to be an important event , thought Hedging as he basked in the adoration of his men.
* * * * *
“Has anyone seen Mr W?” enquired a panicked Bernice as she darted through the narrow corridors of Yandish Muff. Repetition of the question merely saw a multiplication of the deaf ears on which it fell.
“You apathetic pack of cunts!” she screamed toward the shrinking backs of the uninterested teachers and students as they walked away.
She began elbowing windows into glassy explosions as the panic increased. This was the day of the demonstration and she hadn’t heard a peep from Mr Wilkens. It worried her greatly. She could only assume that Mr Wilkens’ absence was her own fault. Why the hell would I go telling Mr W to go and get his balls back? That’s gotta be the dumbest bit of advice I’ve given. He’s probably off trying to have ‘em reattached and meanwhile we’re gonna have ourselves an assembly full of children with no purpose. I always gotta be telling people to go chasin’ love and whatnot.
Bernice was an apologetic romantic. She was always proclaiming the virtues of love, yet had never experienced it herself. The possibility of courtship was rendered impotent on account of two vaginally lodged irons, inserted as part of a failed government initiative. So, although the feeling of love was possible, the impossibility of sexual relations ensured that Bernice stymied the notion well before it had a chance to flower into something painful. The sad truth was that the closest thing to love she’d ever allowed herself to feel involved her tongue probing the depths of Mr Wilkens’ arse. Although she wouldn’t admit it out loud, the thought of Mr Wilkens not having his testicles instilled within her a vague hope that a relationship with him was possible, even if it was based on mutual genital mutilation. Because of this, Bernice supported the demonstration one-hundred percent. As an appendage, she bore no ill will toward the scrotum but as a romantic she believed that if there was a possibility of reciprocated love, it should be embraced by all means necessary. Anything for love.
She continued to prowl the corridors of Yandish Muff, confronting teacher after teacher, student after student but to no avail. The demonstration was mere hours away and Mr Wilkens was nowhere to be found.
* * * * *
Mr Wilkens’ bony fists pounded against the door for what felt like hours before it opened. Alice stood before him in a state of confusion, trying to retrieve his face from within her memory banks. Out of breath and bloody knuckled, Mr Wilkens fell to his knees and clutched at Alice’s leg, pleading to speak to Allen and Chip.
“They’re both resting,” she said with a suspicious glare.
“I’m afraid you don’t understand. They have something very important of mine. I must retrieve it as a matter of urgency”.
There was an unsual lilt contained within the intonation of his wretched sobbing that triggered something within Alice and, although she’d never met the man, she instantly knew it was Mr Wilkens. Furthermore, she knew exactly why he was here. She always knew her international directory of idiosyncratic intonation would come in handy.
“You’re here for your balls aren’t you?”
Mr Wilkens nodded desperately, letting go of Alice’s leg and pulling the front of his pants down with one pathetic hand, exposing his orphaned shaft.
“Just look at me!” he cried, “I’m an incomplete monster!”
This ignited a wave of anger in Alice, who couldn’t help but dwell on the fact that both her sons were now disfigured as a result of this stupid man.
“Who do you think you are, coming to my house and begging my sons for your balls back? Do you have any idea of the hell you’ve put my beautiful boys through?”
“What do you mean?” he asked with trepidation.
“They’re not very intelligent boys and you lump them with the responsibility of minding your sack? I’m sorry, Mr
* * * * *
“Has anyone seen Mr W?” enquired a panicked Bernice as she darted through the narrow corridors of Yandish Muff. Repetition of the question merely saw a multiplication of the deaf ears on which it fell.
“You apathetic pack of cunts!” she screamed toward the shrinking backs of the uninterested teachers and students as they walked away.
She began elbowing windows into glassy explosions as the panic increased. This was the day of the demonstration and she hadn’t heard a peep from Mr Wilkens. It worried her greatly. She could only assume that Mr Wilkens’ absence was her own fault. Why the hell would I go telling Mr W to go and get his balls back? That’s gotta be the dumbest bit of advice I’ve given. He’s probably off trying to have ‘em reattached and meanwhile we’re gonna have ourselves an assembly full of children with no purpose. I always gotta be telling people to go chasin’ love and whatnot.
Bernice was an apologetic romantic. She was always proclaiming the virtues of love, yet had never experienced it herself. The possibility of courtship was rendered impotent on account of two vaginally lodged irons, inserted as part of a failed government initiative. So, although the feeling of love was possible, the impossibility of sexual relations ensured that Bernice stymied the notion well before it had a chance to flower into something painful. The sad truth was that the closest thing to love she’d ever allowed herself to feel involved her tongue probing the depths of Mr Wilkens’ arse. Although she wouldn’t admit it out loud, the thought of Mr Wilkens not having his testicles instilled within her a vague hope that a relationship with him was possible, even if it was based on mutual genital mutilation. Because of this, Bernice supported the demonstration one-hundred percent. As an appendage, she bore no ill will toward the scrotum but as a romantic she believed that if there was a possibility of reciprocated love, it should be embraced by all means necessary. Anything for love.
She continued to prowl the corridors of Yandish Muff, confronting teacher after teacher, student after student but to no avail. The demonstration was mere hours away and Mr Wilkens was nowhere to be found.
* * * * *
Mr Wilkens’ bony fists pounded against the door for what felt like hours before it opened. Alice stood before him in a state of confusion, trying to retrieve his face from within her memory banks. Out of breath and bloody knuckled, Mr Wilkens fell to his knees and clutched at Alice’s leg, pleading to speak to Allen and Chip.
“They’re both resting,” she said with a suspicious glare.
“I’m afraid you don’t understand. They have something very important of mine. I must retrieve it as a matter of urgency”.
There was an unsual lilt contained within the intonation of his wretched sobbing that triggered something within Alice and, although she’d never met the man, she instantly knew it was Mr Wilkens. Furthermore, she knew exactly why he was here. She always knew her international directory of idiosyncratic intonation would come in handy.
“You’re here for your balls aren’t you?”
Mr Wilkens nodded desperately, letting go of Alice’s leg and pulling the front of his pants down with one pathetic hand, exposing his orphaned shaft.
“Just look at me!” he cried, “I’m an incomplete monster!”
This ignited a wave of anger in Alice, who couldn’t help but dwell on the fact that both her sons were now disfigured as a result of this stupid man.
“Who do you think you are, coming to my house and begging my sons for your balls back? Do you have any idea of the hell you’ve put my beautiful boys through?”
“What do you mean?” he asked with trepidation.
“They’re not very intelligent boys and you lump them with the responsibility of minding your sack? I’m sorry, Mr
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