1-5 (Pre)

== Young and Ambitious ==
Snake had a lot of big dreams. 
You could hardly call them quixotic, though. They had a plan, and right now it was going great.
They unrolled the letter in their hand. It had once been tightly curled up, but it was now flattened and wrinkled from the dozens of times they had read and reread it.
Dear Snakadamia Tallyhall,
	We have reviewed the application form you sent to 690, Horne Street. Our board has decided to accept you into the Bonking Academy of Landysandia for Bonkers in Training. You will learn for two years. If you pass the final test on June 13th, you will continue on to Year 2. The supply list is below:
* 1 bat (nothing fancy like mahogany)
* 2 pairs of bonking gloves (heavy duty)
* Everything you need to be comfy in your dorms
	Textbooks will be supplied in school.
	Remember that you can only apply for a bonking permit after finishing at least 2 years of bonking school!
	We hope to see you in class on the 24th! Email hornygobyebonkers@bonkeracademy.edu if you have questions.
Snake hoisted their emo backpack onto their shoulders, inhaled deeply, and slithered for the entrance.
Towering above the ground were the wide red gates engraved with intricate patterns of bats and bonkers. A stream of freshmen bonkers were already enthusiastically pouring in, excited for some head-bashing, skull-smashing good old fashion bonking. 
Snake followed them through the big gates. Some of the others dashed up the short flight of stairs that led up to the main bonking building, center of the bonking campus. Snake, as a sensible snake, slithered up the ramp to the right with all the other legless creatures.
The sun shone from high in the sky, lighting up the diverse crowd of new students. It seemed like everyone wanted to be a bonker this year. After the scandal last year, titled “WHORTLE FUCKS WRITING UTENSILS IN STAPLES, REFUSES TO LEAVE” in the newspapers, bonking was more important than ever.
Snake didn’t want to become a bonker because it was a trend. They wanted to make things right. Bonkers were the cooler police. Instead of catching your average bank robber or street thug, bonkers dealt with the biggest threat to society: horny people. 
Snake approached the front double doors of the main building, filled with passion and purpose.
Today was August 24th.
The first day of their first year at Bonking Academy, the best bonking school in the whole world.
Snake was ready to take on the world and bonk a couple bitches on the way.
== Graduated, Bitches ==
THE BOARD OF 
THE UNIVERSITY OF STONKSTOPIA
have conferred upon
LEO WANG
in all virtue the degree
Bachelor of Computer Sciences
with all the rights, honors and privileges thereunto appertaining. 
In witness thereof, the Seal of the University and the signatures as authorized 
Given at Gnome, Stonkstopia on this day of May 9th, 1969
“FUCK YEAH! DING DONG GET YOUR ASSES UP BITCHES HOES AND LLAMA TOES! WE GRADUATED!” Leo shouted from his perch on the table and hooted like a fucking monkey.  The speakers on the counter were blasting unnamed punk and rock songs, which consisted of much screaming and incoherent hissing.
He smashed a beer bottle on the edge of the tabletop. The glass shattered upon impact and made a tinkling noise as it hit the ground, leaving Leo with a dangerously pointy broken bottle.
Bob sipped her bubble tea. 
“dude chill,” she said. “Yeah it’s very exciting but pls ;-;.” She scooted her chair away from the mess of glass mingling with beer. Leo smirked at her and swished the remaining contents of his broken bottle around, then dumped it down his throat.
The door banged open and a few more people arrived to join the band of college students gathering for a last-day party. Melfish and Jaybird went to the couch to talk.
Pcab skidded into her chair, her crab shoes stained with grass. She took a quick glance around the apartment room- it was already small enough without more people coming in.
“Let the man have his moment,” she told Bob. “He just finished 4 years of hell. We did too. What are you doing? Get up and celebrate, for fuck’s sake.”  
Leo froggy hopped onto a stool, almost toppling it over. He flung his arms out, grabbing the edge of the table and pulling himself closer to it. 
