Friday, May 27, 2016

The Big Doll House

“You shall be my weapon against The Trump,” Hillary said as she stroked Elizabeth’s bumpy skull through her elderly lesbian hair. “You will destroy him for me.”

“Yes, Mistress. I will destroy him for you.”

Hillary pressed Elizabeth to her black-nippled teat. Veins pulsed right under the skin.

“Suckle on my hate. Grow powerful,” Hillary said. She rammed her breast into Elizabeth’s mouth and squeezed out clotted milk in a stuttering geyser.

Elizabeth’s fingers slid into the dry canal of Hillary’s dead cunt, shelves of desiccated pus shedding, falling to the floor. She worked spiked nub of her clitoris until her thumb bled.

“Will it be enough?” the goiter on Hillary’s neck asked in an excited whisper.

“I don’t know. This chittering twat is almost as used up as I am,” she whispered back. She needn’t have bothered. The sounds of Elizabeth choking and sputtering filled the campaign bus bedroom utterly.

“The Trump is powerful. He has the hair and the hat,” the goiter said.

“I don’t fuck give a fuck about the goddamn hat! The hat is nothing! NOTHING!” she screamed. She cuffed Elizabeth on the ear in sent her reeling, rancid hillarymilk dribbling from her lip.

‘What did I do?” Elizabeth whined. She wrapped her arms around her head and face, bingo wings queasily flubbering.

“I’m going to fill you up, bitch,” Hillary said. She stomped Elizabeth in the ribs right below the breasts. As she moved to hold her chest, Hillary palpitated one last stubborn gob of milk right into her mewling mouth.

“Whose cunt is more powerful than mine?” Hillary demanded.

“No one's,” Elizabeth managed, choking.

“Wash it down,” Hillary said as she squatted over Elizabeth and let loose a stream of urine teeming with hormones.

Monday, May 23, 2016

SMERSH me, baby

“Oh, Vladdy… You’re the only man I let make me a woman,” Donald said, backing up on all fours like a ponderous meat truck.

“Beep, beep, beep…” the hat whispered and he and the hair giggled together.

“I vill make Amerika great again!” Vlad shouted, his penis becoming erect with the sound of a retractable baton being deployed. “Ve shall make sex like mighty ogligarks!”

“Make our cold war hot,” Donald demanded. He bent his spine with a series of audible cracks and presented his dilapidated anus like an excited mandrill.

“It will be even better ven you are President like me,” Vlad said. He pushed Donald’s testicles up into his flabby body with the heel of his and ground against them like he was trying to put out a stubborn cigarette.

“Oh Jesus, oh fuck, Jesus fuck. Don’t stop!” Donald shouted.

Secret Service men and SPB agents shifted uncomfortably from their respective corners of the playroom. One even coughed nervously as Vlad plunged his fingers into Donald’s asshole and splayed it open.

“I haft somethink for you, lapochka,” Vlad said.

He snapped his fingers of his other hand impatiently and motioned over a frightened young man in a stained labcoat.

“Give me the applicator, Yuri,” Vlad said.

Yuri’s hands shook as he unsnapped the clasps of the small metal case he was handcuffed to. He handed Vlad the complicated device within. It looked like a medicalized paintball pistol. Vlad waved him away and he returned to his place along the wall. A SPB agent placed a hand on his shoulder as if to steady him.

“What is it, Vladdy?” Donald asked, craning his neck to see.

“What the fuck?” the hat asked the hair.

“I’m scared. Hold me,” the hair begged.

“Somthink just for you. My scientists haft spent years on this just for your sweethole.” Vlad eased the gun into Donald’s ass until it formed a tight seal.

“It vill be like a magical love fart, little one,” Vlad said, pressing the injector trigger.

Aerosolized cocaine, sildenafil citrate, alkyl nitrite and ground ape testicles filled Donald’s sigmoid colon and he grunted loudly.

“You must hold it in, Donald. As lonk as you can,” Vlad whispered.

Donald whimpered and writhed.

“Vlad!” he screamed.

“Give it time.”

“Oh, shit,” the hair said to the hat.


“Don’t you feel it? You can’t feel it?”

“What do you mean?” the hat asked.

Donald roared. It shook the entire plane.

“Yes!” Vlad screamed, his erection bouncing with the fuselage. “Now we can begin!” He pulled out the injector and greedily inhaled the thick gas that dribbled from Donald’s butt.

