Rufio Wallace and the Spoiler

 Rufio Wallace and the Spoiler

By: David McGhee

She looked up at her master and begged with all her cute little pugness for a treat. The man in front of her, her master, was a mean person sometimes. Sometimes he kicked her or pinched her skin with a needle. Just to hear her whine it seemed. It made him happy. But she loved him regardless. He was a human and humans smelled like good things to be affectionate with. The pay off was great (These things make nummy nummy appear in your food bowl twice a day!) and all you had to do was taste their face from time to time. Although she knew it wise to wince when a hand comes near her face.

The master smiles. She knows what a smile means. Either he's going to be a good master and let her have some of the ham he's eating. Oh holy cock of Christ that would be awesome!

Or...

He's going to be a mean master and choke her until her eyes rolled into the back of her head. Although either way meant that the man would touch her. Her skin tingled every time it wasn't searing in pain from his thumb pressed down too hard on one of her nipples. Petting a dog or a cat is always an attractive offer for Pugsly and or Fido and Puff Puff, their kitty kitty cat cats, because both animals have horrible blood circulation throughout their skin. So by rubbing their skin and fur it actually helps promote blood flow.

He always was a good master when he was with her bitch master, Shelly. He would pet her and hug her (which most dogs hate because hugging is a sign of dominance that a dog just isn't willing to share, but Pugsly, named so because he is in fact a pug, loved the shit out of. No kidding, one time the little turd bomber shat herself while Shelly was rubbing her stomach. It just felt so good that shitting was the only way to heighten the experience. It was totally lost on Pugsly that such ghastly pleasures she partook in dumbly, were so vomit inducing to human beings. Most people don't eat their own shit.) and talk to her in pleasant tones. She liked the pleasant tones. When they were more shrill that just meant pain was coming. Master Wallace comes to her and reaches out his hand and makes like he is about to smack her across her cute pug face. Pugsly winces and draws back at the approaching human appendage.

Rufio laughs. “You're such a good dogey dogey!”

That was it. Her mouth dropped open, tongue descended, and she started panting with happiness. She ran up to the hand and was taken back back the sudden smack on the nose, which is a punishment for any dogey dogey. But as for what she had been punished for... Probably not even Rufio knew. He just liked to see her scared. Pugsly whined and retreated back into the comfort of being under the coffee table in the living room. Rufio whistled and said “Here dogey dogey!” And fool me once, shame on you. Fool me three hundred thousand and seventy three times... Whatever. Pugsly stupidly smiled and ran back to meet yet another whack on the nose. She whined but before she could run away again Rufio picked her up.

“I love my kitty cats with all my heart.” He told Pugsly sweetly, who was now happy again because he was projecting his voice pleasantly. As far as she was concerned he could be calling her the worst dogey in the whole wide world, but when he said it with a sweet saccharine laced melody she was putty in his hands.

It's no different than French waiters making fun of you while you order in their stuffy restaurants, Rufio thought. He held the dumb pug in his arms and walked with him into the kitchen and then into the basement. Once down the steps he let Pugsly touch the ground. As always her fat pug stomach was the first thing to touch the concrete. It felt cold. She frantically steadied herself with a flurry of feet underneath her. He always carried her down the steps because she was too pudgy and too short in the legs to make the steps without rolling down the stairs. In which doing so would upset the bitch master, Sherry. She'd done it a few times before and just shrugged it off with her stupid animalness, but just to be sure he didn't have to pay some fuck nut vet to fix a broken bone he had been carrying her down since then. The thought made Rufio snarl at his wife's dogey. Pugsly in turn took the snarl as playing and she barked back. Rufio knelt down next to her and snapped his teeth. Stupid little Pugsly snapped back and barked once more.

Rufio laughed and put his right index finger in her mouth. She playfully held onto it with her teeth and tried to take it away from Rufio. He laughed again and took his finger back. Then he led the dog across the dark trash strewn basement. It was a mess due to the remodeling. It was in a state of half construction. Soon it would be his man nerd cave. A most awesome expectation!

He found the hanging wire for the light bulb and yanked it, spreading a warm phosphorous glow around the shadowy room. It was supposed to become a recording studio but with all the work Rufio had had in the past few years he just couldn't break away to finish it. Pugsly knew the twists and turns of the loose wood work by heart. As much as Rufio liked to torture the poor thing in small ways he would never allow a person to actually lay a hand on her. In some ways he had grown to love the stupid little thing. The beast that was all instinct and dumb dogey smiles.

If it would just stop eating it's own poop we'd be in business, he thought.

There was a secret door in the wall on the right side of the room. It blended in perfectly with the surrounding Stucco. It was here that Rufio had grown fond of bringing little Pugsly. She smelled the sweet aroma whiff through her nostrils. It was the tangy sweet aroma of burned flesh. So tasty. Humans always had (and made) the best food stuffs. She ran first before Rufio could even bring himself to step into the door frame. Her stomach was dangerously low to the ground. Rufio was disgusted by her obesity. Pugs can be such fat ass dogs. She ran down the small seven by seven hallway, made of brick this time, that led to a metal door with a key card reader on the side of it. Rufio walked up the hall to where Pugsly was waiting impatiently for him to open the door.

Rufio laughed and scratched her ear. She started kicking in response.

“Dogey dogey!”

He ran the card. The door's pressurized valves on its sides turned and the door opened with a hiss of decompression. Pugsly ran right in and right at the foot of a man who now only had three toes and immediately attached her mouth to his half burnt foot meat.

He was a tall stout young man of twenty six. He wore glasses like Rufio, but his were decidedly more pretentious. Whereas Rufio's glasses said “Man with a plan,” this man's said “Durh! I'ma hipster!” 2000 called, Rivers Cuomo wants his style back! Who had incidently been asked by Elvis Costello for his look back. But no one was a bigger dick about it than Buddy Holly. He acted all like he made it cool. Well... He did. But still. What a fucktard!

This man with the ironic mustache had been the biggest thing to hit the Colorado blog scene in years, if not ever. He had won a “Best of Denver” award for his online blog in the best of issue of the Westword during the last go around, and he was in talks with Spin about a possible profiling on Johnny Depp.

The problematic aspect however was that this man and his popular online blog spoiled movies and TV shows months in advance. It was in fact him who leaked that Ben Affleck may be the new Batman. And lo and behold! Fucker thinks he's Parez Hilton or some shit. Some think that he uses his trust fund set up by his parents to bribe studio people into yabbing or perhaps uses other means to secure scripts (Rufio wouldn't put it past him to suck cock) of shows and movies way before the general public has a chance to see it. That coupled with his harsh critique and reaching influence make him a bad person in the eyes of the men who had put Rufio up to this. But he didn't mind doing it. They even paid him a little extra to make his death as slow as possible. Which he planned to do with gusto. Because torturing people is fun and exciting for the whole family!

If only Shelly was a homicidal maniac. That would be so hot!

Rufio was a man who loved his work more than he loved caramel on cinnamon sugar toast.

And he was a man who loved his caramel on cinnamon sugar toast.

Rufio took out a Werther's hard caramel from his pocket. He always kept a few on him. And plopped one into his mouth. He then offered it to the naked mane tied up in front of him. The blond man was no more than a kid in Rufio's eyes. He smiled and offered it to him again.

“May not get a chance to eat before tomorrow when I come back down here.” Rufio said as he put the caramel on the table before him. The man's feet hurt the worst. Rufio had set a blow torch to two of his toes the night before (and just plain cut another one off for shit eater to gnaw on). Burnt them up nice and good. Little old Pugsly ate at them despite the man's insistent resistance. For such a small dog it was mighty vicious. This, May very well be why Rufio has allowed the dog to live so long. It was trying to wag it's little snub of a curly tail but just wound up jiggling its butt.

Rufio took a pair of pliers from his box of bloody carpenters tools.

“You should really sterilize that man.” The blond naked movie spoiling little cunt said with a quiver.

Rufio held up the pliers to eye level, letting it shine dully in the dim light. His lips crept into a smile. He bent down and took a bit of the man's blond pubic hair between the pliers' tips and tightened his grip. Then he yanked it out, leaving the underneath part of the skin where the dermis and hair used to be. The man screamed. His voice already horse from yelling for help despite being in a sound proofed room. Rufio held the bit of hair at the man's eyesight and laughed.

Pugsly chewed selfishly at the man's remaining toes, which were blackened to the muscle by the previous day's blow torch fun. Pugsly bit off flesh in thick strips. They tasted like a mix between bacon and and beef. Pugsly was totally digging the charbroiled taste as well. Dogs loved their carbon just as much as the next man. Rufio patted her on the head. She dropped the piece of toe meat from her drooling mouth and looked up smiling at Rufio, panting with excitement. Then it was back to business. Pugsly ignored the piece of toe meat before her and ran for some of the still bloody bits of foot that were stuck to the man's foot bones. It was cute how she playfully growled while biting the flesh off a screaming hipster. If only he could make that into a meme.

Rufio pulled another bit of pubic hair from the man's nether region. He cried out for it to stop but Rufio was just getting started.

“Please sir.” The man begged. “I promise never to blog about anything ever again!”

Rufio liked this. “Unless you have fifty thousand dollars I am afraid that I'm going to have to cut off your penis.” He raised a pair of cutting shears to the man's eye level. The man screamed.

“Please sir! I don't have that kind of money! Can't you just say you got rid of me and we'll never speak of me again? I'll move back to Florida and legally change my name!”

Rufio warm heartedly pulled out another patch of pubic hair from the roots of the man's top padding above his penis. He writhed in pain and kept trying to kick at Pugsly, who was seeing the moving foot as a toy that she could also eat, and was always brought back down a peg with his toe stumps actually hit the dog. They left bloody marks on the dog's black and white face, which she loved to lick from the sides of her lips. It encouraged her to bite at the tasty thing even more. She had no idea how much pain and torment she was causing this poor young man. As far as she was concerned he was a tasty friend.

It was times like this Rufio wondered why he had such a hatred for the stupid thing. In all prospects, they were the perfect pet. As long as you petted them, walked them, and fed them, you could get away with all sorts of horrible shit and they will just love you all the more for it. For those with no self esteem they probably are man's best friend.

Rufio picked up a piece of chewed burnt toe and wiggled it in front of Pugsly's nose. She panted happily and followed the toe as he went from left to right to left again. She licked her chops and barked.

“That's a good dogey!” And Rufio threw it across the room. Pugsly ran after it with great effort; she was a fat thing. If she'd been running on the hardwood upstairs you could hear her coming from the kitchen to the living room from the second floor. She grabbed the human appendage and made a high pitched and very un-scary growl as it tore into it. She bit it and rocked her head from left to right and back and continued that awful high pitched growl.

It pissed Rufio off. So he kicked the dog with only a medium of effort. Just enough to knock the wind out of it. It must have swallowed the toe whole because she started hacking like she was going to throw up. Rufio smacked her across the face and she took a step backward but still hacked. Rufio advanced on her and she turned around but whatever was caught in her throat was at the moment a touch more important than what ever punishment the master can dish out to her. She coughed and hacked and felt her head flood up with blood. It made a tremendous pressure on her face and she felt as if her cheeks were going to explode. The worst pain of it all was that now her head pulsed with her heart. She saw the world grow white and heard the distant bark of her great grand bitch “Toogles”. She was licking her privates and telling Pugsly to come towards the dimming light. Pugsly, being the stupid thing it was, mistook this advance and happily shat herself.

