The Mudcat Café TM
Thread #59418   Message #3794736
Posted By: Rapparee
10-Jun-16 - 11:51 AM
Thread Name: BS: The Mother of all BS threads
Subject: RE: BS: The Mother of all BS threads
Chongx awoke and waddled to the window. Glancing out from the side he he saw a man in a fedora and trench coat propped against the corner lamp post. Flatfoot, he thought, you kin always tell 'em.

Then he saw another man -- no, a skinny ape! -- lounging in the doorway the closed candy store. Slim Thing's thing, he mused. Well, there were other ways out of the building.

He turned and put a pot of water on the hotplate to boil for coffee. Then he took out his .45 automatic.

He popped the magazine, jacked the slide to remove the live on, and proceeded to strip her. Just another M1911A1, he thought, as his thumb found the sweet spot on the recoil spring plug and pressed just hard enough to allow him to rotate the barrel bushing. Her tension was suddenly released, like a spring that had been compressed within her. He collected the parts and gently placed them on the bed, fingering each one.

Chongx then slowly and lovingly moved her well-lubricated slide back to the disassembly notch, where he firmly pushed her slide stop from right to left, and suddenly she came apart in his hands! Her lubricating juices coated his fingers and he thought to himself that this was going to be a mess to clean up.

With increasing passion he wiped and inspected and cleaned each part, laying them on the current copy of the "Chicago Tribune." He rammed his cleaning rod into her barrel and with a few thrusts had it as clean as a whistle. A very light coat of lubricant and her barrel glistened. He began to build to the climax: he re-pinned the barrel in place, slid the slide back on, replaced the spring and the plug, tightened the barrel bushing around the plug, and with a sigh of ecstasy knew that she was again ready whenever he wanted and needed her.

Then, reaching for the cigarette he always had after such an encounter, he saw the newspaper article about the Tearoom

Two words jumped out at him, thrust themselves into his eyes like needles: pet monkey. Pet monkey. PET MONKEY!

He jumped up and down in anger and frustration, his "OOK! OOK! OOK!" bouncing around the third floor of the cheap apartment building like a handball in play.


(To be continued)