Choose Your Own Guntventure - Write one sentence to continue the saga of the Gunt Retort.

In a middle of a dark french forrest, a bearded man in camo approaches a small, dressed in black very little person with a big crocked nose.
- I can't believe they send me a jew, is this søme kind of jøke? Says Varg.
- they knew it would make you react mister Vikernes, they know how to "stimulate" you. Maybe your "prehistoric" rage can be usefull to us in the fight that is to come. Combined to my intelligence *smiling* we can suuurely make a formidable pair, don't you think?

Varg didn't answer. As crazy as it is for him to associate with the people of juda, the horrors that the sad spirits of the forest told him the last months convinced him to prepare for war. The great war. The war against evil. He had to fight the Gunt. Even if that meant to fight with side by side.with a jew. The survival of all humanity (including the white race) was at stake. He couldn't escape his destiny.
- Hurry up Mister Vikernes. The catholics have already their guys on approach. They can't confront so much evil alone. We have to join them ASAP. The skeptics are also on the way from transylvania.
- And what about the muslims, asked Varg.
- Muslims can go to hell, nobody likes them. They are expendable, replied the rabbi.

Maybe I will not hate this jew as much as I thought, murmured Varg in his white beard.
 
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Angelo was now alone in enemy territory. His last men from his sweet escort platoon had fallen. The battle had been epic - hundreds of paypigs with Gaydur himself in the lead attacked their company at dawn near the gas station. Every guntgard perished - cutted in half by swords, perced by irish bullets or massive coronarian failure. Gaydur escaped at the last minute, saved by a mystical force protecting him from the light. But the price to pay for that victory was high.
It was time to burry the courageous sweet combattants, sacrificing a dozen furries in a big fire in their honor and continue the journey.
The land has become vile. The smell of meth, fart and malt liquor burned the nostrils. Strange fruits were hanging from the trees; everybody around were looking at him as if he was a suspect. It's hard to imagine a country were absoluty every living person is wearing a limp bizkit tee-shirt, open carry a 50. BMG tactical mosin-nagant and own a ford f150 from 1997. All children on the road were abnormal, victims of alcoholic foetal syndrome or consanguinity; often both. They screamed that they wanted lemons; booze or pills. The only food they never encountered. A strange women with horse teeth tried to buy Angelo a drink; he polity refused. She left a note with "do you like to watch babies being fucked?" written with red ink.
Angelo knew that he was now deep in Gunt country. He was feeling alone, depressed and weak. He needed help. He looked at his mobile and saw that he had received 666 messages the last 3 days. Time to be social.
 
Seeing himself to talk to the gunt entranced locals, and also to mourn the fallen, Angelo swung open the doors to a small, dark bar, and looked around. Seeing only an uninterested bartender washing late morning pint glasses, he approached and asked for "whatever's strongest, sir"

Looking down at the liquor fumes rising from the glass of translucent brown something, Angelo was remembering some of the sweeties he had gotten to know in recent days, gone forever. After a respectable amount of time, he raised the glass. A hand landed on his shoulder before he could drink.

"This bar was empty"
"You need to learn to see from the center, father. Heh, the irony. Me calling another man father"
 
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Angelo looked sadly at the man.
- I think I will take a fish and chips and a diet coke, extra mayonnaise...
- No no father, I am not working for applebee's, I am Sargon, sargon of akkad, leader of the skeptics, savior of the Ukip, britain's finest...*fake laugh*
- I was expecting a Nazi and a Zionist, what did the council send me again? You said sargoy of arcade? And what are these people behind you?
- Padre, this is the proud Kekistani army! Thousands of followers who will help us crushing all evils by the magical force of gamergate 2.0! *Fake laugh*
- I only see a bald girl, a gipsy, a dirty hippie, an indian covered in feces, a german bdsm-slave, a fat guy with a banana in his ass and a mexican midget. Your crew sucks godfather; it can work enough if we open a freak-show, but not to fight real evil. Even his demon-head son could easily defeat your team.
- it depends on the child... *Fake laugh*
- it's real evil we are fighting now do you understand? Not anita sarkeesian or some dumbed insecure teenager in her bedroom.
- father Angelo, stop acting like a white nigger. You need all the help you can find and we all hate the Gunt. We can help you make a difference. *Fake laugh*
- like you did with Ukip?
- come on. Look I also took the funny scotsman and his nazi pug with me.
- ok then. Let's do it like it's 2016, yeaaaah... Said Angelo with a really, really tired voice. "Didn't you also had a retarded stuttering canadian with you before?"
- he went to the dark side Padre, the dark side...*fake laugh*...
 
