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Chapter Text

Jesus Christ watched nervously from the stands as the representative for district twelve put her hand into the bowl, plucking out a small piece of paper. Already his odds weren’t in his favour, having taken over 5982 tesserae for his disciples plus that random group of hobos that had forgotten lunch one day.

“And now for the male tribute!” She opened up the folded paper, “Bean Fartass!” The crowd went silent at the sound of the name. A small boy, olive-skinned (literally, as in green), found himself pushed to the front of his age group. He walked past the 14’s, 15’s, so on, until he appeared at the front, facing the audience, shaking. Jesus couldn’t stand to see his best friend take away his rightful spot as tribute, so felt a wave of relief as the district 12 girl, Mrs Emu (who apparently had been 18 for 44 years now), shot Bean Fartass in the back with an assault rifle she had hidden up her ass.

“Oh.. umm.. never mind! I’ll just re-draw from the boys again!” The representative picked out another name from the bowl. “Jessiabarnacleiciousmarx Christ!”

Joy and embarrassment erupted out of his spleen as Jesus heard his full name announced to the audience, but overjoyed at the prospect of beating people to a pulp, he Naruto ran to the stage. Mrs Emu spat blood into her wrinkly palm before shaking his hand. Unimpressed, Jeez stared up into the heavens, at Bean’s fugly face, and screamed a remorseful song in Arabic before heading off the stage with his obscure counterpart and the now very confused capitol representative.

Now he had half an hour to wish his mother goodbye.
Or not actually, because she immediately announced that she had taken the district 7 female tribute hostage and was going to pretend to be her.
Problem solved, thank God, because now he could murder her by being reverse-born and [this part has been redacted for the safety of our younger audiences]. Now the fun of the funger names could *really* begin!

Chapter Text

Jesus and Mrs Emu emulated on the fortunate events of the reaping. “So, how’d you do it?”

His question had barely left his mouth when Mrs Emu confidently answered. “Asstronomics! We learn it at school down in the Seam. It’s quite simple really. When the games begin, the game makers won’t even notice my rectum! Hopefully. I can fit 2 guns in there on a bad day, 5 on a good. Also Bean Fartass didn’t stand a chance compared to you, and I wanted a challenge in the arena.

“It’s a shame they stopped people being allowed to volunteer in district 12 401 years ago :(. Stupid Santa Claus kept volunteering his elves as a punishment for when they didn’t make presents fast enough.”

“Trust me, I got a bit depressed about it too, that’s why I’ve been ‘18’ for so long. I look 18, right?”

Jesus stared into her crinkled face, at her blue teeth and briefly had his mind wander to her wrinkled shrivelled anus where she stored all of her guns. “Well, you’re younger than me. I’ve been around since 0BC!”

“True, true..” Abruptly, Mrs Emu’s head jolted to the side, before hitting the orange justice in reverse. Jesus stared, bored, drinking a cup of piss-flavoured orange juice. Outside the train cabin, his mind absorbed the view of Panem’s finest city. The voice of Mrs Emu startled him back into reality. “Sorry about that, just rabies, it’s nothing really.”

“Okie dokie”

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Before they could utter a word, Jesus and Mrs Emu found themselves tumbling out of the train carriage and onto the bustling, busy streets of the capitol. “What the actual heck?” Jesus uttered, staring at a small child inhaling a piece of dog shiht.

“I agree” came the reply from Mrs Emu, standing behind him and looking over his shoulder.

“So.. relating to the whole situation from earlier, who’s gonna mentor us? I mean-“ before he could finish his sentence, Mrs Emu’s face curled into a depraved grin, before reaching her whole arm down her throat and procuring the corpse of a dead Santa-house-elf.

“Our last victor!” She proclaimed. “And remember, Santa is just Satan mixed up!”

“Screw Santa” Jesus replied, nodding absent-mindedly, “Satan’s bad too. Remember the time he gave all the children of Panem diabetes as a Christmas present?”

