Zombie Apocalypse: Apocalypse: Chapter 1

"I'm gonna do it, everyone!" Sam yelled while standing on the very tip top of the Golden Gate Bridge, ready to jump off and die in the water below because he was very, very sad. This is character development.

"Don't do it!" His wife CRIED.

But, while Sam was preparing to leap to his death, there was another man on the bridge stealing his thunder. This man was RAPING a woman who was totally helpless unless Sam did something really brave about it. Sam took a leap, but this leap wasn't to end a life, this leap was to SAVE a life. He's the good guy.

"Stop raping that girl," Sam demanded to the other man who stood there in the rain -- it was raining -- with his pants and underwear around his ankles, his gleaming little piss-shooter glowing real glow-like in the lamp-light above. But uh-oh, what's this!? A zombie just bit the man in the neck!

"Uh oh!" Sam yelled. His wife ran up to him as he was being brave and threw herself in front of him while the half-naked zombie pootled over and gave her a proper gnaw and tear to the base of her ass. She was a zombie now too, and this was really hard on Sam who already had a really hard life. Still, Sam triumphed over his fear of life and his sadness and everything and he became very emotionally powerful. It wouldn't save his wife, but it'd save his life. And the life of that girl being raped.

Sam grabbed the rapee's hand and started to sprint with her and they ran for a while until they got to an alley that was dark.

"This is a dark alley," the girl said. "Thanks for saving my life," she then threw herself upon Sam.

"Babe, it's alright. I've got you."

The girl unzipped her blouse and began to fuck Sam really hard up against a dumpster, all humpity-hump and nasty-like; but then the zombies came. The zombies startling presence startled Sam who blew a decent-sized load into the girl. This could maybe get her pregnant and cause a lot of future struggles, which is interesting drama.

"I've had a hard enough life! Why can't you zombies leave me alone?" Sam cursed the sky and grabbed the girl whose name he didn't know but had just got done fucking and ran with her to a big tree that seemed safe. Only the tree wasn't safe. The tree had, up in its branches, LOTS of zombies. They jumped down and landed on top of the new girl that Sam loved and killed her on the spot. She got up as a zombie.

"I'm sorry..." Sam said, whimpering, as he brought his gun to her forehead and blew her fucking brains out all over the place. "I'm gonna kill all you zombies!"

Then Sam looked away and saw a guy in a wheelchair whose name was Justin. What a pathetic bastard, riding around in a wheelchair. It's not even a very nice wheelchair.

"Run!" Sam yelled to the man. Justin just sat there staring at Sam with this look like you're-retarded-and-I-hate-you. But Sam actually ran away and left Justin there by himself to fight off a horde of zombies that could actually use their legs. The thought of that made Sam wonder who the real freaks were: the zombies, or the fucking crips. He concluded that at least Justin was more of a freak than the zombies, riding in his cheap wheelchair.

The zombies chased Justin and he came to a staircase. Uh-oh, because wheelchairs and their operators can't climb stairs. Well, it just so happened that Justin was being chased by the asshole zombies, so they pushed him out of his wheelchair and onto the steps before attacking.

"Help, these zombies are fucking me up big time over here!" Justin cried and whimpered and moaned, hoping someone that was actually capable would help him. "Please, I just need one able-bodied person! Please!"

Carter heard the embarrassing and pathetic shrieks and ran to the stairs with his desert eagle in hand. "Pop-pop, motherfuckers," he said while he blasted cannon-ball-size holes into the row of zombies, killing them all in supremely brave fashion.

"Thank you, Carter! I don't know what I would have done without you and your capable legs!" Justin thought it best to patronize.

"Your mouth smells like dick, boy," Carter said.

"Sir, I ain't no fuckin' queer," Justin replied.

"Boy, you tell me the truth, boy. Don't lie to me!"

Justin kept his gayness a secret because it was bad enough that he was already a physically-retarded ass-muncher. Then Sam came back and saw Carter, who was looking so damn fine that day that, damn, he just looked so good.