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Houston airport, 5th of january.
- Do we really have to share the same taxi?
- stop it Varg. This time I will pay. Maybe 50%. Or 10%. But I will ((pay)). Look! This peruvian gentleman was waiting for us. Taxi! Pore favore, pesetas to el Gunto?
- AyayaYAYYY! Let's go to El Gunto with la velocidad du la machina! AyAYY WAHAHAHAHA AAAHHHHHH

I don't like the laugh of this bolivian guy, thought Varg.
 
Compton. Mid afternoon. A balding Mexican with a suspiciously large nose has just risen. Hesitantly approaching him for support and protection is a desperate guntguard.

The Mexican is cackling like a hyena, "Holy fuck, all these years I was avoiding cheese pizza because I thought my discord meant it literally. Why would I want a pizza with no fucking toppings? Let me tell you, when I finally figured it out, it was a revelation!"

"Why are you screaming like that, sir? You're in your own home. Surely the neighbors can hear you"

"Fuck the neighbors. What I jerk it to in my own home is my own business and if they don't wanna hear about it, they're goddamn prudes. Siri, start up 'Cuties' again. Full volume. VR"

"Before you get started, could I secure your support?"

"The Gunt can do whatever he wants, and if that benefits me, all the better. Hold these." The balding Mexican handed his pants to the exasperated guntguard, who had frankly seen worse and also more impressive displays of everything currently on offer. This would be a long negotiation, but the guntguard wasn't about to leave without securing support from this inexplicably important man.

Trying a different tack, the guntguard said "I heard you were the Prom King"
 
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Suddenly there was a loud crash as the wall broke down and in the style of the koolaid man Ralph appeared.
"Hey wait a minute Dick, this adventure was supposed to be about me!" Ralph cried out as he pushed past his gunt guards to approach the Jewish Mexican.
With one puggy hand he tore the VR headset off of the excommunicated commedian.
"Who are you to take away my fans!? Do you know who I am?! I am the man who platformed you when everyone else abandoned you!"
With his other puggy hand he pointed his black powder pistol square into Dick's massive forehead and he mumbled with tears in his eyes.
"I thought we were friends but you were just another kind of F word."
 
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And with that, Dick slipped out of his piss stained sweat pants, it was an easy task since he completely missed leg-day. It was strange to see a man with the legs of a polio patient, yet there was no polio to be found. He tore off his sombrero print boxer briefs exposing his third pinkie. "Now wait a minute, Dick, I think it's fucken dinner time." Ethan squeezed out of his own piss stained sweatpants, and with that Dick spread his burrito bowl open like a telephone book, and like a pig to a trough he greedily buried his snout into Dick's hasidic bean hole like he was digging for a truffle burger with fries.
 
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"MMmmph," the Gunt snuffled as he enthusiastically explored Diddler Dax's Chicano colon with his tongue and snout, "Now I know what Dr. Phil's cum tastes like!"
 
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With all of his strength Ralph stood up and cocked his black powder pistol putting the gun to his temple.
"Ay what's wrong there buddy? I thought we were making some real progress here," Dick said with some flase sense of concern in his voice.
Tears started to flow uncontrollably from Ralph's face and he cried out at the man.

"Don't you see Dick! None of this is real. Not you, not I not even these fucking lemons," in Ralph's other hand he grasped an imaginary lemon that was worth almost as much in his mind as it did in the material releam.

"Not even my fucking choices are my own!" Sweat started form around his hands as he started to doubt whether he'd even have the agency to end this nightmare. Would the gods of his life finally be able to escape on his own terms or suffer enterally at the hands of those who post in his threads.

"It's them Fucking A'logs they've hacked into my life, turned me Gay. Where me Pa failed they succeded."
Ralph closed eyes and pulled the trigger hoping that that in death he'd be able to escape the taste of cum.
 
After a few seconds, Ralph opened his eyes. Nothing had changed. He couldn't hear anything, ears ringing from the crack of the pistol, but it was obvious enough that his plan had failed. Ralph and his Retort were too powerful; the bullet had bounced off his fat skull as if someone flicked a pencil eraser at him.

God damn it.

The taste of semen still overpowered most of his senses. He was still gay, and not even death itself was powerful enough to undo the gay he wrought upon himself.
 
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Life of the Gunt Expansion pack! Part 2: The Summer omen

Prologue; The gunt has been through a rough 5 months, dating a tranny pedophile, fighting for the pedophile's honor against her pedophile ex-fiancee, a 2 dollar whore, and her wigger cuckold with a feminine name like Reliy, you think you it couldn't get any worse for the gunt until on May 16th, His mother has passed.


The gunt woke up from a 6 day stupor of makers Mark, playing the pillstream clip "ITS NAWT TRUUU"
 
The gunt proceeds to break the wax on his last bottle of Maker's Mark. Just as he's about to open his liquid breakfast, a suited man kicks the bottle from his hand and says:

"Ethan? My name is Maury Povich. I'd like to talk about Xander..."
 
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