Wigwam Boner Hole

I jumped awake and pulled my nunchaku from under my pillow. There was someone in the house. I slipped into my “game of death” suit and put on my Bruce Lee mask with night vision. There was a noise from my attic. Someone was fuking with my hydro setup. I sneaked up the ladder until I was near the light switch. I flipped the lights to surprise them and jumped with my nunchaku flailing. There was nobody there. I pulled of my mask. Nothing, nobody. Then a voice came down from the ceiling. “Pradlcykbo. You shouldn’t grow this much weed without sharing.”
“What do you mean? It’s my weed. I’ll smoke as much as I want.”
“Yes. But there is a scatological limit. Anything beyond a couple lids a day is pure selfishness.”
“Well what the fuk do you suggest I do with the extra grass? Who are you anyway?”
“I am the ghost of stoners past. And as for the extra grass, there are several things you can do. The first would be to donate it to retirement homes. Those places are filled with needy stoners. Do you know how hard it is to get good grass in a place like that?”
“I had no idea. Well that should be easy enough.”
“That’s not all. Don’t forget about those of us that have passed on. There’s no good weed in the afterlife.”
“Well there’s not a whole lot I can do about that. I’m surprised you guys can’t get grass there.”
“We get it. But its all bammer.”
“Well if there’s something I can do let me know. I was planning on giving my shake to the local Elks Lodge.”
“No shake, sonny,” said the ghost. “We need some mean fukin nugs. Some crippling super buds.”
“You got it. Feel free to come back during harvest and take as much as you need.”
“Very funny. Instead, I’m gonna have you Fedex it to a special address. They will know how to get it to us.”
“That’s no problem. What’s that address?”
The ghost gave me the address and then disappeared. The next day I sent the weed.
About a week later I was chasing a squirrel on the roof and I found a wire. I followed the wire to a speaker in my attic. God damn fukin winos.

Hey Pa, What's It Like To Toadstool Ma?

Charblok was having the shittiest day of his entire life. He woke up with two transvestites teabagging his eyesockets and a cocker spaniel cornholing his ear. When he finally fought his way out of bed and made his first cup of coffee, his dick got caught in the coffee grinder. After he downed a couple cups of pud flavored coffee he had to jettison his morning shit. He sat down on the toilet, pushed out a loaf and his tapeworm stormed out, pissed as hell, and gnawed one of his balls off. To top it off, when he walked out the door, already five hours late for work, he slipped in a puddle of aardvark diarrhea and landed, anus first on his garden gnome’s fist.
Everything turned around though, when he got on the subway his ex-girlfriend was there. And she was randy as all get out. He picked the lock on the storage closet and they squeezed in there. Charblok popped a couple blasters of ecstasy and they power humped. Unfortunately the rhythmic motion of his hip thrusts matched the harmonic frequency of the tunnel and when he blew a wad the subway car launched off the track and into an underground city built by those dudes that live down there. Luckily no one was really hurt, but Charblok did have a slight pain in his lower abdomen.
They crawled out of the closet and walked to the opening. When they emerged onto the street, a pack of rabid midgets mugged them with sharpened screwdrivers. He went back to her apartment cause his was way to dangerous. They made some grilled cheese and then cornholed on the washing machine. She fell off when the machine hit spin cycle with his Jensen still attached. His ballsack dropped to the floor with the worst hernea on record.
The ambulance came to take him to the hospital. The paramedics were wearing soccer cleats because it was supposed to be their day off. When they tried to lift his nuts onto the auxiliary stretcher, one of them slipped and trampled his right gonad. They tried to heft the sack back on again using block and tackle but settled on kicking it up onto Charblok’s chest. They finally got him into the ambulance and knocked him out with some laughing gas. He was unconscious for the rest of the day. Good thing, cause the surgeon was also having a shitty day.

