She was whipping her hair back and forth when she pulled her middle
finger free and snapped off the rubber glove. “Well, Mr. Johnson,” she said,
“your prostitute is healthy but I’m afraid you can’t take her home with you.”

“Why not?” asked Mr. Johnson, “I paid good money for her, and besides,
she promised me a good time! She’s healthy, so what’s the problem?”

“She’s endangered.”

“Endangered?!” Mr. Johnson shifted his gaze from Dr. Mantoy to his paid
escort. “You mean she’s being hunted by The Mob?” He wanted very badly to get
her to Mexico, the sooner the better. He hadn’t slept in days and he really
needed to pee.

“No, Mr. Johnson, what I mean is she is wearing a leopard-skin bustier
and ivory-heeled boots. You can’t take her across the border dressed like
that.” Dr. Mantoy’s lab coat fell to the floor. “You’ll have to take those off
before she can be moved.” She put a thermometer in her own mouth and fazed at
her watch.

“Are you a real doctor?”

She began unbuttoning her blouse. “I wanted to be a police officer but
the flashing lights give me seizures.”

The escort spoke for the first time. “Where the hell is my fuming
rotter?”

“Your what?!” Mr. Johnson asked.

“My fuming rotter. You know, that prosthetic zombie thing that when
positioned correctly looks like the living dead coming out of the ground?”

Mr. Johnson gave her a blank stare.

She continued, “You flip the switch and dry ice hisses from its mouth??”

Dr. Mantoy interrupted by pointing to the backseat of the VW Bug the
three of them were sitting in. “Is that it?”

The escort turned her head around and exclaimed, “The fuming rotter! Does
it still work?”

“It looks broken,” Dr. Mantoy replied.

The escort faced forward, staring directly into Dr. Mantoy’s face. “Why
are you sitting on top of me?”

The question could not be answered, however, because a border patrol
officer approached the car and proceeded to speak to the trio using only nouns
that started with the letter ‘F.’

“Falstaff,” he said, imperiously. “Fitzwilliam!” He stepped in front of
the setting sun, his bulky shadow enveloping the tiny car. He peered at Mr.
Johnson through narrow-rimmed lenses. “Fishfeathers.”

Out of the corner of his eye, Mr. Johnson saw a woman’s ass, sheathed in
black satin, wriggling under a fence coiled in razor wire, dragging something
heavy and smoking.

“Fortuitous,” said the officer, drowning his lips in a frothy mug of
beer. He blinked, burped, farted and passed out on the hood of the VW, his
glass smashing against the windshield causing beer to spray all over the car.

“Now is your chance!” said Dr. Mantoy, kicking open the passenger door
and tumbling off of the escort, now completely undressed. “Hurry!”

Mr. Johnson and candy ass followed, scrambling together and looking
behind them. They almost reached the border when they fell to the ground in a
blitz of shocked bewilderment.

“Aye!” a woman cried. It was the satin-clad vixen Mr. Johnson had seen
earlier. The two had tripped over her in their haste, knocking the cigarette
from her mouth.

“Sorry,” Mr. Johnson started, “we didn’t see you there-“ He stopped in
utter disbelief, for as she looked up at him from the ground, Johnson couldn’t
help but notice how this woman, draped in sexy satin clothes and writhing on
the ground under the naked escort was the identical twin of Dr. Mantoy!

Before any of them could speak, she whipped out a pistol and a pitcher of
daiquiris. Exhausted, Mr. Johnson accepted a drink and sank to the desert
floor.

Reunited with her long-lost twin, Dr. Mantoy excitedly showed off her
stethoscope.

“This is a stethoscope,” she said. “You can listen to a man’s heart!”

“This is a snub-nosed .38,” came the reply. “This son-of-a-bitch will
blow a hole in a man’s heart a mile wide.”

Johnson leaned back against a cactus. The spines were like acupuncture
needles that hit every nerve in his back. He was suddenly more relaxed than he
could ever remember being. He watched Dr. Mantoy pretending her stethoscope was
a gun and pointing it at her twin. He watched the twin pretend her .38 was a
stethoscope and tried to listen to Dr. Mantoy’s heart with it. Then he noticed
a trickle of fluid moving slowly away from him in the sand and realized he had
urinated.

“That’s curious,” he thought, detachedly. He followed the little stream
with his eyes until it came to a steel drainage grate and began dripping down
into the darkness.

“Hey!” came a voice from below.

Johnson crawled over and peered down into the shadows. “Hello?”

“Who the hell peed?”

Mr. Johnson did a quick glance from side to side, making sure no one was
listening. “It was Dr. Mantoy,” he whispered.

“Dammit!”

Johnson leaned in closer. “Who are you?”

“Reed Braden.”

“What are you doing down there?”

“I am trying to judge a lewd, hair-whipping story contest, but someone
just fucking peed on me!”

“Oh. Well, isn’t that lewd?”

Reed thought for a moment. “Well…”

Johnson turned to the others. “Hey everybody, c’mere!”

The gang hobbled over.

“That’s Reed Braden down there. Let’s all pee on him!”

Everybody: “OK!”

And they positioned themselves accordingly, undid clothes that needed to
be undid, and piddled wee into the darkness of the night.

THE END.

Once upon a time in a far-off kingdom lived a strapping Hero with a Throbbing Member, a fair Maiden in a convent, and a dirty old witch. Many other people lived in this kingdom too, but for the purposes of our story we are limited to these three characters. Describing the day-to-day lives of the folk of an entire far-off kingdom would be incredibly fucking boring, and Proust doesn’t deserve my competition for longest novel. Also, a geographic note: The far-off kingdom lay between the lands of Never Never and Nod, just south of Wonderland and just north of Azerbaijan.