"Carter!" Sam knew Carter from their Vietnam days.

"Sam," Carter said, "we didn't leave on the best of terms back in the war."

Sam wasn't ready to reveal to Carter that he was gay too, and retarded. He was so gay and retarded that he actually had left Justin earlier just so he could go blow off one of his mental aid teachers. "Yes, oh yes, gimme the aid," he would cry to his teacher.

Aid goo was now glazed all over Sam's front, because that teacher just spews buckets of aid when he aids. Sam wasn't just gay and retarded though, he was also sad and depressed. About being gay and retarded. It's a never-ending circle of cock and finger-paints.

"Listen here, I'm so fucking cool," Carter said. And it was true. It was objective fact.

"We need to go find Chris!" Sam cried. Chris had been the one to introduce Sam to his wife. It was on a sunny day -- almost so sunny and perfect a day that it'll probably make you cry just to think about how sunny and happy that day was compared to this awful zombie apocalypse day -- and she was looking really good sorting cans at Tenco. She sorted like a professional retard. Needless to say, Chris and Sam were close. So close, in fact, that Chris was the one to give Sam aid!

"There he is!" Justin yelled from the ground. His wheelchair had broken because it was just so shitty and cheap.

"Hey, guys," said Chris. He grabbed Sam by the cock-sack and gave a real good squeeze as Sam grimaced really painfully but happily.

"Cut the shit, Chris. We know you did it. We know you started this zombie apocalypse," said Carter in his black tuxedo with mega-babes crawling up his legs to his monstrous, master dong. There was subtle chatter between the girls about who would get to ride that fucking beast first and they all decided to just have sex with him at the same time and do anything he wanted because he was just that incredible. Sam was shitting in his pants at this moment -- so much shit, in fact, that it welled up about his waist-line, trying to escape his pants like a vinegar and baking soda volcano, and he tried to stop it, forcing it back down from whence it came with a flurry of retarded hand movements. It swelled through his often misplaced arm-jabs and gushed out like someone squeezing a tube of toothpaste. Luckily Justin was already on the floor to hound all of the fallen brown shit, or Sam might have eaten it all.

"You'll never take me alive!" Chris yelled, and then Carter blasted that motherfucker between the eyes.

"Wanna see me stop this zombie apocalypse right now," Carter asked everyone. The girls cheered as they were tearing at Carter's trousers and belt loops and cock-covering zipper.

'Yes!' Justin and Sam cried.

"Wanna see me do it again? Yee mudderfucker, yeeeeeeee."

The Teacher: Retribution: Subtitle

"Oh, fuck!" I thought, "Here he comes!!!"

There was this big nasty rank-ass motherfuckin' crocdile real slithering right at me. I straight just bolted in the other direction but this croc had some quicks and caught me.

"Listen," he said, "I just wanna ask you a question."

"Alright," I compromised, "fire away."

The crocodile started making really sick-sounding noises and real heaved-and-hoed on his stomach and then puked up a human body. The body was all covered in green slime and the skin was real melted and real peeled.

"What's this?" I asked.

"Is this your son!?" The crocodile bellowed.

Crash

It was really dark outside when I went for my evening walk. I usually do this at about 7pm, but tonight I put it off until 9pm. What a delay.

The sidewalk was all normal today, and the bushes were pretty ordinary, but there was a huge car-crash up ahead and that definitely wasn't an everyday thing. I ran up really quick and got a good look at this really nasty and brutal car crash. There were seventeen cars involved.

The wreck looked really bad, what with all the people in the cars trying to limply pull themselves from the twisted mess. There was fire and smoke everywhere. I ran up to make sure I could see everything really clearly.

Some guy was over on one of the other sidewalks and was puking his nuts up through his throat. He must not like seeing car crashes, especially ones this nasty and awful. Smoke rose to the sky and it was almost hard to see because it was so dark. The fire looked really good against the nighttime darkness.

