Cows of God

The Milk Mystery

A/N: if you thought my accidental incest pregnancy plot in my other fic was bad just wait until you read this. It's about my real life friend, Indrid, and our adventures. 

The Milk Mystery

November 17th. Rhode Island Comic Con. For whatever reason, Charles Slimecicle decided that he'd hold a panel there. Indrid was fucking ecstatic. He'd been waiting for this moment since it was announced on Twitter. Having gone through security and whatnot, he made it to the panel room, wearing all the merch. However, when he opened the doors, there was no Charles Slimecicle, only...milk? Indrid did not know how to feel about this, he liked milk, but he also liked Charles Slimecicle's YouTube channel (trademark). He investigated further. No one was in the room, it was completely soaked through with one percent milk. (He could tell because he was a milk savant) Up on stage, the monitor had been knocked over, and the screen had shattered. This was a crime scene. Indrid was in despair. However, there was another clue. Taped to the wall was a note, dripping with milk.

"Gotcha bitch. -Ted Nivison"

Fuck. Ted the milkman was responsible? He took the note and turned it over. On the back were coordinates to a Denny's parking lot in Providence. Feeling conflicted, Indrid decided he'd investigate further.

ONE DRIVE TO DENNY'S LATER

Indrid pulled into the parking lot. It was empty except for a white Nissan Altima. He got out of his car and made his way over. Peering in the passenger's side window he could make out more milk filling the entire car. Strawberry this time. There was ice cream dripping down onto the dashboard, where another note was staring back at him.

"Wow you actually went to the Denny's? -Ted Nivison"

The rest was in Braille for some reason. Which wouldn't even work on paper, so Indrid looked it up. It was directions to the Sundaes in Cranston of all places.

ONE DRIVE TO CRANSTON SUNDAES LATER

Indrid was kind of tired of this weird goose chase bullshit at this point. And he wanted some ice cream. Luckily, that's what sundaes are there for. Unluckily, it's fucking winter. But weirdly enough, one of the server windows was open. He walked up and who else but Charles McSlime was standing behind the window.

"What the fuck, man?" Indrid asked.

"Congratulations!" Slimecicle exclaimed, throwing confetti at Indrid's face. "You've solved our little riddle, novice milkman!"

"...ok? Do I like, get anything?"

"Of course! You get the satisfaction of solving our milk riddles!"

Indrid looked down at his milk stained converses.

"I feel pretty unsatisfied, not gonna lie."

They looked at each other awkwardly. Neither of them were prepared for this level of fucking awkward social interaction.

"Can I at least get some ice cream?"

"Sure, man."

After a few minutes, Indrid's favorite ice cream was handed to him by none other than Charles Slimecicle.

Indrid's eyes widened, it was his favorite Minecraft player of all time! "I- Mr. Slimecicle, it's an honor.". M

Charles groaned, "Shit. Kid, you recognized me? I'm undercover. This is bad." He ducked behind the counter and into the back room. Since it was Dairy Queen, where Indrid worked, he was legally able to follow him into the back room without being sued by the Gods of Dairy. When he entered, he noticed this branch had a lot more computers than his branch. "Dude, what is this?" The man side eyed him, and mumbled something unintelligible. "It's okay, I'm a Dairy Queen employee as well. I'm Indrid, branch 420.". Slimecicle stood up straight, and slowly turned to him. "Okay. Well. If you tell a soul this, the wrath of the Dairy Gods will be insane." Indrid nodded, wondering what glorious Minecraft secrets he was about to learn. "We're trying to uncover the true history of milk. Who first milked a cow? Why? Why was it commercialized? Why are the Great Milk Wars of 1869 being covered up? What were the Great Milk Wars?". Indrid could basically feel his brain melting into a puddle of milk from even heating all these questions. He looked into his hero's eyes, which were deadly serious. "We are the Milk Men, the warriors of the Dairy Gods." Indrid nodded slowly, "then why are you a minecraft player?" Slimecicle stared off, as if deeply in thoughts; "Well, Indrid- there are rumors that the secrets of the Milk Wars are encoded into Minecraft, and well, a guys gotta pay the bills, you know?".

Indrid stared into Slimecicle's eyes.

"Sir. I will give my life to help your cause."

"shit kid alright. you down for some undercover work?"

Indrid's eyes glowed with excitement. This was his chance. His chance to be a milkman. He then quickly devised a plan.

"We invite all of the Milk men to a strip club."

Slimecicle was intrigued. "damn kid then what?" Slimecicle questioned.

"that's all i got but i'll keep working on it."

Strip clubs were Indrid's area of expertise. Stealing government secrets from the cows who wanted to keep human beings oppressed was also one of Indrid's areas of expertise. But combining the two together was when things started to get rocky.

Drawing inspiration from Elle Wood's iconic costume where she calls Vivian a "frigid bitch" Indrid wore a bunny costume with fake boobs.

The boobs, they all assumed, would attract the slumbag cows who were over trying to over take the milk industry. Titties -- the one milk industry they could not control.

"Hey there big boy, want to empty those udders soon?" Indrid asked, walking up to the nearest cow in a business suit. The greedy pigs had milk stains across their collar. He had wasted a valuable commodity. Something people were willing to die for each and every day, just because he had wanted to be a nasty bitch and slorp milk like a whore.

But now, it was Indird's chance to make this cow his whore.

Because while previously, people had been willing to die for milk, tonight, Indrid was willing to kill for milk.

Indrid began his lap dance, draping the pretend udders he had taped to his shirt across the milk stained shoulder of the cow. No

This was not some ordinary scumbag cow however, as many of the sleazebags and fleabags who walked into this rundown strip club.

This was President of Milk Incorporated™. The very man who had enslaved titty owners and miked them as they had once done to his forefathers.

"What's a nice cow like you doing here, Mr. Nivison?" Indrid smiled, running his hands over his fur. "Shouldn't you be somewhere else. Doing big, important things?"

He sighed. "I'm not here for chit chat, honey. Just mooooo-ve those hips." He let out a groan. But that was the last groan of pleasure he would ever make.

From then on, it would only be groans and whimpers of pain. The kind you make when your body is so crushed beneath the rubble of a building, due to an unnamed bomb that happened. The kind that occur whne you are caught in a strip club, you hands down your pants, rubbing your hooves over your udders while admiring the last valuable commodity of women, when a bomb explodes.

They said it was organized crime -- a hit against the neighboring companies who vied for better milk production, better milk profits. But even though Indrid was dead, and Slimesicle long gone, they both knew they had overtake and ended the milk regime of Mr. Nivison. 

A/N: Hope you guys enjoyed and liked it! Remember to leave reviews! And remember the next time you're at a strip club to take udders to your stomach!!!

XOXO BellaLovesNutella