CHAPTER 15
That night, sheriff Useless P. Clodstopper slept well. He was slumped over in his chair behind his desk. The only person in the jail was drunk Barney Gritchen, but by now, his body was so decomposed that he wouldn’t cause problems for anyone, other than the stink of death. But that kind of thing can be dealt with using lyme.
Then, there was a knock at the door, and it awoke the sheriff from a dream where he and a turtle were competing in a race. They ran, each trying to best the other, but the faster the sheriff ran, the slower he went. The turtle had him by a good half mile when something strange happened. Time and space collapsed in on itself and the universe was no more. All that remained was the turtle, floating in a black void, and the sheriff, floating in a white void.
"What’s this all about?" asked the sheriff.
"I don’t know," replied the turtle. "You tell me."
"How come you can talk?" asked the sheriff?
"Beats me," said the turtle. "How come you don’t speak turtle?"
"I could if I wanted to," replied the sheriff.
"That’s a lie," the turtle said.
"You’re right," said the sheriff, "But it was an honest lie."
"No it wasn’t," said the turtle. "It was a lie, and a lie is a lie."
"Is that true?" asked the sheriff.
"No," said the turtle.
"Are you lying?" asked the sheriff.
"Yes," replied the turtle.
There was an explosion, and the universe was created again. The sheriff and the turtle were spinning in space.
"What the hell was that?" asked the sheriff?
"The big bang," replied the turtle.
"What’s the big bang?" asked the sheriff.
"It’s when the universe is created," replied the turtle.
"So where’s God supposed to be in all of this?" asked the sheriff.
"That’s you, pal," the turtle replied. "Look at your badge."
The sheriff looked down at the star pinned to his coat, and sure enough, it said, plain as day, God.
"So I’m God?" asked the sheriff.
"That’s right," said the turtle. "You’re God. You make the law."
"Okay," said the sheriff, "If that’s true, than who are you?"
The turtle looked the sheriff directly in the eye and replied, "I am the turtle." And then, as if he hadn’t made the moment important enough, he repeated the phrase more loudly and with a reverberating special effect on his voice.
"I AM THE TURTLE!"
With that, the sheriff awoke and realized there was a knock on the door. He opened the door and standing in the darkness was a voluptuous seductress of a woman wearing a slinky red dress, expensive high heel shoes, a wig, and a beard.
"May I help you?" asked the sheriff. The woman moved into the jail like she owned the place, swinging her ample hips from side to side. She turned around, and Useless could see she had her lips painted in a suggestive manner. She posed in a sultry way and spread her legs.
"My name is Gloria Fladoria. I’m here to make you mine." She moved her pelvis in a thrusting way and put her finger in her mouth.
"Your beard…" said the sheriff.
"That’s called a French tickler," she responded. "It’s from France. It’s not a beard, it’s a French tickler."
"French tickler, eh?" asked the sheriff.
"That’s right," Gloria said. "Let me put it on your balls, and you’ll see why it’s not a beard, but a French tickler."
"I’ve given my heart to another woman," the sheriff said. "As much as I’d like you to tickle my balls with your beard, I have to decline the offer, mam."
"Pity." She hiked her dress up above the knee and revealed a pair of edible panties made from the skin of a potato. "Potato flavored," she said. "And you’ll find the steak if you try." Her voice was deep like a man.
"You ain’t no man, is ya’?" asked the sheriff.
"If I’m a man," said Gloria Fladoria, "Then you’re a… a… muskrat."
"Gee," said the sheriff, "I ain’t no muskrat."
"And I ain’t no man," said Gloria. "And I’ll prove it to you." She moved in, pushing her chest up in the sheriff’s face. Button by button, she undid her blouse and revealed a gigantic pair of bosoms which undulated with delight.
"Jesus!" the sheriff exclaimed. But then, he remembered the time he was standing on his desk with a finger in his ass, thinking of Whore betty and her clam. He remembered the sling and the whip and the clothespins. He remembered the way she lubricated. "I… can’t." He moved away from her gargantuan balloons. "I… I’m in love with another woman, and I can’t betray her love. I’m a good man; an honest man. Hell, I’m a sheriff! I got to keep the law and order. I got principles. I got values. I got integrity."
