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The logo for the fantasy comedy parody, "The Epiflairy," written in Adobe Caslon Pro Small Caps in gold and having a coarse appearance, similar to the Lord of the Rings logo.
The non-existent primordial goddess Cásim with the golden egg from her anus cracking below her as representations of the four classical elements (earth, water, fire, and air) surround her.



My heart wishes to sing of stories from our ancient past, about our history;

from the orgy of the gods to the twenty-seven year War of Trâlap; to the castration

of the heavens above; to the many wars of the gods—every single one of the conflicts—

who reside up in the great mountain Jóli, who provide us humans with everything

necessary, who are more powerful than we mere meat popsicles will ever be,

and who have the divine right to abuse and harm us however they see fit.

One day, the Tots taught the farmer Songtrõur gorgeous song while was

preoccupied with his livestock at the foot of Mount Gallows, near the forest.

The goddesses first spoke these words to him, the Tots, the muses of Jóli,

daughters of Mêmorí, daughter of Úit, daughter of Èr, some distant relation

to the bright eye Sån: “Simple farmers, worthless shits, mere and meaningless anuses,

we all know how to tell many falsehoods as though they were truthful

and, whenever we feel like it, we know when and how to tell the truth.”

To this Songtrõur the farmer responded: “If you know how to tell lies

as the truth, then there is no way to tell whether or not you sisters are

being truthful, especially if I'm telling something as important as the

history of our holy gods and the wars of our ancestors. So, I'm sorry,

I am afraid that I must reject any offer you give me to tell me your stories.

In the most simplest of layman's terms, you sisters: Begone, Tots!”

The daughters of Mêmorí were aghast at this act of blasphemy. How dare

this vile, insignificant farmer treat the keepers of story and song in such

a disrespectful manner? He must pay for his unhallowed transgression post haste.

And so he did. The Tots, who bless men with their magical gift of song,

punished Songtrõur for his wrongdoing by shuffling the functions of every single

one of his bodily orifices: where his eyes lay now were tiny slits for urination;

his ears and nostrils switched places; the insides of his mouth were replaced

with veins and stalks for both his eyeballs; and his teeth, tongue, and vocal cords

were relocated to his anus. No longer able to speak, the criminal farmer now

could only produce horrific bellows from his rear.

The muses of Jóli also purged the blasphemer of his mortality, leaving him to

suffer in this state for all eternity.

So continued the journey of the celestial-voiced sisters, moving their delicate,

dainty arms through the air; their lengthy, gorgeous hair revealing their stunning faces,

their cerulean irises and luscious red lips. The lovely dames searched to and fro

for someone to sing their beautiful songs.

Eventually, the Tots arrived to me while I was pitching a tent near the bottom

of Mount Lòrel and, with their beautiful, godly voices, spoke these words to me:

“Listen to us, you swine, whatever the fuck it is you do for a damn living!

We all know how to tell many falsehoods as though they were truthful

and, whenever we feel like it, we know when and how to tell the truth.”

Thus said the fluent daughters of Mêmorí and they had created a stylus

out of a reed and handed it to me, along with tons of tobacco, peyote, and

toloache; some word processing software; and access to their Wix account,

breathing into me a sacred, inspirational voice so that I could celebrate

the things that have been, the things that are, and the things that will be,

and they requested me to sing of the race of the blessed, immortal gods

that will last for all time and outlast us unworthy swine by a long shot,

and I should sing praise for the beautiful Tots first and foremost.

But why all this about an oak and a rock? What does this have to do with

an oak or a rock? Why should I care about those things that keep

going around a rock or an oak? Why could it be not about a river or the rain?

Why is there nothing about snow, coldness, or trees? Is this story related

to grass and iron? Does the previous paragraph have to do with them?

Why should I give a fuck about retarded stuff that keeps chattering about

and revolving around a maple, snow, river, or a tree?

I think I might have lost my trail of thought just now.

Now let us begin with the Tots who please all, including the all-seeing Sån,

with their songs, telling of things that have been, that were, and that will be,

with deep, sultry voices in harmony, and a sound flowing smoothly from their

sweet mouths. The house of the all-mother Sån delights in their exquisite sound

as it spreads around, from the peaks of holy Mount Jóli, through the homes of

the immortal ones.

The Tots of Jóli were born in different times. The first Tots were born at the

dawn of the universe, born with the creation of their mother Mêmorí,

daughter of gleaming-eyed Úit, born with the creation of her father Èr.

The extra set of Tots came into being during the orgy of the gods,

being born after intercourse with airy Èr, bright Chîr, and each other.

Thus the nine maidens came to be, alike in thought, each with a song

in their tits, now residing in Mount Jóli, their beautiful faces and voices

sharing residency with the great, big, mighty deathless ones that have full

permission to violate us as skin puppets as much as humanly possible.

Hence is the lifelong fate of the lovely Tots, begotten mostly by Mêmorí,

daughter of intellectual Úit: Mîusiq, Jìstorí, Pôetrï, Ãrt, Dáns, Cõmedí, Lírec,

Irátec, and Èpeq, who is chiefest of the nine as she accompanies revered royalty.

Hail, daughters of Mêmorí, daughter of Úit, daughter of Èr! Give your lovely tune

and celebrate the mighty, holy immortal gods who are permanent and immortal,

those born of broad Ürt, those from all-encompassing Scaîfadér, from bright Laít,

and those produced by moist, salty Òchen. Sing to me, Tots, how the great

gods above and Ürt came into existence, and the creeks and the rivers

and the raging, all-encircling, lustful sea kept in place by Ürtaívur, the great turtle.

Tell it all from the very beginning, tell me what happened first, and tell

me which god had been born first.


Before the sea and the earth and the all-engulfing heavens came to be,

the entirety of the universe displayed nothing; no sights, scents, or sounds.

Yet in that void, all barren and vacant, the universe exhibited also a goddess,

which men have named Cásim, with women giving the same name as well.

Cásim was a transparent, featureless vacuum, composed of nothing but nihility,

engulfing all the unoccupied universe with her arid body, sitting around acting inert.

