For most twelve year old boys Sunday’s are the initial forays into the duplicitous nature of adulthood. It is a time when they spend the morning dressed in their best clothes learning about how to get into Heaven while plotting in the afternoon how to ensure their place in Hell. Billy and Ricky were no exception as they stood on the door step of Ricky’s house. Journeys couldn’t start at Billy’s house, well they could, but not without ramifications that neither boy wished of quality family time with Billy’s father. Billy didn’t understand why his father had developed an interest in spending time with him and his friends, but he had just after he and his mom had dropped into his work to surprise him. It had been an uncomfortable visit, but educational. Billy had learned that if someone was having a seizure he was to drop his pants and put the person’s head on his lap so they would not get hurt. Billy wasn’t sure he liked the emergency procedure because this father’s receptionist, who was having the seizure, seemed to be giving his father as much pain as she was in with the way both her moaning in agony and he was pretty sure in health class they had said that you were supposed to make sure that the person who was having the seizure’s mouth was clear of all objects. Billy also thought his mother had miraculous healing powers because the receptionist’s seizure stopped the second the receptionist noticed that Billy and his mother had entered his father’s office. After that day it was just easier if Billy walked over to Ricky’s house after church. The two boys walked down the street after meeting up at Ricky’s doorstep.
“I don’t know ‘bout this, Ricky…” Billy said nervously fingering the loose straps from the pack he carried on his back. He could feel the freckles burning on his cheeks, a sign he always took for meaning that he was about to do something that he’d regret later. His freckles burned a lot when he was with Ricky.
Ricky felt frustrated as he responded to his friend’s misgivings about their course of action. “Look, we asked your folks, we asked my mom, we asked the fireman, the policeman, the paramedic, the gas station guy, the old man on the corner that poops in his pants and then paints the bank walls, the baker, the principal, and they didn’t know, we ain’t got much of a choice but to ask Old man Thomas.” Ricky’s answer did not help calm Billy’s nerves.
“There has to be someone we’ve forgotten,” Billy asked, “say like the flower shop lady?”
“We asked, remember?” Ricky replied with a roll of his eyes.
Billy remained silent for a moment then stuck his finger in the air as if he were a magician pulling a rabbit out of his hat.“What about the man that smells like your daddy on a Sunday morning after a Saturday night hockey game?”
“Yep,” Ricky affirmed, “Remember you had to go home and take a shower to get all the chunks he blew on you?” Billy shuddered.
“Thanks, I was trying to forget about that…” Billy mumbled as the two began walking towards the only house on the street that didn’t have garden gnomes but the stripped down bulk of a seventy two Impala adorning the front lawn.
“Ok, we’re at Old man Thomas’s place and don’t you startle him none. He’s worse than a herd of stampedin’ skunks after they’ve raided a cabbage field,” Ricky cautioned his friend as both stopped in front of the ramshackle looking house.
“Don’t worry, Ricky. I’ll never forget the whoppin’ huge nose bleed I got when his back was turned and we asked him something and spooked him something fierce.” The two boys stared at the house anxiously.
“Good, good,” Ricky said with a sharp nod and then asked, “just in case did you get all them air freshener cans your momma has?”
Billy nodded and patted his backpack. “Yep, right here…do you think six cans are enough though?”
Ricky thought about it for a moment. “Hmmm, guess if we talk real fast then hold our breath we may get out of there not too badly.” The boys walked up the cracked cement sidewalk to the front door. The two boys looked at each other. Ricky took a deep breath and announced, “Alright, I’m going to knock now.” Ricky’s knuckles barely touched the wood of the door. He turned to Billy and said, “I guess he ain’t home.”
Billy scowled at his friend and without taking his eyes off of Ricky knocked loudly on the door. There was sounds of movement from the other side, the yowling of a cat, the barking of a dog and muttering that got louder. The door opened and the boys almost stepped back and made a run for it. It wasn’t that Ol’ man Thomas was a menacing figure but it was noticeable to both boys that the frayed material of the blue bathrobe that bulged out as if hiding a semi-truck tire around the torso that ol’ man Thomas wore could reveal a lot more of ol’ man Thomas than the boys were keen to see.
“Well howdy boys! How goes the battle?” Ol’ man Thomas greeted.
Billy leaned in towards Ricky and whispered, “Gosh darn it, Ricky, we’re too late, he’s already got his hootch goin and figurin’ we’re soldiers….maybe we should come back tomorrow instead.” Ol’ man Thomas looked down at the two boys who looked at him in turn.
“Well, boys, certainly you didn’t knock on my door just to stand there and mumble at each other, did ya?” He asked.
“Well sir, Ricky here overheard his sister talkin’ with her friend and sayin’ she’d like to do stuff with her boyfriend but she’s afraid sex would change everything,” Billy explained.
“That it does, boys that it does!” ol’ man Thomas exclaimed.
“Really?” Both boys chimed.
Billy hit Ricky in the side of the ribs with his elbow. “Ask about the important part.” Ricky shot a glare at Billy.
“What’s that, boy, come on, spit it out,” ol’ man Thomas said slightly irritated that the two were beating around the bush when he could be beating something else.
“Well, sir, my sister’s friend said that if she was lucky enough to come the first time she’d be, like, meeting a rainbow farting unicorn,” Ricky said. Ol’ man Thomas looked at the two boys but said nothing. Ricky and Billy had heard that the elderly sometimes couldn’t remember anything from moment to moment, and ol’ man Thomas was in his forties. Ricky decided to make it real simple for the old coot to digest. “So we was wondering how we could come and go meet that rainbow farting unicorn.”
Billy nodded his head enthusiastically. “Yeah, cuz that would be really neat to see.”
“I’m afraid, boys, that you ain’t ever going to see a rainbow farting unicorn because you just aren’t the right gender,” was Ol’ man Thomas’ firm reply.
“Uhm, no offense sir, but how do you know?” Billy asked.
“Well, see this here book?” Ol’ man Thomas said as he pointed to a large pile of papers, clothes, food containers and other things that the boys couldn’t identify, and suspected that they didn’t want to either. Ricky and Billy leaned closer and stood on their tippy-toes to attempt to get a better look without approaching the pile that seemed to move without any visible means.
“Book, where?” Ricky finally asked.
“Well right beside me! Are you blind?” Ol’ man Thomas exclaimed.
“You mean the crumpled pile of toilet paper?” Ricky said, “That ain’t no book.” Ol’ man Thomas folded his arms and looked at the two boys sternly.
“What’s them books made of?” He asked.
“Paper?” Billy offered.
“What’s on the paper in the books?” Ol’ man Thomas further inquired.
“Words?” Ricky replied.
“And what is this stuff called?” Ol’ man Thomas said gruffly as he pointed to an object half buried in the pile.
“Toilet paper?” Ricky answered.
“What those papers got all over them?” Ol’ man Thomas demanded.
“Words?” Billy said furitively.
“Damn straight,” Ol’ man Thomas stated, “so therefore it’s a book.”
“I think I hear my mother calling me…” Ricky said as he glanced back at the door.
“Ah heck boys, just set down for a spell, your mamma’s ain’t goin’ to concern themselves none on account you’re being educated,” ol’ man Thomas chuckled. He grabbed the roll of toilet paper and started to unfurl it. “Now let’s begin…Ahem…boys, let me tell you about Princess Jamie and the Rainbow Farting Unicorn.”
A bunch of paragraphs that have no relevancy to the story, however since the author was anal retentive enough to think of it over the course of several long sips of the first of his two bottles of scotch and a bag of Doritos. The author got a little pissy about the fact that he spent all that time on something that has no bearing on the story decided to call it ‘chapter one’ in order to lull the reader into thinking that it has some import to the said story. The author did this as a self induced delusion that people reading ‘chapter one’ and getting angry because once done the entire story and realizing that ‘chapter one’ was just meaningless drivel would somehow seem poetically just since he wasted the time thinking of it. The author isn’t that swift and being an asshole comes naturally to him.
Once upon a time there was a small land mass just along the equator that upon it held a single city. The city’s name was Atlantis. The city teemed with life; science and magical forces lived in harmony and the people not only thrived but lived in splendor. But, as with everything mankind comes in contact with, the people couldn’t leave well enough alone.
The mayor of Atlantis called for a meeting to which every citizen chose to attend in the very center of the city. The mayor stood upon a brightly coloured grand stand strewn with woven ribbons of gold, silver, bronze and rubies. His hands rested on a gleaming podium of crystal. He smiled as he looked over the mass of people who waited for his words.
“Citizens of Atlantis!” The mayor began, his voice booming and echoing off the buildings that surrounded the large patio like center of the city. “We are blessed with abundant food!”
The crowd roared enthusiastically.
“We live in a moderately tropical zone where we are free from most of nature’s devastating forces chooses to ignore!” The mayor boasted.
The crowd roared again.
“We have one hundred percent unemployment and gross municipal product that means no one goes hungry or without shelter!” The mayor exclaimed.
The crowd roared its approval once more.
“We have established good trade relations that have secured a reliable source for resources that we do not have here!” The mayor proclaimed.
The crowd roared again, but a little more hoarsely.
“In fact, we have everything that any society could ever ask for!” The mayor announced grandly.
The crowd half coughed. It was a very hot day and no one brought any water to cool their throats as in previous proclamations by the mayor it was a hear ye hear ye thing where they would hear and that would be the end of it which required little vocal affirmations beyond sounds good to us, mayor.
“Life for us couldn’t be any more perfect,” The mayor cried out, “Except….”
The crowd was silent and leaned closer to the podium awaiting the mayor’s wisdom to be uttered forth.
The mayor let his ‘except’ sink into the minds of his citizens. He surveyed the crowd and when he felt the tension had suitably built (he made a note to himself to thank his wife for dragging him to those drama classes, they were starting to pay off for him) by counting the number of open mouths that looked on the verge of shouting at him to get the hell on with it. “Except for that!” The mayor finally proclaimed, pointing into the crowd to where the baker and his family stood.
The crowd gasped, and then muttered gravely amongst themselves.
The baker’s eyes were wide with fright and confusion. His wife slapped the back of the baker’s head and barked, “Didn’t I tell you to make sure you delivered his bagel before nine.”
The mayor’s cheeks went flush with frustration.
“No, no, not the baker,” the mayor flustered out, “But his wife is correct though. What’s the point of having a breakfast bagel at noon? Really, that’s a lunch bagel so advertising it as a breakfast bagel when it isn’t even close to breakfast isn’t very copacetic, more misleading or downright false advertising. But that’s not what I’m talking about.”
This produced a very crackling sounding muttering sound from the crowd.
The mayor gave a sigh and spoke with deep gravity welling in his tone. “What I am talking about is what the baker and his fine yet very slow family are standing on.”
The baker and his family moved from where they stood to reveal a dull red stone barely a foot in diameter whose edges just stuck out slightly from the ground.
Ye gods, how that stone infuriated the mayor, it was the only blight upon his mayor-ship…in his mind, that is.
“We have tried to ignore it, bury it, paint it,” the mayor explained, “but it will not be made the same as the other stones around it or be moved by ordinary means. Our colour scheme is white and gold with sand hued accents along our stylishly designed cobblestoned streets. That stone just doesn’t fit.”
The citizens of Atlantis muttered about the mayor’s words and he was quite right, that rock does clash with the overall impression of the city. How could they in good consciousness let a visitor leave this grand city to return to their homeland and say, “You know, Atlantis is a great city, pity about the red rock”…for soothe, they opined, it was indeed a dark blemish on their reputation as a world class city. Together the mass looked back at the mayor and croaked, for with all the roaring and muttering they had done previously had parched their throats.
“Oh great mayor, whatever shall we do!” they cried out (well, almost all, one child looked up to her mother and asked, What’s the big deal about a little red rock which was answered with a thwack on the ear from her mother’s finger).
The mayor put his hands up to calm the crowd, for he did not wish the foot long red rock to cause hysteria and riotous behaviour.
“Have no fear,” the mayor called out, “I have called together our greatest scientist and the most powerful mage in Atlantis to help us rid ourselves of this horrid dilemma!”
Two men, one dressed in a brown tweed toga with a pocket protector hanging loosely from his left nipple (togas, as a rule, did not have pockets but the scientist felt it gave him a more mature and knowledgeable look to him) and the other dressed in a long blue robe and with an even longer grey beard came onto the stage and stood on either side of the mayor. The scientist was first to speak.
“Yes, I was able to determine, examine and implement the plan of digging a small hole beside the rock at a forty five degree angle and then with this,” the scientist pulled out a spoon with a long thick wire attached to it, “I dug deep into the earth for twenty two years directly under the rock until I reached a hollow pocket.”
“So you dug beside and under the rock,” a man in the crowd asked, “So why didn’t you just dig the rock out? It would have made sense to do that, wouldn’t it?”
The scientist’s face flushed with anger. “What do you do for a living, good sir,” he said through gritted teeth.
“Oh, a commoner, eh,” the scientist sneered as he looked around at the citizens. Then he turned his attention back to the farm and glared. “Are you trying to suggest that your…common…sense is superior to my professional sense?”
“Well, er, uhm…” the farmer stammered
“Are you inferring that my years of study, observation…”the scientist accused the farmer.
“How much education does it take to look at a rock?” the farmer asked.
The scientist ignored the farmer’s rude question. “Observation and running scale model scenarios that a farmer could possibly, after only a few minutes of hap-hazard looksey could come up with something better? Are you? Are you!”
The farmer looked down at his sandals, ashamed.
“No, I guess not,” he quietly answered. The scientist looked back at the crowd.
