Glockspiel


Posted by C sometime before October 01, 2004 at 07:34:48:

"Looking at Necrobabes again?" he said.

"Yes," she said. "I'm reading 'Fairy on a Hot Tin Roof,' by C. I love C. When I grow up, I'm going to marry C."

"Arrgghhhh!" he said, "I hate that elf-porn writing faggot!"

"Not elf-porn, you big hairy galoot, fairy porn! If you ever concentrated on anything besides your disproportionately tiny dick, you might figure out the difference."

"Arrgghhhh!" he said, pulling his trusty Glock out of the bedside table and then putting a whole bunch of bullets in the thing that holds the bullets. "Eat this, bitch!"

"Thwock! Thwock! Thwock!" went the Glock.

"Ow! Ooooo! Oh, fuck!" she cried, as his lethal nine-millimeter stitched a trail of destruction from her inexpressibly cute belly button to the winsome little tuft on her twat. Groaning, moaning, squirming and writhing, she found her way heavily to the floor. She kicked and thrashed for a while in the steadily deepening pool of her own blood, and then she was . . . dead. (Did I say, by the way, that she had fantastic melons?)

"I warned you, bitch, don't mess with me! Don't mess with me! Don't . . . Hey, you're strangely attractive when you're not talking!" He came closer to her as he spoke these words. "Hey, I, uh, never really felt this way before. Let me, uh, hunker down next to you. Ohhhhhhh, oooooo, ahhhhhh! Mmmmmmphhhmmmroowrooooooo . . . ."

She had no complaints either.

THE END (or . . . is it?)

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I didn't have a title for this particular piece of crap either, but, on reflection, "Glockspiel" will do.