“Yeah, Bob. Have some fun for once. Wanna consume some alcohol?” He reached down for the cooler under the table and took out a Coors because it was cheap and shitty.  He flipped open the Stonkstopian Army Pen he kept in his pocket to bottle opener. Bob made the :pepebruh: face.
Pcab rummaged through the cooler for her preferred drink. She shoved a soaked bag of ice aside and stuck her hand into the corner.
“Y’all are missing out,” Pcab remarked, triumphantly holding up the last flask of glilk. “Drinking that cheap yeast shit when you could have this.” She unscrewed the cap and took a swig.
Leo shook his head. “Glue is for sniffing and licking. Not drinking.” Pcab and Bob made disgusted faces and went back to sipping their drinks.
The door creaked open with an ear-splitting squeak. Worm popped her head in and saw everyone already there.
“Shit, I’m late,” she muttered. She dumped her bag on the table. “I got snacks, though.”
“Thank Srainbow,” Leo said. “All I got is frozen beans and old ass pickles.” Pcab’s head swiveled around and she stared at Leo.
“Pickles? You got fucking pickles and you never thought to mention that?”
“They don’t fuck, but ye—”
“where are the goddamn pickles, Leo, give them to me,” Pcab demanded, cutting him off. “I desire pickles.”
“They’re fucking nasty,” Worm and Leo said in unision as Bob said “Pickles are gross.”
Pcab slammed her fists on the table and glared at the three others. Melfish, Jaybird, Spearmint and Eileen looked over from the rug to see what was going on. 
“PICKLES ARE GREAT,” she shouted. “PICKLES ARE MORE FABULOUS THAN YOUR MOM. FORK THEM OVER, HOE.”
“Like I said, they’re old as fuck.” Leo flicked his beer bottle cap across the tabletop, already having finished another 16 ounce bottle. “Even eating normal pickles is masochistic.”
“I’ll be the judge,” Pcab said. “I’ve had nothing but saltines all day.” She took a sip of glilk. “And pickles are good with glilk.” 
“I bet you pour milk before cereal,” Worm accused. 
“I’m lactose intolerant, bitch,” Pcab groused. “I eat my cereal with glilk, or sometimes, I eat it fucking dry.”
Leo humphed and got up from his seat to retrieve the jar of pickles from the mini fridge. He set them down in front of Pcab. Dark green-yellow blobs floated around in equally disgusting liquid, ominously bobbing up and down after being disturbed from their quiet spot in the fridge.
“They’re expired. And my roommate’s.”
“I don’t care about that, and your roommate left you in April. It’s fine.” She unscrewed the ugly green lid on the first try like a true manly man. The sour smell of pickles hit them instantly. Leo, Bob and Worm flinched.
Pcab fished a small pickle out of the jar and bit into it. 
“This has been sitting in your fridge since when? Because damn, it really has aged like a fine wine.” She popped the rest of it into her mouth. 
“Yeah- sure,” Leo answered. He slowly began to edge his stool away from Pcab. 
“It’s your loss,” Pcab remarked with a shrug, and continued to eat pickles and drink glilk. 
Leo sat down on the carpet with everyone else. He scanned over the other people there.
“Why am I surrounded by girls?” he spontaneously blurted. “This is just rubbing it in my face that I’m gay.”
“Thought you said you were bi,” Melfish commented. “As in introverted leftist bisexual formerly gifted college student who drinks iced coffee at noon.”
“Y’all are making me gayer,” he retorted, and violently opened his third bottle of alcohol with his bare hands. “I would shoot myself before I fucked any of you.”
“And that’s good, because no one here wants to fuck you either,” Pcab called from the table.
Leo leaned back, but forgetting that he didn’t have his stool, nothing happened and he didn’t fall.
“None of you are worthy anyway.” 
And so they were gay, drunk and partying late into the night. From 2 PM to 11 PM, they played games like Pin the Dick on the Turtle, Cards Against Humanity, and Spin the Dildo (Leo went a bit too far.)
That’s what Leo did on the day he graduated. What a great way to spend his time. a.
== The People You Meet in a Gay Bar ==
Carl saw Leo before Leo saw Carl.
