The purple squirrel raced up the tree, hungry for nuts.
The tree, which was coated in a patch work quilt of human flesh, buckled and seized under the pressure of the purple squirrel’s echoing foot steps.
A patch of flesh separated itself from the tree and flopped to the forest floor, revealing a muscular sinewy layer which smelled of rotting meat.
The Squirrel grasped for a dangling testicle, pulling it from the tree. A fountain of blood sprayed onto its face, matting its purple fur with the visceral residue. The squirrel smiled as it tore into the fleshy nut meat with its jagged razor like teeth.
An old man, perched atop the back of a naked Mexican, watched from his front porch, sucking at a wrinkly severed penis. A small wisp of smoke escaped from the darkened prick. As he watched another flap of flesh flop to the forest floor he realized with a gasp that fall was almost here.
Just then, his neighbor Freud came over blowing a rather large and succulent cigar. He stepped on the porch and said, “Looks like fall eh?”
“Yeah,” the old man said, “its getting cold enough I could cut glass with my nipples.”
As if to prove to his point, he suddenly leapt to his feet and carved his name into the naked Mexican’s back with his solid pectoral protuberances. His neighbor nodded, suddenly sucking more vigorously at his cigar, which quivered lightly and shot a milky white stream of semen onto the old man’s face.
“Guess we better get to it,” Freud said licking his lips clean.
The old man, pulling his shirt back on, said, “Yes I guess it about that time again.”
Together, holding hands, the two men walked up to the fleshy tree. The Old Man began petting a small, puckered anus blossom and after a few moments a massive, erect penis erupted from the bunghole.
“Grab it!” The Old Man screamed. “Don’t let it pull back in!”
Freud grabbed the cock at the base and began frantically masturbating the phallus.
They worked furiously night and day for the next six weeks, solemnly stroking the massive cock into Euphoria. On the seventh hour of the third day of the sixth week, the tree dick began to quiver and pulsate. The two elderly men stepped back from the large erection and grabbed the large bucket that had been hidden in the bushes until needed.
The tree-penis throbbed, releasing a torrential spray of cloudy spermatozoa into the bucket.
The bucket barked briefly, spun around once and then calmed down into a motionless state. It grew more docile as the sap filled its void.
As the bucket filled, the two men smiled lovingly at one another.
“Come,” The Old Man said. “Let’s go smoke each other’s buttholes.”
“Yes,” Freud said, releasing a noxious, poison fart into the air from the turd-maker attached to his t-shirt.
As the two men skipped merrily towards the house, the naked Mexican spontaneously combusted, raining gore all over the porch. Immediately, a swarm of fly-sized chickens flew from the house and began pecking at the spilled intestines. The Old Man sighed, swatting at one of the fat, indolent chicken-bugs as it clucked about his faced.
“Well,” he said, “look’s like I’ll have to get a new bench.”
“Looks about that way,” Freud said, suddenly erupting into a violent tap-dance.
“Help me clean this guy up, eh?”
Freud shook his head, biting his bottom lip off.
“No can do,” he said. “I have to finish this.”
His ankles cracked, bones jutted from his tattered flesh. As the Old Man worked to clean the Mexican from his porch, Freud danced. His ankles wore themselves down to the bone. Fall came, followed by Christmas, and then, of course, spring.
The old man stepped back onto his porch, a small Asian hunched over forming a new bench for him to rest his weary bones upon. Sitting down he watched as Freud’s dance reached its climax.
Freud leapt into the air and a fountain of jizz shot from his head, raining down on the old man’s yard, coating everything in a fine layer of white.
Freud hobbled up the stairs on his kneecaps. The old man pulled Freud up onto his lap, letting him rest his head against his chest. He pulled two fresh cocks from his jacket pocket and handed one to Freud. The three of them sat and smoked and enjoyed the world around them.
The purple squirrel raced up the tree, hungry for nuts.
The tree, which was coated in a patch work quilt of human flesh, buckled and seized under the pressure of the purple squirrel’s echoing foot steps.
A patch of flesh separated itself from the tree and flopped to the forest floor, revealing a muscular sinewy layer which smelled of rotting meat.
The Squirrel grasped for a dangling testicle, pulling it from the tree. A fountain of blood sprayed onto its face, matting its purple fur with the visceral residue. The squirrel smiled as it tore into the fleshy nut meat with its jagged razor like teeth.
_____________________________________________________________This story was written as a means to alleviate boredom while driving from Port Angeles, Washington to Olympia, Washington. Against the editor's better judgement, it is published here, now, for your enjoyment.
Thank you.
-Dustin Reade, Editor
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