ZOMBIE FORUMS

I was most amused, although I still think PJFF is probably the pinnacle of your writing career so far. Anymore that you can post would be most appreciated, the more obscure, the better!

Yes. We want more. MORE!

Writing this takes talent. Illustrating it successfully might require more, but that's too much to ask.

I bet if we got up a "Pay Spooleseseses for her talents" fund, we'd 1.) Get smacked, and 2.) Get some renditions of it. Maybe. XD

Do not animate that. I will kill you.

I felt sick to my stomach the first story I read. I pretty much skipped over the next few stories.

I'll applaud the author on being able to create graphic sickening images just through word. It's hard to create a story with good imagery, every time I attempt to write a story I am disappointed in my failure to create the imagery I see in my own head.

Hell, I'll even say "kudos" to being able to insert modern topics into the Star Wars genre.

Please just leave it in the word form so it's easier to skip over.

Edit: Oh snap, the preceding posts before mine say the same thing.

Here you go.


HOMOSEXUAL PAIN





A shroud of misery enveloped Obi-Wan's heart as he watched his master sleep. The Padawan cried silently, masturbating bitterly under his covers. A warmness then, spurting onto his belly, a release that didn't sooth his ache. He reached down and rubbed the thick white sperm into his skin, bringing his fingers up to his quivering lips. He licked his hand clean, wishing it was Qui-Gon's juices that he was ingesting. He sobbed softly as he lovingly tasted his own ejaculate. He imagined the dripping knobby end of his master's hardness slowly penetrating him and Qui-Gon's strong hands on his sweating back. The gasping and breathy words spoken in his ear as Qui-Gon sodomized him inch by shuddering inch. The Padawan's own throbbing penis, hardening to the point of impossibility from his master's tender but firm reach around. The contractions of the two cocks, gloriously coming simultaneously, a testament to their love for each other.

Obi-Wan threw back his covers and rubbed his hands all over his nakedness. He sat on the edge of his bed, spitting on his rehardening cock, hoping for, and dreading, the awakening of his master. The Padawan sat in the dark, slowly pumping himself, feeling his heartbeat through his engorged genitals.

His mind was a frenzy of sexual longing and frustration, compelling him into abandon. Tears rolled down his cheeks as he walked over to Qui-Gon's bed. He carefully lay down next to his slumbering master. He could feel the warmth flowing from Qui-Gon as he masturbated. He turned on his side and lightly touched the wet tip of his cock to his master's backside. He dribbled pre-come on the blanket. With shaking hands, Obi-Wan slowly lifted the cloth away, revealing Qui-Gon's hairy buttocks. Slowly he touched the reddening tip to Qui-Gon's soft crack.

At the touch, Qui-Gon came awake instantly and was on his feet, switching on the lights. He turned around, finding his apprentice naked and masturbating on his bed.

"Obi-Wan!" Qui-Gon screamed angrily, "What the hell do you think you're doing?!"

Obi-Wan went back to his bed, spreading his legs wide, jerking his erection at his master. "Take me master!" Obi-Wan cried, "I can't stand it any longer! I want you inside me! I want to taste you master!"

"Damn it boy," Qui-Gon said, "cover yourself!"

Obi-Wan cried like a baby. "NO! I don't care about the consequences!" He sobbed, "Fuck me Qui-Gon! Fuck me now!"

Qui-Gon leapt over his bed, still naked, and slapped his Padawan hard. He slapped him again. "Stop this now Obi-Wan!" The master screamed, "I'm not a homosexual!"

Another backhand from his master and Obi-Wan came, a hot tendril of come shooting onto his master's thigh. Obi-Wan fell back on the bed, heaving uncontrollably in sorrow. He cried and twisted, undulating on his covers as if in pain.

Qui-Gon stepped back in shock, his learner's sperm dripping down his hairy leg. He grabbed his blanket and wiped the offending liquid away disgustedly. When he looked down, he was only then aware of his nakedness and, as Obi-Wan bawled like a child, he quickly clothed himself.

He threw a blanket over his Padawan and sat him up forcefully, grabbing his shoulders. "Stop crying Obi-Wan!" He said as he shook his apprentice, trying to snap him out of the writhing histrionics.

Obi-Wan stopped crying and pushed Qui-Gon away. He looked at his master sullenly, wiping his red eyes. "I love you master." He said, "It hurts how much I love you. I want to be with you so much I can't stand it."

Qui-Gon sighed and sat down on the edge of his bed. "Listen Obi-Wan," he began, "I have strong feelings for you as well, but they're the feelings a father may have for his son. I don't feel for you in a sexual way."

"But-"

"Let me finish." Qui-Gon cut him off, "I am attracted only to women. Homosexuality is a perversion of the dark side. Those who lust after their own sex languish in darkness and misery. It's wrong. And even if it wasn't, that kind of fraternization between master and Padawan is forbidden by the Jedi code. It's not going to happen Obi-Wan, and after this mission, we'll have to get you some counseling to ensure that this kind of thing never happens again. Until then, we will not speak of this during the mission. Do you understand me?"