“And there is the difference,” the scientist proclaimed, “You guess, I know!”
At this point it would be prudent to point out that the food critic, unlike most of his restaurant reviews had been, was quite correct about the corn containing to what many of his fellow citizens were thinking as they looked at the red rock.
“And I,” the mage stated with a dramatic wave of his arms, “Have called upon an earth elemental to push the rock from its rest through the hole that my most wise colleague has dug!”
The crowd murmured and muttered, for they were quite practiced in the art of murmuring and muttering; a skill that looks deceptively easy however it looks only easy after years of training and discipline in order to make easily pronounced words like I or and into indeterminate sounds.
Once voice, that of the city’s only lawyer (years ago the city council discovered that having two lawyers meant that they would create work for themselves, no matter how small of a matter it was. It was after the fortieth straight trial of a person’s sandal scuffing the stones outside of another person’s abode and suing or damages that the city council took out the second lawyer and cast him into the ocean. The thought had been that the sharks would do away with him. However it turned out that the sharks, recognizing something that was more vicious than them, left the lawyer alone. Eventually the lawyer floated across the ocean to a yet undiscovered land and now busied himself teaching Incas about personal injury laws in order for one day to become rich with all the gold and gems by having the Inca’s sue each other) spoke up.
“That sounds all very well and good,” the lawyer said then asked, “And we all have to be here why?”
The mayor clapped and responded, “Good question! We need someone to remove the rock when it becomes loose.”
The lawyer pointed to the scientist and the mage, “Why don’t they do it? They’re the ones loosening the rock in the first place.”
The scientist was swift to answer. “See here, I am a professional! I have spent years learning my craft, expanding my expertise in my chosen field of careers. I don’t do manual mindless labor!” The mage added a here here to show his agreement.
“Well,” the lawyer retorted, “I am a professional too, surely I cannot be expected to sully my hands!” The baker, farmer, mason, and even the bauble vendor echoed the same sentiments.
The mayor looked at the official stone mover. The stone mover shrugged his shoulders and spoke.
“Sorry, your scientist is not an engineer. Unless the hole beside the rock has been engineered I do not have the legal governance required for me to remove that rock. Once you have brought an engineer to dig an engineered hole that does not conflict with the unengineered hole then I will require work order in triplicate filed three weeks before the actual removal date along with the proper transfer papers and the written permission of the owner of the land where the rock will be placed I can’t do it. if you have a problem with that, talk to the union.”
“Isn’t there anyone who isn’t a professional?” the mayor wailed. “Is there no one whose job entails no real skills what so ever?”
All eyes looked at the mayor and not a sound could be heard save for a few stray coughs.
The mayor’s face flushed as he jumped off the stage and stood beside the offensive red rock.
“Let’s get this over with,” he growled.
“Right,” the mage harrumphed. He raised his hands in the air. Sparks flew from his fingertips and a green thin bolt of green coloured lightning flew arced from his fingertips to the center of the rock and…nothing.
The mage tried once again, this time the red rock appeared to wiggle but it could have been more of the way the mayor’s foot was tapping bringing up dust.
The crowd did what they did best. They muttered.
For a third time the mage sent his magic to call upon the elemental to no effect. The major tried to move the rock but it still was held firm by the ground around it. The mage’s cheeks flushed.
If you asked the mage what to do or how to do something he could go on at great length (and often did) about it in his capacity as a professional. The one area the mage lacked was the why. If a person had been lucky enough not to have his or her ears begin to bleed after the mage’s oration and were suicidal enough to ask why, the mage would look at them square in the eye and answer very curtly, “Because it says so in the textbook.”
Ah, the glorious textbook, the savoir of every mundane professional’s sanity. It is the tome that holds all the answers to life’s questions as long as they are asked in a certain way. Textbooks are funny things when one thinks about it. A person accepts that since someone took the time to write down something that it is the Word, but if that same person had stopped you on the street corner and yapped in your ear the very same information, you would turn to them and say, “Are you sure? Maybe I should ask someone else.” For example, let’s take the profession of accounting. At one point in history somebody had to look at a single item and say that is one and then construct a symbol to refer to one as one. This was further expanded when the person saw a similar item as the first and said, One plus one is two and then came up with symbolic representations for addition and of the number two. It was pure chance, it could have been a person seeing a single item and saying, that is a Hoopsniggle and hoopsniggle Frarcinoziod hoopsniggle is phallicdisappointment. But someone told someone who mentioned to someone that opined to someone who thought, Well, shit, that’s deep, I’m going to write that down and thus the original person’s opinion became Truth (much to the dismay of those who grew up learning hoopsniggle frarcinozoid hoopsniggle is phallicdisappointment).
In terms of Atlantis’s mage, he came from a not very well off family of belly button lint harvesters (it is a little known fact that Atlantis were a very ecologically minded people and recycled almost ninety five percent of all their refuse. For instance, because of their rich diet, their fecal refuse was sought out over the known world at that time as potting soil. Ear wax was kept, mixed with sand and used as grout. Belly button lint was used to make phallic skull caps which is a must have for every camel and horse jockey in the trade caravans. Back in the day underwear wasn’t something people wore underneath their toga and robes when it was too much of a bother when one really needed to stop and squat, however this made riding animals a very uncomfortable and potentially dangerous profession. Women riders had it comparatively easy, since they simply had to lay a narrow strip of cloth under where they sat in order to stop the dirt and hair from attempting to create pearls in an area not known for the successful creation of pearls.
Men were a little harder because their sensitive spot swayed to and fro, side to side. A strip of cloth just wouldn’t do the job because of the movement, and to a lesser extent, on those long rides mirages could appear to evoke certain physical reactions that saluted the vividness of the mirage. If you have ever had a needle in the arm you can have a 10% idea of the amount of pain a man would feel if one of those rough animal hairs happened to have particularly accurate aim and end up slinking down the urethra. To counter that, the phallic skull cap came into being to prevent this most painful of hazards. Belly button lint, because of its softness, made sense to use as the material for the phallic skull cap.
As a result belly button lint harvesters were very much revered by the trades people but the amount of time it took to attain a suitable amount of material made it impossible for the families trained in the art of it to bank roll great quantities of barter-able coins. Hence belly button lint harvesting was more a calling, a labor of love or some sort of fetish) and as a result had bought the Cliff Notes version of the text books. Sure it had given the mage all the spells, fashion tips and the professional lingo, however the author (who wrote it one morning after drinking several gallons of mead and was suffering from a mighty large hang over which intensified if he tried to write out anything longer than two syllables) chose to omit several informational paragraphs on elementals that altered the understanding of the Word for a different Word…somewhat.
Elementals, while being mystical in nature, worked very much on a decidedly human level. They worked and once they got tired, they slept. Elementals slept therefore needed to be woken up. Elementals needed energy to function, therefore mages fed them, not steak and potatoes but magic, but the process of digestion was very much the same. The force and the effectiveness of the magic was dependant on the quality of the mage, or chef if you please, utilizing, or preparing, the elemental’s meal. It should also be noted that elementals were connoisseurs with delicate palettes; often when the work of the elementals wasn’t satisfactory as imagined by the mages, it was because the mage was at fault rather than the elemental. In the mage of Atlantis’s case, he was no Gordon Ramsay. Oh, he was decent enough in a magical sense, he could ‘boil and egg’ but in terms of overall quality, the elementals always regarded his magic as an Egg McMuffinwhen they specifically ordered Eggs Benedict. Such was the case now in that the elemental the mage had called upon had distinctively heard the mage say dine in though he had actually said delivery, thus it waited for the order to be picked up. There was even more muttering interspersed with murmuring, each of the citizens wondering and asking their neighbor what could be done. The scientist, mage and mayor stood scratching their heads.
It was the resident food critic that finally spoke up. “What if we put some corn in the hole?”
The crowd, scientist, mage and mayor all turned to look at the food critic. The food critic shuffled his foot through the dirt and examined the results.
“Just figured that a helping of corn always loosens me up when I’m bunged up,” he said softly.
Again the citizens murmured, but this time in positivity and agreement.
So with great aplomb the citizens of Atlantis rushed towards the outer edge of the city to the corn field, after making a quick stop at their respective abodes to drink a few liters of water each, and proceeded to pluck cob of corn after cob of corn. They filled wheel barrow after wheel barrow and paraded victoriously down the streets to the lone red rock. One by one the cobs of corn were shoved down the small gap the scientist had dug until no more cobs could be put in. The citizens stood back and watched the rock keenly. They watched that rock for hours and hours and hours upon hours, until the sun had almost set. They looked at the food critic.
“It takes a while,” he said defensively, “Digestion, you know.” There was a communal “Oooohhhh.” The citizens of Atlantis once again fell silent. Night fell.
The abacus maker spoke up as the people were surrounded by darkness, “Did anyone happen to bring along a torch, by chance?” As luck would have it, there was a rumbling sound from under the rock before the citizens could once again mutter and murmur their negative responses to the abacus maker’s query.
“Now we’re talking,” the mayor was heard to say.
There was an even louder rumbling. The noise shook the ground, almost knocking people off their balance.
“Perhaps,” the local proctologist suggested after a piece of building landed beside him and crushed the dog that always piddled on his door stop each morning, so while being happy at the demise of the rodent like beast, thought that buildings really shouldn’t crumble like that. “We were a tad over eager in the amount of corn we used?”
“Why would you say that,” the resident banker asked, “In my experience, more is always better.”
“Well, in my experience,” the proctologist explained, “While some gas escaping is good, too much tends to bring out more solid…”
The proctologist didn’t get to finish his sentence; with a large ba room the red rock dislodged and flew straight up into the air…followed by a rather forceful column of molten rock.
The food critic watched the bright fountain peak and then begin to fall back down to the Earth. “Yep,” he said under his breath, “Corn always does the same thing to me, too.”
Thus the population of Atlantis perished in a horrible way. Like dominos, one person would begin to melt with their skin and bone melding into a bubbling mass on the ground but before they lost their solid form they would fall against their neighbor and due to the physical laws of heat transfer would begin to melt as well. The Earth was not just satisfied with just the population’s demise. The powerful force of the magma explosion tore the small land mass known as Atlantis asunder into two pieces. The two pieces began to float off, turning bottom to top and away from the geyser of magma leaving the hole to plead to the heavens for a big-ass bottle of Imodium.
The author is still drinking his first bottle of scotch but he has elevated to the alcoholic plateau of where he fancies his singing on the tonal and quality level of George Michael but in actuality sounds more akin to a cat, who after crawling into the engine of a truck that the man driving has just stopped momentarily at the 7-11 in order to get a Slurpie and curling up, now is contending with the driver coming back, turning on the engine. The tail of the cat gets caught in the fan belt of the running engine producing the vocal range the author is now practicing as he croons along with Sam Cooke.
The centuries passed, each of the two former parts of Atlantis, each almost alike in the shape of a ovulate with a length of ten kilometers and a width of eight kilometers yet separated from the other by a mere kilometer of ocean, took on different characteristics. One island that had the majority of the city and its buildings on it became to look predominantly a jagged rock, pine treed land mass. The other island that had little of the city but more of the different parks and the small field area became covered in mostly long grass, palm and birch trees, with two large hills and a deep valley from which a waterfall cascaded down from. Though very different in terrain the two islands did have one thing in common, sentiency. The elemental that the mage had called upon had split into two and became ingrained into the two former parts of Atlantis. The islands could not speak with a voice but they could think, conjure small spells and feel, and what both the islands felt was loneliness. They were only a kilometer apart but the former pieces could not hear the other over the roar of the ocean forcing itself around the two. They had even thought up of their own names. The stony island dubbed itself The Grand Isle of Putt-Putt Daring Do With Really Magnificent Looking Big Rocks and a Large Blow Hole At Its Tip. The other island named itself The Island with Two Hills and a Valley with a Waterfall. While the islands could think, they weren’t very creatively inclined.
Both had conjured animals to live upon their surfaces in an attempt to fill the need for company within the cores of the islands but the islands had not counted on the fact that animals, being animals, reproduced whenever they had the opportunity. The animals, the islands would admit, were great conversationalists but often were too busy fornicating to sit and listen to the vibrations that the islands used as a means of communication. Separately both islands realized that what they needed was something that was non-sexual as them that would need them for more than a Wet One and a toilet. Fortune smiled upon the enchanted islands of The Grand Isle of Putt-Putt Daring Do With Really Magnificent Looking Big Rocks and a Large Blow Hole At Its Tip and The Island with Two Hills and a Valley with a Waterfall one electrical filled day.
A plane, piloted by a man from Utah named Samuel, who had little experience flying in rough weather and no sense of direction was flying high above the two enchanted islands. The instrumentation panel of the plane had given him false readings leading him to believe he had been flying north towards Salt Lake City rather than south past the equator from his take off point of Miami. Samuel had thought the flight was taking much longer than it usually did but he figured the craft’s payload of sixteen large crates of Viagra for his colony’s elders who the majority were over the age of sixty and had on average nine wives was creating a slowing in the plane’s performance in an ironic sort of way. Unknown to Samuel his payload was even heavier than he thought. He had seven stowaways on board as well. The stowaways, all single women from Westboro Baptist Church, had stolen away on the plane to avoid arrest after their protest at the Seaquarium.
