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

by Matt Dinniman

I know that last floor was tough, and we did lose a few more crawlers than we anticipated. We will all have to work together to make sure your incompetence doesn’t continue.

HAVING MYSELF AND CARL ON THE PROGRAM IS THE EQUIVALENT OF HAVING AUDREY HEPBURN AND, I DON’T KNOW, MACHO MAN RANDY SAVAGE SUDDENLY SHOW UP AS GUEST STARS ON A PUBLIC ACCESS TELEVISION SHOW.

“I’m not insulting you, Carl. It’s called constructive criticism. It’s different.”

“That’s too bad,” Donut said. “I thought maybe it was like that tree from that weird, blue alien movie with the Ghostbusters lady and that Scientologist guy who married Eric Forman’s mom on Friends.”

You know what, never mind. You don’t want to hear about that. All I’m trying to say is nice tits.

This is a feather. It’s pink. It’s garbage. Fuck off with making me describe this shit. Do you want me to describe the dirt below your feet, too?

They are nothing better than selfish, wild animals, reminiscent of those creatures who crawl over each other to purchase televisions on Black Friday each year.

Donut: OH, HONEY. YOU USED TO BE A SEX DOLL. I’M QUITE CERTAIN YOU CAN HANDLE ALL MANNER OF INDIGNITY. Samantha: DON’T SLUT SHAME ME. I’M GOING TO KILL YOUR MOTHER.

This is where you belong, Carl, the river said. Jump into the rapids. Embrace the chaos.

“What in the gods’ name did you do?” Mordecai asked. “Carl gave Vrah gonorrhea!” Donut cried.

Finding the stars was the worst thing that ever happened to my people. It is a slow, horrific death. Expansion to the point of oblivion.

“Oh my god, Carl,” Donut said. “This is just like the plot to Footloose! They’re stealing storylines now!” “I don’t remember the part where the girl turns into a murderous dinosaur after her dad tells her she can’t dance,” I said. “Maybe that was in part two.”