As the world drew away she barked and ran towards the light, which was drawing further and further away. How would she ever reach her great grand bitch now? She stopped for an anus cleaning then started running, but the light sped away faster and faster and then she was aware of nothing.

Perfect nothingness. Much better than being smacked on the nose.

Then there was a pressure on her chest and she coughed the bloody burnt chew toe onto the concrete floor. She felt her face flood with blood again and the whiteness turned back into the familiar black and white the world always was. She looked up at her master. He was saying something in those nice tones again. She felt herself grow fuzzy with that sort of stupid I don't care what the hell you are but I love you more than I love fried chicken feeling. He smiled and she smiled.

“Blah blah blah blah” She heard him say sweetly. Then she felt him pinch her ear. It hurt so bad. Oh why would master do this to her? Ouch! He just kicked her again. She wondered why she never did get the chance to meet up with Toogles. That would have been bitchin!

He said something and ran his hand all the way down onto her face, where it softly landed and spread around her head in a blood flow inducing petting. She loved it when master petted her. He did it hard like he really loved her.

All was forgiven. Now for some more tasty hipster man foot.

Rufio Wallace, Hitman.

Rufio Wallace Goes to the Mall

By: David McGhee

It was an unusually balmy day in Jefferson County, Colorado. It was in the middle of a hot (if not the hottest) summer. The kind of time any sane mortal human male would think about wearing shorts and a short sleeve t-shirt outside. The kind of day when you'd put on your sunglasses and forget about combing your hair. Rufio Wallace did none of this. As usual he wore a nicely tailored sports coat with a white shirt underneath. His black converse sneakers were a great match for the dark blue jeans he had on. Not a very tall man, he ultimately won people over with his wit. When it came to being intimidating, Rufio wished he was taller but everything was properly managed by the things he did when it came to critical thinking. A college professor of his had instilled in him the doubt it took to do what he did, and he did it well. So well that in fact he was in demand by the elite that knew what the kinds of jobs he did do. A man with some bargaining power he was.

Yoda is a slutty monkey lug nuts.
Grab the force!

Rufio smiled at this as he was in the middle of parking his car in the far out regions of the vast Colorado Mills outlet shopping mall parking lot. There were no signs telling him where his car was. He just had to remember that it was way out in front of the Target attached to the place and hoped to Allah

*From Ferris Bueller's Day Off, Cameron's barritone, “Kennedy, Kennedy, Kennedy, swing batta!”*

that he could find it again.

He was actually on two missions. First he had to do what he had initially came to do, which was to take down a young man who had knocked up an arm's dealer's daughter and her father didn't take it lightly. But it was going to be an easy fifty thousand.

Then he was to get a Blu-Ray DVD for his wife. Shelly. She really didn't care about what he got as long as it either had Edward Norton or it was in some way arty. Rufio enjoyed the kinds of films that Shelly liked. Although sometimes when you are saturated with heavy thinking thrillers and indie comedies, a man had to have some explosions and titties.

The last movie he had gotten her had been Fight Club, which had explosions and titties. Rufio had read the book before and had liked it a good deal better than the movie. The part of the protagonist was interesting because the guy never told you his name. Nowhere in the book or the movie does it mention the protagonists' name.

Edward Norton had portrayed the main, nameless character with great aplomb. His wife always raved about his acting in this one. To be true Rufio could believe that he was an office drone with no life and an affinity for random street violence. So infacto, it had something for the both of them to enjoy.

Sometimes Rufio wished he could be Edward Norton. Not just because he was tall and handsome and could hold his wife's attention for more than a quickie, but because the man had notoriety. He could get into the fanciest of restaurants and do the coolest of things, like be in the movies. Rufio smiled. He never got any credit for what he did except for the people who knew what he did. He was in the business of killing ass and business was good.

Rufio sauntered down the lot and into one of the many main entrances to the mall. He went to the video store first. As he looked around the place it became apparent that the business catered to the lowest common denominator. They even had a section named “Emo movies.” He had to do a double at first. The place was selling a shit ton of reality TV on DVD. What ever happened to scripted television? Smart, edgy, predictable fiction that may rehash old jokes, but they spit shine them into something vaguely reminiscent of jokes you already knew and loved, only new and therefore refreshing. Such skits as the father who realizes that his prodigal son is more or less hung than he is. Hilarity ensues. Or who couldn't remember the old scene when someone video taped a conversation and the final result was a mismatch of quickly edited takes that equaled up to the video of the guy saying things that he didn't mean to say.

Oh he could be a writer for television! But the problem was that reality TV didn't need writers.

Or production values.

Or sense.

They were cheaply made and captivated audiences the world over.

On some level, he sort of wish he had made a show videotaping a little fat kid making a complete hog of herself ala' Honey Boo Boo. He still could. But then if he did it without the corporate backing he would just be considered an asshole who over fed and under paid his star.

He hoped that the guy he was sent here to kill was a fat kid. He fucking hated fat kids. Fucking parents gave all of them cake and they got fat. Rufio could eat a pizza whole every night of the week and never gain weight. He didn't care how lucky he may be. There's just something morally right about maintaining a certain level of fitness. Or at least there should be.

Fat people pissed him off.

Rufio wondered why, if Honey Boo Boo was so famous, that her family didn't run screaming out of their shit hole stink house and into something nicer and a little more modern. Like a basic suburban apartment in a basic suburban apartment building in a basic suburban area just outside the city. Rufio had money. Lots of it actually. Although most of it was hidden away from Shelly in offshore accounts. He had shit all over the Caymen islands. He'd learned a lot of what he did via both his financial adviser to the billionaires and also by reading John Grisham novels. He learned (probably by the latter) that the Caymen's had the best banks if one were to ever squirl away billions at a time. He didn't have to do what he did anymore. Putting him in harms way every waking moment of his life as a trained killer. But darnit! It was fun to take out enemy's of the rich and petty.

Then you got paid the money that went into the Caymen Island's which would accrue and one day make him one of the richest hit men in history.

As far as it came to where the best place would be, Mr. Grisham had yet to lead Rufio Wallace astray.

Rufio spotted American History X and picked it up. He examined the backside of the box to see whether or not it would be a good investment. He was sure his wife had seen it. She's probably seen more of Mr. Norton's work than he ever had. Rufio measured himself against the DVD rack and disappointingly fell short of the display's height.

I Bet Mr. Norton never feels short.

Fucking tall skinny men of the world.

Tall skinny men pissed him off.

With a sigh, he read the back of the Blu-Ray DVD. Something about racist people kicking black ass. He turned the box over and inspected the cover a little closer. He couldn't recognize the man on it. He was built like a race horse and had a goatee. He had to double check the credits that yes, yes indeed, that was Edward Norton all right. Should be interesting, Rufio thought to himself.

Edward Norton, racist black person beater upper!

He brought the DVD up to the register and after three people and an endearing twelve year old Aryan in front of him, Six minutes and twenty seven seconds of his life that he would never get back. He paid for the item that would surely get his dick wet tonight and the lady put it in a blue plastic bag. The bag was pretty big and it felt almost like a waste to put such a miniscule item in this large container. But it did the job, and it was blue. Rufio liked blue. It was the color of people who had their oxygen supply cut off from them.

Hey kid. I'm gonna have you shitting your own intestines in a few hours.

The thought made him smile.

Ever since he was a kid he knew he was special. He may not have been as big or as strong as the other boys. But he did do one thing great. And that thing had become his entire career. That was of course first to his second, and more legal, line of work. By all accounts he was a data specialist by day. But he didn't consider himself a nerd much but he had to admit that he had worn the Spock ears and such whenever Comic Con came to town. He remembered that his wife had been a Klingon. The implication that Spock would fuck a Klingon was just funny to him. He laughed out loud with some very concerned patrons passing him by in the mall. He didn't care though. He was so plain looking that he was sure no one would even remember his face if questioned later.

He adjusted his glasses, which he wore for the occasion. In fact everything about his appearance was a fraud. He most liked to dress in a nice salmon (not pink) button up dress shirt, a black skinny tie, and some nice higher end Target black slacks. Also his nose was a tad larger than natural today.

Rufio walked about half the length of the mall to get to his final destination. The Buy-A-Bear workshop. He looked up at the green and brown awning and smiled coldly. He walked into the bear stuffing and assembling facility and began browsing the selections on the wall.

I'm just here for my niece. He thought with a sinister giggle. No one paid attention to this plain man. A man who, in due time, would end the life of one of the lucky hormone driven gangsta men in the hiz-House.

He could have a worker bear, complete with a plaid shirt and blue jean overalls. Or he could have a nursey bear. That would be cute. Or he could have a Dr. bear. That would be just as nice as well.

In fact, he had hundreds of identities in which to choose from and give one of the five different types of teddy bears to choose from. Rufio wondered why they didn't have a dominatrix outfit for the bears to wear. He was sure that that would big a big ticket seller for those young and horny and those young and horny at heart.

Rufio imagined a black vinyl clad teddy bear with a play sized whip smacking the ass of Mr. Dr. Bear M.D PHD CAC III. Them med school graduates were all sick and twisted fucks. He knew. They had stolen his appendix when it wasn't even giving him any trouble. He had had it taken out when he complained from burning pain in his stomach for years and they had given him exploratory surgery. When he awoke from his anesthesia induced coma, he had discovered via a very excited surgical intern, that his appendix had been successfully removed. When he asked why on Earth they would have done such a thing, the Attending Dr. had told him that it was better not to have it than to keep it and one day just have to get it taken out. Nobody in his family have ever had an inflamed appendix. Nobody that he knew of in the last two generations on either side of his family at least. Go back any further than that and you have doctors relatives prescribing leech treatments.

Rufio settled his eyes on a little bear suit. It was called “Business Bear” and it came in two colors. Business blue or basic black. He smiled and picked the card out of the slot full of priced cards and went over to the bear body section. They had tan bear, brown bear, gray bear, white bear, and for some off reason green bear. Maybe it was left over from Saint Paddy's day or something. All Rufio knew was that he hated it.

Green bears pissed him off.

Rufio snarled at the bear shaped piece of cloth in front of him.

A tall blond teenaged boy with mild acne walked up to him, smiling broadly and said “Don't like the green one huh?” He asked, his mouth too big for his face. He sort of looked like Andy Samberg but with a narrower face and he came with less of them Jewishy features that the aforementioned Samberg consisted of. Probably Nordic or something if he could figure right.. Mike noticed that the boy had very large hands. There was a connection, he read, about finger and toe length being correlated with penis size. Since the gene that controlled how long your features were also concerned itself with that one special and oh so important feature on a man.

The thought made Rufio angry. He wasn't about to be outdicked by a kid. It took everything in him to smile and reply. “No sir.” He said. “Thinking about the gray one for my daughter.”

Tall boys with big hands pissed him off.

Rufio noted the boy's name tag. “John.” What an unspectacular name it was. John. How droll, Rufio thought. He had never been a fan of the name his parents had given him, but at least it wasn't “John.” Boring.

Rufio mouthed his name. He had to be the one. He had been told in cryptically coded correspondence that the guy he was looking for was a tall blond teenaged boy named John who worked at Buy-A-Bear workshop. He smiled and pointed towards the gray bear. “I want this one.” Rufio gave the teenaged boy the little card with the barcode on it that indicated that he wanted the bear to be in the business suit. The tall, thin, and obnoxiously handsome young man smiled and took the card to the cash register. He scanned the card and looked up. “Did you get the card for the gray bear body?”

