Laughter is a devilish wind which deforms the lin breedable twinks in a remote European

abbey. I am brother Devon. I'm a horrid little fucked up goblin creature. Nothing about my

face looks right and it's clear that I was put together incorrectly by an uncairing and cruel god.

That's right, I'm English, but also I'm a librarian in the aforementioned remote abbey.

Joining me, as ever, in charge of innovating new and increasingly fucked up haircuts.

Brother Abby.

Hello, I am a remote Abby.

Just where did you come up with that, that new idea?

But in the bold spot there, I would never have thought of that.

Yeah, and like, gluing various bits to the front and sides.

Yeah, I just do whatever the fuck, you know.

Truly a master at her craft.

Also with me, head down in the library,

hard at work, translating various texts from unintelligible and boring dead languages

such as English, Greek, Latin, into the only language that matters.

Arabic.

Brother Alice.

Salam al-a-a-com.

Creeping Islamization coming to the abbey.

And what's this?

Slamming the doors open, storming into the hall,

clearly having imbibed heavily from the heretical decoction white

...