Muttering sweet nothings to itself, thefez skipped back a page and proceeded to reread the instructions. Finishing, it grinning hideously in the darkness, the scheme's every last nuance straightened out and wedged into that terrible twisted intellect between a girl, a loincloth, and a small car.

thefez reached into the gilded box resting upon the shelf next to Zulamar's Zero Diplomacy Zaibatsu and removed the crystal sphere that was cushioned on a bed of softest honey-blue velvet. Candlelight corruscated off the grey ash within as the glinting ball was twirled between its fingers.

A ghoulish chuckle escaped grimacing lips and fled about the room in desperate search for freedom as memories of the aquisition swirled and were somehow given form in the icy air. It had cost a pretty penny to obtain the crucial ingredient from the merchant, and some again to dissuade the thief from haggling. At least the disposal of the assassin had taught him more creative ways of killing people. "Soon, soon..." it hissed in glee, "I shall shall take the knowledge that I have learned and return to my dimension to rule with an i-ron orificed tentacle!"

The ball was returned with due reverence to the box. Stretching, thefez extricated limbs from the lotus position, discarding the ragged, nearly lifeless flesh with careless abandon. Former owners scrabbled pitifully to recover their property, hampered by unfamiliarity with the pseudopoda it had gifted them. Ungrateful peasants. It scooted the chair to the centre of an inverse trigram and paused for dramatic effect. Gathering artifacts to hand, the machine offered up prayer to the almighty # 59,991 spawn of apefist, and slit the rubber chicken's neck with one swift, sure stroke and much sawing back and forth of the teaspoon.

A sputtering candle, green as virgin's blood, was placed within arm's reach and the rite initiated. The crystal trinket was crushed in deliriously trembling fists and thefez downed the contents in one heady gulp, heedless of the ichor now dripping from its sleeves and laying waste to the acrylic shag pile underfoot. A pleasant pulsating warmth spreading outward from its core, thefez smiled dreamily, suddenly glad it had thought to install a prostrate.

But within moments the heat had increased such that even this twisted creature knew something was wrong. "No!" it cried, "Nonononononononono! My evil plans to enthrall drunken frat boys the world over in a cult of my adoration! Nooooooo!"

Clawing frantically through the tome it had used to reconstruct the ancient and mystical ceremony, its tortured eyes fell on the final markings and for the first time in its existence thefez knew it had erred. "Why O' Why could I not have interpreted literally for once in my unlife?" it cried pitifully. And screamed a curse t'would wake the angels and cause them to fall upon one other in snarling heathen rage.

As thefez danced about in terminal agony, the Big Book of Arabian Party Tricks slipped from its grasp, falling lazily to the floor.

Mwahahahaha! Abandon your warped progeny in the woods and they will hunt you down and exact revenge!
He's savagely funny and quite possibly insane, but "...thefez is not evil, just misunderstood."
Ahhhh, the Work of Worship, fez surfing: I suggest everyone try it!

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