(If you’re reading this, you’re either hallucinating on Tabasco tinted, mescaline tainted magic-mushrooms or, that mother fucker, Bandit, has shown that he has the literary balls to put this steamy saga on his web site. The slimy synopsis is as follows: Zeke the Splooty, our horny hero gets into mad mayhem and romping sex. He tools down to Juanita’s and finds his arch-nemesis, Crazy Zelda and a bunch of pissed off dikes holding Opal, one of his sexual delights, hostage. Senor la Splooty aka Zeke, chomps chilies and kicks dike-beaner butt as fast as shit through a goose. A map to Spanish Conquistador gold is involved but not really necessary ’cause the Zekester loves nothing more than riding hard, knocking heads and downing more than a few foamy brews. The mayhem naturally ensues. Okay, that’s the shaky plot. What’s the fucking point? On the top of yer head, ya’ split-lipped muthafucka. Hang around too long and Zeke’ll kick your ass too! So, have you got the fuckin’ guts to read on?)
Zeek the Splooty, sucked up the nectar of Motor Muck Mead. For Zeke it was all an algebraic formula of Beer, Broads and Bikes. Such a volatile combination always meant trouble. Zeke didn’t look for trouble but he had to admit that he had a Pavlovian drool-reaction to conflict. There is nothing more delightful than using his boot to disengage teeth from his jive mother fucking adversaries. He had a heart for devilish things: the keen edge of a high tensile steel blade, the pulse-throbbing lope of a custom Harley and the clean mechanical precision of a round entering the chamber of his H&K .45, but for anyone who might question his philosophic beatitudes of choppers, cunts and bloody chaos, Zeke gave no quarter. "Fuck ’em up-to the max," was his credo.
A monstre sacre’ to those who shared his view of existenze, including a plethora of dipshits, morons, pinheads, bobos, numbnuts, dopes, stupidos, putanos, white trash, gerbils, tweakers, wannabees, goobers, puppydogs, foo-foos, nankers, gadflys, goofballs, a-holes, chuckleheads, burnouts, eggheads, weenies, wankers, zombies, hunkies, jerkoffs, barneys, ape-hangers, bird brains, vivisectionists, odor-eaters, knockwursts, weasels, nincompoops, doughbrains, muthas, deeks, geeks, ignoramouses, ragheads, shriners, shrimpers, tea-baggers, twerps, twits, momos, dickweeds, meatheads, pootbutts, visgoths, moon calfs, luddy duddys, greasers, geezers, jabbernowels, bubble-headed gerkins, dogboys, posers, simpletons, yutzes, gits, and teenage loose and lost women. He was a charming fellow, as they say, like shit to flies. Just a lovable curmudgeon who went where the wind blew and was happy to nuzzle any available cooze on the corner. At the moment, it was his luscious, lustful, horny-honey Ruby.
Ruby Pudenda, Zeke’s current main squeeze, sauntered into Zeke’s garage with swiveling hips and tits akimbo. Squishing her pendulous melons into Zeke’s back, Ruby snaked a lizard-flicking tongue into his ear. She knew how to get his attention.
"Oooh baby, I’ve got cold beer and hot cooze for you," she burbled her lusty love song into his gnarled, torn and ring-pierced ear.
Zeke eased his hand under Ruby’s pantiless mini skirt. You could never rub Ruby the wrong way. Her eyes gleamed with delight and lust as he ran his fingers up and around her sloppy cooze. She unleashed his throbbing choad from the zippered crotch of his leather pants as he stood.
Wraping her lips around his vein studded member, she slurped the engorged length of it down her throat. Pumping her lips along Zeke’s cudgel, she hummed a Z Z Top anthem.
"Let us pray," Zeke howled as he shot his gargoyle load down her throat. "The frim fram a buzzin’ on the jim jam. A cartilage canoe ride over the edge of the phallic falls of my libidinous languor. Holy hot fuck, you sure do vacuum the nasty nectar from my burgeoning balls, Ruby."
"I aim to please, you Splooty knocked knave," wiping a snaking cum trail from the corner of her mouth with the back of her hand; a wry, lascivious smirk danced across her lips.