Honey, There's Fart in my Lungs

Hey, you. Pile of turkey felch. Aren’t you that dude on the bus thats always falling over next to the stairs?
No. I’m that dude that stinks like aardvark piss that uses that six month old ticket stub. The guy that always sits in the front row with his head real limp, almost falling over on the lady with the shopping bag.
Oh. Well you’ve got a hell of a gift. I’ve known winos who’ve ridden the bus for over twenty years that would kill to have your stench, your walk, your stumble. The way you make enemies on the bus is phenomenal. When you ripped that fart into that dude’s lunch bag. That was fukin classic man.
Thanks. I found some old cabbage heads behind Vons. Some nice lady at the YWCA gave me a blender. I pureed the shit out of the cabbage and then mixed in a little bean juice from behind the Mexican restaurant. A lot of anti-oxidants in there. Gotta keep your blood healthy.
That’s the truth. I’ve found that the best way to stay trim and in excellent health is to smoke at least two joints at lunch and a snowcone before bed. Shit. I haven’t had so much as a sniffle since I started it. Unless you count the night I hung out at a coke dealer’s house. My nose was running all night. I was buried in that pile of coke until 8AM when I tried to go to sleep but just laid in my bed shaking. But enough about me. Tell me where you got those fabulous shoes.
The left shoe I found in the grass by a freeway. Good as new. Almost my size too. Had to run a couple of modifications on the toe, namely stretch it out with a piece of hot rebar. And I had to pull out all the stuffing in the heel part too. It still fits good though cause I sewed in a piece of rubber to keep it snug. The right shoe. Shit. I can’t really remember where I picked it up. In fact I think I woke up with it on. It fit nearly perfectly as well. You can see how I chopped the heel off though cause you can’t have two different height shoes. It’s bad for the knees.
I hear you. My chiropractor keeps telling me I need to get some custom running shoes from the performance shoe store. But shit, if I had your skills I probably wouldn’t need to. What about your deft skills with the ladies. Was it you I saw last night in the tenderloin talking to those two hookers?
That was me alright. They’re my friends. Super cool chicks. I ain’t got my pipe smuggled yet though. Still workin on getting a free one. Did you know they make over five hundred a night. Sometimes over a thousand. What I wouldn’t do to get a job like that. Speaking of which, do you have any change? I need to make a long distance phone call to my dealer.
Sure bro. How much you need?
Fifty bucks ought to do it. He’s orbiting Jupiter right now. The dudes at SETI are my friends.
Tits bro. This is my stop. Let me know when you get some more of that crippling weed. Here’s that fifty.
Queef on queefing on man.

An Unforgettable Jubilee of Singed Rodent Felch

And they were off. Catmunch and Blorthog were probably two of the finest free roasters in the northwest territories. Catmunch was bongloading hash as it was dropping out of a camel’s ass. Blorthog was slamming toad piss and hotboxing a wigwam with alcoholic carnys.
Come get your cotton candy you fukin loadie stoners!
It was time for lunch. Blorthog’s mom was an excellent cook. During their lunch break they were each treated to an exquisite meal of broasted fresh fillet of beef stump. Each course was followed by a delicate snowcone of the world’s finest weeds. The apertif was of course Madam Squelchbone’s magnificent Three Carlods of Gypsytang Furrball Skidbelt. And for a dessert they were treated to an unforgettable jubilee of singed rodent felch.
Catmunch should have squeaked ahead during the third phase. But the hernea he got last night from toadstooling the farmer’s daughter had caught up to him. He was forced to forfeit the title to Blorthog. Thus marking Blorthog’s first sanctioned win on the professional circuit.
If there’s one lesson we could learn from this, you’d be a better person. But since I am too high to think of one, I’ll have to resort to:

Pan-American Sportfuking Invitational

Where K-Bork grew up, cornholing was considered a sport. Once you got a boner you were expected to skewer a gopher. That was considered training and it still is. After a week, when someone graduated from packing ground dwellers, they’d have to fillet something in the light ruminates, like a sheep or a llama. By the time most dudes were in college they had put in about eight or nine miles of rod travel. Thats why all those guys win the Pan-American Sportfuking Invitational every year.

