Sunday, 09 November, Year 6 d.Tr. | Author: Mircea Popescu

One day Frank the Ditch noticed another car parked inside a long abandoned gas station, as if the damned thing still worked. A new, spiffy car too, that overpriced Chevrolet they keep scamming suburban ninnies with. At first he didn't know what to make of it, but a few miles down the road it dawned on him.

He drove to the nearest general store, bought a hammer, a pound of nails and a fistful of those fancy self drilling screws that come with a plastic cap screwed on. He drove back, parked right behind the Chevy and went straight for the stalls. Place was pretty delapidated, sky poked in through a corner of the roofing. It hadn't had running water for at least a decade, but that's not necessarily all bad : without water filth is just dust, there's no worms nor cockroaches and nothing can really stink. Sure enough a door was closed. Taking the plastic cap off the screw and placing it on the nail Frank went in to the left.

Sure enough a stubbly, shortish cock made its way through the glory hole just as soon as Frank slammed the door shut. He sat down on the grimy toilet and with a sigh started rubbing the shaft. There was no growth happening, so a few strokes later Frank grabbed the shaft firmly, pushed it back so the cockhead rested against the wood at the top of the partition and placed the plastic cap right in the middle of the underside, where the head meets. A second later screams and bellows filled the tiny room as blood dripped on the cracked paint, feeding the thirsty pressed wood beneath. Stubblycock was screaming and cursing, but Frank paid him no mind. Stubblycock was in no position to do anything anyway.

Carefully, teasingly, Frank poked the man's ballsac with his self driving screw. Eventually he had enough, grabbed the scrotum firmly, tugged it all the way to the hole's lip and screwed the skin against the wood with slow, methodical turns. Then he got out of his stall, bust down the door to the other man's stall - fancy that, fucking banker locked it! - with one solid kick to the rusty old latch and fucked the overweight, sweating, squealing pig in the ass. Once he was done he picked up the baseball cap off the now whimpering, mostly quiet mass, went outside, filled it with dirt, returned and shoved most of that dirt into the freshly discovered, recently enlarged, profusely bleeding love canal. Then he took the carkeys out of the stuffed pig's pocket and drove the oversized, pretentious piece of shit a mile or so off into the desert. Leaving the engine running, the windows down and the AC on max he got out and walked back to the decrepit old station.

As was his habit, he used his pocket knife to separate the shoe soles from the man's shoes, removed the belt and after cracking his princess loudly and perhaps painfully a coupla of times, leaving red streaks on the round, milky cheeks, he left with it as a souvenir. Besides, he didn't want the man to somehow manage to get a hold of his wits, get a hold of his belt and then strangle himself with it or something, god forbid.

As he was driving away, Frank smiled faintly at the thought of the concrete shit the slowly dessicating waterskin was going to experience. Perhaps just as soon as the sun set.

Or perhaps in the morning.

Category: Cuvinte Sfiinte
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