"So what do you say, sheriff?" she asked. "How about you stick your gun in my holster and shoot!"
"Why not!" he said. The sheriff moved in and sunk his face between her all encompassing cleavage and began to muffle. But what he didn’t see was that Gloria Fladoria was pulling a knife from a hidden compartment in the ass of her panties and was about to plunge it into his back.
Suddenly, the door was kicked open and Whore Betty was there with her gun. She aimed the weapon and fired. Gloria Fladoria fell backward to the floor. The knife went flying into a small mouse, ricocheted, and landed point first in the sheriff’s butt cheek. He fell to the floor and passed out from the slight pain the small wound inflicted there. Whore Betty walked over to the woman and pulled off her wig. It wasn’t a woman at all. It was Sammy "Breastman" Kates, a loathsome character who was wanted for bank robbery, murder, and tittery.
"Try to steal my man, will you?" Whore Betty shouted at the top of her lungs. "I’ll kill you like a bitch!" She ran toward the man and tried to pound his head with her gun, but he was fast and rolled out of the way. She missed, striking the floor with the gun and it went off. Betty had no tongue. She got up, turned to face Sammy, and pointed the gun at him.
"Uffa muth forth duh ephi mephi flue flue," she screamed, and then she dove. Sammy tried to sidestep the attack, but Whore Betty managed to grab a breast and tear it away from his chest. He hollered in pain and writhed on the ground. She threw the tit at his face and went for the other one, but he pulled out a knife. Just as she made to grab for the titty, he stuffed the knife into her neck, and the blood began to squirt out in thrusting glumps.
"Aark! Aark!" she said. She took her fist and jammed it into the breastman’s mouth, breaking most of the teeth away. She ground it in there like she was stuffing a Christmas turkey, and got hold of his esophagus. She clamped around it and they exchanged words.
"Whraaak hrank hrank hrank…" he said.
"Oorp gooba muffa gubble…" she replied.
"Whraaak hrank hrank hrank…" he said.
"Yankee oraankee goo bluhba boo…" she replied.
He ripped out patches of her hair in his fists, and she drove her elbow through his chest, breaking several ribs into his lungs and heart. He head butted her with his tough forehead and inverted her face. She reached down into his pants and tore off his cock. She held it in the air in triumph and shouted, "Errrrieeeeks!" and tossed the penis into the wall where it stuck there. A rooster who had been in the jailhouse looking for scraps, got the penis in its mouth and strutted off.
He reached into her dress and tore out her cunt and put it on his arm as a bracelet. She got his pants off and worked her way around to his asshole and she bit it out and put it on her finger as a ring. They both were howling like dogs, and this attracted a pack of dogs into the jail, and they began to lick at the blood.
He was crawling to get the shotgun and she was behind him, climbing over his back. He reached for it, but Whore Betty grabbed his hand and stuffed it into the bloody hole left where his asshole had been bitten away. She reached for the shotgun, but Sammy took her hand and jammed it into the space where her cunt used to be. They were a tangle of meat, each trying to get to the gun, and one of them did, but it was impossible to say who reached it first. The gun was up, and around, and up again. Somebody cocked the trigger. The shotgun danced around them as they clutched and grasped to take aim and put an end to the mayhem. The barrel found its way to Whore Betty’s face. It looked like this would be the end for her, but Sammy’s face was directly behind hers, and when the gun went off, there was nothing left but squirting necks. The dogs started to rip and tear at the mangle of skin and giblets.
The sheriff awoke about thirty minutes later. Whore Betty had managed to crawl over to him and her obliterated face was just inches away from his. It was the first thing he saw so you can understand the screaming.
"I still love you, sheriff," she tried to say, but all he heard was, "Argbah whranks whark…" and she was spitting vomit on him when she said it.
"You saved my life," the sheriff said. "And for that, I am grateful. But I gotta’ tell you. If you survive this, I probably won’t want to touch you in any way."
With that, Whore Betty dropped dead, in a puddle of herself, and as for Sammy "Breastman" Kates, the dogs had eaten everything except for one glorious bosom which wobbled in a pool of mung.
