Bandit, nearlyseven feet of high-grade treachery, feared by men since the first day heclawed his way out of a wart hogs womb, sodomized it, killed it and thenate the only female who would ever truly love him. Perhaps the most legendaryoutlaw biker of all time, a greater menace to social stability than theblack plague, the kind of arch villain who gives fear a superior positionin the universe. A man who often eats his knife with dinner. I once sawBandit snatch a fleeing migrant worker out of the ditch as he thunderedpast on his 90 foot long chopper, reach up the screaming cabbage picker?sass, snatch out his guts and wear his hide for a hat until it at last rottedoff his enormous head several years later.
Mad Myron of Arizona, owner of the notoriousBillet Bar in Scottsdale. At least that?s what he calls it. It?s reallya front for his Thai hooker ring, which he operates out of the westernUnited States. He ships in the Asian pay pussy under the Jolly Roger flagon pirate ships that land in Encinata Harbor in the Baja, Mexico and afterthe tarts have pulled their load, as they say in the draft horse business,he chops them into pieces with a dull garden hoe and sells their frazzledand drug hardened organs on the open market in Cambodia. There the organsare ground into fine powders and mixed with superstition and various baturines and traded for tigers nuts in the Hong Kong underground as sexualelixirs. And man do they work. But that?s another story.
King Dale of the North, 500 pounds of unfriendlymuscle and bone.
King Dale of The North is half buffaloon his father?s side and retained the horn gene. A pair of gruesome ebonyhorns spiral out of his blonde head, forming a heavy battering ram, whichhe has used against his enemies in bar fights around the world. His mother,a Nordic lass said to have been nearly eight feet in height fell in lovewith his father, a North American Bison, after encountering the massivebeast on a religious trek into the Icelandic regions of Canada. They fellin love and King Dale was born in a blizzard which lasted 11 days and reachedtemperature lows of 100 below zero. It is said a local sheriff once ropedKing Dale of the North off a horse in an effort to tear him away from alocal whorehouse which he was terrorizing. King Dale allegedly beatthe sheriff to death with the horse and burned the whorehouse to the ground,killing all inside, including the mayor.
The New Zealand Reaper, a behemoth so lethal,so violent, so aggressive that he would often fight himself in open territory,unable to find a suitable opponent among the mortal masses. It is saidthese brawls would sometimes last for days, as he loosed his left sideto do battle with his right, either half being far the superior to bothsides of a normal man. Then he would fight himself nonstop, day and night,until at last, the local town people, in fear for the structural integrityof their humble abodes which were crumbling under the jolts and shock wavesthe epic engagements sent through the earth, would light the great prairiesand forests on fire and drive the Reaper from their region with thousandsof acres of burning timber and swamp grass. The New Zealand Reaper hadbeen thus driven all the way from his native lands to America, where, atlast, he engaged himself in the great western desert, a region with nothingto burn and there he fought for nearly 100 years, digging a pit some 10,000square miles in size during his row, crushing all life forms under hisflying mass. This barren hell hole is now aptly titled Death Valley.
It was to be a night of Vikings, or “Weekings”as the Nordic ancients used to call world?s most legendary warriors. Andnow their great great grandsons had amassed to feast, to celebrate theunconquered boatmen of old, Bandit, Mad Myron, and King Dale of the NorthCountry, the New Zealand Reaper.
The waitress, a salty dog of a woman, manytimes deflowered, curt, unwashed, slightly foul, reeking of misery andlubricating molasses demanded to know what strong drink the Vikings wanted. “We have lambskins of wine and whiskey and pig skulls of beer!” she saiddefiantly. “Of which will thou partake, white raiders upon whom giant horsesride?”
“Bring us whiskey!” Bandit ordered, grabbingher by the ass and pressing his mouth to hers. The waitress screamedand struggled, desperately trying to get away. “Ahhhhhhhhhhhhh!” Banditroared after freeing the strumpet. “She tastes of the loin!”
The Vikings thundered their approval andhammered the table with fists weighing 50 pounds each, the oaken planksshuddering under the blows. “A truly good woman than she is!” Mad Myronof Arizona commented, slamming his eating knife into the wood.
“But of which loin doth she taste?” snarledKing Dale of the North Country, leaning in closer, the thick bench creakingunder his shifting weight. “For there art in this fair world not one, buttwo types of loin to be had!”
“Deed! King Dale of the North Country speaksthe truth!” the New Zealand Reaper agreed, tearing his cow coat open andscratching his woolly chest loudly with a meat skewer.
Bandit snatched the waitress up by thewaist, holding her in one hand, he again crushed his thick mustache intoher shrieking face.
