BigJimsWornOutTires
Kraken
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You suck at eating ass ... you suck at eating ass ... you suck at eating ass ...
She's back. I'm certain she's following me. She was outside the bar late Friday night, then outside Larry's shithole across the street yesterday morning, and it's the fourth time she's come into my bar this week.
"Inaudible, inaudible," snaps Moco. I nod at him suspiciously.
I realize I've missed her glass with an ice cube falling on the bartop.
Chisel mizzles. Dropping the sanitized dishrag on the floor, I grab the cube, but it slips from my fingertips, and while I do, I look at this stranger who's become a regular sight. Whenever I've caught her on the street, it's been a creepy glance. She'll grin. I'll cringe. Now, safely separated by a counter and a few drunks talking to themselves, I take my time. She's in her late forties, perhaps fifties, maybe even thirties. Ugh, she could be a Benjamin Button twenty-year-old. Forward growth. Or is it backward? Ugh. Benny was born a geriatric that grew into cum. Fucking Hollywood. Brunette hair, wavy with close-up gray strands, and thick ruby red lipstick make me think of Jennifer Lawrence. I imagine she's on her knees gagging on an exploding dick. Then calmly wiped the remanents of the load and salvia from her lips and chin, but I stopped her, insisting on taking a picture of that regretful scene with her unsecured phone.
She stares at my crotch, scanning it like a buffet bar, perhaps pondering how she'll wrap her lips around it. Moco served her six Crown Royals this evening, and it's only 7'O'clock.
There's something off about her. She's so ... still. She's always alone, unlike most of my patrons except the typical hermit drunks. Now that I think about it, all my customers come in alone. It's a shithole dive. I'm pretty proud of this place. It sends shivers down the normie's spines that barhop and explores the joint, accidentally misreading it for a cool bar. Like last night a few fellers stumbled in, and one screamed, "This place smells like ass!"
Then his buddy joined. "Smells like if you were to open a giant turd and spread it out like tablecloth then smooth it flat with a rolling pin ... that's this bar!"
"Wow, Tommy. That's a lot of detail there." His friend said in a delicate, cautious manner.
"I know. I got problems, buddy."
He patted his friend's back reassuringly, "Don't worry about it. Let's go back to your place and get your wife drunk again!" He didn't seem too please about his buddy's roofied cuckolds.
They left not before one hollering, "Rename this place to Kill Your Self!"
Ugh. What do you think KYS means, Eugene? I said to myself. KYS is the name of the joint.
She peeks up, and our eyes meet. I pivot away and bend down to retrieve the rag so I can finish towel drying the glassware.
"Inaudible," calls Moco briskly, "inaudible." It only takes a couple of minutes to finish the glasses, but Moco sighs as though I've gone out of my way to be exceptionally slow. Although I have no idea what he's saying. I don't speak subhuman rubbish. But I nod to him when he speaks. You know, being friendly.
I glance up, and she immediately resumes staring at me. Maybe I'm being paranoid ... but what if I'm not? Right? Think about it.
Before Moco can stop me, I slip into the back, through the fabric flaps that act as a door, and take a piss in our paint bucket toilet we have for convenience. I look at the ice maker to its side, wondering why that door is open.
I noticed a turd bobbing inside that dark yellow liquid and screamed to Moco, "I told you to shit in the women's bathroom, not here!" But he didn't respond. Ugh. Those fucking Mexicans. But they work for minimum wage and no tips. It's a steal for businessmen like me. And having his immigration status over his head, well, that's a blessing too. Although if he ever learns two dollars an hour isn't minimum wage, snapper crappers. I'll have to turn him in and find another Moco.
When I first met him was during a promotion I was running. I heard if you offer something free, customers will come inside. It was a risky investment, but ugh, why not? So I offered free coffee and posted the chalkboard on the door. I see my coffee as a fresh quality brew, just like Starbucks. So I indicate that on the board. FREE COFFEE AS GOOD AS STARBUCKS IF NOT BETTER UGH. And knowing not everyone can read, and being an artist myself, I drew the Starbuck symbol. It sold itself.
A Spanish manlet comes strolling inside smiling. He wore a flannel long sleeve shirt, worn-out blue jeans, cowboy boots to his knees, and a MAGA cap. He continues smiling, then says, "inaudible." Ugh. I didn't understand inaudible, so I asked him his name. He replied, "Moco," while pointing to the door window. I assumed he was telling me he was Moco that came through that door. He seemed like a friendly feller. And knowing I was short an employee, pun, I asked him if he was looking for work. He replied again, "Moco." Ugh. A strange little feller. So I gesture for him to follow me, and he does. I got to the corner of the bar where the popcorn machine was, grabbed a broom that rested against it, and handed it to him. I reach into my pocket.