Zeke returned to his task as Ruby popped a brew for him. Just then a Dos Equixs beer bottle sailed through his shop window tinklingly, bouncing off Zeke’s lizard knobby skull. The shattered bottle revealed a ransom note written in the alizarin snot that personified the cryptic, barely legible, signature purple-prose of his arch enemy, Crazy Zelda the Dike. She, of the fat-lipped, greasy-haired, hammer-handed, massive ass; a bellicose bull-dike, who as Zeke fondly recounted, was a love experience like biting into a running chainsaw. Zelda had an historic revenge ethic against our Master Splooty.
The ransom note revealed Zelda’s longstanding acidic animosity toward Zeke. It read, "Dear bullshit motherfucker, stinking skinny dick bug fucking, choad chomping asshole. I’ve got your grade A, sweet, sap dripping, cooze cutie Opal; strapped down, spread eagle and ready for my special brand of tongue lashing, slit sloshing for which I’m known far and wide. She’ll never again want that wart encrusted, varicose veined, pus dripping, testosterone jazzed puny pecker of yours to touch the delectable fleshy, labia-laced, pulsing pudenda of hers, ya’ scuz bag, shit lickin’, dick wipe. Love and kisses, Zelda."
In the past, she’d always communicated her distain for every aspect of Zeke’s essence, from his monster bike, his taste in women, and the size of his love root. To top it off, Zelda had nabbed and was holding in lustful hostage, Zeke’s second main squeeze, Ruby’s incestuous sister-in-lust, Opal. This was sure to raise his warrior dander; it also gave him a blood pressure dropping woody, so hard a cat couldn’t scratch it. The thought of violent encounter gave him a lustful rush like the thrill of having someone shove an ice cube up your ass just as you shoot your load.
"Hot Damn! I’ve got booty to bag, ass to kick and Opal to save from the evil clutches of Zelda."
"Ooooh, you get me hot, baby," Ruby mumbled as her fingers thrashed about in her sticky triangle tangle of flaming red pubic hair. "Nuugh, nuugh," she grunted her rutting suggestion of another romp on the concrete floor.
"I’d love to but I’ve got to get this plutonium-fired, titanium-twisted zig sled humping down the highway with a bit more scoot." Zeke wrestled the twice-piped exhaust system loose from the exhaust port. "Gotta put some zip in the zooty," Zeke mumbled to himself. Ruby had vacated the grimy inter sanctum of Zeke’s garage/temple of heaving hedonism and chrome chaos. It was best to leave genius its space.
"Gleet, the biddle after the Zot." Zeke gave his Splootiness free reign. The runic rhythms of his babbling gave vent to the impending hubbub. "Glurp the Zoot," he continued. "Gwang yer’ nagging toodle, lashed to oversized mittens, weighted by the poor man’s wife, dipping his oar into yer’ coozey like warm taffy in the summer," he intoned with gravitas. "Her head lolls about her shoulders, like a childs toy. Her arms dangle at her sides, feet splayed, ready to spring. The Welsh Rarebit nightmare lies festering in the moonlight as Luna starred through a glass eye, the bubble of glue caught and whisked away. The normally gapping maw was now closed like hollow dog teeth. The dull sweetened wax lips give Halloween children an effeminacy not intended for public intimacy. Go ask your mother, is the command of the debacle. Yer’ sckerz been hasting ta’ mackrel. Emiting an odor best described as emulating footballs, formaldehyde, salt water, cracked leather wingtips and torn muscles," he concluded.
Zeke frequently mumbled to himself, especially when the pressure was on. The incantations were part and parcel of his tendency to hallucinate arboreal dells flowing with beer and his mother’s paisley shawl.
Today Zeke had to prepare himself and his chrome and black powder-coated steel stallion for battle. Heads would roll down Mexico way later that night and he wanted to be ready to do just damage to all who fucked with his buzz, Also including an old score to settle with Crazy Zelda.
Meanwhile, down south, Crazy Zelda and her band of bad-assed bike dikes were holed up at Juanita’s Jiggy Joint just outside Chula Vista near the Mexican border. Zelda was the kind of woman who couldn’t turn down a lap at a juicy cooter or a kick-ass brawl. She loved to lap cunt so much she wore a permanent moustache of slit slime that looked like she’d been eating glazed doughnuts all day.
