Read A Fistful of Grue
Read Science Diction
Read Wrangler vs. Deadites
Read Elm Street Blues
Read Hellraiser’s Ball
Read Camp Crystal Terror
Read Overlook Fever
Read Wrong Turn to Texas
Read Scorn of the Dead
Read Short Stay in Bates Motel
Read Wrangler vs. Predator
Read Tricks & Treats
Read Evil Residence
Read The Hill of Silent Eyes
Suggested Audio Candy:
Tito & Tarantula After Dark
Promises are promises. During my ill-fated expedition to Mars, one which I barely recall since having my memory implant removed, I made a pact and this pledge was to make the next leg of my journey one filled with busty vixens. It seemed only fair seeing as Bonus Balls were still waiting for a run-out. How a Wrangler is supposed to focus when carrying around a pair of prize-winning pumpkins is anyone’s guess but somehow I have managed the feat. There have been opportunities for coitus along the way but I have kindly turned them down. Whatever lame-brain ever concocted the term ‘every hole is a goal’ is clearly misguided as Ma Bates was in possession of one such crater and that had all but sealed up by itself. One could only imagine the feeling of sliding one’s pugil stick into her putrid puff pastry. It makes me shudder just considering.
Then there was Wendy back at the Overlook Hotel. Now, husband Jack seemed fine with the notion of her breaking bread with another man while he wasn’t in attendance but I just cried gluten-intolerance. I’d rather have taken a hand job from Lloyd the bartender than fumble around under the duvet with that rotten old trout. In hindsight, I guess my best shot would’ve been Camp Crystal Lake. How I managed to come away from my camping expedition without pitching my tent is anyone’s guess although I did manage to schmooze that Pam Voorhees lady before she turned out to be a bit of a bunny-boiler. Evidently, Bonus Balls remain untested. Tonight I shall do all within my power to change that statistic and finally break this protracted duck.
So I was running my eye over Craigslist and it jumped straight off the screen at me. The Titty Twister. Just south of the Mexican border, this strip club has gained a rather exclusive reputation over the years. It sits in the most desolate reaches of the desert and is located far enough from civilization to stay off most folks’ radars but the women there are supposed to be killer. What better place to take Bonus Balls for a little anointment? Wall-to-wall clunge and enough Tequila to sink Das Boot; it sounds like a no-brainer on paper. As a special treat I have decided to invite along my old buddy Silent Shadow; he’s practically blood and the perfect Richie to my Seth so I get onto Alan and arrange our transit post-haste.
He has been tee-total for three years as it turns out so an alcohol-fueled wench-pit isn’t the kind of joint conducive with his sobriety. Instead he has agreed to pick us up at Dawn. I’m a little excitable as I have quite the itinerary planned. After our brief jaunt at The Titty Twister we shall be off to idyllic Amity for a tour around the isle on my friend’s fishing boat, Orca. Three nights on a rickety ship surrounded only by the scent of testosterone, unwashed smalls and cheap industrial-strength lager will be the ideal foil for the night of debauchery I have planned this dusk. This pilgrimage is all about the pussy, apparently they have the widest range in South America so the only conceivable issue should be which wins out in the selection process.
Bonus Brain has perked up considerably too since we returned from Mars. The break appears to have served him well and he looks fresh as a daisy. Of course, I am fully aware that I owe him some small debt of gratitude for getting us off the red planet in tact and I’m sure he will pipe up when the time is right and cash in his chips. Whatever; bygones are bygones as far as I’m concerned. I do have one more vague recollection from my time there and that was at a different bar, The Last Resort I believe was its name. Memory can be a fickle thing at best, my short-term stock is appalling whereas the old hippocampus is heaving with useless tidbits from my childhood, cataloged A-Z. When you are presented with a pair of breasts complete with plus one, that’s the kind of shit that stays with you like herpes. I’ll take that shit to the urn.