Two days before, the church had gotten hold of several pictures taken at the Seaquarium of the gulls in the parking lot. After blowing up the pictures 800 times they were able to determine that there were two male gulls feeding on the same hamburger bun under a black minivan with California plates. The church elders knew what this signified because of their extensive knowledge of all things homosexual (which made outsiders observing them wonder why a group who claimed to abhor the homosexual lifestyle seemed to fixate on anything visual that remotely could be considered homosexual for more than the time one would think if something was that morally reprehensible). Two male birds eating a bun obviously meant rim jobs. It further meant that since it was occurring in the parking lot of the Seaquarium, the Seaquarium was flagrantly promoting homosexuality. What else could the Westboro Baptist Church do? This kind of deviancy could not go without it being pointed out and be punished for the seagulls’ sins against God. The seven women had attempted to cajole the gulls, without success, into accepting the Westboro Baptist Churchs’, er, ahem, the Lord’s righteous ways. It was clear to these seven women that they were indeed holier than those administrators of the Seaquarium that allowed this type of behaviour to occur in front of children, who while weren’t as godly as the church group was, shouldn’t be exposed to such disgusting sights, they were walking down the street to catch their Greyhound back to Kansas to find out where they would be heading next to spread the word that Love thy neighbor meant love only those who we say aren’t pieces of fecal ruminants on the lips of diuretic cows. The women were passing by a pharmacy where Samuel was talking outside to a delivery boy with his sixteen crates of Viagra. Ordinarily, the seven women would have let out a heavy tsk and muttered damnations at Samuel and his packages. However, one of the women overhead Samuel joking with the delivery boy and had said the wives should be very happy with the purchase. Wives? Happy? Those terms apart were enough to raise the dander of the seven women, but the audacity to put the two together, well, it had far more appeal than screaming faggots at a bunch of seagulls.
None of the women had been successful in finding a man who would date, much less marry them (these particular seven women weren’t the swiftest bunch, they never could figure out that when a person thinks that hate is an asset they are as appealing as sticking your fingers into the moving chain of a chainsaw). One of the older ladies had tried to brighten their moods about this by telling them “Oh, my dears, if you think you can’t get a man interested in you now, just wait until they get to know you”. So they waited, and waited, for the good lord to provide for them. So when the one mentioned she had distinctively heard the man by the crates say the word wives it struck them like a bolt of lightning (which is quite ironic considering the situation the seven women in the cargo hold of the plane were now facing). They reasoned enmasse that if this man already had a couple of wives, what trouble would it be if seven more joined? After all, the Bible had example after example of men having multiple wives so it must be part of the Lord’s calling to them and with the elders of the church far too busy going through hours and hours of videos watching gay porn, clearly their current unwed state was not a high priority. After a quick discussion the women agreed that surely their pastor would be proud on how well they had picked up on how to skew the Bible to fit whatever needs they needed it to fit.
They managed to listen some more and find out which hanger the man’s plane was in, waited until he was doing his pre-flight check and then snuck into the cargo hold. The youngest and the least experienced in warping logic of the seven asked why they had not simply gone up to the man and offered to be his brides instead of secreting themselves away in his plane’s cargo hold. The response came from the oldest and most experienced of the seven. “Heavens to Betsy, Mary-lou, it’s a heap harder to get your shoes back on, re-wrap something when you’re at home to take it back to the store rather than when you’re still in the store!” The youngest nodded at the wisdom of the oldest, not that she understood it, but she had learned early in life if you just simply agreed with the majority around you, you wouldn’t be in danger of singled out and having to form your own opinion.
Samuel knew he was in trouble, he was losing altitude. He had to think quickly. He shuttered at the only solution that kept creeping into his mind. It would mean though that the church would be livid and limp, their wives would be even more livid. Samuel reasoned it out his options out. The one solution that he kept on circling about was that he could always get more, perhaps next time with a truck so he would be on good old terra firma. He decided to jettison his cargo and prayed that his wives wouldn’t mind jettisoning their own loads until he could make another trip to the supplier. Samuel pulled the cargo hatch door release handle and he felt the plane start to climb and climb high and straight into another plane.
While Samuel was having his face restructured by the propeller of the other said plane, the crates of Viagra and seven single mentally unhinged women who were terrified at their situation, yet enjoying the effect the fall was having underneath their dresses, plummeted down to the Earth.
The crates, along with five of the women, burst apart when they hit the heavily rocked beach of The Grand Isle of Putt-Putt Daring Do With Really Magnificent Looking Big Rocks and a Large Blow Hole At Its Tip. The contents of the crates bounced and rolled into the ocean. The five women did not bounce but expanded their mass distribution by three fold. A sixth woman, the oldest, who in mid-plummet, pulled the other five women down below her did not die, she lived via the semi soft mattress of crushed bone, flesh and innards the other women had created for her with their rough landings. She had survived, but both her legs had been broken and the violent winds had torn off the majority of her clothing, the rest tattering off upon the landing which, all things considered, was a good deal on her part. She lay there on her back, unable to move and with no other options that she could see in the near future, she let her eyes close and listened to the ravenous song of the birds munching on pieces of her fellow church attendees various splattered body parts and soon fell blissfully asleep.
The youngest of the women, who had managed to hang onto the open cargo door a few seconds before the rush of the air pressure plied her grip, fell to the Earth over The Island with Two Hills and a Valley with a Waterfall. Her fall had been slowed and cushioned by the tree branches that so thoughtfully had decided not to move out of the way of her descent. Though her clothes were ripped away from her body and the branches had whipped and welted her flesh (which if she had to admit, she enjoyed just a little more than she should have) she was relatively unharmed. She picked herself off the bed of broken branches and wandered a few feet to where the tree line ended and collapsed on a little plateau of grass just a little more than halfway above a valley onto her back and left the world of consciousness behind for the moment.
If the women would have been paying attention to the sky above them rather than concentrating on the molecular make-up of their eyelids, they would have seen a metal on metal tango that was majestic. So complicated was the dance, in fact, two of the gulls on the Grand Isle of Putt-Putt Daring Do With Really Magnificent Looking Big Rocks and a Large Blow Hole At Its Tip watched it between slurps of intestine. The female punched her male companion in the breast and angrily commented, “You never showed off like that for me.”
Fortune was indeed smiling upon the enchanted islands on that storm filled day as the plane that Samuel had collided with was from the Gotenclapansore’s Insemination Clinic on an emergency mission of mercy to Brazil. The Rio de Janeiro branch of Planned Parenthood had been petitioning the government for more funds for their advertising campaign and more money for their operating budget (the three workers who had come from the states had not realized that the government would want concrete evidence that their work was actually doing something, and all being college graduates, had decided that a door to door collection of proof that their message was getting out. They really needed to get a sealed garbage bin, the garbage bags full of their proof was making them sick from the fumes of rotting latex, dried out lubricant and the various fluids that came along with their proof. The government had promised to send an inspector over to see their proof at one point months before but once the three explained excitedly what their proof was, well, no official had yet shown up to do any inspecting. The three, very conscientious of their work, did not want to leave anything to chance by throwing any of it out – especially after spending hour upon hour labeling the individual units with the date of collection and their names as collectors on them) but had continually been told no. Planned Parenthood then came up with a plan that would force the Brazilian government to want their groups help. Carnival was coming up so plenty of women would be passed out on the streets, bars, beaches and staircases. What would happen if there was, nine months later, a massive population explosion? Damn right the government would be looking to them for assistance. They placed an order for 2400 turkey basters and 2400 vials of prime samples from the Gotenclapansore’s Insemination Clinic that was currently on route…until Samuel’s plane decided to come up and say a fine howdy to it.
Both planes ripped apart, sending pieces of Samuel, the mercy mission’s pilot, the turkey basters and the four containers of vials into the cyclonic like winds of the open sky. The metal from both planes bashed and cut the cartons of the basters and containers into ribbons, spilling everything free of any constraints. The sky above the islands was full of vials and basters. All the basters splattered about the ocean miles from the islands, their shape had given them some extra lift but the vials, being slick and slim, scattered only a little and came almost evenly split towards the islands.
Both The Grand Isle of Putt-Putt Daring Do With Really Magnificent Looking Big Rocks and a Large Blow Hole At Its Tip and The Island with Two Hills and a Valley with a Waterfall sensed what was in the vials and sent energy to catch the vials that were in their spheres of influence and focused their falls on the location where the two women, both unaware and quite unconscious, were laying, quite recklessly, with their legs just a smidgeon apart more than would have been considered moralistically acceptable.
Each of the women found themselves awakened with sharp pains as their bodies were being bombarded by small thin vials that broke into shards on their bodies, releasing their contents all over their bodies. If it would have been a clear day, the contents would have simply stayed congealed, but with the wind and the rain that also poked at the women, the contents slid down the contours of their respective bodies and into the various orifices and openings in the skin that both women had, one orifice in particular, the one that the Planned Parenthood group had targeted for the vials and turkey basters of the drunken female population or Rio De Janeiro, received its share of a covering of a very sticky and cloudy looking fluid.
Fear of death has many effects on a person’s body. It can cause people to vomit, urinate, defecate and hyperventilate although in the case of the two women on the two enchanted islands, it caused their bodies to become highly fertile and both ended up impregnated. Over the next few months both women, neither knowing the other had survived, began to slowly heal their various wounds and grew stronger. They were not as strong to attempt to leave their respective islands, but enough to make sure they could look after the child that grew inside them. Neither remembered the days of pulling out pieces of glass from their bodies and instead took the view that they were the Virgin Mary incarnate, and that their child would become the King and take them from their islands to be placed in their rightful positions as the heavenly mothers of mankind. If they would have understood that the rumblings and quakes beneath their feet were the islands trying to communicate with them, they may have had different delusions, but as it was, both continued the mission they had started back in Miami, ensuring that none of the island animals were engaging in any homosexual, and well since they secretly were enraged at being denied the actual act but were left with the result or any type of sexual behaviour. In a way it was better the women did this, the islands thought, it made it much more easier because the islands were keeping them alive because of their condition, and if it wasn’t for that, from what the islands had learned about their personalities, they would have found that men weren’t the only thing that ran the other direction from them.
It was a fine sunny day on the enchanted isle of The Island with Two Hills and a Valley with a Waterfall when the woman, at full term of her pregnancy, sat on a little grassed plateau on one of the hills with a large branch watching the tree line. Her eyes were focused on the groups of large squirrels that were frolicking to gaily for her liking. She wasn’t about to let any of these ones engage in any demonic homosexual behaviour, and had to administer some education with the large tree branch on them before several times but she wasn’t going to give up, she had a righteous duty to do so. She felt a pain and her thighs becoming soaked. She lay down on the grass and screamed, much to the delight of the squirrels, for hours. At the end she finally gave birth to her child, a girl.
The woman tried to stand up to admire her new daughter that lay in the dew tipped grass. What the new mother had forgotten although was that her placenta, which had fallen out afterward, was directly in front of her. She stepped on the placenta, and like a Krazy Karpet on firmly packed friction iced snow, flew down the hill. Almost three quarters of the way down she hit a large dirt mound that caused her to take to the air and face planted herself into the much steeper side of the other mountain. The woman was tough though, after tumbling down the hillside, in the process severing her right arm off on a very sharp rock, she managed to stand up and begin to walk up to where her newly born daughter awaited the nourishment contained in the woman’s breasts. At the very moment the woman was but a hand’s distance away she whispered the words that would stay with the baby for the rest of her life and shape her destiny, “Princess, my darling little princess”. The woman went to take that final step that would enable her to hold her precious daughter in her arms
As luck would have it, it was at that very moment that a sea gull flying high above the island chose to evacuate its bowels. The woman’s sight was taken from her in a very gooey sounding ‘flump splat’ and she placed her foot into a gopher’s hole. While the hill wasn’t that steep, per-se, one did have to have a certain amount of coordination to navigate the climb. The woman, which balance had packed its bag and left for Bermuda for a little vacation and had left a note saying that dinner was in the fridge, slipped down the hill but not very far at first for her foot was stuck fast in the gopher hole. It was only after that her ankle had bent and snapped, breaking her ankle bone into several sharp pieces which punctured through her skin, allowing her to gain a sharper angle for her foot to exit did the woman roll roughly down the hill. On the way down she once again hit the mound of dirt that had sent her into the air the first time but she did not take to air, instead the force of the roll shattered the knee cap of the leg of the unbroken ankle. At the bottom of the hill the woman came to a halt. Though she could not move, she praised the heavens that she was still alive and after a few moments rest she would once again get up and go to her daughter. Unfortunately the woman had failed to realize that the equatorial gray squirrel, a species of squirrel unique to the island and the size of a tom cat, had just vacated its bladder while watching the woman’s plight in the exact spot the woman’s face no resided. It had rained for several days before the birth, the ground saturation level was at one hundred percent and as a result instead of seeping into the ground, the urine waited patiently to be evaporated by the sun. A person wouldn’t think that a squirrel the size of a tom cat could drink so much, but as it turns out, they can. The woman, unable to move, drowned, leaving her little baby alone on the enchanted isle.
Compared to the woman on the isle of The Island with Two Hills and a Valley with a Waterfall, the woman on The Grand Isle of Putt-Putt Daring Do With Really Magnificent Looking Big Rocks and a Large Blow Hole At Its Tip had an easy time. She had merely lain down on the rocky beach, opened her legs and out popped out her new child. The woman reached down, brought the child to her breast where he began to suckle contently. The new mother gazed lovingly at her baby, unaware that a magically mutated giant iguana, on smelling the afterbirth, had come around to see what it smelled.
Over the months the woman’s broken legs had mended, but they had not mended well and they were quite weak at the best of times. They were even weaker than usual after giving birth to her son. The undertaking had taken most of her energy. This became quite clear to the woman that she could not move her legs when she felt something flicking the inside of her thighs and looked to see the iguana between them and its tongue out.
“Shoo, shoo,” the mother hissed quietly at the six foot long reptile, “Shoo.”
