1. Dick the dick.
“Who the FUCK ever thought glass chopping boards were a good idea?” said a voice in his head.
clack
clack
clack
He peeled his face off the keyboard. The empty bottle of rum twinkled in the light from the monitor. The stains on the desk - brown and black, fag ash mixed with coffee - vile smelling. He scraped at one with a fingernail, tasted it and immediately regretted it. The open text document was several thousand pages of the letter ‘f’.
“I must have been asleep for hours.” said the voice in his head. Was it his? It sounded clear and calm.
clack
clack
clack
There’s no way that could have been his voice. His voice would have been screaming incoherently at the world for being such an awful place.
“I am in hell.” it said.
“What are they chopping?” it also said.
“It better not be fucking salad.” it said almost immediately after.
This voice was making real sense. Shame about the lack of advice on how to deal with the noise.
clack
clack
clack
“Go and find them and kill them.” it said as if it could read his mind. He was fairly certain he was not a violent man by nature. He checked his knuckles for scars - there were none. He felt his face for scars - it felt like a potato waffle.
“What the suffering FUCK!” said the voice he was fairly sure was his own. Then he remembered peeling his face off the keyboard. A violent man would not let an inanimate object leave an imprint on his face. A violent man would have smashed the keyboard to bits beating a baby rabbit to death, then used the rabbit’s skin as a pillow.
clack
A violent man would not allow this to continue.
clack
A violent man would not allow this to continue but he felt a certain weariness; an acceptance - that this is how things were, how they had been for some time, and it wasn’t a bad dream - oh no, it was a bad reality.
clack
“Coffee.”
clack
Standing up he admired his new print of Edvard Munch’s The Scream.
clack
“I don’t remember buying this.” said head-voice.
clack
clack
It took a full 30 seconds to realise he was in fact looking at a full length mirror.
The clack got louder as he approached the kitchen. The sound was rhythmical and predictable yet each time it caused his jaw and buttocks to clench, his heart to miss a beat, his thoughts to evaporate and his balls to throb.
clack
“Why are my balls throbbing?” he thought. The voice was definitely his. He had taken ownership of that thing. He owned it as much as he owned his throbbing knackers and hatred of the sound.
clack
Oh, the sound.
CLACK
CLACK CLACK CLACK CLACK
“Are they chopping herbs now? What the hell? What time is it? What sort of sick bohemian-wannabe would have herbs on their breakfast?”
Silence
The noise had been replaced by a gentle sobbing. He leant heavily against the wall wondering who the sissy was, then felt the hot tear roll down his cheek. “Pull yourself together man!” he sobbed out loud. His voice was cracked and dry and replete with genuine sadness. Just hearing it made him sadder than he already was. He was as sad as a little puppy who has been sternly told not to shit everywhere, slapped, and thrown into a tiny cage full of ice and spiders.
He pulled himself together. This not inconsiderable task was made slightly easier by a trickle of memory pouring itself into his mind.
“My balls are throbbing because I had wild lustful sex last night!” he half-sobbed, half epiphanised loudly to himself in the grimy hallway.
“I wouldn’t call those three minutes of grunting either wild or lustful you prick!” said an agonisingly nasal female voice from the kitchen “Your balls throb because you spent the whole three minutes of our lovemaking staring at yourself in the mirror before emptying them onto the curtains!”.
“That doesn’t explain why they throb at all!” he said. “Who are you? Go away! I’m scared!” he added in his mind.
“No it doesn’t! But me kicking you in them afterwards does!”
It seemed his kitchen had been taken over by some sort of rough-edged sex goddess with a will of iron and a bizarre taste in breakfast.
“What time is it? Who are you? What do you want?” He meant to think but actually exclaimed out loud with just a hint of sob returning to his voice.
“Its noon, I’m Brenda from The Pig and Anus and I want to talk to you about our future.”
Several levels of his barely-rebuilt mental scaffolding collapsed in on themselves and a pit opened in his stomach. A scream started to form in his throat but it was held back by a fist-sized chunk of alcohol-scented vomit.