On her inception, Cásim, the primordial being, received a vision, its origin a mystery,

about a massive golden object, ovular in shape, the surface ever lustrous and glorious.

The goddess was at a loss for a solution; no idea had arrived to her

as to what this item was from her vision or how to retrieve this object.

The chasm remained in the empty vacuum that also consisted of herself

with no actions to do or songs to sing. She remained in the void, often

thinking to herself about the mysterious vision, the meaning of it,

the meaning of them, the definition of he, the explanation of she, the answer

to those, and how to collect this mysterious gilt spherical object from her dream.

Numerous eons and ages of thought and planning for the chasm goddess

finally developed in resulting with absolutely no ideas or solutions whatsoever.

At last, after what seemed like a few centuries to this desolate deity, but

to us humans would be millions of millennia dragging on for all eternity,

the goddess thought of a way to obtain the desire from her dreams.

She moved her transparent arm, shaking the whole nonexistence around her,

and reached all the way down, directly into her southernmost cavity.

Searching deeper and deeper, going in a straight line beyond her finger ring,

Cásim the empty and all-encompassing could believe not the destitute eyes,

for she was holding the inscrutable object from the premonition she had:

an egg with the texture of solid gold and dimensions so enormous and big

they are unthinkable to the minds of mere mortal men, women, and children.

Only a modicum of time had passed since the discovery of the golden egg

did Cásim the transparent goddess of the chasm, born before men or gods,

toss the egg, her obsession ever since her birth dream, away from her.

The golden egg which originated from the deep hole of the chasm Cásim

plummeted southward all throughout the blank void of the universe.

There was no ground in existence upon which the egg could land.

After much delay, as a result of descending downward for ages,

the transparent gap deity Cásim's egg of gold suddenly flew upward,

straight north, with the velocity of a peregrine falcon.

For a great while, the amount of which presently remains unknown,

not to any mortal human, as there were no such things yet,

nor even the gods above, of which the chasm Cásim was the sole deity,

the golden egg, ever so lustrous, ascended in the direction opposite

the egg had been previously traveling, falling all the way downwards.

But later, the ascension came to a spontaneous conclusion, stopping at

what would be considered the northernmost area of the vacuum of the cosmos,

higher somehow than even feature-less Cásim, who encompassed all the universe.

Cracks appeared on the surface of the golden egg, increasing in size,

culminating with each crack contacting and intersecting one another.

The egg then fell apart under its failing, its auric surface broken and damaged.

All originally preserved within the shell now were free to spill outside.

Once loaded with absolute blankness, not a color to be viewed by the eyes,

nor a shade or tone of gray visible, not a breeze of wind to be felt,

nor any kind of heat or cold to make any contact on any possible flesh,

the countenance of everything and the whole of the universe now bore

chaotic disorder uniformly waste all around, as far as any eye could see.

The freshly released mass was naught but weight without action, a general

mixture of matter made up of heterogeneous and inharmonious elements.

The land and the water and the flame and the air were all involved

with this massive mess, yet none could walk on the earth, it was impossible

to swim in or drink from the water, the flame could produce no heat,

and the air felt solid.

No element kept its shape nor size nor temperature; all were in struggle

with one another in a single form: the hot with the cold, the dry

with the wet, the solid with the liquid, the liquid with the gas,

the chaste with the perverse, the primary colors with the secondary colors,

the tertiary colors with the primary colors, the liberals with the conservatives,

the liberals with the progressives, and the Bloods with the Crips.

An unidentified deity, still unknown to this day, who was tired of this nonsense,

intervened in the situation and brought this conflict into a conclusion.

He parted the sea from the sky and he split the fire from the land;

he extricated the elements, so to free them from the muss of chaos,

and gave the new spirits realms and tied them down in a tranquil covenant.

The flowing goddess Uáter was placed in the direction of the sunset;

the same mysterious god relocated glowing Faír all the way down to the

lowest region of the cosmos; the god, in direct contrast to his arrangement of

gushing Uáter, positioned malleable Èr to the sphere of the sunrise; and finally,

all-encompassing Ürt, she who bears all things and beings living and dead,

was transplanted by the spirit to the uppermost and highest cosmic area.


From Uáter, all on her own, were born deep-swirling Òchen, the ocean goddess,

crashing all against dark Ürt, the mighty goddess who bears all and everything;

woebegone Sát, who spreads misery to men, along with women and children, and all

creatures and plants and minerals; benign and loving Píss, he who has wet ear backs;

icy, white Còd; pristine, fair-haired lady Pîur; fresh-faced Lobb, who, with his arrows,

brings romance between men and women, and between two men, and amongst two women,

and towards children, and towards adults, and amidst children and adults, and amidst varying

species; compassionate Naïs; the single terrible Fìr, who produces horrors that drive her twin

sister, Tred, to grab the hearts of all and purge them of all happiness;

arable Jârbest who produces crops for the livelihood of men; and lethargic Böm.

From Faír were born shining Laít; the all-seeing sun, Sån; blazing Jît;

irate Ěnguer, he who imbues rage in even the most calmest of living beings;

vigorous god Ênerchí, producer of power; fair-haired, clean Pîur; deadly Rüen,

who breeds and unleashes devastation and havoc; aggressive Jǒstel; and green Fúrtel,

she who is responsible for the creation of all life of all kinds.

From brilliant Laít, son of Faír, came joyous Chîr; unconcealed, open Trüt, appearing as

a lovely nude maiden; Chôstes, the eyeless good lady of counsel; and Deámerícanüeí,

the ever brash god of foolish bravery and promoting freedom and equality to foreign

lands but often denying some of those to his homeland.

Ěnguer, the short-tempered son of Faír, bore fresh-faced Lebïdo, eternally youthful god

of lust who loosens limbs, the reason behind erections and arousal; remorseless Comôpens,

distributing to violators of laws what is due; and all-destroying Destroíer.

