Author's Notes:-
is nursing a swollen head That's it, people. I am officially taking away all of your lemon-thwacking rights. You've all simply abused them, hitting me with lemons this way and that. I'm scared to leave the house now, for fear of an angry mob waiting outside to clobber me with more lemons. I hope you're all happy now.
Anyways, RUG and ALW, blah blah blahbiddyblah... And NO MORE CUSTARD! Have fun reading the fourth chapter, guys.
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Chapter 4: Why am I still even bothering to write this drivel; surely you don't actually care anymore, do you?
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I kept on staring up into Etcetera's eyes. There was something about them that mesmorized me. Something strange and bizarre yet so captivating that I couldn't possibly turn away. Was love this feeling? Was love what I thought of Jenny earlier? Was love what I thought of Munkustrap a week ago? Was love what I thought of Jellylorum a year ago? Was love what I thought of the Everlasting Cat 10 years ago? Was love what I thought of my mother 18 years ago? Was love what I thought of my mother's womb 18 and a quarter years ago? I don't know.
I suppose everyone has their own feelings towards what love is and how it affects others. Just the other day I accidentally caught a glimpse of Munkustrap and Demeter 'playing' through their den window (When I say 'accidentally', what I actually mean is that I had to stand on Tumble's back to look through the window. But that's beside the point). When I saw Demeter bare all in front of him, she looked so defenseless; so weak and insecure. But the sight of Munkustrap's blazing black eyes, strong male arms and long, hard, pink bracelet (which I gave him the week previous, just to be able to make that terrible innuendo) seemed to settle her heart and they were able to make feisty, beautiful love... with the two kissing each other all over.. their paws fondling and delving to touch the other in places I've never seen being touched before.. with Munkustrap bending her over and- I MEAN.. umm... yes. Well. Anyway..
Porn aside, I was currently in a rather precarious position. If I said anything wrong I could utterly ruin my chances with her. If I said something right, however, I would do to heighten them. So I said the first thing that came into my mind.
"I AM NOT A MAN-HAMMOCK!"
She cocked her head at me, and I realised for the first time that day what an absolute idiot I was being. That wasn't what I was supposed to say at all. In fact, I felt as if some bizarre outside force had forced me to do it. I felt weird, much like a piece of purple ice cream. It doesn't know why it's purple. Heck, nobody does! I mean honestly, who would eat purple ice cream? What possible flavour could a piece of flipping pur- oh. Right. Blackberry.
I took a breath or two and licked my lips. All I really wanted to do was throw her down on the bed, rip off all of her clothes (she doesn't have any but that's far from irrelevant) and lick her body all over. Her fur tastes tangy, I bet. I put five dollars on it (even though i'm on UK currency) that it does.
Anyway, I decided to change my answer.
"Go back and screw?"
It was with these words and a heavy heart that I knew that I had blown it. She blushed dramatically, much like a queen would blush had she been asked to copulate. Which she had been. Explanation True. Gratitude False. Space-filling Shameless.
Anyways, in a fit of peak she dropped me to the floor and stormed off to her own den in a right old huff... okay, okay.. it wasn't that old a huff. Can a 'huff' have an age? But still worth mentioning as it has properties of a rather eventful nature somehow intertwined in the tawdry web of perpetual darkness which circumvents the air upon which it stands. So there.
I got up. I ran over to her. I told her that I love her. As simple as that. Just 'BAM, I love you'. I make that loud sound because in my needless haste to get over to her, I might have accidentally stomped on her left hindpaw... and she probably didn't hear my beautiful words of love as she was far too busy jumping up and down whilst cursing loudly. I knew immediately that this was my chance to get in with her feelings so, with the upmost speed and sheer lack nor want for caution, I picked her up and dashed into my den. The moment we were inside, I lay her down on a cushion.
