow point—a time hole—was sure death or a subjective eternity of immortality. As the time hole formed, its diameter would expand and more and more matter around it would slow until it transformed into a Bose-Einstein condensate at near absolute zero. Eventually the entire planet would be a single super-fluid super-atom that could slow light to a crawl and Warty would be good and thoroughly fucked.

Warty edged forward warily and grabbed the Time Axe. It was still active, but had some sort of hardware conflict with the gloves of the timesuit. It seemed to writhe in his hand like it was attempting to get away. He carefully backed away from the forming time hole as another slash in time merged into the growing supergash.

"Do we have anything on how to work one of these?"

"There is a poor-resolution scan of an operating manual in TechnoRunish."



Text began to scroll: "Hello, Sven. This manual is intended to show you the ins and outs of working your brand new (or gently used) Time Axe Skull Splitter Pro 2. We are happy you choose to purchase the Time Axe Skull Splitter Pro 2 and we hope it gives you many years of faithful and true service."

"Summarize," Warty said.

"The Time Axe builds temporal momentum through application of kinetic force. Once at speed, an intricate series of movements are required to open a time portal at the right depth and angle to specify a temporospatial target."

"Summarize," Warty said.

"Once you swing it around enough, you swing it just the right way and you can go places." Warty swore he could hear the suit sigh.

"And it can take me anywhere and anywhen?"

"If you knew the choreography. But the default setting is Earth. It will be very easy to open a portal to Earth and the Time Axe will lock onto the Earth's surface as the default place coordinates. It seems as if the TechnoVikings don't travel much to other locations, just up and down the timeline on Earth."

"So I can go to Earth, but without being able to specify when?"


"Does the manual have a choreography for specific times?"

"Those seem to be set by the user. As a security feature."

"OK, let's go to Earth. Anywhen on Earth is better than this doomed shithole."

Warty had been watching the time implosion form as he argued with the suit. All the slashes had merged into one roiling cataract of degenerate time. Bose-Eisenstein condensates were forming as the edges, queasy daggers of super-fluid unreality stabbing outward.

Warty began swinging the Time Axe, building the charge, until the suit beeped. It took two hands to hold onto now. It demanded to be dropped.

"OK, suit. Take over the musculature controls and make the cut for Earth. Then shut down everything but the bare essential systems. I don't what to have to reboot on the other side."

"What about Steve Smith?" the suit asked as it parted time readily with the Axe.

"I'm go to go with, 'Fuck Steve Smith.'"

Warty was riding the shockwave of collapsing time hole into the open portal when Steve Smith tackled him from behind. They both flew through the portal to an uncertain Earth.

Chapter Ten

"Get off me, you idiot," Warty said, as he and Steve Smith grappled on the floor of a lush forest at night. "We have to get away from the portal."

Steve Smith only growled. Warty managed a finger dagger strike into Steve Smith's deep-set left eye. The beast roared with pain and knuckle-walked into the darkness beyond the baleful glare of the open portal.

Backing away, Warty watched through the closing time wound as the time hole slowed more of the planet they had left behind. The colors were fading as light nearing the time hole slowed down. If the slow time bubble reached the portal before it closed, Warty wasn't sure what would happen. It might keep the portal from collapsing and destroy Earth as well. Warty exhaled loudly in the utter darkness of the forest when the portal zipped itself shut and winked out.

"Suit? When are we?"

"Calculating starfix.  It is May 15th, 26,176 current era," the suit said.

"Switch to infrared." The forest was full of warm-blooded creatures scurrying about in shades of orange and red, but none were big enough to be Steve Smith.

"At least the forest seems pleasant."

"Short-range sensors have been repaired. The trees appear to have both mammalian and reptilian genotypes. And they are carnivorous."

"Fuck. I really don't want to be eaten by a tree again. Any sign of Steve Smith? Are his legs kicking feebly as a tree is swallowing him?"

"Steve Smith's body is soaked in intratime radiation. He cannot be tracked without long range sensors, but short range sensors will alert if he approaches."

A strangled cry came from the depths of the forest.

"What the hell was that?"


"Let's get out of here. Where's the Time Axe?" The timesuit laid a projection map over Warty's vision. It was a charmingly retro dotted line. Just as he set off, Warty heard the cry from the woods again. Agony. And it was closer.

"Steve Smith is approaching." The suit outlined the monster in black over the riot of colors in the infrared forest.

"Switch to light amplification." The forest was as bright as noon. Steve Smith was headed straight for the Time Axe. Warty broke out into a run.


"Good for you, Steve-o!" Warty called, still running toward him. The prehistoric monster was practically standing on the Axe.


Steve Smith began slashing with the axe and Warty skidded a halt out of range.

"Steve Smith! Put that down! Bad Steve Smith! Bad!" Warty yelled.


Warty recognized the charge building up. There was a whine that set his teeth on edge.

