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Lord Miremuck went through the doorway (Blorbian thresholds don’t have doors, for obvious reasons) into his loyal servant Viscount Zumble’s room. Miremuck hadn’t spoken to Twirl since their last interaction, several days ago, and he was not eager to begin another chat.
“Ms Zumble? Hello? Um… may I come in…?” he asked. Zumble, out of sight until now, sludged into the room out of her adjacent water closet. The system Blorbians use to go to the bathroom is widely regarded as one of the most vile things a human can learn about, so no further detail will be provided.
“Hello, lord!” she said. “What can I do for you today?”
“I have an issue with Mr Twirl right now and… I’m not sure what to do with it…”
“Oh really? I can’t imagine what problems you’d have with him,” Zumble said.
“Well… he’s really good at manipulating and intimidating people… and he’s a real jerk…” Miremuck did not understand sarcasm or irony.
“Why do you let him boss you around, lord? Isn’t he far beneath you in rank? He’s just a simple baronet, right? It should be no problem for you to tell him to shut up.”
“He… he has a way of making you feel powerless talking to him, Zumble…”
“You have to fight back against his shit, lord. Force him to do something extremely unpleasant under threat of imprisonment, to show him that he’s still under your command.”
“What would that be…?”
“I dunno, maybe something like sending him to a therapy session. I think that would really aggravate him. I can’t imagine someone like him doing well under psychoanalysis.”
“I think you’re right… thanks, Ms Zumble.”
“No problem, lord!” Zumble said. She would’ve been waving him out the door, except for, you know.
A few days later, Twirl sat in his petri dish, comfortably rested on the chaise longue of Dominus Biblero, the resident therapist of Glopville. Biblero was usually the one other Blorbians went to for advice or help with regards to their tendency towards extreme depression. As one of the few mostly jovial and happy Blorbians, Biblero was always happy to assist, and never failed in bringing a smile to even the most thoroughly miserable Gucklander. He leaned back (as much as a Blorbian can lean back) in his chair, holding a pen in his mouth due to his lack of limbs, and said “Tell me what’s bringing you in today, Twirl.”
“That fucking son of a goddamn bitch Miremuck sent me in here. I don’t know why, he probably just wanted to see me suffer, that sick bastard.” Twirl was already nearly screaming. His ability to project his voice, considering his miniscule size, was pretty impressive.
“Twirl…” Biblero paused briefly, chewing on his pen. “What makes you so angry all the time?”
A crack of thunder sounded outside as the sky darkened from its previously light blue shade and a storm of biblical proportions began. “Well, Mr Fucking Stupid, why do you think that is? Just what in this piece of shit life that we lead might cause me to be a little bit fucking pissed off? Hm? I wonder what? Maybe the fact that we’re a species of nearly useless blob fuckers that can’t do anything cool and are stuck on this goddamn island with no way to get off it? Might that be a bit aggravating, Biblero? You ever talk to anyone here? Anyone at all in Glopville? Ever notice how fucking irritating they all are? Everyone’s always just fucking moping and telling their goddamn sob stories about how miserable they all are. But do any of them think to do anything to change it? No! They’ve all resigned themselves to their fate of being worthless, pathetic little fucks!” He glared at Biblero. “Which they are.”
“Ok, so-”
“And also, Biblero, don’t think I’m excluding myself from this conversation. As much better as I am compared to you worthless fucks, and really to every worthless fuck on this planet, I am still a stupid piece of shit, although comparatively, I am the most intelligent piece of shit imaginable. Ha! Fuck. Everyone is going to die one day, and many of those will likely be by your own hands. Have you ever checked the rates of suicide for Blorbians, Biblero? Have you? They’re not good. My plans are simply fast-forwarding to the ending of all your worthless fucking lives, you goddamn goddamn fuck shit ass bitch fuck shit… so anyways you’re all fucking awful, and once I kill that son of a bitch Mark Silverhammer I’ll slaughter the rest of you lot, including myself.”
Biblero continued chewing his pen. “Hm. I think that’s our time.”
“We’ve only been in here for five goddamn minutes!” Twirl said, looking at the clock above.
“Yes.” Biblero sludged out of the room as quickly as possible, leaving behind a trail of orange pus on the tile floor.
“Miremuck!! Miremuck, get in here!!!” Twirl yelled. Miremuck slowly sludged into the room and said “How did the therapy go…?”
“Fucking awful. I hate you. I’ve learned nothing. Bring me to my room now.” Miremuck grabbed Twirl’s petri dish with his mouth and slowly sludged out of the room.
At his house, Biblero sat in his chair, chewing on one of his other chewing pens (he had a rigid system for how to select the right ones to chew without repeating that would take at least five pages to explain). “That Twirl is a real dick,” he mused aloud.