I could hear screams and people crying. One of the really young girls that was in the wreck and was crawling all limp-like away from the fire and smoke yelled, "Mommy! I need my mommy!" She had a voice on 'er, that little girl. I didn't have the heart to tell her that she was actually crawling on her mom's shredded and smeared corpse. I ran up to make sure I could hear everything.

The little girl didn't actually have any arms and was pushing away from the wreckage with just her feet. She was moving kinda like a caterpillar, and I laughed. Her dad was dead too but he had literally just died. His dead body was burnt to a crunchy crisp and was soaring through the air, right at the little girl. When his body exploded into ashes on top of her, I could very nearly smell the soot and gasoline. I ran up to get a good smell.

The puking guy was still over on the sidewalk, but this time he was dead. I ran over to his body and started shoveling the puke back into his mouth. "Don't you stay dead on me!" I cried.

"Help!!!" Yelled someone from the wreckage. It was the girls dog. The dog was dying and was desperately trying to drool as much saliva from his mouth as possible before his life ended. He ran over to the little girl and meticulously covered her in slimy spit. Then he jumped on her back and died.

The little girl was dragging the unrolled-skin of her mother against her right cheek and her former-dog's saliva made her dad's torched body stick really nicely. I ran up to get a good look.

"That's some dank-ass nasty-ass shit," I said to the little girl.

"Oh, don't you worry about me, mister. I'm a good little soldier, just crawling away all toughily from the wreck." She replied. This got me really sopping wet.

I picked the little girl up by her ankles and started spinning her around my body. Then I spun her face right into a concrete wall. She fell all limp and sexily to the ground and I stomped the shit out of her ribs. She was laying there, almost dead and in need of immediate medical attention.

"Don't move, sir! I'm coming over, I can help!" Said a male voice from behind me.

The man ran up and looked down at the little girl. I ran up to the man just to get a good look. He ran up to me to see what I was looking at. I was looking at him and he was the puking guy from before and he started hacking his balls up and out of his mouth, onto the little girls face, and then she died. I looked at her corpse with despair. Then I grabbed her crushed honches and fucked her like she were my own daughter.

The Smiff Pooter

Let me tell you a story. It's about a magical little pony who's ass was so smartin' that I straight muffed a hot load when I saw it.

I pulled back the covers of my bed and saw that magic little horsey-gal down next to my knees and she was nibbling all cutey-cute on 'em and I grabbed her by her mane-thing and straight shoved her throat down on my Major Chip Hazard. She tried fighting my army of toy soldiers, but I just straight tonked my balls into her mouth.

That little bitch wiggled free all sexily and goosed my chase-senses real proper and I just couldn't find her again. So, I sat down and turned on the commercial channel and started watching some commercials. There were some good ones on today about meaty lean burger bun things and hot baby oil smooth drippy bottle things. I wanted that oil with the smooth drip bottle accessory, so I ordered it!

In fifteen weeks and eight hundred individual minutes, I had my greasy little bottle of oily good drip butter goodness. I straight ranked the whole bottle down on my choobly little guzzle hound and just started sliding my knuckles real slathery and good along the shaft and real rubbery-rub my feet on my ass cheeks real smooth and all that.

Then that bubbly little magical horse bitch came flying back into the room and real taunted me like a hooker with a chip on her shoulder. I ripped her panties off and could see that really nice horse vagina of hers and real popped a chub right there, real choostering my hound-doozle real hard at this moment and straight ranked her hooker-lips down on my chuzzle-mixer.

I stirred her mouth-insides with my smooth and plumpy little wiener like it were a bowl of cereal or oatmeal or something. It slooshed real good and my ears loved the slooshy little slop noise of her tongue real glooping around and drooling magic saliva down on the bed. I straight just ranked her whole ass onto my face and just dug my tongue into her meaty little fat gurp. It was like licking a cow's ass, so you can probably imagine.