I've Got The Fever: For The Flavor Of Some Beaver

“BIRD DICK!” Parker just liked the way the words sounded. He kept yelling it out his apartment window for everyone to enjoy. Pretty soon everyone was yelling “BIRD DICK!”
Before too long, the whole city had caught “BIRD DICK” fever. The words were everywhere. One fuk even had it tattooed above his wiener. His girlfriend laughed every time she chewed it.
Parker cursed himself after a while. Why didn’t he trademark the slogan or saying or whatever it was? Actually, he was so sick of hearing the fuking words that he had to move to a different city. But as luck would have it, his legacy followed him. When he got to the new city everyone there was already yelling “BIRD DICK” out their windows, in their cars, into their telephones. The mayor of this city even took it upon himself to have the words carved into the nearest mountain. On a clear day you could see “BIRD DICK” in six hundred foot letters accented with a fine layer of alpine snow.
Parker figured that the trend had to wear off, so he shut himself in his new room and listened to Gregorian Queefs while he sacraficed mice and squirrels in his mini guillotine. This didn’t last too long because the Gregorian monks started to add “BIRD DICK” into their varts. And to top it off, even the mice squeaked “BIRD DICK” before their heads were chopped off.
Parker decided that it was time to end his suffering. He bought a bunch of sleeping pills and downed the whole bottle. It worked. He could feel nothing. He mind was empty. It was all over.
A shaft of yellow light pulled him up into the afterworld. He stood in line to check in. The hobgoblin in front of him turned around to introduce himself.
“Hello, my name is BIRD DICK!”