“Satan or Santa?”

“Aren’t they the same person?” He redirected his attention the turd-inhaler, but she’d ran halfway to crocodile Dundee’s decomposing body in the time it had taken him to blink in Spanish. Speaking of Spanish, Jesus remembered with a shudder the consequences of failing to complete his lesson for the day. In the excitement of Bean Fartass’s death and the reaping, he’d neglected Duolingo. His fate would be sealed when Duo found him during the games, that was for certain…

“JESUS CHRIST!” A guard yelled from behind him, so loudly Jeez’s bones broke under the pressure of the wind emitted from his voice.

“Yeah?” He replied sheepishly, an amorphic blob of flesh on the floor. The guard pulled off his army boot, yanked a smelly sock from his unwashed foot and threw it carelessly onto the ground in front of them.

“Meet your new mentor.”

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Mrs Emu, tired of amorphic blobs, shot Jeez until his bones regrew using the bullets.

“Sorry about that!” Sighed the big G, staring intently at the sock on the ground. The peacekeeper smirked, disintegrated and corroded the ground beneath him.

“Well isn’t that nice?” Mrs Emu exclaimed. “Hello socky-wocky-blocky-crocky!”

No response.

“Uhh…. Cool-“ a bunch of short fat ladies with bright pink skin and hairy armpits abruptly burst into flames behind the duo, indicating the time.

“4:20pm. Time for the parade!” Mrs Emu ejected a funny German man from her nose, which grew to 17 feet tall as soon as she planted and watered him daily for 3 months. Unabashed, he grew wings and pulled out all their teeth.

“Eye will ewe’s deez two dress ewe four de parr-aid!” He waved his magic wand and instantly turned them into giant teeth.

“Mmhgmhgmghmm!” Delighted Mrs Emu.

“Sorry.” He gave them more teeth.

“Yay!”

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Jeez and Mrs Emu stood side by side as their carriage rolled into the streets of Panem. The crowd began to yell in delight, entranced by their magnificent voices as they screamed for the dignity of their knees and their families, fearing the ever watching face of Duolingo taking up over a quarter of the sky. The omnimalevolent lime bird judged the pair silently as he threw a middle-aged civilian into orbit around Venus.

As the carriage drew closer to the podium at which obamaball stood, Mrs Emu couldn’t help but stare at his dashing geometry. “I’m Obmandmnanmaoamba, nation, and the something or other’dth Funger Names will begin after I take a tinkle!” He announced.
Mrs Emu applauded him in horrified douchiness, fondly remembering the day Obama hit her with a truck in the parking lot of McDonalds. Jeez, on the other hand, had a completely different attitude to the bird and the sphere.
“You see them?” He asked Mrs Emu, noticing but ignoring her skin migrating to Indonesia for an extended holiday.

“They’re Mr and Mr President of the USA, how couldn’t I see them? I may be old- I mean 18- but my eyes haven’t divorced me just yet!” Her eyes grew eyes of their own for 4 seconds, rolled them, and performed a triple backflip.

“I know..” Gestured Jeez, grabbing a gun out of her ass to defend himself, “but Mr Bird’s competing in the Funger Names. I bet you $3.60 that Obamnanma will nuke the arena and ascend Duo directly into fluidic space. President Sphere is a loyal member of the duocult, as you already know!”
3 uneventful second of silence fled in fear from them, followed by Jeez aiming his grenade-shooting unicorn rifle at both of the presidents simultaneously.

“How you doing that?” Questioned Mrs Emu as she emulated his action.

“Quantum superposition” replied Jesus, “it’s time for the second grenade to hit the twin presidents!” He fired. And he failed.
Duolingo, being omnipresent, swallowed both the grenades before perching his soulless bird husk on the pair’s carriage.

“Someone hasn’t completed their Klingon lesson today” he squawked ominously, staring through Mrs Emu’s eyes and out the back of her head and around the entire globe until he saw his own head. “You know what happens now..”