"I believe in giving my employees a sign-up bonus as my way of saying thank you," I said while unfolding a wad of cash. Moco beamed a wider smile. I then peeled a crispy five-dollar bill and handed it to him, saying, "There's more of this if you accept this job." He seized it and nodded rapidly. Ugh. A very humble little man. So I pantomimed, sweeping the floor with an invisible broom, and he bobbed again and began doing just that. Boom. I got myself an employee.
Shaking the pee-pee remnants from my big penis, I hear a familiar sound. "Oh, fuck. That vortex." I quickly turn, and yup. A whirlpool. I see the Timeless Lady hovering at its center in the distance. I signal to her, but she turns away in a bitchy fashion. "Ugh, whatever." Molly, the Jolly Squirting Cougar, emerges—in her damn underwear, topless. Shaking my head. At least she's got style as I notice the silky red fabric.
Part 1
https://looksmax.org/threads/molly.426982/
Part 2 & 3
https://looksmax.org/threads/molly-part-2-the-paradox-train.428469/
Part 4
https://looksmax.org/threads/molly-the-jolly-squirting-cougar-part-4-bob.431995/
"What the fuck, Jim? Do you realize what you've done?" Molly blew her rag as usual.
"Um, you got something there," I said while gesturing something on my chin that was on hers — a thick white creamy glob.
Wiping her chin, she appreciates, "oh, thanks."
"Anyway, no idea what cha talking about. What did I do this time?" I asked her sand dollar areolas.
"Well, for one, she's pissed off," she directs my attention to the hovering naked Timeless Lady. "And for two, DOT's returned."
"Since we're numbering our conversation, for one, she abandoned me in this shithole year, 2026. And for two, I know. She told me everything," glancing at the Timeless Lady inside the vortex now facing us, but I couldn't see her face clearly. She was too far away. Hmm. Sounds like a song. Note to self: She's too far away as I am. Am. Am too deep inside ... inside ... hay? Ugh. Work in progress.
"No, Jim. Parallel universes? Hello? She's here in this universe!" Then, overdramatically, she spoke while scratching her crotch.
"That woman back there revoked my access to the vortex. I've tried hitting myself in the head; all that happens is a headache and medication suggestions from strangers. So I can't help even if I wanted to!"
"Ya! Duh! Look what you did to her ... first, you withheld her true identity, probably because your dick wanted to slam a princess, and then you do the unspeakable!"
Ugh. I tried to tell the Timeless Lady in 2021 at my compound in Antarctica, but she didn't remember who she was. I told her a TLDR story about my brother, hoping it would ignite a memory, but it failed to spark that amnesia. Then I tried opening a vortex, and that failed. She thought I was crazy — watching a grown man hit himself in the head like a special kid. I then assumed we hadn't created the vortex yet. She then embraced me with a sympathy hug. We kissed momentarily, and that passion opened the vortex as my fingers massaged her vagina under her dress. I watched the surroundings whirl, but her eyes stayed closed. She was probably cherishing that kiss, ugh. The twirling lights came to a still as we heard loud banging noises. We looked around, and the scene was like a vintage furniture catalog. Everything was adorned and woody- Molly interrupts.
"What are you doing?"
"Telling the story in my head to the readers to bring them up to date. Duh." I explain to the confused fuckhole apparatus.
"Oh. Okay. Carry on." Molly insisted as she sat on a keg of beer.
There was a Goodwill store odor and a faint smell of shit- she interrupts again.
"You know I can hear you, right?"
"Yeah. And?" Bewildered by her disruptions to my storytelling, she began bugging me.
"Nevermind. Continue." Molly said, then folded her arms and sighed.
Ugh. The banging got louder. I saw it was coming from a solid oak door. It opens, and knights come pouring in. They addressed her as Princess and how they should kill me as two shoved the tip of their flat metal dicks into my neck. She wasn't sure about anything but insisted they stop bullying me. I noticed a familiar gaze while she examined the entire scene.
Later that evening, we're getting intoxicated on rich sweet bugpiss with the king and his whore wife, ugh, that's another story, and their heiress and I snuck away to spend private time together and searched the castle for that room we manifested inside. There were two stalkers following us around. Eventually, looking ahead of that creepy bricky corridor exhibiting several doors, she asked, "Oh my gad! I am soooo stoopid. Which room is mine?"
"Princess, are you feeling okay?" The bald old Moby questioned her. Then, she quickly locked her arm around mine.
"Yes? I'm," hesitation began slapping her thoughts like a pimp manhandling his hoe, "tired?" Ugh. She seems fond of ending statements with question marks. Baldy walked ahead of us and stopped at a door.
"This would be your room, milady." He gracefully stated, bowing his head like a gimp.
Quickly pulling me, she led me into that room as I passed him, saying, "Princess is about to get annihilated, my nigga." I winked.
"Annihilated? Wha-what does that even mean? My nigga?" He pondered out loud with an agitated expression to the younger lad with a bowl haircut as I slammed the door in their faces.