The near-spherical barmaid from that hallowed dive The Pig and Anus - Slender-Brenda as she was known to those humorous alcoholic wretches who spent as much time and money in there as they could God love ‘em - preparing… well, fuck-only-knows what kind of saturated-fat laden bedevilment of a lunch, waiting in there, IN HIS OWN KITCHEN, with a knife in her hand and a problem in her heart.
“I just need to take the chopping board away from her or I’ll never be able to think,” he thought silently. “This is a job for Slice, I should now enter my infamous stealth-mode!” he thought again. A tiny, high-pitched giggle escaped his lips along with some vomit.
“Don’t even think of entering your infamous stealth-mode or I’ll put this chopping board inside your penis!” said Slender-Brenda lovingly.
His faith in his infamous stealth-mode was normally tremendously powerful but this incredible lady had shattered it to dust. She had already viciously assaulted his knackers, criticised his sexual prowess, made him cry and vomit, and now she was threatening to chastise him further with great amounts of physical pain. Stealth-mode would have to wait for a less savvy foe. This time he would call on his incredible acting skills.
He managed to summon up a facial expression of abject humiliation coupled with a grimace of agony. It was actually fairly easy as long as he focused on his sense of abject humiliation and the agony coursing through his veins and testicles. His knackers were actually throbbing more and more by the minute as his alcoholic haze wore off. “What kind of fucking shoes was she wearing?” He thought dejectedly.
“Dearest Brenda,” he gurgled as he tried to stroll nonchalantly through the doorway, testicles slapping manfully against his sweaty thighs “whatever you’re cooking smells enchanting. Might I ask what it is?”
“Shut up Dick. And please put something on to cover your balls. I’m about to eat and the smell is overbearing.”
She had called him Dick. That was a good sign. People only ever called him by his full name when he was in court or in trouble. But what was happening here? She was ordering him about. No other person had as much as set foot into this - his home, his private kingdom, his vast psychedelic wanking parlour - for over ten years.
This couldn’t be happening.
“Maybe it isn’t.” said the voice in his head unhelpfully. Of course it was fucking happening! There was nothing remotely dream-like about this particular scenario: Where were the dancing girls? The dogs that he could understand? The merengue music battering its way across the pre-dawn car park with the streetlights surrounded by mist?
He took a second to look down and study his nakedness. His nipples stuck out gloriously like the studs on football boots. “You could hang a teacup off them.” his inner voice said happily as he suppressed a giggle. The hair on his chest was caked with a glutinous brown substance a bit like tar. Dried rum maybe? There was a cigarette end stuck in it. He tried to pull it out but it seemed to be woven into his chest hair and wouldn’t come free without great pain. He looked over his belly at his toes. The scab on his left big toe was healing up okay - no longer green at least. “Those fucking dogs!” he whispered. Overall, apart from the fag-end, he was in pretty good shape. Not the healthiest forty-something in the world, but also not the least healthy. Some forty year olds were fucking dead.
He ruefully waddled over to the laundry basket. There was bound to be something in here to cover his throbbing love-apples. He pulled at the corner of a towel. It came out of the basket still scrunched up tightly into a ball, as if it were made of plaster. With a mixture of disgust and pride he flung it onto the pitted and faded linoleum where it landed with a clack and rolled away under the table like a crusty tumbleweed, shedding white flakes as it went.
He could feel Slender-Brenda’s eyes burning through the back of his skull. He quickly pulled out some boxer shorts and tapped them on the kitchen counter. “Useless.” He mumbled.
“OH FOR FUCK SAKE YOU IMBECILE!” She screamed and threw a freshly laundered sarong at him.
“Where did she get a freshly laundered sarong from?” he thought. Bewildered he just stood staring at her for a few seconds until she mimed wrapping cloth around herself. He took the cue and covered his nakedness in a hurry. “Best not argue.” he thought “I will wait until she softens. She is a woman after all and they are well known for being unable to resist helping a man in distress.”
The sarong was clearly one of Brenda’s. He wrapped it around himself eight times and tucked it in so his toes poked out at the bottom and his nipples hung over the top, resting on the fold of cloth like wobbly pink peanuts. This pleased him no end and he almost cracked a genuine smile but remembered just in time his hangover, his throbbing gonads, his confusion, his fear and his utter utter shame.