"Homosexuals are the most loathsome creatures in the galaxy," Qui-Gon added, "and I will not permit you to join their disgusting ranks."

Obi-Wan nodded sadly, pain racking his heart. "I understand master," he said, voice wavering, "it'll never happen again. I promise."



For all the excitement of their mission to Naboo, Obi-Wan couldn't help but be fearful of the prospect of Jedi counseling. He knew that his feelings would be erased and he would no longer be the man he was supposed to be. His love for Qui-Gon burned as brightly as ever. From Naboo, to Tatooine, and to Coruscant, the fear was in the back of the Padawan's mind. And the boy, Anakin, who Obi-Wan viewed as competition for the attentions of Qui-Gon. He hated the boy. And on Coruscant, where his master tried to cut him loose for Anakin. Qui-Gon was determined to take the boy on and train him as his learner, leaving Obi-Wan behind. The Padawan decided that he wouldn't let that happen.


Obi-Wan could have fought harder, could have run faster, but he wanted to show his tiring master how much he needed his apprentice. He slowed himself, allowing himself to be trapped by the red energy wall. Now his master would fight the dark adversary alone for a time and then Obi-Wan would come to his rescue. His master would realize his mistake then.



The dark one killed Qui-Gon. Obi-Wan screamed. His plan had gone awry, robbing him of the man he loved. The energy dissipated and he tore into the devilish creature. He was nearly beaten, but he used the Force to surprise the Sith and with his master's blade, he killed the enemy.



He ran to his master's side, and instead of loving words of goodbye, he told Obi-Wan that Anakin was the chosen one. The boy! But the Padawan could deny his love nothing, so he agreed to train Anakin. His master died then, and Obi-Wan cried for an hour before he vomited in sorrow all over Qui-Gon's corpse. He fainted from sorrow and lost control of his bowels. The stinking feces of spurned love spasmed from his unconscious O-ring.



Months later, Obi-Wan masturbated under the covers, staring at his sleeping Padawan. He would patiently wait for Anakin to reach his sixteenth year. His obsessive master wanted him to train the Boy? Oh, he would train the boy all right. In the ways of the Force as well as the ways of forbidden love. He could hardly wait. He came.



Arco!

Another:


HALCYON AND ON, PART 1

(This is the story of what happened in 1942 on an alternate Earth, a reality intertwined with the future of Star Wars and our own indistinct past=future possibilities. Enjoy!)



Opulencia was the biggest, most saucy and nasty city of freakery on the face of the downtrodden and pitiful planet earth. The reclusive and exclusive utopia of lush travesties and taboo was walled off from the rest of the world, undesirables constantly clawing at the front gates, occasionally picked off by hobbyist snipers. The golden city was built miles high, and was full to the brimming with the biggest collection of deviants, self-appointed insane royalty, and narcotic driven citizenry imaginable. The only rule in Opulencia was if you’re too normal, you get banished to the banal and law abiding outside world. But people were rarely ever too normal. Murderers ran bloody through the streets, brandishing the chosen tools of their evil ways. There were orgies in gore on one street, naked gunfights and barbed wire hangings on another. Scatological street vendors and cannibal cafes lined the avenues, as well as slave auctions and farm animal gangbang country hoe-downs. A whorehouse for every fetish and a gut gorging feast for any appetite, that was the order of forever for the town of insatiable consumption and malevolence.

The lavish and perverse upper class had small armies to protect them from the rest of the population, and to procure for them throngs of sex serfs for their wicked parlor games of slime encrusted lasciviousness and spurting hot homicide. Everybody had every disease, nobody cared because there was always enough drugs to take your mind off your imminent demise, and besides, some of the lesser malignancies allowed you to fuck and kill for years. And there was enough lower class scum that was disease free to keep the population booming and replace the dead freaks with fresh and healthy ones. So, for the type of human that lived there, life was generally good in Opulencia, that is if you could avoid the cutlery wielding maniacs, slavers, and assorted killers and live long enough to make it to your next hit or screw.

The sex shop antiquities dealer carefully eyed Obi-Wan Kenobi's collection of brightly colored mid-twentieth century pasties. He picked up each piece in turn, inspected them, and returned them to their ornate wooden carrying case. Obi-Wan looked at the dealer expectantly, hoping to sell his cherished keepsakes for drug and whore money. The dealer closed the small case respectfully and nodded his head. He then immediately began to tap dance, pointing at the ceiling with one hand and pounding the counter with the other, all the time howling like a dog. Obi-Wan instantly recognized and deciphered the dealer code. There was a glut on the market. He thanked the dealer for his time and left the shop with his collection. If he wasn’t all hopped up on brain salts, he would have been feeling frustrated. That was the ninth dealer who had refused his pasties.

A man dressed in human skins loped toward Obi-Wan drunkenly with a screeching chainsaw, squealing like a pig. Obi-Wan pulled out his Manstopper 6000 and blew the mans screaming head into spiraling globs, a passing necrophiliac exclaiming delight at this gift of fate. He walked on as the deadscrewer began dragging the headless corpse into an alley for a little privacy. He was propositioned by men, women, and children on the way to the next shop, cutting across an alley to Rectum Lane and hopefully, a buyer for his collection.