The iguana, however, did not shoo. In fact, he rather liked the flavor he was currently sampling and began to flick his tongue with even more vigor.
“Stop that,” the woman protested. The iguana did not, but after a minute the woman began to draw a conclusion that she until that moment thought she would ever reach. The iguana’s tongue felt rather nice. So with a little less stern-ness the woman continued speaking, “Don’t…do…that…ooooohhhh…s-shoo….a little to the left, that’s the ticket…shoo…you filthy beast….” The lizard moved his head closer between the woman’s legs, his snout putting pressure on all sides of her inner thighs and jutted his tongue even farther in. The woman screamed.
“Hot damn! You’re the king, baby! You’re the friggin’ king!” She forgot all about her child, letting him roll off of her and onto the rocks beside. She shimmied her hips and put more pressure on the iguana’s snout and screamed once more. “All hail the king!”
The iguana, having lapped up all the more slimier materials that it could, opened its jaws and clamped down upon the woman’s soft flesh and began to grind his jaw back and forth slowly sawing off pieces of meat for it to eat.
The woman went from pleasure to pain. Before she went into shock and quickly spiraled into death, the woman’s memory flashed back to a time when she was sitting having her hair done. The woman beside her and the hairdresser were giggling and raving about how much they loved being eaten out. The woman didn’t know what the two were talking about at the time, but now, she realized that those two were the sickest bitches on the face of the planet. The iguana took no notice of anything but his meal until an unusual sound close by him and his nosh caught his attention between loud slurps, tears and gulps. The iguana spotted the baby and took a step toward it, thinking that it would make a nice little aperitif for its main course but was stilled when it heard the island speaking to him. The island instructed the iguana to take the baby and tend to its needs, which the iguana questioned its suitability for the task. The iguana brought the opinion up to the island that its primary role in society was that of a hunter and not as a gatherer it was unsuitable as it looked for opportunities and did not create them. It also stated that it was a lone hunter and it was concerned about how its image could be tarnished by having such a burden set upon it. How could it menacingly encroach on another iguana’s territory if in mid-threatening of the other iguana it had to excuse itself because it thought it smelled that baby made boom boom? In response the island opened up the rocks beneath the reptile’s feet a fraction, letting him feel the heat from the magma that still flowed not far underneath it and the iguana gave a snort of compliance.
In the end both the islands had gotten their wish, someone that they who did not have an opposite gender to muck up the potential conversational experiences and an almost guaranteed solitary life for the two children. The two women were not the only ones who had given birth in the past months though. If the islands would have been concerned with monetary matters they would have made a killing off of biologists wanting to witness the effects of Viagra on the local sea life. That mattered not to the enchanted islands though, now they had to concentrate on raising their new wards to be responsible parties on their land. Pity they didn’t remember the citizens of Atlantis and their mental prowess.
The author, realizing that he has written well over, using the term well loosely, twenty pages without a hint of anything that could remotely be construed with being in line with the title of “The Prince and the Princess”, decides that perhaps he should write about what is supposed to be the entire focus of his writing. He then realizes is that if he is supposed to write about a princess, he should really get in the proper mood and thus puts on “Appollonia 6”, “Vanity 6” and “The Mary Jane Girls”. He then further realizes that these girl groups appeal to him more than the new ones such as “Girlilicious” or any others of the like. He wonders if perhaps he is getting too old as he seems to be focused on the 80’s versions of hot chicks wearing almost nothing because while the outfits aren’t as revealing as the ones now, he actually digs using his imagination of being the razor used to make the bottom parts of those outfits so nicely clean and smooth rather than where it is now where you can tell if the set was a little chilly that day because he can count the goose bumps the women nowadays have. The author toasts the nasty women of yesterday and tries to write while singing in falsetto, “Sex Shooter”.
Once upon a time on a grassy, two hilled and volleyed enchanted isle lived a princess. She lived in a three story high tower like castle. She had grown up in the castle alone. She knew naught of who her father was and her mother had perished soon after giving birth to her. She had been raised until the age of five by the enchanted island’s Equatorial Grey Squirrel colony and still looked fondly upon them as her family though she hardly saw any as she walked the enchanted island.
At this juncture it would seem only to be fair to explain some of the basic facts about the Equatorial Grey Squirrel. The Equatorial Grey Squirrel is similar in features as the typical North American ground squirrel but, unlike its North American cousins, grows to the size of an obese tom cat, which after discovering that its owners had it neutered has really let itself go. Surprisingly, the life span of this species of squirrel is almost twenty five years because its diet of mainly enchanted nuts and berries. The downside of this longevity produced by magical means is that the diet conversely affects the reproductive system of the female. It has been discovered that the magic remains within the system of the female squirrel and is absorbed by the uterus which is the only organ that is mostly unused except on occasion. The result is that it forms a barrier that keeps any fertilized egg from nesting within it and negating the production of hormones associated with the females being in heat. The male gender, because of the lower sexual reproductive organ position does not suffer from any magically induced sexual inhabitation. The female gender of the Equatorial Grey Squirrel is only fertile for a period of two years which happens to be from the age of one, when they are fully grown, to the age of three, after which they essentially tell the males to piss off and sit on a very bowed down tree limb eating nuts that the males wished were theirs.
Up until the charge by The Island with Two Hills and a Valley with a Waterfall of caring for the infant, the detail of the reproductive hiccup of the Equatorial Grey Squirrel never really bothered the colony of twenty three male, fifteen female, ten of which were just hitting their adulthood, and sixteen baby squirrels and fourteen juvenile squirrels. The males figured that they did have two years and with a gestation cycle of forty five days plus a twenty one day nursing period so they had plenty of opportunity to mate in that time. What the males hadn’t counted on was that the princess would drain the milk of all the lactating females for not just a year, but for three years when they were able to convince the princess to try some berries. The squirrels were a very loyal sort and they believed that when they were given a task that they were obligated to fulfill that duty, no matter the cost. What tending to the princess cost was all sixteen babies died of starvation as the princess drained each of the female squirrels, plus with the constant lactating it had the side effect of not allowing the female squirrels to produce the hormones that would put them in heat.
When the princess finally weighed too much and broke the tree nest she was in, there was not one female Equatorial Grey Squirrel who had the ability to be fertilized; with all the babies dead, there would be no more generations of the Equatorial Grey Squirrel. Each year as the princess grew up running around the island, chattering like a squirrel as that was the only language she had known save for the one word, “princess” the older squirrels died, or wished they had.
When the princess was ten, a catalogue from Sears (which had been left carelessly on the hood of the plane by the pilot after spending twenty five minutes on hold to order a knife set before saying ‘the hell with this’) washed up on the shores of The Island with Two Hills and a Valley with a Waterfall. The princess was amazed at all of the things she saw in those pictures and wished for them. The island complied. She saw a He-mancastle tower and the island gave it to her. She saw a teddy bear, a rainbow unicorn (which the island decided that the only possible way it could create a rainbow was by forcing it out periodically much like it did with magma, hence when the unicorn was squeezed a rainbow would be created) and a rag doll. The island provided them to her. All that was in the catalogue showed up, the clothes, and the furniture, all became hers on her little enchanted island.
The princess had a happy life, she had the island animals and though she couldn’t be certain she could have sworn that she could hear the island trying to talk to her. It was not as if she was the only of her kind that she knew of, just beyond her own island was another and it had one that was a prince. She had first met him just after her eleventh birthday when built himself a boat and on one of the rare occasions that the waters that separated them were calmed for a short time, he rowed over. The princess liked the prince immediately, he was very much like her but somehow different in a good way that she couldn’t quite put her finger on. Over the years of what seemed like just bi-annual visits she came to look forward to his visits but a small part of her pitied the prince as she seemed to develop while he didn’t. If it hadn’t been for the prince’s lack of large teats, she sometimes thought, she would have been more self conscious about only having the two rather than the six or eight that she usually saw around the island. It was the princess’s teats that had been something of a preoccupation for her lately.
The princess had never really given her teats much thought, simply accepted that they were there. She knew what they were for because she had seen many of the other animals with their young, a whitish fluid running down their mouths from the tips of their mother’s teats with the exception of the squirrels, that was. She had asked her step-squirrel about this once but after her step-squirrel ended up loosening her bowels on the princess’s lap she thought better of asking the question again. The reason for her thoughts now came from the princess’s discovery of one of the pages from the old catalogue that she had first seen long ago and had lost track of. It was a page of women who looked barely able to stand because their lack of weight (which the princess immediately felt sorry for them, the poor things would never attract a mate with such slim hips. How were they supposed to show how good of partner would they make if they couldn’t even look after themselves?) that seemed to be looking at their teats and smiling. It made the princess wonder why they would be looking so fondly at them so.
It was the early afternoon of her twenty-first birthday, the princess sat unclothed upon her bed in her third storey bedroom of her castle. He held her head down low and moved her head side to side slowly, letting her long dark hair glide over and caress her teats. If felt nice, she thought. Timidly, she brought her hands up and rubbed them around the two large mounds of fatty flesh that hung on her chest. She let her thumbs caress the tips of them ever so slightly and was surprised to realize that she had started to suck on her bottom lip. She wondered if her hands felt so nice on these two parts of her body, where else would her own touch feel much the same.
The princess continued her exploration. With the palm of her hand she traced the middle of her body down her stomach past her royal navel and further down yet. The first thing she felt her fingertips graze was what reminded her of the top of her head when she ran her fingers through it, only from the way the hairs tickled the top of her fingers, much curlier. The feeling did not displease her.
Her palm then slid down even further. She felt the warm roundness on her palm and as her middle finger accidently became lodged inside her, she felt a chill run up her back. She ran her hand back up then down again. Then again. Yet again. Each time she could swear she could feel something almost roundish enlarging just above the beginning of a sharp curve. Something else curious began to happen. She felt herself lifting her pelvis up to meet her hand and push against her palm, each time she felt that area become warmer and warmer…and moist. How delightfully strange the princess thought to herself. Such an odd thing, I shall ask my faithful and dear friends for their opinions.
She looked towards the corner of her room and beckoned for her toy friends to attend to her. Knobby, the rainbow farting unicorn, rolled on her wooden skis with and dull thud thud thud. Dolly the rag doll merrily sashayed beside her and lastly Benjamin the Bear, whom the princess liked the least, followed closely behind Knobby with a lumbering walk that reminded the princess of the time she had to vacate her bladder and unfortunately had chosen a patch of poison ivy to do so upon.
“What may I do for you, my princess,” Knobby said beginning her sentence with a whinny and ending with a neigh.
“Oh yes, princess,” Dolly enthusiastically chimed, “How can we be of service to you?”
The princess looked expectantly at Benjamin who asked, “You got a saw?”
The princess looked at the bear that stood a foot and a half.
“Why would you need a saw?”
Benjamin looked at Knobby’s back end where she had a long curled tail and said curtly, “To cut off that tail. I’ve been after that piece of tail for years now but that keeps getting in the way.”
The princess laughed.
“Oh you silly, silly bear! Knobby’s tail would certainly look funny on you!”
“Listen, if you think I want that thing stuck in my a…” Benjamin suddenly stopped talking, The princess thought to ask why but then she noticed that Dolly’s foot had accidently stepped in between Benjamin’s furry legs. Odd place for Dolly to place her foot, the princess thought, perhaps Dolly was suffering from vertigo and didn’t realize where the floor was.
Dolly, sensing the princess’s attention was floundering, brought it back with her question, “What can we do for you milady? Perhaps to help you remember where your clothes are?” Dolly had hoped that was the nature of the princess’s query. Though she had watch the princess blossom for the past twenty years into the woman she was now, she didn’t think that the princess had really noticed that as her age grew so did other things.
“Oh yes,” the princess said. She opened her legs wide and pointed to her pelvis, “See this?”
“Oh yeah,” Benjamin said with a lurid tone, “Oh I can see.”
If Dolly could have blushed, she would have but the colour of her fabric had faded over the years.
“What are we supposed to be looking at, princess?” the doll asked.
The princess frowned and answered, “I think I may have something wrong.”
“What makes you say that, princess?” Knobby asked.
The princess wrinkled her nose, her tongue hanging out of the side of her mouth a smidgen and began rubbing herself once more. The toys watched as the princess’s hand began to get faster, her fingers beginning to disappear further into the princess and her hips beginning to gyrate.
“S-see?” The princess asked, “I-eye yi yi- go like this and something feels like it’s getting bigger and I’m leaking but it’s not from my bladder.”
“Uhm, are you sure, princess?” Knobby asked.
The princess withdrew her finger and placed it to her nose then in her mouth and sucked the wetness off of it.
“It certainly doesn’t smell like what usually comes out of there and I’m sure that what I usually smell would be close to the taste, but this has a…tangy…”
Dolly cut her off, “Ok, fine, uhm, that’s good enough for me princess. I’m sure it’s nothing to worry about, perhaps if you stopped doing that then these things wouldn’t happen.”
Benjamin the Bear, who had been, up to this point, checking out different angles on Knobby’s backside suddenly, took an interest in the princess’s plight. “Well, princess,” he said, “Me being a bear, I know my sweet stuff. Perhaps I should ensure that it’s not something like honey, you know, may be a couple of bees got in there whilst you were sleeping….”
The princess thought for a moment. “Benjamin, you could very well be right, it does seem like its swelling.” Dolly rolled her eyes as the princess picked up Benjamin and brought him to her. She set him down between her legs where he got down on all fours and poked his face into her.
“Oh!” The princess said as Benjamin’s plastic nose started rubbing her where her fingers had been just a minute before. The princess leaned back, her back arched as Benjamin explored her thoroughly with his nose touching all over her area and she could feel even more unknown tingles down the back of spine.