“She tastes of the loin of the lady!” Banditsmiled, licking his beard with a scared tongue.
“Then perhaps this fair maiden should bringus to eat her secret lover,” I proposed, slicing a huge sliver of muscleoff of King Dale of the North Country?s shoulder with a handmade knife.”And for an appetizer, we shall have this fillet of our brother, King Daleof the North Country!”
I slapped the long shard of meat down onthe table. My Viking brothers barked and bellowed with appreciation.
“Bring us then salt!” Mad Myron commandedof our waitress. “For all who know the stout taste of buffalo know thatit is bested with salt!”
Our waitress scooped a huge shovel fullof salt onto our table from a wheelbarrow manned by a dwarf clad in tatteredrat hides.
We spread the salt in a thick layer acrossthe fresh meat from King Dale of the North Country1s shoulder.
“A blessing!” King Dale of the North Countryoffered.
“An ear!” Bandit seconded.
“May we be victorious in our battles, maywe slay our enemies with
furious wrath and terrifying vengeance!May we fight with bravery and great ferocity! And when our days have cometo an end and our time is nigh, may we die with the honor and dignity ofthe warrior!” King Dale of the North Country roared, slamming his huntingaxe into his own flesh which lie prone on the table, cleaving it twain.
“A more noble blessing before has neverbeen uttered!” The New
Zealand Reaper proclaimed with the throatof the great winds.
“A fine, stinging taste of buffalo thisis, too!” I shouted,
grabbing an end and tearing off a chunkwith my teeth. “A finer musk, a more rancid taste has never in my gut founda home!”
“Like the hymen of the stolen woman,” Banditsaid, shearing off a
large piece with his sword and eating theflesh and the tip of his sword with it.
“And more desirable than the dank ass ofthe fetid island whores,”
Mad Myron of Arizona concurred.
King Dale of the North Country?s meat waseaten quickly, until there was nothing left on the oak table but a wet,bloody stain where I had first
slapped the chunk of shoulder meat down.
“Whiskey!” our waitress announced, as sheheaved a lambskin of the
vaporous spirit onto the table with a deepthud. “Twice aged beyond that of the innocent, mellowed in the bones ofblack mules, filtered through the hair of French virgins.”
Mad Myron of Arizona reached out and clutchedthe waitress by her
own hair and dragged her the length ofthe ten-foot oak table to himself.
“And what of he who wants not whiskey alone,but also desires the
milk of the teat?” Mad Myron growled, hisface bloodshot with lust.
“He must know but upon which flower tofeed,” the enchanted vixen
responded, loosing her massive tits withthe ripping of her soiled gunny blouse.
Mad Myron of Arizona beheld the enormousbreasts, which hung in his
face, nipples the size of startled elephanteyes, twice the height of the African anthill and the color of a successfullie.
“Look how he flows at the mouth, a riverof adoration sent forth!” I
chortled, pointing with my dagger at thegreat stalactites of drool which hung from the busted and chipped teethof Mad Myron of Arizona.
“Deed, best we to the ship and man theoars, lest we find ourselves
out to sea without our boat!” cried outBandit, roaring with vast jocularity.
The Vikings shook the Inn with laughteras Mad Myron of Arizona
flung spit and salvia upon the thick furcoats of all present, sucking with power and determination at the swooningwaitress?s flushed teats.
“But enough of this folly!” I roared. “Underwhat silver lid doth our main course hide?” I demanded, handling the waitressby her ass and dragging her from the sincere lips of Mad Myron of Arizona.”We ordered your lover and your lover we now crave!”
I waved a battle-axe high over my head,spinning it on its leather thong in increasingly more broad revolutionsbefore releasing it and sending it into the ceiling high above the tableto stand inverted.
Scurrying through the dwarves and otherdiners, the waitress shot
through the doors of the kitchen, wherethe squeals of death could be heard from slain pigs and chickens, cattleand the demented.
“King Dale of the North Country, your bloodis rich and red, like
the heart of the Viking!” The New ZealandReaper commented as he held his cup under the gushing wound left from theremoval of shoulder muscle. “And a great valley the Zebra has left youwith in the removal of our appetizer.”
“Not to worry,” Bandit said. “For KingDale of the North Country has a great mass and this small morsel on whichwe just dined shall his whole diminish naught.”
And it was true, despite the removal ofover 90 pounds of shoulder
meat from King Dale of the North Country,still he did to the sun give shade.
“HAR! Our waitress lingerith too long andmy stomach does make the
song of the bear!” I sang, growing impatient.”If I must retrieve my axe, it shall be to do her a dire misdeed.”