A skeleton, dressed in a hat and overcoat, stepped out of the shadows directly in front of Obi-Wan, blocking his path. It had glowing green eyes and it looked as if its joints were held together by oily gears and wires, wrapped around and screwed into the yellowed bone. Obi-Wan looked at the skeleton man indifferently.

"Do for you man?" Obi-Wan asked.

"Actually, yes. There is something." A mechanized voice said in a monotone from behind lipless teeth, "But it is something that I can do for you."

"That is?"

The thing stepped closer; loose coat billowing in a wind that smelled like opium and scented lubricants. "I understand that you are looking to sell your collection." It pointed at the small case under Obi-Wan’s arm. "I would like to purchase it, sight unseen, and am prepared to offer you thirty seven million dollars cash." The thing produced a large briefcase, seemingly from nowhere, and opened it, showing the color of his proposal. It waited in silence. It didn’t have to wait long.

"Okay." Kenobi said with a shrug, and switched cases with the skeleton. Without another word, he walked off down the alley. The skeleton watched him go, eyes turning red. It opened the case, removed a certain pair of pasties, and discarded the rest. Bony hands held two red crystal pasties up to the light, silk tassels dangling onto cracked metacarpals.

"That fool! That drug addled moron has just handed me the means to rule the world! With these mystical pasties, I will subjugate the universe to my will!" It threw open its overcoat to expose a steel torso, two shining metal breasts emerging from the mass of wires inside the chest cavity. The skeleton gingerly placed the pasties on its techno knockers and howled an electric laugh. The tassels spun like helicopter blades and lightning crackled around the things flesh deprived frame. The pasties burned with inhuman power, energy lifting the skeleton into the sky.

The ghost of Abraham Lincoln pulled Obi-Wan into another alley, roughly pushing him against a brick wall.

"You’re in a heap of trouble son." Lincoln said.

"Hell are you dude?"

"Language boy," Lincoln said. "Bad enough that you collect bosom decorations, but to sell ‘em to that walkin’ pile of bones? Ain’t you got any brain at all rattling around in that head of yours?"

"Had to sell for whores and drugs. Got lots of money." Obi-Wan plainly stated.

Abe Lincoln shook his head. "You’re a feeb, ain’t you son? Well, I can take care of that." Abe put his ghostly hands on Obi-Wan’s face. Divine power washed into him, cleansing him of all drugs, disease, and mental perversions. Then the power strengthened his body and mind, perfecting them and providing his consciousness with all the knowledge and information that he would need for the task at hand. Abe let go and Obi-Wan stumbled back to the wall, shaking his head, years of cobwebs falling into nothingness.

He looked at the ghost. "What have I done?! Thank you President Lincoln for showing me the error of my ways and for providing me with the power to correct my mistake!" Obi-Wan took to the sky, bursting with incredible super human abilities and newfound respect for life and propriety. He flew off to do battle with the skeleton man for the sake of the world.

Abraham Lincoln watched him go. "Whip him good, son! Good luck!" He smiled broadly and faded away, Opulencia shuddering under the violent impact of good versus evil.



NEXT: THE WRATH OF DARTH HITLER! CAN SUPERKENOBI STOP THE BONY FIEND FROM WARPING THE WORLD TO HIS OWN PERVERSE PLEASURE? FEATURING A SPECIAL APPEARANCE BY AIR AMIDALA AND HER FURIOUS FEMALE FIGHTER SQUADRON. BUT IS THE QUEEN OF THE STRATOSPHERE FRIEND OR FOE?

FIND OUT ALL NEXT TIME IN: HALCYON AND ON 2, ATTACK OF THE THOUSAND FOOT JAR JAR! HIDE YOUR POWER LINES!


Arco!

Part two:


HALCYON AND ON TWO: ATTACK OF THE THOUSAND-FOOT JAR JAR

(It is suggested that you read the first part of this story before you read this one.)



THE YEAR IS 1942, A GOLDEN AGE OF PATRIOTISM AND DEPRAVITY ON THE PLANET EARTH INTERTWINED WITH POSSIBLE STAR WARS UNIVERSE PASTS AND FUTURES. A HUNDRED YEARS AGO, THE JEDI AND THE MONGOLS BATTLED EACH OTHER TO NEAR EXTINCTION AS EVIL REIGNED SUPREME. THE NEFARIOUS DARTH HITLER RULED EUROPE WITH AN IRON FIST. IN THE END, IT WAS ONE MAN WHO BROUGHT ABOUT THE DOWNFALL OF THE EVIL. PRESIDENT ABRAHAM LINCOLN DIED IN THE FINAL BATTLE, TAKING DARTH HITLER WITH HIM. OR SO THE WORLD THOUGHT…..





The sky darkened above Opulencia, all light seemingly drawn into the glowing and laughing form of Darth Hitler. His skeletal body spasmed with the onrush of the thick evil power of the mystical red pasties spinning on his metallic breasts. Arcs of multi-colored energy surrounded him like lightning, a dastardly firework of pinwheeling hate and seething slithering through the black skies. From the depths of hell, a bubbling liquid flesh began to coalesce about Hitler, a rancid musculature and skin covering those ancient bones and grinning skull. His bright eyes were searchlights of death, scanning for victims.

