Le Fou d'Avril
rating: +22+x

WARNING!!!

Notice from the department of Rancid And Idiotic Sexual Antics:

The following is a CESSPIT-class infohazard, containing Consensual Eldritch Sexual Squickercourse Poor In Taste and is not to be read by anyone at work, anyone at home from work, or anyone. (But mainly anyone at work.)

The Lizard rose from the smoldering rubble of a McDonald's, located at the smoldering rubble of Adams and Wabash in the smoldering rubble of Chicago, Illinois. Still-warm shards of the skull of the last human in existence fell from its dribbling mouth.

And after a great roar of primeval hatred and victory, it occurred to the lizard how damnably quiet everything had become. For well over a year, long after the smoke had cleared and flowers began to bloom in the carcasses, the Lizard sat and waited for something - anything - to happen.

You got what you wanted, Sherman, said the Lizard to itself1. Why aren't you happy?

Do I… miss them?

Sherman retched at the thought, regurgitating a fragment of a particularly spicy nuclear bomb.

There's more than one life form I can destroy. …fuck's sake, Sherman, don't kid yourself, it's not the same. You need a challenge.

There was one more such opponent to destroy. The impossible one. The final boss. Even when it died, nobody won.

Sherman cracked its knuckles. It raised its right claw. It plunged its hand into its chest. It felt its veins snap one by one. It felt around for the prize.

"FUUUUUUCK!"

One final pull.

Squarlch!

And just as the word "squarlch" was used to describe a sound for the first and last time in existence, Sherman ripped its own heart from its chest and threw it into the rusted remains of the deep fryer.

Darkness.


Sherman's heart regenerated, as it always had. It awoke an hour later to find another, identical Lizard, grown from its disembodied heart.

"My own clone!" bellowed Sherman.

"Now neither of us will be virgins!" bellowed Herman.


…Happy Arbor Day!

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