[Sal the Mudokon]

(REPEATS TITLE)
BOOYA, IM BACK!
Well, thanks Joe the Intern for covering for me during my time of absense! Sorry, but weve been having some "technical difficulty". But that's all behind us right! So, here I am, to make up for my lack of chapters and i made this one kind of longer than usual just to set everything up and either clear or create confusion. So, without further a-doo-doo, here's the fic. ENJOY!



Chabta Vivtene en den sum

Shmo’s plan, though it made no sense at all, seemed like it might work. Wait, no it didn’t, but some of the best plans ever conceived came from trying to make words out of the order of the letters in alphabits soup. Shmo on the other hand lived in Oddworld where they only had speghetti-os, which limited his progress. Anyway, it went something like this: Shmo and his slig assistant had decided a long time ago to use the ruins of Rupture Farms for a center of operations. The operation: They were going to find a Danish. Sure, they could just buy one, but what is the fun in that? No, they were going to STEAL a Danish. A stolen Danish always tastes better than a bought one. Especially with some oregano and some talcum powder. In fact, I know many recipes for such, but I’m not going to go into that right now. So, ass I was a saying, Shmo had had a fixation with danishes since he was quite young and was now ready to fulfill his demented dreams. The slig assistant (who’s name was Dale) was just following the dumb gluck like any sensible idiot. The pair were be unstoppabible… especially since they now had control of Rupture Farms and all of its, umm, stuff. The place was actually in pretty good shape, had it not be for it being shut down. The idea of recycling was only useful if you were REALLY, REALLY low on cash (much like Shmo was). Of course he didn’t let any of his sligs know this. No, you can’t get a good toe lickin’ for nothing these days. No sir-e-bob, things have changed quite some these days. There’s only one word for such change. I can’t remember it right now those. I want to say ‘goat-goat-throat-boat’, but I don’t think that that’s the right word that I’m looking for. Anyway, so things were going on these days, or something. Yeah, well, on this day in particularly particular, it just so happens that everyone’s two favorite Danish-loving, fat-jiggling, flatular-phenomenons were about to find themselves in the clutches of the ruthless, umm, I want to say ‘ram-jam-lamb-cram’, but that aint right. Uh, I guess I’m trying to say tyrant, but ram-jam-lamb-cram just seems to describe Shmo so much better. So anyway, to make a long story even longer, Hans and Sven stepped out of the train onto the Rupture Farms floor.
“Wow, who would have thought we would have ran straight into that large pile of sticky white powder?” asked Hans to Sven.
“Yeth, and then have our train break down in this creepy old factory.”
“What are you meddling youngins’ doing out at this hour?” asked an old mudokon with a lantern.
“Zoinkth Hanth!” screamed Sven surprised to see the figure.
“Excuse me sir, do you know if we could stay here for the night?” asked Hans.
“Sure, if your not afraid of the WEREWOLF!” shouted the mudokon laughing.
“The wha-?” started Hans.
“Or the zombies, and the that one vampire, or that clown-guy, or that robot guy that turned out to be crazy old Mr. Johnson from the shut-down amusement park. Or that tiki-monster. No wait, he was an old man in a good mask too. But what about the swamp monster?! Now THERE was a monster. But, he was a crazy old guy too.”
“No, he was the local sheriff, right?” asked Sven.
“What are you talking about?” asked Hans.
“I don’t know, I wath jutht mething wit him” said Sven.
“Whatever, gang, let’s go!” shouted Hans.
“Scoobidoobidoobidoo!” shouted Sven.
“What the **** was that?!” wondered Hans.
“Hey!” shouted Sven in happiness, “I lotht my lithp!”
…
“Ah, I got jipped!”
“You got hosed, Sven. Real hosed.”

There ya go! Stay tuned for more, and thanks for reading! Better chapters to come! I promise! Would I lie?!
DON'T ANWSER THAT!