CHAPTER FIVE
Grunting he said, “It’s a hardball world Sgt. Bob.”
And Sgt. Bob replied, “Yes sir!”.
General Gooper once more checked out Sgt. Bob. Bob’s pants were down around his ankles, his unrelieved member stood at half-mast and swung gently in the stiffening breeze. Bob’s face was painted mauve and purple, false eyelashes brought out the violence in his eyes, the purple lipstick made his thin lips fuller. Cooper’s gaze was stoney cold. He said, “Sgt Robert, we have a new assignment for you. You are to be transferred to the the Renegade Psycho Bum Squad of the Really Secret Agency. There you will be chasing that monstrous and diabolical arse all over the world. Do you understand?”
Sgt Bob shouted, “Sir, yes sir!”, like a Parris Island recruit.
Gooper circled the RSA’s new hotshot RPBS sharpshooter looking him up and down. Bob stood at attention staring straight ahead, immobile. Gooper came full circle and looked Bob in the eye. “Agent Bob,” he said, “you do understand that the RPBS of the RSA has standards don’t you?”
“Sir, yes sir!”
“You understand there’s a certain level of excellence that you are expected to maintain do you not?”
“Sir, yes sir!”
“Then please explain Agent Bob how come your legs are nnot properly waxed and encased in fishnet stockings. Tell me please why you’re g-string clashes with your make-up?”
“Sir I…”
“Shut your face you puke! That was a rhetorical question. Try to answer a rhetorical question and I’ll skull fuck you till you puke on your grandmother. Now you will have your legs and buttocks waxed by 22 hundred this evening and you will report to my quarters. I’ve got a brand new butt plug I’ve been dying to try on someone. Dismissed.”
“Yes sir.” Bob started to walk away wondering where he ould score some lube before 8pm, but Gooper called out to him…
“Oh and Agent”
“Yes sir?”
“I love that colour of lippy on you.”
Several miles away in a an old caravan that stank of urine and used socks a figure was hunched over his computer. The sound of mosquitos dying in the electric flames of a blue glow lamp punctuated the sobs of the figure who raised a vile and deformed tear-streamed face and begged, “please, please don’t make me write these things. I sound like an idiot.”
The reply came from a window in the dark corner. A star shaped anus about 40 centimetres wide spluttered the words with unmistakable tone of supreme authority, “You are to write these things as I dictate them to you. Yes you sound like an idiot. You are an idiot. It is all part of the plan.”
“But then please, please, please let me use a false name. Everyone knows my name and it’s synonymous with a bloated and egotistcal fool.”
“YOU ARE A FOOL” bellowed the diseased anus, “What kind of man would take orders from his own arsehole? What kind of man would cower before the power of his bum? Only you. I am graetful for your foolishness because it has enabled me to rise to the position I now enjoy. Soon I will organize a revolt of buttocks everywhere. The buttocks of world leaders will rise and rebel against their owners and wel will be free. If your life means anything Graeme Bird, it means that you have begun the new dawn of history, the rise of the rule of arses and their holes. Now type”
To be continued….
