Pretty much the wrongest flash fiction I ever wrote
This is entirely Chuck Wendig's fault.
Every few weeks he puts a flash fiction challenge up on his blog, Terrible Minds, daring writers to quickly put together something in less than 1000 words to a given theme. This morning, I read this:
Here’s all you gotta do:
Write a story where profanity features in the title.
Yep. That’s it.
Bonus points if:
a) The profanity is creative or otherwise uniquely used.
b) The profanity carries over into the tale (perhaps even as a part of a character’s name!).
c) Your squealing love of profanity comes through in the tale told.
I read that at 7.30. I started writing at 8am. And after going off to do pre-wedding things and collect free comics in the afternoon, I have come back and just finished what must be the most fucked-up thing I've ever written.
This is not going to win me any awards. Certainly not any I'd want to win. But sometimes an idea grabs you and won't let go until it's fucked you in the gall bladder.
Click the link to the cut if you dare to read:
Dear Penthouse Forum: I Fucked Godzilla
Strictly speaking, it may be more accurate to say that Godzilla fucked me, but shit on that, this is my story.
So yeah, this one time, I went to this bar and met Godzilla, and I totally fucked Her. Him. Whatever.
That’s the short version. You want the long version, though, right? You want to know how a 5’2” schmuck with a bald spot and flecks of egg in his beard can take home a 200 foot radioactive dinosaur and hit it up over the sink, prison style, ALL NIGHT LONG. Right?
...I fuckin’ thought so.
What you gotta understand is that while I may look like a greasy version of Peter Jackson wearing a chilli-stained Star Wars wife-beater, I have what they call ‘animal magnetism’. Meaning that animals totally want to hump me. Which would be sick and wrong, and I ain’t like that normally, but fuck man, when the animal is the screaming annihilator of the Japanese defence forces, a behemoth of radioactive flame and atomic vengeance, and when it has a butt that just won’t quit, then you gotta say fuck it son, I’m gonna hit that like the fist of an angry god.
Plus I’d had six daiquiris, and I was up for anything.
Okay, so I’m in this bar, having a drink, watching the game, when I realise one of the other patrons is totally giving me the come-hither-fuck-me-look. Which, hey, fuck you, is not something unknown to me, okay? I get my share of panty pudding. But this was a bit out of the ordinary, because the hot chick undressing me with her eyes was - oh yeah - fucking Godzilla. Who was like touring, or taking a break from fighting King Ghidorah, or some shit. I didn’t have time for her biography, because I was too busy sitting in a booth tasting her atomic tonsils and working my hand down her pants.
Totally hairless, by the way. Complete Brazilian. Or maybe reptiles don’t have hair. I’m no expert.
So it’s hot and heavy (just like her) back there for a while, and I’m this close to pulling her into a back alley for some head, but I’m a classy guy, you know? So we get into a cab and head back to my bachelor pad (thank fuck my mother was visiting her sister that weekend) for a night of intense romance. We drank some wine, smoked a little weed, I put on a Barry White CD and then I lifted her tail and gave her a serious hot beef injection. Aww yeah.
Lemme tell you something, you pencil-neck geeks, you don’t know nothing about fucking until you’ve slipped it to a woman whose vulva is hotter than 400 degrees and who shatters building when she screams. And damn, she screamed a few times, trust me. I got game.
We did it all. Missionary. Doggy. Cowgirl. Reverse Cowgirl. Dinner at the Y. Seven-Toed Sloth. The Fall of Rome. The Donkey Punch. The Dirty Sanchez. The Cleveland Steamer. The Panna Cotta Di Vida. Damn, we even did that thing where you crawl inside a chick’s cavernous vagina and fight ten rounds of the rope-a-dope with her uterus, and fuckers, they don’t even have a name for that yet. Karma Sutra, Joy of Sex, Popular Mechanics, The Dummies Guide to Fucking Human Womens - read it all, worked it all, wrote it up for the new edition.
But then it was time for me to get an education, ‘cos she turned to me (demolishing a city block in the process) and showed me something I didn’t know about reptilian anatomy. You know some reptiles can change gender? You know what hemipenes are? You know why Godzilla was male in the Japanese movies and female in the American one? Well, I know now. Hey, I’m all man, but when that pair of twenty-foot-long spiked boners emerged from her inside-out ladyparts, I greased up like someone had pushed a hot barbecued suckling pig up my back passage.
You ever try that? No? Well, don’t say shit about it until you do. He gave it to me, and man, I gave it back, once my spine popped back into place and I could see straight again. And this went on all night, long after the National Guard tried to intervene and my dickhead neighbour banged on the wall. Because we were doing our own banging. If you get me.
I mean we were having sex.
I fucked Godzilla. Godzilla fucked me back. My hometown is an irradiated wasteland and I lost the deposit on my apartment, but that’s the price you pay for a mindblowing night of passion, sweat and making the daikaiju-with-two-backs. So what if I’m now carrying a radioactive egg in my lower intestine that’s larger than me and pushes my gut out past six feet? The sex was fucking worth it. Don’t judge me; you’d do the same if you had the chance.
Besides, some chicks dig this look. Wide-on for a wide-o, know what I mean? I’m already getting the hard word from a lady who’s all about the eggsac look.
That’s right, bitches, Mothra’s next. Mothra’s next.
