This tongue licks your eye
Then I put it in your ear
You hear me slurp brain
I will cleave my way
To discover rare butt bug
That's right, crunch that thing
I wish for a dog
But I wished backward, so god
Just gave me himself
It is time to go
But the moon is freaking far
Don't forget your snacks!
We fall down the stairs
Sky, floor, banister, all one
Give us shattered bones
Eyes like hot, blue balls
Just get a fucking parrot
Or you’ll soon be dead
I wish I had not killed the Yeti,
By feeding him poison spaghetti
He’s loud when he falls,
Those evil meat balls,
And moving him makes me so sweaty.
A ninja can fight and can kick
Sometimes he uses a stick
His honor unfailing,
His opponents sailing,
But he never uses his dick
Let’s tickle like the jolliest of men.
Perhaps you are more than a friend.
If the soap were to drop
Yum, yum! Lollipop!
Our lithe bodies bond when you bend.
Saturday, October 20, 2007
Thursday, October 11, 2007
They can't all be winners...but can any?
Up in mountains, north of Kazakstan, there lay a peculiar little town. Nestled in a hot mountain oasis between peaks, a strange people with blue skin walked the paths of their little city. They were afflicted with a rare form of skin cancer, which led to the blue hue of their skin. It was up in those mountains where the Kazakh people had sent them to die, but they had formed their own community. There, they lived, and using the land, survived for many generations. They spent their time very secluded, never coming into contact with the outside at all, until one fateful day in the early fall.
A stranger wandered from the nearby town of Brittley way up into the mountains, over the first peak and into the little village. The boy was called Nasib, and he had wandered far looking for his long lost sister.
Sadly, no one in the village had seen a girl with pink cheeks who could have been Nasib’s sister, and the little boy started to leave.
“Don’t let him go,” shouted a voice, “for his pure blood has the power to cure us all.”
Nasib started to run, and was quickly pursued by two large men. He made it all the way to the top of the hill before they managed to catch up with him. They tackled Nasib and brought him to their village leader. The leader of the village was a wrinkly, blue, scrotum-faced man who glared at Nasib as if he was horrible criminal.
“Tie him down,” yelled the leader through his floppy blue cheeks as he approached Nasib. He licked his lips as he engulfed the little boy’s face with his mouth. “Now I can cure the village,” he said as he swallowed. “We will never die from sickness again!”
Nasib’s face landed with a “sploosh!” in the village elder’s stomach. It smelled like sour, rotten swill. Then he dissolved, and the leader was cured.
Unfortunately, no one else in the village was cured, for they where out of Nasib. For they had misunderstood the lore of old, and the leader was outcast from the village for misleading them.
Back in Nasib’s village, though, the people began to worry about the boy and his sister. That is, until the faceless Nasib wandered back into the town. At first, nobody could tell who the strange, faceless man was supposed to be, or what he wanted.
When the figure knocked open the door of Nasib’s home, then hugged his mother, its identity became apparent. The poor women was horrified at the fate of her child, but knew she could never abandon him. She turned to his father and said, “How could someone do this? He’s only a child”
He turned to her, “Something must be done.”
That night, Mr. Nasib senior assembled an angry mob that he inspired to anger with his embittered slander of the blue-faces.
Meanwhile, all was not quiet in the blue-face town, which by the way is named Jarman. Nasib’s sister, as it turned out, had wandered near their village, and Nasib’s sister was a murderous baby monster-woman. Within moments of coming upon the village, she had killed nearly half of the already-close-to-death blue folks. The other half of the village quickly rallied, and tied down Nasib’s sister. They survived, but now only half the village remained, and an angry mob from the next town was on its way. The blue-faces quickly grabbed all the weapons they could. They formed their own army and marched out to meet the normal people.
Because the blues were terminally ill, they were easily trampled and slaughtered by those from Nasib’s village. Thus, blue skin cancer was cured for all time.
