You pick the skin back up and call upon your new slave.
But before you have time to look for suitable furs for your fursuit, the chieftan, Gutu Pei, waddles in front of you imperiously.
<*BRAAAAAAAAAAAAP*
<Becuz of you ackshuns tooday, no more tourist is gon come to Malealea. And with no tourist, we has no money to buy ‘p.
<We gon die witout ‘p. So you, the most aryanest and strongest of the sons of Malalea, and the most skilledest in the hyperborean magical arts, must leaves the village to find money so that we’s can get more ‘p o algo asi
A tear comes to your eye, at the thought of leaving your homeland and all that you hold dear. But you must follow the will of the Chieftan, and he is right. For the sake of all your brothers and sisters in Malalea, you must go forth.
And so, with your nigger slave in tow, you trek across the unforgiving desert for many days and nights, with only the skinned monkey and a bottle of your own pum (mix of pee and cum) as provisions. Your slave was hesitant to eat these at first, but as the days dragged on he became willing.
You are traveling north, to Liberia, where it is said a great Aryan shaman resides who can help your tribe.