Leo was big and popular. He was a star in the sex industry, somehow balancing it with his education. He made headlines with his horny endeavors and stunts. He was the horniest person you’d ever meet.
Carl could only aspire to be what Leo was. He was simply your average turtle who tried to imitate what he saw on tv. Carl was barely even a stripper. He was classified as a “topless waiter”.
Leo was a star. He was a 21 year old stripper, adult film actor and genius. He was fresh out of college and probably had great things planned for his future, though he was always mysterious about it.
So Carl was certainly surprised to see the Stonkstopian Superstar hanging around a local gay bar in Colgate, Flavortown.
Carl couldn’t help but check Leo out. He was way taller than him and uh uh something something. Leo was talking to a short guy next to him, who appeared to be asking for something.
Leo waved goodbye to the person, and did sort of a spin on his barstool. Carl quickly ducked and took a prolonged sip of his pina colada. He would love to talk, but as an introverted leftist homosexual ungifted young turtle who drinks orange juice at quarter to midnight, there was no way he could muster the courage to talk to Leo.
Good thing he was spared of that pain when somebody came up behind him and tapped his shell.
“Like what you see?” he asked cOCKily.
Had it been anyone else, Carl would’ve been offended by such an arrogant act, but as a beta male who must succumb to Leo the Horny, he was flattered. You could say that Carl was submissive and breedable.
Carl jerked around with such a force that he almost fell off his chair. Leo stood there blocking the dim light of the gas lamp, towering over Carl (understand that Carl’s very short.)
“Uhhhhhhhhhh- yeah,” Carl choked out meekly.
Then Leo grabbed his ass and they began fucking hotly in the bar in public. Ha! Young computer science degree Leo didn't think that way. So Leo just autographed Carl’s man-tits with a sharpie, and that was that. 
Little did either of them know, it was the start of a truly thrilling rollercoaster of a ride.
== Starting Out Taut ==
Muscle Man always knew that he’d be kicked out one day, but he didn’t think that it would be today.
So when his tAUT father handed him a bucket full of tendons and told him to leave, Muscle man was pretty shocked and confused.
Muscle Man staggered onto the front steps of the tiny cottage. His left ear still stung from the slap he had received less than a minute ago. 
“But- my five years of farm work left- my stuff- I-”
Taut Tendons, Muscle Man’s father, shook his bald head (he doesn’t have hair because he doesn’t have a scalp or hair follicles). 
“Son, I am thoroughly tired of your greed and gluttony. You’ve brought nothing but hardship on all of us. I’d banish you to hell if I still had your mother’s Satanism kit.” He forced the dented pail of entrails in Muscle Man’s hands. “Last time I’ll feed you. Now, shoo!”
Taut Tendons slammed the door made of the bones of the damned, leaving Muscle Man standing outside, with likely his last decent meal, untrained, inexperienced, and totally and utterly lost.
He set the bucket down in the dirt patch where there used to be rhododendrons and sat beside it. Father had gone far enough to mention Mother, who had died of ligma long ago. Muscle Man didn’t even know she had had a Satanism kit. Father must’ve been really mad.
No shit, a voice in his head seethed. He literally yelled at you and kicked you out of his house.
Where would he go? What would he do? He didn’t have a driver’s license, an ID, or even any money. Muscle man was a skinless teenager in the middle of the desert with no way to live.
== The Prince of Landysandia ==
“I hate you! I hate you all! I hope you all burn in hell when I’m the king!” Sandromedus screeched. He would’ve stomped his foot if he had any under his cascade of sand for a torso. 
All of the servants stared at him, speechless. A broom clattered to the ground, echoing across the large halls of the castle. Sandromedus has thrown a fit many times before, because he’s a bitch. Did I mention that he’s spoiled? Well, he is, and today this piece of shit was getting mad because his apple slices were room temperature. Do you know how hard it is to keep food cold in a fucking desert?
Anyway, Sandromedus swept his sand across the room with a huff and slided down the hall, out of sight, off to not enjoy his room temperature apple slices.