"STEVE SMITH GO HOME!" With a final flourish of the Time Axe, Steve Smith opened a time portal and dove through it. Warty followed him only seconds later.

10243 CE
The deadlands stretched out around both of them to the horizon. Steve Smith was still running somehow, leaping over the deep fissures in the parched earth with ease. Warty kept him in sight, watching him swing the Axe around, trying to activate it again. There was a clap of thunder from the cloudless sky.

7897 CE
Warty chased Steve Smith across a smooth and mirrored landscape. The ground was disturbingly soft. A friendly-looking alien nun stepped out from behind a shattered glass tree and Steve Smith punched her in the mandibles and raced on. Warty thought about stopping. Some of his most erotic experiences had been with recently-concussed space nuns, and they were in short supply despite what those ads in the back of the comic books tell you. But Steve Smith opened another portal, so Warty ran on.

5626 CE
Two well-dressed giraffes looked up from their afternoon tea in the garden. A huge ape-man and a large man-ape went running past, screaming incoherently, surprising them both quite terribly. The giraffes wrote into the paper to relate their experiences, but were mocked by an unsigned editorial the next day. Everyone knew primates were extinct. The editorial made some disparaging remarks about what substance that had put in their tea to make them see something so absurd. Their reputation index briefly dipped, but soon everyone involved had just forgotten about the whole embarrassing incident.

3218 CE
"We're in the ocean, Steve," Warty said.


The biogen whale surfaced right under them until they were standing on its broad and slick back. It spurted something that might have been a question out of its blowhole. The timesuit performed the AI equivalent of a shrug when Warty told it to translate.


"Steve, is there anything you don't want to rape?"

2316 CE
ULTRATOKYO covered most of the landmass of Asia, 140 billion resurrected Japanese all crammed together in capsule apartments acting out the height of the Japanese empire: 1985.

Steve Smith landed among a roving pack of schoolgirls. It was almost impossible not to. They were everywhere.

The girls tittered behind there hands as they shuffled backwards from the naked giant gaijin yajuu. As Steve Smith stood up, one of the girls screamed "STEVE SMITH!" in recognition and they all rushed forward. Hundreds of others began joining them, as his name rippled outward.

Warty plucked one of the girls from the edge of the crowd.

"What the hell is going on here?" the suit said for him, in atrocious 20th century Japanese.

"It is Steve Smith!" the suit translated. "Steve Smith huge holovision star! Everyone knows Steve Smith!" Warty set the girl down.

"How long until the time core is repaired?" he asked the suit.

"1.2 million seconds."

Warty groaned, bursting the eardrums of some of the nearby Steve Smith groupies.

2134 CE
The werecyborgs that ruled the ruined streets of Manhattan smelled the blood on them both and gave chase.

2017 CE
Steve Smith jumped from the ice floe and scaled the side of the derelict cruise ship, the Time Axe clutched in his savage teeth. He clambered on the angled deck and stood before the passengers and ship's crew huddled on the deck.

"Are you part of the rescue team?" asked a young crewmember, hollow-eyed and ravaged by norovirus and hunger.

"STEVE SMITH HUNGRY!" Steve Smith said, taking the Axe out of his mouth.

That a giant naked creature with a massive erection and a glowing axe had somehow boarded the ship finally sunk into the survivors. It was raw panic as they stampeded for the lower decks. Only a handful didn't make it behind bulkhead doors, but they were enough.

Warty found Steve Smith laughing as he was throwing their gnawed bones into the sea.

1971 CE
"I am not going to let you rape David Bowie, Steve Smith!" the large one in black said.

David Bowie lounged on a couch and watched the stubbly giant argue with a black-clad bodybuilder. They were both so beautiful.

"STEVE SMITH WANT BLOND GIRL!" the naked one yelled hoarsely. Its voice was like a handful of nails thrown in your face. It turned to David Bowie and displayed its enormous and heavily-scarred penis.

"Get away from him!" the other one said. Something shot out from its midsection and buried itself in the naked one's thigh. David Bowie leaned forward to get a better look. It was a black claw trailing a wire almost too thin to see. It began pulling the naked one away from him. It howled in frustration.

"BLOND GIRL!" the naked giant yelled and held out its powerful arms, a blue axe glowing in his left hand. Seconds later they were both gone.

The next morning David Bowie took the same dose, but nothing happened to even compare.

1944 CE

A mortar went off just a few yards away, but Steve Smith barely slowed his assault on a German soldier with the Time Axe. The Doomcock intercepted a mortar with a X-ray laser and it exploded harmlessly overhead. Every time the laser fired it felt like ejaculating in reverse. Warty was starting to like it.

"HOME!" Steve Smith shouted at the Axe.

Warty bent down and broke the bayonet off of an abandoned rifle. He tested the balance and then threw it at the rape-mad ape. Steve Smith moved to cleave the German's head in two and the knife buried itself deep in his left trapezius. Warty had aimed to sever his spine.