We shared another moment I was skeptical about, knowing that first smooch sent us here. But when we kissed again, the only things that disappeared, well, came off were our clothes that led to heavy body odor sex. Ugh. Princess nailed the reverse cowgirl like a porn star as I covered my nose. It seems bathing wasn't a priority in Victorian times. I didn't want to spoil those moments. So I continued withholding her Timeless Lady identity.
Weeks later, Princess is having early morning sickness. Ugh. Heebie-jeebies, I felt. I thought she'd caught Covid-2000 from the maelstrom. And remembering back to 2020, how the world responded after China attacked America with a common cold bug, I thought quickly and looked around. I noticed a midget bed decorated with ribbons, a new addition to the room. Perhaps she wants to get kinky involving the jester, ugh, I didn't have time to entertain her weirdness. I saw a stack of small garments on that bed and peeled one off.
"What are you doing now?" Princess asked as I wrapped the cloth around her mouth.
"Trust me, I know what I'm doing." She mumbled inaudibly. I demanded, "You need to quarantine yourself for four to six weeks inside this room."
She pulled the fabric down and exclaimed, "This is a diaper, Jim!"
"Yeah, sounds about right. Trust me, this is for your own good and the protection of the community. I'll let your stalkers know to ensure you don't leave this room." I pulled the cloth up over her mouth and kissed my fingers, then pressed them against her forehead as she rolled her eyes. I rushed out of the chamber like a naive fan escaping Batman's rape room and closed the door behind me. I told her stalkers, "Princess has gotten ill from the black plague-like common cold virus. She can not leave that room for four to six weeks. Please advise everyone in this castle to keep a distance of five to ten feet from one another and facemask themselves with tiny clothes. Or diapers. I'm leaving this kingdom and going to do what I do. Autistically lurk places I shouldn't."
A day later, I'm doing exactly what I told them, lurk places I shouldn't — the woods. I hear a scamper of walloping and horse neighs. I look behind, and its knights and a carriage in their medium hurry toward me. They halted around, and a door opened. It's the Queen. Ugh.
"Big Jim's Sale of the House of Worn Out Tires, why have you abandoned my daughter?" She asked in a panache royal tradition.
"She's sick," I replied while gazing at a horse's dick, wondering, is he mogging me?
"Indeed. We all get sick when we're carrying babies in our womb."
Baby?
Ugh.
Fuckmuffins.
"Oh...well...yeah, tha-that's something else there," I said, lost for words. I had no idea those vortex people could get pregnant. To be honest, I always thought she and Molly was a figment of my imagination from all those years of parallel universe time traveling. I felt the fabric of time messed my head up, so I see things that aren't real. Like naked floating women and topless MILFs scratching their privates during serious conversations. Ugh. Right?
"Come! Come! Let's return to the kingdom and anoint you, Sir Knight Sale." She said, inviting me inside. And it was hot and smelly. It felt like a sauna at a gym.
"Damn. How you people do this?" saying as I loosened the collar to my tight dri-fit shirt. She stared and scanned my musculature.
"What kind of knight attire is this? You're like a knight wizard." Then, feeling a sleeve snugged over my bicep, she began invading my personal nobleman space.
"Ugh, tell me about it," I assured her to keep those honey words spreading. She placed a hand on my leg. Uh-oh.
"We, royal mums, have a tradition. We sample what enters our bloodline. Or what comes out." Her hand discovered my package along my leg. "Oh, my."
"Ugh, tell me about it." But I felt uncomfortable in a violating ordeal. This sixty-year-old woman smells like cat urine mixed with perfume molesting her soon-to-be son-in-law...oh, shit. Son-in-law? I realized the magnitude of this situation. "STOP!" I screamed. And so the coach and knights came to a stop. "Be right back, gotta take a piss," I announced. But her eyes stayed wide at my crotch and probably butt when I turned my back.
I sneak away behind a thick brush and begin running while punching myself in the head. But nothing happened. I kept running. I wasn't ready to be a son-in-law, especially to a son-in-law molester. Finally, a vortex appeared ahead and sucked me inside.
She's naked again — the Princess — and she's levitating??
"Why? That's all I want to know, Jim. Why?" The disappointment in her eyes made me feel apologetic.
"I thought you were sick," I said to her breasts.
"No. You just found out that I'm pregnant and ran."
"How did you get your memory back? And this," scanning the vortex which felt like hovering inside a nebula.
Princess explained she regained her memory several weeks later in the future and remembered it was DOT's feminine robots from another universe that roofied and tried erasing her inside the vortex. Finally, she managed to use her little energy and escaped to the only person she truly trusted. Me. "And yet you run away? You were the only one I ever felt at home with. And yet you run away?"
"I was scared. I am scared. Your mother's a son-in-law molester."
She sailed closer. A tear escapes an eye. "This isn't who you are. I know who you are, Big Jim. Or should I say-"
"Don't. Please. Not here in this creepy vortex."