Vlad smiled and turned to nod to the SPB agent. He broke Yuri’s neck with merciful efficiency.

Tuesday, May 17, 2016

"The strain's too much, can't take much more"

“There are pleasures you have never dreamed of, Bernie,” Hillary whispered. “I grow new ones every day.”

She tore off the sleeve of her heavy polyester blouse and showed him a row of nipple along the underside of her upper left arm. They quested about, thick, dark ends gulping at the air like dying fish, drooling a thick black milk. He lunged toward them, the slack asshole of his mouth emitting a maple syrup rot. She pulled them away.

“Bite them carefully. They bite back,” she said. Bernie groaned and hammered a fist into his dusty fuck parts. Hillary slapped him and cackled.

“What want, Bernie? Do you want me?” Hillary pulled down the side of her skirt. There was a vulva slit into the side of her hip.

“You can touch it, Bernie. Go on. This one might not tear anything off.”

His shaking fingers found her hipgina and thrust into her before she could move away. His rheumy eyes went wide as he stroked the pitted surface of her iliac crest.

“Bill never touches me. He hasn’t fingerfucked my skeleton in decades.” Hillary cried out, the sound filling the cold spaces of the empty warehouse. She grabbed at the crotch of his shabby suit, his breath hot and sour on her neck.

“There’s nothing,” he grunted. “Nothing there since the 70s, dammit.”

“You’ll just have to be creative then,” she said. She pulled his left hand around her doughy waist and guided him to a small constellation of buttholes set over her liver. He stroked them and found them dry and scaly as she moaned. He licked his finger as she panted, the sweet and meaty smell of death on her breath. He sank each of his fingers and his thumb into the five buttholes and flexed them like he was making a puppet speak. She farted from all five, delicate notes rushing past his invading digits.

“I want your equal outcomes, Bernie,” she said, forcing him to his knees.

The pseudopenis she had already extruded forced itself against her clothes. She pushed her skirt down and it sprang forth, the disapproving pucker of her cervix on the tip of the inverted vagina bobbing menacingly. She inched forward and swung her hips to smack him with it.

“Suck it, Bernie. Suck it,” she said. “I’m going to shit my uterus right in your mouth.”

Monday, May 9, 2016

Hot Mic

“Did you see her walk? Runway walk. My God is that good. I could watch that runway show,” Chris said, out of breath.

“You’ve got a hot mic,” the voice said in his ear.

“Shut the fuck up, Valerie,” Chris said. “What kind of dyke are you if you can’t appreciate that ass? That’s a great fucking ass!”

Brian gestured frantically in Chris’ peripheral vision. He waved him away.

“Yeah, yeah, Brian. Your daughter’s got a nice ass too. But she never gives up the goods on that shitty TV show of hers. Is some titties so much to ask, Brian? I bet they are nice. Are they nice, Brian? You’ve probably seen them. Are they nice or not?” Chris was cupping his hands under his own man titties when the camera swung off him and to the crowd.

“Put that fucking camera back on me, Valerie. I’m sick of your dyke bullshit. I bet you don’t even trim for that poor girlfriend of yours. You probably got bush the size of a bicycle seat.”

The cameraman was bent over and laughing, but managed to bring Chris up on the monitors.

“Look, Trump says whatever the fuck he wants and he’s going to be the goddamn President. You want ratings? You want to keep shitty ass MSNBC on the air? Let me say what I want, you fucks.”

Brian grabbed for his microphone and Chris blocked his hand.

“Do that again and I’ll slap your whore mouth, Brian. I’ll slap you down and then piss right in your eyes.”

Chris made a show of scanning the crowd. “Where’s Melaya or Melanie or whatever her hooker name is? She’s 46 for fuck’s sake. Forty-fucking-six. At 46 my wife’s ass looked like a huge bag of hot garbage. And Ivanka? Oh, yeah, man.”

A thick-set woman jumped in front of the camera Chris was speaking into.

“Really, Valerie? You left the fucking booth for once and this is what you drag your lumpy ass in here for? Call Gates. He’ll tell you to keep me on the air. I bet he’s laughing his shriveled up nerd balls off right now.”

Valerie flipped him off with both hands and stomped away.

“Hey, Brian,” Chris said. “Hey, Brian. Brian. Brian. Don’t ignore me. Brian. Brian. BRIAN! You very think Donald’s done ‘em both at the same time? A little third-wife/daughter action? DON’T IGNORE ME, BRIAN!”