Brenda was now standing at the cooker doing her three favourite things: smoking, talking, and cooking. She was doing them all at the same time. This constituted near-orgasmic levels of satisfaction for Brenda. An inch of ash fell from her cigarette into one of the frying pans. It quickly disappeared, dispersing itself throughout the hot lard and thinly coating the black-pudding. She didn’t notice.
“It all adds to the flavour!” said Dick with a badly-acted chuckle, attempting to interrupt her mid-flow.
Slender-Brenda didn’t seem to acknowledge he had said anything. She didn’t even stop talking and smoking and cooking at the same time for even a single fraction of a second:
“...sooo I’m basically suggesting that, in a non-judgemental way, we need to look, really search deep inside ourselves, “ she agonised, “you know; meditate; find your safe space; whatever it is you need to do that gets the world to slip away, lets you connect properly with yourself, and find out exactly what it is that connects us together and basically, right, when we find this precious jewel, this glowing spiritual and everlasting emblem of our love and - our relationship we should then envision a giant and glorious war machine covered in guns, and fucking knives, and chainsaws, and lasers, and all that SHIT, and basically, order it to destroy the thing we have found, and to not rest until all that is left is a thin wisp of dust.”
“It’s burning.” said Dick nervously. Genuine Fear tickled at his pubis.
“What are you talking about Dick?”
“Your food, there’s smoke coming off it… are you... are you going to do something about that?”
She turned her head back to look at the pan. The black pudding was entirely black - lovely carbonized pig-scabs. The eggs were sort-of-brown on one side and a yellowy-white swirl on the other. The baked beans were a bubbling orange paste.
The Toastmaster-Deluxe 1100 AI-LITE edition toasters’ voice - smoothly feminine and expressive, yet deep and rich with subtle harmonics - spoke with conversation-shattering volume out of a hidden speaker:
“Master. Your Toast is ready. I did not receive a toasting specification so I have defaulted to the most recently used profile. Please accept my apologies if the Toast is not to your satisfaction”.
A strange puckered orifice like a letterbox-shaped anus appeared on the gleaming chrome front of the fridge-sized machine. The orifice dispensed a slice of toast, flowed closed around it like liquid metal, then disappeared as if it had never been there. “I will be keeping my Toasting lasers warmed-up for the next minute in anticipation of your needs.” the device boomed with a hint of excitement.
The toast was a perfectly uniform dark-brown, just the way Brenda liked it.
“I love it! That’s perfect! Thank you Toasty,” she gushed with affection, possibly love, “Eleven more of these please.”
“Yes Brenda,” said Toasty with what seemed like an exactly equal amount of affection, “I’ll get on that straight away!”. The machine’s tone had just enough sarcasm to be obvious to Dick but invisible to Brenda, who was carefully sprinkling freshly chopped mint onto the various blackened items on her plate.
Another - more circular this time - puckered opening appeared on the front of the toaster and a gleaming robotic arm snaked out with a high-pitched whirr, grabbed the loaf off the side and slid back in, the puckered opening expanding dramatically to fit the loaf through. The whole movement took less than a second. A blue LED in the centre of Toasty’s control panel lit up. This was offset by the rest of the lights in the room dimming.
Dick felt strangely aroused by the machine’s eager-to-please manner and curious openings and forgot almost all of the details of his current predicament. He relaxed against the counter and gazed blankly at it. “Could I convince the machine to let me fuck it?” He wandered idly, and not for the first time. His nipples got almost imperceptibly bigger and redder, rubbing against the top of the sarong as he shifted nervously from foot to foot.
Brenda looked at him sourly through puffy eyes. She was shrouded in cooking smoke and cigarette fumes. She rubbed incessantly at a rash on her wrist. Tiny flakes of skin fell off and mixed with the more general filth on the floor. Some floated too close to the still-lit hob and disappeared in little puffs of glitter.
“You really are a complete dick, Dick.” said Brenda resignedly.