Nasib grew up and became an expert mask-maker, and had the greatest range of expressions of any mask-maker. He became known far and wide, and became very rich.
Nobody remembered about Nasib’s sister, her parents didn't care about her so she remained trapped in the blue cancer village. She died of blue skin cancer and the sun bleached her bones.
A stranger wandered from the nearby town of Brittley way up into the mountains, over the first peak and into the little village. The boy was called Nasib, and he had wandered far looking for his long lost sister.
Sadly, no one in the village had seen a girl with pink cheeks who could have been Nasib’s sister, and the little boy started to leave.
“Don’t let him go,” shouted a voice, “for his pure blood has the power to cure us all.”
Nasib started to run, and was quickly pursued by two large men. He made it all the way to the top of the hill before they managed to catch up with him. They tackled Nasib and brought him to their village leader. The leader of the village was a wrinkly, blue, scrotum-faced man who glared at Nasib as if he was horrible criminal.
“Tie him down,” yelled the leader through his floppy blue cheeks as he approached Nasib. He licked his lips as he engulfed the little boy’s face with his mouth. “Now I can cure the village,” he said as he swallowed. “We will never die from sickness again!”
Nasib’s face landed with a “sploosh!” in the village elder’s stomach. It smelled like sour, rotten swill. Then he dissolved, and the leader was cured.
Unfortunately, no one else in the village was cured, for they where out of Nasib. For they had misunderstood the lore of old, and the leader was outcast from the village for misleading them.
Back in Nasib’s village, though, the people began to worry about the boy and his sister. That is, until the faceless Nasib wandered back into the town. At first, nobody could tell who the strange, faceless man was supposed to be, or what he wanted.
When the figure knocked open the door of Nasib’s home, then hugged his mother, its identity became apparent. The poor women was horrified at the fate of her child, but knew she could never abandon him. She turned to his father and said, “How could someone do this? He’s only a child”
He turned to her, “Something must be done.”
That night, Mr. Nasib senior assembled an angry mob that he inspired to anger with his embittered slander of the blue-faces.
Meanwhile, all was not quiet in the blue-face town, which by the way is named Jarman. Nasib’s sister, as it turned out, had wandered near their village, and Nasib’s sister was a murderous baby monster-woman. Within moments of coming upon the village, she had killed nearly half of the already-close-to-death blue folks. The other half of the village quickly rallied, and tied down Nasib’s sister. They survived, but now only half the village remained, and an angry mob from the next town was on its way. The blue-faces quickly grabbed all the weapons they could. They formed their own army and marched out to meet the normal people.
Because the blues were terminally ill, they were easily trampled and slaughtered by those from Nasib’s village. Thus, blue skin cancer was cured for all time.
Nasib grew up and became an expert mask-maker, and had the greatest range of expressions of any mask-maker. He became known far and wide, and became very rich.
Nobody remembered about Nasib’s sister, her parents didn't care about her so she remained trapped in the blue cancer village. She died of blue skin cancer and the sun bleached her bones.
Monday, October 8, 2007
I was gonna go to school... but then...
Garth sniffed his pits one at a time, and his suspicions were confirmed. It was him. He turned to Jimmy with a grin.
“I think I’m ready.”
“Good,” chuckled Jimmy, as Garth approached Principal Larson’s front door. Garth’s sweaty hand trembled, as it approached the doorbell. Everyone had had enough from the principal’s sludgy, retard of a daughter, and it was the day before Halloween. The perfect night for mischief.
It was the Principal’s wife that answered the door, and Garth could hear the daughter’s unseasonably upbeat cries of “Jingle Bells.” He was smelly, and he was going to jump in that slow girl’s mouth. He was pretty sure that he would also taste terrible, making the experience all the more unpleasant for the disgusting girl.
