OF SOCKS AND SANDALS: PART III

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I have rules:

1. Never play poker with a man with two first names.
2. Never play pool with a man with a state for a name.
3. Always carry a knife.

And so on. The list has grown. I added #47 last year. Never accept an invitation to a goblin orgy. The orgy was fine, but ever since, before it rains, my right foot swells up sometimes. Once a few scales grew on top and fell off when it was really bad. No, it wasn’t all goblins, that was clearly the problem. So, I had the crew build a bunk for me next to the vast multitudes of vintage pornography magazines. The first crate was filled with Danish stuff. I sealed that one back up, kind of terrified of what I’d find. The next one was called “Little People Big Tits.” Underneath that “Carnal Clowns.” At least it wasn’t Danish. With a sigh, I started sorting them.

From above I heard the Dwarf experimenting. Suddenly a sword tip came through the roof above me. Apologies in faint Dwarven came through the cracks of the floor. The sock demon was gone for a bit, which took some pressure off, but I suspected he was not abandoning his plans so nor would I.

I pulled out a thick set of magazines called “Tijuana Shows.” A quick perusal showed content that was probably best to bury back in the box. We didn’t need the crew getting ideas about bringing donkeys on board. Again.

And then I saw it. The logo. The unmistakable logo of an open book against a starry background. I had not seen it since setting fire to a warehouse in Louisiana when my companion wore it on a lapel pin. Both had the following Latin wrapped around it, Ex Luce Ad Tenebras. The magazine was undated but the photography looked 70s. I wasn’t sure what to make of the pornography, often turning the magazine entirely around trying to understand what I was seeing.

CRASH

A bathtub suddenly fell through the ceiling in front of me with a naked dwarf covered in red whose dickie was inside a rubber platypus and he was crying. At first, I was worried he was injured, but then I smelled raspberries.

“THIS INNA WHA’ IT LOOKS LIKE!”

I put the magazine up. I had an even less wholesome mystery to solve.