Rufio shook his head. “Sorry.” John smiled and said it was no problem. He took the ten steps to the left and retrieved a card from the little pocket next to the gray bear mock up on the wall. John walked back to the register and scanned the card.

Rufio looked around to see if anyone could have been following him, a nervous habit that never proved fertile in similar situations before. He looked back up at the kid and started whistling the funeral march. The boy took no notice as he pressed buttons on the computer touch screen.

“That will be fifty three dollars and twenty six cents.” The teenaged male told Rufio. He laughed and made a comment about how there was no shame in the consumer market today and took out his wallet. He handed the boy a credit card that read “Nathan Benet.” Rufio smiled and put his hands behind his back, the wallet being in the right one.

The boy took the card and continued to stare at Rufio. “Sir...” He started. “In this store we require ID.”
“Oh.” Rufio was caught off guard, suddenly nervous. “Okay.” He smiled and took an ID out of his wallet that said the same name. Although the man on the picture looked enough like him, he was indeed a totally different person. Rufio had hundreds of IDs that looked exactly like him but weren't exactly him. His employers, instead of making up a bunch of new cards, just gave him ones of deceased people. Although the deceased were still alive and well according to national databases. Some even still drawing aid from government assistance. All of this taken care of by Big Brother. He wondered if they were watching him through tiny cameras, seeing if he would fuck this simple task up.

They were always watching... Sometimes to the point where one would have to wonder why they needed people like Rufio to begin with. If they were everywhere, then why all the sending out for something you could make at home? Of course this was just a thought. Even with them there, he got paid handsomely for the simplest of tasks. Including the one he was about to embark on.

Rufio began to sweat. It was always the thrill of the hunt that got to him. That and he should have been back by now. His wife had made sweet potatoes and was probably still keeping them warm in the oven until he got back. Whenever that would be, he thought sourly.

This young man with the big hands pissed him off.

Wasting his time and such... Pissed him the hell off.

The boy looked over the ID and thought it to be a reasonable likeness. So he processed the transaction. Rufio was pleased to see that the foreign credit card had gone through, yet another sign of the greatness his employers exuded. It was amazing the documents they could make for him. Why he could be Bill Gates of Matt Groening if he wanted to.

D'oh!

The boy handed him back the two cards and took a key from the desk and walked to the other side of the store, where he got the costume and the bear body. Rufio followed him to the stuffing machine and watched in horror as the bear suddenly came to life before him. Writhing and inflating with air and white cotton / polyester stuffing. The boy expertly dressed the gray teddy and used a staple type gun to secure the suit to the bear. Then Rufio was led back to the counter where the bear was placed in a large cardboard box that said “Buy-A-Bear Workshop. Adoption Services”

The teenager handed Rufio the box filled with his newly purchased teddy. “Thank you sir.” The boy said awkwardly, as if desperately seeking Rufio's approval. “I hope you have a good day.”

Rufio smiled and extended his hand. “And a good one to you too!” The young boy shook his hand and drew back as if he had just been stung. “Sorry.” Rufio said. “Sometimes other people's skin get caught under my wedding ring.” He smiled and the kid waved it off.

“It happens.” John said good heartedly and with a big warm smile. The kind of smile that probably got him a shit ton of blow jobs.

“Good bye.” Rufio said. And he meant it too. Because on his ring was a tiny needle with enough radioactive poison in the tip of the already microscopic nail at the end of his wedding ring to bring down a full grown elephant. That is, after an agonizing three days of internal bleeding and shitting yourself, losing your hair, and finally collapsing within your own body. Of course that is if your skin didn't melt off first.

Rufio was happy to get rid of another young slut monkey.

“Hope you have a good day!” Rufio repeated sourly to himself as he walked out of the Buy-A-Bear Workshop he took a look back at the young man who had helped him. He was still as breathtaking a young male further away as he had been up close. No doubt he would of have a great future as a ladies man and climb the corporate ladder to success and had fifty babies and eventually would have voted Republican. Rufio headed out of the mall humming the funeral march. Stupid kids, they are all filthy man whores. He smiled. He was probably going to get some dick wetting tonight when he showed a half naked Edward Norton to his wife, in hi definition no less.

Back at the Buy-A-Bear Workshop, John, the tall blond good looking all American boy that he was, coughed a few small droplets of blood into his hand.

If I had a dogey dogey.

Dogey Dogey

By: David McGhee

They had a pug. His name was Alfred and he had the happiest little stupid face of all puppydom. Alfred loved to partake of the occasional trashcan, as most mutts tend to do. He would lick your hand and la di da. It's a fucking dog. I have a problem with dogs personally. They are stupid entities that have been bred into a state where they rely solely on human help. Most breeds can't hunt on their own like a cat could.

In fact dogs were originally domesticated because they would venture into towns and the townspeople would feed them, causing the hounds to come closer and closer until they had no qualms about having to mess with these wonderful beings with the delicious foodstuffs like bacon and birds. Alfred loved chicken.

For such a small dog Alfred sure knew how to raise hell. Like how I said that little pup loved to eat the fowl he also loved to kill and then eat the fowl. We all thought that Alfred would just bark at the chicken. Well he sort of did that. The chicken just started flapping it's wings and Alfred went immediately for the neck. That little bastard had the bite of a frigging diesel powered machine. Like a god damn deer tractor. I wouldn't be damned if the little fucker enjoyed himself either. When he was done shaking the shit out of the chicken neck he ran up to me and dropped it at my feet. If you've ever seen a pug smile then just imagine a self satisfied serial chicken killing monster dog. All ten pounds of chicken killing machine. I wouldn't trust the little fagot loving dog with my hamster.

Then again I wouldn't trust myself with a hamster. How long do those things live anyways? I could never get one to live past three weeks.

I took Alfred for a walk today and like any good dog owner I carry around trash bags so I can grab the poo for future disposal. It was on this walk that I learned that Alfred could talk. If I am remembering correctly there was a series or is still a series on the FX Channel by that name. But this was my Alfred. My little pug. My little bundle of fur, flesh, and stupid.

We were walking near Cheeseman Park when this tall scruffy blond haired dude walked up to me when I was watching Alfred at his worst. If I didn't know any better I would swear that Alfred was giving himself head! He did that a lot. So much in fact that when I asked my vet if something was wrong with him and he said “Eh... Everybody jerks off.” and left it at that.

One of the many awkward moments this dog has orchestrated just to spite me. I know I talked about dogs having a sort of stupid intelligence but this thing must be the Einstein of poop eaters. That's another thing that pisses me off about this fucking white fuck of fluff. If I don't get to his poo before he does then he will ingest it, then throw it up, and then eat it again. All of this takes place at my door every night.

He has lately taken to shitting on my door step. I can't say for sure but I think that maybe me kicking him in the kidneys for fun just might not be what the little fella is thinking of in a human companion. Little asshole. Once I started petting it and calling it stupid retarded names with a coo in my voice it started to mind my door step. It utterly amazed me that the little fucker could put two and two together.

Dogs scare the crap out of me sometimes. But the cool thing that I like about old Al is that even when he is trying his hardest to come off like a bad ass, he is still a ten pound pug. He's utter hilariousness and sometimes I get caught up in the fun and I punt him like a football. I want to try my pug out for the Denver Bronco's as the franchise's first ever living football. Just imagine Tim Tebow gunning his foot on a ten pound pug ugly son of a bitch? I can imagine it's stomach exploding with the mighty foot force of Tim Tebow's amazing legs. Sigh...

Tim Tebow is the kind of fellow I would love to see in a locker room. But I have no delusions of grandeur. I can take the idea of a six inch Tim Tebow. If the man is modest then all the more hurray for him! And I mean that. Because normal penises are well... Well they're just great.

El oh el.

Smily face.

That little pig faced son of a bitch. I know it was a son of a bitch too because technically all male dogs are sons of bitches. Because females dogs are called bitches? See how I did that? Hilariousness!

Alfred once found a pocket in the ground containing trace amounts of uranium. I shit you not! Little asshole just ate up the radioactive rocks, and this is not to say that he only ate the uranium specks he saw and left most of the regular rocks and dirt unscathed. It was like the little hash tag stupid dog just got the itch that could only be scratched by swallowing lethal doses of uranium. But to all of our amazement the little shit just pooped them out. He stayed radioactive for a few months after that but thank goodness he must have a good metabolism because he's no longer reading on the geiger meter. I mean any more than any normal living thing. I swear this fucking dog has nine lives!

Speaking of it swallowing things I swear this thing must have the internal plumbing of a fucking battery processing robot. Not shitting you, this little pug bastard ate and shit a battery. A double A battery. My dog Alfred ate and shit a double A battery. Beautiful.

“Fucking A!” My dog would shout at me. Oh yeah, remember when I said my dog could talk? Well he can. And he's annoying as fuck!

Imagine if a pug could talk slash bark his way into the American people's heart. I imagine that in some awesome Oriental country they would dine on a delicacy that is a pug bug stupid dogey. They would eat his righteous ass with teriyaki sauce. That smug bastard. Leg of some young chow. If there were any animal that should be eaten it would have to be man's best friend. Those things have an awful intelligence about them, as I have ranted on before, and they know that you don't like them.

But they don't care though. Because they know that by pooping on your door step and eating your third copy of Stephen King's The Stand is yet one line that has long since been drawn. You never have a cat doing shit like that. They know that because they know that if they fuck some shit up then theys are getting boots to their puss! Talking about an angry pussy!

Rowr!

Smiley face.

And let's talk about meat for the military, you could feed our starving troops over seas if we just take a cue from the Chinese. And I don't mean to sound racist but they really do do that shit. Just look it up. When the Beijing Olympics happened the government officials over in China banned the sale of cat and dog as an edible commodity. I shit you not.

Heard it from a reputable sounding site. Then again what can you truly trust on the internet? I mean come on! The most believable things you hear of nowadays are Onion headlines.

Right?

Yeah?

*Grasshoppers chirp*

But seriously. You may think I'm being racist but when the truth is awful to our uppity culture and is delicious on the other side, I tend to side with the deliciousness. If somebody afford me some barbequed chow I'd live to have a breast piece. Because chows piss me off and they be eating dogs. That's why they're called chows!

It's like some big fucking practical joke. But it isn't. And they do and would offer me Barbeque chow. And I would eat it. Because that means they would have had to kill the dog. I fucking condone puppy murder. But I would never hurt one myself.

What can I cay? I'm just a hardcore cat lover.

Either you're with us or you're not.

Although this little shithead is growing on me. Who knows? Maybe I won't eat my doggy after all.

“Sexy McSex Sexifies the Sexy McSex With a Sexy Sex McSex Female Riding on Top of Me Having the Best Sexy Sex Ever! I Was like Booooooing!"

“Sexy McSex Sexifies the Sexy McSex With a Sexy Sex McSex Female Riding on Top of Me Having the Best Sexy Sex Ever! I Was like Booooooing!”

By: David McGhee

“She came to me the other night” Ryan said to his two friends sitting on either side on his next to the raging camp fire. All three of them had alcohol in their hands. Marty and Matt were drinking Coors Light while Ryan sipped from his Tennessee Honey Jack Daniel's whiskey. “I was all like, playing my Xbox and shit, and she knocks on my door. I'm dressed in my boxers, sporting a boner, and I answer the door. She was all like 'I was thinking of you and it got me wet.' It wasn't raining, but I'm used to girls messing their pants with their pussy juices thinking of me. She's all like “May I come in.' And to this I said 'Yes. Yes you may.'

