Operator, some guy totally pumped on steroids just pulled me over and called me a “wuss” before firing a tazer dart into my neck. When I rolled out of the car, he kicked me with his boots, yelling, “Face down! Face down, boy, or I will beat you like a dawg!” He continued to drive his boots into my ribs as I experienced uncontrollable seizures from the 20,000 volts overriding my nervous system.

He then placed his hands on me and forcibly squeezed my genitals while telling me to “spread my legs” and asking if I had any “drugs or weapons” in the car, before slapping a pair of cuffs on me.

“We gonna search your car, boy,” he said. I protested that I hadn’t given my consent.

Another steroid-pumped, side-burns lacking, thick-necked guy showed up holding a snarling dog by the leash.

“Tell us where them drugs is at, and we won’t let the dawg go,” the officer who had pulled me over said. I told them they were free to search the car, but that there weren’t any drugs.

“We just see about that,” the dog-handler said. They searched my car pretty thoroughly.

“What in the hell is this fuckin’ mess?” the dog handler asked, pointing to a bunch of loose papers on the passenger seat.

“Papers for work,” I said.

“You drive around with this shit blowing around your car? Man, you’re lucky you ain’t had a accident and wrecked this expensive, gas-guzzlin’ sportscar.”

After they finished searching my car they undid the cuffs and said, “We’re doin’ our job, trying to keep these drugs off the street. For every innocent person we stop, we get probably ten offenders. That’s what does it for me. What I like best is when the ‘sumbitch realized he done lost his freedom. When I punch my card at the end of the day, I know I’ve made the world a safer place, especially for the children.” 

"This Refurbished Skull Sucks a Mean Cock"*

Remember that refurbished skull I bought from the medical supplier to scare people at that Halloween party? The other day I couldn’t find anything on TV, and I was looking for my unrated copy of “Wild Things”, when I opened a drawer and there was the skull. It was sitting invitingly on a stack of papers, gleaming with high-gloss finish, the cranium and maxilla perfectly reconstructed. I took it out, greased it up, and mounted it on my bicycle in place of the seat. Taking hold of the handlebars I manipulated the skull in a way that was pleasing to me, with the mandibular spring deliberately crimped in order to better lick the balls.

Man, that refurbished skull sucks a mean cock.

To make it seem less weird, I started talking to the skull. “Yale. I thought I recognized you from somewhere. You and I were in that sect, skull and boner. I always liked spending time with you; you were genuinely cerebral. Too bad your Foramen Magnum is smaller than this Trojan Magnum.”

*For reasons obvious, The author did not wish to invite direct attention to this entry.