Brought to you this month by the team of MadMikeMarsbergen & OutrageousOllo!

Dirty, old, weathered bricks lined the alley Smith appeared within, alongside his long-time friend, drinking buddy and fellow Genre-Loop trapee, Evilstien Goodstone. Hold on, that wasn't right. Doctor Evilstien wasn't his friend, or his drinking buddy, or anything of the like—that was Jones! Where was old Jonesy, anyway? Wait, who was Jones again?

He looked back at his pal Evilstien and frowned.

"What's wrong, love?" Evilstien asked, noticing his concerned look.

"Nothing," said Smith, moving out of a woman's way while she dragged her kicking-and-screaming son by his ear. "I just had some weird thoughts, is all. Shall we take a look around and find out where we are? See if we can find the rest of the gang?"

"Rest of the gang? Our lady Kris, you mean, dear?"

"No, I mean H'ver and Boogaloo..." Smith frowned again. "Who are they? Evilstien, I feel as though I must be coming down with some type of strange genre-loop flu. I keep on spouting nonsense and feeling all this bizarre déjà vu. And, for some reason, I— I think I'm in love with you."

"That sounds terrible," said Evilstien, generating sympathy in his voice that contrasted with his heavily rotted, sharpened-to-a-point yellow-black fangs. He stroked Smith's arm lovingly. "But, love, we've been married for thirty of this planet's years, so you loving me is no secret, no surprise. We've dominated worlds together, dominated the dance floor back in the '80s, too..." He sighed, the back of his hand placed gingerly against his forehead as if he were this close to fainting. "But I, too, feel this déjà vu you speak of, peasant. Mwahaha—! See!" He burst into tears, hugging Smith. "Hold me, Smithy-poo. Right there, I had joyful thoughts of removing your guts with a corkscrew and strangling you with them. But then I look at you and remember a marriage built to last, and a booty to die for. Maybe Kris can help us, Johnny-wonny. Let's find her."

They ventured out of the alley and into the street beyond. People of all shapes and sizes, carts, familiar accents and the smell of human stench surrounded them. "Why," said Smith, beaming, "I think we're back home in London!" He filled his lungs with the pleasantly noxious London air: of excrement and fermenting food, of diseased rats and gingivitis.

Suddenly, Kris sprinted from around the corner. Her red hair and face were drenched with sweat. She looked like she'd been running for a long time. "Smith!" she yelled, between gasps of breath. She was back in her original tight leather, which she must have been happy about.

A certain part of Smith was happy about that, too.

"Smith! Thank fuck I found you, fruitcake! We gotta find Jones and the rest—"

There was that Jones guy's name again. Maybe he wasn't completely crazy.

"—but I'm warnin' you, it might get a teensy bit nasty before that happens. I ain't quite sure, pardner, but I reckon we've just landed in..." Her voice trailed off as her eyes landed on Evilstien. "What the fuck is that thing doin' here?"

"Why are you cussing, sweet lady?" Smith asked. "Why, this is just the love of my life, our good friend—" But before he even got the chance to finish his sentence, Kris leaped onto Evilstien and started pummelling him with her fists. "What's wrong with you? You know this sweet and innocent man! We've been through half the Sub-Genreverse with him by our side! Recapturing cities from the scourge of the universe! Playing lawn darts while drunk! Reading one another's auras on mushrooms!"

"I'm afraid you're mistaken," said Kris, now straddling Evilstien, one fist raised in mid-swing, the other relentlessly backhanding him. "This is my arch-enemy Doctor Evilstien. Though, for some fucked-up reason, Alternate Universe seems to've placed him as your friend and gay lover."

He didn't know what she was on about, but poor Evilstien was willingly being smashed, as it was against the man's pacifist nature to fight back.He openly wept while decades' worth of poor oral hygiene were undone with every punch.

Smith was about to try and drag her off when, suddenly, they found themselves surrounded by the Royal Guard, who were drawing laser swords, firearms, miniature catapults and other assorted weapons on them.

The one who looked like the leader—the one with the fanciest hat—spoke up: "Finally, we've caught the traitors!"

Smith cried in outrage, gripping Evilstien's hand. His husband smiled thinly, bleeding gaps between his chapped, scarred, burnt lips. "We're not..."

"By the decree of King Jones the Defiler, you're all under arrest!" The leader pointed out the wanted posters plastered all around with sticky tack.

"I suppose this is the Jones guy we were all getting mighty confused about earlier?" Smith suggested, as the guards whipped out their shackles. No point fighting back, they were clearly outnumbered about twenty to one.

"Fuck," was all Kris could say.

---

King Jones the Defiler—once called King Jones the Defecator, before he learned what the latter word meant—yawned in boredom. Being a King was so dreadfully boring when one didn't have virgin slaves to see penetrated or a good old-fashioned torture session to enjoy—you know, entertainment. Sadly, all the virgin slaves were used-up and lay decomposing in the moat surrounding his castle. And he'd run out of good, innocent people to torture.