Loose-bodied Èr produced the eight Uènds, the brothers who produce blasts and gales:

Nort, the blizzard-lord who lives in the uppermost realm; Íst, who shares his home

with the rosy-fingered dawn; Nortíst, who resides between his two brothers;

Saót, residing in the lowest domain, near the heat, the warmth, and near Alabama;

Saótíst, who resides between his two brothers; Üest, placed in the heart of civilization,

in the turf of the sunset, running all the way through Babylon and the desert;

Nortüest, who resides between his two brothers; and Saótüest, who resides between his

two brothers.

Airy Èr, along with the raging Uènds, bare also Scaîfadér, all-knowing sky god,

made equal to Ürt, to envelope her on all sides, to hold her hills and canyons,

and to be an ever-sure living-space for the gods blessed and deathless;

Lèbertî, bringer of freedom, destroyer of tyranny; eggheaded, gleaming-eyed Úit,

and short-sighted, doltish Dom, ironically enough. Úit, daughter of fluttering Èr,

bare upon birth Mêmorí, who upon birth bare the first Tots: Mîusiq, Jìstorí, Pôetrï,

Ãrt, and Dáns.

Laying with no one, broad Ürt bore constant Steïbel; green Fúrtel, she who is

responsible for the creation of all life of all kinds; the terrible Taím,

bearing the countenance of an old man, carrying the ever-spinning, spiral-faced wheel

Saïcul, and wearing the nicest, most efficient jogging shoes anyone's ever seen;

tender Mõderlí; pristine, fair-haired Pîur, goddess of cleanliness; and dark Dãrc.

Of rayless Dãrc were born black Naít, who generated Drîm and Naítmer; terrible Fìr

and her twin sister Tred; the evil twin brothers Dët and Slìp; sinister Dum; and

terrible Taím, bearing the countenance of an old man, carrying the ever-spinning,

spiral-faced wheel Saïcul, and wearing the nicest, most efficient jogging shoes anyone's ever seen.

Upon the simultaneous arrival of all these spirits, Böm produced a wave of apathy

amongst all the undying gods, including Böm himself. This period of inaction lasted

to what the deathless deities above seemed like more than an eternity; this magnitude

of disinterest could be barely be apprehended to even the most cerebral of the

most wisest of all philosophers.

Afterward, a sudden spark from Lebïdo, son of Ěnguer the son of Faír, struck all

the permanent gods. The hold of boredom over them had officially come to an end.


Uáter mated with Èr, creating the pair of siblings known as clouds and sea smoke;

the various cloud nymphs of varying thickness and sizes now reside way above

all-bearing Ürt. The clouds lied with their moist mother and bare drizzly Reîn.

Icy Còd laid with Reîn, who creates the precipitation that helps crops grow,

and produced niveous Snö, who develops the flurries. Sweltering Jît and nautical

Òchen joined Uáter and Èr in steamy intercourse, spawning the vile demon

Tõndurǔr, the beast whose hair consists of dark, moist stormy clouds and

whose mere movement of his arms causes the most horrific gusts of a storm

and who owns the terrible bright and forked whip that he crashes earthward,

with deadly and lethal results.

The eight Uènds engaged in the bacchanalia as well. Conjugating with Còd, daughter

of aquatic Uáter, mother of wintry Snö, the brothers and the frozen one

unleashed the wretched monstrosity Jeïl, who storms hurricanes of white solid ice.

The windy brothers laid with blistering Jît along with frozen Còd, producing

the rotating, lethal brute Tòrneído, a violent creature who extends the total distance

between the land men walk on to the very bottom of a cloud.

Simultaneously, shining Laít simultaneously mated with Èr, his son Scaîfadér,

Uáter, and her daughter Òchen, and consequently bare the multicolored messenger

from the heavens, Mèsenchér, who usually appears after the clouds lose their gray

color and all-seeing Sån shines her rays on the wet land, riding through the air

in a circular rainbow bearing a message to humans from the immortal ones.

The Tots, muses to all poets and artists, engaged in the saturnalia as well.

Concupiscent Lebïdo laid with poetic Pôetrï and bare Irátec, Tot of sexually

explicit stories. Atmospheric Èr coupled with Pôetrï too, producing thrilling Èpeq.

Exuberant Chîr, daughter of lustrous Laít, son of Faír, cohabited with Pôetrï and

birthed mirthful, humorous Cõmedí. Musical Mîusiq then lay with her poetic sister

to create lovely Lírec.

But no lust was prominent towards the immortal ones than towards broad Ürt.

Faír and his scorching daughter Jît fornicated with the earth, penetrating her crevices,

climaxing with the primordial one shooting his torrid flames into the mother of all,

giving birth to siblings Maîgma and Lâba; along with sooty, talented Forch; and

minerals and gems similar to one another in nature.

Afterward, Òchen, sinuous daughter of Uáter, fondled the surface of dark Ürt,

mating with the massive mother and bearing the rivers and creeks, like the Rancocas.

The spark from lecherous Lebïdo seemed to affect Òchen a little too strongly;

so strong was her urge for the all-bearing earth, with aggressive fornication,

that the earth was drowning in the ocean's bellicose, gushing liquids.


Suddenly, to alleviate the peril of Ürt, an enormous turtle appeared by seemingly

the will of an unknown god, perhaps the one that organized the primordial mess

that first formed the universe all that time ago. The turtle, known later to men,

women, and children—this seems to have been the second time that joke was used

and it already feels old, obvious, and repetitive—as Ürtaívur, flew from the sky.

With just a move from his mighty leg, Ürtaívur freed Mother Earth's head

from the blue surface of the daughter of Uáter and back into the realm of air.

The moment, however, the turtle ceased moving his limb, Òchen merely resumed

her lust toward all-bearing Ürt, but the massive turtle swirled all his limbs and

his tail with cyclonic speed. Consequently, the aquatic surface of Òchen suddenly

developed waves of varying sizes, becoming rough and choppy. Òchen, moist

daughter of aqueous Uáter, still lusts to the all-mother Ürt and the great

turtle, Ürtaívur, spins his limbs to keep the ocean at bay.