"Baaarape!" Zelda belched out a command to one of the two dikes who were making moon-eyes, fondling each other and drooling at the bar. Wiping her flabby lips with the sleeve of her funky, chrome-studded leather jacket and the back of her battle-scarred knuckles and be-ringed fingers. Zelda regarded the nubile, semi-clad form of the captive Opal with her wrists and ankles duct tapped to a chair. "Strip her bare. Let’s see what that skuz-bag, cocksucker Zeke has been enjoying."
Opal strained against the tape. Pushing forward, Opal’s mountainous melons swelled against the fabric of her T-shirt, her nipples aroused and hardened like thumbs, pushing their pubescent presence to the limits of the cotton material.
As Zelda’s aide-de-camp ripped the straining T-shirt from the heaving chest of the nasty nymphet, Opal’s firm and full breasts bounced with the taut tone of a fresh insouciant maiden. Zelda thrust her head forward at the sight of Opal’s bobbling, bodacious tits.
Zuk, zuk," Zelda grunted, hardly able to contain her rutting lust. "Nuugh, nuugh, nuugh," Zelda’s slathering tongue darted across her slobbering fat lips. "More," Zelda scooted her chair so close that Opal was forced to yieldingly spread her legs in obscene fashion. This movement further excited Zelda so that the vein at her temple throbbed in the dark purple primitive rhythm of a jungle animal observing its prey just before it leaps in for the kill.
Opal could feel the heaving, hot, garlic wretched, musk scented breath of the horny old dike, on her bare breasts as Zelda scoured every scintilla of Opal’s quivering form. Zelda’s lizard like tongue darted out between her fat, liver tinged lips. Zelda traced a path with the stainless steel first finger nail of her filthy fist up Opal’s thigh. Sweat dripped from Opal’s brow onto her leg as she craned her neck to watch the direction of Zelda’s fingernail as it snaked its way up to the fluffy haired nectar of her nascent nether regions and the eggshell fragile dewy nest of her happy-time lil’ fisherman clitoris.
A gasp escaped Opal’s lips as the finger nail skipped past her cunt and on up her torso to her heaving breasts. As Zelda’s finger traced the soft edges of Opal’s right breast, Opal threw her head back with a moan. Her nipples became rock-hard as Zelda’s sharpened nail dug into the knobby areola.
Opal could contain her agony no longer. A scream escaped her throat as she gave into the hopelessness of her plight. She was doomed to suffer the martyrdom of her soul at the hands of the mad woman/torturer having her way with her.
As Zelda grabbed the shaking shoulders of the pliant and defeated Opal, the heavy wooden door of the cantina was split asunder.
"Unhand my wench, you sweat swilling gas bag dike!" Zeke the Splooty sat atop his throbbing Harley with the flourish of a chopper riding Zoro. The dikes at the bar didn’t wait for the eloquence of his next snippet of prurient prose. A shower of beer bottles flew at his head. Ducking the glass missiles and dismounting his black and chrome, steel steed, Zeke flung a Rigid 16 inch crescent wrench at the head of the closest dike, hitting her square in the skull, knocking her cold.
Three beefy Mexican dikes pounced on Zeke at the same time. Exploding from their grimy grip, Zeke exclaimed, "Holy horse cock, you broads stink like maggot-filled cadavers. Deodorant please, girls" Zeke’s sweeping side-swipe of his ringed fingered fist connected with the temple of one dike so firmly that you could hear the crunching of skull bone across the bar. She was out of action. Another beefy, beaner-bitch, bull-dike aimed a punters kick to his groin. The kick struck his knee cap with a sickening thud, spinning Zeke like a top. Luckily for Zeke, he was wearing motorcross shin guards which disapated most of the energy of the kick.
As Zeke pirouetted like a pansy ballet star, his leg struck paydirt in the kidneys of the other dike. She folded up like an origami doll, screaming in pain. "You’ll be pissin’ blood for a month, if your lucky," Zeke crooned to the downed dike.
The third dike hit him with a full-body block checking him like a hockey enforcer. Zeke rolled with the tackle, righted himself, swung with his engineer boot to greet the upturned, growling face of the third dike as she rose from the floor. Teeth flew across the barroom floor when his boot connected. The dikes head snapped back then cracked as she fell to the floor.
