Sven and Tarin asked me to throw their engagement ceremony. ME. I don’t even like them. Sven owes me $5k, and Tarin slept with my then partner, while she was with Sven. But I’m a revered wedding planner, and they thought asking me in public in front of our group of friends would pressure me into saying yes. Well I did. Not for them, but for myself. Yes. I will throw that celebration just for me.

The trees I made grow into seats and lampposts. The flowers I made bloom around an imaginary path that would guide the guests around the enchanted meadow. I sculpted two thrones from a massive amethyst inside the mountain nearby. With my animal whispering, I coaxed the squirrels into dressing in suit and ties and running around offering ecstasy to the guests. They agreed to the wage of 5 Brazil nuts an hour. I would have asked the foxes, but they were likely to take the drugs themselves.

When all preparations were in order, I announced via bat signal to all the guests, except Sven and Tarin. They would arrive hours later, to what they thought were THEIR feast. The forest quickly filled. The squirrels were exhausted with all their deliveries within the first hour, and drink flowed straight from the enchanted river of wine around the feast directly into the glasses of the partygoers. Soon, it was time.

“Excuse me everyone, I have a surprise. Please take your seats, and put on the glasses I have set out at each seat of the tables.”

Excited chatter and whispers were heard as the guests curiously followed directions. I put on my glasses as well. From my pocket I pulled out a cum sock. And then I quickly stuffed it back in because that’s not what I wanted to grab. From my other pocket I pulled out a piece of green, shimmery cloth. In a non-fascist fashion, I raised my arm to the sky, the cloth held tightly between my fingers. The shimmers caught the sun and reflected thousands of annoying little lights everywhere, but it’s okay, nobody was annoyed because they put on the glasses. That’s not even what the glasses were for. Anyway. After a long minute, a loud and thunderous roar was heard in the distance.

“No way…”

“Can it be?”

“She’s summoning the great horned scaly dragon!!”

The vibes were tense, and they were here for it.

I was here for it. Sven and Tarin were not here for it. Yet.

The roars grew closer, and a massive figure appeared in the sky. The wingspan on this thing was the length of a football stadium. Yes. Goliathon was here. The partygoers clapped and cheered, they loved this shit. They were so high. I could probably turn the wine to Mountain Dew and they wouldn’t notice. Actually yeah I’m going to do that real quick.

Goliathon was hovering just above us now, his flapping wings creating some kind of wind vortex that sucked in the little squirrel butlers and their nuts and their drugs, and other lighter things. He opened his mouth wide, stuck out his tongue,

“AHH!”

He did a sort of Meg Thee Stallion kind of thing there.

And out popped a miniature dragon. The chihuahua of dragons. He was green. THE great horned scaly dragon was finally here. His name was Chez. People gasped and cooed and awed and I ate it up. Colin Robinson style, just sucked that energy up. And got high myself from their drug vibes. NOW it was time.

I opened the portal that would allow Sven and Tarin to get here “discreetly”, and seconds later they emerged and were promptly deposited on the pile of turd that Goliathon the delivery dragon had just produced.

Chez the chihuahua dragon looked at them, and their lack of cool glasses, and was disgusted.

“YUCK man what sort of low-life humans are you, walking around here, letting sunlight just stab your retinas with their photon pikes? The absolutely idiocy of these two, I mean really. The sun is blasting right now, and you two don’t even care that your eyesights are on the line.” Chez was an ophthalmologist.

Sven and Tarin died. They were roasted by a dragon.