Will Work For Crack Rocks

As I walked from the crack house, I had to struggle with an overpowering urge to run to the brothel and slap the whole pile of hundreds on the counter. “Gimme the works! And make it snappy.” I would say. But alas I couldn’t. Half of this money was going to my partner Happ. He’s the one that found the sack of crack rocks. I just knew how to get rid of it. Doesn’t mean I can’t rip a couple bongloads with my buds at the dock.
I took a cab to the harbor and buzzed Igor’s boat. He unlocked the gate and I cruised down.
“Holy shit bro, when’d you get the new boat?” I asked.
“Two weeks ago. Sold the old one to some rich fuk. He gave it to his kid as a birthday present.”
“Well shit, give me a tour.”
Igor led me downstairs. The place was titsteak. Everything was white with teak trim. The couches were white leather. Not the kind with the straps and buttons like an 80’s Cadillac, but smooth and firm. He showed me the master bedroom and the shitter. And then he paused.
“You’re gonna piss yourself when you see this.”
“Well, lets see it.”
He twisted a light fixture and a wall panel slid open. Smoke poured out of the hole. It was just big enough to crawl into.
“What the fuk you got back there? A dragon?”
“Ha. Shall we?” He gestured me toward the hole.
I crawled in and down a tube that was just wide enough to fit through. It opened into what must have been the bow of the boat.
“Wait for me Jer,” said Igor.
I hugged the wall while he dropped in. He hit a switch and the lights exploded on. Lazer beams crisscrossed in the smoke. There were several round beds and a large hookah in the middle of the room. Igor rang a bell and another door slid open. Six topless pixies rode in on unicycles.
“Take your pick holmes,” said Igor.
“Whoah. This is a little too much for me to process right now. I need a bongload first.”
Igor whistled three times in rapid fire. One of the pixies opened a drawer under the hookah and pulled out a handful of marijuana. She dropped it into the hookah and set some glowing charcoals on it.
“Don’t mind if I do.” I sat down on a little pillow and took a big pull on the mouthpiece. It was real smooth. The funny hit me instantly. I felt great. The hot pixies were smiling at me.
“I’ll take them all!”
“That’s a bit selfish of you, eh Jer?” said Igor.
“I got money.” I pulled out my roll and threw it to Igor.
He thumbed the bills and stuffed them into his pocket. “In that case…” Igor flipped another switch and the entire room started vibrating.
The pixies approached me in an erotic formation and slipped my shoes and shirt off. Igor left me to my own debauchery.
I woke up in a life raft floating in the middle of nowhere. My ballsak was swelled to triple it’s normal size, but one of my nuts was missing. I took an assessment of the rest of my body. Everything else was still there. I cursed to myself. I was naked, freezing, wet, missing my prized testicle and in the middle of nowhere. Everything that happened after Igor left was a blur.
The clouds above me were moving at a very rapid pace. I kept staring into them, thinking about the six pack of Hamms that was getting lonely back in my fridge. I would trade my remaining nut for one sip of that glorious beer right now. The clouds billowed into a large, fluffy pair of tits and started raining milk. I must be hallucinating, I thought to myself. Normally this would be a great thing. Normally I would see hippies throwing frizbees made of lava and trees bending into knots. But out in the middle of the ocean, I knew it could kill me. I tried to snap myself back to reality. The visions were too strong. I jumped out of the raft into the water, hoping the cold ocean would wake me up. It worked. I was back to my rational self.
My survival instinct took over. OK. What could I do first? I needed water and bong rips. There was some water collected in the bottom of the raft. I slurped it up. It tasted like dwarf piss. I gagged but kept it down.
Some music, sounded like reggae, seemed to come from somewhere. I paddled toward it with my hands. It was getting louder. I got the hiccups and almost barfed. The music was getting stronger. I kept paddling. In the distance I saw a small island. It looked like it had some trees. I waved my hands and yelled, but it only made me tired.
After paddling for another three hours I could make out the details of the island. It was small. There was a stand of very thin, tall trees. The music had died down since the sun started setting. Other than the music, though, there didn’t seem to be anyone on the island.
I paddled until I hit the shore. The island had a very pungent smell. A very familiar smell of chronic reefer. I inhaled as big as I could. Weed! MK Ultra or Hawaiian Snow. I was in heaven, I felt alive.
The weed plants were gigantic. I grabbed a huge bud and put it up to my nose. Perfection. I ate a bunch of it and then ripped off a branch. An alarm went off. I ran into the thick of it. The alarm kept beeping. I rubbed dirt in my hair and on my face. Something was crashing through the plants toward me. I dropped to the ground and tried to bury myself. Two dudes jumped out of a hydrofoil with blunderbusses.
“Gad dem farn rat carn ham bar nat gian tak,” said the one in the overalls.
“Prolly orn them fukin pole cats,” said the other one. He let off a couple of blasts and then they got back in their vehicle.
I stayed hidden in the ditch. When they were gone I made a bow-drill fire starter and sparked up the massive bud. I got so fukin high I couldn’t stop shaking.

