Inspired by the deranged, nonsensical plays of Virginia Tech shooter Cho Seung-Hui (see here and here), this next chapter of my Backstreet Boys fanfic is a pointed critique of the culture of complacency that allows these tragedies to occur.
Got Me On My Knees, Chapter 3 (NC-17)
AJ and Nick lay on the bed together.
“That was a great ass-reaming you just gave me,” said Nick.
“Yes,” said AJ. “Just like the one our agent, Mr. Brownstool, gives us every week.”
Nick laughed. “He’s such an ass-rapist. I bet he’s raped more asses than a motorised ass-raping machine.”
“Oh, the Anal Invader 3000? I’ve got one of those here somewhere…” said AJ.
“No thanks,” said Nick. “As it stands, the next time I take a dump will involve much wailing and gnashing of teeth.”
“Mr. Brownstool gets constipated, or so I hear,” said AJ.
They both laughed.
The doorbell rang.
“I feel a Satanic presence,” said Nick.
“Sorry,” said AJ, “I ate some beans earlier.”
“No,” said Nick, “I meant that it’s probably Mr. Brownstool at the door.”
“Oh,” said AJ as he got dressed and headed to the door.
AJ opened the door and there stood Mr. Brownstool.
“Fuck you!” said AJ. “You’re an old Catholic priest ass-raper. And you’re old!”
“Old enough to be your father!” said Mr. Brownstool.
“But you’re not my father! You killed my father and JFK and created Milli Vanilli!” said AJ.
“Your father died in a bizarre gardening accident,” said Mr. Brownstool. “I tried to remove the leaf blower, but it was too late. As for Milli Vanilli… blame it on the rain.”
“Milli Vanilli were total ass and you know it!” said AJ.
“AJ, the past is the past and—”
AJ punched Mr. Brownstool. “Take that, you ass-raping Catholic priest!”
“Now AJ—”
“Don’t make me shove a delicious banana cereal bar down your gullet—the perfect breakfast treat—you fat piece of pork!” said AJ.
“How dare you! I’m Jewish!” said Mr. Brownstool. “Richard McBeef and Mayor McCheese will hear about this!”
“Not the Mayor! Just don’t tell Grimace!”
TO BE CONTINUED…
