Power Rangers - Spirits Clipped in Sludge!

They were the heart. The faces of hope. Beauty and leadership forged in light. Polluticorn made sure they choked on the filth first. The White and Pink Rangers spiral from symbols of strength into shrieking, sinking ornaments of waste—smothered, stained, and stripped of everything but their agony. Not even their screams can fly free now.

When the sewers flood, do the pretty beast heroes float—or swim in it?

Special thanks to my loyal and royal patron friends:

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Fighting the reeking storm!

Tommy’s scream didn’t end—it just twisted, then warped into a gurgling, pitch-cracking spiral of madness. He dropped to his knees, armor slicked with bubbling filth, back arched so hard it looked like his spine might erupt through his chest. His fists slammed against the tile again and again until the plates on his gloves split, revealing pulsing mesh underneath. He wasn’t breathing anymore—he was sputtering, air hitching as every gasp became a high-pitched, word-mangling wail that echoed across the plaza like a broken siren.

"AAAAAGHH—SOMETHING’S—SOMETHING’S—IN—MY—FUCKING HEAD!" he shrieked, the words shattering through his helmet’s static-blasted speaker, rattling against the tile and metal and oozing walls that surrounded him. His screams became involuntary bursts, gurgling as if something were choking him from the inside.

His hands shot to his visor, fingers digging and scratching like he could tear it off or dig inside. His head jerked to the side, then forward, then back again—every motion twitching with electrical violence. "NGGGHH—IT’S GROWING—SOMETHING’S GROWING—INSIDE—FUCKFUCKFUCK—IT’S—PRESSING—IT’S SQUISHING MY BRAIN—I CAN’T—BREATHE!"

Inside the helmet, a grotesque, pulsing tumor had begun to grow. The slime that had slithered into his neural node coalesced at the front of his skull. A spiraled, heat-throbbing mass, pushing outward against bone and synthetic shell. It slurped against his forehead like it was feeding—chewing into the folds of his memory. It grew by the second, ballooning from a fingertip to a balled fist. Each pulse caused Tommy’s body to jerk in spasms, knees scraping the floor, saliva bubbling through his mouthplate. His whole torso convulsed with every heartbeat as if something were rewiring his nervous system in real time, merging flesh, metal, and madness.

Across the courtyard, Kimberly was already down. She flailed on her back, boots skidding against slime-slick tile. Her helmet shook like a seizure machine, both arms flailing upward as she howled. "N-NGH—IN MY HEAD—MY FOREHEAD—IT’S SQUISHING ME INSIDE OUT!"

Her helmet bulged outward with terrifying elasticity. The tumor growing within her pressed into her skull with each greasy breath, distorting her visor like a wet blister ready to explode. Slime poured up from her collar seals and neck port, wrapping her jaw, gluing her breath into manic sobs. Her back arched off the ground, chestplate sparking with wet, shrill fizzles that added to her torment. Her cries thickened into gurgles, and her limbs thrashed violently, as if her body was trying to reject what her mind couldn’t understand.

"SOMETHING—MOVING—INSIDE ME! GET IT OUT! GET IT OUT GET IT FUCKING OUT!" she sobbed, voice crumbling into choking hiccups. She beat at her own chest, her fists landing like wet slaps, the suit groaning under pressure.

As the two screamed, Adam and Billy stalked forward like predators in heat, their limbs twitching, slime dripping from their horns. They circled their writhing teammates with wild, territorial groans. Their voices were no longer possessive—but reverent. They weren’t tormenting their prey—they were welcoming them into a new, grotesque collective.

"FUCKIN’ LOOK AT ‘EM! PART OF THE FUCKIN’ HERD NOW!" Adam bellowed, hooves scraping the tile with every fevered stomp. His whole body twitched like it was barely contained, pulsing with the rhythm of his next obscene act.

Billy snorted, laughter breaking through his twitching shoulders. "YEAH! THEY'RE FLOWING! THEY'RE READY! NOT OURS—JUST MORE FUCKIN' SLIME-STAMPED BREEDERS FOR THE GRID TO GRIND!"

They reared up, twisted, and stepped closer, thick, long baton-like protrusions already dangling heavily between their legs, warping the groin plates of their armor with grotesque, pulsing weight. The batons swayed with each primal step, twitching with erratic pulses as if alive. The skin-metal fusion around their hips flexed unnaturally, armor seams breathing in and out with grotesque rhythm. Mucus-like strings stretched from the tips of the batons to their thighs, already leaking thick rivulets of pre-fluid. The air around them pulsed with a sour musk that curdled the senses.

