Star Wars Fan Fiction

It was not long after Senator Palpatine declared himself Emperor that he took his revenge on Jar Jar Binks. It was but a simple matter to force persuade Jar Jar into performing the most degrading acts imaginable on him right in the senate for all to see. What better to way to end democracy in the galaxy than to treat himself to a thorough rimming by the Naboo senator?

Once he and then all comers had taken their fill of Jar Jar, the Emperor sold him into sexual slavery to the Huts. You may be unaware that Gungans have a prehensile colon, making them some of the most satisfying butt sluts in the galaxy (for those not aesthetically particular). Once he was all trained up, Jar Jar was put to good use satisfying clone troopers right here on this very space station.

Those interested in watching him work can visit with him if they want. The cue starts back there.

On your left, guests are welcome to enjoy a diorama showing many of the other splendid attractions available for your amusement.

The End.

Bible Stories For Today’s Youth

Noah’s Ark

So one day God was all like, “Yo, Noah, this shit is fuckin whack now. Imma flood this bitch out and kill all these trifling hos.”

So, like, Noah was all, “Dooood, that is a serious bummer, man. Can’t you just, like, stomp the worst of them bitches out and let all the kids and babies live? I mean, like, they’re all innocent and shit, right?”

And God was all, “Shut the fuck up, bitch! Are you my ho or are you a dead ho? That’s what I thought, slut. Imma kill every motherfucker on Earth, babies and kids and all. I made this cocksucker, so I can flex on it when I want. But we cool, cause you give it up just how I like it, slut. Now, what I want you to do is build a big motherfuckin boat and put your family and two of every animal on it, so’s you can repopulate this bitch once I’m done fuckin it up.”

So, Noah’s all like WOAH! God must be tweaking on some wicked ass shit. But he can’t even. So he’s like, “God, you the man! That’s shit’s the bomb! But you sure it’s possible to put two of every animal in one boat? I mean, we haven’t even invented a number for how many different kinds of animals there are. And isn’t it gonna get all fucked up when the animals have to start fuckin their sisters and shit? And my grandkids have to marry their cousins? I mean, that’s a bit off, aint it? I ask with straight up respect, Lord.”

So God’s all like, “Oh no you didn’t! You didn’t just question my all powerful might and shit! Bitch, I am God up in this motherfucker. This shit works because I say it does. Watching animals fuck their sisters is what busts my nut these days. That shit is off the hook! Your boat best be fuckin rockin when I come a knockin. You hear me? Now get on it, slut, before I decide to replace alls you with some six tittied ape bitch that can fuck itself with its tail. I’m not even joking, son. In fact, Imma whip some of them sluts up on Mars to see how I like it. You don’t even know what that shit means, yer such a stupid shit. Just get on making me my incest animal bangboat and I’ll check in later. Peace!”

And so it was. That’s just how God rolls.

The Story of Big Bob

by Balls Malone

Big Bob had the silkiest anus in the village. It was big too. Like a bisected grapefruit. There might have been bigger anuses around, but none were so silky as Bob’s. That was something everyone could agree upon. Big, red, and silky; that was Bob.

Bob didn’t rest on his laurels, though. Not Bob. Why, he might have had the silkiest anus in the village, but that was just his steppingstone to true anal glory. It was Bob’s muscular control over his sphincter that made him the star that he was in these parts. Why, his bum-minstrel show at the county fair made him the talk far and wide.

It’s a curious thing, that one man would be so blessed in just that particular area. But it has been supposed that the attention and interest lavished on his orifice from an early age meant that he was encouraged to develop his athletic skills with it. Nature and nurture coming together in a happy confluence, if you will.

Whatever the reasons for it, Bob’s anus truly was a miracle. “Some grip!” folks would ejaculate at the fair, as they struggled to retrieve whatever objects they had paid Bob to show his skills with. Bob could also open and close that anus of his, like a toothless mouth, and would conduct a ventriloquist’s act: with a comical face painted on his behind and a straw hat propped on his lower back.

The fair was, of course, Bob’s bread and butter, but he got along okay in the village over the rest of the year. His shack backed up on Turtle Creek Lane. He cut a couple holes in the back wall: one big for his behind, and another small for a coffee can. When he heard the happy sound of coins falling in the can, Bob would present his ripe glory for his patron’s amusement. Whatever folks chose to do with Bob’s wonderful talents was their business. We aren’t the sort to pry into the affairs of others (unless, of course, we help them fill up their coffee can first).

Sadly, for all of us here, but especially Bob, some folks can’t leave well enough alone. A lawman from Town got it in his head that there was some kind of funny business going on with Bob. He came down to the village a couple weeks ago and shot poor Bob. Shot him dead right on his front stoop. Claimed that Bob came at him with an ax. It’s supposed this is probably true; since Bob had been working on a lumberjack routine for the fair, and the lawman shot him in the back. But Big Bob surely never meant the lawman any harm. He was probably just trying to lighten the mood. That was the kind of man Bob was.

Rest in peace, Big Bob. You brought joy to the lives of dozens, and will not be soon forgotten.