The Emu and Jeeez felt the floor swallow them whole as they were transported into the arena.

Chapter Text

As Jeez fell, he contemplated his life decisions. He remembered days of joy, and days of fear as he imagined the wrinkled face of the Emu he had aquainted himself with. A tropical low formed as he released pissorangejuice gas on unsuspecting contestants below. As he splattered onto the wet concrete below, he noted the familiar smell of a wrinkled woman who hasn’t showered in years

The second thing he noticed was a boy with glasses beating Mrs Emu to death with a bottle of fermented spaghetti. Jesus nearly self defenestrated in rage, before realising the tropical low had transformed into a deep depression of sadness and despair. The all-seeing eye sockets of Bean Fartass glared down at the kid, twisting his kidneys 27 degrees and contorting him into a sentient tablecloth.

“BEEAAANN MY FARTIESST ARSETIEST AQUAINTANCE!!!” Mrs Emu transmitted out of her all-knowing psychic toe, “GRASSY ASS ME ARM E GO OWO!”
Jeez’s face flooded with tears of joy and excrement as he became consumed by the normal canyon opening in the ground. Bean winked knowingly as he backflipped into the gaping hole of suffering and darkness, landing headfirst and receiving permanent brain damage.

A hand shoved Jeez into the expanse suddenly. “This isn’t MEIN home anymore bbg!!” An artsy man bellowed ominously. The last image Jesus saw before his death was the shadowy figure’s mouth distort into a möbius strip, silently mocking his face.

Mrs Emu transmitted a friend request to the German Politician by stabbing him repeatedly with Obama’s tooth, ensuring the swift arrival of Elmo and his street gang. She ground up the politician’s moustache and snorted it evilly with her new coworkers, and performed a complex mating dance to build an army of divorced parents to confidently dive into the abyss with.

“This is Elmo’s world bruh” the red, furry faced man squeaked ominously. His eyes, although obscured by tinted glasses, twitched rhythmically to Panem’s anthem as he genetically modified the divorced parents (who now stood in a plastic bowl) into delicious pumpkin soup. He strutted to a precarious ledge, poured the contents of the bowl down the canyon, and added detergent to his brand new slip-and-slide.

Chapter Text

Darkness. That is what greeted Jeezits as his head hit a scuba diver’s elbow and quantum tunnelled though it.
He unconsciously reached for Mrs Emu’s ass to defend himself against the eldritch terrors that awaited him, but instead reached deep into Beans’ throat where he found a colony of fungi murdering microscopic humans with machetes.

Pleased with the suffering caused, he served the massacre onto a plate of fine china and consumed it raw; the green midgets’ insides and all.

“Mhhhmm this is Gordon Ramsey level shtit Beanie my love!” Jees exhaled out of his ears, still too unconscious to register Bean dying from death, coupled with level 79 skin cancer from the sheer amounts of beta radiation emitted by Mrs Emu’s psychic toe.
A sacrifice they all solemnly had to make.

Getting carried away, Jee consumed the olive-skinned (and flavoured, as he soon discovered) boy, ascending to a higher plane of existence and becoming a sentient platypus tail.

JesBean UsFartass began tripping balls as the molecular structure of the hallucinogens and the epitome of human suffering merged flirtatiously into a concoction, completely destroying their brains’ ability to observe phenomena and henceforth opening every universe simultaneously and collapsing spacetime in on itself.

“Woowee motherfathers!!” Elmo and his gang emerge out of the gutters below JesBean UsFartass, caressing their kneecaps with the spaghettified remains of Mrs Emu.

“What the actual bruhface is going on?” A random universe-travelling man who had been kidnapped from his original universe by himself emerges. “What sorta spaghetti u serving Elmo?”

“Greasy and murderous, gang” he nonchalant screams as the emu’s remains crash out and strangle him to death for no reason.

“You don’t wanna know.” Jesus exchanges a sorrowful glance with the man whose name rhymes with arson without the r.