Leseprobe
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Butt-Dialing Bastard
Donald Rump
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Belletristik / Gegenwartsliteratur (ab 1945)
Beschreibung
When Lenny Ludwitz gets a call from a mysterious stranger, he knows that he's totally f*cked. After going round and round with the knucklehead caller, Lenny and his trio of halfwit friends come to the only conclusion that they can--that the call, indeed, is originating from his bunghole. Approximately 2,500 words. WARNING: Do I even need to put down such a disclaimer? I mean, really, if you can't tell by the paragraph above (No, the other one, you dolt!) that this harebrained tale contains foul language and plenty of it, then you have far worse problems than the characters in this book. And don't tell me that I ruined the story by including a fart as a main character. The fart is the story! Without him, it would totally suck balls. Oh, you still think it sucks balls? Well, at least it doesn't suck donkey balls. There, I fixed it. Now, some of these tales have sex in them. Not this one, but it is eluded to strongly. There's also mention of certain objects being shoved up a certain area where the sun don't shine. No, it doesn't mean I'm f*cking gay! Unfortunately, I can't get away without including such backdrops because one or more characters is a fart. They're born in bungholes, and tend to hang out there. Believe me, I'd love to b.s. the whole thing and say that farts only come from a woman's cooch, but hey, that's not even remotely correct. Besides, those are technically queefs not farts, and are far less frequent than you've been led to believe. So if you can get past my social justice warrior inclusion of farts, you'll have a swell time, and may even learn a trick or two (though it is doubtful). Or, you could projectile vomit on your spouse and jump out a window. These things tend to happen when reading a Donald Rump story or two, thus the warning. EXCERPT FROM BUTT-DIALING BASTARD When Lenny Ludwitz's cellphone began to ring, he knew that he was in hot water. It made the sound of a clucking chicken, a private joke that he shared with his mistress, which elicited smiles and curious eyes from his friends seated around him. “Well, I guess that’s me,” he laughed and answered the phone. “Hello?” “Oh, thank God! I thought I was going to have a heart attack when I woke up all alone. It’s dark in here. And scary. Did I mention that it stinks?” came a nervous voice. Lenny’s smile dropped off his face, as if he were staring into the headlights of an oncoming train. “Who is this?” “What, are you kidding? It’s me, Squeaky. Your son.”