Then she squealed like a real cow and that got my nosy monkey all raging real powerful and it tore down the head and shaft and evolved into a real proper monster dong-slobber.

"Get off my ass!" The magic horse cried all taunty. "Oh, you like it when I real smack my bottom flaps against your cheeks?"

She shoved a hoof up my ponchy ass-crater and straight made me muff all over her horsey chest. What a real proper wise-guy, this horsery little gal, makin' me muff real gallons on her sparkling little horse-skin. I flattened a piece of sheet music and straight wrote a shit burgers ass nut all over with a rich and savvy flavory little goose-cuddler. Straight muffed a hot dozer all over her favorite ass and real shingled her patio rations.

A Boy and His Dog

This is based on a true story. Some names have been changed for the sake of privacy. Also, the word shit in this story will always be replaced by the word burgers.

"Hey, Chris, when people leave or enter your house through the back door, they should probably shut it really tight and make sure it's shut properly, right?" I, Carter Brown, asked in front of all of my friends really clearly.

"Yes, Carter. That's actually exactly what you're supposed to do, because otherwise my dog might get out and that sure would be bad." Replied Chris.

Everyone in the room except Kyle agreed that this was the best way to exit or enter Chris' back door. I sat and talked to my friends for a while and then it was time to leave at about 7pm, because Chris was really tired and hated everyone. "Get the fuck out of here, everyone. I gotta sleep," Chris yelled.

"But Chris, it's only 6pm." Said Eric.

"I don't give a fuck. I hate you all and I'm really tired and I don't care that this is gonna ruin everyone's night," Chris screamed, flailing his arms all around his body like a tornado and spinning and spitting and being angry.

It was 5pm and everyone was leaving Chris' house. They were all told to go out the back door and to be quiet and, most importantly, to shut the door very tightly. Normally Chris' back door is really tight, but when Kyle Smith left -- he was the last one out after all -- he just left it wide open.

I left through the front door, because Chris' dad said he'd lock it behind me, so that's what I done. Then Kyle came out front and saw Tim and got into Tim's car and was ready to go home. Then, out from behind Chris' house this really dark figure started bolting. I knew instantly that it was Chris' dog, Nasty the Fuck Gobbler.

Nasty bolted past me with this sick bandana wrapped around his neck. I froze with amazement as he flew up into a neighbors yard and was gone. Then I ran after him, but he was too quick, so I ran over to Tim's car. I peeked in and asked Kyle, "Did you shut the back door all the way?"

"One-hundred percent yes, no doubt in my mind." Kyle said.

"But you were the last one out," I told him.

"I did not leave the back door open. It wasn't me," He insisted. "Tim, drive away! I don't want to help Carter and Chris catch that dog even though it's actually all my fault!!!"

So, they drove off. I decided to phone Chris and let him know. Chris came out outside fully prepared; he had no shoes or socks on. We chased around and stuff and eventually Nasty ran under a neighbors porch.

Apparently, there was another creature under the same porch whose name was Cringle the Slap Koogler; he was a raccoon. Cringle and Nasty started fighting really aggressively and were flailing and whipping each other all over everywhere under this porch. The porch was blocked off except for one tiny spot that Nasty managed to fit through.

While Nasty and Cringle were battling, blood was spilling out onto the concrete walkway that Chris and I were standing on. Hair and teeth flew out and rattled on the cement. Hair rattled on the cement.

"Holy fuck, Chris!" I cried, "Cringle is slap-koogling Nasty!"

But the sound of slapping and koogling stopped and eventually there came the sound of fuck-gobbling. Lightning started shooting out form under the porch. Then it started raining.

"What do we do?" I asked.

"Nothing we can do," Chris said.

So, Chris decided to run home and get some proper footwear. Then he came back, and I told him we need a flashlight. So, he went and got that too. Then he came back. But we needed something else if we were gonna stop this battle, because Nasty and Cringle were about to get serious.