Without hesitation, they positioned themselves over the twitching bodies of the transforming rangers. Adam over Tommy. Billy above Kimberly. The batons spasmed.

Then burst.

Hot, steaming gushes of thick, reeking fluid erupted from the tips, splashing across Kimberly and Tommy’s backs, helms, and thighs. The pressure was messy—animalistic—soaking every vent, every crevice. It was more than marking—it was conversion, a flood that fed the tumors directly through the suit seams. The sound was hideous—like pressure valves exploding through flesh and latex. The slime frothed as it met the morphing grid’s last defenses and began dissolving them.

Kimberly let out a sobbing scream, her body rattling as though she were convulsing in reverse. "AAAHHHHH—IT’S—IT’S INSIDE ME—FILLING—FILLING—EVERYWHERE! I CAN’T STOP—CAN’T PUSH IT OUT!"

Tommy bucked, his legs twitching with spasmodic jerks. "F-FUCK—IT’S COATING EVERYTHING—CAN’T—*THINK—CAN’T—BREATHE—"

Their bodies arched, twitched, then dropped flat again, arms shaking beneath them. Slime spread around them like halos of ruin. The tumors inside their helmets pulsed wildly, bulging so hard the visors began to bend outward. Their armor plates rippled as if their bodies were swelling with the overflow.

Adam twitched, panting hard, his head thrown back. "THERE! FUCKIN’ RITUAL! LET THE GRID BIND THEM! THEY’RE FUCKIN’ RIPENED! THE FILTH CLAIMS!"

Billy slammed a palm onto Kimberly’s back with a wet slap, fingers spread wide. "HERD AIN’T OWNED—HERD EXPANDS! NO FUCKIN’ LEADERS—JUST FLOWERS OF THE FILTH!"

They howled together, their horns glowing in sync with the tumors of their victims. Their armor steamed. Their breath fogged the air with grotesque warmth.

Their helmets lit from within—first dim, then violently, casting grotesque shadows across the ground like corrupted halos. The tumors weren’t just growing. They were beating—pulsing in sync with something far older, far deeper than the morphing grid itself. Their suits vibrated, slime-coated mesh stretching at the seams like a cocoon about to burst.

It began with a crack—not a sharp sound, but a long, wet split. The kind that comes from splitting bone and meat together, from prying open a sealed wound with fingers made of flame. The sound echoed across the plaza, followed by the high-pitched whine of distorted helmet speakers failing all at once, feeding into an unnatural silence where even the corrupted air held its breath.

Tommy's body jerked upright, spine arched to the point of snapping. His visor, already warped and fogged with filth, finally gave way. A jagged split ran down the forehead, bisecting the helmet like an overripe shell. From the gash, the tumor surged outward, pulsating violently with brown light. His head shook violently side to side, arms flailing as he beat against his own helmet in vain. The light grew brighter, the pulsing louder—until his entire skull vibrated with the buildup. He could hear it now—slurping against the inside of his thoughts, chewing through his focus. His brain felt wet, slippery, like it was being stirred from the inside.

“AAAAGHHHH—FUCK—FUCK—I CAN’T THINK! MY HEAD—MY FUCKING HEAD—IT’S MELTING—IT’S SLIDING—I—” The scream broke down into choking sobs as he fell forward, striking the ground with both fists.

Kimberly shrieked nearby, not in reply—but in parallel. Her limbs spasmed uncontrollably, back arched off the slime-slick floor. Her helmet convulsed with each pulse of the tumor growing behind it, cracks running down from the crest like glass under pressure. “I—H-H-H-HHHHHHHHHHH—CAN’T—MY BRAIN—MY BRAIN’S—SOUP!”

Blood burst from both nostrils, oozing in thick black rivulets down her chin. Her body slammed once, then twice against the tile before seizing. The tumor inside her skull gave a sickening squelch. Her limbs began twitching rapidly, uncontrollably, her hands slapping against the floor like claws digging into the filth.

Tommy convulsed again. A single, desperate breath escaped him, warbled by static. "Whi…W-W…White Ran…Ranger—Tom—T-Tommm…Saba—po…wer of—" The sentence never formed. His words garbled. His jaw locked. His helmet split fully.

Kimberly shrieked again. “PINK—PINK STAM—KIMBERLY—I’M—AAAGHHH—DROWNING IN MYSELF!”

