(18+) Smooth Xscape (Complete)

Bonus 9 - Mikezilla

Author's note:

Alright. Most of you will probably think this is utter ridiculousness, which it undeniably is. It's completely crazy. BUT! Writing fanfiction about Michael Jackson often brings up his sometimes very visible partner in crime, who always is keen on catching 'good fish'. However, I've taken this one-shot a bit further since it's mostly Michael's third leg* who's causing the troubles. (*Or Mikezilla, Jacksonconda, etc. Whatever you prefer. It's his dick.) Since this is a penis we're talking about, there's mostly one thought that exists in his swollen-headed mind, and that's getting a taste of his favorite animal: Pussies. Consider yourself warned.

Now, I'm not especially proud of this little piece of work, but I had fun writing it, anyway. However, if you're not into tasteless, perverted humor, I suggest you skip this part. If you still choose to read, please note that I'm not responsible for any expenses considering falling off beds with laughter, therapy for PTSD, or public humiliation from snorting out loud at inappropriate places, which might also lead to potential accidents.

In other words:

You are totally reading this at your own risk!

Alright, there's a guy in a white coat here telling me I have to see my therapist again. Soo... Have a great day. 😉

<><><>

"It's your turn."

The sound of Gail's voice was hoarse from last night. From what I did last night. But of course Mr. Jackson stole my thunder, just like he always does.

"Sir? Your kids are up. It's my turn to sleep in."

'Your kids are up'. Hello? What about me? I'm up too, and I've been waiting for my comatose Siamese twin to wake up for at least half an hour. But does anyone care? No. They don't even bother to free me from boxer prison.

"But I was in the middle of a dream," Mr. Jackson grumbled, and I became curious. Was he thinking what I was thinking?

"I was switching your stupid Volvo to a Landover, and..."

Hmph! Obviously not. Maybe if I did my best and pumped up some muscles, he'd realize his mission? Unfortunately, I wasn't that lucky. Instead, apocalypse happened. Gail kicked Mr. Jackson out of bed so he hit his shoulder and elbow. But what was worse: I was almost decapitated when he landed on top of me, smothering me between his massive weight and a goddamn Barbie doll.

"Ugh," he groaned, and finally I got his attention. "My balls..."

Balls?! Alright, close enough, I guess.

"Daddy!" we heard from the living room, and Mr. Jackson hurried to put on whatever piece of clothing he could find, which was a white t-shirt and a pair of old, worn jeans. I couldn't care less about clothes and replied to the voice promptly.

Yes? I'm here! Get down on your knees and worship me, peasant, because I'm cumm...

"Daddy? I want breakfast."

Wait, what? Noooo! That's the wrong kind of... Absolutely not! Ugh. Just feed those darn kids and forget I ever said anything. I know when I've lost the game. I'm not happy about it, but I accept it. But do I really have to accept being squeezed into a pair of jeans? Couldn't he choose his usual slacks? Or better yet, Michaela's goldpants? Hasn't anyone heard of Free Willy?

"I'll be right there!" Mr. Jackson replied and adjusted his jeans to make me more comfortable. I appreciated that. Still, it didn't stop me from almost dying from boredom after having to endure him feeding their offspring and from watching several episodes of SpongeBob SquarePants. I mean, was a couple of mature scenes here and there really that inappropriate?