"I think it's time for you to learn a little thing called hurt."
"I'm sorry."
"Oh, you will be. And don't ever try reaccessing this vortex. I revoke your privilege! That's why it didn't work in 2021. Once I revoke it, you can never use it in any timeline ... or universe."
"Oh, come on. Don't blow your rag in the vortex. Do you have any idea the ramifications such a bipolar event could do to the parallel universes?" I warned her.
"Fuck you! And, by the way, Mr. Romeo, you suck at eating ass!"
"No-" A bright flash of white consumed everything. I open my eyes and now standing in San Fransico surrounded by demoncrats shooting up drugs and smoking dope from glass pipes and a druggie staring at me, then checks his glass. "...noooooooooooooo..."
"Did she have the baby?" I asked Molly. She nods her head and gently smiles. "Please don't tell me you're the child because that would be so fucked up knowing we had sex and that mindboggling train."
"Eww, creep! Why would you even think that?"
"Ugh. Hollywood." She nods, knowing all that garbage that the industry dumps infect everyone.
Footing closer to me, Molly says, "Jim, you have no idea, do you?"
"I don't wanna know." I looked away as Moco's turd floating in the bucket caught my attention again. It seemed peaceful as if nothing in the world mattered inside that makeshift commode.
"You know, I had a child too," raised brows, quietly she said.
"Please don't tell me I'm him."
"Once again, why do you keep thinking like that? Is there something wrong with your brain?" The mystery began tapping her suspicion.
"Time Traveler's Wife ... it really fucked my head up."
"But his wife wasn't his daughter or mother."
"No, but he's banging that woman and going back in time to when she was a little girl knowing he'll be banging her when she's legal. Right? Disturbingly groomy."
"Uh. That does sound unsettling. Perhaps law enforcement should keep an eye on that writer." Molly agreed that the writer had gone unchecked.
"Exactly. But I met her before she wrote that novel back in 2001 from another universe. So I was suspicious of her then when she said her last name was Niffenegger."
"Oh, no, Jim. Please don't tell me you've gotten drunk again and babbled about time traveling parallel universes to a normie." Immediately after she said that, I bowed my head in disgrace. She shook hers in disappointment. The fabric flaps fluttered, and Moco strolls inside. But something changed with him. His shoulders were straight, and his mood was less self-deprecating. Still a short little feller, but more confident. Molly becomes solemn, backs away, gazing at him, and nods once. He speaks but not in gibberish anymore.
"Hello, Jim."
"What happened to the Spanish babble?" I said, looking down as if at a child.
"That wasn't Spanish but my language! Do you even know what Spanish sounds like?" Then, steamed by my colorful racist depiction of foreign languages, he raised his wittle voice.
"It's all gobbledegook to me," I assured him; the only language should be English — in every universe.
"I am Sentient Ojo of a parallel universe deep in the outer region of the vortex compass undisturbed by DOT."
"Ugh, is that universe called Oz?" Keennessly, I react. Molly snickered instinctively.
"Uh? I don't get the joke."
"Ugh," I grunt, looking away awkwardly.
He turned to Molly for assurance, "Is there something I'm missing?" But she chuckles again and covers her face.
There was a moment of awkwardness as the little feller examined our facial gestures, trying to figure out what had just happened.
He continued. "Anyway, the Timeless Lady's son has caused a huge problem in our universe."
"Son?" I looked to where the vortex was. It was gone.
"He has impregnated most of the world's generations while jumping timelines."
"Sweet!" I celebrated.
"No, not sweet! Our world is packed with autistic retards! What the fuck is wrong with your brain? Look at me!" And so I do and recognize he's still a tiny little feller. "Look closer at my face! I'm not Mexican! Look at my huge forehead! Look how close my eyes are to one another! Look how beady they are! This is what he did to us!" He shouted like a Jewish-Mexican-Imbred munchkin.
"Ugh. I see what you mean. So are you saying he barebacked his grandchildren and their grandchildren?" Molly suspiciously looks at me as if connecting the dots.
"Yeah, but from the great-great-great grandchildren beginning. Adults, of course. Thankfully. He then went back in time and...ugh." He winced.
"Ugh." I remained focused and interested in the topic.
Molly cringed, "Ugh, gross!" She hawks me with contempt, catches my serious face, and is alarmingly shocked, then turns back to Ojo, saying, "Their grandmothers? And great great great grannies?"
"Yup! And let's take that back thousands of years. He needs to be stopped! Something is severely wrong with his brain." Both look at me as if indicating I'm patient zero.
"What about his height mog? Is he mogging everyone?"
"Yeah, but when the same bloodline keeps reproducing, Jim," he gestures to his body with his wittle tiny hands, "This is what happens. The byproducts get shorter." He lowers his head in humiliation.
"Snapper crappers. He needs to be stopped then! But not to change the subject much, are we naming these universes?" And just as I finished that query, a vortex emerged around us.