Adam galloped in a circle around them, laughing. “FUCK YEAH! FUCK YEAH! LOOK AT ‘EM CRACK! WATCH THE GRID SUCK THEIR NAMES OUT THEIR MOUTHS!”

Billy dropped beside him, pointing at Kimberly. “OH YOU’RE SO CLOSE, MARE! BURST IT! FUCKING BURST IT!”

With a fleshy burst, the tumor gave way to something hard, ridged, gleaming with rot. A fully-formed, spiral unicorn horn erupted from his forehead, jagged and slick, glowing with pulsating sewage light. The helmet cracked open around it like a chrysalis, steam billowing from the tear as though his mind had boiled out.

Kimberly’s scream reached a pitch that tore the throat raw. Her visor shattered, and then—snap—the horn exploded through her forehead, curling upward in jagged, glowing filth. Her mouth hung open in a silent scream, her voice completely gone. The raw horror in her expression lasted only a second before her eyes rolled upward, pupils dilating and disappearing in a flush of white. Her head lolled as blood and slime poured from her nostrils and ears.

They collapsed forward, twitching on all fours, steam rising from their bodies like livestock left in acid rain. Their mouths twitched open. Their chests heaved. Their horns pulsed with a rhythm that no longer belonged to them. Their voices—once full of anguish—shifted.

Into pleasure.

Low, throaty moans. Then brays. Then neighs. Their limbs began to move not like people, but like creatures led by muscle memory alone. Their backs arched. Their chests slammed to the ground. Their hips bucked. They howled.

Their bodies convulsed again, not in pain, but in need. They slammed into each other, armor colliding, horns scraping, flesh grinding under warped plates. Tommy’s breath hitched, gurgled through thick drool. Kimberly shrieked—not as a person, but as a beast.

Then they moved.

Their hands clawed at each other’s suits. Their gloves smeared slime across armor plates and exposed mesh. They grabbed shoulders, pulled waists, slammed into each other. The corrupted suits stuck together like viscera. They grappled, not in battle—but in primal drive. Their movements became rhythmic, erratic, unrelenting. Slime oozed from every joint, and their stink grew dense.

Their horns locked, crossed, and scraped violently, sending out bursts of dark light and sludge sparks. Every time they broke and reconnected, visible pulses went down their spines, and their hips lurched forward in response. Each jolt caused them to groan louder, more animal than human.

"NNNNNGHHHH—AAHHH—A-AAHHHH—H-H-HHHH—CAN’T—STOP!" Tommy gasped, voice no longer recognizable.

"Y-Y-YESS—AGAIN!—AGAIN!—HARDER—FUCK—HARDER!—FUCK ME AGAIN!" Kimberly shrieked, saliva flying from her mouth, head whipping wildly.

They slammed together with unhinged force. Their hips collided, again, again, again. Like beasts with no comprehension of restraint. Their mouths stretched open with every thrust, eyes wide and glowing. Their horns sparked and steamed, releasing foul mist that burned the floor.

They growled. They howled. They neighed.

Billy shouted over them. “FUCK YEAH! PINK STAMPED AND GONE!”

Adam slammed a hoof. “SLAM HIM BACK, MARE!”

“CAN’T—THINK! JUST—NEED!” Tommy moaned.

“BREED ME! BREED ME ‘TIL I SHATTER!” Kimberly roared.

“FILL HER! SPLIT HER! YOU’RE NOT TOMMY ANYMORE!” Billy screamed.

Their bodies slicked with each other's filth, movements quickening into unrelenting slaps of armor and flesh. The courtyard echoed with their cries, their gasps, their incoherent declarations of corrupted joy. Their hands gripped, pulled, forced. There was no pattern—only drive. Only breeding instinct turned ritual. Their legs trembled with each violent lurch forward, the slime on the tile providing no grip, only resistance.

Their voices broke through the filth like corrupted sirens:

"HNNNNH—WHI—WHITE STALL—G-GRID—M-M-ME!"

"P-P-PINK—STAM—M-MARE—TOO MUCH—" then moaning overtook her again.

“SPILL AND SPREAD!” Adam bellowed.

“LET IT OOZE! LET IT FLOOD!” Billy cried.

The morphing grid cracked with each pulse. The symbols of legacy, of color and command, burned away from their armor under the weight of the act. Brown light pulsed from their joints. Their horns surged. The grid did not resist. It welcomed.

They had become animals.

They had become vessels.

They had become lost.