The castle around him was retro-modern. That is, it was a delectable meshing of Medieval cold-and-leaky stonework with the sophistication of VR units, big-screen smellovisions, robot servants and even his own spaceship. But joyriding was only fun when you were drunk, and King Jones the Defiler had recently outlawed alcohol on the count of too few people walking the streets when they knew he would be out there driving. So the ban had begun, and now the people were slowly stepping back out into the safe-once-more streets. Soon... soon he would break the laws he'd created and run them all down, laughing like a psycho while he did it.

He tittered evilly and his pet, Boogaloo the Bingleboo—curled-up beside his leg, glowing green—mewed "Die..." before drifting back to sleep. Jones scratched the creature's domed skull.

Evilstein, the court jester, slept soundly beside Boogaloo, chained by his neck to the wall. His deviated septum made his nose whistle.

Jones snapped his fingers. "H'ver! Get over here, slave!"

H'ver, his robot slave, dragged itself over. Both wheels rattled uselessly behind, the evidence of yesterday's beating. "Yes, Master Jones."

"That's King Master Jones the Defiler to you, H'ver."

"Yes, of course, King Master Jones the Defiler."

"H'ver, pleasure me."

Weeping robotically, remembering his primary function as "The Housewife's Dream" from the real universe, H'ver reached out with his arms and was about to begin the rhythmic pleasuring, when—

The Royal Guard stormed into the castle.

Aldwin, the leader of the troupe and Jones' best mate from grade school, blew into his breathalyzer/trumpet. It emitted a mechanical noise not unlike music, only less pleasant to the ear. "My lord, we have found the traitors!"

"Jonesy, it's me!" Smith cried, rattling his shackles.

"Snap out of it, Jones, you numbnuts," Kris said, hawking up a loogie and spitting it on Aldwin's buckled shoe.

King Jones the Defiler saw the traitors in question. Smith, Kris, Evilstien— Memories flashed before his eyes. Tipping cows with Smith and duelling him with water pistols. Watching Kris bend over lasciviously, spanking her pert rump and winking at him. Seeing Evilstien fly away in his Evilstar and being generally quite creepy. He shook these false visions from his head. "Send the two men to prison, where they will wait to be tortured. Feel free to lather them up, too. And the woman... Send her to my quarters and dress her up in something suitable for this 'doggystyle' I've heard so much about..." He laughed maniacally, and then Evilstien joined in. "Shut up! That's my line!"

---

Smith could hear Evilstien's weeping from the prison cell next to his. It was really damn annoying—no, it was really distressing, to hear his love in such obvious pain. Smith cried a tear of his own, licked it for the much-needed sodium in this time of malnutrition; and in a show of love and dedication, kneeled down and leaned his head against the piss- and feces-covered stone, so he could press his eye against the little drain hole that people missed when they went one and two, trying to catch a glimpse of his distressed enemy—soul-mate. "Love?" Smith asked.

"I ju-jus-st can't s-st-stand it," Evilstien wept. "They didn't even have the decency to put us in the same cell! We're soul-mates, Johnny! We should never be separated like this! It's inhuman, these conditions!"

"I agree," said Smith. "This urine won't ever be washed from these vintage jeans. But I've been thinking on what Kris said, and what if we aren't lovers after all? What if it is merely this month's sub-genre, tampering with our hearts and minds? Though, it is rather interesting that last month was the Romantic theme..."

Evilstien's girly sobbing heightened to a caterwauling chorus.

"I'm just worried about Kris," Smith said. "I know she's a feisty woman, but this Jonesy looked very tough. Hopefully the white light comes soon and saves us all from any further distress. Hey, Author!" He picked himself off the floor, dusted the dried turds from his knees, and turned to face the screen. "This is your queue!"

Evilstien continued crying, throwing in a "Mwahaha," here and there.

Said Author didn't respond, sadly enough. I was too busy writing this next bit.

There was a mechanical whirring and then H'ver appeared on the other side of Smith's bars, with a befuddled jester—Evilstein—in tow. "Smith!" it said. "I remember the real world, too. I know this isn't the real universe. I'm not Jones' slave, I enjoy baking treats for everyone and telling you and the readers all sorts of expositions cleverly disguised as interesting facts. Actually, Jones is a good guy, not the cold-blooded, reptilian psychopath he's portraying in this month's issue of TEVUN KRUS, WATTPAD'S NUMBER-ONE E-ZINE—READ FROM THE BEGINNING AND SEE ALL THOSE COOL NEW COVERS! Ahem, don't know what came over me. But, yes, Jones is a decent chap. And he's Jewish, remember? We saw his circumcision together. Good times."

"Is he my gay lover instead?" Smith asked, clearly confused by the whole situation.