TO BE CONTINUE
She's back. I'm certain she's following me. She was outside the bar late Friday night, then outside Larry's shithole across the street yesterday morning, and it's the fourth time she's come into my bar this week.
"Inaudible, inaudible," snaps Moco. I nod at him suspiciously.
I realize I've missed her glass with an ice cube falling on the bartop.
Chisel mizzles. Dropping the sanitized dishrag on the floor, I grab the cube, but it slips from my fingertips, and while I do, I look at this stranger who's become a regular sight. Whenever I've caught her on the street, it's been a creepy glance. She'll grin. I'll cringe. Now, safely separated by a counter and a few drunks talking to themselves, I take my time. She's in her late forties, perhaps fifties, maybe even thirties. Ugh, she could be a Benjamin Button twenty-year-old. Forward growth. Or is it backward? Ugh. Benny was born a geriatric that grew into cum. Fucking Hollywood. Brunette hair, wavy with close-up gray strands, and thick ruby red lipstick make me think of Jennifer Lawrence. I imagine she's on her knees gagging on an exploding dick. Then calmly wiped the remanents of the load and salvia from her lips and chin, but I stopped her, insisting on taking a picture of that regretful scene with her unsecured phone.
She stares at my crotch, scanning it like a buffet bar, perhaps pondering how she'll wrap her lips around it. Moco served her six Crown Royals this evening, and it's only 7'O'clock.
There's something off about her. She's so ... still. She's always alone, unlike most of my patrons except the typical hermit drunks. Now that I think about it, all my customers come in alone. It's a shithole dive. I'm pretty proud of this place. It sends shivers down the normie's spines that barhop and explores the joint, accidentally misreading it for a cool bar. Like last night a few fellers stumbled in, and one screamed, "This place smells like ass!"
Then his buddy joined. "Smells like if you were to open a giant turd and spread it out like tablecloth then smooth it flat with a rolling pin ... that's this bar!"
"Wow, Tommy. That's a lot of detail there." His friend said in a delicate, cautious manner.
"I know. I got problems, buddy."
He patted his friend's back reassuringly, "Don't worry about it. Let's go back to your place and get your wife drunk again!" He didn't seem too please about his buddy's roofied cuckolds.
They left not before one hollering, "Rename this place to Kill Your Self!"
Ugh. What do you think KYS means, Eugene? I said to myself. KYS is the name of the joint.
She peeks up, and our eyes meet. I pivot away and bend down to retrieve the rag so I can finish towel drying the glassware.
"Inaudible," calls Moco briskly, "inaudible." It only takes a couple of minutes to finish the glasses, but Moco sighs as though I've gone out of my way to be exceptionally slow. Although I have no idea what he's saying. I don't speak subhuman rubbish. But I nod to him when he speaks. You know, being friendly.
I glance up, and she immediately resumes staring at me. Maybe I'm being paranoid ... but what if I'm not? Right? Think about it.
Before Moco can stop me, I slip into the back, through the fabric flaps that act as a door, and take a piss in our paint bucket toilet we have for convenience. I look at the ice maker to its side, wondering why that door is open.
I noticed a turd bobbing inside that dark yellow liquid and screamed to Moco, "I told you to shit in the women's bathroom, not here!" But he didn't respond. Ugh. Those fucking Mexicans. But they work for minimum wage and no tips. It's a steal for businessmen like me. And having his immigration status over his head, well, that's a blessing too. Although if he ever learns two dollars an hour isn't minimum wage, snapper crappers. I'll have to turn him in and find another Moco.
When I first met him was during a promotion I was running. I heard if you offer something free, customers will come inside. It was a risky investment, but ugh, why not? So I offered free coffee and posted the chalkboard on the door. I see my coffee as a fresh quality brew, just like Starbucks. So I indicate that on the board. FREE COFFEE AS GOOD AS STARBUCKS IF NOT BETTER UGH. And knowing not everyone can read, and being an artist myself, I drew the Starbuck symbol. It sold itself.
A Spanish manlet comes strolling inside smiling. He wore a flannel long sleeve shirt, worn-out blue jeans, cowboy boots to his knees, and a MAGA cap. He continues smiling, then says, "inaudible." Ugh. I didn't understand inaudible, so I asked him his name. He replied, "Moco," while pointing to the door window. I assumed he was telling me he was Moco that came through that door. He seemed like a friendly feller. And knowing I was short an employee, pun, I asked him if he was looking for work. He replied again, "Moco." Ugh. A strange little feller. So I gesture for him to follow me, and he does. I got to the corner of the bar where the popcorn machine was, grabbed a broom that rested against it, and handed it to him. I reach into my pocket.