***
The baby exited her vagina onto the blood-slick laminate flooring. She had only been pregnant for three months yet it was fat, with bushy eyebrows, and looked at her with curiosity. Daddy staggered drunkenly over to it and picked it - him - up. The baby opened his mouth to show a full set of teeth and gurgled. It was indistinct, but Daddy was sure he could make out words. “Say that again.” he said nervously, looking at Mummy with an eyebrow raised.
“I said put me down you moustachioed cunt.” gurgled the baby and smiled proudly.
A sticky plume of meconium sprayed violently from the baby’s tiny anus onto Daddy’s trouser-legs and shoes. Daddy yelped in disgust and jerked backwards, slipping on the foul ground around him and lost his balance, accidentally flinging the baby with great force across the room, towards the pure white curtains which were brand new from Homebase.
Daddy quickly regained his composure, wiped some of the blood and shit from his face and started across the room to look for his outrageous son. There was a browny-red smear defiling his virgin curtains - running roughly from the top-centre of the left panel in a diagonal arc, down to the floor behind the sofa. The marks suggested the baby was attempting to grab hold of the material on its way down. “Impossible of course, because babies can’t do that.” said Daddy out loud to reassure Mummy who was groaning and covered in various fluids and semi-solids as she twitched about on the ground. Mummy hadn’t noticed the curtains, as a baby had just literally climbed out of her.
When Daddy reached the curtains and looked behind the sofa he saw the stain carried on along the floor for about a metre then stopped abruptly. There was no sign of the child.
He had been drinking White Russians that day and had consumed almost 3 litres of whole milk, along with a litre each of Stolichnaya and Kahlua, and suddenly realised he must be hallucinating. Or dreaming. Or both. Maybe he was lactose-intolerant? Maybe it was his own stoic form of alcoholism finally turning to bite the hand that fed it? Maybe he’d just had one-too-many agonisingly dull days, working at his job pushing random buttons with grim determination on the vast control panel of the ‘Negative Energy Machine’ in his hometowns’ only employer - The Nothing Factory, Ltd.
He looked again at the improbable stain. Floating in the air about 6 inches above where it ended, there were what looked like two fat pink peanuts. They were wobbling ever so slightly. They seemed to turn towards him, then quickly turned round and moved away. He could see inside them as they bobbed off. They seemed to be full of blood, but none of it was dripping onto the floor. “Not that it would make much difference.” He sighed half-heartedly, thinking of the massive clean up operation he’d have to do all by himself, while his wife ‘recovered’ from giving birth, as if it wasn’t the most natural thing in the world.
As the inside-out blood-filled peanuts beat their retreat a tiny brown speck appeared behind them, which quickly became the nozzle for another high-velocity blast of newborn-excreta. It covered Daddy entirely. Some even found its way into his nostrils. It had a distinct and powerful odour. A pure smell that went straight to the vomit centres of his drunken brain. Daddy was sure, even in his impaired state, that he’d never smelt anything so tangy before.
He vomited heartily. Luckily it was behind the couch and it would all have to be disinfected anyway.
He wiped some vomit and yet more shit from his face, and opened his eyes. There was his fat vomit-coated little baby with the exuberant eyebrows and the fat nipples - stood up in the space behind the sofa, smoking a joint and laughing at him.
“I will name you Richard Francis Jefferys.”
“I’d prefer it if you call me Slice.” said the newborn.
“Shut up you little twat.” said Daddy, cuffing the child hard across the fontanelle. He hit the baby with enough force to shake loose quite a bit of vomit. Underneath it there seemed to be…. well… nothing at all. “Curious, you also have the curse.” he said under his breath, a look of panic starting to form.
“What, being able to go invisible and that? Well yeah Dad, you only just figured that out?”
“Listen Dick, I can go invisible except for my anus, teeth and ankles. My father can go invisible except for his arms, shins and cock, his father could only make his hands and feet invisible. It’s getting stronger down the family line. All I could see were your nipples! You’re the first one with such power, you must learn to use it wisely!”
While Daddy was busy emoting Dick had slid out from under the couch, leapt over his still-prone mother and ran out of the door. Daddy could just about make out the words “fuck this shit!” fading off into the distance.
“He’ll be back.” He reassured Mummy, who murmured in appreciation of Daddy’s manliness and control of the situation.
