[The following is excerpted from an unauthorized biographical portrait of Viceroy Clemens published in the Mo'mungo Garung Morning Masticator.]
" . . . and they (his assistants, who were as bumbling as they were jolly) had a penchant for accidentally spilling between five and eight enormous barrels of rancid piss on the viceroy each day as he took his afternoon siesta in a low-hanging hammock on the estate.
It would appear that this was not only due to the unimaginable clumsiness of the assistants, but also connected with their proclivity for stark-nudity, as well as their being at all times totally drenched in coconut oil.
The assistants' nude and oiled state beggars belief, until one understands the techniques the viceroy had employed in trying to deter them from spilling rancid piss on him, or at least to reduce the number of barrels per day down to a merciful four-to-six, which would have been far more tolerable than the prevailing figure.
The assistants would not budge, however. They lamented the fact that their piss transportation route passed directly over the hammock of their slumbering master, whom they admired greatly, yet they simply couldn't imagine any other possibility. 'The piss must flow,' they would insist, even as their greasy feet became tangled, and yet another barrel was overturned onto the somnolent viceroy.
Eventually, the viceroy realized he would need to adopt a carrot-and-stick approach in dealing with his young wards, as by this time he had become exceedingly frustrated at his inability to discover both the source of such great quantities of piss, and their destination, not to mention the constant bathing all this piss-hauling necessitated.
And so when another heinous spill transpired the very next afternoon, the viceroy tried to administer a savage spanking on the buttocks of his sly squires. This he was loathe to do under ordinary circumstances, but the boys had driven him to near-madness, and so it was with tears in his eyes that he strode towards them as they hollered and blamed one another for the incident.
Such an eventuality, though, the assistants had anticipated, for they had been keeping a close watch on their master's mounting ire, and had just recently taken to oiling their nude bodies the previous week when tensions had reached a precarious DEFCON-4.
Thanks to these measures, the viceroy found them almost impossible to catch, as in their greased state they were capable of penetrating almost any orifice, and would quickly bolt down any of the property's innumerable gopher holes. And even if he managed to clasp his arms around one or the other of them, the lad would soon slip his grip, and go back-flipping and cartwheeling across the estate.
Finally, if the viceroy did somehow manage to pin one of them down, it would backfire horrifically on him, for the assistants' butt cheeks were so well-lubricated that his punitive palms would go glancing off their glutes and strike his own rear, inflicting grievous injury. The viceroy's posterial wounds necessitated that he spend a great deal of time recuperating in bed, which made matters much worse for him, since overnight the assistants' piss supply line shifted to pass through the entire manor, directly over the viceroy's bed, and out the window, a route which was entire novel to the boys' clumsy feet, and so caused a great deal more spills.
At last, the viceroy took to firing on them with a high-powered slingshot, but even this availed nothing, for the lads were almost preternaturally nimble, in spite of their infinite clumsiness, and would casually dodge the missiles with an offhanded pirouette or triple-backflip.
After the failure of the 'sticks', the viceroy decided to employ some 'carrots' to condition the boys, and so he resolved to reward them with their favorite meal - roadkill - any time the frequency of piss-related accidents declined even slightly.
But no sooner had the viceroy made this resolution than the number of spills began to increase, gradually at first, but soon exponentially, as whatever business the assistants were engaging in apparently ascended to stratospheric heights, necessitating vastly greater volumes of rancid piss, and so he had no opportunity to praise them, instead finding himself bathing virtually without pause in response to this great delude, though even this soon backfired when the assistants' piss pathway shifted again, this time passing through the bathroom, and actually through the shower itself.
These days, the viceroy is a shadow of his former self, plagued as he is at all times by the grim necessities of his assistants' supply lines. He dare not sleep, for no sooner do his eyes shut then he is blasted by torrents of hot piss, which for unfathomable reasons the assistants have taken to pumping through some sort of high-pressure hose.
Most disturbing of all to him is the fact that the piss is unmistakably his own, this in spite of his every effort to safeguard these fluids from the cunning wiles of the assistants, and their insatiable mercantile ambitions."