The people of Opulencia, that great walled city of perversion, glanced at the sky, torn briefly from their drug-induced hazes and their wet, orgiastic fuckery. They paused in their necrobestiality, scatological buffets, and child molestation marathons to bear witness to their coming doom at the hands of the kill-crazy freak above. They were unimpressed, returning to their well-lubricated hobbies.

From below, speeding up from the blood and sperm drenched streets, came the glowing form of Superkenobi. Infected with the power of all things good and pure by the ghost of Abraham Lincoln, the determined young hero was destined to battle the raping evil about to sodomize Opulencia dry. He had to prevail because it was he, in his former perverted and drugged state, who sold his pastie collection to Darth Hitler, allowing the despot malicious access to the magic tasseled nipple hats of insane and thrusting energy.

Hitler was too consumed in his orgasmic flesh formation to notice the attacking hero until it was too late. Superkenobi delivered a thundering uppercut to the fiend, nearly removing his glistening fleshy head. Stunned, Hitler sailed through the air, thankful that his head was still attached.

He regained his composure and swiveled his eyes toward his new enemy. "Who, may I ask, the fuck are you to dare lay hands upon the personage of Hitler?!?" He asked as his pasties spun faster.

"Watch your language mister!" Superkenobi snapped, "I'm here to put an end to your tomfoolery before it even begins!"

Darth Hitler reared his head back and laughed. "Tomfoolery? I can hardly wait for my body to form a cock so I can wash your clean mouth out with my spoiled seed! Ha Ha Ha --"

Faster than the eye could see, Superkenobi laid into Hitler with a wide, cupped-hand haymaker, sending the villain plummeting to the streets. "You need help friend," the hero yelled, "and I'm here to see that you get all the help that's coming to you!" He then dove after Hitler, ready to deliver as much physical and verbal pummeling as necessary.

Hitler got to his feet, actual feet; he looked down and was surprised and happy to have them. He noticed the young hero closing in on him and decided that this was not amusing. He raised his hands and pointed them at the approaching hero. The magic pasties spun in frenzy and he unleashed a massive energy bolt at his enemy. The blast knocked Superkenobi out of the air and sent him flying through the Opulencia Convention Center; his unconscious body disrupting the sex toy flea market and the mongoloid sex slave auction. He lied among the giant vibrating strap-ons and wiggling Mr. Softie 9000"s, struggling to regain himself. For the moment, Opulencia was at the mercy of a demonic maniac.

Hitler looked at his now-human naked body in a store window and smiled. The pasties spun on the nipples of real breasts, huge and firm globes of soft fat. He marveled at his feminine face, his glowing eyes, long black hair, and thin mustache. He reached down to his hermaphroditic genitals, giving his large hard cock a few experimental jerks, hefting his smooth balls, and fingering his slick cunt. He was perfect. He took to the sky, hovering above the tallest building in Opulencia, King Fatboy's Skyscraper of Fun.

Hitler's power slammed down through the skyscraper, impregnating the structure with evil forces. Every living thing in the building melded together, meshing through walls and floor into a malignant soup sloshing around from floor to floor, a living blob of screaming mouths and surprised eyes. Then the inanimate objects inside transformed, becoming flesh and blood, fusing their masses to the roiling stir of popping and gassy pus-gushing slop. Under the watchful eyes of Hitler, the skyscraper sealed itself, glowing with an unearthly energy, warped into a towering cocoon, gestating something gigantically evil.

Hitler floated down to the roof and kneeled, punching a hole in the top of the sulfurous birthing chamber with a powerful fist. He masturbated a hot load of black demon spunk into the hole, adding the final ingredient to his stinking creation. He returned to the sky to watch the birth.

The skyscraper pulsed, spewing hot gas and strange acidic liquids. Suddenly, the concrete womb burst open, spilling acrid burning afterbirth through the streets and raining stone debris like mortar shells down upon the unsuspecting Opulencia. The giant orange and naked thing curled inside the vomitous womb stood, ripping the black caul from its amphibian face. Its clawed hands grasped at the air and its long tongue darted from a grinning mouth full of straight white teeth. Two car-sized eyes on fleshy stalks greedily took in the surroundings, looking for food. A massive orange cock swung between the things stomping legs. It screeched, testing its lungs, shattering windows all across the city.

Darth Hitler flied close to the beast and shouted at it. "I name you Jar Jar the Destroyer, my son!" Hitler screamed, "Go forth and subjugate the world for me!"

The beast howled and spoke, every word a concussive wave of force. "MESA HORNY! MESA HUNGRY! MESA EATS AND FUCKS AND KILLS! YOUSA PEOPLE GONNA DIE!" And with that, Jar Jar stomped into the thick of Opulencia, causing bone-crushing death and destruction with every step.