“So she followed me into the living room where she took off her wet clothes (wet because she was like, totally wetting down there for me. I swear bro, her sex juice was staining her tight, tight blue jeans) and sits down on my couch next to me, like, totally naked. And she turns to me and says 'I love men who know how to rock an Xbox.' And I was like saweeeeeet! Did I mention that she's like, a model and junk. Tall with light, light bleached blonde hair and I'm sitting here all like, six foot six and two hundred and twenty pounds of man muscle. My dick is probably a fifth of my total weight. Plus I totally look like handsome and shit. I'm a sex God. And I get chicks like this all the time because my dick is like, twelve inches! No joke! I fucking impale them bitches!

“All right man!” Matt high fives Ryan and continues listening intently as he sipped from his beer. He imagined the chick like, all naked and shit. That totally turned him on. Which is why Ryan's story connected with him so much. He liked pussy too!

Damn it is awesome having a dick!

Ryan raises his bottle and the other two clanged their containers together, symbolizing male unity or some shit. He sips from his whiskey. “Like, my boner is going away at this point because I'm all like, shit girl, I've nailed finer bitches than you before breakfast this morning. But she was all like 'Let's have some fun, this beat is sick, I wanna take a ride on your disco stick.'

“To which I reply, 'All the girlies say I'm pretty fly for a white guy.'

“And she's all like crying and shit because I'm holding out on her. Bitches can't get enough of the big D, bra. And I can like, make them make me dinner and wipe my ass when I use the rest room. One girl even saves my spit and errant hairs in a jar so that she can carry me around with her everywhere.

“But this chick just wouldn't stop, bra! She's all like tearing my boxers off, which sucks because I liked those boxers, but it's cool because I'm like, totally rich and it's a chick doing it, so. You know. If it was a dude I'd be all like, sorry bro, I'm not a fag. Then I'd kick his ass for being a fag. Fags are fags. ¿Uh huh huh ha ha ha ha huh uh?

“Then I said 'Ooga ooga! Me man. You woman. Me on top!'

“And then she like, started sucking me off dude, but she couldn't get it all in her mouth because my schlong is, like, twelve inches. It's totally huge, bra! Some chicks get scared when they see my massive man meat. They're all like 'My vagina is so small and you're so big! How ever will you fuck me? Oh stretch me! Stretch me, Ryan! Stretch my vaginal cavity to accommodate your Eiffel Tower sized one eyed bandit!' Sometimes when ever I'm in an argument with another dude or a ho, I'll whip it out and smack them with it. Hit them right side on their noggin. You know, instead of punching, I use my dick. It's so big that it's like a little extra arm that can be used to beat the shit out of fags with. Fags totally hate it when I beat them with my massive pulsating man cock.

Matty and Marty gave each other a quizzical glance. Then they laughed.

“But she was just sitting there, sucking on it. I put my hand on her head and I pushed it all the way down to the base of my cock. And she totally took it bra! She did a hand stand on my legs so her throat wouldn't be bending when she took it in; so she could take all of my penis!

“Then I turned her over and slammed it right into her stinker! She screamed with pain and lust. She screamed 'La cucaracha! La cucaracha! Da da da da da da da!' over and over again! It made me so hard bra. I went deep into her colon and gave her a one of my special Ryan cock enema. She'll be shitting so good for years to come man. That is unless I packed it in so tight that she now has to get pieces of her colon removed, but hey, bitch can't complain, she totally asked for it! Begged me even!

“So I'm pounding away at her incredibly fat ass, bitch has got to weigh like a hundred and ten pounds, fucking blimp, and it occurs to me that if I come in her ass then I'm a fag. And I'm not a fag. Are you guys fags?”

Marty and Matty shake their heads. Marty laughs “Na bra. I ain't no fag.”

Matt smiled. “Honest to God pussy lover.” He laughs.

Ryan, satisfied with his friend's sexual tendencies, continues. “So I take it out and wipe the shit and blood (from busting her pussy) off my pulsating twelve inch cock and then I bring it home in her cooch. I ram and ram and she's moaning from the best sex she'll ever had. Seriously bra, chicks tell their friends then they cheat on their man with me. I don't condone it but I'm not going to stop a chick from mouth hugging my cock. It's here for all bitches to enjoy.

“But if a fag wants to suck my cock maybe... Um... No way! I'd kick his lily ass! Fucking fags!

“So I asked her 'Hey' I say 'you want me to cum? Inside or on your face?'

“So she replies 'On my face! Make me into the dirty whore you think I am!'

“And I'm all like, I can't argue with that, so I pull out and jack it until a huge glob of my stuff comes shooting out, hitting her in the eyes and getting all in her hair and shit. She feels around for it and what sticks to her fingers goes in her mouth. She then kisses me and I'm all like 'huh. Semen isn't that bad.' But then I'm all like 'Bitch! Trying to make me into a fag!' and I hit the bitch with my dick, not at all unlike how I deal with fags who are tall and hung. Then she cries, wanting more of my cock. But I'm all like, spent. So I says 'get out of here bitch!' and she's all like 'But Daddy Ryan! I needs your legendary phallus!'

“And I'm all like 'get out of here you dirty cunt! And she puts on her now even wetter clothes (Because I like, came all over her clothes too. There was enough to go around bra!) and heads out the door crying like her Pug just got ran over by Dick Cheney. So I am left sitting naked on my recliner and I notice my cock. It's big and bulging and it makes me wonder what Cory's dick looks like. But then I remember that I'm not a fag.”

“Cory Leechman?” Marty asks, eyebrow raised.

“Yeah.” Ryan says with a wistful look in his eyes. “Yeah, he's a fag.

Marty thinks about how much ass Cory gets and is confused by the non-sequitur.

Ryan continues. “So I start playing Xbox again, and I hear a knocking at my door again. I'm all like 'fuck! It better be a chick at the door!' Because if it was a fag I'd fuck'em!

Matt and Marty both say “What?!” at the same time.

“I meant fuck them up! Not fuck them.” Ryan laughs “I'm not a fag.” He then returns to his story that he had started after being asked what time it was. “Anyway, sure enough, it is! A small bodied, bit big boobed, red head with streaks of eyeliner dripping from her eyes and onto her cheeks.

“'I've been masturbating to my memory of you like all day.' She says.

“And I'm all like, 'Cool.'

“And then she's all like 'You wanna fuck me in the ass and cum inside my colon?'

“Normally I'm not a fag, but that sounds just great. So I rub some water based lubricant on my junk (Pineapple flavored) while she's getting undressed. And right as her panties drop I'm inside her like a fag on a fag. It was awesome! She was like totally into it too. My twelve in cock rammed into her tight ass like a chainsaw through a cow. It was amazing! Then I came in her trunk and the junk slowly leaked out of her as she was putting back on her clothes. Cuz, you know I don't let bitches stay at my place. Bitches can stink a place up. Make it smell like sour fish.

“As she was leaving she stuck a finger up her ass and then tasted it. 'Tastes like Ryan's liquid children all right.' she said with a smile. Because, you know, my stuff is like sweet and sort of tastes like apples.”

Matt leans back instinctively. Ryan waves him off. “At least that's what chicks tell me and their friends. I could seriously market my jizz as a protein shake for bitches. Anyways, she left the house through the front door and I locked it behind her. You know, in case some burglars were to come in the house and rape me like a fag. They would tie my hands behind my back, strip me naked (If I wasn't already naked that is) and then tie my feet up. I wear like a size fourteen dude. That's one of my pick up lines. 'You know I got pretty big feet.' I would say. Then I'd add 'And a twelve in cock.' because, you know, bra, girls love big dicks. All that shit about size doesn't matter. Tell that to a girl who just got fucked by a twelve inch dick. She can't possibly say that's better than your tiny six inch thing that no one cares about.

“No offense.”

“None taken.” His two friends, Matt and Mark said as they sat around the camp fire, both enthralled and a little frightened by their friend's tale of love and big boobies.

“So I'm sitting here thinking about the anal raping I would get from these fags so I go work out in at the the twenty four hour fitness place down by Colorado Blvd. Working on my delts, you know. I like working out. It keeps me in shape. I like totally got an eight pack. Here...” Ryan lifted his shirt for his friends to see. And indeed, he had an impressive set of abs. “Touch it.” He said.

Matt looked at his friend with concern in his eyes, he took another sip of the Coors Light in his right hand and poked Ryan's abs with the other. It was hard to the touch and the skin on top felt like it was rolling on his muscles. Ryan smiled, bearing his massive set of white teeth. He then turned over to Marty. With a nod, he smiled. Was Marty supposed to touch him too?

Marty took a long, deep gulp from his beer and shook his head. “I'll take your word for it.”

“What?” Ryan said, offended. “Think it makes you a fag?”

Marty looked at Matt, who nodded nervously, insinuating that it was Marty's turn to touch Ryan. He did so. And cringed as his finger tips slid from one ab to the other. He pulled back immediately

Ryan slapped the two of them on their backs where they sat on either side of him. Ryan let out a horrible guffaw that sounded sorta like a donkey getting kicked in the balls.

“Anyways,” Ryan said as he took a drink from his Tennessee Honey Jack Daniels. “I'm working out and I get a boner. So I'm all like, I need a bitch man. So I call every girl in my little black book, and what do you know? Every one of them wants to fuck me. I'm telling you bra, chicks love the twelve inch cock.” Ryan pointed to his nether regions and took a long swig from the whiskey bottle. “But also my mind. Because I can do Einstein shit with my brain. But instead of instantly getting some head by the chick working out next to me, I decide that I gotta work on my gluts, you know. You gotta work out bra!”

Ryan lifted his shirt again to show them that yes, yes indeed, he showed signs of having worked out many times over the course of many months and / or years. Matty stared at it like it was something you'd see in a zoo. He was afraid that it would bite him if he got too close. Marty seemed to share his sentiments exactly. They both took a swig from their beers. Marty finished his and crushed the can with his meager size eleven Converse sneakers. He got up and went to the cooler by the car and got another beer. He sat back down, but this time he was sitting in front of Ryan instead of right by him. Matt looked at him nervously, as if he needed an excuse too. But he had none. So Ryan continued.

“So I go outside to smoke a fat blunt, right? And this fag comes up to me. And I'm all like 'What? You wanna fuck me or something?' Then he says I'm kinda cute and he'll think about it. So I whip out my dick and decide to make him pay for messing with a hetero. So I sodomize him with my twelve inch cock!”

“You what?” Matt said excitedly.

“You know. Back in the old days if you wanted to punish somebody you'd sodomize them. It's all in the bible, bra. Have you ever read the bible?”

“Yes.” Marty says, exasperated. “I have. And they condemn sodomy!”

“But, like the olden guys who wanted to teach somebody a lesson, they'd sodomize them. Right?”

Matt looked at Marty, who offered no help. Then he looked toward Mike, not looking him in the eyes. “In fact Leviticus says if you lie with a man like you lie with a woman, blood will be on your hands, and you will surely be put to death.” Matt took a deep breath. “Or something like that.” He took another long sip from his beer and finished it.