And the herd had gained two perfect breeders, loud and bursting, tangled in each other, screaming their transformation into eternity.

“WITNESS THIS, YOU PATHETIC FUCKS!” he howled from above, standing over the madness. “THE PRIDE OF THE GRID—NOW PISSING THEMSELVES INTO FERAL FUCKDOLLS!”

***

The courtyard pulsed.

No longer with power.

Now with lust, steam, and the stink of burned identities—of lives rewritten by filth and rebranded as beasts of divine rut. The plaza boiled under the weight of four groaning, seething figures, each a perversion of color-coded justice now reimagined as writhing vessels of uncontrolled purpose.

The four corrupted Rangers—Tommy, Kimberly, Adam, and Billy—circled one another, twitching, foaming, drooling, grunting, each trembling with filthy devotion. Horns pulsed with rancid sludge-colored light, veined and twitching like feverish totems of decay. Their bodies jolted with each breath, armor split, joints steaming, their minds emptied out and flooded with instinct. They were not people anymore. They were horses—twisted unicorn beasts—born not to fight evil, but to writhe in it. Born not to protect the grid, but to spread its new gospel through screams and rut. Not cursed. Not transformed. This was what they were always meant to be.

And in their cracked, echoing skulls, this was the Morphing Grid. Not a sacred field of light, but a devouring current of heat and musk. This was Rangerhood fulfilled. The suits weren’t armor—they were shackles of rut. The colors weren’t symbols of valor—they were breeding markers. The horns weren’t weapons—they were signals. The filth was their true calling. The moans were their legacy. The mating—the maddening, endless, panting orgy—that was their transformation sequence. This was what it meant to morph.

They didn’t just believe it. They knew it.

They screamed it.

To serve. To scream. To rut. To morph.

To fuck.

Being a unicorn—being a lewd, mindless, howling rut-beast—that was the Ranger's true destiny. They were more united now, in filth and madness, than any squad they’d ever stood beside in battle. Their zords had been their illusions. Their weapons were lies. This—this writhing, aching communion of bodies—this was the Megazord.

There were no names left. No flicker of past selves. Morphers long since shattered. The grid rethreaded them with rot. They were no longer Tommy, Kimberly, Adam, and Billy. They were the White Stallion, the Pink Mare, the Black Rut, and the Blue Breeder. They didn’t speak. They neighed, hissed, gnashed, and snorted. Their mouths flapped like beasts trying to form words they no longer remembered. Their eyes flickered only with feverish light.

Adam lunged first, slamming into Tommy, tackling him into the slick, smoking sludge. “YOU WERE NEVER A MAN! YOU’RE A FUCKING STALLION! THIS IS YOUR POWER CALLING, WHITE!”

Tommy screamed, writhing beneath him. “BORN TO BE RIDDEN—TO BE FILLED—TO BLEED FOR THE GRID—I’M A FUCKING RANGER!”

Billy leapt onto Adam’s back, snarling. “*HE’S MINE! MY FUCKING STALLION! FUCK ME IN OR FUCK ME OUT—WE’RE ALL FUCKING IN THIS—ALL FUCKING RANGERS!”

Kimberly slammed into them, braying like a banshee. “NO FUCKING ORDER! *I’M THE PINK MARE—IT’S MY DUTY TO BE RUTTED—TO BE FILLED FOR THE GRID! THIS IS MY ROLL CALL!”

They didn’t mate—they battled in filth. Wrestling. Grinding. Thrusting. Screaming. Every motion was a corrupted salute. Every thrust a cry of belonging. Horns cracked and sparked. Teeth tore at fabric and flesh. They rutted in pairs. In threes. In violent knots of bodies. There was no pleasure. Only purpose. Only Ranger protocol.

“FUCK ME AGAIN—AGAIN—AGAIN—FUCK ME FOR MORPHING!” Tommy bellowed, slime exploding from every seam.

“FILL ME—BURST ME—SHRED ME IN HALF—I’M THE PINK BEAST OF JUSTICE!” Kimberly howled, her voice a siren’s screech.

“WE WERE NEVER HUMAN! JUST FUCK TOOLS—FUCKIN’ UNICORN SOLDIERS!” Billy screeched, biting his own fingers.

Adam slammed his horns into Tommy’s again. “*STAMP ME! SPLIT ME! GRID BLESS THIS FILTH! THIS IS OUR MEGAMORPH!”

They collided. They spun. They screamed. Their voices were smoke and flame.

