My sense of humor will get me killed one day
Friday 5th of July 2019 12:51:22 PM CDT

>Anon, 15th century France
>Your sorry Welsh ass got conscripted into marching around after someone calling himself king
>You’re marching to this one place right near the strait.
>You could swim back if you weren’t so tired.
>At least some of the camp followers are from good old Wales.
>She’s got long wool to keep the damned weather off.
>And she’s got attention, but she turns up her nose at the fruit suckers.
>It’s been a long march, and you’re getting told tomorrow’s going to be a big battle.
>Fuck that shit, you go find your girl.
>Sweet talk her, and soon you’re far enough away for privacy but still in camp
>Don’t want to get nailed for desertion, that’s for bastards dumber than you.
>You get to going, she’s on all fours and bleating as you thrust.
>Slap slap slap like an archer’s bowstring fucking up the enemy.
>Slap slap slap FLASH
>The sound wobbles like nothing you’ve ever heard.
>Neither of you move.
>It opens up a few dozen paces away, and you hope whatever is stepping out can’t see you.
>He’s wearing white and black, with an odd black hat.
>It’s nothing like you’ve ever seen.
>He looks around a bit, confused.
>The it strikes you, while you’re balls deep in good Welsh sheep pussy.
>His clothes are too smooth.
>He starts marching towards you, and you hear a voice from behind him.
>They’re shouting to come back, he’s shouting that this will only take a minute.
>Oi, goht ah loisense for that sheep?,

> “Martin’s Lynx Removal Service.”
> “Yeah, I got one.  You gotta help me.”
> “Right.  Leeme get a pad and your address.”  
> You hear the sound of paper in the background, and tell him where.
> The pen scratches over the phone, and you look over your shoulder.
> “Got it.  Can you describe her?”
> “What the hell?  I’ve got a fucking lynx in my house.”
> “Listen, buddy.  There’s all kinds of paperwork here.”
> You don’t hear anything from the other room.
> “...and if this isn’t straight my ass is grass.  Being smug isn’t a crime...”
> You can’t walk outside and let her out of earshot, she’d hear the door anyway.
> “...but some smug B&E is what we don’t want to get the cops involved in.”
> “Fine.  About four foot three, tan and black.  This isn’t garden smug.”
> “Now that wasn’t that hard.”
> You cup the phone closer as a long segment of traffic rumbles past.
> He guides you through the rest of the description.
> “OK.  Let’s get the situation.  She’s still there, right?”
> “In the damned bedroom, asleep for now.”
> “So what’s the motherfucking problem?”
> “She’s a dirty street lynx, only has rags on, and is on expensive sheets.”
> “Fuck her brains out.”
> You get the equivalent of brain freeze without ice cream and scream quietly.
> “The little thing stinks to high heaven!”
> “Right.  Toss her in the shower first.”
> “What the hell?  You’re supposed to be getting rid of her!”
> “Nothing wrong with some fun before I come and get her.”
> “And I’ve already tried tossing her out.  She’s slippery.”
> “That’s what bondage gear is for, numbnuts.”
> You swear sotto voce.
> “I heard that asshole.  So let’s finish up.  You were out...”
> “Yeah, went to get groceries.”
> “...and you get back, and there she is.”
> “That’s it.  Smug and sprawled on my couch.  Smell less if it’d been skunked.”
> “About standard if they’re close to heat.”
> “So when will you be out here?”
> “A few more things.  Any signs of forced entry?”
> “Nothing out of place.”
> “That’s good.  Clear B&E is dealing with the cops, and they’re not even.”
> “What else?”
> “So how long has she been there?  An hour or two?”
> “Three days.”
> “Whoa, buddy.  That’s a bit long to wait calling me.”
> “I thought she’d leave on her own.”
> “You’re more delusional than I thought.  They’re worse than cockroaches.”
> “Like I said, slippery.  I don’t know what to do.”
> “Calm down.  One last thing.  Did you feed her?”
> While you wonder what that has to do with it, a voice is behind him.
> “Honey, who’s on the phone?”
> Her voices purrs, and you can hear him smack her ass.
> “Just work, shortstack.”
> Your voice can’t stay low and calm.
> “Is this some sick fucking joke?”
> “Buddy, you fed her.  Wash her and tie her down.  I ain’t helping.”
> The phone clicks off.
> You turn around.
> The lynx is lounging against the doorway, a wide and clever grin on her face.
> “I’ve never thought of that.  Let’s go, big boy.  Bathe me.”
> The bathroom door closes, and she’s good at getting your clothes off.