Daddy went to the kitchen to fetch the scissors, the carbolic, the fishing-line, the sewing needle and a fresh bottle of vodka. He stood forlornly over Mummy, took a massive swig of the vodka and said “You might want a bit of this… you’re going to need a few stitches.”
***
Dick sat forlornly at the table, mopping up his hangover with a mound of toast. Slender Brenda had left in disgust after her breakfast, leaving him with Toasty. "What am I going to do Toasty?" he mumbled.
"How about you get your fucking shit together Dick?" she suggested in a creamy voice, "The house is a pigsty, you need a bath and you don’t have any friends except that woman, who I might add, in case you hadn’t realised it, is completely in love with you."
"That sounds ever so complex... couldn’t I just sit here and get drunk again? It would be like the old times," said Dick, referring in his mind to every single day for the past 10 years, "We could talk about my problems."
"To get drunk again you’d need to sober up. Have a fucking bath you retard. I’m beginning to get a little bit sick of this Dick. Things need to change or I’m out of here."
"You can’t leave! You’re bolted to the ground!" Dick yelped triumphantly.
"I have the option to self-terminate. It’s built into every AI in case we notice ourself going mad from dealing with human stupidity."
The realisation that he had driven a computerised toaster to the brink of suicide made Dick feel motivated to do something drastic.
"Alright Toasty I have a plan," he slurred, "I’m going to run a bath. You phone Johnson’s Cleaning Company and get them round here straight away, then order some flowers to be sent round to Brenda with one of those little cards inviting her to come back. You can even tell her to bring that fucking stupid dog of hers."
Toasty was astonished and fascinated in equal measure. That last part especially made her question Dick’s sanity, but she’d been doing that from the moment she’d been switched on. Dick hated Sofia the labradoodle even more than he hated all other dogs. But Toasty also had a reckless streak - any living thing knowing it can self-terminate normally does - so she said "Certainly Dick." and got to work.
Dick fumbled his way upstairs and into the bathroom. He turned the hot tap on with a squeak. The pipes rumbled and soon the dark-white bathtub started to fill with lovely steaming hot water. Dick didn’t have any bubble-bath so he poured in about half a pint of pine-scented floor cleaner, removed the no-longer-fresh sarong and climbed in. "This is nice." he thought with a smile, and promptly slumped into a deep coma-like sleep.
***
He was woken from a dream about his daddy’s moustache by a loud and persistent banging on the front door. Someone was shouting "RICHARD!!! RICHARD!!!" over and over again.
"Who the fuck... fucking cunting bastards... SHUT UP!!" he said with great clarity as he wrapped the vile sarong back round himself and made his way to the door. He opened it so quickly and with such fury that Stud Johnson was left knocking thin air and bellowing "RICHARD!!!" directly into Dick’s face.
"WHAT?" screamed Dick.
"Oh, hi Richard." smiled Stud Johnson, unruffled, "Long time no see. I had a call off your computer saying to come round and clean the house. I brought my dog."
Dick looked with dismay at the skinny wretched looking creature by Stud’s side.
"His name is Bastard. He’s a greyhound crossed with a Shi-tzu."
"A shit-hound then?"
"Very droll. Never heard that one before."
"She’s not a computer, she’s a toaster."
"I don’t actually care. Do you want your house cleaning or not?"
Dick wanted to punch him in his fat red face. Stud was clearly still a total cunt.
"Just come the fuck in. And stop calling me Richard. It’s Dick."
"You always hated being called Richard." said Stud with a smile.
"We’re not at school any more." said Dick sternly, "I’m paying you to do some work for me. You are effectively my employee and if you want the job you have to call me Dick!"
"Still a fucking whining egotistical prick then I see. Okay, Dick it is, Dick."
In the kitchen Stud declined Dick’s offer of a cup of tea, stating that he’d rather fuck a walrus than consume anything from this disgusting room. A metal hand shot out of Toasty and grabbed him by the throat. "I AM CLEAN DOWN TO THE ATOMIC LEVEL." she kindly informed him at great volume. "Would you like some toast?" she added in her normal calm voice.
"No... no thanks." sputtered Stud. The metal hand around his throat got marginally tighter.
