The Bad Boys' Soft Boys' Lonely Hearts Club - The Full Package

The Eternal Recurrence Of Random Sharts

I came to, as most people come, at the most inappropriate time.

From what little I can feel, it seems I'm on the back of a very tight trunk of a car. The rumbling, the slight carbon monoxide poisoning, and the clanging Lucky for me, my condom mascot suit offers me protection from getting smacked around like a ragdoll. If only it could offer me protection from my splitting headache. At least I think it's a splitting headache and not an actual split in my head. I can't fit another metal plate up there without becoming a bad boy Robocop. You would be surprised how many bonk to the head a bad boy gets on a daily basis.

Well, you can look at Haiden to see what the bad boy life does to a man who doesn't use enough gel on their head to bounce a bullet off in a pinch. There's your answer to why my hair is so soft. Theming.

Well, might as well settle down. As you know, this is not the first time I've been bagged and kidnapped. Hell, it's not even the first time it happened in this book. All we have to do is remember what I told you to do, and you will be fine. Maybe. Fingers crossed! Honestly, all this moving around is making my belly churn like butter. What the hell did that lunch lady put in my meatloaf?

For now, I jam to the muffled Insane Clown Posse songs Leila-Sue seems to be blasting at full volume. I want to believe she's doing it to spite me, but her being a Juggalo makes sense, as weird as it sounds. Would explain how she could use a pipe like a pro. Would also explain why she's as dumb as a brick.

The car finally stops to a crawl duing a particularly stupid song when the Posse is pondering the use and application of magnets. This is it, time to put my experience to test.

The trunk opens up, showing three burly dudes and a dipshit Juggalette staring down at me like a boy who just dropped his pokemon cards on the cafeteria floor and is crying because some goth bitchette heel-stomped my variant Charizard Ex with his Newport-smoking looking boots. It takes them no effort to jank me out of the trunk and cargo-carry me like a fresh sack of potatoes, the creamy kind. It feels bad, if slightly arousing, which reminds me...

I stare at them in the eyes — a stupid endeaveor since 1) I'm wearing dark glasses and b. Said glasses are inside a huge condom mascot suit, not to mention III. I suck at enumeration — and say in my most gentle voice, as if talking to a baby deer, that their manhandling is giving me an erection.

To the surprise of no-one, it works! Too well, I think, because next thing I know, I'm on the ground. "Hey, don't drop the precious load!"

"Ew," says Leila-Sue. "Well, here's my part of the deal: a dumbass mascot. I want what is owed to me."

I try to stand up, because it's more than five seconds and no girl would wanna marry a trash like me, but one of the beef fridges puts a foot on my carotid. Again. Now I'm getting a real erection.

"Really, I'm gonna fucking pre if you don't let me go," I say in hoarse, husky voice, like a purring kitten owned by James Earl Jones. "Seriously, you don't want me to make a fucking oister in here."

A bit of carotid pressure makes me pipe up in a second. And here comes the boner.

"Zip it, Magnum dork," says the beefcake. "And you, the cap has granted you access to the place you seek. You might explore at your leisure."

"Bitching," she says with a smile, I think. I can't see her, but I feel big thot energy emanate from her. What I can see is her leg approaching my giblets and turns my calabrese into a blood sausage with one felt punt. Why is my boner even harder? "Whoop whoop, bitch. See you never!"

The shuffling of her Ugg boots tells me she is leaving the... hmm, where am I? A park? I feel grass underneath me. Maybe a dog park. Heist artists are dumb so I wouldn't put it past them.