I am off doing cowboy stuff this weekend. So I am giving you the third and fourth installment of Sandy Toaster Pant’s.  These stories were some of my favorites when writing them. Enjoy the series.

Mister Toaster Pant’s awoke on a bright sunny morning in his room and smiled. Live or die he thought I must carry on with my quest to reach the village of bread midgets. Plus after three days of listening to ferrets going rinky rinky tink over and over on banjos, death was a welcome alternative. So our intrepid hero set out on the dim dolt road that would lead him to the skimmer witches domain.

First he had to travel through a featureless plain full of insane masons. They didn’t seem to dangerous out side of the mumbling over and over about crappy clients and whining that the work surface wasn’t clean enough. The only thing they seemed capable of was chasing him around and trying to interest him in the latest art deco styles. Considering Mister Toaster Pant’s didn’t even have a home to put it in. Other than that the biggest terror this portion of land held was it was boring to walk through. Where talking Kansas in winter months boring. Our poor hero was losing the will to live fast when on the horizon he noticed the topography change. He slowly was transitioning to forest and right at the edge was a giant sign.

The sign stated welcome to the skimmer witch forest, your death in under thirty minutes or the next ones free. While this made the stolid adventurer quite nervous he knew that just on the other side of this morass of pine tress was the village he sought. Bravely he traveled into the forest hoping to sneak past the witch, like a level eighty rogue. Sadly there have never been any records of rogues wearing toaster pants that clang together. Mister Toaster Pants pretty much announced his presence for miles around even when being sneaky. Still he managed to trudge through until darkness without being discovered and made camp in a small glen with a babbling brook near by.

This turned out to be a huge mistake as the brook actually did babble. On and on it talked and really never did say anything constructive or thought provoking. Reminded our stalwart hero of a political blogger he knew at home. So he moved his camp back into the woods and found some peace and quiet at last. Trouble was the brook was keeping the very evil romaine ninja crabs at bay. These little fuckers where the skimmer witches minions and they hated being near the brook. They never had found a way to kill it, as stabbing it with swords just made it babble more.

Anyway Mister Toaster Pants had just settled in for the night in his donkey skin bed roll when this awful skittering sound reached his ears. It was quite terrifying and before he could figure out what caused it he was trapped. The ninja crabs soon had him bound up with herpes ropes and packed him off the to the skimmer fortress of shit. Mister Toaster Pant’s knew his doom was eminent and yet felt some comfort. It had taken them longer than thirty minutes to kill him so his next one was free. After traveling for hours the romaine ninja crabs brought him to the skimmer witches castle

What surprised our hero was the castle seemed more like a nice borneol house which is much smaller than a castle and really quite nice. He wondered how such a horrible villain could live in such a nice place. He was brought before the skimmer witch and had yet another shock. She was a quite gorgeous and aside from being covered in rubber clothing from head to toe and riding a pool skimmer. She calmly looked over the toasting wizard before her and after several minutes finally spoke. My name is Rhoda and contrary to the stories you have been told I am not quite that evil. In fact this home is a combination fertility clinic and sperm bank for the circus midgets two village over. Mister Toaster Pants inquired as to why he was then taken hostage by the ninjas? The witch explained that she hates trespasser and therefore he must work off his offense in one of two ways. He could either bathe each and every ninja in her army or paint her fine home in the ninja’s bodily fluid. This she explained kept the ninjas quite calm around the house. Once he did that he could be free to travel on. This left our hero with quite the dilemma either bathe a bunch of dirty crabs or paints a giant house in their genetic material. What ever would he do? Tune in for the next installment and find out won’t you.