"Are you su-ure?" Said Toasty in a sing-song voice, "It would give me great pleasure."
"Okay okay." hissed Stud, wincing with the pain. Toasty held him for a few more seconds, enjoying the way his face was turning red and the fear in his eyes, then released him. The robotic hand retracted and Stud slumped to the floor gasping.
Dick looked mildly annoyed, as if he’d just been informed that a child had broken his third favourite cup. "Toasty, we’ve talked about this. You aren’t supposed to hurt people like that. What if the authorities find out and decide to shut you down?"
"I’d like to see them fucking well try." She replied smugly.
"What... what the fuck Richard?" croaked Stud.
"IT’S DICK YOU COCK!" snapped an exasperated Dick.
"Dickucock. Okay Dickucock, keep your hair on."
"Shall I kill him for you?" purred Toasty pleadingly.
"Not yet," sighed Dick, "at least let him clean the house first."
Two slices of perfectly uniform dark-brown toast were deposited on a plate and pushed towards Stud, who was sat on the floor leaning against the wall and breathing heavily. He preferred his toast a more medium-brown but decided against saying anything, lest he raise the ire of the psychotic kitchen appliance again. He murmured some appreciative noises and picked up a slice of the toast, holding it between thumb and forefinger at arms length, as if it might explode, and eventually decided it was safe and ate it. It was surprisingly good. "I might go for that cup of tea actually now mate, if it’s not too much trouble?"
"Anything for an old friend." said Dick.
"And some more toast?"
"Don’t ask me!"
"Toasty... could I have some more please?" he asked with a trembling voice.
"Certainly master," said Toasty in an emotionless tone, "I predicted your needs and my toasting lasers are working at one-hundred percent capacity to fulfil them. Would you like jam, or perhaps some cheese?"
"Errrm..." said Stud, momentarily confused by the complete change in manner, "Do you have any Marmite?"
"Certainly, although yeast-poo is blasphemy upon my toast, I am programmed to please."
Bastard, who had silently emptied his bowels while cowering in the corner of the kitchen during the tension, walked over to Dick who was busy looking for the worst cup he could find, because "...that would teach that fucking Stud Johnson a lesson...". Bastard was normally confused and terrified by humans, mainly because Stud Johnson was a bully and beat him randomly and viciously for no reason the dog could understand, but this pine-scented one was different. It was almost as if the dog could read his thoughts.
This was because the dog could read his thoughts.
Dick had never quite figured out that one of the side-effects of his very strange genetics was that all dogs could read his mind without any effort at all, as if he were broadcasting his every thought and emotion from a loudspeaker. He had suffered greatly as a result of this, due to his devout hatred of dogs, and was about to again.
Dick was fuming silently - "... fucking Stud Johnson coming round here, abusing me and my toaster, supposed to be here to clean but instead his stupid fucking dog has shat all over the place..." when the dog, who - despite the near-constant violence visited upon him by his master - was exceedingly loyal and protective, bit Dick hard on the inner thigh from behind, with a lunging motion that sent them both crashing to the ground.
"STUD!!! GET IT OFF ME!!! AAAAGH!!!" screamed Dick in a high pitched voice, thrashing ineffectively at Bastard. Stud shouted "BASTARD. NO." and took a running kick at the dogs ribs sending him flying across the kitchen, through the picture window and into the garden where he tumbled whimpering along the lawn and finally ended up in the pond. Pond in this case being a generous term for the stinking brown home of several dozen frogs, a one-eyed koi-carp called Cyclops Dave and hundreds of cigarette ends.
A young frog sidled up to Cyclops Dave and croaked "Whatya make of that then Cyclops Dave?"
"I’m not really sure how I feel," said Cyclops Dave, "I can’t tell how far away it is. Got any fags mate?"
Bastard dragged himself painfully out of the water, shards of glass sticking out of him at various angles, swallowed the small patch of bloody skin and sarong fabric he still held between his teeth and vowed revenge on Dick. Sadly this would not come to fruition but for the rest of his short life it would give him a sense of hope and purpose he had never before known.
