Slotor Vs. Greenblatticus: Post 1

Slotor awoke from his long rest and shrugged three of his lithesome girlfriends off his burly forearm. His mindless servants toiled at the far end of his underground lair, loading and unloading boxes endlessly. “Odd,” thought Slotor, “that I should have so many women, when some there are who have none. But then I am the greatest hunter of wild beckettexts in the kingdom of Academicus. Bah hah hah!”

Slotor wiped the morning dew from his glistening skin and strapped on criticus, his great broadsword that can slice finely between the flesh of any man or beast who dared to go up against him. A mallarme flew by and he cut it in half with his sword, neatly dissecting it as it fell to the ground. A cry rang up from outside. It was young Joyce Quarterly, the herald.

“Come all fine warriors! The evil men of New Historicus march upon our sanctuary at Poststructurus! It is war!”

“I will deconstruct all of them!” shouted Slotor, his voice echoing off the smoky walls of his chamber, “all of them!!!”

to be continued