The Hero

The Hero was hacking away at the groping and grasping vines of the Enchanted Forest when he came across two morbidly obese children with blond hair and blue eyes and faces covered with cake frosting. The children ran fast as their swollen bodies could across the Hero’s path. Sensing trouble, The Hero brandished his sword, Throbbing Member, and ran in the direction from whence the children came. Before too long, he ran into a haggard old crone. “Halt, crone,” bellowed The Hero, “Who art thou and why dost thou torment these children so?”

The Maiden

The girls of the convent were whipping their hair back and forth, as they are wont to do, when all of a sudden, two rather lumpy children rolled and jiggled through the doors of the convent. The disrobed ladies covered their bare bodies and fled from the antechamber. “Please, m’ladies,” cried the older boy with the young girl sobbing under his arm, “We mean no harm. There is a mean old witch in the Enchanted Forest who threatened to eat our plump carcasses.”

The Maiden approached them, her sisters having abandoned her with the children. “Do not cry, young ones. Tell me where this woman resides and I shall speak to her about manners and dietary restrictions. It is against the law to eat children, even in the Enchanted Forest!”

The children led her to the path at the edge of the Enchanted Forest and showed her the way to the witch’s house, but they dared not to enter the forest. Brave and entirely nude, The Maiden began her trek into the wood.

The Witch

“Fuckers! Fuckers! Fuckers!” the witch shrieked as she chased off the fat German children with an axe handle, “Fuckers!!” Soon thereafter, a strapping young man accosted her with a sword, yelling gibberish. “I am the witch,” she cooed, “And I do as I please.” With that, she muttered a spell and turned the Hero into a mangy horse.

The Hero

The Hero grazed serenely on the forest floor, swatting flies from his putrid anus with his new tail. “Snort!” he snorted. Just then, The Hero pulled up a particularly fine clod of grass with his square teeth and clobbered a wasp the size of his eye away from his feces-smeared rump. Hating his new rung on the ladder of creation still, he couldn’t help but feel a small bit of satisfaction in the thought that if he had to be a horse, at least he was pretty damn good at doing horse things. While he preened silently to himself, The Hero noticed an attractive nude woman in his clearing and whinnied. His other horse thing was beginning to rise, and it was pretty damn good too! He sheathed Throbbing Member and pulled his horsey thoughts together. ‘There shall be plenty of time for that later, but perhaps this fair maiden can be of assistance to my equine disaster. Maybe she will ride me! Maybe she will ride me without a saddle!’

The Maiden

The Maiden strolled briskly down the forest path, spherical breasts standing at attention and leading the way. As she went on, she communicated with the forest wildlife—as all of the fairest maidens can—to keep her temper cool and to get directions. “Thweet! Deedle deedle thweeEEET!,” whistled The Maiden. “Tweet tweet tweet. Twitter tweet!,” replied a bluebird as he flipped the naked lady ‘the feather’.

The Maiden came across a grassy clearing and stretched out in a beam of sun for rest. As she was just about to drift off she heard a nearby horse whinny, “I require assistance! I seem to be a horse!” She stood gracefully, turned, and walked toward the horse whose tongue was now hanging low out of the left side of his mouth. “Please, fair maiden, I seem to be a horse!” shrieked the horse again.

The Maiden laughed. “I can see that, Mr. Horse,” she said.

“Thou canst understand me?” whinnied the delirious horse.

“Of course I understand you, Mr. Horse, although you’re speaking borderline gibberish. I am a fair maiden, and all fair maidens can understand woodland creatures. Now what seems to be the problem?”

“O Providence, Thou hast sent me an angel while Fate hath cursed me with hooves! My fair lady, I had an unfortunate encounter with a horrible crone this morning, and now I have awoken to find myself a horse.”

“Yes, I see. You are a horse. Now, what’s the problem?” The Maiden couldn’t believe the unfortunate luck that cursed her with this annoying horse retard.

“I am not a horse, fair damsel,” the horse snorted with too much self-respect.

“You are too.”

“Well, I haven’t always been. Until recently, I was a Hero.”

“How come you’re a horse now, then?”

“This morning I happened across a bent and evil sorceress tormenting two rather rotund youths. I called on her to change her wicked ways and she hexed me to become this hideous creature.”

“Wait a minute!” The Maiden stood to attention, her firm melons moving in opposition to her slender frame. “That wouldn’t be the cannibal witch just over that knoll over there, would it?”

“Aye, it would.”

“We haven’t much time before dusk, let me ride you to her cottage so that we may vanquish this villain ‘ere the night falls!”

The Hero

What joy! What bliss! What luck! The Hero grinned as best he could while galloping through the golden sun across the clearing. His tongue lolled so far out of his mouth that it whipped his cheek bones as he flew with his precious cargo—and her precious cargo—bare, bareback on his bare back. He saw the witch tending to her meager crops of herbs and fungus and plunged his eager Throbbing Member through her left eye socket like a pork sausage through the eye of a needle, throwing The Maiden to the ground.

Instantly, as the witch cackled her last cackle, The Hero took to his human form on the forest floor, his inbred royal cock in the dead hag’s eye. The Maiden screamed and ran off into the woods, vomiting, never to be seen by The Hero again.

The End

This tube is 47.5 meters or 156 feet deep and the ledge I was sitting on was incredibly narrow.

>.<

Taken 26 Dec 2003 from the top of the Empire State Building.