Ha Ha Ha, Josh Hanlin Fucks Boys Under The Age of Six.

The Anatomy of a Fucked Up Story About Friends

There's a whole range of ways you can go about roasting your friends in the fictional written word. You want outlandish, you want uncharacteristic, you want thick-with-detail; and if at all possible, you really want to cheese them the fuck off.

But, you gotta be careful of who your audience is. And you don't want to go with the obvious. Now, I could pull out the gay jokes and the tiny penis jokes until the cows come home and they might be good for a slight chuckle. But, there's too much downside in that approach. You've got the sensitivity towards the whole Homosexuality Problem in America; and you've got the cliched overuse of teeny weenies in making fun of the male sex. Plus, to be quite frank, likening Josh to being homo or ill-endowed is really a slap in the face to both groups.

You've got to think outside the box. You've got to go somewhere where they're not expecting you to go. Now, since I've the reputation for pushing that unnecessary envelope as far as it will go, I can't sit back at my computer and repeatedly go to the same well over and over again. Josh fondles five year old boys in the privacy of his own home. Too easy. A little too close to home? We might never know. Now, had I decided to go this route, I would have used that all-important graphic detailing as far as my mind would go. For example:

After widening the anus with a series of thicker lubricated cylindrical impliments, from Q-tip to Crayola Crayon to Baby Ruth to Snapple bottle, Josh was ready to ram his raging cock into the blood-wettened oriface. As the child screamed in agony with each throbbing thrust, Josh scrunched his face, grabbed the boy by the hips with both hands and really let him have it. Once climax was reached, he forced his dripping member into the boy's mouth and said, "Good to the last drop."

A little too canned, too predictable. I think we all know where this thing's going to go after that scene: Josh cuts the child's head off with a rusty hack saw and proceeds to skull-fuck the fresh opening as he rides at a breakneck speed on his exercise bike, slinging the swinging noose around his neck as he's reaching climax to get that asphyxiation high before finally hopping off the bike and hanging to his most certain death. If we've seen it once, we've seen it a thousand times. Really, if my intentions were to make the reader yawn in utter boredom and resentment, then my job would already be over. Mission accomplished.

Obviously, though, where we want to hit Josh is his choice in sexual partners. You've got children, you've got animals, you've got Jews and coloreds and all other types of undesirables. Family. That's always fun, because it forces the reader to sit back and imagine the parties in question. A grandmother's overwhelmingly hairy nipples and bush. A mother's inability to properly wipe after defication. A father's uncircumsized penis collecting all sorts of odorous lint and goo from days and days of hygiene refusal. Perhaps the rolls of fat on a rotund aunt squishing on Josh's body as she's riding him reverse cowgirl making it so he can't tell if the farting noise is from the movement or from the asshole. Then, the brownish sputtering that lands on his belly confirms his worst suspicions. Finally, the smell of a rancid Taco Del Mar burrito slapping him in the face forces him into a series of vomits that only makes the aunt all the hotter. The orgasm breaks Josh's pelvis in three places and he has to walk with a cane the rest of his life, which he regularly uses on his own asshole when he's in a pinch or waiting for a bus.

Of course, the greatest fun you can have in one of these stories is to alter the subject's personality in such a way as to make him one of the most offensive or deranged personalities out there. Make Josh a racist; or better yet, have him throw retards in front of moving trains; or even better yet, killing two appropriate birds with one stone: black retards.

Which leads me to the following account of Josh: The Super Nazi vs. Mr. T.

Clad in his Klan gear, fresh from whipping the black asses of some brothers at a Ziggy Marley concert with the help of his own white brethren, Josh W. Hanlin had one thing in mind. Going home to his basement and fucking the shit out of his 5 year old cousin Melvin with his two-inch erect penis.

But first, Josh had to make a pit stop. He needed a new "Steers or Queers: Throw 'Em Both In The Slaughter" bumper sticker for his Astrovan. Josh figured some animal rights activist ripped off the last one; after all, they're known to be rampant queer-sympathizers.

Inside Rednecks R' Us, Josh noticed the cashier had a pissed off demeanor.

"What's wrong, Jed?" Jed said nothing, just pointed towards the back before stroking his handlebar moustache and shaking his head.

Josh decided to go and investigate. When he turned the corner to the Fishing Tackle & Chewing Tobacco aisle, he saw what'd made Jed so sour. Standing there, checking out the various lures and string sizes, was Mr. T, in full T-Garb, with a shopping basket draped over his left arm. Josh was disgusted.

"What are you doing in here?" Josh said, slowly advancing. "Don't you know the Nigger Fishing Store is down the road?"

Mr. T turned his head methodically, suppressing his rage. "What'd you say, foo?"

"You heard me, boy," Josh said, pulling his black-ass whipping-paddle from underneath his white robe. "I think it's best you leave."

Mr. T dropped the basket and faced his immediate challenger. Jed quickly ran to the front door and locked it. He proceeded to stand and observe from the front. "You bess take them words back, 'fore I make you eat those words!" Mr. T then put on his gold knuckles and punched his open palm as he advanced at an equal pace towards Josh.

Josh swung the paddle from high above, meaning to strike Mr. T in the face, but T blocked it by grabbing it with his right hand, then snapping the mahogany wood in two pieces, throwing the piece he had behind him.

Frantic, Josh reached back into his robe for his revolver. He quickly fired off three rounds, but Mr. T blocked all the shots with his gold knuckles before jumping and landing on top of the overmatched Klan member. T's fists of fury pummelled Josh into a bloody pulp. Jed watched with dismay for a few seconds before running for the door with his keys. Noticing this, Mr. T ran over to Jed, turned him around and threw him to the ground.

"Now, foo, you gonna sell me this fishing equipment, or is Mr. T gonna have to choke a bitch?"

Jed shook his head, then immediately nodded in confusion, saying, "Whatever you say, Mr. T, just don't hurt me."

Mr. T then walked back over to Josh who was alive and awake but in considerable pain. "Now, cracka, what you gotta say fo yoself?"

Josh just spit blood in Mr. T's eye and said nothing.

"Looks like this foo needs a history lesson." Mr. T threw Josh over his left shoulder, paid for his fishing equipment, and left the store.

Back at Mr. T's compound, he had Josh tied up to a chair. "Listen foo, and learn something."

Mr. T then put on his reading glasses, opened up the "Big Book of Black People," and proceeded to recount the entire African American struggle from the days of slave-trading to the civil rights movement of the 60s to Rodney King. Once the 39 hours were finished, Josh said, "Wow Mr. T, I never thought of it that way before. I'll never be a racist again!"

Then, Mr. T and Josh embraced in a friendly hug and sat down for milk and cookies. Before he let Josh go home, Mr. T said, "Now punk, you still done wrong, and for that you need to be punished." That was when Sylvester Stallone walked in from the other room and they both proceeded to reenact the sexual-equivalent to the final fight scene to Rocky III on Josh's overmatched ass.

When Josh left, he thanked Mr. T for the lovely time, the cookies, and the ass-fucking. He went home that night with a new sense of self. And, as he fucked his five year old cousin Melvin in the ass that night, he had a smile on his face, because he knew that the hate in his heart had been completely washed away.

The end.