At this the doors to the kitchen partedand a heavy wooden wagon was
Rolled forth. Much steam and scent roiledup from this cart, which was drawn by two mules, painted gold with berryjuice and topped with a singing canary each.
Our waitress led the mules to our table,thereby drawing the burning
cart near.
“What1s this?” Bandit demanded, sniffingat the steam with great
interest.
“The water smoke, she smells of tartarand morality!”
“Nay, of fecund dirt and the feet of theKing1s messenger!” Mad
Myron from Arizona decried.
“My nose speaks of memories of a burningwhorehouse and a sheriff no
more!”
King Dale of the North Country concluded.
“I do scent the ass of the wild boar orperhaps the dank hair of the
Clydesdale uterus!” I trumpeted.
“But all are mistaken, ?tis none of theseolfactory delights, but the
burp of the whale, engorged on kelp anddeep freedom!” argued The New Zealand Reaper.
“Of all your large noses, none speaks thetruth,” chided the bare
breasted waitress. “I shall thee give butone clue,” she said, leaping up on the table and ripping from herself hergown, leaving her vase uncovered. “Ask of myself what scent do ye reapand then under the silver dish ye shall know what ye eat!”
With great confidence and lascivious gait,she proceeded to position
her glory before each Viking1s snout forthe time it takes a tortoise to sneeze. Each man had a royal scenting anda bit of a taste was also, it seems, enjoyed by the lot. When she arrivedat The New Zealand Reaper, he grasped in each hand a side of buttock andmade a thorough and detailed inspection of her gift. So much so that thewaitress at the knee buckled and cooed, apparently enamored with the attentionand enthusiasm shown by our unparalleled brother.
Then our naked lady, her wooden shoes clappingthe dirt floor when
she lit, dropped herself from the oak andto the earth.
“Now, do ye better know the dish?” thewaitress asked, kneading her
breasts in boiling anticipation.
“If it be half as fair as ye, then I shalleat fully,” Mad Myron
from Arizona declared. “I should predictthe raising of the silver dome will reveal pig!”
“My whiskers are glad to be alive tonightas well,” Bandit announced. “And if the smell and taste of this fair lady?ssouthern lands be our guide, I guess on the ass of mutton shall we thiseve dine!”
“Hold on, good brothers, for this is notthe only source of this
intoxicant,” King Dale of the North Countrycautioned. “For once, when I fought myself through the great land theycall Europe, I paths crossed with several women, with hair as black asthe soul of a coward and eyes like those of the forgotten night. Thesewomen themselves called Arabs and they did in their joining of the legsthis taste leave me with as well. Our clever waitress wishes to repay usfor our jostlings and humor. On the brains of the
demented we dine tonight.”
“Wrong, my sizeable and delicious brother,wrong,” The New Zealand
Reaper said. “I did spend considerabletime and trouble deciphering the crucial intersection of this maiden andI can tell you with great sureness, tonight our tongues beat fish.”
“There is but one way to be sure what lingersunder the brilliant
cover of the coin on this dinner cart,”I said, standing from the table and removing my lower bullskin.
I scooped up the naked waitress, her smugsmile too and bent her
over the table roughly, giving her a finepenetrating and a merry prodding in both her upper and her lower eye.
“I shall investigate this insatiable strumpetproperly!” I said,
grunting and farting as I sent forth theHerculean battering ram into her defending guts repeatedly.
The waitress shrieked and clawed at thebark on the table with her
fingernails, first objecting, then givingwhat could be described using some artistic license as direction.
“I am hungry!” Bandit objected, leaninghis gigantic skull on one
elbow. “And I yearn to know what lies beneaththe steel!”
“I too feel the horses stampeding in mygullet,” agreed Mad Myron of
Arizona, “and still I say, tonight we eatswine.”
“Try not to take too long in your pilgrimagefor truth,” King Dale
of the North Country pleaded. “For my hungeris that of Bandits plus a thousand men and I think that soon might be requiredto on our servants break my spell.”
Immediately the dwarves fled the area,fearful they might be plucked
up and treated as a snack by the ravenousgiant.
“Fear not my fine brothers, I shall makeof this harlot a short
work,” I said, sweating and pumping herrobust ass over the table. “Perhaps if the good brother Bandit could movehis shield and axe, allowing me to further trap this wiggly lass, I couldthen more quickly give to thee the answer to the dinner riddle.”
Bandit swept his sword and shield off thetable with a horrendous
crash, rolling his eyes in protest.