The Truth About Nymphomaniacs

“Zaxxxor you miserable ox felcher. If I catch you near my spellbook again, I’ll fry your nuts off with a blast from my Cudgel of Necrosis!” Ralph rolled the twenty sided dice and prepared to inflict some damage points.
Walter shifted around in his seat. His prized hobgoblin-thief Zaxxxor was down to five life points. One more hit and he would need a room full of level twelve clerics to bring him back alive.
Ralph rolled again. His mighty mage, Ladros Ferramundo, blasted Zaxxxor in the cornhole with a Salad Toss of Utter Demise. Fifteen damage points! Zaxxxor was dead.
Walter jumped out of his chair onto Ralph and started banging his head into the table.
“You didn’t have to kill him. You didn’t have to kill him.”
Jerry, the dungeon master, pulled out his fighting net and threw it over Walter. “Get off of him you fukin animal. The game’s over for today.”
Walter ripped the net off. He and Ralph jumped onto Jerry and started banging his head against the sofa.
“The game’s not over until we get to the time portal,” said Ralph. “I was gonna cast a health spell anyway.”
They stopped smashing Jerry’s head.
“What’s going on up there Walter,” yelled Walt’s mom from downstairs.
“Nothing. Just practicing our breakdancing.”
“Alright you fuks,” said Jerry, “We’ll finish this level and then I’m heading home to study.”
Ralph pulled a short-sword out of his backpack and slammed it down on the table. “We’re done playing when I say we’re done playing.” He spun the sword so the business end pointed at Jerry.
“Alright. Well lets get back to the game. Walter, your character is essentially in a coma. It’s your move Ralph.”
“Call me Ladros.”
“OK Ladros, it’s your move.”
Ralph looked up to the sky held his finger up. He spoke in tongues for a couple seconds and pointed his finger at Walter. “The Great Ladros Ferramundo has decided to cast a spell of EVERLASTING MISERY ON ZAXXXOR!”
Walter’s face dropped. He leapt onto the table and kicked the short-sword to the floor. Jerry ran out of the room. Ralph flipped his chair back and ninja rolled to the window. He threw some metallic balls against the carpet and with a flash and a puff of smoke he jumped out onto the roof. Walter followed him outside wielding a pair of thief’s daggers. He stabbed at Ralph and connected. The blade didn’t go in.
“Too bad I’m wearing chain-mail you fuk!” yelled Ralph. He reached into his sock and pulled out a cat-o-nine-tails and swung it at Walter.
Walter put his left forearm up to block the chains but the tips slashed into his face. He was numb to the pain and advanced on Ralph. “You fukin dickhole. Want to try that again? Huh?” said Walter.
Ralph kept swinging at Walter. Something whistled through the air very close to Ralph’s head.
Jerry yelled up from the driveway. He had a crossbow aimed at them. “The game’s over assholes. You’re gonna have to find a new dungeon master. I hereby penalize both your characters by three levels. Say goodbye to your enchantment spells and your dexterity bonus.”
Ralph and Walter jumped to the lower roof and slid down onto the driveway. Jerry rode off on his cheap mountain bike.
