Writer's Corner December January February 2020 / 2021

[johnj]

With everything going on right now, thought it might be time to try and get the corner up and running once more. I've set it for two months for this one, but if it gets going, we can switch to one month next time. 

The word this time is a phrase: 'Surely it can't get any worse?'

 

Rules:

1) Entries should be around a thousand words or less, but to be honest all entries are welcome

2) The deadline for entries is the end of February 2021

3) The deadline for votes is midnight on the 14th March 2021

4) Friendly criticism is welcome and encouraged. The more comment throughout the month the better

5) Have a go. The word is for inspiration only.

So what are you waiting for, get started...

 

 

[Monkeyboy]

Here's my juvenile, nonsensical, beer-fuelled entry...

 

******************************

 

“Surely it can’t get any worse?” Max thought.

 

He was stripped naked, his clothes in a pile on the floor next to him, two guys behind him gripping each arm. In front of Max was a guy called Julian. Julian was holding a meat cleaver in one hand. Somehow, the two didn’t go together. Guys called Julian didn’t wave meat cleavers around with evil intent. But this particular Julian did.

 

Between Max and Julian was a table. And on that table was Max’s unfurled todger, glistening like a freshly cooked saveloy beneath the harsh glow of the warehouse lights. Max’s penis was still attached to him, and that was the way he liked it. Never mind that it was the colour of a saveloy and he really should have seen a doctor about it. It was his penis and he loved it. He’d had it since he was born.

 

But now it looked like he was going to lose it. All because he owed Julian ten thousand pounds. The absolute bastard smiled as he gave the cleaver a couple of practice swings.

 

“I’m going to enjoy this,” Julian said.

 

“I’m not,” Max complained.

 

“You should have given me that ten thousand pounds! Then you’d have nothing to complain about!”

 

“I can’t give you what I don’t have,” Max replied.

 

“Then prepare to lose your cock!”

 

Julian paused. “I’ve always wanted to say that.”

 

“Nobody has ever wanted to say that. Just get on with it. I haven’t got all day.”

 

Julian put the cleaver down on the table, interlocking the fingers of each hand, and flexing them. “Don’t rush me. I want to savour this moment. I’ll be honest, I’m glad you didn’t give me the money you owed. You know why?”

 

“Why?”

 

“Because I love chopping people’s cocks off. Can’t explain it. I just love it. I bloody love it. I love it, I love it, I love it! I have jars at home full of chopped off cocks. Long ones, short ones, thin ones, fat ones, long fat ones, long thin ones, short fat ones, and last but not least — “

 

“Short thin ones?”

 

Julian smiled. “Correct. But I haven’t got one that looks like a saveloy. You really should see a doctor about that.”

 

Max sighed. He was beginning to think he should have paid that ten thousand pounds. The ravings of this absolute loon was starting to get on his nerves. Yet here he was. The way he saw it, things surely couldn’t get any worse. And there was a strange peace in that knowledge.

 

His penis twitched. Did he have a splinter in it from the table? Great. He turned left and right to look at the two guys holding him firm.

 

“How much does Julian pay you for this gig? Whatever it is, I’ll double it.”

 

Julian said, “And whatever Max pays you, I’ll double that!”

 

Max said, “And whatever Julian pays you, I’ll triple that!”

 

Julian said, “And whatever Max pays you, I’ll quadruple that!”

 

Max said, “And whatever Julian pays you, I’ll — “

 

The guy on his right coughed politely. “I don’t think you understand. There’s only one person who loves chopped off cocks more than Julian, and that’s me. And my brother. He’s the one holding your other arm. We’re doing this for free.”

 

Max said, “Can’t be bought, huh?”

 

He shrugged, resigned to the fact that there was no way out. He felt a fresh breeze tugging at his scrotum which hung beneath the table. At least he’d still have his balls. Some really smart doctor could probably graft a new cock onto him after all this was done. A wooden one perhaps, with a nice varnish on it. Suddenly things didn’t seem so bad. His wooden todger would be the talk of the town. He’d be famous!

 

Max heard the scrape of the cleaver’s blade, Julian picking the weapon up again, ready to deal the horrible blow to Max’s manhood.

 

It’s difficult to say what happened next. Max himself wasn’t entirely sure, it all happened so fast. There was a blink of something in his mind, a small memory, a tiny seed that suddenly bloomed like a time lapsed movie. He remembered a super power from his teenage years, one that he had only used once, but then never again, for fear that he would be captured by the government and have tests carried out on him until the end of his days.

 

Whilst he was thinking this in nothing more than a nanosecond, Julian’s hand was swinging downwards, clutching the meat cleaver. In the next second, the cleaver would strike hard, the blade slicing through Max’s love pump. And as a result, he would pump love no more.

 

Max had to act fast and call upon his super power. The power to achieve an instant boner by thinking of Maria Whitaker in an advert for Barbarian - The Ultimate Warrior (The Ultimate Game)!

 

One of the guys holding Max said, “Hey, what’s going on? His face looks kinda funny!”

 

Julian shouted, “What the hell?” The cleaver, rather than chopping off Max’s cock, instead skimmed the underside of Max’s brand new boner, the blade thunking harmlessly into the table.

 

Max said, “Ooooooooohhh, ooooohhhh, uuuhhhnnnghhh!” A rope of jizz arced through the air, borne upon the memory of Maria Whitaker in a metal bikini,  and Julian copped a salty blob of love seed square in the eye. He screamed, and fell backwards onto a previously unmentioned length of rebar sticking out of an old breeze block. The rebar skewered his brain, and exploded through his cum filled eye. He lay there twitching, breathing his last. On the tip of the rebar, a tiny droplet of Max’s jizz sparkled, picked out by a ray of sunlight through the warehouse window.

 

The two guys who’d been holding Max, looked at Julian, then at each other, then at Max.

 

One of them said, “Suppose we better let you go.”

 

“Why?”

 

“One thousand words. On the nose.”

 

******************************

[johnj]

Oh god 

[squirtle]

Marvelous! 

[Monkeyboy]

Wait a minute. Have I won this? There were no other entries!!!

[johnj]

No one was going to beat it! New thread please, winner of this quarters writers corner! @Monkeyboy

[Monkeyboy]

Woo-hoo! I'll try and think of something.