Ryan laughed. “Well I found a loop hole. Because you aren't technically supposed to lie with a chick in her ass, so I'm not lying with a woman the way I'd lie with a man.” He took a swig of his whiskey then wiped his lips with his CU sweater sleeve. “Right?”

“No dude.” Marty said. “I think you just fucked a guy.”

“No.” Ryan said defensively. “I sodomized him.”

“What's the difference.” Matt asked with his hands up in the air

Marty shook his head, irritated. “In fact I think the whole Bible is pretty much against sodomy. I mean, isn't that what those guys wanted to do with the angels in Sodom and Gomorrah. Sodomy is basically Sodom with a 'y' tagged onto it, if that tells you anything.” He spit on the ground to the right of his feet. “Besides, it's really, really gay to sodomize a dude.”

“Yeah.” Matt said, uncertain of what to say next. “I mean. That's like 'Lady Gaga supports your lifestyle' gay.”

“Sodomy means I'm not a fag.”

“Anally raping a man because he pissed you off is still homosexual.” Marty said.

“Whoa.” Ryan raised his hands and then lowered them, as if settling a cosmic force with some hand gestures. “I'm totally not a fag.”

Marty and Matt stared at him for the longest time.

“Seriously bra. Would a fag do this?” And he stood up and started to unzip his pants.

“Holy shit!” Matt said. Marty did a spit take with the cold Coors in his mouth. Marty then looked at Matt, who then looked at Marty, and then both of his friends sprung up from where they sat and started running towards their cars. Ryan stood there like a wooden squirrel with his jeans unzipped. Within seconds Ryan heard their respective engines come to life. And as fast as they had ran from Ryan's privates, they were gone just as fast. Within a minute they are already headed for the highway from the back road that led to the camping spot far, far from the Rocky Mountains. They left in such a hurry that they even left their camping shit there. Ryan, deterred and alone, pulled out his five inch penis from the fly on his boxers. He stroked it and was disappointed when it did not respond.

“I'm not a fag...” He said with a sigh.

David's William S. Burrough cartoon sketch thingy art stuff whatever....

This is Fucking Art

By: David McGhee

He paced back and forth until he wore out the shag on the shag carpeted office floor. Holding onto his chin, as if in deep thought, the doctor says “No! No! No! You did it all wrong!”

His assistant, a midget male prostitute, concurs. “You did it all the way wrong!” He eats a weed-infused tootsie roll and his eyes go back into his skull. “Soooo wrong.” The midget male prostitute assistant moans as he rubs his pot belly for good luck.

The eager young male intern shook his head side to side. His eyes, sad and with great gray circles floating beneath betrayed a depressive determination Surely they were mistaken? All his calculations had been correct. Or at least so he thought.

“I'm far too handsome for this!” The eager young male intern said as he looked at himself in a hand held mirror. He groaned and pinched a prominent pimple on his nose between thumb and fore finger, biting his lip to ease the pain of his dirty, filthy, pimple popping habit. A fierce cascade sprouted forth and blanketed the Doctor and his male midget prostitute assistant in pimple juice from head to toe.

The midget male prostitute assistant pulls out a hankie from his white lab coat, and they were all clean again.

“I am far too handsome for this!”

Next frame: Take two.

He paced back and forth until he wore out a gaping hole in the floor. One in which one could spy on young men urinating in the toilet or going number two.

Yeah.

I just went there.

Child porn mothafuckas!

*Studio audience applauds*

The doctor had ordered that the tests be taken again. His male midget prostitute assistant had nodded in agreement and said, with a heavily strained and lusty voice, “Do it again.”

The eager young male intern let out a mournful sigh. “I am far too handsome for this.”

Next frame: Take two.

“What have you to know about this situation here?” The eager young male intern, the autistic fuck, shouted as he slapped the white and brown bitch bulldog in the face with his bare back hand. It bit at him, but so far it hadn't gotten a bit by him. The eager young male intern, the autistic pee hole, laughed maniacally. “You will talk.” He said through his gritted teeth in a broken German accent. “Ve have vays of making you talk. Ve are good at vhat ve do. You vill talk... They all talk.” He fastened his seat belt and made it snap loudly, like Satan's whip. He pulled out a red card and showed it to the belligerent policeman as the officer put on his first gimp of the day. He immediately choked to death when his nasal passages swelled up in reaction to his latex allergy. One which he was unaware of before he got into the riding saddle.

The eager young male intern rubbed his hands together. “I know vhat I vill do to you. Puppy.” He reached out to pet the bitch bull dog but it recoiled in fear of another straight punch to it's adorably broken jaw. This pleased the eager young male intern. This pleased him a great deal.

Now he was getting somewhere.

“It is only a matter of time before you crack.” The eager young male intern squeaked when he said “crack” in that broken German accent. He slapped on a rubber glove. “Puppy.”

The dog winced in fear, but it did not speak.

The eager young male intern, That autistic corn dog, with his right latex gloved hand, slid his index finger up the bitch bulldog's vaginal cavity. Since his finger is bigger than a normal dog's penis, it's easy to say that there was some rippage. Blood dripped down his finger and down his hand.

That bitch bull dog shifted and tried to paw it's way out of it's unfortunate circumstance. But it did no good. The eager young male intern just petted the doggy, it sheilded it's swollen eyes whenever his hand came in for the pet. It pleased him in that strange orgasmic way you feel when you're torturing something so stupid and wrong. God had made a mistake when he made the bull dog.

A stupid, cell phone eating, book destroying, pill eating bitch of a mistake. They do not belong on this side of the living. This he saw to.

He twisted his finger and scraped at her clitoris with his long and sharp finger nail.

Still, it would not talk.

“Puuuuuuuuuppy.” The eager young male intern stuck his finger up as far as he could without horribly scarring the bitch bulldog's internal organs. Of course if some were injured the all the better, right? Sure, it winced, It bit, It shivered and such. But still, she would not speak.

Next frame: Take two

“Silence!” Yelled the judge to his corporate sponsored courtroom. “Does not one of you tell the truth!?”

“Fuck you your honor!” Screamed the eager young male intern, that autistic foaming at the mouth, in a rage not witnessed since the biblical times. “What's with all this... This... This randomness we have created!?”

One juror, a tall bald man, stood up and ripped off his shirt, a S in large chest covering letter tattooed on his upper body. “This ain't no fucking piece of art!” He cried. “This is a video of you torturing a white and brown bitch bulldog! Have you no decency?” He cried even harder. Holding his hands to his chest. “Have you no shame?”

The eager young male intern just shook his head. “I don't know. I'm autistic you see...”

And the dream melts... Into the next frame! Take two!

She was going to crack. He knew it. Just a matter of time now.

He had placed the bitch bulldog in the shower. His hand caressing the shower knob as he slinked around the bathroom floor, like a snake.

“Puuuuuuuppy...” He hissed as he turned the hot water nozzle on and over until it would move no more. The dog tried to shield it's eyes, it tried to seek a spot where there was no hotness to be burned into your fur covered skin, and it kept running into the shower's stone walls. The eager young male intern, That autistic genius, had shut the shower door. He was sitting, leaning against the glass, massaging the metal outlay.

“Puppy...”

But still, it would not speak. Sure, it bit at the steam around it, as if it could tame the fiery inferno of a device in which it's normal function was to wash away crotch rot. Anything can be turned into a torture device. He laughed to himself as it banged against the glass he was leaning against. It could find no spot that the shower head hadn't already been spraying. That bitch bull dog couldn't get away from the deathly combination of H and two oh. Killing stupid things since the beginning of time. Very stupid things indeed. It was trying so hard to get out. It was cute to watch.

“Puuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuppy.”

The eager young male intern felt spited by such the stupid bitch of a bulldog. Such an uncaring beast. Have they no feelings?

He waited... And he waited... Then he waited some more. But still, silence.

“Puuuuuuppy...”

Next Frame: Take Two

“He was very silent as a child.” His mother said from the stands. She wiped at the corners of her eyes with a vintage Star Wars collectable cloth napkin. “The kind of silent you just don't like. I never did. Can't trust a silent man. And when he does starts talking, he won't fucking shut up I'll tell ya!”

“You don't say...” The judge yawned and looked at his watch. Surely she would finish her speech soon. Nothing this boring was worth this much time explaining.

Two of the jurors had hung themselves with their own dress shirts.

“Oh, it's very true! You see, I used to tell his shrinks that ain't nothing wrong with the boy, just needed a good ass beaten! Just like the kind you got when you grew up in a strong and proud southern baptist household. The kind that would knock a few teeth out. That's the kind of love that brings them back for more! Holy hell! Praise Jebus! But first you got to get them addicted to your bile. You got to make them co-dependent on your fluids.”

“You don't say...” The judge yawned again. This time he saw that he could see the top of that autistic fucker's mother's bust line. Her senile old breasts was good watching. God, it was great to be judge!

“He would take apart electronics but never put them back together.” She sneezed into the Star Wars collectable hankie. A thousand Star Wars fans just shat in their pants simultaneously at the sight of this atrocity. This affront to God! Praise Jebus! I thought he was going to be an engineer. I was so thrilled. But then he starts drawing you see. My father was an artist, so I could see him being an artist for a living. He practically won the 1996 Georgia Olympics' make a billboard contest that they had run in public school art classes around the state. But that just made him more agitated you see!”

“You don't say...” The judge moaned as he reached down and gave the Autistic Fuck's Mom his number. It was written on the back of a fortune cookie fortune in invisible ink.

They had all had Chinese for lunch you see. As if you cared for the tiny little details like that that so many authors put into their works. Pfft! What horse puckey! Everyone knows it's best when you go along for six hundred and sixty six pages and you still don't know a God damned thing! Ever hear of Lord of the Rings? Fucking Gandolf was a fucking hobbit molester! Betcha didn't know about that one. Or the one about how the elves were actually racist dick suckers and they feuded based solely on race? You wanna know why? Because Tolkien never wrote about any secret hobbit butt sex that Gandolf was enjoying on a daily basis. This was to protect Frodo really, he had the tightest ass of them all. Or at least so I am told.

“Oh yes. Why, he would go to school and talk about science concepts and mathematical theorems to all the boys and all the girls, all of whom just wanted to fuck and be popular. Young hormones you see. It was all the rage to have hormones rage in and out of body orifices. But not this one. Nuh uh! He didn't get out with the girls. But, to our relief, he didn't get out with the boys either. Sure he had a friend or two who happened to be male. But he had a million girlfriends, all of whom he wouldn't finger in the pussy!

“But we weren't wise just yet. Surely he wouldn't do anything to break our fragile little southern baptist hearts? Oh, it was magic when he got invitations to go over to girl's houses or whenever he got asked to the movies. We encouraged him in every way we could. Gave him condoms. Dental damns. Diaphragms.

“Showed him hours and hours of me anally raping his father with a baseball bat while he was tied to a chair with clips on his eye lids to keep them open. Ever see a Clockwork Orange? Neither have I. Fucking great book! Singing in the rain! I'm singing in the rain! Oh what a glorious feeling, I'm happy again! You know. So he would know what to do when the time comes. He comes home you see...”

“You don't say...” The judge sighs and plays with her asshole through the hole in the witness stand seat positioned just a cock throw's away from her face.