“Well,” Benjamin said between slurps, “It’s not honey or caramel, turn over and I bet I’d find fudge! Ha!”
The princess wasn’t really paying attention when Benjamin poked his head over her royal stomach. He had an idea. Through the thick syrup that covered his nuzzle he told the princess, “You know, princess, perhaps it’s merely an itch. You know what I do when I have an itch? I rub against something, which always helps me.”
The princess’s eyes popped open and she asked what she could use to scratch to see if it was indeed just and itch. Benjamin smiled and said that Knobby’s tail had the right size and curve that she could effectively rub herself on. The princess nodded in agreement and got off the bed and walked behind Knobby who, if she had not painted eyes, would be very wide.
Knobby’s tail came up just shy of the princess’s mid thigh; the princess hadn’t noticed that before. She bent herself down upon Knobby’s tail and began to slide up and down on the smooth varnished tail. The princess was amazed; Benjamin could be right! It did feel real nice. The princess leaned over as her up and down squats began to speed up, grabbing knobby’s reins and twisting her fingers in them. In this position the princess noticed something else. The puffed areas on her chest tingled in a pleasant manner as they dragged back and forth along Knobby’s saddle.
Dolly looked at Benjamin sternly. Benjamin rubbed his hands together and hoped that the princess would love the feel of Knobby’s tail so much that she would cut it off thus leaving him to get the tail he wanted. In the meantime, he thought to himself, he was going to wash up because his face had become rather sticky and was drying quickly into mats.
The princess found herself moaning and thrusting herself harder and faster upon the rocking horse’s tail. The sound of the wood rocking on the stone floor sang in her ear. If she had only tried to ride Knobby like this years ago, the princess thought to herself, she would have pulled out the horse a lot more often!
The princess then opened her eyes as she felt another feeling from her pelvic area, like a wave upon the ocean that she was looking at…and where the prince from the other island was currently just docking his boat on her pier! Her thrusts upon Knobby’s tail stopped. “Oh my,” she said, but as she went to push herself off her faithful rocking horse, she rubbed herself against the tail one more time and went, “Oooooh mmmmyyyyyyy!” Her royal hands were shivering she noticed, but then realized that her entire body was shaking, not from a cold draft but a rather heated pleasant sensation.
She looked out the window again and saw the prince was now walking up the path to her enchanted castles door. She hurriedly put on her royal pink ankle length dress with the built in regal boustierre and quickly checked around so that if the prince were to come up to her bedroom to use the only working flushable toilet that he would see nothing un-regal. She noticed that Knobby’s tail was glistening in the sun light. She decided that wouldn’t do. The princess looked out the window again to see the prince was almost at the door. What to do, what to do? In a panic she picked up Knobby.
Knobby neighed in fright, “What are you doing, princess?”
“Sorry, good friend, but appearance is everything,” the princess apologized and she heaved Knobby out the third storey window and into the thick bushes just off to the left of the castle door. What next? The princess thought to herself, the room looked good, but she felt something was still amiss. That’s when she realized that the little draft that her room had was blowing up her dress slightly and whishing past moisture.
The princess lifted the front of her dress with one hand and with the other stuck her tips of her fingers inside. Oh fiddlesticks, she thought to herself, I’m still leaking! She looked around, what could she do? What could she do? She couldn’t open the door to the prince and leave a large wet spot where she stood now could she? Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Dolly peeking out from underneath her pillow.
“Dolly, good friend,” The princess said as she grabbed the doll from her hiding place. “I do hope you are made of absorbent material.”
“Noooooooo, I’m afraid of water! I cant’ hold my breath! Nooomph!” Dolly cried out as the princess spread her legs slightly and shoved Dolly into herself head first and pushed her in until only Dolly’s legs hung out of her.
Much better, the princess thought to herself as she could feel no more liquid dripping down her leg. However, she discovered a new problem. Dolly’s legs were flailing about under the princess’s dress, making the front puff out. How un-royal, the princess thought.
The castle door knocker rang up to the bedroom.
Oh fiddlesticks! The princess thought for a moment about her dilemma and then the solution came to her. She once again lifted up her dress with one hand and with the other hand grabbed the violently kicking legs of Dolly and gave them a firm twist. The legs stopped moving. The princess let her dress down again.
That only left the matter of the wetness that was already on the royal legs, the princess thought. She looked and saw that Benjamin Bear was coming out of the royal bathroom holding a cloth that he had been using for the past few minutes to clean his face with.
“I tell you, princess,” Benjamin said with a laugh, “Sure may not have been honey but it was as sweet…”
Benjamin looked around the room. He saw the princess looking at him with a smile. He didn’t trust princesses who smiled.
“…as it?” he finished meekly. “Uhm, where’s Knobby?”
Before he could protest the princess grabbed him and tucked him between her legs and squeezed tightly.
“Whoa baby!” Benjamin said, his voice muffled, “If you wanted a little bit more nose you could have at least bought me dinner! So baby, here comes you papa bear…what the fuck….what the hell do you have shoved up there….oh….my….dear….god…Dolly? DOLLY!”
The princess, in the meantime, was walking as hurriedly as she could with her legs together down the stairs to answer the door. When she reached the bottom of the steps, she was certain that the bear’s fur had cleaned up her legs enough so that her dress would not stick to them and pulled Benjamin out and tossed him off to the side where he hit his head on the corner of the fireplace mantle and knocked him unconscious.
The princess took a deep breath and opened the door.
The author has now noticed that it is two in the morning and has yet to get to the actual part of the story that title dictates is supposed to be about. However, as the author puts on his one-hit wonders disc and hears the frightening vocal “oh ohoho ohohoho” of Baltimora’s “Tarzan Boy” he realizes that when he puts the two scotch bottles together and squints they look remarkably like Madonna’s cone bra. That’s all the author has to say about that…
Once upon a time on a very rocky enchanted island under a large rock outcropping lived a little boy with his father, a giant six foot magically mutated iguana. The boy and his father (who really wasn’t his father, but just couldn’t convince the boy otherwise) lived a very serene life filled with basking on the rocks for most of the day, catching small animals that lived in the rocks, some very large squirrels that had come to the island after a hurricane before the boy was born, scavenging the dead fish along the island’s shores and eating berries from the bushes that dotted the island. The iguana had taught the boy to speak through a series of hisses, spits, and stomps with his foot in lieu of not having a magnificently long tail (when the boy slept, the iguana wept at the boy’s lisp but what could he expect, the boy had an ugly, flat un-forked tongue? The iguana was just glad that there were no in-laws about to pester him about seeing a specialist about it). Life was good.
It was the boy’s fifth year when his father became ill, no longer able to hunt for himself and the boy, he had rely on the boy to bring him pieces of dead fish to keep some strength within him. Soon though, even that would start to rot uneaten beside the iguana. Knowing that his time was short he told the boy to sit.
“Kid, I’ll be gone soon enough,” the iguana said gruffily, “And even though I have said on many, many occasions that anything that doesn’t move is fair game…For crying out loud do not eat me. Have some respect, it sounds like incest, you know? Think about it. A friend comes over…”
“A friend?” the boy asked, “What’s a friend?”
“That’s not important, this is the important part, son, a friend comes over and says, hey kid, what did you do today and you answer oh nothing much, I just ate my father, it just sounds bad…really bad, boy…got it?” The boy nodded and the iguana gave a dry cough and continued. “Anyway, is there anything I could provide to you, other than an easy meal idea, that I have not yet given you?”
The boy thought for a moment.
“Who am I?”
It was the iguana’s turn to think for a moment. He had never given the boy a name, just called him ‘kid’. He let his mind wander back to the day he had met his mother and it came to him. “Well, you’re mother called me king so I suppose that would make you a prince,” was the iguana’s answer.
“Okay.” The boy began to walk off out of the outcropping.
“That’s it?” the iguana asked, “That’s all you want?” The boy nodded and walked out. If the boy would have been bothered to follow up the question of how did the boy know what a king was, or a prince, or anything that wasn’t basking, scavenging or farting, the iguana would have given him an answer that would have clarified a lot of things for the prince in the long run. The iguana would have told him that the island could speak if the boy listened hard enough and could answer almost any question that the boy may have had.
That very night the iguana died and the five year old prince was left on his own. He honored his father’s request not to devouring him though not because that he hadn’t tried. The old lizard’s skin far too tough to cut through with his teeth and instead slid the body into the welcoming arms of the ocean. The boy spent several lonely and hungry months on the island for he had not the strength to turn over the rocks to get neither live prey nor the coordination to navigate the many peaked rocks that lined the shores to harvest the dead fish that were trapped in between the jagged rocks.
The island felt for the prince and his hard times. Over the next year, through his dreams because the boy’s feet were not sensitive to understand the normal way the island communicated through shakes and rumbles, the island taught the boy how to survive and imparted knowledge it felt the boy needed. The island showed the boy the ways to make basic tools to make up for his lack of a strong tail, tools that would make up for his lack of razor sharp teeth, tools to dig, anything that the island could remember from the time it was once part of a city.
One of the lessons was it taught the boy how to understand the various languages of the animals that inhabited the island, which the boy found extremely useful. For example, he would call over and talk to one of the few Equatorial Grey Squirrels about the weather, the lack of nut bearing trees on the island, lulling the squirrels into friendship and then he would snap their necks eat like, well, a prince that night. It was the last Equatorial Grey Squirrel on the island that would change the boy’s life in a vain effort to stop the boy from eating him. The squirrel told him that he had heard through the chattering of other squirrels on the island off in the distance on the days when the wind was calm that there lived one that resembled the boy but was a furless Equatorial Grey Squirrel. The prince thanked the squirrel profusely about the information, then snapped its neck and ate him for dinner. As the prince sucked on the marrow of one of the squirrel’s femurs, it got him to wondering about the other island that he could see but because of the violence of the waves (and that he couldn’t swim, which was something important that he should have remembered) and put it into his mind that one day he would have to make a visit over.
The boy thrived on the island with his new knowledge, always keeping in the back of his mind to watch the ocean and its patterns to see if he could use that to his advantage one day to make a crossing over to the other island. He kept on thinking of the furless squirrel and how the squirrel had said it resembled him, even though the prince thought of himself as an un-scaled iguana without a snout, tail, claws or forked tongue.
By the time the prince was ten, he felt confident that he could read the ocean that separated the two islands. He hollowed out a tree that had fallen and rowed to the other island on a day where the waters were calm. Unsure of what to expect, he kept well hidden and observed the furless squirrel. She may have had no fur but she had frilled colourful skin, which his brain corrected him by telling him it was called clothes (the island was very thorough in its teaching) and something about her interested him. He looked back at the ocean and saw it starting to turn, time to head back. He grabbed a stray squirrel, snapped its neck and took it back to his home. He had to, he hadn’t had squirrel in years. He decided he would come back to watch the furless squirrel again, perhaps talk to it, then snap its neck and eat it (being raised by an iguana that basically had only one concern, dinner, did seem to rub off on the prince).
On the day of the third trip to the island, just after his eleventh birthday, the prince discovered what his brain termed clothes waiting for him in his hollowed out log. The prince put them on without wondering where they had come from, for he thought much like his father, which was as little as possible. He had decided that he would take the chance and talk to the furless squirrel on this trip. That he did, and to the prince’s surprise, he did not snap the squirrel’s neck (though for years after each trip he would promise himself he would do it the next time). Instead he found that he enjoyed her company, even though talking in the squirrel language was much harder than simply hissing, spitting and stomping. Year after year the prince found that he looked forward to his bi-annual trips to the other island to talk for only an hour or two with the squirrel who called herself princess.
It was the late morn of the prince’s twenty first birthday and to celebrate he was basking on one of the larger rocks in the sun. He once again found that his gaze stretched across the water to the island of the princess. It was not the most comfortable of basking opportunities, none of the one’s he’d been having lately were full of peach and contentment as they were meant to be, more of restlessness and something he had no words to describe. He squarely blamed it on what had traditionally dangled quite harmless between his legs but now it spent almost half of the day sticking up in the air in front of him. It interrupted his routine of basking, he had once turned over onto his stomach thinking it was as hardy as the rest of his body but even the smoothest of basking rocks made him howl s it moved along its surface when he tried to get comfortable.
He had found a way to negate the sensitivity of what he decided must be his eleventh finger (he reasoned that since it could bend and on occasion push small stones about, it must be similar to a finger other than the fact that it emptied his bladder for him) on the other side of the island where the sparse trees had taken root. He had discovered it late one night a few months back while he’d been caught from his rock outcropping on a moonless night. He had thought that his eleventh finger was attempting to show him the way home and was following it obediently when he tripped and fell. He steeled himself for the immense pain that by now he had come to realize would come whenever his eleventh finger opted to stick out but as his chin hit a rock he found that his chin was the only thing that did hurt and in fact, his lower part felt quite the opposite of pain and it reminded him of some of the fish he had picked up which had been caught up in the seaweed and strangled to death. Because the prince was not on a completely flat leveled ground he had to work hard in trying to find places where his hands would fit in order to get him out of where ever he was. He tussled about trying to get out for minute after minute when there was a sensation in his eleventh finger that he hadn’t felt before but it caused him to stop and smile.
The prince decided after he could free his mouth of the smile, that he would stay in that very spot until the coming of the morning to see how this particular spot could make him feel so special. Waiting for the day to break the prince smiled three more times before falling asleep.