THEED AIRBASE





Captain Amidala sat in her office with Lieutenant Sabe, playing a few hands of poker, passing time between missions. Amidala was the youngest Captain ever in the Air Corps, so distinguished in battle that she received her own base, rattrap that it was. Theed Airbase wasn't much, but it was hers, and that's what mattered. And she didn't have to earn it on her back, like that bitch, General Mothma.

"Call," Amidala said as she slapped her cards on the table, "full house Sabe, what'cha got?"

Sabe fanned her hand on the table and smiled, "Four aces Captain. You owe me a sawbuck."

"Lousy cheat," Amidala joked, "consider yourself on KP duty for the next year or so."

"Uh-huh, oh, and bite me Captain sir." Sabe said, lighting a cigarette.

"Ooh," Amidala cooed, "insubordination too, your ass's in a sling now sweetheart."

Sabe blew smoke at her friend. "Hey," she began, "how about some combat drills or something captain? Anything to eat up some of this down time."

"Sounds good lieutenant," Amidala replied, "get the girls together and we'll dogfight a little. That should brighten their spirits." It had been a long time between missions and Air Amidala and her Furious Female Fighter Squadron was getting a little antsy for some action.

"Yes sir!" Sabe said, and practically leapt from her chair. Before she could get out of the office, the holo-phone rang. The girls looked at each other. A mission!

Amidala activated the phone and standing on her desk was the tiny holographic form of General Mothma, the aforementioned slut.

"Captain Amidala," The General began, "twenty minutes ago our satellites observed a superhuman battle taking place in Opulencia. Usually we would let something like that go because of the lack of jurisdiction in the wastelands, but one of the superhumans has created a thousand-foot tall monster that may threaten the bordering states. We cannot have this. I'm ordering your squadron in."

"Yes sir!" Amidala said, "What are the exact parameters of the mission?"

"Your primary is the monster." The General answered, "secondary targets are the superhumans involved, and thirdly," Mothma paused, "any targets of opportunity that you might encounter, if you get my meaning captain."

Amidala nodded, realizing that the General was giving her permission to drop a bomb or two on the perverted residents of Opulencia if the chance presented itself. "Understood sir!" She said.

"Very well captain, good hunting." General Mothma said as her image faded away.

Amidala turned to Sabe, "Scramble the girls! We got a job to do!"

"Yes sir!" Sabe said, and she hurried to inform the other Furious Females that they were going to get to kill something today.

Amidala lit another cigarette. A monster, two supermen, and a bunch of murderous, pedophile, drug addicts. This mission was going to get bloody. She smiled and rubbed her crotch through her pants. The blood of freaks always got her wet. She took off her clothes and slipped into her custom skin-tight leather flight suit with a built-in dildo. She pulled the suit up at the waist, sliding the rubber cock inside of her. She zipped up and checked the vibrator wrist control panel. She pushed the blue button, which was the warm up setting, and felt the humming buzz through her loins. She was tempted to hit the red button, but she stopped herself. The red one was the Fourth of July, it was fucking Christmas, and that pleasure button wouldn't be pushed until the killing started. She could hardly wait.





Superkenobi awoke, shocked to find his pants around his ankles and a mongoloid nigger sucking his cock. The hero came reflexively, the force of his superhuman ejaculation blowing the back of the mongoloids head off, coating the crowd with retarded brains. They started clapping at the show.

Superkenobi pulled his dick from the dead nigger's mouth and jumped to his feet, quickly hiking up his pants. "My goodness!" He said, looking at the crowd, "Why didn't you people stop him? I didn't mean to kill him!"

"Stop him?" Someone from the crowd yelled, "We paid that tard to slake you!" And then everyone began to laugh.

"I get the next suck," someone demanded, "I want to die by cum!"

Superkenobi shook his head sadly and flew from the convention center, back into the sky above Opulencia, appalled at the scene played out before him. A thousand-foot tall amphibious creature was stomping the city to ruin, its long red tongue snapping out and grabbing five or ten people at a time to be eaten. Darth Hitler floated along behind the blood soaked behemoth, firing energy blasts at survivors. Just then, six sleek pink combat jets screamed from the sky in formation, dropping bombs and firing missiles.







Captain Amidala activated the commlink in her X-42 Tagahashi Pretty Girl Fighter Plane, allowing her to command the other five Furious Females from her cockpit. "All right girls!" she said, "Go red and make 'em dead! Fire at will!"

All six Furious Females hit the red button on their vibrator suits and the red button arming their weapons systems at the same time. The pilots moaned in pleasure at the intense waves of electric ecstasy ripping through their convulsing snatches, hips bucking against seat belts, nipples hardening to the point of pain as they picked their targets. Missiles fired and bombs dropped from the six pink jets, speeding towards climaxes of destruction.

Darth Hitler saw the planes and narrowly dodged a missile, which passed and exploded on the back of Jar Jar's giant head. The creature roared and spun, incredibly fast, his huge lashing backhand demolishing Yane's plane instantly.

The bombs impacted, laying fiery waste to the sections of Opulencia surrounding the monster. Still screaming and flaming corpses and thick napalm rained down on the streets.

Eirtae and Rabe concentrated their fire on Jar Jar, giving the beast a new skin of fire and explosion, blowing chunks of orange flesh into the sky, splattering rancid black blood across the buildings. The creature would not fall.