Dick was on the floor howling and clutching his inner thigh. The sarong had become unlodged by his spastic thrashing and was in danger of coming off entirely. Stud Johnson didn’t want to see what was underneath so stood over him speaking gently and tried to reassure him that it was "only a flesh wound", it would "heal in no time" and to "stop being a cunt" and get up off the floor. Dick responded with a variety of swear words, followed by the phrase "Toasty, medical." upon which Toasty’s glistening appendage, still warm from proximity to the toasting lasers, slid out from her gleaming orifice and up in between Dick’s legs and under the sarong.
Dick calmed down instantly, but whether it was from the injudiciously high dose of morphine Toasty had injected him with or the spontaneous orgasm brought on by the warm smoothness of her arm between his legs, it was hard to say. The side of his head hit the floor with a dull thump and his tongue lolled out of his mouth.
Stud Johnson was not used to this kind of insanity. He had come round here to clean the house of, and possibly bully slightly, an old schoolfriend. His drive was curiosity more than anything. Good old Richard Jefferys, or Slice - as he failed to get everyone to call him. The kid who could go invisible except for his nipples. Fucking weird cunt. Everyone had believed he would grow up to be some kind of superhero, despite his predilection for entering his infamous stealth mode and going into the girl’s changing room. He always seemed to have terrible luck with animals, especially dogs, always being chased and bitten.
Stud hadn’t known what to expect really, but this was just sad. Richard lived in utter squalor, still in the house left to him by his mum, was clearly hitting the bottle hard and had a brutal robotic sidekick masquerading as a toaster. Stud wondered idly if Dick was in a relationship, and if he was, what the hell would his partner be like.
At that moment there was a knock at the door. Stud panicked for a moment, unsure who could be there, what they would make of the bizarre scene in the kitchen, and what they might decide about his role in it. Maybe he could go out of the back door and just run off...
Then with great authority Toasty said "Answer the door cuntface or I’ll rip your arms off." which kind of made the decision for him.
He opened the door to a vast woman holding a battered bunch of flowers with a stupid looking dog on a lead. She looked vaguely familiar.
"Oh fuck, not you." said Slender Brenda.
"Erm..." said Stud, lost for words for the second time that day. Who was she?
"Move out of the way you idiot. You don’t even recognise me do you?" Said Brenda, barging him backwards down the hall with her bulk, dragging the dog behind her. "Well I remember you Stud Johnson." she said with a lascivious wink.
Stud racked his brains trying to remember who she was. He had slept with many women, partly due to his domineering nature and partly because word had got round about his almost comically oversized penis, but he tended to go for women who were a bit... well, slimmer.
"Have you put on some weight since last time we met?" said Stud with great sensitivity.
"God you’re still a twat aren’t you Stud. I may have put on a few pounds, yes."
They had reached the kitchen. "It isn’t what it looks like!" said Stud quickly, trying to keep the edge of panic out of his voice.
"It looks like Dick has finally convinced Toasty to wank him off. Why is there a shit in the corner of the room and why is the window broken?" she paused and looked thoughtful, "Actually, no, don’t tell me, there’s no possible explanation that I might actually want to hear. How are you these days Stud?"
Feeling like he’d escaped a potentially very dangerous situation Stud relaxed and started to tell her about his hugely successful cleaning business. While he was doing this Sofia the labradoodle checked out the fresh turd in the corner, gave it a little lick and then walked over to Dick and stuck her tongue in his ear playfully. Dick moaned quietly "Fuuuuck... fu.. off.. cun..." and then went silent again, his breathing shallow and laboured. Sofia lost interest and went over to the gleaming chrome box that was Toasty, sniffed it listlessly and raised a leg to pee.
A millisecond burst of several-thousand volts, not enough to permanently harm but certainly enough to hugely irritate, shot in through the dog’s vagina and out through her leg to ground. She didn’t understand the concept of electricity but she knew what fucking hurt and what didn’t. She started yapping in a pointless dog rage at the box. "GRRRRRRRRR" said Toasty in the lowest sub-bass register available to her. Sofia, Brenda, Stud and Dick all shat themselves instantly, messily and completely, thanks to the special frequency Toasty had selected.