That night, sheriff Useless P. Clodstopper slept well. He was slumped over in his chair behind his desk. The only person in the jail was drunk Barney Gritchen, but by now, his body was so decomposed that he wouldn’t cause problems for anyone, other than the stink of death. But that kind of thing can be dealt with using lyme.
Then, there was a knock at the door, and it awoke the sheriff from a dream where he and a turtle were competing in a race. They ran, each trying to best the other, but the faster the sheriff ran, the slower he went. The turtle had him by a good half mile when something strange happened. Time and space collapsed in on itself and the universe was no more. All that remained was the turtle, floating in a black void, and the sheriff, floating in a white void.
"What’s this all about?" asked the sheriff.
"I don’t know," replied the turtle. "You tell me."
"How come you can talk?" asked the sheriff?
"Beats me," said the turtle. "How come you don’t speak turtle?"
"I could if I wanted to," replied the sheriff.
"That’s a lie," the turtle said.
"You’re right," said the sheriff, "But it was an honest lie."
"No it wasn’t," said the turtle. "It was a lie, and a lie is a lie."
"Is that true?" asked the sheriff.
"No," said the turtle.
"Are you lying?" asked the sheriff.
"Yes," replied the turtle.
There was an explosion, and the universe was created again. The sheriff and the turtle were spinning in space.
"What the hell was that?" asked the sheriff?
"The big bang," replied the turtle.
"What’s the big bang?" asked the sheriff.
"It’s when the universe is created," replied the turtle.
"So where’s God supposed to be in all of this?" asked the sheriff.
"That’s you, pal," the turtle replied. "Look at your badge."
The sheriff looked down at the star pinned to his coat, and sure enough, it said, plain as day, God.
"So I’m God?" asked the sheriff.
"That’s right," said the turtle. "You’re God. You make the law."
"Okay," said the sheriff, "If that’s true, than who are you?"
The turtle looked the sheriff directly in the eye and replied, "I am the turtle." And then, as if he hadn’t made the moment important enough, he repeated the phrase more loudly and with a reverberating special effect on his voice.
"I AM THE TURTLE!"
With that, the sheriff awoke and realized there was a knock on the door. He opened the door and standing in the darkness was a voluptuous seductress of a woman wearing a slinky red dress, expensive high heel shoes, a wig, and a beard.
"May I help you?" asked the sheriff. The woman moved into the jail like she owned the place, swinging her ample hips from side to side. She turned around, and Useless could see she had her lips painted in a suggestive manner. She posed in a sultry way and spread her legs.
"My name is Gloria Fladoria. I’m here to make you mine." She moved her pelvis in a thrusting way and put her finger in her mouth.
"Your beard…" said the sheriff.
"That’s called a French tickler," she responded. "It’s from France. It’s not a beard, it’s a French tickler."
"French tickler, eh?" asked the sheriff.
"That’s right," Gloria said. "Let me put it on your balls, and you’ll see why it’s not a beard, but a French tickler."
"I’ve given my heart to another woman," the sheriff said. "As much as I’d like you to tickle my balls with your beard, I have to decline the offer, mam."
"Pity." She hiked her dress up above the knee and revealed a pair of edible panties made from the skin of a potato. "Potato flavored," she said. "And you’ll find the steak if you try." Her voice was deep like a man.
"You ain’t no man, is ya’?" asked the sheriff.
"If I’m a man," said Gloria Fladoria, "Then you’re a… a… muskrat."
"Gee," said the sheriff, "I ain’t no muskrat."
"And I ain’t no man," said Gloria. "And I’ll prove it to you." She moved in, pushing her chest up in the sheriff’s face. Button by button, she undid her blouse and revealed a gigantic pair of bosoms which undulated with delight.
"Jesus!" the sheriff exclaimed. But then, he remembered the time he was standing on his desk with a finger in his ass, thinking of Whore betty and her clam. He remembered the sling and the whip and the clothespins. He remembered the way she lubricated. "I… can’t." He moved away from her gargantuan balloons. "I… I’m in love with another woman, and I can’t betray her love. I’m a good man; an honest man. Hell, I’m a sheriff! I got to keep the law and order. I got principles. I got values. I got integrity."