Sache drew a bead on Hitler, who laughed as he avoided high caliber machine gun fire. He grabbed hold of the plane and straddled the cockpit bubble, digging in his fingers for purchase. He smiled and thrust his large cock through the plexi-glass, pissing acid on the panicked girl. Sache screamed as the caustic urine spray melted her face away, leaving a skull with empty eye sockets, her throat instinctively choking on dissolved brains. He pulled free and watched the plane spiral to the ground below and explode.

Superkenobi dodged a missile and sped through the air, tackling Hitler. The hero threw a blinding flurry of punches, a pugilistic blur, landing a hundred rights and lefts before the demon could react. Superkenobi snatched the magic pasties from the stunned Hitler's jiggling tits, crushing the red disks in his powerful hands.

Darth Hitler screamed and his new flesh began to slide from his frame in wet black globs. "No!" he screeched, trying to grab as much of his rapidly decomposing flesh as he could, "My body! My beautiful body! It's not fair! I only wanted to--"

"Nobody cares." Superkenobi said, and removed Hitler's head with one smashing roundhouse. Eirtae's jet, smacked aside by Jar Jar, slammed into the hero and exploded. He was stunned, floating in the sky as Hitler's body fell into the fires below.

Jar Jar crushed Rabe's plane in his huge clawed hands as he turned, noticing the small floating food. He moved into tongue range of Superkenobi.

Amidala blew one of the creature's giant fleshy eyestalks off with a well-placed missile, a giant eyeball tumbling to the ground, crushing onlookers.

Sabe fired too, blowing a smoking hole in the tip of Jar Jar's gigantic cock. The monster howled and his tongue darted out, wrapping around and pulling Sabe's plane to its chomping teeth.

Amidala screamed and flew her fighter straight at the monster's mouth, which was still chewing her friend, and fired everything she had left.

Superkenobi regained his senses and saw Amidala's pink jet making a death run at the creature. He rocketed toward the plane.

Despite her anger at losing her friends, Amidala's pussy contracted and seemed to suck at the vibrator built into her flight suit. All the blood and destruction was bringing up a shattering orgasm from the depths of her dripping wet perversion. She drooled down her chin and hoped the devil sported a big molten cock, because he'd be raping her forever starting in about five seconds. She punched the self-destruct bomb wired into her fuselage.

Superkenobi crashed through the cockpit bubble and tore the climaxing Amidala free of her plane. He held her moaning form in his arms as her jet flew into Jar Jar's mouth, exploding and shearing the monster's head clean off. The giant body stumbled for a few steps, greasy deathshit spewing from its dead asshole. The gargantuan corpse fell, decimating half the city with its massive weight, and burst into otherworldly flame, burning what it did not smash.

Superkenobi landed on one of the few remaining rooftops and let go of Amidala. In an orgasmic and bloodthirsty patriotic stupor, she pulled her small sidearm and fired at the hero. The bullet ricocheted off Superkenobi's indestructible skin, bouncing back and striking Captain Amidala in the left eye, killing her instantly. She fell, the vibrator still trying to stimulate her dead and pissing twat.

The young hero ran his fingers through his hair and sighed. He looked around Opulencia, now in ruin, feeling bad about it all, but not that bad. It was a horrible city anyway.

The ghosts of Abraham Lincoln and the Mongoloid Nigger appeared, smiling and giving Superkenobi the thumbs-up on a job well done. He just stared at them.







The skull of Darth Hitler sat atop a pile of flaming corpses. Laughter could be heard coming lightly from nowhere. A giant question mark filled the world.






Arco!

Arco, I doubt I can put into words how happy you made Ezelek.

Which, come to think of it, is enormously disturbing.

*explodes*

This thread involves a lot of me scrolling. I don't want to read any of this because I don't like admitting that competition exists on this board among the scary fanslash writers.

Okay, in all honesty, the stories make me want to curl up and die. So I just read the reactions of the people and try not to see any scary adjectives as I scroll.

I don't think i will ever be the same person ever again after reading through the entirety of this thread. Thanks a fucking lot ezzy and arco.

Well Gentlemen, it appears you have suceeded in your mission and D_o_a: if you think that was bad, you've just seen seen the beginning of the depravity in here. Enjoy.

No, actually, I think that's pretty much as bad as it gets.

Shh...don't tell him, we want him scared and becoming paranoid at every post. Of course we have to "help" him understand the penalties for clicking on links among other things.

It can get worse... If we trust in Arco.

Oh great Arco, show us the depth of depravity! Give us a mighty fic that makes PJFF SWFF pale in comparison! We beseech you!

Klaatu! Barradda! Nikto!

QFT.

I'm also drunk, which may have bearing on this post.

Here's an offensive one. Britney Spears Fanfiction.

(Note: This story was written when it was believed that Elizabeth Smart was dead. Perhaps it's AU)


OOPS! I DID IT AGAIN!




Moderately high, atop the tallest mountain in Appalachia, is a place that even the most ignorant, inbred, ridge-running hillbilly will not go. It is a place of great evil and suffering; Britney Spears’ secret mountain hideaway.

