"Go Green!" Dane screamed, slamming his fist repeatedly on the tabletop. Beside him a horribly intoxicated man by the name of BlueWasabi slurred out something that sounded like "Hop on Mom!"

What they were watching was a complex medieval game of ‘Undead Homie’, apparently a sacred tradition to any and every newcomer to the village. It was a time of beer, vulgarity and happiness. The villagers could gather and temporarily forget the simple fact that The Lord of Terror, Diablo, was 6 feet under, plotting the many ways to their fiery death. It was a time when they could drink until they could no longer stand and would reefer to their friends and family as ‘Hank’, and watch creepy undead monsters strive for first place.

As Dane soon learned, warriors and villagers loved getting smashed. Dane was not drunk, however, he didn’t like the taste of alcohol. And besides, he still had to find his beloved. She still had the duffel bag containing his many assorted items, and he clutched it protectively to his side.

Black dog and X to the Z sat on either side of him, watching the strange display going on in front of their animal eyes. Neither of them understood. Neither of them cared.

Here is how ‘Undead Homie’ works:

#1. First, an ‘Undead Homie’ is purchased from the four contestants. Only one ‘Undead Homie’ per paying customer.

#2. Second, each customer places a bet of a certain amount of gold pieces on their ‘Undead Homie’. A stripe of paint of a different colour is marked on each ‘Undead Homie’, and that colour is assigned to the human customer.

#3. Thirdly, the ‘Undead Homies’ must compete in a number of challenges to see who will win first place.

#4. Whichever ‘Undead Homie’ wins, their paying master gets the pile of gold pieces that the other players placed as their bets. The ‘Undead Homie’ is then the rightful property of the paying human customer.

Dane had purchased a War Skeleton as his ‘Undead Homie’. His colour, for obvious reasons, was forest green. Upon cheering for his Skeleton entering the first challenge, he flashed a thumbs up accompanied by a cheesy grin. The Skeleton could not frown, even though he badly wanted to. He suddenly and inexplicably missed his lack of flesh.

"Hear ‘ye, Hear ‘ye!" The bartender cried over the roar of the crowd. "The first official challenge of ‘Undead Homie’ will now take place! Undead Homies, take your places!"

Babcoot the Warrior Skeleton marched up toward the barstool marked with his colour. He sat down with a creek of armour and stared across at the giggling wench with enormous tits that winked at him. He wished he had a penis.

"Undead Homies, " the bartender cried, "You know the rules. No killing, no cheating, and no raising any other homies." He pointed to the Zombie sitting on the other side of Babcoot. "You! With the hatchet! If you eat anybody’s brains, you’re disqualified."

"Uuuuuhhh…" The Zombie moaned.

"Begin!"

Babcoot grabbed the mug of ale sitting in front of him with lightning fast reflexes. He thrust the mug into his face, a little too hard, and slammed the bitter liquid down his throat. It was times like these that he was glad for his lack of flesh and body parts. There was nothing to slow down the stream of ale, no bothersome throat mechanisms and no stupid slug of a tongue to move around. It splashed through him and sprayed a couple of unlucky audience members behind him. He slammed the empty mug back down and cried; ‘YEA!"

Dane cheered. The other competitors booed. The burly bartender leaned down on one elbow and peered into the grinning face of Babcoot. Ale was dribbling all over his bones.

"Seems you always win this challenge, Babcoot." The bartender said. "Maybe it ain’t fair that you can just throw that shit at your face."

Babcoot shooed the man away with a bony hand. "Ya don’t know what you’re saying, fool. I’m just the shit. That’s all."

Apparently, the Zombie didn’t agree. He swung his hatchet in Babcoots general direction. It connected with his cheekbone and a loud ‘Ting!’ noise vibrated through the air.

"Fucker!" Babcoot screamed, drawing his sword from his hip. "I’ll wipe the floor with your ass!"

A werewolf of massive proportions sporting tight leather pants stepped in-between the two and shoved them apart. "You guys know the rules." He growled.

Babcoot bitch slapped the werewolf. "I don’t need no hairy ass bitch to tell me what to do around here. I wrote the ‘Undead Homie’ book, man. I know what I’m doin’." He pointed at the Zomibe with a clawed finger. "And you…you touch me again and I’ll rape your maggot infested ass with a 10 foot lance."

The werewolf whimpered and ran away, instantly being Babcoots bitch boy. The Zombie, possessing a healthier sense of self-respect, nodded but kept his cool despite the threat.

"S’Right." Babcoot said with a hint of authority. "I’m in this bitch. Let’s get this over with."

"Round two," The bartender said, ignoring the way the Zombie stroked his hatchet and stared ahead with glazed eyes, "Let us proceed outside for round two."

Dane shivered upon stepping outside. The grass was covered with a sheen of evening frost and the sun was just beginning to set behind the mountains. It was a tranquil setting, if you ignored the way a couple of limp legs stuck out of haystacks. He turned to Babcoot and slapped him on the shoulder. "You’re hella Undead Homie." He said simply.

Babcoot stared. "Yea." He answered with a short nod. He followed Dane’s eyes to the haystack. Dane raised an eyebrow. Babcoot shrugged.

"What’re you doin’ here anyway? I ain’t never seen you before." Babcoot asked as they proceeded to the edge of the forest.

"My girlfriend and I got sucked into an interdimensional portal at Dairy Queen. We kinda got sucked in here…and I don’t know where the fuck she’s at."

Babcoot nodded. "She got a nice ass?"

Dane looked slightly startled. "Well…yeah."

"I hope you find her then." Babcoot pushed past him and walked forward. "There’s a rapidly declining population of nice asses in this world."

Dane stopped and wondered if he should feel threatened or complimented. Beside him, Black dog barked loudly.

"Wassup dog?" Dane scratched her ears. He wondered what the next challenge would be.