AN: This was written as a joke for somebody on tumblr that started as "seductive" messages I was sending, then figured I might as well turn them into a story and post it here.
Pickles was alone in Mordhaus for a day, and spending his time sitting on a couch while comparing the size of his drumstick to the size of his bald headed yogurt slinger. Actually, his baloney pony would feel quite nice inside a nice tub of yogurt right now. Yoplait was always a good substitute for lube, but Greek yogurt fit the contours of his body quite nicely.
However, Pickles was not truly alone. Unknown to him, Fatty Ding Dong was slowly making his way towards the redheaded drummer. He walked slowly and sensually, his man boobs swaying slightly with each step. He wore nothing but a leopard print speedo and the scarf of the Sassy Gay Friend that everybody needs. His fat, hardened nipples poked playfully through the silky fabric and left over crumbs from lunch rubbed against them.
Once he was close enough, Fatty reached out and began to caress Pickle's hair with one of his fat, sweaty palms. Pickles was shocked to be caught off guard by the seductive fat child, and didn't realize that his exposed tallywhacker was only growing in size. Fatty continued rubbing his chubby hands through the drummer's luscious, red dreadlocks and let out several loud pig squealing noises, but all Pickle's heard was "Hey der, babay. I'm Mormon". It was then though that Pickles let out a horrified shriek at the realization that it wasn't his beloved Fatty Ding Dong in front of him, it was Mitt Romney.
Pickles leapt off the couch and ran as far as he could to escape from the horny republican. He turned around to see if he was being followed by the presidential candidate when he ran straight into a wall, his meat popsicle hitting it head on and almost crawling completely back into his body. The last thing he heard before passing out was "There are 47 percent of the people that will vote for the president no matter what. My job is not the worry about those people or the well- being of your tight Irish anus. Now then, let's see if the carpets match the drapes."
Pickles awoke to the sound of heavy breathing and exasperated pig squeals. His eyes shot open and he looked around frantically, worried that Mitt Romney was still there, but was instead met with the sweaty, foul smelling face of the real Fatty Ding Dong who was wearing a Ronald Reagan shirt. Leave it to his precious, fat lump of shit to know just how to comfort him.
He was just starting to relax when he began to feel the aching feeling of his skin flute beginning to pulsate. He looked over to Fatty and reached out a hand to rub against his sticky, grease covered face that was still coated with crumbs as always. He then brought his fingers back to his mouth and began to suck on them, they tasted just like kielbasa and sour kraut. Pickles certainly knew another piece of thick sausage like meat that could be Fatty's.
Fatty had just reached his hand under the blanket and towards Pickle's tube steak when Charles came into the room and snatched up Fatty by the collar of his Regan shirt and dragged him out of the room. Pickles tried to yell at Charles to leave them be and asking why he would do this, but his attempts were drowned out by Fatty's pig squeals.
Pickles sighed and sunk back down defeated. His doinker still stood proud, and he figured he may as well put it to work. He looked around for anything that he could use, and to his delight he spotted a tub of Greek yogurt. Maybe today wouldn't be so bad after all.
AN: I actually have a part two to this... it will be posted tomorrow.