> “Martin’s Lynx Removal Service.”
> “I’ve got a problem.”
> You grab a spiral-ringed notebook.
> Fifteen goddamned calls in the last four days, and now this after 9PM.
> “No shit.  People never call me to say nice things.”
> “If you can get rid of the bitch, I’ll put in a good review on Yelp.”
> Without her at home, the bookkeeping goes to shit.
> Add to that the problem of the bank fucking up yet again.
> A business costs money, and you’re not supposed to be a long-term facility.
> “Of course you will.  You and the bill collectors, always wanting something.”
> “Did I call at the wrong time?  There must be someone else in the city...”
> “Just me.  Wife’s away, and I got a backroom full of the little fuzzbutts.”
> “Fuck.  Well, I’m not doing you a favor then.”
> “It’ll get me out of the house.  Where are you at, and what’d you do?”
> “Right.  Umm, this is going to sound crazy.”
> “Listen, buddy.  I’ve heard it all.  Cough it up.”
> He hems and haws, trying to dance around what’s happened, then he spits it out.
> “I got a mail-order bride.  I fucked up, ordered a lynx.  She’s not that bad...”
> You try to process what level of moron this took.
> “Hold up.  I’ve had a long, hard week here.  They get ‘em straight from prison.”
> “That what I found out too.“
> “The girl’s going to be hungry and horny, you got me?  Where are you?”
> “Grocery store, down the street.  She passed out after giving me a blowjob.”
> “I take what I’d been thinking. You’re not the dumbest this week.”
> “Well, she’s still there, and smug.”
> “And you got a blowjob.  Good for you.  When you want me there?”
> A sigh comes out of the phone, a man battling with his conscience.
> “The sooner the better.  I mean, I really fucked up.”
> “Listen, buddy.  That every other guy out there.  You move on.”
> “This is bad.  I barely escaped.  I think I caught some feelings for her.”
> “Jesus Bunny Rabbit Fucking Christ!  I take it back.  Dumbest this month.”
> “She was already crying when they dropped her off, and...”
> “I’ve got a twelve hour rule, and no feeding them.  Please don’t tell me that.”
> You’re breaking your own rules, but this motherfucker is too dumb to live.
> Just talk him down, go pick up the smugness, and get your fee.
> He stays silent.
> “I’m going to feel bad no matter what.  First she was smug, then cried...”
> “You consider she’s a damned criminal and emotionally manipulative to boot?”
> He murmurs a despondent no.
> All in a day’s work, and all for their own good.
> “You’re going to listen to me good.  They’re tricky, so you gotta be trickier.”
> “Whatever, and anything.”
> “I got you address.  You go home, leave the door unlocked.  Got me?”
> “That...”
> “Then you going to fuck her brains out.  She’s tiny, so pin her good.”
> Dead air comes over the phone, then you hear him swallow in fear.
> “I’ll be home in fifteen minutes.”
> “It’ll be fine.  I’ll be there in about forty-five minutes.  Just hold on.”
> He gets the plan straight, and you hear an engine start and pull on the road.
> He’ll have five minutes at most before she has him naked.
> It’s counter-intuitive, but fucking them works if you’ve got the nads for it.
> You get up and walk to the large garage in the back, where the van is.
> The rolling door smacks the endstop, and you unlock the driver side door.
> A doublestack of cells stretch along one side of the building.
> Every occupied cell has eyes reflecting moonlight back at you, staring smugly.
> “You girls are going to have a new friend in an hour or so.”
> The eyes are all still, knowing that in a few days they’ll down the line.
> “So don’t you all get up to trouble.”
> A glint of something flashes to the side.
> You remove the key from the lock, and a hand caresses the inside of your thigh.
> Another hand, a third, and then the keys are removed from your hands.
> The door slides down, and you hear a bolt snick shut.
> A light, high-pitched giggle reflects as the real eyes become visible.
> “Trouble sounds like fun.  We don’t want friends, or to share our toys.”
> The sound of rattling spare keys is the last thing you remember that night.