"I believe in giving my employees a sign-up bonus as my way of saying thank you," I said while unfolding a wad of cash. Moco beamed a wider smile. I then peeled a crispy five-dollar bill and handed it to him, saying, "There's more of this if you accept this job." He seized it and nodded rapidly. Ugh. A very humble little man. So I pantomimed, sweeping the floor with an invisible broom, and he bobbed again and began doing just that. Boom. I got myself an employee.
Shaking the pee-pee remnants from my big penis, I hear a familiar sound. "Oh, fuck. That vortex." I quickly turn, and yup. A whirlpool. I see the Timeless Lady hovering at its center in the distance. I signal to her, but she turns away in a bitchy fashion. "Ugh, whatever." Molly, the Jolly Squirting Cougar, emerges—in her damn underwear, topless. Shaking my head. At least she's got style as I notice the silky red fabric.
Part 1
https://looksmax.org/threads/molly.426982/
Part 2 & 3
https://looksmax.org/threads/molly-part-2-the-paradox-train.428469/
Part 4
https://looksmax.org/threads/molly-the-jolly-squirting-cougar-part-4-bob.431995/
"What the fuck, Jim? Do you realize what you've done?" Molly blew her rag as usual.
"Um, you got something there," I said while gesturing something on my chin that was on hers — a thick white creamy glob.
Wiping her chin, she appreciates, "oh, thanks."
"Anyway, no idea what cha talking about. What did I do this time?" I asked her sand dollar areolas.
"Well, for one, she's pissed off," she directs my attention to the hovering naked Timeless Lady. "And for two, DOT's returned."
"Since we're numbering our conversation, for one, she abandoned me in this shithole year, 2026. And for two, I know. She told me everything," glancing at the Timeless Lady inside the vortex now facing us, but I couldn't see her face clearly. She was too far away. Hmm. Sounds like a song. Note to self: She's too far away as I am. Am. Am too deep inside ... inside ... hay? Ugh. Work in progress.
"No, Jim. Parallel universes? Hello? She's here in this universe!" Then, overdramatically, she spoke while scratching her crotch.
"That woman back there revoked my access to the vortex. I've tried hitting myself in the head; all that happens is a headache and medication suggestions from strangers. So I can't help even if I wanted to!"
"Ya! Duh! Look what you did to her ... first, you withheld her true identity, probably because your dick wanted to slam a princess, and then you do the unspeakable!"
Ugh. I tried to tell the Timeless Lady in 2021 at my compound in Antarctica, but she didn't remember who she was. I told her a TLDR story about my brother, hoping it would ignite a memory, but it failed to spark that amnesia. Then I tried opening a vortex, and that failed. She thought I was crazy — watching a grown man hit himself in the head like a special kid. I then assumed we hadn't created the vortex yet. She then embraced me with a sympathy hug. We kissed momentarily, and that passion opened the vortex as my fingers massaged her vagina under her dress. I watched the surroundings whirl, but her eyes stayed closed. She was probably cherishing that kiss, ugh. The twirling lights came to a still as we heard loud banging noises. We looked around, and the scene was like a vintage furniture catalog. Everything was adorned and woody- Molly interrupts.
"What are you doing?"
"Telling the story in my head to the readers to bring them up to date. Duh." I explain to the confused fuckhole apparatus.
"Oh. Okay. Carry on." Molly insisted as she sat on a keg of beer.
There was a Goodwill store odor and a faint smell of shit- she interrupts again.
"You know I can hear you, right?"
"Yeah. And?" Bewildered by her disruptions to my storytelling, she began bugging me.
"Nevermind. Continue." Molly said, then folded her arms and sighed.
Ugh. The banging got louder. I saw it was coming from a solid oak door. It opens, and knights come pouring in. They addressed her as Princess and how they should kill me as two shoved the tip of their flat metal dicks into my neck. She wasn't sure about anything but insisted they stop bullying me. I noticed a familiar gaze while she examined the entire scene.
Later that evening, we're getting intoxicated on rich sweet bugpiss with the king and his whore wife, ugh, that's another story, and their heiress and I snuck away to spend private time together and searched the castle for that room we manifested inside. There were two stalkers following us around. Eventually, looking ahead of that creepy bricky corridor exhibiting several doors, she asked, "Oh my gad! I am soooo stoopid. Which room is mine?"
"Princess, are you feeling okay?" The bald old Moby questioned her. Then, she quickly locked her arm around mine.
"Yes? I'm," hesitation began slapping her thoughts like a pimp manhandling his hoe, "tired?" Ugh. She seems fond of ending statements with question marks. Baldy walked ahead of us and stopped at a door.
"This would be your room, milady." He gracefully stated, bowing his head like a gimp.
Quickly pulling me, she led me into that room as I passed him, saying, "Princess is about to get annihilated, my nigga." I winked.
"Annihilated? Wha-what does that even mean? My nigga?" He pondered out loud with an agitated expression to the younger lad with a bowl haircut as I slammed the door in their faces.