----King Sandrew was done for the day. 7PM. Fucking finally! Greeting ambassadors from Flavortown, who were so full of themselves, was not how he wanted to spend his Wednesdays.
And then his spoiled prick of an heir decided to throw a temper tantrum over apple slices.  
Sandrew had his spanking paddle ready to go. He smacked it against his palm. The springy wood vibrated, as it had been used many times before. He knew of course that Sandromedus would throw an even bigger fit after being hit, but I mean he's such an asshole he completely deserves it.
Sandrew kicked open Sandromedus’s door with a lot of force for an old man. He brandished the paddle like a sword, his eyes glinting like steel. Sandromedus, who was sulking in the corner by the bed, whipped around and froze.
“I would ask the servants to complete this job,” he said coolly, “but I believe this is a job for me.” His cold kernel of a heart, weathered and tested from his years on the throne, felt guilty pleasure when he saw the completely terrified expression that had suddenly overcome his son. It was nice to know that there was at least one person in the castle that could strike such fear in the brash, arrogant prince.
“Get down.”
Sandy dropped the ziploc of apple slices and fearfully inched over to the doorway. He was shaking, his eyes were wide with shock, desperately pleading. It was clear that he had never properly been disciplined before.
You might wonder where Sandrew would strike, since Sandy doesn’t physically have an ass. 
“I hate you! How DARE you father! You're supposed to love and protect me! Not abuse me!” his shrill voice was maddening, if the old, tired king could even get even more mad.
“Sandromedus! You are the Heir to the throne! You are immature, impulsive, and hot tempered! The servants didn’t do anything wrong, you're lucky to even have apples in the first place! Do you know how hard it is to import fresh fruit across the hot, scorching desert? How are you supposed to Manage the kingdom like this? Son, you are pathetic.” his voice dripped with disappointment and pity. It drove Sandy Boy wild.
“I was only disciplining the servants! I did nothing wrong for you to behave this way. I only wanted some crisp apples! Surely that's not so hard? We’re royalty father! Not some people in a peasant square!” 
“Who knows if one day you’ll be the boy in the peasant square.” Shock vibrated across Sandromedus’s face, clearly shaken by his fathers cold, hard, unloving words. 
“You're joking right? Right father? Right?” His eyes were pleading, begging, hoping that the words he just heard were just an illusion. That they weren’t real. But they were. His father only looked at him one more time, eyes drenched in shame, before he walked out the door.
== Uh uh ==
Carl tossed and turned. We learned about this word in health, ruminate, which was what Carl was doing. He was focusing his distress on one matter and thinking it over and over. He was thinking about Leo: that bitch, that hot bitch. 
== Bitch Bonking 101 ==
After a long day of introductions and tours, they received the keys to their dorms at 4:20 PM sharp. 
Snake chuckled to themselves as they unfolded the map of a dick-shaped building. In the right ball, sorry, East Wing, you had all sorts of meeting rooms and storage units and whatever. The other one was all the stuff the students weren’t supposed to find. And the ridiculously long shaft was just 5 floors of rooms. What genius was coming up with this shit?
== Fuck My Little Brother (Not Literally, Of Course) ==
Sandy was woken up at 4 AM by his 12-year-old brother putting a cat on his face.
“Unngh… WHAT THE FISHK IS THAT?” Sandy sat up straight in his bed, and a warm, furry blob fell off his face, yowling. “Get it off! AAAAAAAAAAAAA”
“I’m sorry!” Granny wailed. His dark silhouette highlighted in the glow from the doorway slid/ran to Sandy and pried the cat off the sheets. “I let go of him — and — he just ran!” He lifted the cat from the bed. Sandy realized how small it was; just a tiny ball of spiky fuzz.
“We don’t even have a cat! Where the fishk did you get a cat? Put it back!” he yelled.
Granny wrapped his arms around the cat protectively. Its piss-yellow eyes narrowed at Sandy. 
“I found him, okay? I went to get the mail, and there he was, waiting all alone by the mailbox! No one came to get him!”
“Gran man, we don’t have a mailbox. We live in a fishking castle with a fishking mailroom a fishking cat can’t get in.”