Internet Quiz

Hey guys! I’ve been seeing these numbered quizzes floating around online for a while where people reblog and answer some of them, or ask the poster to answer certain numbers, or some shit. So, I thought I’d write one of my own to fit in with what the youngsters are doing with themselves these days.

If you message me the numbers of the questions you’d like me to answer, I’ll be more than happy to ignore you completely. Because fuck off and mind your own goddamned business.

1. What’s your favorite song?

2. Choose one: fame or fortune?

3. What’s your favorite knot?

4. Favorite bigoted celeb?

5. Choose one: bigamy or celibacy?

6. What is your very favorite outrage?

7. What was your biggest failure to recreate a porn move in real life?

8. Can you wear your favorite underwear when you are likely to fuck? What does your answer say about you as a human being?

9. What was the raddest time you shit your pants?

10. When you and all the other millennials are whooping it up at your Tinder sex parties, why don’t you work harder at life?

11. Choose one: stabbing or shooting?

12. What polygon do you feel best represents your sexuality?

13. Do you have a favorite genocide? If you don’t, and are American, how do you justify Thanksgiving as a holiday?

14. If your genitals were a rodent, what would you give them to chew so that their teeth wouldn’t grow too long and loop back around to pierce your nether parts in a painfully debilitating, but entirely preventable, condition. Seriously, if you don’t take the time to give your rodent junk something to chew on, you’ll only have yourself to blame. (If you want, this question could be developed into an oblique metaphor for masturbation with some kind of low-brow angle on “giving a log to the beaver,” but I’m not telling anyone how to live their life here.)

15. If you had the power to eradicate all of humanity instantly, including yourself, would you do it? If no, then I hope you’re not such a hypocrite to consider yourself an environmentalist.

16. If you could only shave one body part for the rest of your life, what would it be?

17. How many people have you killed during prison riots?

19. When jolly Father Christmas brings you a present, how merry does it make you on a scale of 1 to 10?

20. Give yourself 1 point for every person you’ve kissed. Give yourself 2 points for every person whose private parts you’ve touched (tee hee!). Give yourself 3 points for every person you’ve had sex with. Give yourself 20 points if you’ve ever engaged in fisting while on heroin. Give yourself 50 points if you’ve ever paid someone NOT to have sex with you. Now add up all your points and divide that number by your age. The number this gives you is completely meaningless.

21. Cell mate: Barney the Dinosaur or Elmo? (Keep in mind here that Elmo is a goddamned maestro with a shank and has adjusted all-too-well to prison life.)

What your zodiac sign says about you:

You enjoy reading vague generalities about your personality. You are special and unique, except in comparison to the 1/12 of the population that you are exactly alike. One time you stubbed your toe and it really hurt. You feel strongly about many of the people in your life, but sometimes get frustrated with them. Because of your positive personality traits, people have taken advantage of you. You have an anus.

If you’re a Scorpio, you’re a cunt and likely a rapist.

Lady in Red

There is a lady in the place when I stop in near closing time.

She has red leather pants and a bad attitude. Which one led to the other, I wonder? There’s no way they’re not connected. A chicken and the egg scenario I’m determined to get to the bottom of.

Leather pants. Man. What could be going on in a person’s life where they think that’s some kind of solution?

She’s hostile. Surly. Mean. Just my type.

She knows it now too. Can smell it on me. Watched me metamorphose into a moth to be drawn to her flame. Now she’s engaged. Wants the power I offer her. Wants the chance to wound again.

She smiles at me. Oh man, am I ever in deep shit now.

At least I’m gonna find out if the bad attitude is something that will peel off of her along with those pants.

A warm, funky mess waiting to be discovered.

A Touch of Class

by Balls Malone

Classy Man is sitting enjoying a scotch on his sumptuous white leather sofa. He takes a sip and smiles at us. Some light jazz starts playing.

“You know, there’s nothing like a touch of smooth jazz to really loosen me up.”

Xylophone enters the musical arrangement. Classy Man closes his eyes and smiles in appreciation.

“Yeah. Oh, yeah. That’s getting into all those hard to reach places, isn’t it? That’s what I’m talking about. Why don’t you come on over here and join me?”

Classy Man shifts his weight to slide over on the sofa. As he does, he shits himself with the sound of a seasick drunk vomiting in a snorkel.

“Ohhhhhh no… that kicked in a little sooner than I expected,” Classy Man murmurs.

He gags as the smell of his shame hits him and slides off the sofa to curl into a fetal ball, his once pristine white leisure suit now an obscene ruin.

After choking down a sob, Classy Man rallies to prop himself up on an elbow with a wooden smile:

“Yeah, that’s jazz for you!”

Viral

Just twenty years have totally changed the implication of the sentence:

“My anus went viral.”

Which implication is worse, the old or the new, is hard to say. I suppose it depends on what virus your asshole has sprouted, in the one case, and whether you’re some kind of anal exhibiting sex professional in the other.

Now, a combination of the two would just be the worst. Like: “I caught a terrible ass virus, and some asshole doctor (in both senses) tweeted a picture of it, which went viral. #fml”

Tis a funny old world, isn’t it?