Not Another Damn Snake Cult!

I'm Cecil the Bear Baiter and I'm madder than hell!

Listen, I just want the Village Elders here to know that I’m only complaining because I love this village. Pigsnot Marsh is an excellent place to work and raise a family. Our women have sturdy legs, the plague outbreaks are reasonable and we haven’t been sacked by an invading army of barbarian slavers in weeks. I’d put this village up against any in the entire Northern Kingdom. I mean that. I do.

Now, my good friend Urk the Bloodletter already touched on most of what I was going to say tonight, so I’ll keep it brief.

Snake. Cult. Someone has to do something about these goddamn Snake Cults! This used to be a nice neighborhood before all of the Snake Cults showed up!

I don’t know what it is with this area. Something about the landscape must really grab the attention of creepy magicians that convinced a bunch of sexual degenerates from the City to worship a 15-foot-long reptile that came from, like, the saddest circus sideshow ever. It seems like every planting season another one of these groups show up – conducting loud snake orgies at all hours of the night and looking down on the ways of us simple, offal-besmeared commoners.

This yuppie thinks she's better than us 'umble bear baiters!

It’s hygienic! Don’t they know ANYTHING about humors!?

Anyway.

These shenanigans must stop. I woke up last Saturday at 7 in the morning – SEVEN. IN. THE. MORNING. – to a knock on my door. I stood up, brushed the smothered rats off me and tripped over my goodly and stouthearted wife on my way to answer it.

Who should I find standing outside my hut but a writhing woman in a mesh bikini with a python draped over her shoulders! dancing  to the rhythm of a lecherous dwarf clanking two sets of finger cymbals together! A monk – who was OBVIOUSLY under the influence of psychotropic drugs – was chanting cursed names to accompany the noise while he shook a donation jar under my nose!

Now, I’m not made of money! I’ve often told my goodly wife that if I had a half-penny for every nit I picked off her flowing coat, I could buy Castle Thunderskull, but that hasn’t happened yet (which reminds me: the Nits 2 Pennies hut in the village square is a total ripoff).

Is this what we want in our village? Lewd, half-naked snakely solicitors waking us up at the crack of dawn?! The woman started sticking the python’s head in and out of her mouth before I could get the door closed. My wife was so upset she bleated for hours!

She's an excitable woman, but dammit she's been good to me!

I feel the village elders are treating the snake cult with a different standard than the rest of us. Last May someone from the village constabulary fined me a chicken because the open-air latrine in front of my hut wasn’t up to some bureaucratic regulation mumbo jumbo. However, here comes the snake cult’s castle dropping all manner of bodily fluids and garbage right on the heads of the townspeople.

If these warriors weren't so busy playing Dungeons and Doughnuts we wouldn't be having this problem!

How is it dropping filth on top of us, you might ask? Good question: BECAUSE IT’S A FLOATING GODDAMN FORTRESS! And by that I mean: IT FLIES THROUGH THE GODDAMN AIR LIKE NO BUILDING SHOULD DO EVER! EVER! You could be minding your own business, having a nice Sunday chat with the village plague doctor, when suddenly you hear the sounds of tambourines and insane flute players. You look up and SPLAT bucketfuls of waste right in your eyes. I ask you: if my friend Baba Yaga can’t have a hut that runs around on two monstrous chicken legs, then why, WHY are we allowing this floating outhouse to buzz our village?

I mean, if we’re not going to enforce our housing codes then what’s the point of hanging all those severed heads from the rafters of the zoning department!?

I know that this problem has solved itself several times in the past. Eventually some roided-up barbarian with a 6-foot-long euphemism that doubles as a broad sword will attempt to fight and kill the Snake Cult’s leader in return for riches, fame or barbarian pussy or whatever. But until then we’re stuck with the Snake Cult. Let’s cut out the middle man this time and have ourselves a good ol’ fashioned witch hunt and 50/50 raffle. It’s been ages since we’ve had one of those! Let’s show this fruity Snake Cult some of that famous Pigsnot pep!

I yield the remainder of my time to Chunk the Ratcatcher. Thank you.