69 hues of gay chick-fil-a 2: Goin' Outback

ABOUT THE AUTHOR:

God Damn… Buster Manwomb really has really been knee deep in the FUCK and-in these uncertain times-is assuming you need to read about gay sandwiches fucking as much as they need to write it.

Best known as the most talented wordsmith on twitter that lives in a dumpster (nice try, Aaron Carter), follow them on twitter at BusterManwomb.

Chapter Sandwich: Call Me By Your Sandwich

Previously on 69 Hues of Gay Chick Fil-A:

"Wow, John Tutturo's character from The Big Lebowski," Steve the extremely gay Chick Fil-A sandwich said, holding the hand of his proportionately pansexual sandwich partner, Pablo. "Sorry for ejaculating all over you and your Chick Fil-A ten minutes before the health inspector arrived! Want help cleaning it?

"Just elope to fucking Canada, man." The Jesus said.

Pre-sent day:

It was a long and sexually charged voyage, but the gay sandwich lovers Steve and Pablo escaped the homophobic persecution of their native Chick Fil A, through the plague-ridden dystopic late-capitalist wasteland of the United States, and to the flawed but serviceable liberal wonderland of Canada: because somehow the country without a constitutional seperation of church as state is less institutionally prejudiced toward lgbt+ folk.

"Hey, Steve!" Pablo called across the remote lakeside cabin they built in the chilly, mountainous wilderness of Buttfuck Nowhere, Alberta.

"Yes, my virile gay sandwich lover?" Steve answered from across the remote lakeside cabin they built in the chilly, mountainous wilderness of Buttfuck Nowhere, Alberta, noticing Pablo was reading the newest issue of 'gay sandwich bi-weekly."

Pablo chugged a beer and threw the glass at a moose. Don't worry, the moose was an asshole. "YOU WANNA FUCKING ROLE PLAY?!"

"FUCK YEAH I WANNA ROLEPLAY!" Steve the sandwich said.

By sheer force of Gay will they teleported to a costume store and spent the bulk of a nineteen-eighties power ballad montage that would make Rocky 4 shrivel trying all the traditional gay role plays, before choosing a taco costume and a brautwurst costume, roleplaying a straight couple.

"Did somebody order a THICK Italian sausage pizza!" Pablo kicked the door open, wearing a jiggly brautwurst costume and holding a pizza box at dick height."

"Oh, I thought I ordered a massage from a thick Italian!" Steve the Sandwich exclaimed, letting the lettuce fold of his taco costume splay open. "And I left my wallet at home!"

"That's-

Oh right. Content warning. Skip five lines if you aren't comfortable with lampoons of dubious consent.

"That's okay! Imma fuck you now, regardless of your willingness." The sausage erected.

"Woah!" taco hiked the lettuce folds shut. "That ain't kosher, and that really isn't representative of straight sex!"

"It is if your reference is porn!" the sausage defended.

"Fair enough! Oh no, step-bro, please deprive me of your veiny trouser manticore!" The taco porned

But it was too late, the sausage did a heckin' descend onto the taco, supping upon his taco topping in a sexual manner that somehow looked both energetic and thoroughly unsatisfying for the taco.

That didn't stop the taco from screaming like a gondola pilot during mating season. As the sausage did a bit of that asisnine thing where they try to write the alphabet with their tongue.

"I'm gonna wrap your asshole around my thick pork loaf!" The sausage yelled.

"Straight sex!" Steve the sandwich reminded Pablo, breaking character.

"I'm going to… Glaze my cock with your taco juices!"

"Oh, my womanly bits!" the Taco blushed. "They're all glooshy!"

"PEEN YEET!" The sausage yelled, lunging forward with a sexually.

Meanwhile, at the Chick Fil-A headquarters

"This is unacceptable!" The homophobic CEO of Chick Fil-A, Jonathan Q. Chickafeela screamed, crushing a needlessly expensive cigar between his fingers as he watched the camera footage of the two gay sandwiches fucking in one of his own restaurants. "Look at these two slack-jawed [redacted]! Look at them fuck! LOOK AT THEM!"

"Sir, I don't want to." Chickafeela's secretary stated.

"But they're ruining sex for the rest of us!" Chickafeela insisted.

"They're ruining sex for you." The secretary corrected. "You'll be surprised how little other people fucking can bug you when you don't watch. You're hitman is here by the way."

"Where is he? He's fifteen minutes late!"

"He's been in front of you for half and hour sir." The secretary said, pointing to the assassin that had been standing, unnoticed in front of Chickafeela's desk the last two times he watched the entire video.

"Ah!" Chickafeela exclaimed, putting his dick away. "These… deviant sammiches are ruining straight porn for me! Find them and destroy them."

"Crikey." The bloomin' onion answered australianically. "I'll have they're heads on a platter faster than you can grill a joey on the barby!"

"…good." Chickafeela said. "We don't have any leads to their location, but we'll pay double.

"Don't werry yerself." The bloomin' onion declared. "I have mah ways."