“and he rambles on and on how nice she was. How beautiful she was. And how he will never again in a million years go out with a female again. His reason...” She licked her lips. They tasted like Pringles. The jury was hanging on every word as one would from the end of a noose, another juror had committed suicide. “He didn't like to be touched. Not by anyone! It was horrible. Poor thing would become a pillar of salt at the mere touch of a baby Jesus. And this we know. Because our Mexican friend Pepe's baby was named Jesus. And he touched him. And I would be a monkey's butt fucking uncle to say that my own half of genetics turned into a pillar of salt.” A juror in a nice holiday sweat shirt shot himself in the head with a manly hand gun. Another juror booed, for a lack of better thing to do. “It's the truth I tell you!” She pleaded with the studio audience.

See what I did there?

Fucking beautiful wasn't it?

Next Frame: Take Two

The Doctor rubbed his chin, deep in thought.

“You're saying it would not speak under any circumstances?” The Doctor inquired as he pet the autistic semen stain's new pug puppy, supplied by PETA of course.

“No sir.” The eager young male intern stated plainly, that autistic involuntary liquid emission. “Finally gave up on the damned thing and put it in the microwave.”

The doctor dropped the pug head first on the ground and put his hands to each cheek. “I thought you only put baby in the microwave?!”

“Nobody puts baby in the microwave.” Says the eager young male intern, that autistic cum stain, as he puts on some cool Ray Ban sunglasses and tugs at his black leather biker's jacket. “Aaaaaaaye” He commands as he gave the Doctor, and his midget male prostitute assistant the thumbs up. Pretty sterile as far as mental patients are concerned.

The doctor waved his hands in desperate hopes to make sense of this sentence. “Stop being silly! This is serious!” His mouth was agape. “Way too serious for you!” The doctor was pointing at the clown over in the corner making baloon animals. He looked around the room and pointed at his clown self. “Me?” He asked. “Yes you! Get out of here you serious clown!”

The doctor turned his attention to the eager young male intern, that autistic pre-ejaculate fluid. “You actually mean to tell me...”

The eager young male intern, that autistic camel toe, nodded as he came a bit closer, rubbing his nipples as he approached.

“That you,” He took a breath of fresh methane and continued on. “an autistic mastermind...” He was holding a Macy's gift card. “Bedder of a million tall, hung young men...”

The eager young male intern, that autistic ovary mishap, nodded more as he came just a little bit closer.

“Are telling me...”

Another nod, another step closer. The autistic shit was breathing heavily. “Yes.”

“That...”

“Yes?” The eager young male intern moaned. His orgasm neurons ready to fire.

“You...”

“Oh God...” There was crotch gold to be found if you just rubbed it hard enough. But you have to believe. You just got to believe! You just got to believe in the father's cock, the son's penis, and the holy scrotum!

“Actually maimed and tortured...”

“I'm coming!” He shouted as he stroked his college degree even faster.

“A bitch bulldog...”

“Here it comes!!!” The eager young male intern, that autistic cup warmer, warned the doctor and his male midget prostitute assistant as the tension in the room rose from the cold ground like a fog, ready to burst.

“HOLY SHIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIT!!!” Somewhere, somebody was having a Dr. Pepper. And this just occurred to the autistic soda drinker... That is, as he slowly built up his kegal muscles in orgasmic anticipation.

“and...”

But it was too late. The eager young male intern, that autistic horn dog, had shot nothing but blanks. There had been loud firing sounds, but no shells were left on the floor. It was as if some mad man had come into the diner and shot up the place with a marshmallow gun. Brains stuck to the walls like syrup on a bare hairy nipple. The kind you like to pour on your chest during the best parts of the Rachel Ray Show.

The doctor sighed as he wrote something on his little doctor pad thingy, as doctor's are prone to do.. “It's just as I figured.” He shook his head. “Might as well be a good thing this here young man likes the cock.”

The midget male prostitute assistant nodded in agreement. “Yes. He loves the cock.” He added seriously. As stated before. This was no time for no clowns. Yet they keep popping up like HIV infected cock-roaches. Cock as in penis and roach as in the little piece of blunt you have left after you smoked it into an infinitesimal piece of doobie. What we geometry enthusiasts would to call a point.

The eager young male intern shuddered in the coldness of the room. He was stark naked. How'd that happen? Wasn't he just clothed in warm sweaters and roomy cargo pants and boxers that had math equations on them. No. He was naked. How crazy is this? Totally random I bet. Still not convinced? No? Well... He was now naked in front of two grown men, doctors in their own right, who've seen a bajillion penises before and will probably see a bajillion more before they retire, he covered his shame. “Oh curse thine Gods with my six to seven inches!” His hands did not betray the genitals they covered.

The naked eager young male intern grinned with rueful pride. A light lit in an otherwise dark, dark world. “I...” He rubbed his nipples. “Love...”

The doctor and his midget male prostitute assistant nodded, stroking their baby makers.

“The...”

“Oh my God?” The doctor shouted. “Had we succeeded in making him believe in the lie!”

“COCK!” And the the eager young male intern spit in his father's face.

“I'm gay Dad!” The autistic pile of poop declared. He and his father enjoyed a sweet, hallmarky moment involving num-chucks and a great quantity of corn syrup. But after all was said and done, he supposed he loved the old homophobe after all.

El oh el smiley face..

The Doctor wrote something down in his little doctor note thingy, as doctors tend to do.

Next Frame: Scene two

The autistic bastard's lawyer had shown up early that day, ready to rumble. He even brought his boxing gloves just in case. No... Seriously, the dude fucking brought boxing gloves with him to court. The red kind you see in the movies! How hardcore is that!? I'm soooo going to get me an attorney like that, the autistic kitty cat explosion thought to himself. I bet if they made a reality show about lawyers doing real and staged trials as they battled it out Mad Max style, they could make millions.

First I have to patent this idea.

How can you patent an idea?

Einstein would know. He used to be a patent clerk before he fell victim to the hair style of the times. He said he could not authorize said transaction. Einstein then proceeded to steal my idea, and make relativity, relatively cheap. Damn Asians can make anything cheaper than we can! All we do is import and export art, and this ain't no fucking art! Einstein is ashamed of you for even thinking such a thing!

Although it's weird fucking shit when you think about it for a second. The eager young male intern winked in the little autistic dump's direction, lest they know that they are really two of the same man. Dissociative personality disorder you know. Thinks he's up to fifteen different diagnoses at one time.

The judge was massaging the big black throbbing penis beneath his judging robe. Really, it's better if the children didn't have to watch this filth. They experience enough on a day by day basis already. Things like big... Throbbing... Pug puppies.

“I object!” Screamed the state prosecutor in a lusty rage. This broke the autistic fuck's train of thought. How dare he... Doesn't he know that ruining the dream of such a short young man would disturb the blissful state he's been building around himself like a frozen pop igloo. It's worse than being on the nod and having the bastard doctors, with their bastard needles, give you their bastard Narcan right up the fucking right hand vein. It's like getting your chest caved in by a six seven master basketball player. Sticking his size sixteens in his narrow ass. Your lungs deflate and your skin tries to run away from you're body so it can go out and buy more junk. If it succeeds, then it never returns to its original box.

“Object to what?” The autistic diddle's lawyer asked, punching the air with his hardcore boxing gloves, letting the judge know who to fave with a wink of an eye and a piss of a penis. The judge tugged at his collar and made an “Ee, Eee, Eeee, Eeeee.” sound.

The autistic nuts and honey, he just sat back and smiled. “I'm far too handsome for this!”

The jury was hung! All of them, abnormally large penises!

“You're honor?” The autistic fecal matter's lawyer approached the bench. “If I may, could I be hostile to the witness?”

The judge swallowed. Knowing what this meant. If it hadn't already then he was sure it would. Because it did what it would if a wood chuck could chuck wood. And this I swear.

The autistic sperm and egg's lawyer throws a banana cream pie square in the doctor's face (because such was the style at the time).

“The individual...” The doctor, and when I say doctor I mean a REAL doctor. The one wiping banana crème off his face. I'm just letting you know this because that other doctor you saw in the video ladies and gentleman is a phony. Just a shit on his after birth junk sick phony. It was all just make believe to piss off the establishment. This film... This piece of art. This piece of fucking ART! The doctor thought proudly. He was going to be the deciding factor in this case. He would sway the jury to the highest bidder and milk it all later with a book deal. A best seller if I ever smelled one. “The individual will go on and on for hours about his special interest. In this film you have just scene. Is it art? Is it vulgar? Is it random? Perhaps. One thing it doesn't have...” The doctor drew up his ghost busting ray gun and zapped the autistic individual's head. It made a clicking sound. The kind that you hear when a seizure is coming on. All the kids have them now a days. All the rage.

“Too many CBDs in that one...” One female juror, fat from eating the water bugs that clung to the side of the boats, AKA: lobsters, wept at the very sight of her husband's one inch micro penis.

The doctor focused on the ray beam that was streaming information back from the autistic scum's head and into his own. “I see...” The doctor said sympathetically, all the happiness and life drained from his once beauty model face. “He wants to say that he is sorry for all the shit he's done over the years. The cruelty to frogs and monkeys, well that was just icing on the carrot cake of life. I promise it was microwaved under strict supervision of the ASPCA.

“But I digress.” The autistic cumquat digressed. He held out his arms as if someone should pity him so much as to fill his hands with candy. “That is so typical of me to chicken out. That is so typical of me...”

The jurors who were not already bored to death self strangulated themselves.

It was absolutely riveting prime time TV!

“That I may walk among you Gods of this hipster scene. I just want to let you know that I turn the other cheek. After all is said and done, if you were my friend, you'd beat me up again.

“El oh el, Smiley face.”

The judge pounded his gavel in orgasmic lust.

“I may have been raised a Georgia hick...” Someone in the studio audience hissed. Somebody was about to get hung son! “But I am the true idiot Colorado.” The eager young male intern, This is my home. And you shit in homes. I know I do. And sometimes shit gets around the lid's edges and everyone fucking knows it was you who put that shit stain there. Sure... You try to use some toilet paper to wipe it away, but it won't go away because it's shit, and shit does shit like this and you feel like shitty eating shit contests with three bilingual co-eds.”

While the theatrics went on on-stange and random psychic phenomenon that made one feel as if there had been a disturbance in the force, the true comedy was on the courtroom floor. After only three throws and a right from behind to the kidneys, the state's attorney fell over and died, leaving no one to prosecute the case. Because you see. When there ain't no one to prosecute a case, the victim gets off Scot-free!

However if one happened to die while on the pot, another one would grow back in its place. This weed allegory is not only quietly brilliant, it is also sound science. But before another state prosecutor could feed off of the nutrients in the soil so that it could point it's hefty finger of justice, the autistic shit's attorney sprayed Weed-Be-Gone on the roots. And wouldn't you know it, the plant that the state prosecuting attorney had been riding the coat tails of had failed to grow again. Leaving a large and unfilled hole in our legal system. A gaping hole that no one could ever fill. Nope. No one. At least not for this story anyways.

The doctor's head exploded into a storm of confetti that blew dicks from across the room during the process of extracting more information from the cum stained sock that was this autistic boy's face. As they say, you can never have too much information, but in this case it was too much information. How about that? Mused the judge.

Sometimes you just had to think outside the taco...

“Case dismissed!” The Judge shouted as he shot up from his chair and par-keyed over the podium and onto the wooden paneled floor. With a salt shaker in one hand and some nachos the other, he was finally a happy man. “As long as you don't cross the street at an angle, you're on unsupervised probation until December eighteenth at eight am in the morning.”