“Please help,” Garth said to the principal’s wife, “I reeeeeeally need to soap up my pits.” Before he could possibly get an answer from the woman, Garth ran past her into the bathroom. From inside the elegant levorotatory, he lathered up with the Larson’s Vaseline in preparation to be swallowed. Once he succeeded in opening the door with his greasy hand, he burst out of the bathroom like a crazed ninja strapped to a rocket.
“AIEEEEE!” he screamed as he made a beeline for the horrible little girl. Then, only darkness. He felt himself slithering down her academically challenged esophagus, a pathetic little tube he would have to get through if he ever hoped to get to the stomach and burst out of it. He could hear muffled sounds of ensuing panic outside of the warm, slippery throat tube. Luckily, Jimmy and his friends would be keeping the principal and his wife from interfering.
He paused for a moment more, waiting for his cue, but the last thing he heard was the sound of his own flesh sizzling. The principal’s daughter wasn’t a very fast thinker, but she had a very high metabolism. Ignoring his own searing pain, he gritted his teeth and worked further towards his goal. When he had finally situated himself square in the stomach’s center, he summoned all his strength, and with a mighty, “Squalushhhh!” he burst from the girl in a frightening shower of sludgy blood and parts.
He let out a proud hurrah and thrust his fist triumphantly in the air, but cut his cries short when he looked around the Larson’s room. No one was there anymore.
The scene in front of him fizzled with static as Jimmy lifted the dream device from his head.
“Dude, that was a weird fantasy!” Jimmy said, amused. He yelped as he looked upon the scene before him. As it turned out, the past five seconds had been a shock-induced hallucination, and he was still in the Larson’s empty room with retard flesh all over him. But still, no-one was there. Garth searched the now putrid smelling room, slipping all over the bile and sludge thick carpet. All he found inside were innards. He headed outside, and almost fainted at what he saw. His friends, as well as the principal, his wife, and the man next door watering his lawn were all dead. All signs of life were wilted, trees striped bare of bark, flowers, brown and crispy.
And next to them, a 98 foot tall dragon stood. And next to that dragon, were about a thousand other giant dragons, ravaging the once proud world before them. Apparently, he had escaped the initial blast of hellfire while nestled inside the comfortable half-wit. It was all Garth could do to not defecate all over himself as he stood there, gaping at the huge monster. Then he did defecate himself, and by the feel of it, Garth didn’t think he had long to live.
Garth’s feeling was only reinforced when the closest dragon, the one he had first noticed, bit off his legs. Garth lay there, blood spurting forth from his jagged stump, and contemplated the deeds of his life. Though he was only 14, he had already lived a life full of debauchery, drugs and poor choices. The last thing Garth uttered was an apology to the principal’s daughter. “I’ve always loved you,” he squealed to her remains, “and I just wanted to be inside of you.”
“I think I’m ready.”
“Good,” chuckled Jimmy, as Garth approached Principal Larson’s front door. Garth’s sweaty hand trembled, as it approached the doorbell. Everyone had had enough from the principal’s sludgy, retard of a daughter, and it was the day before Halloween. The perfect night for mischief.
It was the Principal’s wife that answered the door, and Garth could hear the daughter’s unseasonably upbeat cries of “Jingle Bells.” He was smelly, and he was going to jump in that slow girl’s mouth. He was pretty sure that he would also taste terrible, making the experience all the more unpleasant for the disgusting girl.
“Please help,” Garth said to the principal’s wife, “I reeeeeeally need to soap up my pits.” Before he could possibly get an answer from the woman, Garth ran past her into the bathroom. From inside the elegant levorotatory, he lathered up with the Larson’s Vaseline in preparation to be swallowed. Once he succeeded in opening the door with his greasy hand, he burst out of the bathroom like a crazed ninja strapped to a rocket.
“AIEEEEE!” he screamed as he made a beeline for the horrible little girl. Then, only darkness. He felt himself slithering down her academically challenged esophagus, a pathetic little tube he would have to get through if he ever hoped to get to the stomach and burst out of it. He could hear muffled sounds of ensuing panic outside of the warm, slippery throat tube. Luckily, Jimmy and his friends would be keeping the principal and his wife from interfering.