"What's been going on while I've been gone?" Chris asked.

"Nasty was gobbling the fuck out of Cringle just a moment ago, but now they're just staring at each other."

Cringle pulled out a stick of dynamite and blew up the porch and the house, so it was basically just a big crater and Nasty and Cringle were at the bottom. Then Cringle whistled for his pals and an army of sleazy, rabies-infested raccoons came charging out of a really large nearby dumpster. They stopped to eat all the garbage and kick over as many trash cans as they could while on their way.

But Nasty the Fuck Gobbler called in all the dogs. So, about two or three dogs.

Cringle whipped out his monster smoochster and slapped Nasty across the face with it. It was like a wet towel and kind of dragged across his face really slowly and oozily. But Nasty pulled out his own king wiener and ninja-slammed it down on Cringle's head.

Cringle grabbed Nasty's dick and started koogling it real good. So, Nasty grabbed Cringle's smoochy big-boy and started gobbling. Then the other raccoons and dogs start firing their lasers at each other and killing one another. Then Nasty called down a fireball from the sky while Cringle was still koogling at a good pace.

One of the stray, nasty, blind raccoons yelled to Cringle, "You gotta koogle faster!"

Cringle started koogling Nasty's chunk-flopster faster than anyone thought possible. It created a big shield around everyone and blocked the fireball.

Chris was flipping burgers at this point.

Then Cringle started getting sexy. He started shaking his hips like a stripper and spun in a circle waving his admittedly really nice ass at Nasty the Fuck Gobbler.

Then Kyle Smith, along with Tim, pulled up again. He got out really frantically and ran up to Chris and myself. "Guys!" He yelled.

"What, Kyle, did you realize you fucked up really badly?" Chris asked all mad and angry and full of rage.

"No, but I think I left some of my weed in your house. I NEED to go get it."

Chris grabbed a couple sharp blades of grass and cut Kyle two ribbons. Kyle was disappointed that he didn't get his weed, and ribbons weren't a very good replacement. He left anyway because he didn't want to help catch Nasty.

Cringle was grinding on Nasty's crust-scooper.

"Stop that!" Chris yelled. Chris had diarrhea really badly and he knew how to stop these guys from fighting. All the other raccoons and dogs had died because of the lasers. But the raccoons were all only wounded when they got shot and managed to run to a bunch of other houses in town and knock over their trash cans and tear open their garbage bags and drag them all over the place. And before the dogs died they barked for 5 hours straight and really loudly.

Cringle was koogling Nasty's crazy-goggles (his cock) at this moment, but the next thing that happened solved everything.

Chris pulled down his pants and made it rain burgers.

An Actual Story About War and Germany And War

This story is very serious.

Hitler was sitting in his monstrous king-chair of royalty and kingly-ness. All of a sudden, he had to throw up, so he did. The vomit ejaculated him out of his chair and then his wiener started firing semen shots and piss artillery and whipped him around in the air like an out-of-control fire hose.

Lucky for Hitler, he had a crew of Super Soldiers (SS) around to try and grab him. But they couldn't, he was zipping down the halls of his castle, propelled forward by nasty farts that made his ass jiggle like J-Lo's. He was also naked which is why the piss and farts could be seen and smelled. The SS soldiers were so mesmerized by Hitler's rockin' ass-shake that they paused and watched as he flew in circles with piss-shots exploding all over.

"You fools, get me down!" Hitler cried. He grabbed his cockly little piss-rocket and pinched tight, but that only made the piss artillery build up in the middle of his wiener's shaft like blocking a hose's water flow. The mid of his cock started expanding a lot, and then it exploded, but at the same time his chin got shot off by an enemy sniper and his ass ripped down to his right heel.

Hitler was still flying, but the SS soldiers were ready to pounce. They jumped up to Hitler but only one soldier managed to hold on. He grabbed Hitler's neck and started licking Hitler's lips, even though the bottom one was barely there. But then Hitler's stomach started expanding. Then his back exploded.