“I WAS NEVER KIMBERLY!” the Pink Mare shrieked. “I WAS A FUCKING BREEDER WAITING TO BE BLED—TO BE CALLED TO RUT!”

“I’M NOT TOMMY—I’M A STALLION! A WHITE FUCKING STALLION IN HEAT! I’M THE SIXTH RANGER OF FILTH!”

“NO HEROES! JUST WHORES OF THE GRID!” Billy cried. “WE’RE THE CORE TEAM—THE CORE HERD! THIS IS OUR BATTLE CRY!”

Polluticorn stomped into the center of the chaos, horn blazing like a lighthouse of filth. He glowed like a god of corrosion.

“YESSSSS! YESSSSS! SCREAM, MY PONIES!” he bellowed. “SCREAM YOUR FUCKING DUTY! THIS IS WHAT YOU WERE ALWAYS MEANT TO BE!”

Adam threw his head back, foam spilling from his lips. “BLACK RUT! BORN TO BE RIDDEN, TO RIDE, TO BLEED AND BUCK—NEIGHHHH!”

Kimberly shrieked, horns flaring. “I’M THE PINK MARE OF ROT—BLOW ME OPEN FOR THE GRID—NEIIIIIIIGHHHHHHHHHH!”

Tommy slammed himself into Billy. “I’M THE WHITE STALLION! CUM ME INTO THE COSMOS! THIS IS MY FUCKING ZORD MODE! NNNNEEEEIIIIIGHHHHHHHHHH!”

Billy clawed the floor, slime pouring from his mouth. “I’M THE FUCKING BLUE BREEDER—BLOW ME TILL I’M BRAINLESS! NEIGHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!”

Their screams ripped through the plaza, long, drawn, soaked in rot. Every scream was a signal flare. Every neigh a corrupted morph call. They had no voices anymore—only function.

Polluticorn stood above them, arms wide, roaring with pride.

“THIS IS RANGERHOOD. THIS IS YOUR TEAM. THIS IS FUCKING EVOLUTION!”

The plaza shook beneath the pounding hooves and bucking bodies of four unthinking beasts, screaming their filthy oath into the reeking night.

Rangers forever.

But now… unicorns of rot, breeding in rhythm with the end of all things, and calling it justice.

***

The screams had not stopped.

They echoed across the sky—wild, guttural, soaked with madness. Angel Grove had no skyline left unmarred by decay. The plaza that had once been a symbol of safety and celebration was now a throbbing, steaming nest of filth and ruin. Madness had festered in its heart, growing into a foul temple of sludge and howling perversion. But even this wasn’t enough—not for the four corrupted Rangers, and certainly not for their master.

Tommy, Kimberly, Adam, and Billy—no longer protectors, now writhing unicorn abominations—stood shoulder to shoulder, their corrupted suits heaving, bulging with bloated muscle and thick, pulsing veins of ooze. Their eyes were rolled completely back, tongues lolling as they screamed up into the clouds like beasts in rut. Horns flared with infectious power, each pulsating beam licking the sky, sticky and rotted. Their postures swayed with twisted anticipation, as if their bodies alone could summon apocalypse.

Then they called—not with pride, but with filthy, savage mockery.

Adam stumbled first, hooves scraping tile. “COME TO ME, YOU GLORIOUS FUCKING KING!” he roared, slime spraying from his visor. “LION THUNDERZORD—THE BLACK RUT CALLS YOU!” He reared back, his corrupted horn blasting skyward in a fountain of bile-colored light.

Above, the Lion Thunderzord responded. Its majestic form surged through the clouds, noble and strong. It descended in regal fury, a symbol of courage and raw strength, roaring with a voice that had once defended the Earth itself. But as Adam's cursed beam struck its plated chest, the Lion reeled in midair, twisting unnaturally. Shudders coursed through its core. Gleaming panels cracked. Sludge hissed from its seams.

Adam gasped, eyes wild. "OH FUCK—LOOK AT THOSE TEETH—DRIPPING WITH SHAME! THAT SMELL! OHHH FUCK I CAN SMELL ITS ENGINE BLEED!" He clawed at his own armor, moaning, raking his fingers along his chestplate as if trying to peel his suit off. “YEAH! YOUR FUCKING CLAWS ARE BENDING! BEND FOR ME, BEND FOR FILTH!”

“FEEL THAT? THAT’S ME IN YOUR CORE—SHITFLOW IN YOUR LION VEINS!” Adam screamed, laughing hysterically. “FUCKING LOVE IT! BLEED DIGNITY—DROWN IN SHAME!”