The courtroom erupted with applause and silly string was strung and the gay men did their gay homo gay thing Over in the smoking section of the courtroom. The spot filled with desperate housewives trying to get a TV deal. That's where gay people go all gay and be really gay.

As for the eager young male intern, this walking autistic mammogram, he walked down the courthouse's staircase just outside of the front door where he was accosted by a throng of throbbing journalists. Hard hitting news this be, said they, despite their best efforts to get him down, he was pretty happy with himself for once. And everyone knows that once your happy with yourself, that's when the real trouble starts. Frowny face.

The reporters. They asked “Why did you do it?”

The autistic boy bent over and let his asshole do the talking. “Because this is fucking Art!”

The journalists and psychiatrists scribbled feverishly on their journalist and psychiatrist notebooks. Surely this was the news of the century! Art so hardcore that it will flavor your coffee with half the fat of normal bullshit!

The autistic after birth tilted his his head and looked to the sky.

“Is this fucking art?” He pondered. “Or am I having a stroke?”This is Fucking Art

By: David McGhee

He paced back and forth until he wore out the shag on the shag carpeted office floor. Holding onto his chin, as if in deep thought, the doctor says “No! No! No! You did it all wrong!”

His assistant, a midget male prostitute, concurs. “You did it all the way wrong!” He eats a weed-infused tootsie roll and his eyes go back into his skull. “Soooo wrong.” The midget male prostitute assistant moans as he rubs his pot belly for good luck.

The eager young male intern shook his head side to side. His eyes, sad and with great gray circles floating beneath betrayed a depressive determination Surely they were mistaken? All his calculations had been correct. Or at least so he thought.

“I'm far too handsome for this!” The eager young male intern said as he looked at himself in a hand held mirror. He groaned and pinched a prominent pimple on his nose between thumb and fore finger, biting his lip to ease the pain of his dirty, filthy, pimple popping habit. A fierce cascade sprouted forth and blanketed the Doctor and his male midget prostitute assistant in pimple juice from head to toe.

The midget male prostitute assistant pulls out a hankie from his white lab coat, and they were all clean again.

“I am far too handsome for this!”

Next frame: Take two.

He paced back and forth until he wore out a gaping hole in the floor. One in which one could spy on young men urinating in the toilet or going number two.

Yeah.

I just went there.

Child porn mothafuckas!

*Studio audience applauds*

The doctor had ordered that the tests be taken again. His male midget prostitute assistant had nodded in agreement and said, with a heavily strained and lusty voice, “Do it again.”

The eager young male intern let out a mournful sigh. “I am far too handsome for this.”

Next frame: Take two.

“What have you to know about this situation here?” The eager young male intern, the autistic fuck, shouted as he slapped the white and brown bitch bulldog in the face with his bare back hand. It bit at him, but so far it hadn't gotten a bit by him. The eager young male intern, the autistic pee hole, laughed maniacally. “You will talk.” He said through his gritted teeth in a broken German accent. “Ve have vays of making you talk. Ve are good at vhat ve do. You vill talk... They all talk.” He fastened his seat belt and made it snap loudly, like Satan's whip. He pulled out a red card and showed it to the belligerent policeman as the officer put on his first gimp of the day. He immediately choked to death when his nasal passages swelled up in reaction to his latex allergy. One which he was unaware of before he got into the riding saddle.

The eager young male intern rubbed his hands together. “I know vhat I vill do to you. Puppy.” He reached out to pet the bitch bull dog but it recoiled in fear of another straight punch to it's adorably broken jaw. This pleased the eager young male intern. This pleased him a great deal.

Now he was getting somewhere.

“It is only a matter of time before you crack.” The eager young male intern squeaked when he said “crack” in that broken German accent. He slapped on a rubber glove. “Puppy.”

The dog winced in fear, but it did not speak.

The eager young male intern, That autistic corn dog, with his right latex gloved hand, slid his index finger up the bitch bulldog's vaginal cavity. Since his finger is bigger than a normal dog's penis, it's easy to say that there was some rippage. Blood dripped down his finger and down his hand.

That bitch bull dog shifted and tried to paw it's way out of it's unfortunate circumstance. But it did no good. The eager young male intern just petted the doggy, it sheilded it's swollen eyes whenever his hand came in for the pet. It pleased him in that strange orgasmic way you feel when you're torturing something so stupid and wrong. God had made a mistake when he made the bull dog.

A stupid, cell phone eating, book destroying, pill eating bitch of a mistake. They do not belong on this side of the living. This he saw to.

He twisted his finger and scraped at her clitoris with his long and sharp finger nail.

Still, it would not talk.

“Puuuuuuuuuppy.” The eager young male intern stuck his finger up as far as he could without horribly scarring the bitch bulldog's internal organs. Of course if some were injured the all the better, right? Sure, it winced, It bit, It shivered and such. But still, she would not speak.

Next frame: Take two

“Silence!” Yelled the judge to his corporate sponsored courtroom. “Does not one of you tell the truth!?”

“Fuck you your honor!” Screamed the eager young male intern, that autistic foaming at the mouth, in a rage not witnessed since the biblical times. “What's with all this... This... This randomness we have created!?”

One juror, a tall bald man, stood up and ripped off his shirt, a S in large chest covering letter tattooed on his upper body. “This ain't no fucking piece of art!” He cried. “This is a video of you torturing a white and brown bitch bulldog! Have you no decency?” He cried even harder. Holding his hands to his chest. “Have you no shame?”

The eager young male intern just shook his head. “I don't know. I'm autistic you see...”

And the dream melts... Into the next frame! Take two!

She was going to crack. He knew it. Just a matter of time now.

He had placed the bitch bulldog in the shower. His hand caressing the shower knob as he slinked around the bathroom floor, like a snake.

“Puuuuuuuppy...” He hissed as he turned the hot water nozzle on and over until it would move no more. The dog tried to shield it's eyes, it tried to seek a spot where there was no hotness to be burned into your fur covered skin, and it kept running into the shower's stone walls. The eager young male intern, That autistic genius, had shut the shower door. He was sitting, leaning against the glass, massaging the metal outlay.

“Puppy...”

But still, it would not speak. Sure, it bit at the steam around it, as if it could tame the fiery inferno of a device in which it's normal function was to wash away crotch rot. Anything can be turned into a torture device. He laughed to himself as it banged against the glass he was leaning against. It could find no spot that the shower head hadn't already been spraying. That bitch bull dog couldn't get away from the deathly combination of H and two oh. Killing stupid things since the beginning of time. Very stupid things indeed. It was trying so hard to get out. It was cute to watch.

“Puuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuppy.”

The eager young male intern felt spited by such the stupid bitch of a bulldog. Such an uncaring beast. Have they no feelings?

He waited... And he waited... Then he waited some more. But still, silence.

“Puuuuuuppy...”

Next Frame: Take Two

“He was very silent as a child.” His mother said from the stands. She wiped at the corners of her eyes with a vintage Star Wars collectable cloth napkin. “The kind of silent you just don't like. I never did. Can't trust a silent man. And when he does starts talking, he won't fucking shut up I'll tell ya!”

“You don't say...” The judge yawned and looked at his watch. Surely she would finish her speech soon. Nothing this boring was worth this much time explaining.

Two of the jurors had hung themselves with their own dress shirts.

“Oh, it's very true! You see, I used to tell his shrinks that ain't nothing wrong with the boy, just needed a good ass beaten! Just like the kind you got when you grew up in a strong and proud southern baptist household. The kind that would knock a few teeth out. That's the kind of love that brings them back for more! Holy hell! Praise Jebus! But first you got to get them addicted to your bile. You got to make them co-dependent on your fluids.”

“You don't say...” The judge yawned again. This time he saw that he could see the top of that autistic fucker's mother's bust line. Her senile old breasts was good watching. God, it was great to be judge!

“He would take apart electronics but never put them back together.” She sneezed into the Star Wars collectable hankie. A thousand Star Wars fans just shat in their pants simultaneously at the sight of this atrocity. This affront to God! Praise Jebus! I thought he was going to be an engineer. I was so thrilled. But then he starts drawing you see. My father was an artist, so I could see him being an artist for a living. He practically won the 1996 Georgia Olympics' make a billboard contest that they had run in public school art classes around the state. But that just made him more agitated you see!”

“You don't say...” The judge moaned as he reached down and gave the Autistic Fuck's Mom his number. It was written on the back of a fortune cookie fortune in invisible ink.

They had all had Chinese for lunch you see. As if you cared for the tiny little details like that that so many authors put into their works. Pfft! What horse puckey! Everyone knows it's best when you go along for six hundred and sixty six pages and you still don't know a God damned thing! Ever hear of Lord of the Rings? Fucking Gandolf was a fucking hobbit molester! Betcha didn't know about that one. Or the one about how the elves were actually racist dick suckers and they feuded based solely on race? You wanna know why? Because Tolkien never wrote about any secret hobbit butt sex that Gandolf was enjoying on a daily basis. This was to protect Frodo really, he had the tightest ass of them all. Or at least so I am told.

“Oh yes. Why, he would go to school and talk about science concepts and mathematical theorems to all the boys and all the girls, all of whom just wanted to fuck and be popular. Young hormones you see. It was all the rage to have hormones rage in and out of body orifices. But not this one. Nuh uh! He didn't get out with the girls. But, to our relief, he didn't get out with the boys either. Sure he had a friend or two who happened to be male. But he had a million girlfriends, all of whom he wouldn't finger in the pussy!

“But we weren't wise just yet. Surely he wouldn't do anything to break our fragile little southern baptist hearts? Oh, it was magic when he got invitations to go over to girl's houses or whenever he got asked to the movies. We encouraged him in every way we could. Gave him condoms. Dental damns. Diaphragms.

“Showed him hours and hours of me anally raping his father with a baseball bat while he was tied to a chair with clips on his eye lids to keep them open. Ever see a Clockwork Orange? Neither have I. Fucking great book! Singing in the rain! I'm singing in the rain! Oh what a glorious feeling, I'm happy again! You know. So he would know what to do when the time comes. He comes home you see...”

“You don't say...” The judge sighs and plays with her asshole through the hole in the witness stand seat positioned just a cock throw's away from her face.

“and he rambles on and on how nice she was. How beautiful she was. And how he will never again in a million years go out with a female again. His reason...” She licked her lips. They tasted like Pringles. The jury was hanging on every word as one would from the end of a noose, another juror had committed suicide. “He didn't like to be touched. Not by anyone! It was horrible. Poor thing would become a pillar of salt at the mere touch of a baby Jesus. And this we know. Because our Mexican friend Pepe's baby was named Jesus. And he touched him. And I would be a monkey's butt fucking uncle to say that my own half of genetics turned into a pillar of salt.” A juror in a nice holiday sweat shirt shot himself in the head with a manly hand gun. Another juror booed, for a lack of better thing to do. “It's the truth I tell you!” She pleaded with the studio audience.

See what I did there?

Fucking beautiful wasn't it?

Next Frame: Take Two

The Doctor rubbed his chin, deep in thought.

“You're saying it would not speak under any circumstances?” The Doctor inquired as he pet the autistic semen stain's new pug puppy, supplied by PETA of course.

“No sir.” The eager young male intern stated plainly, that autistic involuntary liquid emission. “Finally gave up on the damned thing and put it in the microwave.”

The doctor dropped the pug head first on the ground and put his hands to each cheek. “I thought you only put baby in the microwave?!”

