text: "Jump on top of me baby."
  
  Bell does as you say. Two beings disappear and reemerge as one as the pair of you become lost in the heat of passion. Funny thing about passion: it often comes and goes without warning. In this case forty-seven seconds.
  
  Bell giggles. "First time?"
  
  You groan. "First time."
  
  "No shame in that, darling. I'll be here when you get back. Practice makes perfect, am I right?"
  
  You nod and step out of the tent.
  
  "Holy shit, what the hell happened!?"
  
  The entire fairground is on fire. The air is rank with burning flesh and hair. Bodies are everywhere. Horses whinny in agony. Those not too injured to flee scramble about in sheer terror. High above you see the evil moneylender, floating on a black cloud, cackling and tossing lightning bolts.
  
  Bessy plods toward you. A bolt catches her in the flank and explodes into a fireball. She collapses to the ground and shrieks. Another bolt pierces her neck and her and she lies silent.
  
  You hear the tent flap jostle, and you wheel around. You clutch Bell by the throat and dive-tackle her into the tent. "What the fuck is this?" you scream.
  
  Bell claws at your hand, gasping for breath. You relieve pressure, but keep her pinned to the ground.
  
  "I don't know." Tears well in her eyes.
  
  "Liar."              
  
  "No, I swear. Your friend Jon sent me."
  > trust her.
  Whether you trust Bell or not, a true knight never harms a lady...  or a whore.
  
  "Alright," you say pulling Bell to her feet, "help me save the day, and we can get back to putting a little baby hero in your belly."
  
  "You think I want that after what you just did to me?"
  
  "Everyone wants the hero," you deadpan. "So yes."
  
  And you are right. Feminism is for spunky heroines, not the spunk covered ragtag sack ticklers of heroic knights. Bell grumbles a pithy supplication and follows you out of the tent into the inferno of the fairgrounds.
  
  The evil moneylender stares at you from his floating cloud, with his face screwed up into a scowl of utter disgust and contempt. He leans over the edge of his cloud and vomits.
  
  "You," he jabs an accusatory finger, "are a vile, putrid, scumbag of a hero. Have you no sense of decency?"
  
  You hear a soft plop, plop behind you.
  
  "What are you talking about?" you ask, drawing your blade, preparing to pounce during the villain's moment of weakness, but you hold off, curious of his ailment.
  
  "Your woman is naked before the world, dripping your seed! And the script says I'm the villain? What depraved fool green-lit this?"
  
  *Poof*
  
  The narrator appears, riding a gigantic black German Shepherd, which is both ferocious and adorable. He wields a word processor and keyboard with a suspiciously sticky set of keys. He wields unadulterated badassery and lowbrow humor.
  
  "I'll tolerate snark from the hero and the spirits that control him, but not the damn villain, and yes the script says you are the villain. So unless you want to be spontaneously transfigured into an elephant entering the initial stages of menopause, then I suggest you shut the fuck up and let his hoe decide if she's being mistreated." The narrator turns to Bell. "Are you being mistreated?"
  
  "Sort of, I guess."
  
  "Would you like a pony?"
  
  "Yes?"
  
  "Done."
  
  A pony wanders through the carnage, and Bell climbs on top, uncertain of what to do.
  
  The narrator scowls at the villain. "Merek the Mad Mage of Misery, are you content with the current proceedings? Well are you?"
  
  The villain tugs at the collar of his robes. "Yes, your godliness."
  
  *Poof*
  
  "That was interesting," you say. "Anyway, I'm making baby heroes. And that's heroic. The naked human body is an art form to be admired, not scorned! Besides there's no one left to ogle her since you killed them all. Except Jon, over there, staring at her burning bush. And I bet Sir Jamison is alive somewhere. He seems pretty badass."
  
  Jon smiles dumbly, sword in hand.
  
  Merek the Made Mage of Misery shrieks. "You perverted bastards! I'll kill you all!" Lightning bolts sparkle in his hands, and he hurls them at you with the accuracy of a drunken Storm Trooper smoking black tar heroin.
  
  You stand still, watching the blasts scorch the already scorched ground twenty yards away.
  
  Jon lurches out of his stupor and rushes into battle, tucking away his playing sword and drawing his fighting one. "I'll show you who the bastard is, you slut!"
  
  Merek the Mad Mage of Misery curses his incompetence and swings his attention toward Jon. The two engage in a very boring battle. Wild lightning blasts scatter the land while Jon meanders around and tries to jump onto the floating cloud, which always drifts beyond his reach.
  
  You turn to Bell. "I have an idea." You pull Bell from the pony's back and make sweet love to her in the middle of the burning fairgrounds. Merek the Mad Mage of Misery catches sight and gawks in horror. This provides Jon the opening to leap onto his magic cloud and cut his throat with the magic dagger Sir Jamison conveniently just threw to him: because deus ex machina is beautiful and everyone knows only magic items can kill magic beings.
  
  ... 
  
  Sweet, so what happens now?
  
  The spirits guiding you probably leave mean comments because of the sexism and ridiculousness bomb we just exploded all over the place. At least we took it up to eleven.
  
  It was rather ridiculous, but hey, I won, right! What should I do with the pony?
  
  Breed it with a unicorn and find out what manner of being is born when the abomination spawn spews magical flatulence.
  
  Wicked. Do you have any parting words of advice for me or wrap-up narration?
  
  What the hell, is this twenty questions? I don't know, go murder every sparkly vampire and warrior-cat that you see and you can't go wrong. Shit, I just earned more hate comments.