Then Hitler woke up. He had been sleeping the whole night with his pet dog Nasty the Fuck Gobbler. Nasty ran away after Hitler's eyes opened because he knew that when Hitler was awake he was about to get his ass packed full of Hitler sausage.

That dream had unsettled Hitler, the leader of Germany and the World in the current year of 2078. "Guards!" Hitler yelled. The guards came and Hitler demanded warm milk and a basket full of rotted tennis balls.

The guards came back with a basket full of warm milk and a rotted tennis ball, because they knew Hitler spoke in clever riddles. "Good job, boys." Said Hitler.

Hitler rested his head against his pillow only to realize that his pillow was now a giant rat that had puked on his face and was eating his cock.

Then Hitler woke up again. "A dream inside a dream!" He said aloud. A single guard came in and sat next to Hitler in a chair. "Why are you here, boy?"

"You told me to be here, sir. You said I was the brightest and plumpest of all the Super Soldiers and that you wanted me here."

"When does the rest of the world plan to launch their attack on our castle?" Asked Hitler.

"In about five minutes. We know when they're going to attack." Said the boy.

"Get me two blankets and a rock." Hitler demanded.

The boy grabbed a couple blankets and a rock and gave them to Hitler, but Hitler actually wanted two rocks and a blanket and shot the boy in the face because the boy couldn't understand his riddle. "Guards! Come clean up this mess!"

Hitler rose and grabbed his underwear because he slept naked and then walked, in just his underwear, out onto the battlefield. His only weapon was his mouth.

A man from America yelled, "Hitler, you come unarmed!?"

To which Hitler replied, "I come with my mouth and I've got nothing to lose!"

"You speak in tongues, monster!" The man rose his sword and charged Hitler on horseback with a slew of tanks behind him and an army of trained mules in front to absorb a lot of bullets.

The Ice Cream Killer Again Strikes Again

The Ice Cream Killer Again Strikes Again

The day is Tuesday, and like every Tuesday, Darrel drives about in his ice cream truck, serving ice cream to the young lads and lasses of Diersville. But he has a secret that nobody else knows about except him. He's actually a mean and vicious ice cream killer.

It's 2pm and Darrel is about to serve ice cream to a young boy, whose father is alongside him. "There you go, little boy." Darrel says.

"Thanks, mister!" Says the boy as he scampers off down the sidewalk, not looking back.

"How much is that?" Asked the dad, who was rifling through the pouches of his wallet.

"That'll be one." Said Darrel, with an incredibly, painfully slow-forming grin spreading across his pizza-acne-ridden swiss-cheese face.

The dad of the young boy took a moment to process the price of his son's ice cream. Then, "One what?"

"One LIFE!" Darrel screamed as he grabbed the man by his collar and, with his thin little brittle chicken-flopper arms, over-powered him hurling him into the back of the ice cream truck. "It's time to pay!"

"No, please!" Cried the man as Darrel flipped the nozzel of the ice cream-spewing hose to 'on.' "I have a child, you can't do this. Don't do this to me!" The man, with his wallet still in-hand, flipped to a picture of his son. "Look, this is my son!"

"Sh." Said Darrel, for the man's son had just returned to the truck's window and was preparing a question.

"Have you seen my dad?" The boy asked.

"I haven't son, maybe he ran off." Replied Darrel, wanting the boy to leave very badly.

"Did he buy anything?"

"He didn't. Leave."

"Hey, mister, you're kinda cute." Said the boy with as he placed a taunting finger on his bottom lip and began to suck on it.

The dad in the back peeked out and saw his son being so forward with Darrel and was instantly a bit jealous. "Son!" He cried.

The boy stopped and buttoned up his pants that he was slowly unbuttoning just a moment ago. "Dad! What are you doing back in the back of this ice cream van!? No, don't reply, I'm coming in!" The boy threw himself into Darrel's van.