Britney sat on her leather couch, legs splayed, masturbating furiously to a VHS loop tape of the September 11th terrorist attack. Over and over, the airliners slammed into the World Trade Center towers from varied angles. The rare footage of flaming jumpers and raining body parts played across the wide-screen television as well. Britney moaned, working her pussy with both hands, tweaking her knobby clit and plumbing her wet depths with probing fingers.

Rocco, the pop idol’s butler and manservant, stood by with his large black bag of tricks, containing anything that Mistress Spears might require at any given time. He was dressed as a proper butler, with coat and tails, slicked back black hair, and clean white gloves. He watched impassively as his boss writhed on the leather cushion, sliding around in her own juices.

Rocco, of course, would be the one who cleaned the pussy off the couch, as he would doubtlessly be cleaning various other bodily fluids and secretions that morning. Mistress Spears never wore clothes and she refused to use a toilet. She claimed she was too famous to ever have to use a fucking toilet like some regular person. No, she just shit and pissed wherever and whenever she felt like it. And Rocco’s job was to clean it up, and clean her up too. She insisted on being waited on like a helpless child.

Rocco couldn’t count the times he’d had to wipe her ass or snatch, bathe her, shave her legs, feed her, change her tampons, or all the countless other things she wouldn’t do for herself. She wasn’t too stupid to do these things for herself, of course, she was simply insane, demanding that someone tend to her every little need. No matter though, because Rocco was paid amazingly well for his efforts, and sometimes he even enjoyed his job, as he shared his Mistresses proclivities for murder and mutilation.

As the World Trade Towers collapsed one after another on the tape, Britney gasped between short little squeaks. She was about to climax and Rocco knew what that meant. He leaned down, grasped her throat with both hands, and squeezed. Britney’s face turned red and her eyes bulged as her hips bucked and ground against her masturbating hands. Her body tensed and spasmed, and a white, milky discharge spurted from her tortured cunt, spewing between her pumping fingers. She came and came, then her body relaxed and she smiled as Rocco released her throat. She licked her thick cream from her fingers as she looked lovingly at her manservant.

“My daddy always said I was a squirter,” Britney said as she ran her hands all over her taut, smooth body. “He used to call me his little cum machine. The trailer used to rock when daddy went to work on my pussy.”

“Yes, Mistress,” Rocco answered. “You do seem to produce copious amounts.”

“You know I don’t like it when you talk smart,” she said as she pulled at her hard nipples. “Get going.”

Rocco nodded and kneeled down in front of her. He pulled two towels from his bag. He gently lifted Britney’s ass and she giggled when he slid the towel underneath her. He spread the other towel on the floor. He then produced a douche bag and a container of cleansing wipes from his bag and proceeded to gently and lovingly clean his mistress. She squirmed and laughed like a child as he went to work with the douche, rinsing her out. He stood her up and wiped her entire body down with the wet wipes, cleaning every inch.

“That should do until your bath tonight,” Rocco said. “Off you go.”

She bounded off to another part of the house as Rocco cleaned the cum and douche from the couch and the floor. He’d have to act quickly, because if he left her alone too long, Britney would break something or hurt herself on purpose, just to cause trouble.

“Rocco! Food!” Britney called from the kitchen. “I want some Elizabeth for breakfast!”

He finished cleaning the masturbatory mess and stepped lively to the kitchen. Britney sat at the kitchen table, her blond hair shining in the morning sun.

“What part do you want, Mistress?”

“The good parts,” Britney sighed. “Then throw the rest away.”

Rocco went to the walk-in cooler and brought out the body bag that contained the corpse of Elizabeth Smart. No one had connected the Britney Spears concert in Salt Lake City to the girl’s disappearance, just like the pigs never connected any kidnappings to Britney’s concert schedule. She and Rocco had had fun with the little girl, violating her in every way possible until her screams for God finally got on their nerves enough to kill the little Mormon slut. Then, of course, Britney decided that Elizabeth, or parts thereof, would make a tasty meal.

Rocco laid the body bag on the kitchen table and unzipped it, revealing the perfectly preserved corpse of the girl. Britney was breathing hard and rubbing her nipples by the time Rocco started cutting on the body. He carefully sliced off Elizabeth’s tiny breasts and plopped them in a heated wok, filled with oil and vegetables. The titties sizzled as he went to work slicing off strips and chunks of hairless pussy-meat. He tossed the pussy into the wok and the aroma of cooking meat filled the kitchen.

“Anything else, Mistress?”

“No,” she cooed as she stared at the bloody mess between the corpse’s legs. “Get rid of it. Too bad we can’t send what’s left to her whining asshole daddy.”

“That would be dangerous, wouldn’t it?” Rocco zipped up the body bag and put it back in the cooler. “I’ll put her in the incinerator tonight,” he said as he checked on the cooking food.

“I want to watch!”

“I won’t burn her without you.”

“Good,” she said happily. “After the food, we’ll go down to the basement for playtime. You do have something for me in the basement, don’t you?”

