69 hues of Gay Chick Fil A

About the Author: Best known by pedestrians within earshot of the Winnipeg Dennys for narrating their fanfictions as they write them and laughing hysterically like Tom Green in the first minute of Freddy Got Fingered, Buster Manwomb is frequently confused for some douchebag named "Get Out of my Fucking Dumpster, I'm Calling the Police".

Question your sanity and your sexuality by following them on Twitter at BusterManwomb

Chapter sandwich: Brokeback Sandwich

"Oh yes! Shred my beef lotus, Thicc Daddy!" The curly fries mewled as Steve the Chick Fil A sandwich stuffed his admirably proportioned schlubstantial inside her greasy potato vagina.

Steve's penis was Jonathan Joestar, and his sexual thrusts were not merely thrusts, but sexually potent poses, mathematically calculated to hit all the shrieky bits that make the vagina all gooshy.

It was this gooshiness that made the curly fries shriek, not unlike that gossipy bitch in The Simpsons whenever compromised policemen try to put the ol' Wiggum Charm on her.

"Euueeuugh, papi!" The curly fried belched sexually, drooling like an engineer hear the word 'modular'. "I'm so close! Do the thing!"

Steve the Sandwich's heart just wasn't in it. Not that the encounter wasn't consensual, but in spite of the moist, plentiful splooshiness of the vagina presently wrapped around his little trouser Joestar, his libido felt about as dry as Bill Murray's wit.

"You gonna cum, baby? I'm so close!" The curly fries frolloped.

"Nyeh." Steve the Sandwich's shrugged in twixt of the thrusts. Joestar posed valiantly, nowhere near reaching the toothpaste boom.

That is, until Steve the Sandwich laid eyes upon...

Him.

The spicy chicken sandwich.

Imagine if the Sexiest organism your filthy imagination could stand to conjure was a chicken sandwich. If the sexiest organism your filthy imagination could conjure is a chicken sandwich, imagine if that chicken sandwich was a porn star. Now imagine that porn star was a chicken sandwich.

I don't care if its redundant, I don't make the rules.

Anyway, his juicy, cajun-breaded meat glistened in the piercing glow of the restaurant's cheap fluorescent light. His buns were toasted and shapely.

Steve the Sandwich's trouser Joestar throbbed, making the curly fries do the anime crossy eyes thing (I'd pronounce it, but last time I tried I coughed up a hairball). As he watched the spicy chicken sandwich move with a fierce sensuality, moving in slow motion like the scene where you first see the sexy antagonistic ex in an early 2000s rom com.

Trouser Joestar felt a rush. Blood made him swell like a feminist hearing that Harvey Weinstein somehow caught the coronavirus in jail. He gained such majestic veins, even for a Jojo's character. Power flowed unto him as he was ready for one of his moves.

"I WILL PROTECT MY FATHERbleurgh!" Jonathan Joestar attacked, a milky protein roux of frothy, latte-like baby seeds.

"Oh fuck" Curly fries ejaculated, cumming before before cast aside by the viscerally lust-struck Steve the Sandwich.

Steve and the Spicy Chicken Sandwich's gazes met from across the tray. They started dancing and snapping theur fingers like... theyre like, fucking, like the love interests in West Side Story or something.

It was then that Steve the Sandwich decided.

He wanted his juicy pickle between those hot buns.

And then Jesus stepped in.

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