Christmas Story

"Go to bed you little shit!"  Is screamed at the shivering husk beneath the blanket. Shadows lurch from the windows over the mound of fear. It stands there, waiting. Thick silence lies on the room. Understanding she won't get a reaction, she flings an action man at the the wall, shattering it. "Look what you made me do" Action man's thighs fall onto the covers and shimmer as the fear ripples through them, transported from the blanket. "Got to go to sleep. Got to go to sleep" Is chanted from beneath. "Santa won't come!". Moans and groans echo from the next room, agreement and all "Yes, yes. Right there". He creeps into the bathroom and opens the medicine cabinet. Grabbing an orange cylindrical case. 'Sleeping pills' he swigs them. Thump. Frothing at the mouth and spasming, the infant struggles from the door "M-m-mom.... H-help" He chokes through an enclosed throat. Hands tense in between motions as he claws at the doorknob, sliding down the smooth exterior because he can't grasp it. Then he stops. Diluted eyes stare at the ceiling, one pupil drifting slightly to the left. Incomprehensible groans whisp from his slightly parted lips. Corrupted mind and shattered soul. Knitwear covered in drool.
 

Manhood

New York. The Skinners. "Pint of lager please" says the man in a suit; Big lump in his trousers and confident demeanor. Every girl in the bar stares at him. "Hey baby what do you drink?", remarks his moist lips. The next day he saunters in, itching his crotch, "Pint of lager please". Marching up to the blonde girl, big tits and tiny black hairs poking out from the rippled holes in her legs. slight whiskers protrude above her lip, she thought she could get away with not shaving. A day later, scratches on neck "Pint of Lager please". Sitting there he surveys the room. Hot brunette, booth three, sitting next to a below average looking forty year old female, wrinkles wrap around her eyes. Loose skin on her forehead. A baggy red dress hangs around her neck in a feeble attempt to try and look nice and hide her expired body. Disgusting. Along the shaft of the booth, wrapping its long, hard arm around the man, also forty, tweed shorts, tight around the waist and a crinkled tie following his fat gut, disappearing into his trousers. Pixie cut blonde, booth twelve, sitting with a group of people her age, around twenty. too many. There's the doe, sitting at the bar. sweaty hair and spotty face. Small tits and a large waist. "Terrible combination", he mutters to himself. The clock states three; he scoots over "What do you drink?"
"Why?" she replies at light speed, slightly defensive.
 "Well I would like to buy you one if you don't mind"
"Oh, ok. Lambrini... please" she replies, still regaining herself from the shock. Back on track, he grasps at the packet in his pocket.
"Hey, look over there" Plop.
The next day he wanders in "Pint of Lager please" Three minutes later it's down his neck, gone. "That was a big heafer you picked up yesterday!" Jaunts the barman.
"Yeah, getting late" he says while getting up out his chair and patting some crumbs off his stomach. "Just off to the can" Uniziping his pant he pulls out a giant rod of meat.
A strike of pain emits from his crotch. Thwunk. down on the floor, spewing blood from one end, squelching as it hurls up tiny chunks of flesh, was a giant dick. I wrinkly pair of balls hang their, friendless, a gaping whole ripped down the sack. Pools of blood driping between and around the stark white hairs. He looks down, lips quivering "my... my manhood".