Shaman King Fan Fiction ❯ The Shaman King Fanfiction of Unmentionable Horror ❯ Chapter Ten ( Chapter 11 )

Chapter Ten

 

The word “fuckwit” written a million times rather than an actual drawing. Requested by Kristin,

 

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One time, there was a bitch named Ms. Foxy Margaritas. She had been part of Yoh's empire, and now lived in the camp. She lived peacefully with the others, who remembered the empire as well.

 

So far, the weirdest thing she had seen was a large, glitter-drenched platform shoe soaring through the night sky. So when she saw Pimp Daddy Yoh coming through the brush-ish thing, she almost friggin' peed herself. Over tea, they talked. Bitches peered into her house like when chilluns see nudists.

 

After a long story involving a dude in a chair, Foxy Margaritas pushed a damn button. Some kind of frikkin' building rose and loomed. A really hawt ray gave people memory. In aboot 5 hours, Yoh was freakin' loooaaded.

 

He was decked out in a fur coat of some expensive thing. His headphones were solid gold. His pants were pleather. Mr. Osbourne had loaned him a fancy top hat, `cause rich people wear those, Roy was clad in vintage ABBA costume, courtesy if some blonde-haired girl. They sat on gem-encrusted thrones, and were paying to have the girls from Hanaukyo Maid-tai to be servants/hos.

 

They even opened a small chain of love motels. Ren and Horohoro were seen wandering into one, silently followed by two girls with cameras. The two Shamans were later seen running from the motel half-nekkid, covered in packing peanuts and Polaroids of a seriously messed up statue. But back to Yoh.

 

They eventually climbed into their fancy yacht, accompanied by Foxy Margaritas and Juice Box, who had a secret map she bought for 1.50 at a naked rave.

 

As Eliza kicked the crap out of Faust, he admired his legs. Which were hers now. His new ones had been nicked off of some dead guy named Phil.

 

Once they began to head up the mighty river, a floatie came into view. In it were the blonde and the brunette, clad in clothes that made them appear to be the obscene love children of ABBA and Samurai Champloo. They paddled along with a blood-spattered helicopter blade.

 

All talk of the Diamond stopped. The two rafters stared at the boat. In a cool, enigmatic sort of voice, the blonde said, “We're here to help you.”

 

A/N- To all FuKu members who might read this, it is solely for me to vent a disturbed and moronic side of me. Also, I can't think up good hooker names. The blonde does'nt help much with it, either. Haha, we appear in this story without using romance, storyline material, or dumb humor. This is, in fact, pure mockery of the Shaman King presented on FoxBox. Which I don't get to watch because I have cross country meets early Saturday mornings.