He paused for a moment more, waiting for his cue, but the last thing he heard was the sound of his own flesh sizzling. The principal’s daughter wasn’t a very fast thinker, but she had a very high metabolism. Ignoring his own searing pain, he gritted his teeth and worked further towards his goal. When he had finally situated himself square in the stomach’s center, he summoned all his strength, and with a mighty, “Squalushhhh!” he burst from the girl in a frightening shower of sludgy blood and parts.
He let out a proud hurrah and thrust his fist triumphantly in the air, but cut his cries short when he looked around the Larson’s room. No one was there anymore.
The scene in front of him fizzled with static as Jimmy lifted the dream device from his head.
“Dude, that was a weird fantasy!” Jimmy said, amused. He yelped as he looked upon the scene before him. As it turned out, the past five seconds had been a shock-induced hallucination, and he was still in the Larson’s empty room with retard flesh all over him. But still, no-one was there. Garth searched the now putrid smelling room, slipping all over the bile and sludge thick carpet. All he found inside were innards. He headed outside, and almost fainted at what he saw. His friends, as well as the principal, his wife, and the man next door watering his lawn were all dead. All signs of life were wilted, trees striped bare of bark, flowers, brown and crispy.
And next to them, a 98 foot tall dragon stood. And next to that dragon, were about a thousand other giant dragons, ravaging the once proud world before them. Apparently, he had escaped the initial blast of hellfire while nestled inside the comfortable half-wit. It was all Garth could do to not defecate all over himself as he stood there, gaping at the huge monster. Then he did defecate himself, and by the feel of it, Garth didn’t think he had long to live.
Garth’s feeling was only reinforced when the closest dragon, the one he had first noticed, bit off his legs. Garth lay there, blood spurting forth from his jagged stump, and contemplated the deeds of his life. Though he was only 14, he had already lived a life full of debauchery, drugs and poor choices. The last thing Garth uttered was an apology to the principal’s daughter. “I’ve always loved you,” he squealed to her remains, “and I just wanted to be inside of you.”
Saturday, September 29, 2007
Reeking of ADD/Impatience
That was the last time I ever saw her. I’m not sure I completely understand what happened. My poor pet gerbil, Thumbalina. One day she was starving upstairs due to my neglect, the next day, she was off to eternal summer camp.
Sunday, September 23, 2007
Prevailing patience musters moderate seriousness
Last week I bought a pair of jeans, and in the pockets there were a set of car keys. I tried to find out who the keys belonged to, but when I went back to the store, it was simply gone. Vanished into thin air, as if the street had just swallowed it up! I snooped around the area a bit more.
What I saw in front of me didn't make sense to my mind. My eyes could see what I would assume was there, but my mind didn’t understand what it was. It was like a door or entrance, made of pure light with no borders surrounding it and the outside. I forgot where I even was, and honestly, I still don’t remember what happened between the time I started snooping around, and the moment I first laid my eyes upon that indescribable door-like entity. In fact, I don’t remember anything at all about that area. When I opened the door I was in another place.
As I passed through the door, it closed behind me, and I found myself in what appeared to be a completely blank space. I felt warm and comfortable, but very confused, and I cried out for help.
I cried, but there was no sound. I looked back, and my entry, and therefore my exit, was gone…
So that brings you to where I am now. I am nowhere. Every once in a while, the world reappears, and I am standing in the middle of a clothing store. There are people around me, happily shopping, and I always try to yell, cry out for help, but they don’t hear me, and the world fades away, back to the pure white light, back to the warmth and comfort. Back to the purgatorial void that I have been forced to know and love as my home. And now you are here with me.