“We shall never eat until the sun has risenand fallen to the moon
in at least three desperate battles,” Banditsaid forlornly. “I have seen Zebra make such a quest for wisdom beforeand never is there fewer than four moons and as many suns before wisdomis reached.”
The waitress crowed noon, though it waswell near midnight, as I
switched holes and began sounding for depth.
“Four moons and four suns, the carcassof a rock fed peasant upon
which I should rather dine than to agemineself through such a period between meals!” Mad Myron of Arizona said,eyeing the charging tits of the waitress hungrily as I continued to makemy sweaty quest for enlightenment.
“Could we not just have a peek under thesilver dome?” asked King
Dale of the North Country? “For my fleshhas long since left both my shoulder and my stomach and I yearn to havethat which we will of tonight partake. I have ridden a lengthy distanceon my great motorcycle and I cannot wait for another fortnight to eat.”
“It shall be but a moment more,” I said,as I dropped from the high
pigeon?s nest to the lower again, gainingin momentum and wisdom with each stroke. “I sense an epiphany approaching,”I added as the waitress spoke in the tongue of the moon sick wolf.
“Always it is the same,” complained TheNew Zealand Reaper. “Always it is Zebra who sets out upon the path of enlightenmentand always we are left behind to ponder that science upon which revelationshave already been showered. My belly protests.” The New Zealand Reaperparked his massive jaw on two upturned paws and sighed loudly his greatacreage of brow plowing itself into high terraces of displeasure.
“AAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHH!” I roared asthe waitress?s ass bloomed and gave to me the key to the question. “I cantell you patient brothers what lingers under the chromed hood that is ourdinner,” I said, withdrawing from the spent waitress, who continued tolie on the table gasping for air and speaking in tongues. “This fair waitresshas, to my delight, brought us our first and somewhat mirthful request.”
The Viking?s eyes widened.
“No,” Bandit said disbelieving.
“My fine brother Bandit, haven?t I justtraveled the road to
wisdom?” I said, re-applying my bullskin.
Bandit nodded in anticipation.
“Then why does thou doubt my knowledgeof such things?” I asked.
“You there! Tiny man!” I roared at a nearbydwarf. “Our waitress is spent! Make of thineself a useful tool and unmaskour dinner, that my brothers might see their patience has been well repaid.For as they shall soon see, our waitress, generous whore that she is, hasdelivered unto us the very charlatan upon which she nightly dines for oursupper!”
The dwarf struggled to lift the enormoussilver cover from under
which wheezed great jets of steam and estrogen.
“I can stand no more!” Bandit thundered,standing his full height
and manning his broadsword. He swung withthe might of a thousand warriors and the ringing of his sword off of thesterling silver cover can still be heard today in the valley of Palos Verdes.
The lid flew across the Inn and smashedinto the far wall, killing
many. The Vikings gasped.
“?Tis true!” exclaimed Mad Myron of Arizona.
“Indeed!” called The New Zealand Reaper.
“Tonight we feast!” bellowed King Daleof the North Country,
knocking the chimney from atop the Innwith his great voice.
“Ahhhhhhhh,” cried Bandit as he jammedhis sword into the earth near
his feet. “No greater meat is there tobe had by man or Viking alike than that of the fair lady who has been raisedon the meat of another fair lady.”
And as the smoke and steam cleared, therebefore us sat a perfect
virgin, her hands bound behind her backwith long bullwhips. Her legs tied to either handle on the broad plate,which was her seat. A ripe apple in either end of her fortunous body.
“And a sense of humor too!” cried Mad Myronof Arizona. “Look at
how our waitress has adorned her offeringwith the fruit of the apple tree!”
“And not one fruit, but two!” laughed Bandit.
“Perhaps now the question is, who shalleat fruit and who meat?”
asked a suddenly jocular New Zealand Reaper.
“Another question to be answered?” I askedrising, giving the sweaty
waitress a sharp swat on her rubbery ass.”Shall I journey down the road to
enlightenment?”
“No!” cried Bandit. “I am hungry!”
“Fie and fiddlesticks!” thundered KingDale of the North Country.
“Enough of your cursed wisdom! Now is thetime for Vikings to eat!”
“Another journey shall see me weak!” snarledMad Myron of Arizona.
“Another journey shall see me in a fight!”threatened The New
Zealand Reaper.
“But a ruse, dear brothers,” I said, re-applyingthe bullskin. “But
a ruse. I should not think of deprivingyou a moment longer from suffering this unfrocked wench.”
“But is there enough?” worried King Daleof the North Country. “For
our numbers are few, but our feats in allthings legendary.”