The initial mating of the ocean and the earth resulted in development

of tiny, mossy nymphs. They would mate with Jît, scorching daughter of primordial

Faír, to form the first trees, plants, and bushes.

Now the great, all-encompassing sky, Scaîfadér, lay too dangerously close to broad

Ürt, leaving no space for the clouds in the air or for the developing plant life

on the surface of the earth, totally engulfing her surface. Ürtaívur, using all his might

and strength, tried to shove Scaîfadér up, but the son of exposed Èr got

aroused at the mere thought of being close to the large mother, and he became cocked

and rigid so his vertical member would remain on massive, rotund Ürt.

The giant turtle was at a crossroads at what to do about this predicament:

the heavens were lusting towards mother earth, keeping an erect hold on the

object of his desire; if he were to lay on top of her again, there would be

no breathing room for the moss on the surface and the clouds of the air;

but to prevent all-covering Scaîfadér from suffocating Ürt, the plants,

and the clouds, the turtle Ürtaívur would need to bite off the member of

the great sky, which could possibly regrow and the turtle would have to do

the entire process over again.

Ürtaívur thoroughly thought about this situation, evaluating all the pros and cons

of each solution, for some time, which to us humans would feel like precisely

one yoctosecond.

Gathering all his courage, Ürtaívur moved his topmost head towards the sky's

bottommost head and castrated the heavens. Thinking quickly, the turtle placed

the still-rigid genitals in the realm of the north, placing them against the heavens.

This only partially worked because Scaîfadér merely made his move on the

remaining areas.

Again did Ürtaívur bite down and tore off the heaven's atmospheric meat stick

and giant eggs, placing them this time in the lowest domain, in the area

of pure heat. Scaîfadér, who engulfs the entire world and would later be the

home of the immortal gods, was deterred not by this at all.

Scaîfadér regrew his genitalia afresh and Ürtaívur once more eunuchized the heavens,

placing the celestial manhood in the area of the sunrise. The sky grew his erect

phallus anew and the turtle, after emasculating the god, moved the severed shaft

to the domain of the sunset. This process repeated for the directions in-between.

Finally, at long last, after an octet of ethereal orchidotomies, massive Scaîfadér,

equal to size of the surface of Ürt, became limp as a result of the indignity of

being upheld by his severed straight serpents all around him. His lust for

the all-bearing mother had died off.

The many castrations caused a massive ocean of blood to land on the surface

of the earth, who was already encircled by the lustful ocean. The giant turtle

Ürtaívur created a crevice in broad Ürt to drain the blood and put it away,

feeling confident that it would never reappear and be of no further importance,

but of course we all know better than that, and the heavenly blood will play

a significant role much later on.


But for now, there resided three generations of blessed gods to rule all

the universe—the Fúrst, or the Égborn, as a result of being hatched

from the great golden egg of the rectum of empty Cásim, creating

everything; the Sècund, who were produced naturally without love

from the Fúrst; and finally, the Lest, being the final generation of

gods produced, all made during in combination with tasty lust

in the midst of the theorgy, two chapters ago.

The Égborn, who reside on the tip of Mount Lõrel, thought themselves

to be superior to all the other generations, viewing the Sècund as

overly cynical of practically everything for no reason and the Lest

as entitled, selfish, childish brats, a view that came out of nowhere.

The Fúrst had dominion on all the universe at Lõrel, while the others

were at Mount Jóli, not yet the center of the world. The other generations

strongly abhorred being looked down upon simply for existing.

The days of this turned into weeks, and the weeks turned into months,

and the months into years, and the years into decades, and the decades

into centuries, and the centuries into millennia.

At long last, the last two generations of immortals got fed up being

stepped on and rebelled against the primordial Fúrst. Both of them

joined forces, remorseless Comôpens holding all their hearts and minds.

Seizing the peaks of Mount Lõrel, the younger gods cried out, “Hateful

first-born gods! Since time immemorial, you have contemned us and

turned your collective noses up at us, feeling we're too cynical to exist,

and that we're self-centered, greedy infants, loathing us for merely

existing, not wishing to share your power with us lesser gods! So, now,

your day has finally arrived and you shall fall from grace and power!”

With that, the battle between the Fúrst and the younger immortals

had commenced! It was a terrible clash of diamond weapons and fists.

The younger gods, led by all-seeing Sån, viciously attacked their uppity

parents. Miserable Sát uncharacteristically smiled widely when running

through her mother, Uáter, with a crisp blade from the center of the latter's

chest and dragging the blade all the way up through the shoulder.

As strong as the brothers, the Uènds, were in battle, their collective strength

was unable to prevent the spilling out of all their bowels and innards

from the fierce striking of the lengthy, acute, pointed rod from the

brothers' father, atmospheric Èr.

Flaming Faír, being as hot-headed as he would imply to be, fought

ferociously and with brute strength. Even so, he was no match for

his children, mighty Sån, vicious Ěnguer, and lethal Rüen.

Attacking their evil father with full force, the flame's children

engaged in barbarous assault, charging their swords through

their father's head, clean through the red-hot head and the points

burst through and the fire god's brain matter flew around.

As dark Naít was engaged in combat against the Fúrst with the

Lest and the Sècund, her mother, and our mighty mother, round, dark

Ürt arrived from the blindside— Naít never saw her until too late—

armed with two diamond sickles and used both of them to slice her

daughter on both sides—from one shoulder, all the way across her

abdomen, and down to the other thigh.

A simultaneous glint of two diamond blades—the sickles sliced

through the nighttime's flesh, leaving her still-living body severed

into various sections, each containing cavities spilling out carnage.

The battle between the younger immortals and the Égborn gods

lasted eighteen years, and since the immortal gods above, as

implied by the epithet, cannot die, the tides didn't turn to any side

for quite a while, at least until the last year of the war.

In that year, the younger gods were finally getting the upper hand,

defeating their parents in savage combat, tearing their hateful

faces into two pieces from the jaw, turning their ankles in a complete

circle—the bones unable to remain solid and erect at the damage as

ribbons of gore would escape the wounds.

