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If you Can’t Go Around It…
Finally, the digging was over. Hank shut down the engine of the drill and marveled at his work. It had taken him a lifetime to make the tunnel from Sarasota, Flordia to Jinx-Chieng, China. Along the way he had discovered deeply buried civilizations, archaeological and paleontology finds never before seen. He found rock formations that nearly destroyed his bit and molten rock that nearly destroyed him.
He no longer knew what sunlight, fresh water or sex was like. He had known nothing but the shroud of carbon-fiber and the sound of chomping diamond tips, now, all he needed was a hot bath, a friendly face and a cup of coffee.
As he closed the door to his rig he realized something, sitting on the front seat were two items of great importance, the keys to the door and his English/Chinese dictionary.
Your Ass Smells Like Ass
“You point it at a group of people and it’ll obliterate everything in its path.” She said disgusted.
“Oh baby, it ain’t that bad, just a bit of gas.” He lifted one cheek off of the perfectly contoured couch cushion and let another one go.
“Beau, you’re fucking disgusting, Jesus Christ, why did I marry you?” Her eyes were watering now. She stood up and opened a window hoping that the smell of the pulp mill across the street would cover the smell of her husbands rotting ass.
“Because you luuuuve me.” He took a big gulp of his beer and let out a belch followed up by another sphincter ripping fart. “And I knocked you up.”
“God, I can’t believe I actually had sex with you.” She shivered.
“And you do it every night too.” He smirked and motioned for her to come over. She smiled back. He was disgusting but he did know how to fill a void. She sat on his lap and let him fondle her saggy tits.
In the heat of the moment another gas attack hit. “Aw for fuck sakes Beau.” She waved her hand, hoping to swat the almost think stech away. “She got off him and pulled out a cigarette. If she was going to fuck him she had to have something close to her nose to alleviate the smell.
She stuck the dart in her mouth and pulled out the lighter. Another ripper, she couldn’t get it lit quick enough, and then…
They couldn’t find the gas leak, actually, they couldn’t even find a gas source. The fire department determined that somehow a cloud of methane gas had settled into the area around the trailer but had all burnt up in the explosion along with Tracy and Beaufort Prast.
“You are a Gringo no?” The fortune teller was passing herself off as Romanian but she was obviously Mexican. This only added to my scepticism of her omnipotence.
“Si.” I responded flippantly.
She turned the first card, an old man carrying a lantern. “The Hermit. I see you have been isolated but will return to civilization.”
True, I was alone now. Hardly voodoo.
She flipped over more.
“Oh, this one is alarming.” It was a man hanging upside down. “You may gain knowledge of the future, only to die suddenly.”
“What a crock,” I said and swiped my money from the table to return to the deray that was the marketplace.
The Ro-Maxican witch stood up. “Beware!” She shouted.
I shouldn’t have ignored the rest of what she said.
Oops, Wrong Hole
Quite suddenly I had wistful cravings for speciality beads up my bottom. This type of thing never happens to me, never happens to anyone I would think, especially not in Angelshine, Texas. Most people here have a stick shoved up their butts, not sex beads (or the dingle of a handsome field hand for that matter).
Darn that man, he filled me where my husband had never gone, not that he went anywhere anymore. I didn’t even know about such things, I didn’t know it could even happen. Now I surf the internet obsessed. “Oh, I can mail order them!”
Oops, Wrong Whole
I had ventured out into the world in an attempt to fulfill my cravings. From the bottom of my Den I had wistful dreams of the sweet orange crunch of the farmers carrots. I awoke to daylight waining through narrow opening to my home. I ventured out carefully. The keeper of the garden, I had heard, liked the taste of rabbits as much as we liked carrots. He was not in sight, I dug my treasure and fled, in my haste I lept into unfamiliar territory. His yellow eyes glowed in the dark, “carrot?” I asked hopefully.
Honourable Mention: Best theft by a non-human
Oops, Wrong Hole
The mail-room was a maze of tubes running from the bottom floor, to the penthouse. Each tube had a number. My speciality; knowing where each number went, but I also had carnal cravings. I looked wistfully around for the ‘easiest’ target.
“So,” I asked, “what happens if I shove this up the wrong hole?” I showed her a phallicly rolled envelope and waved it around.
“Well it sure as hell won’t get stuck in there, but no one’ll ever see it again.” She gave me a cold stare. The beads in her hair slapped my face as she spun away.
The judge entered in lavish blue-velvet robes. “Sit the fuck down,” he said to the courtroom and sat placing his swollen bare feet up on the podium. “What’da think we otta do with this prick for the shit he pulled?” He asked the jury.
A lady stood and handed the pages of the verdict to the magistrate. “Us, the fucking jury, think we gotta fry this cocksucker’s ass.”
The accused ashamedly stared at his feet. “You’re fucked.” The judge said, giving him the final verdict. “Whaddya think shithead?”
He attempted to look in the judges eyes. “First, my sincerest condolences…”
Honourable Mention: Best Potty Mouth
Livin’ The Dream
No one had to tell me the room had changed. I could follow the scent of over perfumed woman down the hall and to the right; the air was thick with perfume, hairspray and desperation. Seriously, speed dating, what the hell was my sister getting me into?
I was quite content living out my life in bachelorhood, it’s living the dream really; I can get laid whenever I (can manage to find somebody willing, which is very rare and they’re often of poor quality and questionable moral standing) want, I can spend my Saturdays puttering around the house in a tattered Pink Floyd T-shirt playing guitar like David Gilmour and singing like Roger Waters (perhaps my neighbours would be happier if I sang like I played guitar, silently). Living single means you never have to leave the lid down, you can let dishes pile up and sniff your laundry to see if it’s clean enough to wear again. Yeap, livin’ the dream, so why was I here again?
Somewhere between room 224A and 224E I got lost and found myself at a nearby pub, my sister Stella will be pissed but my pint of Stella doesn’t seem to care.
Men Will Be Boys
They all knew how silly this was. It was Mark’s idea, he was the asshole of the bunch, always boasting about how he ‘wore the pants.’
“You’re a bunch of uxorious douche-bags.” They were sitting in Kyle’s garage drinking and bitching about their wives.
“I bet you a-holes don’t even know what that means.” Mark said smugly.
“I know what a douche-bag is; I’m looking at one right now.” Peter, Kyle’s next door neighbour, tossed his empty in the trash and eyed down Mark.
“Easy boys,” Kyle said, “I think what Mark said is that we’re all just a little pussy-whipped.”
“A little?” Mark laughed. “I bet Greg’s wearing his wife’s panties right now.
Greg, who had been sitting quietly, stood on his seat and dropped trou.
Everyone laughed except Mark. He was beyond Greg’s humour.
“Let’s raise the stakes a little then boys.” Mark said. “Prove you’re not a bunch of wife-whipped pussies. Let’s have us a little race, let’s see who’s pussy-mobile has the smallest vagina and the biggest balls.”
So here they were in their wives’ mini-vans praying to God that at least one of the wives would look up from her Martini and stop this lunacy.