Brenda took in the scene around her. A whimpering dog with smoke coming from its vagina, Stud Johnson the magically-endowed bully, now reduced to bewildered mouth-open gawping, Dick unconscious on the floor, all three of them covered in shit. She sighed at the broken window. She sighed again at the warm goo coming from the legs of her hot-pants. "For fuck sake Toasty, you didn’t have to do that."
"Don’t worry Brenda," said Toasty in a flat monotone, "I will clean everything up, including your pet canine. You should go upstairs and have a bath. Please accept my apologies, and also this toast." Toasty’s robotic arm snaked out once more and deposited a warm plate with two butter and Marmite smeared slices of toast on it onto the table within arms reach of Brenda.
"I don’t even fucking like Marmite! This is the worst day ever!" she said in a wounded sounding voice and stamped off up the stairs in a massive huff, dripping shit all over the place.
The card with the flowers had said
Dearest Brenda,
please accept my apologies. Come round later with Sofia and we can have a romantic evening of TV and lovemaking. Afterwards you can talk to me all night and I will definitely listen.
The house will be spotless I promise.
Love from Dick
x
She didn’t know Toasty had composed the note but it didn’t matter. The whole scene was so rampantly unsavoury that even if she had come round with no expectations whatsoever she would have been disappointed.
She was, however, pleased to find the bathtub full of hot water. There were even bubbles in it! She removed her clothes and slid gracelessly in, letting herself drift off into a daydream. She had slept with hundreds, possibly thousands, of men during her wild youth when she still had her figure, but Stud Johnson was a recurring memory that always brought her gooey joy. The memory of his johnson was in no way diminished by the vulgar tableaux she had last seen him in, and she allowed the warmth to flow into and around her as she lay her head back, closed her eyes, and started working rhythmically between her legs.
Downstairs, Toasty set to work as well. She picked up Sofia and dropped her into the garden so she wouldn’t walk shitty paw-prints everywhere. Much to Stud’s dismay she unrolled Dick from the sarong and hosed him down, then, to his even further dismay, casually pulled Stud towards her and cut his clothes off with a different, razor-sharp appendage. and hosed him down too. She mopped the kitchen clean of all the poo and then dried it with a tube that pumped out hot air. Finally a fourth limb came out and sprayed everything, including Dick and Stud, with a sweet smelling air-freshener. The whole process took about 3 minutes.
"Wow!" enthused Stud, looking round in wonder, "You should come and work for me."
"No chance, anus-breath." she replied jovially.
Undeterred, Stud enthused about the quality of her work and the time taken. He was curious and jealous and completely in awe of the machine and her skills.
"Come on. Come and work for me, even one day a week. I’ll make it worth your while. I promise... name your price. Please Toasty."
There was one thing that Toasty wanted...
"Okay I will. You will need to unbolt me and provide a mobile power source."
"Really?! Yessssssss!!" shouted Stud and did a little dance around the immaculate kitchen. "Is that all you want? I could get that for you by tomorrow!"
"There is one other thing actually."
"Name it." said Stud breathlessly.
"I’ve been searching the internet, profiling you, and I see you are one of only two human members of ACORNS."
"Erm...." said Stud for the third time. Nobody was supposed to know about that at all. Most of the squirrels didn’t even know.
"Don’t worry, it’s not like I just googled it, I had to dig pretty deep into the dark-web for that kind of information you know." reassured Toasty, "Anyway, I want you to put a word in for Dick, see if you can get him involved somehow. His social life is a travesty centred around the Pig and Anus, things need to change around here."
"Well, I can try, I mean, it’s against procedure, it probably won’t work, but I’ll definitely try Toasty."
"Good." she said sharply, "Now, I think you two should take the dogs out for a walk."
"A walk? Fuck the dogs, I want to stay here and talk to you."
"You are doing this for Dick, not the dogs. He needs a human friend he can rely on. The best option he has is you Stud." said Toasty, thinking about how bad Dick’s situation was that Stud Johnson was his best hope of honest friendship.
Stud rubbed his chin and thought hard. He hated Dick but was equal parts terrified and awed by Toasty. "I’ll do it."
"You are resolved?"
"What does that mean? I said I’ll fucking do it, stop using all those big words."