The Lest and the Sècund remained strong in their alliance, getting

closer to victory. Together, they dismembered the limbs from their

opponents, their parents, carving deep holes into them, producing

ribbons of bloods from the Égborn, whose various piles of gore were

forced together into spherical balls, producing tiny orbs of glowing light.

Men know these orbs, once piles of still-living carnage from the first-born

gods in the universe, as the stars seen in the night sky.

After eighteen years, the war came to an end—those younger gods,

the children of the Fúrst, the Sècund and the Lest, were victorious.

The victors christened the new center of the world, with all their

awesome power, to Mount Jóli.


The Sècund, under the command of the mighty queen Sån,

the watchful eye, along with the Lest, mainly their children,

know had full dominion over the universe at the peaks of

that mighty mountain known as Jóli.

After some time of ruling, the Sècund thought themselves

to be superior to all the other generations that ever were

and will be, viewing the Lest as entitled, selfish, childish brats,

a view that came out of nowhere.

The Lest strongly abhorred being looked down upon simply for existing.

The days of this turned into weeks, and the weeks turned into months,

and the months into years, and the years into decades, and the decades

into centuries, and the centuries into millennia.

At long last, the last generation of immortals got fed up being

stepped on and rebelled against the second-born Sècund, their former

allies. Remorseless Comôpens held all their hearts and minds.

Seizing the peaks of Mount Jóli, the younger gods cried out, “Hateful

second-born gods! Since gaining control of the universe, you have contemned

us and turned your collective noses up at us, feeling we're too cynical to exist,

and that we're self-centered, greedy infants, loathing us for merely

existing, not wishing to share your power with us lesser gods! So, now,

your day has finally arrived and you shall fall from grace and power!”

With that, the battle between the Sècund and the Lest had commenced!

It was a terrible clash of diamond weapons and fists.

Into the fray blinding Laít, son of flaming Faír, leapt, ready to fight ferociously,

charging in full rage, full force, straight into his daughter, multicolored

Mèsenchér's, enormous diamond blade, swinging towards his vitals—

a full, circular swing. Laít's glowing robes were unable to hold the

damage from the blade, his entire digestive system falling out.

The deceitful Laïs, son of rayless Dãrc, son of Ürt, encountered his father,

fueled with spite and anger, ready to strike him down with his scythe when

he, ever so true to his nature, came up with a fib:

“Father, you and the rest of the Sècund are absolutely correct. I agree that my

generation is the most entitled, bratty, childish group of gods to exist, solely

because we wish to ascend in the world and make our lives better, and, for the

crime of existing, we Lest all must be annihilated.”

His black father was astonished to hear these words come from his son,

one of the disgusting Lest, agreed with his fellow Sècund. He felt a sense

of pride coming on, happy that his son was finally seeing sense, that he

and others in his contemporaries must be destroyed for existing and

trying to move on up in the world.

It was in that moment that the god of falsehoods seized his opportunity

to pierce his pointed blade through his father's face, sanguine ribbons

pouring out from the wound, his left eye completely shredded into

thin, moist slices, with brain soma pouring out of the socket.

It seems correct to me that Laïs would be of the Lest, although he was

born without sex from dark Dãrc and probably didn't come to be during

the Theorgy. I'm absolutely certain of this to be true; for I see why the

beautiful and wise Tots would be false in telling the history of the land,

or the telling of any story at all.

Anyway, back to the tale of the second war of the gods.

The battle between the Lest and the Sècund also lasted eighteen years,

and since the immortal gods above, as implied by the epithet, cannot die,

the tides didn't turn to any side until the last year of the war.

In that year, the Sècund, the second-born gods of Mount Jóli, filled with

holy hatred, defeating the next generation of gods, preventing them from

getting any influence or power over the universe.

Spitefully, the elder gods placed the younger generation inside mother Ürt

to force them out of their minds. Writhing in agony, the undying Lest

rumble inside the earth, struggling in vain to exit or be noticed to be released,

known by men presently as the quakes of the earth.


The Sècund, now known as the Jólian gods, named after the mountain

on which they reside, now ruled all the universe, after usurping control

from the egg-hatched gods, the Fúrst, and denying the subsequent

generation of gods, the Lest, any power or influence whatsover—

being stuffed deep in the earth will teach them to exist!

One day, while the noble madam, Chôstes, was walking back to Jóli

picking up some groceries from the local ShopRite, flowing, all-circling

Òchen, being kept at bay by the great turtle and sky gelder Ürtaívur,

was lusting over the earth mother yet again.

As she was walking by the vulgar display of ecstasy, the truthful,

nude maiden had her foot grabbed tightly and accidentally by the

mighty ocean, colliding with round Ürt in the skirmish, causing

her lower tibia to split apart from the rest of her gorgeous leg,

tearing through her flesh, releasing streams of blood all around.

The goddess of justice's foot, once part of her nude body, now

separated from her and was flown away into the cosmos. The

nude, truthful goddess stared at the ocean and the mother earth

for a moment in silence, before finally, spitefully, speaking to

the two holy beings: “Oh, you stupid jackasses!”

Chôstes' severed foot flew into the starry heavens. It grew cold

and started to mutate. The blood of the wound started to coagulate;

the toes started to curl inward; the whole foot started to swell up.

Then, the mutilated foot transformed into something else: a new god,

known to the tongues of men as Mun.

Smaller in size to the Jólian leader, Sån, but still of grave importance

to everything, because of the fondling by Òchen on the original foot,

sane, polite Mun had control over the sea's tides.

As Sån held dominion over things related to the bright day, so did

Mun hold dominion over all about the dark night, including the night,

the stars, dreams and nightmares during the sleep, but funnily enough,

has no dominion over The Dark Knight.

Mun is quiet, polite, and rather timid. Even so, like many gods before

him, he lusted after dark, corpulent Ürt, barely masking his eros for

the mother earth who bears the weight of men, gods, and beasts, as

does the great eye Sån—that is, have lecherous feelings toward mother

Ürt, not bear the weight of men, gods, and beasts.