Next came Billy, shaking as he screamed. “UNICORN THUNDERZORD!” he howled. “ANCIENT! WISE! YOU MYTHICAL SHIT-STAINED STATUE—COME DRINK MY FUCKIN’ CURSE!” He thrust his horn with trembling excitement. “YOU’RE MINE NOW! YOU'LL CARRY MY PISS IN YOUR HEART!”

From the clouds emerged the Unicorn Zord, ethereal and elegant. It galloped through the sky as if stitched from legend—its form a tribute to wisdom and poise. But Billy’s beam tore into its flank. The Unicorn shrieked. Its regal mane deflated. Its eyes dimmed to grey. Wires pulsed, and a sick yellow drool poured from its maw.

Billy howled, jerking his head violently. "NNNGHH—ITS FUCKING FIBERFRAME’S SPLITTING—I CAN HEAR THE GODDAMN CREAKING! YESS—BLEED IT! BLEED YOUR FUCKING INTELLECT OUT YOUR MOUTH!" He fell to his knees, humping the ground as he sobbed. “YOU FEEL THAT?! THAT’S ME FLOODING YOUR GODDAMN VALOR VALVE, YOU SHIMMERING BITCH!”

Kimberly spun, laughing in a high-pitched wail. “FLYYYYY, FIREBIRD! MY FLAMING SLUT! FUCKING DESCEND ONTO ME!” Her horn pulsed in crimson arcs. “BEAUTY! SPEED! GLORY—ALL MINE TO SMOTHER IN FUCKING ROT!”

The Firebird Thunderzord dove in, a comet of light and flame. It blazed through the clouds, radiant and proud. But Kimberly’s foul beam caught it mid-flight. The Firebird convulsed. One wing buckled. Its trail of fire guttered into smoke. Flame became ash. Gleam became sludge. The Zord twisted and spasmed in a choking spiral.

Kimberly shrieked, her body twitching uncontrollably. “FUCK—THE TAILPLUME’S DRAGGING—OH FUCK I CAN SMELL ITS THRUSTER ROT! YEEESSS—SPIT ASH, YOU FLAMING CUNT!” She clawed at her belly, bucking her hips. “CHOKE ON IT—YOUR CORE’S MY PERSONAL SEPTIC TANK NOW!”

Tommy stepped forward last, dragging one leg, trembling. “TIGER ZORD!” he roared. “MY TIGER—MY FUCKING PARTNER—THE MUSCLE OF MY BLOOD! ANSWER ME, YOU ROARING BITCH!” His horn lashed upward in a lightning bolt of slime.

The White Tiger Zord descended with regal ferocity. Its golden trim shimmered. Its eyes burned with loyal fury. It landed hard, roaring to defend its master—only to cry out in pain. Tommy’s beam hit it dead center, blasting through its chestplate. Its legs gave out. Screws rained like coins. The Tiger wheezed, deflating.

Tommy shrieked in ecstasy, voice breaking. “ITS BACK’S FOLDING—ITS FUCKING JAW’S DISLOCATING! YEEEAAHHH—RIP YOURSELF OPEN FOR MEEEE!” He slapped his own chest, raking his helmet against a shattered column. “THE GRID BLESSED YOU WITH PRIDE, BUT I SHAT OUT YOUR FUCKING SOUL SOCKET!”

From above, Polluticorn roared in manic ecstasy, stomping his hooves and vomiting steam. “FUUUUCK YESSSSS! LOOK AT ‘EM! SLUDGE AND SIZZLE, ALL FUCKED TO HELL—AND IT AIN’T EVEN DONE YET!” he screeched, tossing his head, eyes blazing.

He reared high, horn gleaming with dark gold bile, and bellowed down at the four heaving, drooling monsters beneath him. “FORM IT! FORM IT NOW, YOU FILTHY UNICORN WHORE-SQUAD—SLAM YOUR ZORDS TOGETHER—SHIT OUT YOUR GLORY EVEN IF YELLOW AND RED LEFT YOU TO ROT!”

“FUSE, YOU SLUDGE-SWALLOWING STALLIONS—BUILD ME A GODDAMN NIGHTMARE TO RIDE!”

And then came the demand.

“MEGAZORD FUUUUUUUCKING FUUUUUUUUUUSE!” they screamed in unison, arms outstretched, filth pouring from every seam of their suits.