We shared another moment I was skeptical about, knowing that first smooch sent us here. But when we kissed again, the only things that disappeared, well, came off were our clothes that led to heavy body odor sex. Ugh. Princess nailed the reverse cowgirl like a porn star as I covered my nose. It seems bathing wasn't a priority in Victorian times. I didn't want to spoil those moments. So I continued withholding her Timeless Lady identity.
Weeks later, Princess is having early morning sickness. Ugh. Heebie-jeebies, I felt. I thought she'd caught Covid-2000 from the maelstrom. And remembering back to 2020, how the world responded after China attacked America with a common cold bug, I thought quickly and looked around. I noticed a midget bed decorated with ribbons, a new addition to the room. Perhaps she wants to get kinky involving the jester, ugh, I didn't have time to entertain her weirdness. I saw a stack of small garments on that bed and peeled one off.
"What are you doing now?" Princess asked as I wrapped the cloth around her mouth.
"Trust me, I know what I'm doing." She mumbled inaudibly. I demanded, "You need to quarantine yourself for four to six weeks inside this room."
She pulled the fabric down and exclaimed, "This is a diaper, Jim!"
"Yeah, sounds about right. Trust me, this is for your own good and the protection of the community. I'll let your stalkers know to ensure you don't leave this room." I pulled the cloth up over her mouth and kissed my fingers, then pressed them against her forehead as she rolled her eyes. I rushed out of the chamber like a naive fan escaping Batman's rape room and closed the door behind me. I told her stalkers, "Princess has gotten ill from the black plague-like common cold virus. She can not leave that room for four to six weeks. Please advise everyone in this castle to keep a distance of five to ten feet from one another and facemask themselves with tiny clothes. Or diapers. I'm leaving this kingdom and going to do what I do. Autistically lurk places I shouldn't."
A day later, I'm doing exactly what I told them, lurk places I shouldn't — the woods. I hear a scamper of walloping and horse neighs. I look behind, and its knights and a carriage in their medium hurry toward me. They halted around, and a door opened. It's the Queen. Ugh.
"Big Jim's Sale of the House of Worn Out Tires, why have you abandoned my daughter?" She asked in a panache royal tradition.
"She's sick," I replied while gazing at a horse's dick, wondering, is he mogging me?
"Indeed. We all get sick when we're carrying babies in our womb."
Baby?
Ugh.
Fuckmuffins.
"Oh...well...yeah, tha-that's something else there," I said, lost for words. I had no idea those vortex people could get pregnant. To be honest, I always thought she and Molly was a figment of my imagination from all those years of parallel universe time traveling. I felt the fabric of time messed my head up, so I see things that aren't real. Like naked floating women and topless MILFs scratching their privates during serious conversations. Ugh. Right?
"Come! Come! Let's return to the kingdom and anoint you, Sir Knight Sale." She said, inviting me inside. And it was hot and smelly. It felt like a sauna at a gym.
"Damn. How you people do this?" saying as I loosened the collar to my tight dri-fit shirt. She stared and scanned my musculature.
"What kind of knight attire is this? You're like a knight wizard." Then, feeling a sleeve snugged over my bicep, she began invading my personal nobleman space.
"Ugh, tell me about it," I assured her to keep those honey words spreading. She placed a hand on my leg. Uh-oh.
"We, royal mums, have a tradition. We sample what enters our bloodline. Or what comes out." Her hand discovered my package along my leg. "Oh, my."
"Ugh, tell me about it." But I felt uncomfortable in a violating ordeal. This sixty-year-old woman smells like cat urine mixed with perfume molesting her soon-to-be son-in-law...oh, shit. Son-in-law? I realized the magnitude of this situation. "STOP!" I screamed. And so the coach and knights came to a stop. "Be right back, gotta take a piss," I announced. But her eyes stayed wide at my crotch and probably butt when I turned my back.
I sneak away behind a thick brush and begin running while punching myself in the head. But nothing happened. I kept running. I wasn't ready to be a son-in-law, especially to a son-in-law molester. Finally, a vortex appeared ahead and sucked me inside.
She's naked again — the Princess — and she's levitating??
"Why? That's all I want to know, Jim. Why?" The disappointment in her eyes made me feel apologetic.
"I thought you were sick," I said to her breasts.
"No. You just found out that I'm pregnant and ran."
"How did you get your memory back? And this," scanning the vortex which felt like hovering inside a nebula.
Princess explained she regained her memory several weeks later in the future and remembered it was DOT's feminine robots from another universe that roofied and tried erasing her inside the vortex. Finally, she managed to use her little energy and escaped to the only person she truly trusted. Me. "And yet you run away? You were the only one I ever felt at home with. And yet you run away?"
"I was scared. I am scared. Your mother's a son-in-law molester."
She sailed closer. A tear escapes an eye. "This isn't who you are. I know who you are, Big Jim. Or should I say-"
"Don't. Please. Not here in this creepy vortex."
"I think it's time for you to learn a little thing called hurt."