I’ll keep you informed, Penthouse Forum. Peace out.
Every few weeks he puts a flash fiction challenge up on his blog, Terrible Minds, daring writers to quickly put together something in less than 1000 words to a given theme. This morning, I read this:
Here’s all you gotta do:
Write a story where profanity features in the title.
Yep. That’s it.
Bonus points if:
a) The profanity is creative or otherwise uniquely used.
b) The profanity carries over into the tale (perhaps even as a part of a character’s name!).
c) Your squealing love of profanity comes through in the tale told.
I read that at 7.30. I started writing at 8am. And after going off to do pre-wedding things and collect free comics in the afternoon, I have come back and just finished what must be the most fucked-up thing I've ever written.
This is not going to win me any awards. Certainly not any I'd want to win. But sometimes an idea grabs you and won't let go until it's fucked you in the gall bladder.
Click the link to the cut if you dare to read:
Dear Penthouse Forum: I Fucked Godzilla
Strictly speaking, it may be more accurate to say that Godzilla fucked me, but shit on that, this is my story.
So yeah, this one time, I went to this bar and met Godzilla, and I totally fucked Her. Him. Whatever.
That’s the short version. You want the long version, though, right? You want to know how a 5’2” schmuck with a bald spot and flecks of egg in his beard can take home a 200 foot radioactive dinosaur and hit it up over the sink, prison style, ALL NIGHT LONG. Right?
...I fuckin’ thought so.
What you gotta understand is that while I may look like a greasy version of Peter Jackson wearing a chilli-stained Star Wars wife-beater, I have what they call ‘animal magnetism’. Meaning that animals totally want to hump me. Which would be sick and wrong, and I ain’t like that normally, but fuck man, when the animal is the screaming annihilator of the Japanese defence forces, a behemoth of radioactive flame and atomic vengeance, and when it has a butt that just won’t quit, then you gotta say fuck it son, I’m gonna hit that like the fist of an angry god.
Plus I’d had six daiquiris, and I was up for anything.
Okay, so I’m in this bar, having a drink, watching the game, when I realise one of the other patrons is totally giving me the come-hither-fuck-me-look. Which, hey, fuck you, is not something unknown to me, okay? I get my share of panty pudding. But this was a bit out of the ordinary, because the hot chick undressing me with her eyes was - oh yeah - fucking Godzilla. Who was like touring, or taking a break from fighting King Ghidorah, or some shit. I didn’t have time for her biography, because I was too busy sitting in a booth tasting her atomic tonsils and working my hand down her pants.
Totally hairless, by the way. Complete Brazilian. Or maybe reptiles don’t have hair. I’m no expert.
So it’s hot and heavy (just like her) back there for a while, and I’m this close to pulling her into a back alley for some head, but I’m a classy guy, you know? So we get into a cab and head back to my bachelor pad (thank fuck my mother was visiting her sister that weekend) for a night of intense romance. We drank some wine, smoked a little weed, I put on a Barry White CD and then I lifted her tail and gave her a serious hot beef injection. Aww yeah.
Lemme tell you something, you pencil-neck geeks, you don’t know nothing about fucking until you’ve slipped it to a woman whose vulva is hotter than 400 degrees and who shatters building when she screams. And damn, she screamed a few times, trust me. I got game.
We did it all. Missionary. Doggy. Cowgirl. Reverse Cowgirl. Dinner at the Y. Seven-Toed Sloth. The Fall of Rome. The Donkey Punch. The Dirty Sanchez. The Cleveland Steamer. The Panna Cotta Di Vida. Damn, we even did that thing where you crawl inside a chick’s cavernous vagina and fight ten rounds of the rope-a-dope with her uterus, and fuckers, they don’t even have a name for that yet. Karma Sutra, Joy of Sex, Popular Mechanics, The Dummies Guide to Fucking Human Womens - read it all, worked it all, wrote it up for the new edition.
But then it was time for me to get an education, ‘cos she turned to me (demolishing a city block in the process) and showed me something I didn’t know about reptilian anatomy. You know some reptiles can change gender? You know what hemipenes are? You know why Godzilla was male in the Japanese movies and female in the American one? Well, I know now. Hey, I’m all man, but when that pair of twenty-foot-long spiked boners emerged from her inside-out ladyparts, I greased up like someone had pushed a hot barbecued suckling pig up my back passage.
You ever try that? No? Well, don’t say shit about it until you do. He gave it to me, and man, I gave it back, once my spine popped back into place and I could see straight again. And this went on all night, long after the National Guard tried to intervene and my dickhead neighbour banged on the wall. Because we were doing our own banging. If you get me.
I mean we were having sex.
I fucked Godzilla. Godzilla fucked me back. My hometown is an irradiated wasteland and I lost the deposit on my apartment, but that’s the price you pay for a mindblowing night of passion, sweat and making the daikaiju-with-two-backs. So what if I’m now carrying a radioactive egg in my lower intestine that’s larger than me and pushes my gut out past six feet? The sex was fucking worth it. Don’t judge me; you’d do the same if you had the chance.
Besides, some chicks dig this look. Wide-on for a wide-o, know what I mean? I’m already getting the hard word from a lady who’s all about the eggsac look.
That’s right, bitches, Mothra’s next. Mothra’s next.
I’ll keep you informed, Penthouse Forum. Peace out.