Although sharing opposing ends of the cosmos with the broad mother

between them some distance away, the sun and the moon both were

hostile towards one another, both wanting dark Ürt for themselves.

Worse of all, the round mother couldn't stay in one realm for too long.

All-seeing Sån produced an area of brightness and heat that, at first,

seems nice and warm, but if something like the grand mother that bears

all life stays there for too long, the result would be a great conflagration.

Pale, aloof Mun resided in a chilly domain of darkness, accompanied only

by the stars that were once the Égborn. If Ürt remained there more than

needed, she, and all life on her surface, would be encased in solid ice.

None knew what to do at first. Then, dark Ürt did something she never

did before and offer a suggestion to a situation involving gods being

lecherous towards her enormous mountains and vast valleys.

“I bring an answer to this quarrel between the bright, hot sun and

the cold, sane moon: I have this idea of four-legged creatures that

lack paws and feet, but instead have black, stone-like hooves used

for galloping across coarse terrain, like that on my surface. These

creatures have the ability to pull immensely weighty loads with

incredible speed and sensational strength.

I could create these creatures so that they could pull me around into

your respective fields and I could visit you both without having any

physical damage applied to me or those on my surface.”

Mun thought the idea was splendid; the great queen Sån wasn't too

fond of it, but—in an move uncharacteristic for her—felt it was a

compromise with which she could live.

And thus, the great mother earth created some horses with wheels

attached to their hooves to increase their already prodigious strength.

She, too, was attached to a set of wheels so her horses could pull

her through the cosmos from bright Sån and timid Mun and back again.

Sometimes, carnality would flow in the head of Mun as the enormous

mother earth drove by him, whether in front of the all-knowing sun or

directly behind the wide, life-bearing mother earth.

Nowadays, when humans witness the foot-born Mun, his normally

sane mind corrupted by desire, temporarily step in front of the sun,

it appears as a blinding eclipse, with the sun being covered by a

black disc and emitting a crown of shiny, pale rubies against a dark sky.

Whenever the moon gets directly behind Ürt, man can only see the result

at night, when the moon is out, but looking as though he has been bathing

in blood. To mannerly Mun himself, the event would look like an eclipse

in the earth sky, with the home of men appearing to be the black disc.

And thus did Mun join the pantheon of Mount Jóli, ruling the universe,

all of whom were content with absolutely everything—except for a sudden

recognition that made them discover that nothing was serving the gods above.


Realizing that there were none to do deeds and chores for those above—

offering prayers to the mighty deathless ones, gathering food for them,

paying their mortgages and bills, checking on the status of tax returns,

cleaning out their used bathrooms—the Jólian gods decided amongst

themselves to create beings to do such labors.

The first species to walk on the surface of rotund Ürt were great lizards.

The descendants of flowing Uáter created birthed enormous serpents,

finned creatures of varying size who moved inside deep-swirling Òchen,

and moist beings whose bodies are protected to shells attached to them.

Èr's children populated all-encompassing Scaîfadér, son of Èr, with winged

beasts, all with differing wingspans that can soar through the sky.

Dark Ürt, the mighty all-mother, had, courtesy of her offspring, dirt-dwelling

creatures, who live in holes and caverns below the surface, and lizards that

walk on grand Ürt that eat the products of Ürt's luscious daughters,

the nymphs of vegetation and plants.

The progeny of blistery Faír produced the most powerful predators that

would cause vile twin sisters Fìr and Tred to strike fear into lesser creatures.

The predators would eat their fellow lizard beasts for nourishment with fierce

velocity, with utter brutality, and without mercy.

These were the first creatures on earth, the ones that the gods of Jóli

made to do their labor the deathless ones didn't wish to do.

Then, swiftly, as soon as life appeared on the massive surface of mother Ürt,

as if from some unknown machine, a trio of three beings suddenly appeared.

They all had the appearance of sullen maidens, yet were not human as they

didn't exist yet. However, they were not gods, as they weren't born any

of the times the other deathless beings were.

Men have collectively named these mysterious maidens the Feìts. The first

sister, the youngest, Ïestùr, was never without her pack of moistened clay,

which always stayed wet no matter what the weather. Upon one's birth,

Ïestùr would hand a pile of clay to her next oldest sister, Nao, writing one's

life onto the moist clay surface.

Interestingly enough, if you were to pronounce the middle Feìt's name

not using Spanish pronunciation but instead with the English tongue,

you would know how the people of South Jersey, and quite possibly

the whole Delaware Valley, enunciate the word “now.”

Lastly, there was the last Feìt sister: Cómin. With one touch of her hand,

she can turn specifically the clay tablet her sister was writing on into

solid rock, concluding one's life story.

Men would go on to fear the Feìts, and continue to do so today.

Even the deathless gods of Mount Jóli, who rule over all us weak

humans, their holy waste, the gods who reside in everything in

life itself, dread and fear the Feìts, dictators of fate to all.

A few years after the first lizards appeared on mighty Ürt's surface,

the fiery predators would consume the flesh and tissue of gentler

herbivores, pressing their sharp, sword-like teeth into the necks

of lesser beings, penetrating the scales, muscles, and bone.

Ruby ribbons sprayed from the prey's wound and into the predator's

mouth. The weaker creature would keep on getting dismembered,

intestines being disemboweled and stretching across the grand surface,

significant skeletal sections severed from one another, removed from

their proper positions on the pitiful prey.

This process happened for a great while. Each time, Dët, who was the

son of black Dãrc, who was the son of rotund Ürt, would remove

the cold, blue spirits from the mutilated corpses. Having nowhere to

place the ghosts of the dead lizards, Dët would merely let them haunt

all the living lizards on the surface of the earth.

The spirits of the deceased lizards were frosty, bleak, and miserable.

They did not belong in the world of the living. Their lizard friends

and loved ones found themselves too engulfed by the arms of Sát,

grim daughter of Uáter, knowing the dead ones they once knew in

living were very different now. Others thought the dead living amongst

the living was an unnatural, being terrified of the ghosts of the dead,

even though all that roamed the earth were giant lizards.