Just then Zeke turned to face Zelda who had regained her composure, still dripping from the hot and heavy interrogation of Opal. Through clenched teeth and pared back lips, Zelda spat out her invectives, "You choad slurping, ass grabbing, homo bastard, I can’t let you have all the fun. Come to mama."
Her brass knuckles sparkled in the barroom light as she swung at Zeke’s head.
"Saints preserve us," Zeke cackled as her blow found the edge of his jaw, "Let us pray." Zeke’s right cross managed to snap Zelda’s head back, ‘Here’s the benediction for the day."
"When I make dog meat out of you, I’ll have my way with your little strumpet over there," she shook off the blow and snorted through her nose like a wounded bull.
"In your dikey dreams, you skanky slut," Zeke smacked her again up side the head. Zelda was bobbing and weaving like a trained heavy weight fighter. She was a formidable foe and Zeke loved the competition. Most of the blows Zeke landed she side slipped so they glanced off her head. She hardly blinked when he hit her.
Zelda’s blows shook Zeke like being hit by a freight train. Zeke realized right away that he had to get serious or she might take him. A square blow, a straight right cross caught her flat on the nose, mashing it across her face. Her hemorrhaging nasal vessels spewed forth a frothing gusher of blood. They both love the scent of blood, it stirred their animal passions even more.
As Zelda reared back, prepared to send Zeke to the canvas with arcing upper-cut, she stepped back, falling backwards over the carcass of one of her comatose compatriots. As she fell her expression went from surprise to angered disbelief to bug-eyed shock as the back of her head met the edge of the bar. Her huge body slumped to the floor with a final thud.
Zeke danced around the chaos of busted furniture, broken bottles and bloated, comatose dike bodies, sparing with his own shadow. "Shit. I’m just getting my stride. Let’s dance some more," he chortled to a mute audience.
"Drinks on me," he announced to the laid out cunt lappers. He went around to the beer tap and poured a frosty one. As he tipped the sudsy brew, chugging half of it, he spied Opal. Opal glared at him with a sarcastic sneer.
"Well, are you going to set me free or just stand there slurping beer?" Her petulant, barely pubescent pout snapped him to attention. Putting his drink down, he rushed to her side, looking down at her bound loveliness, her firm thighs and taut breasts, he drooled abit. "Not now, you horny motherfucker," she swore at him," Undo me. Then we can have fun."
After he cut the tape holding Opal, he bent over Zelda’s body. He noticed a piece of paper hanging out of her leather jacket pocket. Pulling it out and unfolding it, he saw that it was a map. Written in Spanish, the map was very old and described the location of a stash of Spanish gold. There were many of these maps floating around the SouthWest.
Using the map to wipe Zelda drool off of Opal’s naked body, he crumpled it up and through it in Zelda’s sleeping face.
"I got all the gold I need," Zeke laughed as he placed a hand on Opal’s giggling butt cheek. He grabbed a couple of Dos Equixs for the road and led Opal on to the seat of his chopper.
"No, wait," Opal said with a nasty glint in her eye. She motioned for Zeke to mount his bike and kick it over. She leaned over his crotch, unzipping his fly and releasing the length of his hose-like cudgel to the grinning pleasure of Zeke. Sucking it up to randy attention, she mounted his lap, facing him, then sitting slowly on the purple head, inserted his throbbing cock into her dripping cooze.
"This ought to make an otherwise tedious ride home more pleasureable," she laughed as the shuddering vibrations of the monster chopper throbbed through their bodies.
Zeke peeled a doughnut on the barroom floor then exited, driving over the bodies of the awakening, wounded and moaning dikes.
"Hasta la taco, ya’ skuzzy assed cunts, let me know when you want to play again."
Opal leaned back against the gas tank as Zeke turned north. They both cackled in lustful unison as the rpms of the nasty old chopper split the cool evening air.
Things quieted down in Old Mexico after that. It would be quite a while before Zelda would recover enough from her wounds to do battle again with Zeke the Splooty. Besides that dumb fuck left her the map so she had Spanish doubloons to dig up.
