Moors
Briny tears cascaded like greased kittens from the limestone of my jagged cheeks, further moistening the already turgid snout of my deceased canine lover who lay, rug-like on the cold laminate floor alongside my worn moccasins. Were they tears of sadness? Of joy? Was it something to do with my nipples? My glans? Probably. But that did not stop those kitten-tears from bouncing lifelessly, emptily, down, down...

My routine was set. I had to keep up appearances, keep up with the Joneses, keep my pecker up, keep it real, keep on keepin’ awwwwwwwwwwwwn. And that was exactly what I did. I hooked the lead to the putrid hound’s collar, the aged mechanism screeching momentarily into the soggy depths of my downy ear. I tugged lightly. My late quadrapedal sexpiece moved slightly under the strain. With some exertion, I thought, we could still undertake our morning exercise without attracting unwanted attention from the neighbours.

I threw the door open, granting the morning light unrestricted access to my foisty interior for the first time in over three weeks. I yanked on the lead and off we went. The gnarled beast trailed behind, following me sidewise and scuttling over the stones and debris. How long had it been since my sweet’s final breath? Six hours? Three days? How long had I been so entranced by Culkin’s face in a Hello magazine retrospective and abandoned all of my adult duties, my human urges, my basic mammalian twitchings? Too long, it seemed. The sorry creature dragged behind, gathering all of the Earth’s leavings in its useless groin. We went on like this for several miles, myself resolved to adhere to our established path. So, up hill and down dale we shuffled, struggling for the most part.

Sheep observed and ravens swooped.

In a secluded area of the North Yorkshire Moors I was just about spent. I lay spinewise beside my grizzled fuckspaniel and raised my arms heavenward.
“Roy!” I howled (for God had been generous enough to tell me his Christian name during a prior, somewhat flirtatious exchange). “Extend thy divine appendage and guide thy son, I beg thee!”

I screeched like this for some hours, hugging and tearing at the ever-loosening flesh of my once betrothed. No reply came from the sky. I sobbed, I wept and I jostled with my member for sweet, empty comfort on the cold twilight moor, but the agony would not subside. I was almost prepared, spiritually and sexually, to suffocate myself in the now-exposed pancreas of my bedraggled he-dog-lesbian. But then the unexpected happened.

I had been aware of a loitering ewe for some time. It had been sidling hither and thither since my first wail of despair, and now it approached in earnest.
“Is this how it shall end, Roy?” I croaked. “Hast thou no more dignity in store for me in death than thou hadst in life?”
I had barely spat forth the last syllable of this roaring sentence when the full force of an ovine onslaught unexpectedly struck me flankwise. The sidling sheep had turned keen, brave, bold, and it had reckoned without the remnants of my manpride. I threw an uppercut, a left jab, a right hook, a sod of earth and the beast fell to the mossy ground, smote beneath the fierce, unforgiving clouds of the northern sky. It was only then that I noticed the zip running from chin to groin upon the pulseless bleater. Reluctantly, I tugged at the manmade fastening, not daring to believe what I knew would prove to be true. As I unzipped the fleece, the true nature of this beast was revealed.

“COLEMAN!” I hollered into the clouds. “WHYYYYYYYYY?”

When there was no moisture left in my face I looked once again at my pitiful victim. Never again would he ask me what I was talkin’ ‘bout. That was bad enough. But worse was the realisation that I would one day stare into the vengeful eye of Gary Coleman’s lover, Macauley Culkin. For then I would surely know unspeakable pain.

On the way home I passed a tramp. “Big Issue?” he pleaded.
“Fuck off, greedy bastard!” I replied. “You’ve already got a bag full!”
“Tightwad!” he retorted.

I pray for his soul.
(stusut79, Fri 24 Oct 2008, 2:18, 7 replies)

I knew it was you...
As soon as I saw the first line, I recognised your genius. Long may it continue!
(Potty Jag har smör i min rumpspringa, Fri 24 Oct 2008, 8:33, closed)

I've missed this stuff
good to see you back
( Vipros. clever got me this far, then tricky got me in, Fri 24 Oct 2008, 9:01, closed)

You're back!
That makes me poo myself with happiness.
( Enzyme is powered by sunlight, Fri 24 Oct 2008, 9:25, closed)

...annnnnnnnndddd....
Another clicky for surrealism. Seems there may be a few of these this week!
(EffinDoubt is breaking glass on, Fri 24 Oct 2008, 10:16, closed)

Utterly insane
*clicks in the hope that getting this on to the front page might attract the attention of the men in white coats*
(annexed, Fri 24 Oct 2008, 11:12, closed)

cums
with glee.
(nappy rash, Fri 24 Oct 2008, 14:09, closed)

We need more
I want to print these out and roll around naked on the stories of Gary Coleman whilst masturbating madly over Macauley Culkin.
( chickenlady b3ta's very own Elizabeth Taylor, Fri 24 Oct 2008, 17:43, closed)