Darrel was so exhausted by the excess of conversation that had been going on. His denim suspenders that he'd proudly displayed on his body for the last three weeks were almost fully drenched in piss and sweat and saliva. Saliva because Darrel drools. Always.

Underneath the suspenders there was no underwear, but there was a pretty slick Star Wars shirt on. Darrels balls were hanging out of a hole in his suspenders.

"Son, don't be such a hooker!" The dad demanded.

"Dad, I'm gonna cuddle this man's nasty double-chinned neck right now!"

"Don't do it, son!"

The boy, who was like five years old or some such age, grabbed the loose meat under Darrel's neck and began to lather it with his spit. "Mmm, yes, that neck." The boy said as he smeared the wet fat-neck across his pristine cheek.

"Enough!" Darrel cried, as much as he loved the boy rubbing his neck excess. "I'm gonna drown the both of you in chocolate sassofrass!" Darrel pulled on the ice cream hose and started unloading pounds and pounds of grimly dark-brown ice cream onto the boy and father.

"Oh no, we're helpless!" Cried the dad.

Darrel curdled his low-hanging nuts in his right hand, crouched over like a shitting grizzly, watching the boy and his father struggle for breath in the ice cream.

"The ice cream killer strikes again!" Yelled the boy's father.

"Yes, he does! He's killing us!" Roared the boy, splashing to the surface of the ice cream.

Darrel unbuttoned his suspenders -- something he would not normally do under any circumstance -- and brought his massive, forest-haired beer-gut to the young boy's dying face. He slimed his stomach against the boy's face as it became paler while the dad watched, unable to do anything because of the large quantity of ice cream. Darrel was pretty much naked now, except for his Star Wars shirt.

Then, he turned off the hose. The boy was dead, but the dad was not. "No! Curse you, Ice Cream killer!" He cried. "You kill my son but leave me alive, what a sick and disgusting thing for you to do!"

"You haven't seen sick OR disgusting." Retorted Darrel as he swiped a row of oiled watermelons down his ass-crack. He began to shit because one of the watermelons had ripped a large tear in the side of his ass cheek and poop was running out of that hole because it connected to his large intestine somehow.

Actually, all of his organs started running out of that slit in his enormous ass-cheek, and the father of the dead boy was getting giddy. It was his turn now!

"It's my turn now!" Cried the dad. He lunged at Darrel and scrumped up all the organs and feces and draped them across his face like some people do with a wet washcloth and then he spun his tongue in circles and pretended that did anything and flailed his goosy arms in the air while Darrel lifted up his deflating gut and started toward the dad with a cock ready for action.

"This cock is ready." Said the dad, pointing to his own slippery whistler. Their cocks converged in a clash of small intestine and exploding stomach, with the hydrochloric acid melting away the flesh of each unimpressive wiener. It was now a battle of meaty, veiny flopsters, but Darrels ripping ass was still tearing. The cut in his butt was spliting and shitting all up his side.

The tear eventually reached Darrel's chin and then his skin on either side began to sag and wave to the sides like flags and his muscle underneath, covered in layers upon layers of nasty porkchop, bled. He was bleeding but he wasn't quite dead yet, because there was just so much ice cream and it kept him alive because there was just so much. In fact, the hose actually came back on too while the dad and Darrel were sloshing their throbbing coon-mashers around.

Darrel was finally about dead at this point, but the dad would have none of that, so he sewed Darrel's ripping flesh back up with his cock. Now they were like siamese brothers, connected at the ass-cheek by a thinly rolled cock used as surgical wire. What was wonderful though, was that the dad's cock's head ended right at Darrel's chin, where the tear had stopped. This means that the dad would get a constant drip of saliva, because Darrel drools. This thought pleased the dad, but Darrel karate chopped the dad's cock off right at the base and then grabbed the dad by the skin of his scrotum and hurled him through the roof of the ice cream truck and onto a pile of spikes.

The End