Ted and Ganondorf's Tubular Dark Magic Ritual
Ted Theodore Logan ran his fingers through his killer rad hair-do in his cavernous basement at 12AM exactly, nervous sweat dripping down his brow and into his magic crystal bottle. “This is the last time,” the tubular dude muttered darkly to himself. “The last time.”
Ted Theodore grabbed his ornamental dagger from his ancient dragonskin sheathe and pricked the fleshy skin of his thumb. “Ow.” He emoted as a single scarlet boulder rolled down the mountainside of his fingerprint and into the catalyst for his dark ritual.
He gingerly laid the mystic artifact into the pentagram he’d painted in raspberry jam, and began chanting the name of the man he and Darth Vader had stopped five years ago, the man who’d once threatened the world, and the man whose soul he’d stripped and trapped in a moment of desperation.
“I summon thee!” He shouted. “Ganondorf!”
Purple smoke hissed from the bottle, and Ted Theodore Logan once again briefly wondered if someone would think he got high twice this evening as some escaped from the open window. But there was no more time for such mellow thoughts as the King of Evil appeared right there in his basement, almost 30% as corporeal as when he’d died. It was a new record.
“Ted Theodore Logan,” the Gerudo said darkly, causing Ted Theodore Logan to back up against the macaroni replica of the Mona Lisa that Vader had given him on their last mandate. “You simply cannot resist the lure of the future, can you?”
“Just like you can’t resist the lure of not being dead, zombro,” Ted Theodore Logan snarked.
“Whatever. Just get on with it, then. You may ask one question per drop of righteous red water.”
“Dude, I totally knew that already.”
Ganondorf pinched the bridge of his nose. “I’m magic, I have to say that every time. Quit stalling and ask your question.”
Ted Theodore Logan swallowed hard and finally got on with it. “Who is the Iblis Trigger?”
Ganondorf smiled a dark, evil, mean spirited smile. “The one who hits your girlfriend.”