"I'm sorry."
"Oh, you will be. And don't ever try reaccessing this vortex. I revoke your privilege! That's why it didn't work in 2021. Once I revoke it, you can never use it in any timeline ... or universe."
"Oh, come on. Don't blow your rag in the vortex. Do you have any idea the ramifications such a bipolar event could do to the parallel universes?" I warned her.
"Fuck you! And, by the way, Mr. Romeo, you suck at eating ass!"
"No-" A bright flash of white consumed everything. I open my eyes and now standing in San Fransico surrounded by demoncrats shooting up drugs and smoking dope from glass pipes and a druggie staring at me, then checks his glass. "...noooooooooooooo..."
"Did she have the baby?" I asked Molly. She nods her head and gently smiles. "Please don't tell me you're the child because that would be so fucked up knowing we had sex and that mindboggling train."
"Eww, creep! Why would you even think that?"
"Ugh. Hollywood." She nods, knowing all that garbage that the industry dumps infect everyone.
Footing closer to me, Molly says, "Jim, you have no idea, do you?"
"I don't wanna know." I looked away as Moco's turd floating in the bucket caught my attention again. It seemed peaceful as if nothing in the world mattered inside that makeshift commode.
"You know, I had a child too," raised brows, quietly she said.
"Please don't tell me I'm him."
"Once again, why do you keep thinking like that? Is there something wrong with your brain?" The mystery began tapping her suspicion.
"Time Traveler's Wife ... it really fucked my head up."
"But his wife wasn't his daughter or mother."
"No, but he's banging that woman and going back in time to when she was a little girl knowing he'll be banging her when she's legal. Right? Disturbingly groomy."
"Uh. That does sound unsettling. Perhaps law enforcement should keep an eye on that writer." Molly agreed that the writer had gone unchecked.
"Exactly. But I met her before she wrote that novel back in 2001 from another universe. So I was suspicious of her then when she said her last name was Niffenegger."
"Oh, no, Jim. Please don't tell me you've gotten drunk again and babbled about time traveling parallel universes to a normie." Immediately after she said that, I bowed my head in disgrace. She shook hers in disappointment. The fabric flaps fluttered, and Moco strolls inside. But something changed with him. His shoulders were straight, and his mood was less self-deprecating. Still a short little feller, but more confident. Molly becomes solemn, backs away, gazing at him, and nods once. He speaks but not in gibberish anymore.
"Hello, Jim."
"What happened to the Spanish babble?" I said, looking down as if at a child.
"That wasn't Spanish but my language! Do you even know what Spanish sounds like?" Then, steamed by my colorful racist depiction of foreign languages, he raised his wittle voice.
"It's all gobbledegook to me," I assured him; the only language should be English — in every universe.
"I am Sentient Ojo of a parallel universe deep in the outer region of the vortex compass undisturbed by DOT."
"Ugh, is that universe called Oz?" Keennessly, I react. Molly snickered instinctively.
"Uh? I don't get the joke."
"Ugh," I grunt, looking away awkwardly.
He turned to Molly for assurance, "Is there something I'm missing?" But she chuckles again and covers her face.
There was a moment of awkwardness as the little feller examined our facial gestures, trying to figure out what had just happened.
He continued. "Anyway, the Timeless Lady's son has caused a huge problem in our universe."
"Son?" I looked to where the vortex was. It was gone.
"He has impregnated most of the world's generations while jumping timelines."
"Sweet!" I celebrated.
"No, not sweet! Our world is packed with autistic retards! What the fuck is wrong with your brain? Look at me!" And so I do and recognize he's still a tiny little feller. "Look closer at my face! I'm not Mexican! Look at my huge forehead! Look how close my eyes are to one another! Look how beady they are! This is what he did to us!" He shouted like a Jewish-Mexican-Imbred munchkin.
"Ugh. I see what you mean. So are you saying he barebacked his grandchildren and their grandchildren?" Molly suspiciously looks at me as if connecting the dots.
"Yeah, but from the great-great-great grandchildren beginning. Adults, of course. Thankfully. He then went back in time and...ugh." He winced.
"Ugh." I remained focused and interested in the topic.
Molly cringed, "Ugh, gross!" She hawks me with contempt, catches my serious face, and is alarmingly shocked, then turns back to Ojo, saying, "Their grandmothers? And great great great grannies?"
"Yup! And let's take that back thousands of years. He needs to be stopped! Something is severely wrong with his brain." Both look at me as if indicating I'm patient zero.
"What about his height mog? Is he mogging everyone?"
"Yeah, but when the same bloodline keeps reproducing, Jim," he gestures to his body with his wittle tiny hands, "This is what happens. The byproducts get shorter." He lowers his head in humiliation.
"Snapper crappers. He needs to be stopped then! But not to change the subject much, are we naming these universes?" And just as I finished that query, a vortex emerged around us.
TO BE CONTINUE