That is going to be a hard act to follow but the harder the act the more convincing the performance as far as I’m concerned. Bring it Titty Twister, order all strumpet straight to our table and fling me a few thousand fleshy pittas while you’re at it. I’m game; ready to wade through some pantie hose and sniff a few gussets en route. I’m even wearing Old Spice, a vintage and somewhat heady brew which has remained corked until now for the purposes of awaiting that special occasion. That time is now; I’ve polished my brogues, straightened my girdle and taken a whole clutch of Viagra so it plans to be an all-nighter. I hope the women here are screened beforehand; nobody wants to walk back through customs scratching. I hear that chlamydia is adept at remaining undetected so I’ve given Bonus Balls the lowdown, just to keep him vigilant against any sneak attacks.
There’s always the good old prophylactic. Not for me there isn’t; the concept of wearing a rubber sheath over my Johnson as I prod the furnace is simply unfathomable. Here, slap this on your winkle, it should help with the chafing. There’s only one hitch and that is the lack of all feeling during coitus. Turn sex into a videogame with one crude sheet of tarpaulin. Pfft. No, we’ll take our chances, me and the boys. We know our prime ribs from our buckets of wings. The key is not to consume too much paint-thinner; if one should become inebriated then judgement is impaired. We’ve all seen it happen; that shit is how you end up with an alien for a stepmother.
We’ve landed now and spirits are soaring. Shadow hit it off with Al as I knew full well he would, that dude hits it off with anyone. His presence has also lifted Bonus Balls and Brain, and he spent the entire journey relaying them old stories from back in the day when our brotherhood was still in its infancy. Everyone’s jovial and the club appears to be heaving. Looks like we picked a good dusk to visit. We bundle out of Alan’s chopper, wave him off as is customary, and make our way to the front of the queue. “All right, pussy, pussy, pussy! Come on in pussy lovers! Here at The Titty Twister we’re slashing pussy in half! Give us an offer on our vast selection of pussy, this is a pussy blow out!” That’s Chet the head doorman. I have been told to inquire about the vast selection of pussy on his platter.
“Dear boy. Hello, we’re from out-of-town and looking for a spot of pussy. Is it true that we may find some here?” It’s no good heaping all your stat points on strength, you’ve got to boost up your speechcraft from time to time. “All right well let’s see shall we. We got white pussy, black pussy, Spanish pussy, yellow pussy, hot pussy, cold pussy, wet pussy, smelly pussy, hairy pussy, bloody pussy, snappin’ pussy, silk pussy, velvet pussy, Naugahyde pussy, not forgetting horse pussy, dog pussy and chicken pussy! Oh and night vision pussy, always forget that one. If we don’t got it, you don’t want it!” Now that’s an impressive roster admittedly. I am tempted to ask why no Albatross pussy but I don’t want to ruffle his feathers. “Okay can I get two Spanish pussies, a velvet and a side order of chicken for Shadow please my good man?” Seems I have to order at the bar.
What a great choice of haunt this turned out to be. The music is played live which helps the authenticity shine and the bambinos are indeed to die for. We’re currently awaiting the main attraction, Santanico Pandemonium. According to the bar guy, who looks suspiciously like Danny Trejo I might add, it is her performance which takes the roof off the rafters. I’m thoroughly siked for this; not since Flashdance have I felt so invigorated. I’m gonna put my hat on and make it happen. The tequila is in full flow and voices are about to slur but I’m pacing myself as I know now how a situation can turn bad on a sixpence and someone has to play responsible adult.
Here she comes and sheesh Trejo wasn’t shitting me about this banquet for the orbs. I don’t think there’s a dick in the thick which isn’t rock hard right now, even the guy with the alloy penis has managed to arm his cannon. She’s carrying a serpent on her shoulders which, I must admit, is threatening the blood flow some. I’m not a fan you see; they may well make good pets but they make my poop poke. I know at some point I will have to face my fears and rest assured I have just the idea in mind for that expedition. If anything it is Shadow who seems to have attracted her undivided attention anyhoots. While I’ve been pondering my dislike of all that is slithery, that sly goose has been playing peeper Pong with the hottest piece of pussy this side of Pasadena.
He has my blessing. It isn’t as though there isn’t other pussy here and, according to Chet, they have all kinds so maybe a little spicy variety is in order. Mine was the velvet by the way although now I have my sights set on a spot of bloody pussy. Ovulation is nothing to fear and the height of the cycle should you wish to peddle. Besides, I know when I’m the third bollock, those two seem utterly transfixed by one another and I wouldn’t dream of blocking cocks. Shadow gives me the old wink. “Dude. I’m so in here”. It’s fabulous to see him so contented; I’m just happy that he is happy, that’s the kind of shit we picked up in training.