The prince woke up in the late morning, which shocked the prince as much as the bout of smiling he had done the night before for he never had slept past the day break before. He looked around to see where he was. It was a small chasm that he had jumped over many times over the years, never looking down into it. The prince looked at where his lower region was situated. It was in a small crevice, thickly lined with moss. The prince decided that this would become one of his favorite spots and indeed it did very much did so. But the journey there was a harsh one and after falling into the chasm several times, the prince found it hard to make the journey back to the safety of his outcropping every night so he tried to make it a bi-weekly thing.
The prince looked at the waters of the ocean once more, he could see that on this day of the twenty-first since he was born that the waters were readying themselves to grow calm. He walked back to his outcropping and found once again that clothes had been placed inside. He donned them, pulled his hollowed out tree to the rock laden shore and waited for the waters to calm.
The prince wondered what the princess would look like this time. For the seven years every time he had gone over he had noticed that she had two rather large welts sticking out of her own clothes located on her chest. What an uncoordinated squirrel she was, he thought. He may not have been the most balanced, but he rarely hit himself in the same spot on such a consistent basis! The only thing that confused him was that even though he knew they were the result of falling, he couldn’t stop himself from thinking about putting his hands on them and rubbing them, trying to heal them for the princess as a way of saying thanks for being so nice to him and his eleventh finger did agree. When the water had calmed enough, he emptied his mind of the thoughts of the princess’s welts, and began to row towards her island.
As the prince came up to the dock that he had built three years before he looked up at the princess’s castle and could have sworn he could see the princess’s face and that of her rocking horse swaying quickly up and down. He thought his ears were playing tricks on him as well. He could have sworn he heard, “Giddy-up! G-giddddddyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyy-up!”
It was a lovely walk up the barely outlined path to the princess’s door. The prince had almost gotten to it when his senses warned him of danger. He looked around and saw the bottom of the princess’s rocking horse whisking off to the left of him into the bushes. He took a quick peek to see the toy was indeed broken beyond repair but its tail looked like it had been stuck up a shark’s nostril and used as a Q-Tip…not that the prince knew what a Q-Tip was, but he knew that’s what it looked like.
The prince almost decided to turn around and go back to the island. He must have been tired because he seemed to think everything was a little strange on the princess’s island today. He heard sounds of activity from the castle. It was too late. The princess must have seen him and was coming from the room at the top of the castle which she called her bedroom. Taking a deep breath, he knocked on the door.
The prince and the princess
Betcha thought the author was concentrating more on his drinking than the actual loosely conceived plot line, didn’t ya? Shame on you for that thought, get yourself a donkey’s face as a tattoo as a punishment.
The author feels that he should be harshly punished for putting the readers through the rig-ma-roll of all this. He is a very naughty, naughty boy. Being the strict disciplinarian that he is, the author suggests that the readers should rebel en-masse and send him to the Barbados for the months of December, January and February where he will be subjugated to being tied to a bed by licorice whips and then thoroughly flogged on the ass by a pair of double dee breasts. Looking at the punishment, the author feels that it is not severe enough for the disservice he has caused to the readership. Whipped cream should be plastered all over his ass. When the woman begins to bash her boobs on his ass it will create a splat and a mess where the woman can chastise the author for making a mess and demanding that he clean up the mess on her breasts with his tongue. Not only does this demean his humanity by making him submissive but depending on the type and brand of whipping cream used it could very well lead him over time to developing type two diabetes. That would serve the rat bastard right, don’t you think?
“Hello, prince from yon island,” The princess said. She had intended to look him in the eye but as she had opened the door she had noticed a lump in his pants that looked to be a shape that interested her.
The prince looked at the princess who was slightly stooped and her gaze downward rather than at his face. The prince thought to himself that perhaps the princess was perhaps studying Asian greeting rituals. He had never seen her like this, other than the bending over slightly, but her appearance; she had always looked like a porcelain doll, but today she looked disheveled and had a positively engaging flush to her cheeks.
“Am I imagining things or did your wooden horse just crash into the bushes over there?”
“I’m afraid it did, the poor thing,” the princess answered, “We were reading about Greek Mythology and the poor thing thought it was Pegasus.”
“Uhm, yes, right… hello princess from this enchanted castle,” the prince said, “I am the prince from yon island…”
The princess, not taking her eyes off the bulge that seemed to jiggle when the prince talked, responded, “I think I already established that.”
The prince thought for a moment and chuckled, “Why, yes, I suppose….”
“Could you do that again?”
“Laugh a little, if you please.”
The prince laughed nervously, for some reason his loins seemed to feel a little tighter at the moment than usual.
The princess smiled to herself, she was right! It did jiggle when he moved!
“Anyway,” the prince said, “I had come to ask you something, but for the life of me I cannot remember what.”
At that point the princess lifted her head and looked into his eyes.
“Perhaps if we sat in front of the fireplace, where there’s more lap…I mean light, you would remember,” the princess purred.
The prince let the princess lead him to the overstuffed couch that was in front of the crackling fireplace. The prince heard a groan and looked beside the fireplace to see Benjamin Bear, his fur slick and motley looking regaining consciousness.
“Good lord,” the prince remarked, “What has happened to your bear?”
“What happened?” Benjamin growled, “What happened? I’ll tell you what happened…”
The princess raced over to Benjamin and picked him up.
“Look at this, mold!” she told the prince, “It’s these drafty enchanted castles, you know. Pity, he was such a good friend too. But when you’re rotten…” The princess tossed the bear into the fire and in seconds he was engulfed in flames.
“Buh…” was all the Benjamin got out of his mouth before the flames shot through his button eyes and melted his nose.
The princess sat down beside the prince and asked, “Now, where were we?”
The two watched as Benjamin was cremated, but the roar of the bright fire would not last long; soon thick acrid smoke began to fill the room as the fire devoured the bear’s insides. Between coughs, the princess suggested that the two of them take a stroll through the valley. The prince, through choking coughs, heartily agreed.
The day was bright and warm as the princess half listened to the prince’s oration about the rocks he had seen (there wasn’t much else on his island to really look at so it became a focal point for the prince’s interest) while the other part of her attention watched how the bulge in his pants moved up and down as the prince walked. The two walked through the valley and came to where the waterfall divided the two large hills. The prince was always amazed here as both hills were well treed on the other side and along the sides but from this vantage point they were only grassed, each with a little tiny outcropping just over half way up to give a fine view of the valley and the ocean that could be seen on the other side.
The princess’s curiosity could not take it any longer. She made sure the prince’s attention was on the hills, reached down, pulled out Dolly from under her dress and tossed the much waterlogged doll into the pool under the waterfall to see just how absorbent the doll really was. The plunk in the water turned the prince’s attention from the hills and the princess thought this was her opening.
“It is a lovely day,” the princess said.
“It is a lovely day,” the prince agreed.
“Actually, it’s a little bit hot,” the princess amended.
The princess stopped her strolling, the prince did the same.
“You know,” the princess informed the prince, “On days such as this, I prefer to shed these clothes and let the sun tickle all of my skin.” The prince nodded. It made sense to the prince since he only wore clothes when he came over to the island, anyway. He suggested that perhaps they should continue their walk without the heaviness of the material against them and the princess agreed.
The two unclothed themselves and it was after the last bit of apparel had been shed that the two looked at each other and realized that they may have been similar in most respects, they were definitely different in one particular place. The prince could not believe how much the princess reminded him of his beloved moss covered crevice; the princess wondered if Knobby wasn’t too badly broken from her fall.
The prince and the princess stared at each other for the longest time, the princess particularly fascinated by how the thing hanging between the prince’s legs seemed to be growing slightly and defying gravity as the moments past most efficiently. The prince started to get nervous after he had managed to glance up and see the princess’s eyes fixed on his loins.
“Shall, ahem, we continue our walk?” The prince asked, giving a small hop from his heels to his tip-toes and back down again. The princess’s head bobbed up and down several times before she looked up at the prince’s face.
“Yes, I think that would be fine,” she said with a dreamy smile.
They climbed to the grassy plateau on the left hill where they could look out at the ocean and its temporary calm tides. They stood their quietly until the prince gave a slight cough and mentioned that in this light the princess very much reminded me of a mossy crevice he knew rather well on his island.
“Oh?” the princess replied then asked, “And what do you do when you’re at this mossy crevice?”
The prince pointed down at his elevated eleventh finger.
“I put this in and soon it goes from this…very dangerous hazard that sticks out, there are many sharp rocks, you know, to something much more safer for me to walk around my island with.”
This information intrigued the princess; perhaps the prince would feel safer if he pretended she was the mossy crevice and got rid of the danger. She inspected the prince once more and thought that while it wasn’t as wide as Knobby’s tail, perhaps the fact that it could go in, like Dolly, it would make up for that.
“Would it please you to see if my mossy crevice could soothe your nerves as well as your own crevice could?”
The prince’s eleventh finger gave a furious series of nods of approval at that notion, soon followed by the Prince’s head following suit.
The princess lay upon the grass, her legs spread apart and smiled at the prince. She placed one hand upon the front of her pelvic zone and spread the skin folds. Boldly she pronounced, “Penetrate me with thy mighty…” the princess stopped for a moment and looked at the prince’s bobbing member, unsure at what she was supposed to call it. She didn’t want to interrupt the flow of the moment by asking the prince what he called it, which just wouldn’t do. The princess went through her mental list of things that it reminded her of. She found a word that would work and continued, though with a tangible tone of less certainty, “…thy mighty dangling tadpole.”
“Your wish is my command,” the prince replied eagerly for he had studied tadpoles all the time and knew that they needed to swim in a pool of water and the princess certainly looked moist enough to pass. He fell upon her, his body atop of he and with his head just shy of her own and began to thrust his mighty tadpole into her pool.
If one were to ask, the prince would have sheepishly admitted that at first he had been unsure of what the princess had asked. But once he lay down upon her and started to move in and out, the sensations he felt were exhilarating! Sure it seemed a little rough and a few times he figured he may have had some skin torn off but once a rhythm was started it began to get smoother and smoother…
“Oh princess,” the prince moaned, “Such a feeling I have never felt before!” The prince closed his eyes and thrust with even more vigor.
The princess let out great gasps and groans – from the force of the prince’s head hitting her chest repeatedly as his buttock bounced up and down, however it concerned the princess that while her chest definitely felt the prince’s mighty thrusts there was no other place on her body that did. She amended herself, she did feel something down there, a slapping of the prince’s flesh but it was on the outside where according to her calculations of the prince’s tadpole, she should have felt some slapping a little bit deeper inside. She reasoned that while the prince’s tadpole wasn’t as large as Knobby’s tail, she should be feeling something good as Knobby’s tail, even if it was nothing more than like the prick of a mosquito that landed on her arm.
Out of curiosity she pushed herself with her elbows an inch back, thinking that perhaps she was a little larger in area than the prince and if she moved up a little bit at least an edge of her would be sensitive to make note that the prince was there. Nothing. It was confusing.
“You naughty naughty wench!”
The princess moved back six inches. Nothing.
“Hot damn, you hot little so and so!”
The princess moved back once again, this time leaving the prince by himself thrusting mightily while she sat there a foot away from him. The princess was even more confused; the prince seemed to be lost in having a grand time and she wasn’t part of it. She had to solve this mystery. She got on her hands and knees and crawled towards the prince until her head was beside the prince’s wildly bucking hips. She lowered her head to the ground and looked.
“Oh princess how doth you drive me wild with passion!”
The princess frowned, sat back up and tapped the prince on the shoulder.
The prince opened his eyes, brought out of his lustful inner mind’s eye and saw the princess looking sternly at him. His hips still bucking, he asked, “Oh princess, are you not enjoying this? For it is truly a magnificent feeling for me!”
“I most likely would be enjoying it to,” the princess answered rather bitchily, “However, as you can see, I am not underneath you at the moment.”
The prince’s hips stopped and he looked closer at the princess. Why that information was quite true!
“Then what is my tadpole swimming most vigorously in?” the prince asked.
“A gopher hole,” the princess replied.
“Oh,” the prince said, slowly drawing out his dirt and mud covered tadpole out and sitting up on his haunches, “well, then, should we try this again?” The princess looked at the black and chunky looking prince and agreed but suggested they go down to the lagoon first and wash at least some of the mud off first. Not all of it, she decided, because with the caked mud it did make the tadpole look more like a well fed leech, which for some unknown reason really appealed to the princess.
The prince happily agreed and stood up, offering his hand to the help the princess up. They began to walk down the hill towards the lagoon in the valley below. The prince, noticing the princess concentrating on her footing and not him, turned his head and looked at the gopher hole and mouthed, Call me then turned back around to keep his own footing safe.
The princess and the prince made it back down to the waterfall’s pool where the princess had no hesitation jumping into. That was not the case with the prince. He merely stood at the edge and watched in dread as he saw goose bumps brought on by the coolness of the water formed all over the princess’s body.
“Well, come on then,” the princess lightly scolded the prince when she saw that he had not joined her in the water. “Let your tadpole enjoy itself in this large pond…before swimming in mine.”
“It looks a little cold,” the prince responded meekly, “Tadpoles aren’t too eager in cold water.”
The princess laughed.
“Silly, come on in. Surely you don’t wish for a bunch of muck to dry and harden on your…” The princess stopped for a moment and tried to calculate the difference in the size of the mucked version and the un-mucked. Perhaps, she thought, she might have been a little rash, but then she remembered Dolly’s condition and decided that while it would be probably worth it in the short term, evacuating black and gritty waste for an undetermined time may be frustrating. “…just come on in,” she concluded.
The prince stepped into the water until it was up to his knees then stopped. He could feel the cold edging up his legs and sensed a certain tingly, tightening feeling even further up. Uh oh, the prince thought.