“No—  the old “unused” mailbox mailbox. Where Dad sends out his penky fanfiction under the name Ebony Dark’ness Dementia Raven Gay.”
Sandy flung the covers off his sand and dropped to the floor. 
“How the fuck do you know about that mailbox?” Was his handwriting really that similar to Dad’s? He thought the mailbox was too deep into the desert for Granny to find.
Granny waved that all aside. “Anyways, I have a cat now. You have that sand phrog you keep in a jam jar, so why can’t I have a pet? And you can’t say because you’re more responsible, because you’re nineteen and still forget to fold the dishes.”
“Cats are demons! Cats bad! No cats! Granny, you fuckup!” By now, Sandy was probably shouting loud enough to wake the entire east wing. 
“He’s just a little boy……”
“Leave me the fishk alone and take that demon with you!” Sandy roared, and forcefully shoved Granny out the door. He slammed the door shut :stoutwink: and proceeded to stub his sand on the edge of his bed frame. 
== Chapter Nine😳 ==
muscle man made out with sandy in the gay bar as leo and carl fucked under the counter end of story lore is over
Muscle man ran and ran and ran until his quads hurt like beans. He ran from Landysandia to New Mexico to the moon and around the planet and back to Landysandia. He was a being of pure muscle, dammit, and he was on fucking fire. He ran until he finally found an Arby’s, and ate a burger to replenish his beefiness. 
Muscle man sat on the curb by the drive-thru as he munched down his 15th burger paid with threats. It was almost dusk, and the sand- filled sky glowed like a bowl of piss in the moonlight. 
Then, from somewhere in the dust, a raspy voice reached out to him: 
“Hey, kid, I got cheese crackers.”
Muscle Man, hearing ‘cheese’ and ‘crackers’ in the same sentence, leapt to his feet and looked around. He had poor eyesight though. Damn sad.
A nervous system suspended in midair floated toward him, with a suspicious-looking paper bag. 
“I have crackers,” he whispered hoarsely. “Please come with me in my white van, fine handsome young man, for I shall need a strong helper on my farm. I also have cheese crackers.”
Muscle Man’s parents had never warned him about stranger danger, and Muscle Man wasn’t the brightest either, so without further inquiry, he said, “Sure!”
The nervous system fellow seemed startled. Kids these days were so gullible!
“Well, umm, okay, follow me….” he mumbled. Nervous Chap gripped his paper bag, presumably full of cheese crackers, and tottered away. Muscle Man curiously followed, wondering when he would get crackers. 
Nervous System Man wove through the Arby’s parking lot with ease, glancing back every few moments to check Muscle Man was following. The two were silent for the 40 seconds it took Nervous System Man to find his vehicle. He finally stopped behind a white van parked at the very edge.
“Uh, um, get in, young fellow,” he said, opening the side door for Muscle Man. His fibers twitched. “Yeah- settle in. Long ride ahead.” Muscle Man fastened his seatbelt, because he was always safe, and very, very gently, closed the door (there was a cool bug on the door and he waited for it to fly away.)
The weird old guy went around and sat in the driver’s seat. 
“Oh, yeah, you can call me Nervous Man,” he said.
He did not put on his seatbelt and Muscle Man instantly felt a sense of contempt at this horridly reckless man. He poked the keys he had fished out of his manly fanny pack into the ignition, taking a few tries because he literally does not know how to drive and has never seen anyone drive. 	
Like his Muscle Man’s late mother’s cucumber toy, the van hummed to life with surprising vigor. Nervous Man put the van into drive. I guess he knew how to do that. Then he rammed into a tree. 
“Oops, silly me, haha…” 
He did not take his foot off the acceleration. This grown ass man plowed down the road in a straight line. He hit 12 cars, 14 pedestrians and 1 dog. 
“What the fiddlesticks are you doing?” Muscle Man screamed. He reached out to grab the steering wheel, but then realized that would be quite rude. Hitting people was also rude, he realized, so he (carefully) moved Nervous Man out of the way and plopped himself in the driver’s seat, after unbuckling his seatbelt. He made sure to buckle himself into the driver’s seat. 