"NO!" Evilstien cried. Scuffing sounds could be heard as he jumped to his feet. "I'm your lover! And I always will be, Smithy, Johnny-poo. I don't care about any alternate universes or anything. I'll always love you! And one day kill you... I'll dream of waking up next to you every day for the rest of your—our—my life. Your British accent as you talk dirty to me... The look on your face when gay marriage was legalized—or at least, when we broke into a church and forced them at raygun-point to marry us. The drunken kisses we shared. Smith, I'll never forget you! And how I want to kill you, feast on your still-beating heart and take you to the bedroom for a lifetime of romance! Love is stronger than an unheard-of, loser of a sci-fi sub-genre such as this!"

By this point, Smith was bawling, too, and a tear of maple syrup leaked from the corner of H'ver's eye lens.

"Oh, shut up, you foolish, ugly, oversized babies!" Evilstein yelled at the lot of them. "Evilstien. My brother. Cut out this nonsense at once! This ugly toaster thing—"

"I'm a 'Housewife's Dream!'" defended H'ver.

"—told me all about the real me, and the real you. We're twin brothers, and we're both after that bitch Kris, and her powercube, so we can use it to take over the world. Oh, and I wouldn't mind brutally murdering Smith and Jones while we're at it. Those nincompoops need their lips sewn to each other's rear ends!" He walked over, bells on his jester cap a-jingling, key in hand—H'ver having stolen it for him, knowing that it would be vital in freeing their friends—and unlocked his twin's cell. He smiled a yellow, rotten, smoker's smile, though he'd never smoked a day in his life, just rubbed tobacco on his gums to rot them the more painful way. He tore the jester cap from his head and kicked it into a pile of cold, rock-hard poop. "Come with me, brother." Evilstein extended his hand.

Evilstien cried again and huddled in the corner. A very annoyed Evilstein had to drag him out by the ear. And with that touch, Evilstien remembered a bit more of the real world. Playing in the universe's water polo league with his brother. Dominating the league and then embarrassing their opponents further at the after-parties, making them watch as they used their yak DNA, getting women to gyrate their hips and slide along pheromone-laden, piss-stained floors. Their quest for universe-wide domination, and the powercubes that would— The powercubes! Evilstien told his brother: "I've stolen the other powercubes, brother! Together, you and I will conquer this galaxy!"

"MWAHAHAHAHA!" they said together.

With one last forlorn look at Smith, Evilstien left with Evilstein. The Goodstone Brothers were reunited at long last.

Once they were gone, H'ver grabbed the key from Evilstien's cell—luckily Evilstein had been stupid enough to leave the key in the lock—and freed Smith. "Would you like some tea?" he asked, knowing how dry sobbing one's heart out could make the throat.

"Yes..." Smith said, then changed his mind. "No. Maybe later, H'ver. For now, we must save the good lass Kris, give Jones a good slapping, and protect the last remaining powercube from the twins. Oh, and pray for a white light."

---

"OOOH! AAAAAAH! AAAAAAAAAAAAAH! OHMYGOD!!!!! OWEEOWEEOW!"

Standing outside the door to King Jones' private quarters, Smith and H'ver listened to the horrible torture within. Smith's hands visibly shook, he trembled to the core of his very being. Armed with a gun he'd stolen off one of the sleeping guards, he prepared to boot open the door...

---

"OOOH! AAAAAAH! AAAAAAAAAAAAAH! OHMYGOD!!!!! OW!"
King Jones the Defiler sat watching Boogaloo defile Kris, a sequel to the carnal acts they committed in the previous month's sub-genre. Despite his self-given name, King Jones the Defiler didn't actually do any of the defiling. His pet Boogaloo did it all for him, had been trained for that sort of debauchery.

With a curled lip, hooded eyes and a dopey grin on his face, he enjoyed the show before him. His hand rested on his laser sword, stroking the circumcised, knob-shaped pommel as an elaborate metaphor for what he was incapable of doing.

Kris writhed on her hands and knees, feeling the thrust of Boogaloo's ginormous member. This was what she called a good time! "Phone it in, Booga-boo. Phone it in hard!"

The door was suddenly kicked open.

"Kris!" Smith shouted, crossing himself. "Dear lord..."

"Smith!" Kris shouted back, her face scrunched-up in pleasure as she looked back at the green beast riding her backside. "Come join the fun, pardner! I've always wanted to get ménaged!"

King Jones stood up and waved his laser sword, yet another elaborate metaphor. "Smith, you fool, I— I'm remembering the times when we were young no-goods, tricking the soda jerk at Berney's Brews into giving us free cherry sodas by faking stomach-related injury." He threw down the sword, then picked it back up again. "Wait! I'm King Jones the mother-fuckin' Defiler! I oughtta kill you, Smithy."

Smith cocked his firearm. "And I should shoot you, old bean. But suddenly I'm remembering when we banished that outlaw together. We tied him up to a post outside of town and went back and all that was left was his natty hat."

"Yes, I seem to recall the vultures were fatter after that."

Kris spanked herself. "Still got a couple more holes that need fillin', boys!"

Smith and Jones were back where they started, eyeing each other up, daring the other to make the first move.

And then, thankfully, that white light took them all away...