What I saw in front of me didn't make sense to my mind. My eyes could see what I would assume was there, but my mind didn’t understand what it was. It was like a door or entrance, made of pure light with no borders surrounding it and the outside. I forgot where I even was, and honestly, I still don’t remember what happened between the time I started snooping around, and the moment I first laid my eyes upon that indescribable door-like entity. In fact, I don’t remember anything at all about that area. When I opened the door I was in another place.
As I passed through the door, it closed behind me, and I found myself in what appeared to be a completely blank space. I felt warm and comfortable, but very confused, and I cried out for help.
I cried, but there was no sound. I looked back, and my entry, and therefore my exit, was gone…
So that brings you to where I am now. I am nowhere. Every once in a while, the world reappears, and I am standing in the middle of a clothing store. There are people around me, happily shopping, and I always try to yell, cry out for help, but they don’t hear me, and the world fades away, back to the pure white light, back to the warmth and comfort. Back to the purgatorial void that I have been forced to know and love as my home. And now you are here with me.
Thursday, September 20, 2007
The first story that isn't that gay
The phone on Rupert’s nightstand rang obnoxiously, as he was startled out of the tail end of a dream that began with him in a spacesuit. “Aw, fuck, who’s calling me this early in the fucking morning?” he swore as he reached to silence the awful noise.
“Hey, Rupert,” shuddered the voice over the phone. Right away, Rupert knew it was his stupid friend Bill, and that he was in a world of trouble.
“Hey man why the fuck are you calling me at 2 in the morning?” replied an annoyed Rupert.
“Well, I was on the internet,” quavered Bill’s nasally voice, “and I can’t decide which color microwave defines me best.”
“Are you fucking shitting me, man? I got work at fucking 10:00 tomorrow, I’ve got to get up at 7:00 to get into the city, and you’re calling me about fucking microwaves?” replied Rupert angrily as he slammed the phone down. “Who was that, baby?” sighed a sexy voice behind Rupert.
“Don’t worry, Holly,” Rupert replied to the imaginary elf princess looking over at him on the other side of their bed. “Bill is just making an important life decision.”
“Well, keep it down hon, I’m trying to watch Resident Evil over here on my ipod nano” scolded the imaginary elf princess, flicking back her radiant pink hair. Rupert, enraged beyond reason, pulled out a sweet imaginary knife and plunged it into the imaginary bosom of the princess.
All of a sudden, the phone rang again. Rupert gave the phone one angry tug, and the telephone cable shot out of the wall.
“Dammit, Bill, I don’t care about your microwave!” screamed Rupert to Bill, who was sitting at his computer on the other side of the room, holding his cell phone to his ears. “Why the fuck do you keep calling me from there?” The room was tiny and dark except the pinprick light of Bill’s cell phone. It was a wonder the two could even breathe, with the deep ocean of clothes and filth covering the floor like a river.
“Buuut, I need help picking out a microwave,” Bill whined. Rupert picked up the nearest object he could find and chucked it at Bill, but it fell far short of coming anywhere near Bill or his cell phone.
“Aw, Fuck, let me try again,” muttered Rupert. Almost immediately, Bill got up from his chair, picked up the book Rupert had feebly thrown, and obediently placed it in Rupert’s hands.
Rupert again threw the book and this time hit Bill in the nuts. Bill took a moment to vomit and catch his breath. After a moment, he once again placed the book in Rupert’s hands and began to get ready for bed.
Rupert threw the book one last time, hitting Bill squarely and forcefully in the back of his head with an audible, “klunk!” This time, Bill didn’t get up…
Bill was dead.
“Hey, Rupert,” shuddered the voice over the phone. Right away, Rupert knew it was his stupid friend Bill, and that he was in a world of trouble.
“Hey man why the fuck are you calling me at 2 in the morning?” replied an annoyed Rupert.
“Well, I was on the internet,” quavered Bill’s nasally voice, “and I can’t decide which color microwave defines me best.”
“Are you fucking shitting me, man? I got work at fucking 10:00 tomorrow, I’ve got to get up at 7:00 to get into the city, and you’re calling me about fucking microwaves?” replied Rupert angrily as he slammed the phone down. “Who was that, baby?” sighed a sexy voice behind Rupert.
