This article is part of the The Legend of Tooth Tooth series.
Tooth Tooth's body trembled. He kneeled to the ground, put an elbow to his knee, and bit his fist. He clenched shut his eyeballs and concentrated hard. He began to shake and seize, whipping and writing violently on the dirt floor of the World's Biggest Pig tent. He coughed and choked and wheezed, he scrambled once more to his knees and gagged. Finally, with one great and poweful heave, he coughed out one miniscule particle of matter, no bigger than the head of a pin. The swine was out of his body.
He felt the righteousness rush back into his body in a torrent of Supreme Mathematics. He strode-- his limp was gone, miraculous like-- over to the gate on the World's Biggest Pig paddock, and he karate-chopped the lock off with the swiftness of a kung fu sensei.
"You are free now, World's Biggest Pig," Tooth Tooth said. "You may roam where you please, but I extend my humble invitation to join me in my manse and live as my lifelong friend." And the pig looked into his eyes and uttered a bellowing oink of agreement.
"Furthermore, I apprehend that these hillbilly pig-enslaving crackers have cursed thee with a name most herblike, which is Buford, and I cannot let this be. You shall have a name that is both righteous and dope, should you allow me the honor of choosing it," and to this also the swine agreed.
"Your name shall be Odin, to honor the righteousness of my friend, Valp Kattunge, for you are much like Valp: you are wise and just despite the pinkness of your skin." Tooth Tooth patted Odin on his big-ass head, and it was not a pat of condescension but a pat of a man honoring a homie.
And so Tooth Tooth walked from the World's Biggest Pig tent with his head held high, and Odin trotted after him, eager to join a quest for soul brother justice against Jeremy Birdcastle, who even among the world of pigs was widely known and regarded as a white idiot bitch. Tooth Tooth, hillbilly country-ass crowds now parting for him with reverence, made his way through the Giant Turnip Pavillion to confront his nemesis.
As he flung open the doors, he did not know what barbarity he might see within, but the sight before his eyes confounded him to his very soul: there was Jeremy Birdcastle on a stage, holding aloft his huge-ass turnip like the damn Lion King, and all these hillbilly-ass old men weeping at the sight of it, as if they had been shown the Holy Grail of the damn evil mystery god.
"I grew this turnip on my window box," Birdcastle squeaked in his white-ass voice. "It weighs over seven p--"
And then Birdcastle's dumbshit words froze in his mouth, for in the doorway he saw the man he thought he had beaten, the man to whom he had secretly fed the meats of the swine-- meats he knew to be poisonous to the soul of the righteous.
"I am here, Jeremy Birdcastle," cried Tooth Tooth, "to bring justice to your white ass." A screech pierced the air. Tooth Tooth's eagle smashed through a window, raining glass down on all assembled white devils, and perched upon Odin's head. Odin honked with a delight known only to a swine freed from bondage.
No one seems to like the new Doom box art. But it's still the same old Doom Guy under that space marine helmet. Right?
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