“Where one hand enters, and the other follows in suit shortly thereafter, brace yourselves; make your stance wide, relax, and prepare for more than just a fistful of justice. For He is the lawbringer!” —Justicar Justice Magi-Straitum, Anal Bum 5:00
Aye yes, a day to look forward to—Wednesday—as usual. T’was a time long ago, when my group of comrades and I would ransack, and slaughter the many tyrants that dared tried to rustle our skivvies. In typical fashion, we’d shot fire (or frost. . .or light. . .or shadow. . .or what the hell ever kind) magic out our asses, swing our “swords” and lob off body bits. . .and sometimes cross swords ourselves—accidentally, of course. I mean, it wasn’t too entirely uncommon for two guys to climb onto one another and [the rest of this passage is heavily inked in black streaks, making it undecipherable].
So, while the “DPS” as they were called, or diligent probing specialists; they would repetitively attack from behind, while my partner in crime and cohorts, “The Canadian Finger Banger,” would launch his. . .surprise attacks on the brutally brutal world threatening threat. The key was, he would go for the legs, and / or ankles, and then make the threat reach over and grab their ankles, before launching his infamous “Five-Knuckle Power Fist of The Big Oh!” right square in their ass pants. Right in the puckered shithole! Sometimes, we’d have to dislodge his stuck person. . .a few times up to his elbow, others all the way up to his arm.
Others of note, was one lad, Kiwi. He could choke a bitch from 50 yards out, and then gather any that were in a 20 yard radius. However, he was often lacking any. . .defensive capabilities. His condoms always broke, and he was std ridden from the get go pretty much. Plus, he had a thing for dead things. “Five minutes is all I need,” he’d say.
Then there was “Perky Tits”. Ah, yes, the wolf-man hybrid who got aroused from pretty much everything. If there was a butt party that he did get to go to, he was there in a blip. . .one way or another. He was also quite fond of the lovely sandy sauce spread. The sandy sauce spread originated when this one woman had this pastrami on rye bit, that was so dried out that [the rest of the passage is indecipherable].
He was also another Canadian. Fucking Canadians. . .they have all the fun.
Who else was there? A lot really. “HealingTwat,” “Slitrax,” “Laysplooge,” “The Hootser.” Oh, there was “Caviar,” and his phone sex friend “Ka-ka-Khemo.” They’d often spend a lot of time together. Eventually though, Ka-ka-Khemo found another one and moved on. Caviar was never really quite the same. Guess nobody quite fucked ’em right and fed ’em fish eggs, or something like that.
Laysplooge was from the deep south. Like, up your ass and squirt in your moonshine, kind of south. Good kid though. Always had a thing ready to remark, and had a saddle with some reins waiting too. He probably favored some of that Cajun spiced sausage.
Ah, memories. . .
It’s been some time since I’ve been on a raid. The minions I have now, they don’t have the firepower we had back then. Now it’s all whistle-blowers, flamethrowers, grenades, dildo shooters, and nuke cannons for fat men. At least there are the mechanical shells we can slip into for extra protection, less risk of an infection, or herpes, or hell. . .even herpagonasyphilaids. Boy, do I remember when that epidemic broke out and we had to cull a town to put the disease to rest. . .but some came back as zombies. The world was never really quite the same after that.
So, I decided to relive some of the fond memories, and take my minions on an outing. Now, I’m not too happy about the whole ordeal with Simon, but that fat cuntnugget had a it coming. NEVER DEFY THE ALMIGHTY BEAR GOD! My canine companion tore his ankles down to the bone and then fucked him in the ass. To help muffle Simon’s screams of agony. . .or pleasure. . .whatever. . .the beast throat fucked him afterwards until he was finished.
Now, I am not a fan of culling my own flock, but he had the choice, in which he failed miserably. I am also not a fan of wasting good meat. I decided to be a gracious God—as always—and let my minions pick over his remains, wares, and do whatever they wanted to the body. Some. . .had their way and fun. While others took to it with saw in hand and started saving up pieces for the road ahead.
It seems the Raiders are amassing in a fortress not too far from here and it’s looking like they may strike the surrounding settlements. HA! They don’t know that I’ve already. . .taken care of those. Look, I swear it was an accident. . .but have you ever let a fart just build up and you couldn’t contain it any longer?! Your gut AND your ass start to hurt. So, I had to purge the taint within. It’s nature.
For now, as we gather supplies, ammunition, weapons, and make ready our strike, I am. . .calculating whose ass is the tightest. Because I know a few of these little sons of bitches is gonna have their asshole pucker right up and turn tail. Now, they needn’t needlessly die for my sake. . .or the sake of the reformation of The Wasteland. Nay, they only need to stand there and watch as I mow everything down. Oh, did I forget to mention that? Yeah, I am going to mount some more fun toys. . .like fire my fucking Gatling laser guns, plus my fat mans! I also learned how to eject these. . .fusion cores. . .from my mecha suit. *sigh* It truly is a brilliant piece of artwork. . .and of destruction.
Tomorrow, we shall strike, and drive fear into the hearts of these. . .Raiders! I will ransack their precious Lost Ark, and destroy them in it.
[scribbled in the bottom margin of the page is the note: Jones has the tightest ass. Shana, Tata, and Tara are tied for next. Stickler is so loose, he could sit on a bowling ball and not even notice.]