“Nobody puts baby in the microwave.” Says the eager young male intern, that autistic cum stain, as he puts on some cool Ray Ban sunglasses and tugs at his black leather biker's jacket. “Aaaaaaaye” He commands as he gave the Doctor, and his midget male prostitute assistant the thumbs up. Pretty sterile as far as mental patients are concerned.

The doctor waved his hands in desperate hopes to make sense of this sentence. “Stop being silly! This is serious!” His mouth was agape. “Way too serious for you!” The doctor was pointing at the clown over in the corner making baloon animals. He looked around the room and pointed at his clown self. “Me?” He asked. “Yes you! Get out of here you serious clown!”

The doctor turned his attention to the eager young male intern, that autistic pre-ejaculate fluid. “You actually mean to tell me...”

The eager young male intern, that autistic camel toe, nodded as he came a bit closer, rubbing his nipples as he approached.

“That you,” He took a breath of fresh methane and continued on. “an autistic mastermind...” He was holding a Macy's gift card. “Bedder of a million tall, hung young men...”

The eager young male intern, that autistic ovary mishap, nodded more as he came just a little bit closer.

“Are telling me...”

Another nod, another step closer. The autistic shit was breathing heavily. “Yes.”

“That...”

“Yes?” The eager young male intern moaned. His orgasm neurons ready to fire.

“You...”

“Oh God...” There was crotch gold to be found if you just rubbed it hard enough. But you have to believe. You just got to believe! You just got to believe in the father's cock, the son's penis, and the holy scrotum!

“Actually maimed and tortured...”

“I'm coming!” He shouted as he stroked his college degree even faster.

“A bitch bulldog...”

“Here it comes!!!” The eager young male intern, that autistic cup warmer, warned the doctor and his male midget prostitute assistant as the tension in the room rose from the cold ground like a fog, ready to burst.

“HOLY SHIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIT!!!” Somewhere, somebody was having a Dr. Pepper. And this just occurred to the autistic soda drinker... That is, as he slowly built up his kegal muscles in orgasmic anticipation.

“and...”

But it was too late. The eager young male intern, that autistic horn dog, had shot nothing but blanks. There had been loud firing sounds, but no shells were left on the floor. It was as if some mad man had come into the diner and shot up the place with a marshmallow gun. Brains stuck to the walls like syrup on a bare hairy nipple. The kind you like to pour on your chest during the best parts of the Rachel Ray Show.

The doctor sighed as he wrote something on his little doctor pad thingy, as doctor's are prone to do.. “It's just as I figured.” He shook his head. “Might as well be a good thing this here young man likes the cock.”

The midget male prostitute assistant nodded in agreement. “Yes. He loves the cock.” He added seriously. As stated before. This was no time for no clowns. Yet they keep popping up like HIV infected cock-roaches. Cock as in penis and roach as in the little piece of blunt you have left after you smoked it into an infinitesimal piece of doobie. What we geometry enthusiasts would to call a point.

The eager young male intern shuddered in the coldness of the room. He was stark naked. How'd that happen? Wasn't he just clothed in warm sweaters and roomy cargo pants and boxers that had math equations on them. No. He was naked. How crazy is this? Totally random I bet. Still not convinced? No? Well... He was now naked in front of two grown men, doctors in their own right, who've seen a bajillion penises before and will probably see a bajillion more before they retire, he covered his shame. “Oh curse thine Gods with my six to seven inches!” His hands did not betray the genitals they covered.

The naked eager young male intern grinned with rueful pride. A light lit in an otherwise dark, dark world. “I...” He rubbed his nipples. “Love...”

The doctor and his midget male prostitute assistant nodded, stroking their baby makers.

“The...”

“Oh my God?” The doctor shouted. “Had we succeeded in making him believe in the lie!”

“COCK!” And the the eager young male intern spit in his father's face.

“I'm gay Dad!” The autistic pile of poop declared. He and his father enjoyed a sweet, hallmarky moment involving num-chucks and a great quantity of corn syrup. But after all was said and done, he supposed he loved the old homophobe after all.

El oh el smiley face..

The Doctor wrote something down in his little doctor note thingy, as doctors tend to do.

Next Frame: Scene two

The autistic bastard's lawyer had shown up early that day, ready to rumble. He even brought his boxing gloves just in case. No... Seriously, the dude fucking brought boxing gloves with him to court. The red kind you see in the movies! How hardcore is that!? I'm soooo going to get me an attorney like that, the autistic kitty cat explosion thought to himself. I bet if they made a reality show about lawyers doing real and staged trials as they battled it out Mad Max style, they could make millions.

First I have to patent this idea.

How can you patent an idea?

Einstein would know. He used to be a patent clerk before he fell victim to the hair style of the times. He said he could not authorize said transaction. Einstein then proceeded to steal my idea, and make relativity, relatively cheap. Damn Asians can make anything cheaper than we can! All we do is import and export art, and this ain't no fucking art! Einstein is ashamed of you for even thinking such a thing!

Although it's weird fucking shit when you think about it for a second. The eager young male intern winked in the little autistic dump's direction, lest they know that they are really two of the same man. Dissociative personality disorder you know. Thinks he's up to fifteen different diagnoses at one time.

The judge was massaging the big black throbbing penis beneath his judging robe. Really, it's better if the children didn't have to watch this filth. They experience enough on a day by day basis already. Things like big... Throbbing... Pug puppies.

“I object!” Screamed the state prosecutor in a lusty rage. This broke the autistic fuck's train of thought. How dare he... Doesn't he know that ruining the dream of such a short young man would disturb the blissful state he's been building around himself like a frozen pop igloo. It's worse than being on the nod and having the bastard doctors, with their bastard needles, give you their bastard Narcan right up the fucking right hand vein. It's like getting your chest caved in by a six seven master basketball player. Sticking his size sixteens in his narrow ass. Your lungs deflate and your skin tries to run away from you're body so it can go out and buy more junk. If it succeeds, then it never returns to its original box.

“Object to what?” The autistic diddle's lawyer asked, punching the air with his hardcore boxing gloves, letting the judge know who to fave with a wink of an eye and a piss of a penis. The judge tugged at his collar and made an “Ee, Eee, Eeee, Eeeee.” sound.

The autistic nuts and honey, he just sat back and smiled. “I'm far too handsome for this!”

The jury was hung! All of them, abnormally large penises!

“You're honor?” The autistic fecal matter's lawyer approached the bench. “If I may, could I be hostile to the witness?”

The judge swallowed. Knowing what this meant. If it hadn't already then he was sure it would. Because it did what it would if a wood chuck could chuck wood. And this I swear.

The autistic sperm and egg's lawyer throws a banana cream pie square in the doctor's face (because such was the style at the time).

“The individual...” The doctor, and when I say doctor I mean a REAL doctor. The one wiping banana crème off his face. I'm just letting you know this because that other doctor you saw in the video ladies and gentleman is a phony. Just a shit on his after birth junk sick phony. It was all just make believe to piss off the establishment. This film... This piece of art. This piece of fucking ART! The doctor thought proudly. He was going to be the deciding factor in this case. He would sway the jury to the highest bidder and milk it all later with a book deal. A best seller if I ever smelled one. “The individual will go on and on for hours about his special interest. In this film you have just scene. Is it art? Is it vulgar? Is it random? Perhaps. One thing it doesn't have...” The doctor drew up his ghost busting ray gun and zapped the autistic individual's head. It made a clicking sound. The kind that you hear when a seizure is coming on. All the kids have them now a days. All the rage.

“Too many CBDs in that one...” One female juror, fat from eating the water bugs that clung to the side of the boats, AKA: lobsters, wept at the very sight of her husband's one inch micro penis.

The doctor focused on the ray beam that was streaming information back from the autistic scum's head and into his own. “I see...” The doctor said sympathetically, all the happiness and life drained from his once beauty model face. “He wants to say that he is sorry for all the shit he's done over the years. The cruelty to frogs and monkeys, well that was just icing on the carrot cake of life. I promise it was microwaved under strict supervision of the ASPCA.

“But I digress.” The autistic cumquat digressed. He held out his arms as if someone should pity him so much as to fill his hands with candy. “That is so typical of me to chicken out. That is so typical of me...”

The jurors who were not already bored to death self strangulated themselves.

It was absolutely riveting prime time TV!

“That I may walk among you Gods of this hipster scene. I just want to let you know that I turn the other cheek. After all is said and done, if you were my friend, you'd beat me up again.

“El oh el, Smiley face.”

The judge pounded his gavel in orgasmic lust.

“I may have been raised a Georgia hick...” Someone in the studio audience hissed. Somebody was about to get hung son! “But I am the true idiot Colorado.” The eager young male intern, This is my home. And you shit in homes. I know I do. And sometimes shit gets around the lid's edges and everyone fucking knows it was you who put that shit stain there. Sure... You try to use some toilet paper to wipe it away, but it won't go away because it's shit, and shit does shit like this and you feel like shitty eating shit contests with three bilingual co-eds.”

While the theatrics went on on-stange and random psychic phenomenon that made one feel as if there had been a disturbance in the force, the true comedy was on the courtroom floor. After only three throws and a right from behind to the kidneys, the state's attorney fell over and died, leaving no one to prosecute the case. Because you see. When there ain't no one to prosecute a case, the victim gets off Scot-free!

However if one happened to die while on the pot, another one would grow back in its place. This weed allegory is not only quietly brilliant, it is also sound science. But before another state prosecutor could feed off of the nutrients in the soil so that it could point it's hefty finger of justice, the autistic shit's attorney sprayed Weed-Be-Gone on the roots. And wouldn't you know it, the plant that the state prosecuting attorney had been riding the coat tails of had failed to grow again. Leaving a large and unfilled hole in our legal system. A gaping hole that no one could ever fill. Nope. No one. At least not for this story anyways.

The doctor's head exploded into a storm of confetti that blew dicks from across the room during the process of extracting more information from the cum stained sock that was this autistic boy's face. As they say, you can never have too much information, but in this case it was too much information. How about that? Mused the judge.

Sometimes you just had to think outside the taco...

“Case dismissed!” The Judge shouted as he shot up from his chair and par-keyed over the podium and onto the wooden paneled floor. With a salt shaker in one hand and some nachos the other, he was finally a happy man. “As long as you don't cross the street at an angle, you're on unsupervised probation until December eighteenth at eight am in the morning.”

The courtroom erupted with applause and silly string was strung and the gay men did their gay homo gay thing Over in the smoking section of the courtroom. The spot filled with desperate housewives trying to get a TV deal. That's where gay people go all gay and be really gay.

As for the eager young male intern, this walking autistic mammogram, he walked down the courthouse's staircase just outside of the front door where he was accosted by a throng of throbbing journalists. Hard hitting news this be, said they, despite their best efforts to get him down, he was pretty happy with himself for once. And everyone knows that once your happy with yourself, that's when the real trouble starts. Frowny face.

The reporters. They asked “Why did you do it?”

The autistic boy bent over and let his asshole do the talking. “Because this is fucking Art!”

The journalists and psychiatrists scribbled feverishly on their journalist and psychiatrist notebooks. Surely this was the news of the century! Art so hardcore that it will flavor your coffee with half the fat of normal bullshit!

The autistic after birth tilted his his head and looked to the sky.

“Is this fucking art?” He pondered. “Or am I having a stroke?”