“Don’t worry, Holly,” Rupert replied to the imaginary elf princess looking over at him on the other side of their bed. “Bill is just making an important life decision.”
“Well, keep it down hon, I’m trying to watch Resident Evil over here on my ipod nano” scolded the imaginary elf princess, flicking back her radiant pink hair. Rupert, enraged beyond reason, pulled out a sweet imaginary knife and plunged it into the imaginary bosom of the princess.
All of a sudden, the phone rang again. Rupert gave the phone one angry tug, and the telephone cable shot out of the wall.
“Dammit, Bill, I don’t care about your microwave!” screamed Rupert to Bill, who was sitting at his computer on the other side of the room, holding his cell phone to his ears. “Why the fuck do you keep calling me from there?” The room was tiny and dark except the pinprick light of Bill’s cell phone. It was a wonder the two could even breathe, with the deep ocean of clothes and filth covering the floor like a river.
“Buuut, I need help picking out a microwave,” Bill whined. Rupert picked up the nearest object he could find and chucked it at Bill, but it fell far short of coming anywhere near Bill or his cell phone.
“Aw, Fuck, let me try again,” muttered Rupert. Almost immediately, Bill got up from his chair, picked up the book Rupert had feebly thrown, and obediently placed it in Rupert’s hands.
Rupert again threw the book and this time hit Bill in the nuts. Bill took a moment to vomit and catch his breath. After a moment, he once again placed the book in Rupert’s hands and began to get ready for bed.
Rupert threw the book one last time, hitting Bill squarely and forcefully in the back of his head with an audible, “klunk!” This time, Bill didn’t get up…
Bill was dead.
Tuesday, September 18, 2007
Initial Violation: Hopefully Not a Sign of Things to Come
Once upon a time, there was a pumpkinhead named Davis who lived in a henhouse with his pet fish, Jennifer. Every few weeks, Davis would leave the henhouse, sneak into the local CVS, and steal fish food for Jennifer. Ever since Davis bought Jennifer from the Gypsy who lived next door, she had refused to eat anything but CVS brand lipstick. One day, Davis decided to bring Jennifer to school to show all the chicks. Davis thought he would get some mad poon, but it turns out the fishes are lame pets and all of the babes liked Chad McAlister’s turtle. It also helped that Chad was dreamy, whilst Davis had a hideous orange face with a creepy, carved out smile. Davis never got any love from the ladies, but that was okay because Davis only had a leafy crotch where every other boy in the world has his wedding tackle. Only Davis’ best friend, Patrick, knew about Davis’ flowerless garden of love, but nobody else could know, or Davis would melt from humiliation and cease to exist. One day, while Davis was getting lipstick for Jennifer, Chad pulled down his pants to reveal his shriveled lack of a ding-dong. He only briefly heard Patrick’s cries of “I’m sorry! I’m sorry, Davis!” before vanishing into another plane of existence.
The end
Second attempt:
It was a crisp, cool autumn day when the Benson’s came into town on their huge, white oxcart. The big iron wheels of their cart rumbled down the cobble-stoned main street all the way to the big iron gates of the old, run down manner-house.
“Well, here we are,” sighed Mr. Benson, as his slowly climbed down from the side of the oxcart,
“It sure is big!” exclaimed Bobby, as he attempted to jump down.
“Not as big as daddy’s wing-dang-doodle!” exclaimed Mrs. Benson.
Just then, the door of the house opened to reveal a tall, dark-skinned man. John, Sue, and myself were, of course, the little scamps we used to be, spying on the whole event from our tree-house. Our jaws dropped as we recognized the dark figure that came out of that creepy place.
“Hey, I know that guy. Didn’t he used to live on the other side of town?” I asked.
“No, he didn’t,” Sue said in between sucking on John’s balls.
