The Salty Secret
Uncle Joey's penise was shaped like a corncob. It was a genetic deformity, something that all Gladstone men were born with. Tiny hard nodules of skin and fat wrapped around Joey's shaft like a rope of flesh colored pearls and in between each node were crust pockets where years worth of seminal juices had yellowed and firmed. "I'll never pass on my seed," Joey divulged to Mr. Woodchuck. "It can't be that bad," said Mr. Woodchuck. "My only girlfriend broke up with me because she could never rid her tongue of the thick bitter film that coated her tongue each time she mouth fucked my cob…" Joey sighed in reply. A white cream chronically grew along her gum line ever since she wrapped her lips around Joey's dick—Joey's deformity left his genitals vulnerable to vicious yeast infections. "It's a curse," he wept, clutching Mr. Woodchuck to his stomach.
Mr. Woodchuck's unzipped Joey's pants to see Joey's deformed member. It had even blackened and shriveled in parts like Indian corn. "What a sad sight, Ranger Joe" said Mr. Woodchuck. "Fuck you, you slime" Joey screamed, taking Mr. Woodchuck's ear between his teeth, ripping a brown, felt chunk from Mr. Woodchuck's scalp and swallowing the morsel down his gullet. "Nourish me," Joey hissed. Mr. Woodchuck wrinkled his lips. His dark fur grew pale and sweaty. Mr. Woodchuck would never be able to entertain children again. "Children hate deformities," Mr. Woodchuck sniffed. "You've ruined me."
Joey swung his arm and did his world-renowned Popeye impression to woo the little sickling. I know what to do, he thought. Joey reached into a nearby toy box and removed a journal. He mused at the cover picture: a mock-Andy Warhol, Marilyn Monroe pop-art piece featuring a pioneer dog in a covered wagon. He opened the journal and flipped through the pages. It was a sticker book containing every sticker anyone would ever want—there were stickers of glittering hotdogs, obese puppies wearing sunglasses and sombreros, playful kittens drinking from garden hoses, hologram Michael Jacksons that transformed into werewolves, even a sticker Michelle made with tape and crayons depicting the time Stephanie drove Joey's hot, red sports car into the kitchen. "Oh, that Stephanie," Joey cheeped, "What a rapscallion." After flipping through the journal he stopped quickly, finding the perfect page. "Alright, CUT IT OUT," he shouted, sparkling his eyes. He peeled a sticker from the page and fondled his gnarled dick. "CHECK IT OUT," he said to Mr. Woodchuck, as he wrapped the sticker around the tip of his cob penis. "A little gem for my little giant," he said. And on the tip sparkled a silver unicorn jumping over a shimmering rainbow, much to Mr. Woodchuck's delight. Mr. Woodchuck realized that he wasn't going to have to give up entertaining kids; he could hide the horror of his deformed scalp. "Got anymore stickers Ranger Joe?" asked Mr. Woodchuck.
"Oh, I see what you're up to Mr. Woodchuck. Don't worry I got just the one. Let hope that ear doesn't begin to smell, I know this unicorn sticker can't cover up my stink," Joey said motioning to his cob dick. Joey lifted a green-haired, clown sticker from the journal. "We'll cover the hole with this clown essence so you can finally come up with some good jokes on the show, a-wow-wow! Just kidding friend." Just then Uncle Jess walked into the room. He looked first at Mr. Woodchuck's mangled scalp and then at Joey's hideous, demon penis. "Have mercy," Jesse shouted curling his lips. Jesse removed two steak knives from his thick pelt of silky, black hair. "Don't mess with the hair," Jesse winked, throwing the knives in the hearts of both Mr. Woodchuck and Joey. Joey fell to the floor, hacking up the blood that was pooling in the back of his throat. Mr. Woodchuck laid his paw on the clown sticker in Joey's hand. In his last thoughts he marveled at how beautiful the little smiling, green-haired clown was and was tormented with the thought that he would never be able to wear that beautiful sticker. Jesse blew a kiss to each of the dying uglies. "Those stickers look like shit and so do you," and with the swing of his limber hips, Jesse turned away, whispering "Adieu."