The Butcher's Masquerade (Dungeon Crawler Carl, #5)

by Matt Dinniman

The universe’s four lubricants. Blood, tears, taxes, and lawyers.”

Nobody would notice him unless they stopped and read his description, which said he was a member of the Royal Court of Princess Donut.

“Boo,” Donut yelled at him, and he stumbled backward.

“Mordecai said it’s addictive. I don’t like that. I’ve already broken you from your tobacco and chronic masturbation addiction. I can’t have you gaining a new one, Carl.”

Reward: Your reward is advice. Fatherly advice. Don’t be a little bitch. There’s your reward.

It looked like a pub on the outside, but within it was a fast-food restaurant called Whataburger.

“Viva la revolución, Carl.”

finger. I felt the gills form on my neck. You’ve been hit with the ugly stick!

New Achievement! This little piggy made a boom boom! You deployed a bomb with the supple, curved sole of your foot. You took your perfectly-perfect, 30.004861 centimeter-long right foot and compressed it against an explosive device—a device named after me no less—and you gave it a naughty little shove before you pushed it out the door and detonated it.

You killed them. You killed them all for your daddy. The AI made a deep, throaty groan for like five seconds straight, an uncomfortably long time.

A DNA test would tell you that they’re identical to bush elves, but that’s only because DNA tests don’t detect when someone has a giant stick rammed up their ass.

AND HE CARRIES IT IN HIS MOUTH SO HE CAN’T SEE ANYTHING. WHAT A DWEEB.