[i]Gonad jogged into view, all hot and sweaty. He slid to a stop at the food, looking over the meager fare with a merry eye before selecting a pot of wine. The large man chugged it down with relish, and then filled the empty pot up with the rest of the food. First dibs and all. He did leave a consolation prize though, as it was customary in his village to honor food givers by bequeathing unto them the honorable remnants of meals past. Before leaving the stone table to go do some stretches, he'd have climbed upon it and dropped his tassets, squatting. His rippling thigh muscles tensed...

Thick ropes of firm doodoo snaked from his arse, coiling into a steaming, bespeckled hillock. The pile grew higher and higher, truly a gratuitous offering. Gonad's face grew red, a single purple vein bulging from his forehead as he strained. A fat, egg shaped wallet of dung dropped upon the poo mound like a greased cherry atop a warm chocolate sunday. One by one, several smaller, more compact turdlets fell from the heaving hindquarters of the warrior, tumbling down the grand slopes of shit mountain. 

The barbarian knew now that the hardest part had yet to come. He gritted his teeth, tendons in his neck throbbing. A sputtering fusillade of shart shrapnel blasted from his buttocks, the poopy potshots dousing the table and ground like paint cast from a wet brush. The barbarian's teeth chattered now, lips pulled back in a grimace of effort as a single, massive log emerged in slow motion to the ode of Also Sprach Zarathustra. 
This elongated monkey-missile descended from on high, crushing into the corn populated caca castle, heralded by a resounding fanfare played from a lone but thunderous tushie trumpet. 

His business finished, Gonad hiked up his drawers and hopped off the table to go warm up for the battles to come.[/i]