Muscle Man couldn’t drive, but he damn well could drive better than this senile old nervous system. He pulled the car into a meadow and slammed on the brakes. 
“Where are we going?” he demanded firmly. He was taught from a young age that being very nice and kind would make others kind to you, but it hadn’t worked with his father, and it didn’t seem to be working with this guy, either. “I can drive, I think. I’ll take us there.”
Nervous Man shook his head profusely and made a feeble attempt to take the steering wheel back. “I can handle this, please! Don’t worry your supple tender head off. It’s alright.” 
Muscle Man wasn’t sure about that. 
“Sir- Nervous Man- please, I don’t want to hit anyone else. That would be horrible.”
Nervous Man huffed unexpectedly. 
“Like you know anything about horrible.” 
He scooted over and sat on top of Muscle Man, shoved his foot on the accelerator , and sent the van flying into a giant, pink wool dong. 
Muscle Man blacked out. 
== Chapter Ten (history time) ==
The Srainbow family dates back over a thousand years. The family matriarch, Srainbow Rainbowt, is often worshipped as a god in Landysandia. But that’s not who we’re going to focus on. Instead, let’s look at Spink Lemonadet, daughter of Sblue, daughter of Ssilver, great-great- many greats- grandson of Srainbow. 
Spink is not an elemental, like Sblack and Swhite. She controls the Aomg, an essence that is said to have many unknown abilities. 
Like the Aomg, Spink is desired by many. There have been multiple attempts to kidnap her.
*twerks*
Id twerk on carl
Big pp hehehhhhehehehehe
== This Cannot Possibly Get Any Gayer (Right?) ==
“Hmm…that’s a hard one,” Leo pondered. He swished the rabbit testicle on a toothpick around and around in his martini. “If I could fuck anyone in the world— I don’t know.  I’ve been too caught up with school to think about who I actually want to fuck.”
Carl nodded, pretending to understand what was happening here. It was truly a r/im14andthisisdeep moment. Leo’s words were so incredibly unshallow that Carl was having trouble understanding him. 
“That’s true,” he agreed absentmindedly. 
Leo slipped a packet of sugar from the table into his pocket. At first, Carl had seemed like the average fan. Starved of attention, not straight, and super super horny. And man tits were hardly an original place to get a signature. Leo had wanted nothing to do with him.
But then Carl just kept on showing up. And waiting. It wasn’t really creepy or clingy. Every day at 5 pm, Carl went to the same table in the same dark corner in the same gay bar, getting his goddamned banana smoothie with a dose of caffeine. It was annoying and stubborn.
He had never slowly inched towards Leo for some attention, and he had stopped randomly turning and staring the way he had the first day. He was just … there. When Leo finally approached him again one day, he seemed fairly pleasant. Then Carl had asked for an interview, even though he clearly just wanted to talk. So that had sprouted into this, whatever this relationship was. 
“Now it’s my turn to ask a question,” Leo said to Carl. “It’s a cliche one too. What do you aspire to be?”
Carl’s hands froze halfway to the handle of his mug. Should he confess? Should he really tell Leo every thought , every fantasy he’d had about the latter? Or was their second “meet-up”, not even a date, just talking, too early?
“Uh… I want to be better,” he started carefully. “I look up to a lot of people. I want to be more like them.”
“Interesting.” 
“But what do I really want? I want clout. I want to be famous and looked up to, the same way I look up to my own role models. I don’t just want to be that gay maniac.” Carl left it at that, because it probably wasn’t safe to add any more. 
Leo pondered over Carl’s answer, actually considering it instead of pretending to understand. His social skills were struggling to form an answer, and so he blurted out, 
“I’d love to be the maniac to your gay.”
== Chapter Eleven ==
Muscle Man woke up in a dark room. That’s not very informative. It was dark and damp, and smelled like rats. He was on a hard bed- no, tied to a hard bed, as he found when he tried to move his arm, and he was tilted in [unfinished]