“Watch this!” he screamed, suddenly hurling himself off the cliff and opening a parachute with ‘#BANTS’ inscribed on it in lurid fluorescent pink, which the lads thought was a bit gay, but their concern turned to admiration as he unclipped himself and roared ‘Oi oi!’ as he tumbled toward the jagged rocks so far below.
He had nothing much else to do while he waited, so he got stuck into the little pile of beak left from the other night, and before he knew it it was half nine, his bird was at the door, his nose was bleeding and his cock was the size of a baby carrot, though much less firm.
The almost absurdly enticing wiggling of her lengthy ovipositor had him utterly mesmerised, and before he had more than the scarcest inkling of what was happening, he was overcome by a familiar tingling and a spunken efflux had shot out from his gonopore and all over hers.
Little Jamie was running around, Jayden was following him, Katie had just pooed in her nappy and now mother was calling for help from upstairs too, and if she was calling while the kids were going mad, that meant it was urgent. Now she saw smoke coming from the oven. Shit! She’d forgotten about their waffles. Oh, God. And it was raining. The washing had to be dry for this evening. Then her phone started ringing, and it was her boss. He never usually rang. Just as she was about to answer it, she heard a sharp rap on the front door and a face trying to poke through the letterbox. The bailiff! Oh, God. And he’d definitely seen her already. Her mum called again. She told Katie to just stay still for a moment. She thought of getting Jamie to bring in the washing but then almost laughed at the idea. She began to scurry upstairs. But then the smoke alarm went off, and it was piercingly loud. Suddenly, near the bottom of the stairs, she found herself losing control, and turd after turd plunged out of her arse, into and through her knickers and fell free to flop indecorously into the puddle of piss she had poured forth at the same time.
“Don’t forget to tell the milkman we’ll be away!” she roared as she succumbed to the combine harvester.
Three big loads hit her face in less than half a second. Beautiful!
She stepped into the house, closed the door, slipped off her shoes, walked straight to her room and flopped down onto the bed, immediately being blown upward in pieces to splatter all over the ceiling and rain down again, her gore, bones and shreds of flesh mingling hopelessly with the fragments of landmine and the smell of cordite.
His lips exploded! Well, that will happen if you pay the lowest possible price in Dhaka to get them ‘done’, or so he had been told over the crackling phone line by his concerned mother, but had he listened? Had he fuck. Ah, man, it really hurt too. Still, perhaps he could distract people by getting some more botox in his already-bulging forehead, or maybe in the hideously rigid flesh around his eyes.