“Rest assured,” came the sultry reply fromour freshly fertilized
waitress. “You shall ride your great horsessatisfied tonight. For the bindings on the legs, which, in separating,present to you the bottom apple and the heavy leather bullwhips which yousee as restraints against resistance on the wrists, coupled with the highestapple, already half eaten, are instead to afford you wee lads a fightingchance against what is perhaps the most ravenous woman in all of land orsea, time or reason. This hearty wench which you identified as so manydifferent beasts, is the Venus, goddess of beauty and queen of sexuality.Fret no more that you will be unfulfilled, dear Vikings. But instead giveheed to keep your shields handy and that which your bullskin hides, readyto defend.”
The Vikings gave a hearty shout of enthusiasm.
“Loose the leggings!” commanded Bandit.
Four dwarves in full battle armor ran forwardand sliced through the
Heavy ropes which held apart our dinner?sankles. Immediately the lower apple and one dwarf vanished into the caveof the woolen beast.
“Hark!” cried Mad Myron from Arizona. “Suchpower!”
“And now the wrists!” Bandit ordered.
A dwarf, tied by a rope to a team of otherstrong dwarves intent on
Retrieving him at the first sign of danger,slashed the bullwhips with a golden fighting axe.
Instantly the upper apple exploded as thenubile waif bit entirely
through it. Suddenly our dinner was uponus, a ravaging naked beast, hymen made of a material more durable thanthe skin of the moose, estrogen splashing from her ass in great buckets.
“See how she strives to devour the devourers!”wailed Bandit as he
fought shield and broadsword against theravenous slut.
“Methinks we might soon be ourselves afeast!” trumpeted The New
Zealand Reaper as he fended off the slutwith his staff and club.
Tarnished peals of bad laughter comingfrom the unsealed waitress
rang off the walls of the Inn.
“You did order our strongest drink,” ourwaitress howled, shrieking
with delight. “And our strongest is she!Knaves! To think that I would offer myself unto this hungry wench! Ha!I would be gobbled fast, as you shall be! The lass with which I scent myselfis not one-third this monster! Were she, with sincerity I can say, I wouldnot your waitress be before you on this day! Vikings! Tonight, after somany centuries of unspotted reign, you shall meet your match!”
“Prepare to make a brother of death!” thunderedBandit as he flung
aside his bullskin and ran the slut throughwith his unveiled warrior.
But it was a cry of delight, not deathwhich shot from the slut and
Instantly she was on top of Bandit, a femalefury greater than that of the funneling winds which rip the Midwest inthe springtime and into their great twisting holes suck entire barns fullof chickens, horses and cowering men.
“See how she mocks Bandit?s efforts toreduce her!” bemoaned King
Dale of the North Country as he coweredbehind his shield, a sheet of painted pot iron nine dwarves high and twiceas wide.
“Fear not noble brothers, I have reliedupon my own mast many times
in such situations and never has it failedme!” said Mad Myron of Arizona.
With that he flung his bullskin aside andcharged the attacking
wench his lungs filled with a savage battlecry.
“She seems not to notice the rear assaultwhich Mad Myron of Arizona
so nobly launches on her!” cried The NewZealand Reaper in disbelief.
“And hear how Bandit shrieks in pain andagony, calling for death to
rescue him from his superior foe!” I saidin terror.
“Retreat!” cried King Dale of the NorthCountry.
“To the steeds!” I yelled, charging theback door.
We ran for our lives and leapt upon ourgreat motorcycles, charging
off into the night. Later as we sat andpondered on the hilltop near the Bikernet castle, all agreed that it hadbeen a battle filled with valor and courage.
“Proud we should stand,” Bandit said, rubbingburning lineament
under his bullskin to reduce the pain ofhis war wounds. “For well we fought and never braver.”
“Never have I seen an entrance so fortified,so impenetrable,” added
Mad Myron of Arizona as he borrowed a gobof burning lineament from the pouch hanging on Bandit?s motorcycle andrubbed it under his bullskin.
“A more mighty foe I have never seen,”said The New Zealand Reaper,
sewing up what was left of his tatteredbullskin with thread and needle. “Our enemy brought with her stamina, ferocityand an appetite for doom and displeasure larger than the great waters ofthe north.”
“The tales, so often they grow beyond truth,”said Mad Myron of
Arizona. “But this epic foe, regardlessof how incredible the story becomes over the centuries of morrow, shallalways live up to the fable. A true woman indeed.”
“A greater piece of ass I have never seen!”I heralded.
“Here, here!” cried the Vikings.
And the valleys did shake and the mountainswere broken from their
moorings by their cry.
Special Agent Zebra
On the road with the Vikings