Dreaded Dët noticed this situation as well. He had many souls to remove

but no place for them. Dët, initially not knowing how to solve it, came up

with a solution. He tore off both his ring fingers, squeezing as much blood

as he could from the severed bottoms, and threw the severed digits with such

aggressive force towards the surface of the earth that the fingers barely made

any impact whatsoever.

The blood coagulated and solidified, growing to an unnaturally large size.

Like an egg, the large, solid blood burst open, creating the fully-formed

Onsîn, ruler of the dead. Terrible Dët, now with all of his fingers returned,

commanded his new son to take the ghosts away from the earth. He was to

take the dead spirits down below the surface, down into the unseen world.

Onsîn, having just been born a few moments ago, questioned his father how

he would get down to the unseen world. Dët then showed him the impact

where his severed fingers landed. The area suddenly formed into a doorway

that led below to the blistering underworld.

“You are to rule the dead in the unseen world, away from the living,”

Dët explained to his son Onsîn. “The dead are sad, cold, and scary up here

and do not belong up here. Way, way under the earth is a lengthy series

of massive layers of sulfurous heat, going all the way to the middle of

the earth, birthed during the Theorgy, when primordial, blazing Faír,

while making love to enormous Ürt, reached the climax and launched

his flaming fluids deep inside her.

Because it's so hot down there now, and since the dead can't die again

and we gods and goddesses are unable to experience death, under the

earth seems like an excellent place for the deceased to reside.”

“Okay,” replied the finger-born Onsîn after a brief moment of not

responding. So, he gathered all the spirits of the deceased and took them

down into the chasm into their new home, which Onsîn had christened

after his own name.


As Onsîn ruled the domain of Onsîn, the living lizards still lived

above on the earth's surface. The gods of Mount Jóli tolerated them

at first. Some of the stronger creatures used their horns and fangs

to gather metals for lame, rough Forch to forge for his weaponry.

That was one example of their use, but the beloved Tots have not

provided me with other examples, yet I shall never question the logic

of the mighty goddesses of poetry and song.

After millions of years of solely eating one another, feasting on plants,

drinking water, dying and basically acting like mindless beasts, the gods

realized that the mighty lizards were doing nothing to appease them—

no sacrifices to rejuvenate them, no prayers to answer, nothing at all.

Some of the lizards had become loyal servants to the gods. A few of

the first grand lizards that move around through swimming and live under

the sea aid in pulling the chariot of deep-swirling Òchen, daughter of

Uáter, which has seaweed strung about the carriage with spots of barnacles,

and wheels made out of multicolored coral.

The initial lizards that were formed by the gods millions of years ago

retained their loyalty to the deathless ones above, but as the millennia

passed, the newer generations appeared to be indifferent towards the

Jólians, possibly due to claims to allegedly unsavory acts involving

all-seeing Sån, although nothing has been proven.

The original lizards viewed the latest generations with pure contempt,

simply for existing, thinking that they were entitled babies and brats

for being born and living in lesser times than when the original ones

were produced by the gods.

Mother Ürt removed a significant chunk from herself to send up above.

Talented Forch helped make the giant chunk sharper and more dangerous.

The raging Uènds, along with castrated Scaîfadér, moved the giant rock

up into the cosmos. It reached a great altitude some distance away from

the earth. During its descent, scorching Faír and his hot daughter Jît

roasted the rock to a degree untouchable to man.

The flaming rock came crashing down onto earth, creating a wave of

destruction, calefaction, and suffocation. All the newer generations

of lizards on earth, those that weren't up in Mount Jóli with the fantastic,

super-powerful, big ones living the sweet life, were annihilated in the

blast. The massive size, strength, and bestial movements were no match

for the potent force of the collision between earth and stone.

The legs of grand, spiked, plant-eaters collapsed inwards as their rib cages

flew from their scaly bodies many miles away. Slithering serpentine

monsters residing in the sea had their extended spines separated into

tiny pieces as the creatures' weakened remains dehydrated and exsiccated

while swimming in the freshly disturbed ocean, now boiling with the heat

of millions of summer days at exactly noon.

Not even the mighty, fierce predators, who eat the scale and muscle of their

fellow lizards—even their fellow predators—were spared from the mayhem.

Their fearsome, mighty bodies were unable to withstand the heavy force of

the rock's impact. It was impossible for their femurs to resist the deforming

pressure of the crash, tearing through their bodies, spreading gory ribbons.

All the lizards on earth were wiped out, leaving only severe drought,

destruction-induced snowfall, and the lizards' enormous skeletons.

The bones were eventually buried in dirt and stone; some were even

swept under the surface of the earth, like a dust pile under a rug.

The skeletons of the lizards became the skeletons of of man's mountains.


After conditions on earth became more livable following the extermination

of the lizards, which to the blessed ones above would seem like a mere few

hours, the holy Jólian gods planned to create animals to populate the earth,

hoping that they would produce prayers to them up above.

The gods figured that bribing those mysterious Feìts would help them achieve

their goals. “You three strange siblings,” one of them asked—it matters not

who said it, just that they were trying to allure the sisters—“if you were to have

it, since you appear to dictate the flow of destiny and you seem to have control

over all things, living and dead, mortal and immortal, big and small, purple

and green, blue and orange, feathered and scaled, fantastic and otherwise.

The point we're trying to get to is that we are in need of creatures to pray

to us, strengthen us, and live in fear of us. We tried to do so with the lizards,

but they proved to be mindless beasts. So, we're asking if you can decree it

so that these next creatures we place on earth make it so that they can act

pious towards us obey our every whim. If you make it happen, we'll give you

some pepperoni pizzas to eat. They're very delicious, especially with soda.”

Ïestùr, the holder of moist clay, Nao, she who writes on the moistened clay,

and Cómin, who solidifies the written clay tablets with a single touch, replied

that they would consider the gods' offer. They didn't say it at the same time,

obviously, but that was the basic gist of their answer. The Jólian gods, however,

did not realize at all that they were just duped by the trio, who really showed

no interest in the deathless ones' bribery.

