Pissweed
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Pissweed


"So… weed or mushrooms?" The large dog-man asks, before taking a hit from the bong, his metal snout clinging against the glass as a flame dances in his palm. "Mphh… I mean, you must have a preference."

"I like 'em both. It just… ya know. Depends on the day," says a shorter, grey-furred creature. They stood upright, albeit considerably shorter than the man, wrapped in a comfortable dark hoodie that's several sizes too big for them. They indicate it's time for their turn on the bong, to which the much larger man obliges. Their rat-like, prehensile tail curls. "Like… mushrooms are easy. You eat one; done. But with weed? It's like… a ritual and shit. A ritual that's fuckin rad, but still… Unless it's an edible, I guess. But there's like… entirely different feelings around both. It's like asking me to choose between… I dunno. Chicken or turkey. You ask me that every time."

"Well, wait, Posso. Like… first of all, chicken and turkey are different meats for different situations." The dog-man chuckles, knowing full well this proves their point.

"Yeah, exactly, man!" Posso says, pretending to be bewildered by their friend's obliviousness. "Freddie, like… you gotta be fuckin' with me…"

"I am." Freddie concedes. "It's only 'cause I love ya."

"Gaay," they chuckle, ironically. "But yeah yeah, love ya too dude… Ey, I got ya a little somethin'." Posso reaches into their bag, pulling out a gift; its wrapping held together by an excessive amount of staples, and a stray ribbon sticking out from a taped-down crevice.

"T-the fuck is that?" Freddie tilts his head. In a way, the horrid packaging job is genius. He genuinely couldn't tell what it could be from all the wadded-up gift wrap.

"Why don't ya find out?" they tease, tossing the heap of paper over to Freddie. As Freddie carefully tries to find where the wrapping ends and the gift begins, it falls out on its own… a vinyl copy of the latest album by Insane Clown Posse; The Great Milenko.

"Aw, you shouldn't have. I've been waiting for this to come out for a while… Oh, wait, how much did this cost?" Freddie looks up, concerned.

"Nothin'. Money ain't real. Besides, it's bad manners to ask that shit."

"… Fair enough… Thanks, Posso. Want to listen with me?"

"Damn right I do, that's like… at least a tenth of the reason why I got it." They smirk, catching the album from Freddie before hopping off the leather upholstery. They slide the record out and adjust the needle on the record player, before flopping down on Freddie's lap.

They had only just gotten into the third track before they heard a knock at the door. A snow-furred feline lingers under the doorway, her black face markings hiding the bags under her eyes. "Are you two listening to your silly carnival music again?"

"… No…" they both say in unison, listening to literal clown music, hoping that they weren't in trouble for something they forgot about.

"Normally I'd join you, but something important came up. Freddie, we need you— Oh no, you're already high, aren't you?" She sighs.

"Aggie, I-" Freddie raises a finger.

"No, no, I understand." Aggie excuses. "It's your day off. Or, it's supposed to be. It's fine, just… get dressed, we need to meet for a debrief."

"It can't be an email? Or a text?… A post-it?" He groans, stumbling a bit as he tries to stand up, his left leg already asleep.

"No, we're mobilizing right after. I'll handle the thinking, you just… do your best."

"Aaalways do… Hey, uh, Posso. We'll uh… put this on the back burner. I'll try and be back tomorrow. Or tonight, maybe. I'll text you, I guess." Freddie rubs the back of his head, realizing that he's just now feeling his grasp on reality slip away.

"Yeah, no prob. Don't burn down anything you ain't supposed to," Posso teases as they leave.


Freddie's eyes glazed over his notes as they drove. He'd probably read it nine times by now, but the debrief flew over his head all the same. He'd since changed out of his comfy house clothes, and into something more fitting for the job, even looking human for the trip. A simple leather jacket and pants were all he needed. Something sufficiently intimidating, but not trying too hard. All this, just in time for his buzz to dwindle enough so he doesn't hug everything that moves. But, his notes were just…

OᑭEᖇᗩTIOᑎ: GET ᕼIᗰ


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1. ᖴiᑎᗪ ᑭiSSᗯEEᗪ


2. ᗷEᗩT ᕼiS ᗩSS (OᑭTiᑎOᒪ? ??)


3. ᕼᑌG iT OᑌT


4. GET ᒪᑌᑎᑕᕼ


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"So uh… Aggie… This is about getting Pissw- I mean, Randy, yeah?" He shows her the note he wrote.