I mean, a big cushion. I mean like, really big. Freaking huge. This was like, the Zeus of all cushions. Normal cushions are like, Mercury or whatever the guy with winged shoes was called. I asked Munkustrap this same question recently and he informed me that it was Icarus. Although I think he's wrong, 'cuz I would know if it was that, 'cuz that's such a funny name. I digress. The cushion was a large freaker. As opposed to the cushion in the corner - quite small in comparison. If that were a God, it'd be the 'God of Paddling Pools'. And you'll agree that that is a useless waste of a potential God. Why don't we just do the Hula? That's much more enjoyable than talking about Gods and such. Besides, the paddling pool joke was pathetic and I don't even get it.
Knock Knock. Who's there? Woody. Woody who? Woody live in a Museum? WHAT. THE. HELL. That's not a joke... that doesn't even make sense. God damn it.
Anyways, I whipped it out and- No, wait... I didn't whip it out. Sorry. I think I got down on my knees and began nursing Etcetera's swollen hindpaw, first rubbing it softly and then beginning a massage. After seeing that she was really getting into it, I could do nothing but ebb it on by beginning to lick and clean the part which clearly hurt the most. The fact that she began murring and making little soft moans gave me the all clear to softly suckle on other parts... she was in ecstasy - And I was happy to provide it. Tangy, too. That'll be a fiver. C'moooonnnnn.
It was at this point that all time froze somewhat. I realised that I had strayed from the point. I mean, things were beginning to go my way. If I got lucky, I might even get laid. Properly. Old-skewl style... well. Maybe not 'old-skewl'. 'Cuz that's rippin' it up, dawg. The best I can muster is old-school with a hint of MC Hammer.
Stop. Pounci time. Things just don't go your way on a day like this. Even if you'd like to think that they might... they simply won't. I know this from experience - Why, who could ever forget that it was a damn Wednesday. You could smell it in the air. Wednesdays have a smell about them. A disgusting, nauseating smell that isn't just because we live in a Junkyard. Otherwise all the other days would smell like Wednesdays, and Lobster Friday would smell like Ocean-Breeze Sunday. And if I had a choice of either watching MC Hammer do his thing or the TNT Commercial Gaming Breakdown, it'd be TNT all the way, baby. That show is funny.
Knock Knock. Who's there? Gladys. Gladys who? Gladys not me who's been kidnapped.
...it hurts my brain.
GOD-DAMN I hate Wednesdays. Something bad was about to happen, and everyone reading this story knew it. They all were sat at their computers, possibly smoking (if you are, you're disgusting), possibly drunk (dirty habit also), possibly mastur- I'll quit while this story is still legal in all states of America. The first one almost got banned in the capital because it mentioned Homosexuality in a light that wasn't derogatory (You get it all in this story, you see? Comedy, music references, open-mindedness, political satire...) so I have to watch my mouth. 'Gay people can't get married' says George Bush. 'Why?' asks me. 'Because they're icky' replies the almighty Overlord and he proceeds to press a red button, ordering hundreds more civilians to a place where they shouldn't be in the first place. Interesting enough. 'They have WOMDs.' says Bush. 'Really?' asks me. 'No, but they got oil. An' I want oil.' he replies, before adding afterwards: ''cuz it's icky.' He proceeds to continue acting like a Monkey and running the country like one. I'd publish the interview online, but the FBI would be on me like a heartbeat. I don't know how a heartbeat can be 'on you' per se, but nevermind. Percy? Forget it.
Where was I?
Right. The old-school style hindpaw-licking. And suckling. And carressing. And nosing. And nuzzling. And nibbling. And gnawing. Well wouldn't you just know it, she moaned in pleasure so loud that it attracted Tugsy himself to the scene. And he was maaaaaaaaad. You shoulda seen his face: Red, like a sunrise. No, scratch that, like a sunset. No... more like a strawberry. In any case, he was angry and not afraid to show it - he grabbed me by the arm and yanked me away from her. I had to prepare myself for the shouting of a lifetime...
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Okay, guys. It's done. It's there. Finally. X3 Sorry it's half a year late... but eh. I had exams and shizz and got writer's block. You all may bow down to this story, if you will, but i'd prefer you wait until the next installment of 'Pounci's Tale'. Sayonara!