The princess could not believe that prince! She came close to him and cupped some water into her hands then let the water fall from her hands onto his little furry patch. She watched it as it began to take off some of the muck and drip back black into the pool. She repeated the timid washing process once more. The tension the prince felt increased, unlike another part of his body that he was particularly starting to worry about.
“I think that’s good enough,” the prince barked, a slight quiver in his voice. “I’ll just get out now.” The princess grabbed his hand and held him fast so he would not move.
“Come on now,” she chided, “Stop capering about. The sooner you are washed the sooner…” she trailed her words off and wiggled her eyebrows which led the prince to return a look of confusion. The princess wiggled her eyebrows again. She had hoped by doing the eyebrow thing that something would come to mind that what would be coming sooner, but it had failed, she wasn’t sure what would happen but she figured it had to be something good. The princess let go of the prince’s hand and scooped both hands into the water and brought up a large wave against the front of the prince. The prince’s face turned white and he took a very vocal sharp intake of breath.
“See, that wasn’t so…” the princess started to say as she used her hands to hasten the mud’s departure from the prince’s body. But as her hands came down his loins she noticed that the majority of the tadpole had fallen off! The princess dove her hands quickly into the water hurriedly offering her apologizes for knocking it off and promising to find it straight away, the result causing more of the cold water to splash upon the prince.
“Princess, princess!” The prince said in exasperation, “It has not fallen off! It merely has gone inside my body for warmth!”
The princess stopped splashing, put her hands on her hips and haughtily commanded, “Well, bring it back!”
“I told you I had quite far enough out!” the prince barked back.
The princess repeated her command, this time her teeth almost bared, “Tell it to come back!” She then added much more quietly and with more concern, “It’ll come back, won’t it?”
“Not as long as I remain in the coldness of the water.”
Without any pretense of formality the princess shoved the prince mightily towards the pool’s edge. She then trudged purposely to him, grabbed his hand and pulled him up the second hill’s path.
“Where are we going?” the prince asked fearfully, the half crazed look in the princess’s eyes had caused him some concern for his well being.
The princess, without looking back at the prince, growled, “We’re going up the damn hill!”
The princess stopped, turned and looked sweetly at the prince. With a soft lilt to her voice she answered, “I’m hoping you are like a flower about to bloom. You’ve been watered and now, just as a flower, I shall give you some sunshine…” Then the princess’s face turned darker and her voice heavier as she added, “…and it better damn well grow into a big healthy stalk.”
Get it on, buy a thong
The author, now into the second of his two bottles of scotch has switched to “The Power Station” and “Billy Idol sings Pavarotti”. He started to be concerned that perhaps he is beginning to suffer from the more serious condition of Whiskey Dick, Scotch Dick. He wonders if his doctor would be upset if he called him at three in the morning to get a prescription of Viagra in order to fulfill his masturbatory purposes but then thinks that the doctor may prescribe the extreme treatment for Scotch Dick – stop drinking.
The author, nearly scaring the piss out of himself over that revelation, goes to the bathroom. After he relieves himself he discovers that it was only the pressure of his bladder that was forestalling erectile function and raises a shot to the heavens for the miracle they have performed on him. He resumes typing one handed with several breaks secure in the knowledge that all’s right in the universe.
The prince laid on the grassy little plateau half way up the other hill, the princess not wanting to take a chance at the sudden fascination the prince had for gopher holes. The sun was bright, the wind had all but died from the tiny little gusts it had been half-heartedly blowing for the afternoon. The princess sat beside him trying not to look at the prince’s loins but concentrated on a blade of grass instead, but her stolen glances had elated her. The prince’s thingie had decided to make an appearance (for the first little while she had secretly feared that she had rubbed it off and one day in the near future she would be getting a drink of water and accidently choke on it) as the prince’s goose-bumps started to slowly retreat back into his skin. The prince let out a sigh.
“This is much better,” he dreamily said.
“I’m glad that it pleases you,” the princess responded. “Perhaps soon we shall see a re-birth of your tadpole.”
The prince sat up on his elbows.
“You’re really hung up on this thing, aren’t you?” he asked, holding the limp piece of flesh between his legs.
The princess’s cheeks reddened and her hands plucked out the blades of grass with even more feverish pace.
“No, not really, perhaps,” the princess admitted. She looked at the prince’s face and shyly said, “It seemed that you enjoyed the gopher’s dwelling and I would like to see if I could enjoy it as much as you did.” It was the prince’s turn for his cheeks to redden but his sharp eyes caught something off in the distance that brightened his mood.
“I have an idea,” the prince told the princess, “Look over yonder, do you see the two cats?”
The princess squinted and followed the invisible line from the prince’s pointed finger.
“Yes, I do.” The princess squinted more and the excitedly repeated, “Oh, yes I do!” The princess stole a quick peek at the prince’s mid section and saw that the tadpole had indeed started to wriggle and possibly suffocating because it was not in a warm pool but out in the sun. Upon seeing the prince’s salute beginning to form, the princess found herself feeling rather warm in her corresponding region.
“Perhaps,” the prince suggested, once he cleared his throat as it had started to go dry watching the two cats opposite of them, “It would work better if we followed their lead.”
The princess, thinking ahead of him, had already gotten on her hands and knees and had her buttocks sticking out close to his face.
“Yes, let us do follow their lead,” the princess agreed.
The prince got on his knees and got behind the princess and looked at her behind and…panicked. There were two possible holes! The prince studied both holes carefully. The one on top reminded him of a Venus Flytrap, the memories of sticking his finger on that came rolling back and he opted to try the bottom one, which looked like that it didn’t have teeth.
Hence the prince’s tadpole went swimming into the princess’s pond. Both moaned at the new sensations; the prince thinking how much softer the princess felt than his mossy rock and the gopher hole, the princess wondering if she could salvage knobby’s tail.
The princess’s head swirled with delight as she closed her eyes; never had she felt such pleasure radiating from down below, or at that particular time, to the left and elevated, before. She thought to herself that if she had only known that the sound of something (that at first she had thought was the prince’s purse that was, in the opinion of the princess, both far too small to carry anything useful and impractically worn between the prince’s legs. If the prince had any kind of practical and fashion sense, he would have had it far larger and more closer to just below his navel) hitting her flesh covered pelvic bone would make her feel so…squishy…why she would have used her imitation alligator purse (conjured up by the enchanted isle from a picture in the catalogue) for more than carrying around acorns! She pushed herself against the prince with more resolve, bouncing to and fro with reckless abandon.
The thrill! The sensations! She felt her legs tremble and felt as if a locked chest had burst apart and…
The prince stopped moving and backed away from the princess’s bottom.
The princess’s eyes flew open; she turned her head quickly to look at the prince and demanded in a slightly high pitched voice, “Why did you take it out? Put it back in!”
The prince’s face was red, his eyes dark as he shook his head and charged, “Uh-uh! You peed on me!”
“Did not!” The princess shot back, “I think I would know if I did, and I certainly did not!”
“Did too! Did too! Did Too!” the prince shouted. He pointed at his frontal mid-section and said, “Look for yourself! My loins are soaked!”
The princess, her legs slightly wobbly and wanting to be hit more with the prince’s purse, decided to put the prince’s accusations to rest so that they could get on with it and turned around. She looked. She had to admit that prince’s thighs were indeed wet. She put her and on the prince’s purse and the prince’s tadpole made a tiny hop.
“Ooooh,” The prince sighed.
The princess ran her finger along the prince’s tadpole to feel the wetness in a more contextual basis. She thought to herself that the texture was a little off from what she had seen flowing out of her prior. The tadpole did a little cha cha.
“OOOhhhhhhh,” the prince commented in a louder voice.
The princess decided to give the prince’s glistening tadpole a smell, for once she had accidentally piddled on her hand and was quite confident that the scent was quite recognizable and she would be able to identify if it was indeed her urine or not. She leaned in close and took a big sniff, exhaling with her mouth so that the purity of the scent sample would not be tainted.
“OOhhhh oooooooohhhh,” The prince wailed, which the princess found quite distracting, even more so than the prince’s tadpole doing a short tap dance on the tip of her nose. Her mind distracted, she failed to get a good enough whiff to have her mind analyze the scent. She had to do it again. This time she grabbed the tad pole tight and sniffed. It tried to hop but her grip was firm.
“Ooohhhhhhhhhhh,” The prince intoned and rudely put his hands into the princess’s royal hair and held fast.
Hmmm, the princess thought, it certainly didn’t smell like anything that she would consider as waste. She sniffed and exhaled again. Nope, didn’t have that particular smell. Perhaps if she tasted it…
The princess’s tongue slid from her mouth onto the tip of the prince’s tadpole and she gave it the quickest of flicks, the prince’s hands almost took out a large chunk of the princess’s hair as he let out a really loud “Oh” and…
The princess recoiled her head back quickly forcing the prince to let go of her hair. Her nose had become stuffed and her right eye stung as if she had something poked in it!
“Oh my! Oh dear!” The prince blurted out, “I’m so sorry…I didn’t…it wasn’t my fault!”
The princess looked angrily at the prince from her left eye. “How dare you pee on me!”
The prince’s face once again turned red, this time from embarrassment as he kept on repeating, “But, but, but.”
The princess wiped her face with her royal hand and noticed that the prince’s urine stuck rather firmly to her fingers; in fact it didn’t look like…a thought came to her.
She looked up at the prince and asked, “Do you sneeze through your….that?” as she pointed at the offending sneezer. The prince looked down to see that a thick droplet hung on the end and did see that it did resemble the contents that often did come from his nose.
“I didn’t think I did until this moment,” the prince muttered. “Pardon me?”
“Bless you, then.”
“Uhm, thank you?”
“No matter,” the princess barked, noticing that the sensation in her lower region was ebbing. While it was a new experience for the princess, she had decided that it was one that she wished to continue experiencing. She turned around and wiggled herself at the prince and commanded, “Jump on, my prince!”
The prince moved close, the princess’s hips jiggled with anticipation as she felt the prince’s tadpole touch her…and slide past and down. She looked at the prince who looked like he was trying to throttle a worm, occasionally slapping the princess with it.
“Well?” The princess said gruffly.
The prince’s face was even redder, this time from frustration.
“It doesn’t want to stay in,” he explained through gritted teeth.
“Make it stay in!”
“I’m trying! I’m trying!”
“Try harder!” The princess growled.
“I suspect that if it was harder I wouldn’t be trying,” the prince retorted, “I’d be in!”
The princess sat up, hands on her hips and pronounced, “Then we shall wait until you see fit to salute me properly!”
“Fine!” the prince snapped.
“Fine!” The princess answered. Both then moved to sit on their royal buttocks, hands crossed against their chests and both looking with scowls on their faces at the prince’s groin.
Minutes past. Then more minutes past. The princess reached over and grabbed a long blade of grass and shook it under the prince’s nose.
“What are you doing?”
“I’m just thinking that perhaps it was an allergic reaction so….”
The princess considered going to look for Knobby and her tail. She stood up, her lower regions close to the prince’s face giving him a nose full of her scent. His body tensed, his entire body tensed!
Excited, the prince jumped up too, his tadpole seemingly quickly going into rigor mortis and tapping the princess between her legs. He smiled and said, “I must be allergic to the grass! Quickly cover my nose with grass!”
The princess, not wanting to waste time by bending over, picking up a blade of grass, then straightening up, holding the blade under the prince’s nose, then bending over again, thought of a better and much faster way: the princess grabbed the prince’s head and rammed it into the grass.
“Thank you, oh thank you!” The prince said in a rather muffled manner.
“No time for thanks,” the princess said, joining the prince on the ground on all fours, “Swim your tadpole in my pool! Swim your tadpole!”
The prince did.
After a few minutes the prince sneezed once more, but the princess enjoyed the feeling and told him that he may sneeze in her again.
He did so…after the princess had ground his face into the grass for twenty minutes, then again…and again.
The prince did not stop sneezing until he fearfully asked the princess if they could stop, his nose could not take the hard pounding of it into the ground every half hour. The princess did not mind, for in truth, her lower region felt like the way her shoulders felt after she had decided to wear her fur coat on the hottest day of the year.
The prince laid back on the grass, the princess curled up beside him.
“What are you doing?”
“Don’t you have, like, a stuffed toy you could do that with?”
“Right,” the prince said, resigned in having the princess cut off his blood flow to his right arm with his head. It was not long before the princess was sound asleep. The prince was tired, but could not sleep. His mind was awhirl with the events of the afternoon of their mutual birthdays.
What could be considered the epilogue
The author, who has switched to “Great Big Sea” and is merrily singing sea shanties while relishing in the irony of singing such songs while residing in a land locked province, decides that it is really not fair that people had to sort through the rubbish of chapter one and two in order to actually get to the story. In his great and infinite wisdom decides to make something that pacifies the reader’s anger at being horn swaddled in such a matter by thinking up something that would make the whole bothersome thing seem meaningful. He comes to this decision after realizing that he does have at least three more shots left in his scotch bottle and fears that if he does not drink them that the remaining liquid may develop issues of low self esteem and forever wonder why they weren’t good enough to drink thus developing a complex to where the scotch develops an alternate personality of being milk where it rationalizes that its being left is actually part of the process of making cream cheese. The author, indeed, is a benevolent personality of the utmost degree.
The prince looked at the ocean through the narrow chasm at the edge of the valley, seeing the waves becoming much rougher. He had been on this island for hours longer than intended and trying to traverse such violent waves would be suicidal. He looked lovingly at the princess who lay beside him asleep. Such a peaceful, serene face, what beauty, he thought. He thought what the princess would think of him if he asked to stay with her until the sea calmed once more to get his own island. He wondered if she would like that as much as he would.
