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

Benjamin King

Okay, look around. Alright, I'm in a library. Or even possibly a small room in someone's house, filled with books. Ben took a look at his lap, as he sat cross-legged on the wooden floor. Oh god. Okay, dead girl in my lap. Let's assume I killed her. With this in mind, the next step is disposal.

Benjamin rolled her off, over his knees, onto the ground. She lay there, face down, showing off those bruising choke marks on the back of her neck. It surprised him, as she was a pretty gal, if a little deader than he preferred.

I gotta get rid of her. There's a window to my left, or I could roll her in the carpet to my right, and carry her out. Do I want a permanent hiding, or do I much care? I don't know. Ben couldn't remember anything from the past. Nothing at all. His head swiveled awkwardly back and forth. Jumping between carpet and window, carpet, window. Forget it.

He kicked the girl in the head, as if to say screw you, bitch, and ran to the door. The doorknob wasn't much for budging, which would be a key sign of a locked door. And wonder as he might, no matter how many times he tried twisting the damn thing, it just wouldn't turn. Almost as if it truly were locked.

Bewildered, he decided he would escape alone out the window. One glance down changed that, as he was roughly five stories up.

Alright. I'm in a room. There's a ton of books. Library? Maybe. Oh, dead girl. His thoughts reset. Did I kill her? Nah, I would never. He chuckled and ran to the door. Again, the doorknob wouldn't twist, but he yanked on it a couple of times for good measure.

I need to get out of here. I can kick this door in. I can do it. He stood in front of the door, gave a good kick, and to his surprise, the door gave way. The lock busted and splintered out of the wood, and he was able to sneak out.

This is definitely a library. So, if there's a balcony, I must be relatively high up. Ground floor sounds nice. There was an elevator next to him, which he promptly hopped inside. He was accompanied by two very attractive girls. Probably younger than was legal, but he was game.

They giggled, then asked a question he felt was too personal, "How big is it?" The two snickered annoyingly, causing Ben to actually second-guess his earlier thoughts on getting with them.

Reset.

Ben faced the elevator door, waiting patiently for it to open. He glanced at the girls. I'd definitely get with them. They had stopped laughing, feeling ignored and insulted. An elevator? How'd I get here? Wait for the doors. Wait for it...

The elevator doors eased open. Library, right. Why am I in the library? He looked around the numerous rows of books, trying to find something that stuck out. I feel like I'm forgetting something.

"Excuse me, are you Benjamin King?" A sudden surprise from behind Ben caught him a tad off guard. He was focusing a little too hard on searching for a book, so any noise would really have threw him off.

"Um." He had forgotten his name altogether. "Yep, yep, that's me." He made an exaggerated point to himself with his thumb, bringing it quickly to his chest. It looked very suspicious and odd.

"We have a book here for you." This man apparently worked for the store. Ben remained cautious of the man, however, in case he were dangerous. He followed him to the counter, where the man brought up a book from beneath. "Harry Potter."

Why do I want a Harry Potter book? "I don't want that."

"You reserved it, sir." The worker had now grown confused. His head cocked slightly to the left, like a dog.

"Yeah, I don't want it. Nah, no thanks. Just keep it. Or whatever. Hey, where's the exit?" Ben spoke quickly, almost too quickly for the clerk to comprehend. The man gave a point to Ben's left, which Ben followed with his eyes, and spotted the exit. Reset.

Ben's head swung back to his front. "Hello there." He was happier. Alright, I'm in a library. What's with this goof in front of me?

"Hey, there?" The worker was now a little worried he'd receive a chastising from Ben.

Just walk away. He's a tool. Where's the exit? Ben turned in all directions, then spotted a big red EXIT sign. There we go.

Suddenly, Ben felt his right pocket vibrate. Huh? He lifted out an old Razor phone, which was buzzing like a swarm of bees. The screen read, "Danny."

"Hello?" Ben flipped the phone open, putting it to his ear.

"Ben, whatever the hell you're doing right now, stop. Where are you?" Danny apparently knew Ben. Knew him pretty well by the sound of it.

"Who is this?" Ben responded. He was always asking himself questions, answering them himself as well. Is this the police? No, why would they want me? I don't know. Shit! Just tell him where you're at, that's the right idea, right? "I'm a book store."

"The one downtown?" Danny asked. He seemed to be mulling over something in his mind, so Ben didn't respond. "Nevermind, you don't know. I'm going to assume it's the one downtown. Do you have a pen?" I don't know, do I?

A pen, a pen. I do! Ben pulled out a nicely pointed gel pen from his left pants pocket. "Okay, do I need to write something?"

"Yes. Write this on your left hand, 'Stay out front of the book store.'" Ben scribbled it down in large letters.

"Are you picking me up?" Ben was confused.

"Yeah, someone has to, don't they? At least until your problems switch." He really seemed to know Ben.

"Do I know you?"

"You sure as shit do. I'm your friend, Danny. Nevermind all that, you'll remember in a day." With that he hung up, leaving Ben to the white noise that followed. Is the call still going on? This noise is killing my ears. Screw it. Ben closed his phone as well. Reset.

Okay, I'm outside. Alright, look around. Um, there's a lot of people. Where exactly am I? Ben turned around to stare at the book store. Something on my hand? 'Stay out front of the bookstore?' That's my hand-writing. Alright.

Non-Conformity - V for Vendetta

"It was you! You who appointed these people. You who gave them the power to make your decisions for you! While I’ll admit that anyone can make a mistake once, to go on making the same lethal errors century after century seems to me nothing short of deliberate. You have encouraged these malicious incompetents who have made your working life a shambles. You have accepted without question their senseless orders. You could have stopped them. All you had to say was 'No'."

-V

Non-Conformity - Chaplin

Free Thought - Braid

Confidence - Adrian Veidt