Hey everybody! This is my first short story post ever!!!!!! I am so happy to be posting a short story on the internet, because I know that millions of readers can access it! I’m not saying I’m going to be famous, but it’s just more likely than it was before. I have been called very much a genius before, and while I respect ‘they’re’ opinion, I believe that I can be even better!
Here is my story.
“Mitchell Blomson and the Confusion of the Bodily Functions”
by Pastiche du Montebaum
Walking under the gray sky, Mitchell Blomson felt an erection coming on. It pressed against the fly of his pants. He needed to ejaculate…Now!
Many people walk on the street, others on the sidewalk, a few walk on paths through the park, others over mountains, some on the grass. Mitchell was walking on a path through the park. He was wearing khaki shorts with pockets in the cargo style. All around him, people lay on their blankets, some with their dogs, others in a bikini, some were just lying fully clothed and reading a book. If an of them had looked over, they would have seen that Mitchell had a fucking boner pulling his shorts upwards.
It was peculiar to Mitchell how much this particular erection felt like he really needed to take a monster diarrhea shit.
So did Mitchell have to take a monster diarrhea shit, or did he really fucking need to ejaculate in some cunt?
There is a back story to Mitchell Blomson. He was born in Minnesota in the year 1970. He was 9 lbs., 6 ounces. Everyone in the family was very happy that he was so fucking healthy. It is plausible that a family could be unhappy that a new baby joining their ranks is healthy. One could think up a scenario.
Not only was Mitchell born big, he also grew to be very big. In grade school he was very fucking big. In high school he was very motherfucking big. Mitchell Blomson did not go to college because he came from a blu-collar background. At 19, in the year 1989, Mitchell started working for a fucking auto-shop. He looked at fucking posters of fucking cunts in bikinis all day fucking long. His fucking big ass hands were always fucking greasy like he was some sort of blue-collar automobile fixing piece of shit scum of the earth. Which he was.
When he jerked the fuck off, fucking grimy little iron shavings-looking flakes of fucking grease would fucking rub the fuck off on his big ass cock. It got fucking in between the fucking folds of the skin.
When he fucked a bitch he fucking wash his big ass cock in a sink, so it looked brand spanking new, and then he’d get the fellow white trash bitch fucking whore to suck the skin of it fucking straight across his tube.
This bitch, more often than not, would have huge fucking curly ass hair, a fucking weight problem, way too much fucking makeup all over her whore face, and a fucking big ass hoop in each earlobe. She was a fucking white trash, blue fucking collar, waste of life cunt, more often than not.
So Mitchell wasn’t the type of guy you’d want to spend some fucking time with. He was generally a bully, especially when he got drunk, and because of his fucking size, he was so fucking intimidating and fucking violent as all hell. Yet the whore ass sluts would consistently fucking suck that cock flesh straight, and he ejeculated all the fucking time in multifarious pussies.
Good for him.
But as time went on, Mitchell came to appear more fat than big, and his hair receded nearly all the god damned way, and he developed a taste for rape. A lot of poor bitches got punched in the face in the back alley behind the bar, and strangled nearly to death as he fucked them in their dry couches, dryer than the fucking little white panties he’d push aside to get fucking give his big ass cock access. And then afterward, those dry ass pussies would, and those dry ass white panties wouldn’t be so dry anymore, because they were covered in blood and little chunks of vagina that got torn off when he rammed her cunt like sticking your finger into the side of a fucking balloon until it pops, you know, just stretches the damn thing to the breaking point.
A few fucking bitches even died from this, as they lost a way lot of blood.
So poor Mitchell Blomson had to live daily with the regrets of his action.
These lives, thought he. These beautiful lives. I have destroyed them, and taken them forever away from themselves. I am so fucking depressed. I wish I could take them the fuck back. I am sorry baby…I’M SORRY BABY! he would scream in his head, late at night, tears gushing down his face. A sorrow so profound that you’d have to fucking watch the movie Titanic to relate to it.
So he moved to New York when cops got wind of his proximity to the series of rapes, and to this day he lives in fear of being discovered.
He developed a spastic colon in ’98, and his shits were monstrously runny and foul, and when he had to take a shit, man did he fucking take one, like a god damned mudslide being shot out of a fucking geyser on the side of a cliff top or something, just wooooooooosssssshhhhh!
And now here he is, walking by you as you as you tan under the gray fucking sky, you retard, with a boner pulling up his fucking shorts and a question in his fucking head about what the fuck is going on: Does he have to take a fucking torrential shit all over the place, or does he need to ejaculate into some rancid cunt?
So this is what he did:
He found a slutty looking bitch in a bikini and sunglasses, and reading a fucking book by some whore who wrote Sex in the City (Candace Bushnell), and he laid down next to her and started spooning the total slutty whore and pressing his big ass cock against her firm ass ass and he reached around and held her handful-of-boob in his left hand, and closed his eyes, and sniffed the perfume in the fucking hair that was tied up at the back of her neck.
She started screaming like fuck, because he did all this really quickly, in about 2 moves. She stood up and desperately screamed “Help!”
A bunch of fucking blue collar type men were dashing toward her and Mitchell Blomson started running away up the path that went through the park, towards the street, trying to sprint right the fuck home. The daring blue collar men were fucking confused for a second there, and then a few of them ran towards the girl, while a few others fucking pursued him, sprinting to catch the perp.
Well, he dashed home and made it into his apartment, and locked the door, and no one saw him coming and going and he figured he was all safe and all. Maybe, he mused, I’ll be identified in some fucking drawing on the five o’clock fucking news, but that’s probably about it. By now, the shit was practically leaking down his legs, so he sat on the toilet and sprayed it all over the bowl. He was no longer in the mood to ejaculate, so he laid down on his bed and thought.
A week later, he went out again. A bunch of those fucking men were hanging out around the wall above the park, on their fucking lunch break or some blue collar shit like that.
“Hey! HEY!” they shouted and ran after them, all in a pack. They caught him and beat the living shit out of him. Then they surrounded him and waited for the cops to come.
There was a bat against the stoop and he snatched it and brained one of the guy, and knocked another one unconscious, and then brandished it so that the others backed up. There was a crash behind them, which turned out just to be some fucking truck letting down it big ass metal fucking back, and they all looked, and when they turned around, Mitchell was dashing away, and they came after him.
But once again, he brandished that bat, holding them off for just one second, and then he chucked the bat at them, holding them off for another second. But what an important second that was, because he had time to hail a cab coming around the corner, dive in the back, and the driver, for whatever reason, was cool with getting him the fuck out of there, and none of the other blue collar scum were ever able to find him again, and nor have the police, not up to this point at least.
Amazingly, he’s still living in the city, but not in the same fucking borough.
THE END
Cool! I hoped you liked my totally cool story! I hope I get to get at least a little attention, because I’m special. I know I am!
write a review of my very favorite movie of all time: Star Wars Episode IV: A New Hope?
friend called Chewbacca. I’m not going to give anything away, but he is very hairy!
This movie has everything: Action, adventure, romance, suspense: This movie has everything. The story is highly dramatic, and the acting is top-notch. I particularly liked the way romance between Luke and Leia seemed to blossom. And those robots were very funny!