Walter ran into the house. “Mom, can I use your keys?”
“What for son? I have to pick up your father in forty five minutes.”
“Me and Ralph are gonna beat the shit out of Jerry but he rode off on his bike.”
“That’s fine son. Just be careful.”
Walter grabbed the keys and ran outside. He and Ralph jumped into the mini van and skidded off after Jerry.
Jerry rode into the park at the library and climbed up a tree. He had a rope around the bike and was pulling it up. Something tapped his shoulder. He turned around. A short guy wearing a thick leather jumpsuit was standing on the branch above him.
“They’re gonna find you if you stay here,” said leather midget.
“Those two boys will find you and they will skin you alive. I have seen it. There is only one way to escape.”
“Who the fuk are you?”
“That should not be the most important thing on your mind right now. I can help you though, for five gold pieces.”
“I have seven dollars.”
“That will be enough,” said leather midget. He gave Jerry six sticks with screws on the end of them and climbed to the top of the tree.
Jerry started screwing the sticks together and formed a hexagon. He put his hand through the center and it disappeared. A second later he felt something velvety rubbing against his hand. He pulled it back out and stared at it. It still worked. He heard a car skid in the distance.
Walter drove the car onto the grass straight toward the tree.
“I can’t believe idiot left his cell phone turned on,” said Ralph. “We’re heading straight toward him.”
“I bet that squirt muncher is in that tree.” Walter gunned the engine.
Jerry hung the hexagon from a branch and put one of his legs through. The ground inside felt soft. Like he was stepping on a gymnasium mat. He eased his hip through and then his arm. The air was cold. He almost has his head through when he felt a tremendous pain in his dong. Something was pulling at his dick. He tried to force his waist back through the hole but couldn’t. Something tugged harder and pulled him all the way through. Jerry dropped to the ground. It was oily and flesh like. A strange creature was dragging him at a rapid pace. It looked like a block of fifty buttholes with the legs of a frog. His dick was stuck in one of the buttholes of what must have been the ass of the creature, but he wasn’t sure. Jerry turned around to see if the portal was there, but it had already collapsed. There were six sticks on the ground.
The walking butthole dragged him into a warm steamy cave and tied him to a Velcro wall. Jerry felt the crap in his pants oozing into his sock. The cieling lit up and a voice thundered from deep in the cave. “Jerry. Welcome to my lair. It is a true honor to have a dungeon master of your stature in my humble home. Soon your purpose will be revealed, but for now, enjoy the pleasures of my dancing nymphomaniacs.”
“AW FUK!” Korbold slammed his fist against the table.
“I’m sorry Korbold, but your character made the wrong move,” said Mandrake The Wise. “He’s stuck in Tangfire’s Grotto until you can roll an eighteen or above.”
“Hand me the dice!”