"So what do you say, sheriff?" she asked. "How about you stick your gun in my holster and shoot!"
"Why not!" he said. The sheriff moved in and sunk his face between her all encompassing cleavage and began to muffle. But what he didn’t see was that Gloria Fladoria was pulling a knife from a hidden compartment in the ass of her panties and was about to plunge it into his back.
Suddenly, the door was kicked open and Whore Betty was there with her gun. She aimed the weapon and fired. Gloria Fladoria fell backward to the floor. The knife went flying into a small mouse, ricocheted, and landed point first in the sheriff’s butt cheek. He fell to the floor and passed out from the slight pain the small wound inflicted there. Whore Betty walked over to the woman and pulled off her wig. It wasn’t a woman at all. It was Sammy "Breastman" Kates, a loathsome character who was wanted for bank robbery, murder, and tittery.
"Try to steal my man, will you?" Whore Betty shouted at the top of her lungs. "I’ll kill you like a bitch!" She ran toward the man and tried to pound his head with her gun, but he was fast and rolled out of the way. She missed, striking the floor with the gun and it went off. Betty had no tongue. She got up, turned to face Sammy, and pointed the gun at him.
"Uffa muth forth duh ephi mephi flue flue," she screamed, and then she dove. Sammy tried to sidestep the attack, but Whore Betty managed to grab a breast and tear it away from his chest. He hollered in pain and writhed on the ground. She threw the tit at his face and went for the other one, but he pulled out a knife. Just as she made to grab for the titty, he stuffed the knife into her neck, and the blood began to squirt out in thrusting glumps.
"Aark! Aark!" she said. She took her fist and jammed it into the breastman’s mouth, breaking most of the teeth away. She ground it in there like she was stuffing a Christmas turkey, and got hold of his esophagus. She clamped around it and they exchanged words.
"Whraaak hrank hrank hrank…" he said.
"Oorp gooba muffa gubble…" she replied.
"Whraaak hrank hrank hrank…" he said.
"Yankee oraankee goo bluhba boo…" she replied.
He ripped out patches of her hair in his fists, and she drove her elbow through his chest, breaking several ribs into his lungs and heart. He head butted her with his tough forehead and inverted her face. She reached down into his pants and tore off his cock. She held it in the air in triumph and shouted, "Errrrieeeeks!" and tossed the penis into the wall where it stuck there. A rooster who had been in the jailhouse looking for scraps, got the penis in its mouth and strutted off.
He reached into her dress and tore out her cunt and put it on his arm as a bracelet. She got his pants off and worked her way around to his asshole and she bit it out and put it on her finger as a ring. They both were howling like dogs, and this attracted a pack of dogs into the jail, and they began to lick at the blood.
He was crawling to get the shotgun and she was behind him, climbing over his back. He reached for it, but Whore Betty grabbed his hand and stuffed it into the bloody hole left where his asshole had been bitten away. She reached for the shotgun, but Sammy took her hand and jammed it into the space where her cunt used to be. They were a tangle of meat, each trying to get to the gun, and one of them did, but it was impossible to say who reached it first. The gun was up, and around, and up again. Somebody cocked the trigger. The shotgun danced around them as they clutched and grasped to take aim and put an end to the mayhem. The barrel found its way to Whore Betty’s face. It looked like this would be the end for her, but Sammy’s face was directly behind hers, and when the gun went off, there was nothing left but squirting necks. The dogs started to rip and tear at the mangle of skin and giblets.
The sheriff awoke about thirty minutes later. Whore Betty had managed to crawl over to him and her obliterated face was just inches away from his. It was the first thing he saw so you can understand the screaming.
"I still love you, sheriff," she tried to say, but all he heard was, "Argbah whranks whark…" and she was spitting vomit on him when she said it.
"You saved my life," the sheriff said. "And for that, I am grateful. But I gotta’ tell you. If you survive this, I probably won’t want to touch you in any way."
With that, Whore Betty dropped dead, in a puddle of herself, and as for Sammy "Breastman" Kates, the dogs had eaten everything except for one glorious bosom which wobbled in a pool of mung.