"Correct. It's uh, probably best if you don't call him 'Pissweed' when we see him. So get it out of your system, alright?… Why do you all call him that, again?" Aggie tilts her head, her eyes on the road as she drives down the dusty Mohave streets.

"Oh, well uh, back in Eden, when we were creating the universe and whatnot, he was kinda a huge prima-donna. Like… He was pretty vain about his appearance. I think his preferred art form was the act of Creation itself, instead of something like… writing or singing. He was obsessed with creating the most beautiful shit. His pride and joy was the maned wolf. Beautiful animal.

But a bunch of us decided to pull a bit of a prank on him. Thought it'd be funny if someone sabotaged his design in a place he'd never think to look."

"… You made his favorite design's urine smell like weed?" Aggie shakes her head.

"I didn't personally, but it was funny as Hell at the time… Oh. Huh… That was bad then, huh?" Freddie lowers his gaze, realizing that this was, in fact, bullying. Much more, bullying that he played a part in.

Aggie frowns. "… A bit, dear…"

"… Well, fuck me. I thought that he was okay with it."

"Would you be okay with being called Pissweed?"

"… Ever since we got back from Hell, I had to contend with being called the Devil… We were literally demonized."

"Yes, exactly." She nods, eyes still on the road. "So, now you know how he feels… Anyway, we're after him because he was close to Hugh. Or Huesic, at the time. And given Hugh's current status with the Foundation… he's a loose end for them. SCPF's been monitoring for Randy. And now that they found him, they're about to organize a sting. We're going there before he's captured."

"So a rescue mission, then? Suits me fine," Freddie says, now resting his head on the window.

"Correct. He's been living in this apartment complex for about ten years."

"Really? He knew Hugh, and he's living all the way outta town like this?… Well, this should be easy. 'Hey, wanna spend the rest of your life in a padded cell? No? Good, come with us.'"

"Let's… hope it's as simple as that," she sighs.

"… Hey, we usually figure something out. And when we do, you'll whisk us away back home, we'll order room service, and crash like always… Love ya, ey?"

Aggie looks at him and smiles, patting him on the thigh. "That sounds wonderful. Love you too, dear."


They step out of the car; some 200 dollar shitbox they plan on ditching entirely. They couldn't afford to be followed, so Aggie's presence was practically required now. A cat of many talents, she specializes in writing, a bit of sculpting, running a scientific research conglomerate, stealing, and what's probably the most relevant now, her ability to reinterpret the rules.

More specifically, the ever complex rules written for her blood. The ink in her blood was designed to "bind her to Hell", but she warped and twisted it to become "send her to Hell." Then, "send anyone who comes into contact with it to Hell." Needless to say, after a few millennia, and a couple of centuries out of Hell and on Earth, it became a means of liquid-based teleportation back to any place she calls home.

"Do you remember the room number?" Freddie asks, scratching behind his ears.

"103. Should be the first floor, third down. He should be home by now." Aggie points in the general direction of the rooms.

"Good, should be easy… By the way, what does he… do? For money, I mean," he asks, tilting his head as they walk.

"Gas Station attendant."

"Really? Huh… Hey, you smell that?" Fredrick sniffs the air as they near Randy's room. "It's…"

"… Weed?" Aggie asks, starting to smell the aroma as well.

"No. Not quite. It's… It's piss."

"… O-oh…"

"… Brace yourself, I suppose." Freddie sighs, taking his own advice. He inhales and knocks.

Silence. Freddie knocks again

Aggie shrugs. "To be fair, I don't think people answer their doors unless they're expecting someone."

"Well, what now? Just sit here till he wakes up?"

"No, no, we need to get him now… Let's see… I could maybe pick the lock, or maybe nab a spare key from management?… Oh, mayb- FREDDIE NO!"

Alas, it was too late. With the hellfire force he's known for, he wordlessly kicks down the door, a trail of flames following as it travels across the apartment and lodges itself into the opposite wall. "O-oh, sorry, this seemed the fastest way."

"People heard that, you clod. I'm surprised the fire alarm didn't g- Oh fuck- the smell's worse." Aggie recoils, unable to stop herself from coughing. She adjusts, tries to stop breathing through her nose, and charges on, looking inside. "Randy? W-… Oh, Hells, the state of this place."

The entire apartment complex should have been condemned based on the conditions of Randy's living room alone. Pizza boxes littered the trash-covered floor, while the walls were covered in what one hopes is just dried-up soda. Cigarette-stained tables, and plastic bottles filled with a lukewarm, fetid, yellow-brown liquid. In the corner huddled a fox-like creature; his matted fur hiding rashes and patches of acne, his long legs folded into a fetal position.