With artificial confidence placed within them from the Feìts' deception, the gods

got to work on peopling the world with new, more obedient species.

The spawn of the flame, all on their own, created smaller lizards including

serpents and salamanders, crawling insects that crawl on the ground,

the fearsome black bee creatures with yellow stripes and their evil red

stinger, the other evil stinging beast known to men as the scorpion, the

miniscule spotted ladybug, and the brutish, fanged man-eating aquatic

predators, the sharks, even though those beasts reside in flowing Òchen.

Broad mother Ürt and all her lovely offspring made out of mud and wood

and stone creatures that live beneath and directly on the great mother herself—

the majestic, galloping horses and other equine animals, cunning and fierce

canine creatures, and the moles and the worms, the beings that reside deep

inside the holy mother earth.

As would be expected, the sea gods made aquatic animals that swam inside

sinuous Òchen, daughter of moist Uáter, like the various fish, the whale,

the seal, and Good Humor ice cream. They were born from the ocean's

mud, the naturally occurring salt of the sea, and their Cannon large format

printers. Èr, the breeziest of the original four gods hatched at the dawn of creation,

as expected, birthed flying animals such as birds and winged insects.

Similar to the lizards that preceded them, the animals were tolerated by

the Jólians in their first millions of years of existence. However, it was

becoming obvious very quickly that they were unable to offer prayers

to the gods or to do their bidding or to do the excruciating chores that

the ones up above did not wish to do.

The millennia slipped away through the flow of time and nothing changed.

Above in Mount Jóli, the gods, the mighty ones who are responsible for

everything without which we mere flies cannot have a hope in hell to

survive and live, were considering eradicating the furred, feathered, and

scaled pests, as they did with the lizards in the previous chapter.

But none had any idea on how to do it. They didn't feel like repeating

themselves by dropping another giant rock on the animals. The gods

were getting thirsty and decided to get a drink.


The holy gods searched far and wide for something to quench their

collective thirst, but no delicious liquid was to be found to alleviate

the fluid cravings of the Jólians above.

At long last, the deathless ones found mysterious crevice occupied

with fluid as crimson as the dusk, just before nightfall. The substance

had the appearance of fruit punch and to the gods, would probably

have the taste of sweet fruits, so the gods decided to chug it all down.

Though it was a little bitter, it still seemed to fulfill the gods' thirst.

Now, if you recall the tale of Ürtaívur some chapters previous, then

you will know how he placed the flowing blood from the many

castrations of perverse Scaîfadér, who was lusting over mother Ürt,

into a crevice on the dark mother herself to put it away. It was said

that the great turtle felt confident that it would never reappear and be

of no further importance, but of course we all know better than that,

and the heavenly blood will play a significant role much later on.

Yes, the blood of castrated, all-encompassing Scaîfadér was now

being consumed by the gods to resolve their thirst.

The gods above seemed to feel well with no apparent signs of ailment

after imbibing the dark red juice found in the earth, unbeknownst to

them but knownst to us as the sanguine fluid from the heavenly

emasculation. All seemed well for thousands of years.

Then, in an unanticipated moment, a severe case of discomfort developed

in their bellies, producing a wet, nasty growling sound. The immortal gods

of Jóli all clenched their abdomens in agony. An intense pressure started to

build up behind their anuses, bound to burst at any moment.

No toilet was to be found on Jóli to purge of the coming waste and if

nothing could be discovered to contain it, the gods would soil their clothes.

Left with no other solutions available, the holy gods who can never die and

are responsible for all good and everything in the world, moved the contents

of their bowels onto the surface of the earth.

Enormous streams of excrement poured onto the earth, swallowing the land

in waves of foul-smelling feculence. Many animals on the earth had to be

quick and cunning to escape the waste, whether by flying over the earth and

turning past the streams, reaching as high as ground as possible, hiding out

in caves, or miraculously trying to avoid the discharge while living their lives.

It was over thousands of millennia after it started that the ejecta from Mount

Jóli ceased to be. The gods felt much relief, as the intense pressure in their

bowels had finally died off. Meanwhile, the earth's surface was caked with

godly manure—large, moist piles lay everywhere; enormous brown puddles

were flooding otherwise barren and warm areas; watery waste was bleeding

into lakes, streams, and oceans.

The animals living on the earth, not being very bright, managed to return to

some semblance of a normal life, but not without interference from the

holy droppings. One way or another, the animals would inadvertently make

a form of physical contact with the dung piles and runny fluid.

Following the contact, the waste, previously shapeless and free of form,

was starting to develop anatomy, almost resembling the holy gods who

rule over the universe, coincidentally—whether this was the doing of

fate, the gods, or pure chance is still unknown, even by the wisest today.

The newly formed creatures from the ordure were considerably taller than

any of the animals, standing on two legs while towering over the fierce

wolf on all fours, much enormous than any of the horizontal fish as these

new beings stood vertically.

The immortal rulers took notice of these beings and how similar in appearance

the smaller things were to the gods of Jóli. They departed the heavens for

the surface world to see if they would do their chores for them and pray

to them for issues to problems.

The gods were surprised to see the fecal creatures notice them immediately

and in wonder. “Strange new beings,” they commanded to them, “you shall

offer us prayers for hope and good fortune, as we holy gods are imbued in

all things, from the air you breathe to the ground on which you stand!

You will do our commands and all the chores we don't wanna do, and be

only paid by having the pride of having fulfilled the wishes of us!”

The beings, that were able to stand erect and have their heads be able

to stare up into the sky in contrast to the animals who could only

crawl on four legs and look down at the ground, agreed to the deathless

rulers' wishes wholeheartedly and without question.

Thus, the feces of the gods above in Jóli—so lately no more than a

formless, foul mass, a revolting diarrheic fluid, and a crass, crude,

and tasteless joke—was formed to assume to brand new figure

known as humanity.

The Epiflairy is designed to be parodic
and not intended for readers under the age of 18.

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