Turning, Steve Smith growled, "WHY BIG MAN FOLLOW STEVE SMITH? LEAVE STEVE SMITH ALONE!" He reached behind his head with his long ape arms and pulled the bayonet out. Axe in one hand and the bloody knife in the other he advanced on Warty.

Warty pulled out his last grenade. Green and black stripes. Acid fragmentation. He dialed it to max dispersal and lobbed it underhand at Steve Smith. Warty saw Steve Smith bat it away with the Axe before being flung forward to the ground. As he lay in the mud and blood of the battlefield he heard the grenade go off and the screams of the men it was shredding and dissolving. He struggled to stand as another shell whizzed past. Anti-tank round. He had been shot with an anti-tank round, but the SmartCape took most of it.

Over the alarms, Warty could hear Steve Smith laughing. The beast opened a portal and walked through. Warty limped forward and let himself tumble into the closing portal.

1908 CE
It was a cool morning in the forest, but Warty could tell that the day would warm. He lay were he had fallen out of the portal and watched while it closed.

"Where is it?" he asked the suit. Long-range sensors had finally been repaired while Warty stalked Steve Smith through the neon nightmare of 1982 Los Angeles.

"128 meters northwest. The Axe has minimal energy signal." Steve Smith wouldn't be opening a portal any time soon.

"Time core repair?"

"Approximately 500,000 seconds. Less if we could find certain rare earth minerals. Or stopped chasing Steve Smith."

"Shut up about that. Where are we?"

"Northern Asia, Siberia. 1908 June 30."

"Any idea were Steve Smith is headed?"

"There is no evidence of human industry or habitation in range of sensors."

Warty stood up and followed Steve Smith's trail. The suit could tell him how much subjective time he had spent chasing the ape, but Warty didn't want to know. It was too long. There had been periods of rest, where he had been able to show women the pleasures of which the Doomcock was capable. Warty never wanted for female company. The suit could generate the most fashionable clothes whenever he went and even those women who went "ew, muscles" couldn't resist the allure of the Doomcock rampant. He denied them his seed, though. Warty had spawned bastards all through the timestream to women who asked for them, muscular, well-hung babies that were always born with long black hair and a full set of teeth. They grew up to be warrior-kings or ruthless CEOs or roguish space pilots. But Warty hadn't thought to set the Doomcock to his genotype before leaving the fortress and refused to leave behind inferior stock.

"Steve Smith has stopped moving," the suit told him.

Warty followed the marker laid out by the suit until he heard grunts and screams. Steve Smith had found something to fuck. Probably some poor fur trapper.

"Suit, switch to adaptive camouflage."

The timesuit became a shifting collage of the forest around him. Patches were dead and the black of the timesuit itself shown through. Damage from the first Axe portal. Warty believed it would be good enough to ambush Steve Smith, especially if he was distracted by rape.

Warty the blur crept up to a clearing in the forest. It was a vision from a nightmare. There were dozens of Sasquatches in the clearing watching Steve Smith mount a shaggy Sasquatch from behind. The others were hooting and gibbering, cheering on their shorn brother as he pumped away. Warty watched as Steve Smith shuddered in a prolonged orgasm.

"MORE! STEVE SMITH WANT MORE!" Another ape was pushed down in front of him. He was already erect again. Warty gagged.

"Locate the Time Axe," Warty managed. A bouncing red pointer appeared over it. It had been tossed aside and rested in a pile of leaves outside the rape circle. Warty fired the Doomcock's grappling talon and dragged the Axe slowly back to him.

"Have you figured how to travel to a timeplace with this thing?" Warty asked as he backed away. For all the trouble it gave him, Warty wanted to shatter Sven's Time Aze and fuck the pieces, but a week in Rapesquatch Forest while the timecore healed didn't appeal to him whatsoever.

"The Time Axe's internal log will have recorded the last dozen trips. I have recovered the files and have constructed a choreography for each of them," the suit said. The suit referring to itself in the first person made Warty's anus pucker. The suit was becoming increasingly self-aware.

"Let's go back to 1982, maybe we could catch a Missing Persons' show," he told it.

Warty swung the Axe rapidly to build up a charge. He could still hear Steve Smith's yodeling screamgasms. The creature had no refractory period. It could fuck and eat and rape forever if it wanted. Warty knew what he had to do.

Warty let the suit take over and it slit open time and stepped through the portal. He was in the Hollywood Hills, right as the sun was setting. He began scrolling through the Doomcock options. It would be a long week without it, but some things took precedence.


"Confirmed," Warty said grasped the meaty obsidian of the Doomcock to twist it free of the crotch interlock. The Doomcock initiated antigravity drive and floated toward the portal.

In the last second before the gash in time closed, the Doomcock slipped into it. The blast radius would kill them all. It sent a final message.