At first, it looked like he was cowering. But as the cat and dog stepped over the nest of garbage, it became clearer. He was resigned.

"… You aren't the Foundation…" he says, his voice like broken glass across their neck. "Oh, Frederick. Agatha. It's uh… been a while." He sounded almost disappointed.

"Yeah… Hey Randy. It's us," Freddie approaches while looking him up and down. "It's been forever ago, huh? We uh… came to get you."

Aggie was too fixated on the mess to even speak. And even if she could, she knew it wouldn't help things.

"You two have the worst timing," Randy sighs.

"I mean, we're kinda cutting it close, if anything," Freddie gently says, taking a seat, leveling the trash nest Randy had. "You doing okay, bud? You don't look too good."

Randy looks up at Freddie, his baggy eyes void of anything that'd indicate a soul. It was as if a corpse was speaking to him. "What's the point? We go on and live forever, but eventually, we lose all purpose. Why even bother?"

"Hey, no, there's plenty of reason to bother… You've been uh… pissing in bottles, buddy? Why?"

Randy is silent. He eventually gives Freddie a shrug. "It's just easier than getting up…"

Freddie looks up. Randy's bathroom was just a few steps away: the floor around it sticky, like that of a movie theater. Freddie and Agatha's eyes widened as they processed what Randy just said. "So you uh… split with Hugh, didn't you?"

"… Yeah, I did," Randy sighs "We had uh… creative differences, I guess? They weren't the person who made me."

"Well, I mean… with the war crimes 'n all…"

"I guess I should have seen it sooner. They were so fixated on their job, they kinda just… threw everything else to the wind. I wasn't good at anything useful, so I was a distraction."

"How long ago did you two split?" Freddie looks at him, brushing away a soda can from underneath him.

"I dunno… 230-ish years?"

Freddie nods, listening intently. "So… You're just now giving up, then? What happened? What are you putting your passion into?"

"… I don't have any passion left to give. And I can't do what I was best at, now. I just… I can't do this, Frederick. I was an entitled piece of shit; I don't deserve anything. I want to just… go away, and not exist… Maybe Hugh can make that happen."

"Hey, stop talking like that."

"Wh-" Randy's interrupted.

"I don't know if you noticed, but if someone is shit-talking my friend, I'm gonna beat them up. That still applies if it's my friend themself. You got people who care about you, Pissweed. Two of 'em are in the room with you, and the rest are back at our place."

Randy sits up straight. "You… aren't angry with us? For the whole Hell thing?"

"Well, I mean… okay, yeah, a little, but we handled it. Besides, you didn't design it. Hugh did."

"Freddie, I allowed that. I'm a bad person."

"Okay, see, you say that, but if you really were a 'bad person,' you wouldn't be saying you were. Assholes don't show remorse, and you want to be better, yeah?"

Randy looks up at the window, its dusty blinds shut, and its glass caked in dirt. "I do, yeah."

"Then you owe it to yourself to be better. Not me, not Aggie, sure as fuck not Hugh. YOU."

"… I deserve to be punished though. Like… I sat by and let you all go to Hell."

Freddie inhaled. "Dude, I-… Actually, okay. You want me to punish you? Cause I got just the fuckin' thing."

"What?" Randy asked, now somewhat shaken.

"Boot camp. We're gonna put you through the wringer so you realize that THIS," Freddie gestures to the room around them, "isn't you. Aggie and her posse're going to be on your ass, while you and I are gonna work on your health, and find ya something else to put your passion into."

"You… have the money for that?"

"We do. We can work something out. But, please? Come with us? Before you do something you'll regret?… Like throwing yourself in a cell for fuck-knows how long?" Freddie begged, holding out his hand for Randy.

"… Heh. You know, I think I remember having a similar conversation with Hugh." He chuckles shaking his head. "… Deal."

"Fuckin A!" Freddie grins, pulling the poor, thin creature into his arms, crushing him instantly. He lets Randy go after a generous noogie. "Let's go, leave this shit, you won't need it where we're going. Ready, Aggie?"

"YES. PLEASE." She blurts out, before steeling herself. "I-I mean… Yes. I think I hear sirens coming… Probably for that explosion, earlier."

"Oh, uh, sorry 'bout that." Freddie chuckled, before looking to Randy. "Let's bail, ey?"

"Yes… Also, Freddie?"

"Yeah?" Freddie tilts his head, the ink now starting to envelop them both as Aggie approached.

"… Thanks."

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