Many humanoids and yokai and robots and aliens are bad because they do not try to be good. The Fartmeister had never, ever tried to be even a little bit good, so he was very sinister indeed. Having decided to conquer Schmegma City, enslave its tremorroid (the flatulenz fairy princess Titiana), and destroy the Sifillis Celebrities, the King of the Fart Ghouls kept planning ways to do this dreadful thing, stoking his bushy, greasy beard and farting in deep concentration. Finally he honked his moist horn to summon his loyal royal flackfizer, Kankersaur. The bespectacled raptor rushed into the spacious screening room. The half-fart-ghoul/half-flatulenz-fairy king said:

  "Kankersaur, I think I shall make you the kommandant of my army."

  "I think you shall won't!" replied Kankersaur, positively.

  "Why not?" inquired the King, reaching for a petrified poostick.

  "Because I'm a flackfizer, and know nothing of warfare," said Kankersaur, preparing to dodge if the stick were thrown at him. "I manage all the affairs and admin of your dominion better than you could yourself, and you'll never find another flackfizer as good or as loyal as I. But there are a thousand fart ghouls better fitted to command your army." Under his breath the dinosaur added "and your kommandants get annihilated so quickly that I’d rather not be one of them."

  "Ah, there is some truth in your remarks, Kanker," remarked the King, deciding not to throw a poostick. "Summon my army to assemble."

  Kankersaur bowed and retired, and in a few minutes returned to say that the army was assembled. So the king and his flackfizer went out upon the balcony that overlooked the fart sorting chamber, where thousands of ninjas, all armed with swords, stood marshaled in military array. The Farmeister liked to refer to them all as ninjas so he could do the “silent but deadly” gag, but mixed in with the ninjas were several stocky strikebreakers, clockcleaners, clodkickers, and cowpunchers.

  The Fartmeister looked upon this tremendous army, which stood silently arrayed before him. Then he addressed them from the balcony, saying:

  "I have disposed of Kommandant Whiff, because he did not please me. So I want another kommandant to command this army. Who is next in command?"

  "I am," replied Colonel Oder, a fierce-looking ghoul, as he stepped forward to salute his monarch.

  The king looked at him carefully and said:

  "I want you to march this army through an underground tunnel, which I am going to bore, to Schmegma City in Bonertania. When you get there I want you to conquer the Sifillis Celebrities, destroy Schmegma City, and bring all their videotapes and dusted diamonds and farts back to the fartcano. Also you are to recapture my enchanted jock strap and return it to me. Will you do this, Kommandant Oder?"

  "No." replied the fart ghoul.

  “Why not?” asked the Fartmeister.

  "For it can't be done," replied Oder.

  "Oh, really?" exclaimed the King. Then he turned to Kankersaur and said: "Please take Kommandant Oder to the Dismemberment Machine. After running him through that you may feed him to the seven-headed meatidong in the basement."

  "Anything to oblige your flatulency," replied the flackfizer, politely, and he and some servants led the condemned ghoul away.

  When they had gone the king addressed the army again.

  "Listen!" said he. "The kommandant who is to command my armies must swear loyalty and promise to carry out my orders, even if it means certain death. Now, then, who will volunteer to lead my troops to Schmegma City?"

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  For a time no one moved and all were silent. Then a fat old fart ghoul with a crew-cut stepped forward. This fart ghoul wasn’t a ninja, he was one of the squad’s portly clodkickers.

  "I'd like to ask a few questions, your majesty," he said.

  "Go ahead," replied the king.

  "These Sifillis Celebrities are quite good, are they not?"

  "As good as zipperfly pie," said the king.

  "And they are happy, I suppose?" continued the old clodkicker.

  "Happy as a fart is warm," said the king.

  "And contented and prosperous?" inquired the ghoul.

  "Oh, yes, very much so," said the king.

  "Well, your majesty," remarked he of the flat-top crew-cut, "I think I should like to be your kommandant. I hate good people; I detest happy people; I'm opposed to any one who is contented and prosperous. That is why I am so fond of your majesty. Make me your kommandant and I'll promise to conquer and destroy the Bonertanians. If I fail I'm ready to be sliced thin and fed to the seven-headed meatidong."

  "Very good! Very good, indeed! That's the way to talk!" cried the Fartmeister, who was greatly pleased. He farted happily. "What is your name, kommandant?"

  "I'm called Wrench Trenchstench, your majesty."

  "Well, Trenchstench, come with me to my home theater and we'll talk it over and I’ll get you a nice spiked helmet to wear." Then he turned to the army. "Ghoul soldiers," said he, "you are to obey the commands of Kommandant Trenchstench until he becomes meatidong-feed. Any man who fails to obey his new kommandant will be promptly disassembled and discarded. You are now dismissed."

  Trenchstench went into the king's screening room and sat down upon a couch, packed his roachberry pipe, and said:

  "The trouble with you, sir, is that you don't think carefully enough. You would go ahead and march through your tunnel into Schmegma City, and get defeated and driven back. I won't.” The corpulent fart ghoul paused to light his pipe and take a big hit. “And the reason I won't is because when I march I'll have all my plans made, and a host of powerful allies to assist our army." He exhaled.

  "What do you mean by that?" asked the King. He was peeved at Trenchstench’s insouciant tone.

  "I'll explain. They haven't much of an army in Schmegma City, but the tremorroid there has flatulenz fairy powers and your enchanted jock strap. It will be no easy thing to overcome all this thaumaturgy."

  "We have thousands of ninjas!" cried the Fartmeister.

  "Yes; but they are all ghouls," remarked Trenchstench, taking a light blue handkerchief from the Fartmeister's pocket and blowing his own nose with it. "Fart ghouls are not strong on thaumaturgy. When you lost your famous jock strap the greater part of your own power was gone from you. Against Titiana you and your ghouls would have no defense at all."

  The Fartmeister's eyes flashed angrily. He farted loudly and moistly.

  "Away you go to the Dismemberment Machine!" he cried.

  "Not yet," said Wrench Trenchstench, lighting his pipe again.

  "What do you propose to do?" asked the monarch. Trenchstench exhaled and answered:

  "I say we obtain the power we need. There are a good many humanoids and yokai and robots and aliens who have thaumaturgy sufficient to destroy and conquer all of Bonertania. We will get them on our side, band them all together, and then take the tremorroid and all her dumb-butt subjects by surprise. Alone we should be nigh-helpless to injure the ruler of Bonertania, but with the aid of the nefarious powers of like-minded allies we shall easily succeed."

  The King of the Fart Ghouls was delighted with this idea and forgot all about feeding Trenchstench to the meatidong.

  "Surely, Trenchstench, you are the greatest kommandant I have ever had!" he exclaimed, his eyes sparkling with joy. "You must go at once and make arrangements with these nefarious powers to assist us. I shall lend you one of the thaumaturgic treasures I still possess: An enchanted toilet plunger that will carry you to any destination you wish. In the meantime I'll begin construction on the tunnel."

  "I thought you'd agree with me, Fartmeister," replied the new kommandant. "I'll map out a course immediately and you shall have your army."

  The Fartmeister laughed, and Trenchstench laughed. Then the Fartmeister farted, and Trenchstench farted. Then they laughed and farted until their laughs came out of their butts and the farts came out of their mouths.