How To Cornhole a Rabid Moose

Archie Bluto was a fukin brute. A real fukin brute. He was the meanest man in five counties. Some days he would walk into a small village and cornhole everything that wasn’t bolted down. Other days he would wake up, roll a couple bums, beat up some police officers and then finish the morning by bench pressing a forest of oak.
One September morning, though, everything changed. That morning he saw the most beautiful girl that he had ever laid eyes on. Archie was cornholing a squirrel family near the lake. As he was cleaning himself off in the water he saw this fair maiden floating around in an inflatable raft. He swam up to her and introduced himself.
“Top of the morning to you mam,” he said. “Don’t you know it’s dangerous to be out on this lake all alone.”
“Is that right? And why so?”
“There are toxic shitlogs floating everywhere. Theres a good chance that your boat could decay in an oily pool of acidic diarrhea. All sorts of dangerous things.”
“So how is it that you can swim in this lake then?”
“I’ve built up a tolerance to the dangers here. I’ve been swimming here since I was a kid.”
“That’s fukin swell,” she said. “Now if you don’t mind, I’d like to get back to my floating.”
“I’ll see you around,” said Archie.
“Oh I doubt that. I’m just visiting my aunt.”
“Your aunt? Who’s your aunt?”
“Margot Gwognappskid”
“No kidding. We’re old friends.”
“Really, what’s your name?”
“Archie Bluto.”
“The Archie Bluto? The one that cornholed a new hole into my aunt’s hip. The Archie Bluto that knocked my uncle to the ground with 15 lbs of limp dick?”
“Uhhh. Well that’s not exactly what happened, but more or less.”
“You should be ashamed of yourself. Picking on our elders. These people should be respected and taken care of, not abused and sodomized. Now if you would kindly get the fuk out of here.” She closed her eyes and laid back in her raft.
Archie swam to the bank and walked home. When he opened his door, there was a package on the table.
“A package for me,” he said to no one in particular. He opened it up and there was a spandex tuxedo and a top hat. Archie read the card in the box. “For your brother’s wedding. Love, Mom.” His very own tuxedo.
Archie tried it on and checked himself out in the mirror. A first class fit indeed! He grabbed a couple kegs of beer and ran back to the lake.
The beautiful girl was just getting out of the lake as he arrived.
“Please let me help you with that,” said Archie. He picked up the inflatable boat, popped the air cap, and crushed it into the size of a marble.
“Thank you very much Archie. My name is Beatrots by the way.”
“Beatrots it’s very nice to meet you. I’d shake your hand but I might accidentally crush it. I did bring some lunch though if you are interested.”
“Sure. I was just going to go into town to get some sandwiches, but I don’t have to.”
Archie ripped the top off a keg and set it down for Beatrots.
“Beer? For lunch?”
“Yeah. It’s good beer. Real earthy.”
“I hate to spoil your offer, but I don’t drink alcohol.”
“Oh. No alcohol? I could kill a warthog. You like warthog skillets?”
“Actually I’ve never had warthog,” she said. “I come from the city. We eat hamburgers and gummy food.”
“Listen Archie. I would like to have lunch with you, I really would. But I’ve heard a lot of awful things about you. I don’t know if I like the way you treat people.”
“I know. It’s just, I’m misunderstood. My parents horse whipped me as a kid. I’ve never been able to get that feeling out of my head. And, well, I just can’t control myself. But, and this is a strange thing to say, but you really put me at peace. I know I don’t even know you but it’s true. I just wanted to say that. Take it as a compliment or however you want.”
“Archie. You don’t know a damn thing about me and I know way too much about you. I think it’s best to just part ways. I have to get back to my aunt’s and pack.”
“What a shame. Alright, I guess I’ll sit here and finish all this beer by myself.”
Beatrots walked back to her aunt’s house and told her about Archie.
“That rotten rotten fukhole,” said her aunt.
“He was actually very civil. I almost felt sorry for him.”
“Sorry for him? The biggest asshole in five counties? Missy, you need to get packed cause I’ve got to go to my bunco game tonight.”
“Yes auntie.”
Aunt Margot Gwognappskid drove Beatrots to the train station as the sun was going down. She waited as Beatrots got on the train. It departed exactly forty seven seconds after it’s scheduled time.
Beatrots opened the magazine she brought for the journey and read the column about turbo sex.
They were about an hour out of the station when the train screeched to a violent halt. The conductor alerted the patrons to the delay on the loudspeaker.
“Sorry for the inconvenience, but there appears to be a man engaging in carnal activity with a three thousand pound moose on the tracks. We can’t move ahead until he finishes his deed.”
It figures, thought Beatrots. A similar thing happened on her way to her aunt’s just last week except that time it was five men and three water buffalos. Then a crazy thought went through her mind. She leaned out the window and looked up the tracks. Yep. It was Archie. She called out to him.
“I hope you’re not trying to impress me,” she yelled.
“Is that you Beatrix? I know you don’t impress easily. I just wanted a good way to stop the train. I think we really had something back there. I couldn’t let you leave town without at least getting to know you a little more.”
“I felt the same way. Why don’t you hop in here and we can talk. There’s a lot of people waiting to get home.”
“In a minute,” yelled Archie. “I’ve got to finish up. If I leave this moose unsatisfied, it’ll lay down on this track until a porcupine crawls up it’s ass.”
And with a couple brisk pumps, Archie blew a nut. The moose explode into a fine particle mist and Archie spun around chopping down trees with his wang. He cleaned up and hopped into the train.
“Why don’t we start over,” he said. “My name is Archie Bluto.”