“Of course, Mistress. Since we used up little Miss Smart, I went out while you were asleep and got a new toy.” He looked at her as he made her a plate of pussy and tit stir-fry, “I think you’ll like it.”

Britney giggled with excitement as he fed her bite after bite of Elizabeth Smart’s naughty bits. She relished the taste of human flesh, especially genitalia. As he spoon-fed her, Rocco felt a bit of excitement about going to the basement. He lived for their basement adventures.

Ah, the basement of Britney Spears. If only the world knew what kind of delicious depravity went on in its dark depths. He remembered the time they had kidnapped some fat pig of a breeder, hopped up on fertility drugs, ready to give birth to six translucent wastes of space. The woman begged for her life, but to them, it was just the sounds of desperate livestock, shitting and afraid. Rocco sliced her open from tits to cunt, and Britney ripped the six fetuses from the still-screaming bitch, so the cow could see them before she died.

Rocco jerked off in the dying woman’s face, her last vision his cum in her eyes, and he laughed as Britney played with the dead babies. The pop star wanted to see how many of the bloody fetuses she could fit up her snatch and asshole. Fetus after gore-dripping fetus disappeared up Britney, and it turned out she could fit two up her ass and two up her cunt. They played with corpses for hours, leaving the basement floor slick with blood, cum, and unborn children. How they had laughed as they watched the search for the mother all over the local news.

The ashes of a multitude of men, women, children, and assorted farm animals were all mixed together in the recesses of the incinerator. Elizabeth Smart and whatever waited in the basement would soon join them.

So they duo finished breakfast and went to the basement door. Rocco unlocked it and they walked down the steps. Britney was lightly moaning in anticipation and Rocco’s cock was as hard as a rock.

Britney squealed in delight when she saw her new toy. It was a boy, probably fifteen or sixteen, suffering from Down’s syndrome. He cowered naked in the corner of the basement on a thin, bloodstained mattress, confined to the wall with a chain and thick metal collar. He was crying.

Britney went to the retard and hugged him, cradling the boy in her arms. She held his head to her breast and petted his brown hair softly. She rubbed her hard nipple against his mouth.

“It’s okay baby,” Britney whispered. “Mommy’s here. Mommy loves baby. Baby suck. Baby suck mommy’s titty.”

The retard slowly took the nipple in his mouth and began suckling it like a newborn babe. “Good baby. Mommy loves her good baby,” Britney said as her free hand slid down the chubby boy’s stomach and found his surprisingly large, but flaccid cock.

Rocco undressed as Britney laid the retard out on his back, exposing the boy’s rapidly hardening cock.

“Mommy wants to see what retard cum tastes like,” she said. “Rocco, put it in my ass while I suck off this fuckin’ tard.”

“Yes Mistress,” Rocco said as he positioned himself over Britney, who was on all fours as she slaked the down’s boy.

Rocco spit on his cock and on Britney’s upraised asshole. He slid into her easily, as her rectum had been stretched many times before, and was super loose. She grunted like an animal as he pounded her ass.

The retard looked more surprised than anything when he came, filling Britney’s mouth with his handicapped seed. She swallowed every drop.

“Eww, it’s bitter,” she complained. “Rocco, blow your load in the retard’s mouth.”

Rocco pulled free from Britney’s ass and knee-walked up to the tard, who was crying again. Britney held his mouth open as Rocco jerked his cock. The manservant grunted and shot thick, ropey spurts of cum into the retard’s mouth and onto his misshapen face.

“Swallow it, you fuck,” Britney hissed as she forced his mouth closed and held his nose. “Swallow daddy’s hot load!”

The boy choked down the sperm and cried some more. Rocco stepped back and massaged his cock, getting it ready for another round.

“Goddamn,” Britney said as she kneeled next to the bawling retard. “This motherfucker cries more than Elizabeth Smart did! Hell, when I fucked that little whore in the ass with my strap-on, I think she was getting into it, but this dumb-ass. This dumb-ass’ll never get into it. He’s too fuckin’ stupid.” She punched the boy in his balls as hard as she could. “There! That’ll give you something to cry about!”

She straddled the tard in the ‘69’ position, her ass hovering over his crying face. He grabbed his balls and squeezed them hard. When the boy screamed, Britney cut loose and shit in his face. Thick globs of chunky liquid ass-gravy belched from her contracting asshole, filling the retard’s open mouth.

She got up and walked over to Rocco. She gently played with the butler’s cock as she stood, staring at the quivering retard. The boy cried, balls crushed, face full of cum and shit. Britney drooled a glob of spit on the tip of Rocco’s cock and she slowly jerked the hot meat.

Her eyes never left the retard. “Is the chainsaw gassed up?”

“Oh yes, Mistress.”

Britney dribbled just a little piss in excitement.


Arco!

The last of my childhood has finally died screaming and writhing in horrible agony, much in the same manner of a man being kept alive on life support while being constantly set aflame with napalm, then sprayed with CO2 fire extinguishers, over and over and over while a rabid, hideously ass-ugly dog attempts to devour him groin first, until finally having his rib cage smashed in with a fifty-five pound porcelain bust of Patrick Duffy.

And it's all your fault Ezelek.