Just then, a pumpkinhead with no pants on popped into existence.
“What the fucking hellchrist?!” exclaimed Sue as she bit down on John’s balls.
John screamed like nails on a chalkboard as he grabbed at his bleeding crotch. It was at these blasphemous screams that Mr. Benson turned around and spotted us in the tree-house. “Kill them, new slave man,” he said as he pointed at us. The dark figure turned, and began lumbering towards us.
“Yes, master,” said the figure in a deep monotone.
“Ohmygod, ohmygod, ohmygod… I d-didn’t mean to… ohmygod…” stammered Sue.
“I don’t know who or what you are you… pumpkin… head… creature…” I yelled at the strange pantless pumpkinhead, “but we have to get the hell out of here!”
So no-nuts John, blood-mouth Sue, and pumpkin-head pumpkin head all sprinted behind me as the black man leapt towards us like a panther stalking his female love kitty. It didn’t look like we stood a chance, but things turned around when the black man got shot in his black face.
“Sometimes them niggers gets out of line, and you gotta show ‘em who’s boss,” mumbled the old man as he fired his shotgun. I watched in horror as the man fell on his back and promptly died, while the old man peered through the smoke rising from the end of his used shotgun. “Was that the Johnson’s odd son from America?” asked the toothless old man. “Yep, always knew he was a killbot” exclaimed the toothless old man, his wrinkly face contorting into a gleeful, self satisfied smirk.
Then we circled jerked onto Susan’s face (accept for John, who no longer had testicles). It was great.
The end
Second attempt:
It was a crisp, cool autumn day when the Benson’s came into town on their huge, white oxcart. The big iron wheels of their cart rumbled down the cobble-stoned main street all the way to the big iron gates of the old, run down manner-house.
“Well, here we are,” sighed Mr. Benson, as his slowly climbed down from the side of the oxcart,
“It sure is big!” exclaimed Bobby, as he attempted to jump down.
“Not as big as daddy’s wing-dang-doodle!” exclaimed Mrs. Benson.
Just then, the door of the house opened to reveal a tall, dark-skinned man. John, Sue, and myself were, of course, the little scamps we used to be, spying on the whole event from our tree-house. Our jaws dropped as we recognized the dark figure that came out of that creepy place.
“Hey, I know that guy. Didn’t he used to live on the other side of town?” I asked.
“No, he didn’t,” Sue said in between sucking on John’s balls.
Just then, a pumpkinhead with no pants on popped into existence.
“What the fucking hellchrist?!” exclaimed Sue as she bit down on John’s balls.
John screamed like nails on a chalkboard as he grabbed at his bleeding crotch. It was at these blasphemous screams that Mr. Benson turned around and spotted us in the tree-house. “Kill them, new slave man,” he said as he pointed at us. The dark figure turned, and began lumbering towards us.
“Yes, master,” said the figure in a deep monotone.
“Ohmygod, ohmygod, ohmygod… I d-didn’t mean to… ohmygod…” stammered Sue.
“I don’t know who or what you are you… pumpkin… head… creature…” I yelled at the strange pantless pumpkinhead, “but we have to get the hell out of here!”
So no-nuts John, blood-mouth Sue, and pumpkin-head pumpkin head all sprinted behind me as the black man leapt towards us like a panther stalking his female love kitty. It didn’t look like we stood a chance, but things turned around when the black man got shot in his black face.
“Sometimes them niggers gets out of line, and you gotta show ‘em who’s boss,” mumbled the old man as he fired his shotgun. I watched in horror as the man fell on his back and promptly died, while the old man peered through the smoke rising from the end of his used shotgun. “Was that the Johnson’s odd son from America?” asked the toothless old man. “Yep, always knew he was a killbot” exclaimed the toothless old man, his wrinkly face contorting into a gleeful, self satisfied smirk.
Then we circled jerked onto Susan’s face (accept for John, who no longer had testicles). It was great.
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