Wizard Piss

Fukin me an my brohog Lithium were fukin poundin the wizard piss. I’d crack a bottle and toss it down and fukin be flyin. Then Lith would power down two bottles. Then I slammed three. This went on for about twenty minutes and I had to stop. I was ripped out of my mind and seeing triples of everything. I went behind a tree to take a wizz and pulled out six dicks. Something moved on the ground. I jumped back, still taking a leak. A small crocodile turned to me and opened his eyes.
“Do you mind bub?” said the crocodile.
“Shit. Sorry. Just, me and my bud were drinkin wizard piss. I didn’t even see you there.”
“Yeah, that’s fine but would you mind splashing a little water on my back. That stuff stains.”
“No problem. I’ll go get some ice water from the cooler.” I went back to the picnic table and grabbed a sparkling diarrhea. Lithium threw down another six bottles and fell onto the grass.
“Lithium wake up. We gotta get out of here real quick.There’s a crocodile over there and he’s kind of grouchy.” I kicked Lithium and he wouldn’t wake up.
“Hurry up fukburger,” said the crocodile.
“I’m coming.”
I poured the diarrhea on the crocodile’s back and washed off the piss marks. “How’s that?”
“You tell me. I haven’t seen my back in twenty years.”
“I’m the same way with the back of my head. Unless I’m on acid.”
“What’s up with your buddy?”
“Oh he’s wasted. He drank probably triple the amount as me.”
“Is there any left?” said the crocodile.
“Should be. We went to Costco. Help yourself.”
The croc and I went back to the piss and I cracked one open for him and poured it into his mouth. We spent the next two hours finishing it off.
“Man, I am fukked up.”
“Wizard piss creeps up on you.”
“Where’s this place you got it?”
“Why, you want some?” I said.
“Yeah. Take some back to the nest for my old lady.”
“Sure. I’ll stop by next time I’m going.”
We chilled for a while. I poked Lithium with a stick. He was still breathing. This was typical behavior for him. He’d probably wake up in an hour to drink more or smoke weed or snort something.
“You up for a little swamp taco?” said the crocodile.
“You mean beavsteak? I can’t say no. You know a brothel?”
“Fuk a brothel. I’m talking some serious back country humpin.”
“Course. I don’t have a whole lot of cash though.”
“Bro, you’re with me. My cousin runs the Biscuits & Trim.”
“Crocodile pussy?”
“The finest.”
I hopped on the croc’s back and he swam out to the middle of the swamp. I took a deep breath and we dove down under a log jam. I was almost out of breath. I motioned for him that I had to go back to the surface, but he shook his head. A few seconds later we went through a hole and emerged in a giant shag carpet bubble.
There was a line of crocodile’s lined up at the counter. My bud and I walked to the front of the line. They let us right in. We went down a couple steps into the grand parlor.
“This is fukin tits. Any humans been here before?”
“Yep. Bruce Lee used to visit a lot.”
A chair platform lowered down from the ceiling. A huge visibly overweight crocodile was laying on his side smoking a waterpipe. He was tended to by a dozen or more seahorses.
“What’s up shitlungs?” said my buddy.
“What’s with the humanoid?”
“This here’s my buddy, what’s your name?”
“T-Bork Three Three,” I said.
“T-Bork,” said my buddy.
“Well alright brother what’s your pleasure?” said the big croc.
“This place is fukin sweet. How long has it been here?”
“About four hundred and seventy years. My pap built it.”
“How bout a couple of samplers,” said my bud.
“Have at it.” The big croc turned to one of his seahorses. “Show the humanoid around would you.”
A seahorse floated over and crawled into my pants. It pulled me into a small round room with ropes coming from the floor and the ceiling.
“Oh, I don’t do the bondage masochism stuff.”
“Don’t worry,” said the seahorse, “we’ll take care of you. Can you take your clothes off.”
I undressed and the seahorse exited. I stood there covering my jonsins with my hands. A hole in the floor opened up and two octopuses floated out.
“Can you tell me what you’re gonna do first?” I said.
They didn’t say anything and just kept floating around. A strange hollow sound came from them, like a toilet filled with mercury being flushed. Then one of them jumped on my head and the other attched to my butthole and felched next weeks turds out of my stomach. I keeled over and pulled it off my ass and therew it at the wall. Then a bunch of smaller doors opened and a school of suckerfish shot out and smoked my puds till they were swollen twice their normal inflated size. Then a gang of barnacles attached themselves to my nutsack and started digging in.
“Hey, my bullets are special,” I said. I tried to knock them off my nuts but they gripped on tighter.
Finally after what seemed like an hour they dropped off and swam away. I was on the floor trying to breathe. A beautiful quintuple-breasted mermaid came in through a door and sponged me down.
“You warmed up yet?” she said.
“I’m dusted, spent. Its gonna take five pounds of cashews and a gallon of Bragg Liquid Aminos for me to refill my ballsack.
“I don’t mean sex.” The mermaid laughed. “Are you ready for your massage?”
“Yeah, I guess. Though the sex left something to be desired.”
“You ordered the seafood sampler right?”
“Yeah. Was that a mistake?”
“Next time you should try the tuna melt.”

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