The princess rolled over onto her side, her face scrunched up tight and a great thunderous sound echoed throughout the valley. The prince found himself five feet from where he had been just the littlest of moments ago. The prince looked at the hand that had rested upon the princess’s backside and saw that the tiny hairs that had been on his knuckles were no more, as was the hair on the arm that the hand was attached to. The stubble left behind reminded him of the small brush fire he had on the island a few years back which resulted in a small area of charred blackness. His chest hurt. He looked down to see his chest had been burned to various degrees that gave the impression of a rainbow on it. As he processed that through his mind he realized that the sparse hair that had covered his chest was gone. He looked around he saw that they had embedded halfway into a tree nearby. It was at the moment between realizing that he no longer had chest hair but a rainbow and the tearing of his eyes and his throat starting to close that perhaps he was being a little hasty about staying. The prince choked and gagged for ten minutes, then proceeded to empty his stomach contents and dry heave for another twenty minutes. After the prince had wiped tiny chunks of his lunch off of his lips with his un-haired arm he made his way back to the sleeping princess to once again gaze on her beauty.
He knew he ought not, but he just had to caress her fair cheek to feel the softness once more. He reached over and put his hand upon the princess’s cheek that rested just off the ground...and immediately re-coiled at the feel of his fingertips in something moist and oddly textured. The liquid came up with the prince’s finger tips, royal drool, and thick and syrupy that strung from his fingers to the princess’s mouth. He waved his hand violently watching as the drool made waves through its form but would not break. The prince took a deep breath and with his other hand swept it flat through the stringy offense and it did snap halfway, one end looping itself around his hand the other falling into the princess’s face and waking her up with a start.
“My prince,” the princess exclaimed, “Why, you frightened me!”
The prince gave a hearty laugh and a snort.
“I frightened you? Me thinks just the opposite has occurred!”
The princess was a little confused by the prince’s comment, but opted to ignore it rather than have it clarified. She looked out and saw that the sea had grown treacherous.
“I see that the waters have once again grown bad,” she said, as she batted her eyelashes. “Perhaps it would be best if you stayed…here…with me…on the island…until the time when… say, didn’t you used to have chest hair?”
The prince looked at the ocean then back at the princess. “Those waves,” he said, “A mere annoyance, nothing more.”
“But they have to be at least thirty feet high!”
“Oh I think you’re exaggerating a touch,” the prince sniffed.
“Look at that whale,” the princess pleaded, pointing out to the ocean. “That wave just hit it and it burst in two, surely you can’t expect your boat to…”
The prince cut her off with a snort, “It’s a whale, not a flimsy hollowed out tree that’s rotted through. I’ll be fine enough, no need to put you out with me puttering about…”
The princess grew more forceful, “Look, I insist that you stay. It is for your own safety!”
It was then that the prince looked into the princess’s eyes and then saw the heaving of her bountiful bosom, her smile, her bosom, how the redness of her cheeks highlighted her entire face, and her bosom. Perhaps he had been to rash about wanting to leave the princess.
So taken back was he, the prince put his hand on his chest to stop his heart from exploding and felt the smoothness of his chest…and the sliminess of the princess’s drool that had yet to drop off his hand but managed to attach itself to his nipple and begin to snail-like drop its formerly more compact form to one much more elongated down the smoothness of said chest.
Then he thought about waking up day after day after day with that slimy feeling possibly running down his chest and he mind offered its sage advice of At least the ocean’s drool would be quick and he wouldn’t have a constant queasy feeling.
“No, “the prince said, shaking his head, “It wouldn’t be proper. I must go back to my own island and I shall be dry in the morning.”
“But I want to nurture you’re tadpole into a big glorious frog,” The princess shouted, stomping her foot, “I want a big honkin’ frog, damn it!”
The island responded by dropping a bullfrog before the princess’s feet. The prince and the princess both looked at the bullfrog, which looked up and gave a decisive ribbit.
“Well, there you have it then,” the prince said. He gave a nod and began walking to where they had shed their clothes in innocence a few short sneezes ago.
The princess watched as the prince began to walk away. She felt something she had never felt before, rejection. She had always been given anything she had wished. This led to feeling a second emotion the princess had never experienced before, rage. How dare that…that…it was then the princess realized she really didn’t have a large vocabulary base and resolved to improve on that at a later date when it was convenient for her and really bored…that prince…walk away from her? The princess stood there quaking, her fists tightly clenched, her vision blurred as her eyelids had become nothing more than mere slits. It was through this blur she spotted something, something a dull red colour, which stuck out among the vibrant greens and blues of the island. How out of place it looked, the princess thought, it wasn’t a small stone, not a large clump, but a circular looking, one foot in diameter dull red rock lying in the grass.
The princess picked that rock up and tossed it at the retreating prince to express her contempt. To be honest, the princess thought it would land a few feet behind the prince. The rock would clank harshly against another much more colourful rock. That would, the princess hoped, cause the prince to take on the appearance of the dog she thought he was with a long brown tail suspended on his behind for if but just a moment.
Living on an enchanted island has many advantages such as plentiful food, safety from the destructive forces of nature and a life of relative ease. The one disadvantage to living on an enchanted island is that learning the laws of aerodynamics isn’t in the top one hundred things to do list. At this point, if the princess’s discovery of new facets of her as a person the awakening of aerodynamics would have come in quick handy. If the princess would have been aware of the basic premise of the Frisbee then she would have made the angular and force assertion corrections to the throwing of the rock in order to achieve her desired outcome. As it was though, the elliptical and discernible flatness of the rock bottom didn’t account in for the princess’s estimations of air resistance and the rock’s resulting flight pattern. The thrown dull red rock acted close to the way a discus reacts when thrown going much farther and with more energy than it lost.
The red rock ended its original flight path by smashing into the base of the skull and the top of his spinal cord of the up until then unaware prince. The princess heard a thud and a crack at the same time, and then witnessed the back of the prince’s head imploding. The princess, not quite adjusting well to the new feelings of rejection and rage, was ill-prepared to deal with a person’s most valuable asset, rationalization. If she would have had more time then she could have seen the logic to what was occurring. She could have thought that the rock had provided an equitable solution. He crushed her self esteem so she crushed his head. But with inexperience came an inappropriate response. The princess ended up being satisfied.
The brain is a very fleshy organ, so fleshy that it is often referred as a sopping up agent and who hasn’t heard, other than the prince and the princess, that is, the phrase, she’s soaking up the learnin’ like a sponge? One of the physical characteristics of a sponge is that no matter how much you compress it, it always, well mostly, sometimes, might, revert back to its original shape.
The rock had intruded quite deep into the prince’s cranium but only because the force of the throw, not because it had a sharp edge along it that would slice through anything ordinarily. The prince’s brain, quite irritated about being pushed around, decided to push back at its bully. What a push! Very little energy had been lost in the transfer of the skull and spinal column being shattered. The rock, still strong with the princess’s initial force and added to with the velocity that the trampoline like qualities of the prince’s brain added on to it, flew backwards along its original projector.
If the princess would have remained at her position where she had thrown the rock, the rock would have perhaps, at most, landed on her royal big toe. As it was, the princess had opted to move forward at a fairly great speed. What choice did the rock really have?
The rock’s edge impacted into the princess’s face with a loud smack. Her nose flattened, causing the blood vessels to burst which led the princess instinctively taking a deep intake of air from the shock which allowed the eight teeth that were shattered into fragments upon its first formal introduction to the dull red rock access into the princess’s lungs where they managed to puncture and tear the thin sleeves of the air sacs.
To add insult to injury, the rock, upon coming to rest on the ground, tripped the gasping and bloodied princess to send her tumbling wildly down towards the convulsing prince whose skull had decided to add a geyser of brain fluid and blood to its visage. The fall hadn’t been kind to the princess. It had broken her arms and legs, putting the princess on par with the newly quadriplegic prince. She landed hard against the prince, bounced and flipped over, ending up face to face with him, both now laid on the ground their noses holding their mouths just above the ground (the prince more so than the princess as her nose had taken on a decidedly crepe like appearance) immobile save for the various body fluids flowing freely from the various places that had been cracked open by a dull red rock, and in the princess’s case, where the broken bones of her limbs had sliced through her skin.
For twenty minutes the prince and the princess lay there, tears in their eyes, moaning in a quite different manner than they had been a while ago. The various exit points on their bodies finally began to clot, a pool between the two sets of lips that were half covered by the pool. The princess was experiencing yet a new feeling that she had never known; regret. She looked at the prince, foaming and coughing up blood clots and wished that she had never listened to that damn bear and tried Knobby’s tail. The prince, whose higher functions had shut down ten minutes prior thought nothing.
It was at this point when the last remaining Equatorial Grey Squirrel came across the two. It looked with great sadness at the condition of the princess, for he had helped rear her as a child. He thought about how he had watched the princess grow and blossom and it saddened him even more so. Then the squirrel thought how the princess had sucked all the female squirrels dry, making the younger squirrels die of starvation and neglect. He further thought about how the constant lactation made the normal rotation of hormones that should have made the female squirrels fertile inert, taking the precious two year period where they actually horny from him. Now the squirrel was angry!
It urinated into the pool of bodily fluids, oh how it urinated! It urinated like it had never urinated before. It called on resources that until that point it did not know it had until the pool had become deep enough that both the prince and princess’s lips were well under the water level. The squirrel stayed there, staring, until six or seven minutes had passed since it saw the last air bubble float up from the princess’s mouth and pop. Only then did it leave its post, stepping on the princess’s head to push it further into the yellowish red muck.
The squirrel stepped over onto the prince’s head. The squirrel hadn’t counted on the prince’s head being so slippery, for it had missed the brain fluid geyser part of the program. His leg slid down the top of the unicorn’s head and into the hole that the red rock had made. The squirrel panicked, maniacally moving its legs up, down, back, forth, side to side in an effort to free his limb. The rough edge of the prince’s skull mangled and gnawed at the leg maliciously and by the time the squirrel did get his leg free, he had slashed a major artery in it. The squirrel, his leg useless, began to limp up the hill towards the hollow tree on the other side of the hill that he had made his home. The pain was intense for the squirrel and it lacked the correct amount of concentration it should have had in order to move around the half stuck red rock in the ground. The squirrel’s good paw struck it and sent the squirrel tumbling down the hill, bouncing off the prince’s back and impaling the squirrel through the stomach with one of the princess’s femurs that had jutted out of its skin sheath and saluted the sky, where the last Grey squirrel of the enchanted island of The Isle Half Waterlogged With A Couple Of Hills, Some Trees And a Valley did die.
Nothing else comes to mind at the moment
The second bottle of scotch is empty. Heartbroken, the author now sits naked covered in Vegamite and apple crisp sobbing uncontrollably at the beautiful sentiments expressed in “Sheena is a Punk Rocker” and the epiphany that the meaning of life is “Gabba gabba hey”. The author resolves to spend the rest of his life trying to make the world a more beautiful and vibrant place. He decides the best way to accomplish this is to never be sober again as drunkenness alters reality well enough and doesn’t require him to do anything that may require any level of actual skill or movement other than lifting the glass to his lips and remembering to swallow the scotch more than the drool that he is producing.
“Well boys, I sure hope that little fable helped answer your question,” ol’ man Thomas said as he began to roll up the toilet paper. The two boys looked at the other and then to the ol man Thomas.
“Not the slightest, sir. What was the point? I just don’t get it,” stated the very confused Ricky. “All it did was made me think that sex is very dirty and I’m never going to do it with a girl.”
Ol ‘man Thomas gave a hoot and a holler, startling the boys. “That’s the point! Dag nab it boys, don’t you see? The moral of the story is that the good lord gave ya hands to work with. It’s just only right that you’d be doin’ the work rather than expectin’ some woman to do it for ya, or visey versey…and that them thar squirrels are no damn good, don’t trust them, they’ll turn on ya in the end,” ol’ man Thomas exclaimed.
“Nope, that doesn’t help one bit,” Billy admitted. “What’s any of it got to do with coming and going to see a rainbow farting unicorn?”
“That’s just it, boy, you ain’t gonna see no rainbow farting unicorn because of you being a guy, see?” With no affirmation of the receiving of the knowledge bestowed glint in either boy’s eyes, Ol’ man Thomas’ frowned. The boys did not grasp the wisdom he had put in their laps. He tried one more time. Women can go and come as much as they want, us men though if were coming we ain’t going, and if we’re going we ain’t coming. It’s a frickin’ allergen, boys.”
“I think you mean allegory, sir,” Billy corrected.
“You really need to get out more often, sir,” Ricky advised.
“Yeah, or get yourself one of them plastic dolls my daddy has in the corner of the garage….” Billy added. The boys thanked Ol’ man Thomas for his time though neither had gained the answer to their question. The two walked back to Ricky’s house in silence. What if ol’ man Thomas was right, that rainbow farting unicorns were exclusive to girls, both were thinking. What else would they never have an opportunity to because they were just boys? They sat on Ricky’s stoop for a long while looking at the cement blocks that their feet rested on until Billy finally broke the silence. “So what should we do tomorrow?”
Ricky shrugged his shoulders and then said, “how about canoeing? We’d have to figure out how to get to Manitoba, though.”
“Why is that?” Billy asked.
“I figure since we ain’t ever going to see a rainbow farting unicorn we should do something girls won’t do. I figure canoeing the thing since my sister and her friend was saying how they couldn’t understand how any guy would want to ride the red river…” was Ricky’s reply.