He’s not happy; at least not since Santanico ripped his throat blanket out with her protracted incisors. I’m covered in my dear friend’s splash sauce and it breaks my heart clean in two. “Dude?” is his final word and he reaches out like Oliver for seconds he sadly will not be receiving. The look in his teary eyes says everything, “How could you let this happen to me dude?” He hands me his trademark Stetson Zedmore and slumps in his seat and I know in a second things will never be the same. To be fair he’d already dodged a bullet as he stabbed his own hand whilst reenacting Aliens with Bonus Brain and missed a crucial artery by a gnat’s pube. At least he went out with a tweak in his nutbag.
I will mourn you more later Shadow I promise but right now I must set my emotion to one side as there are pressing concerns which warrant my undivided. I know all about vampires; I’ve seen all the classics like Transylvania 6-5000 & Teen Vamp, there’s no pulling the sheep over my shades. “I need that garlic baguette Arriba to go please.” Trejo nods. He’s definitely Trejo, I’ll be sure to ask him on the way out. There are a few deadbeats sharing occupancy and they seem like an affable bunch, old metal knob is a real sex machine and there’s a hench black dude too ironically named Frost, although his smile is kinda unnerving if truth be known. Nobody mentioned Frost pussy.
Then there’s the religious nut and his brood. Kate is actually kind of cute, the kind of blooming lily who could make a man go all Max Cady. I shall need to see her license and registration as I’m no Woodsman. She keeps giving me that look; you know the one, “I’ve been a bad girl and I’ve soiled in ma panties.” As per usual, time has become a factor as the vampish patrons are almost through the barricade. Where’s Edward Cullen for fuck sake? Damn you for taking my guard down with your melancholic misty eyes. You lot are all freaks of nature; ones of the bite first, ask questions later after siphoning sufficient life soda from our crazy straws variety.
The numbers have whittled down considerably. It turns out that Frost’s winning smile was more of a grimace and now it’s just me, Kate and Trejo who is hiding out beneath the bar with his machete. Even old Chrome balls has bit the bullet and I really liked that guy, reminded me a lot of someone too. We’re going to make it out of here, I can hear the chopper outside and Alan will shed some light in a moment I’m sure. It’s now or never, if I don’t ask now then I’ll never know. Kate looks up at me with her puppy dog blinkers and parts her lips in anticipation. “Bartender? I have got to ask, are you…are you Danny Trejo.” He gives me a knowing smile and responds in kind. “Nah, I just look like Danny Trejo man.” Whatever Trejo, you know the truth and so do I, that’s all that matters.
The bullet holes punctuating the walls are causing no end of sunburn; they all came with wank tissues but not one of them actually thought to pack Amber Solaire. As they writhe around in sheer torment and burn to a cinder before my eyes, I spot Shadow in vampiric form, striding towards me. “Dude. It’s alright. Santanico and I are a hot item now. I’ll just hang here for a while, it’ll be okay. Love you man.” I wipe a solitary tear of crimson from my rosy cheek. “I’ll go one better. I’ll get Alan to swing by and pick you up on the way through to Amity. Let’s go sailing brother, let’s sing some shanties and fart until the room clouds.” A single smile is all the response it takes and I exit with Kate dangling from my tendril and Trejo signing Alan’s autograph book to my left.
Bonus Balls never did get his grand unveiling but I’m sure he’s getting used to the crushing disappointment by this point. Nevertheless, there is still another question burning. “Kate. I have to ask. How old are you?” She slides her cherry lips up my tattooed shoulder-blade and whispers in my lobe “Seventeen.” Great, she may as well have said twelve. Game’s off I’m afraid. “But I’ll be eighteen tomorrow.” That’s decided then, rest up, recharge and return. I climb into the chopper and take one final look over Shadow’s new lodging. It’s been a ball for sure but wall-to-wall pussy sure can take it out of you. Looking forward to a nice relaxing all-alpha ocean float.
Truly, Really, Clearly, Sincerely,
Keeper of the Crimson Quill
Copyright: Crimson Quill: Savage Vault Enterprises 2014