Chapter 5 (FIVE) - Progenitors And Jeffy Coitus
A story
F
R
U
S
T
R
A
T
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G.
Like Post-Modernism.
Only this is frustrating because it makes too much sense, whereas Post-Modernism is just dog shit dressed up as a cat that is actually a mouse in disguise as a wolf.
Doesn't make a whole lot of sense why you'd wanna dress up dog shit as a cat that is actually a mouse in disguise as a wolf.
What does that have to do with this story, intriguing, you might ask?
Not a whole lot.
But neither does anything else we've talked about.
Now the original Grushevsky plan was thought out by a young man named Lionel Joseph, who was shot in the head in the early 80's for talking too loud during a screening of the Eddie Murphy/Dan Akroyd classic "Trading Places" which spawned 10,000 terrible Rich White Guy Meets Street Savvy Black Guy movies. That aside, it's a pretty fantastic film.
Anyways, Lionel Joseph was frustrating a young German named Derek Jetarro who had recently changed his name from Hans Mannschaft after viewing several movies at the predecessor to the Cannes Film Festival, The Camel Newsreel Theater, about Japanese strike breakers. He also was a great fan of Vaudeville, so he...
Anyways.
After being frustrated with Lionel's pointless blatherings for more than half the movie, including missing Jamie Lee Curtis's somewhat-overrated but still enjoyable breasts due to Lionel standing up and performing a rather dramatic "yawn" for attention (he farted during this), Derek pulled out his Glock and put one through Lionel's head.
This, ironically, after he had resolved to stop talking, realizing that nobody had listened to him anyways.
Unfortunately, this turn of events frustrated the Grushevsky plan.
To be plain, it was shot with a single round from a Glock .17. For Lionel Joseph was a careful man, and shared his plans with no one.
There's a lesson to be learned, in this, I'm sure. I'm just not entirely certain what it is.
Directly in front of Lionel was a young girl named Gorina Hollon. She was a gorgeous young girl, even if she was a bit loose from excessive self-insertion. After all, it was the 80's and there wasn't much else to do.
Blonde
Hair
With
Slight
Streaks
Of
Brownish
Tannish
Dirty
Blonde.
Sorry, typing like that must be frustrating for you to read.
Her rack was decent, her stomach flat, and her legs quite thin. As follows, she had no ass. Tragically.
Blood sprayed out of Lionel's head onto the the young 20 year old girl. This immediately sent her into labor, due to shock.
"Oh snap!" a young urbanite next to her shouted, attempting to be hip.
"Oh shizzy!" a young urbanite next to her shouted, attempting to be cool.
"Oh shazam!" a young urbanite next to her shouted, attempting to be jive.
"I'm going into labor, ya'll!" Gorina shouted, attempting to sound panicked.
No, I lied, she was basically panicked.
The first urbanite, named Charles, rushed to Gorina's side and laid her onto the floor of the theater. Her hair stuck to the stickiness of concrete that had seen more handjobs than it had films.
"Fa sho bitch, just lay back whilst I fetch a medic!" Charles said calmly before fleeing towards the exit.
It seems worth noting that everyone else had fled, screaming, except for the handful of characters mentioned, these being:
-Derek Jetarro, psychotic German killer and appreciator of Japanese films about strike breakers.
-Lionel Joseph, recently deceased Russian whose alcohol level upon death was suprisingly 0 (ZERO).
-Gorina Hollon, single mother impregnated by a hoodlum during a rape, also sprayed with Lionel's brain matter which shocked her into labor. Her daughter's name is going to be Shannon, if you cared to know. Personally, I find myself partial to that name.
-Carl Jung, no relation, a young hoodie from Espantosoville mall. And by that I mean he was homeless and was taking up residence behind a mall dust bin.
-Charles Whig, a young richman dressed as a hoodie from Espantosoville mall. Recently left the theater in search of a medic.
-Devin "Horehound" Homeeker, no lines.
In the background, the movie played. Jame Lee Curtis's tits bounced out of her bra, only to be quickly covered up by her hands. "You sleep on the couch!"
"I don't sleep on the couch!" shouted Jetarro at the screen. He was quite furious. Raising his glock, he emptied the whole clip into the speechless Dan Akroyd. This did little to stop the film, however.
Feeling tortured by good cinema (much like most modern German's do by good music- see their Rammstein obsession for further proof) and frustrated by life, he pulled out a six inch blade and sunk it into his heart.
That's the end of that.
"Bitch, jes hold on to ya azz!" shouted Carl as he spread Gorina's legs.
"What?" she asked, pain creeping into her broken-water vaginal orifice.
"Umm, sorry, I meant to say..."
But you don't care about the rest of this story do you. Why should you care about Shannon Hollon?
Shannon was to grow up to be a beautiful young woman, that's why.
She'd have solid Double D's, I'm not even shitting you.
And in 2005, she'd give birth to a... well, you already know that part of the story don't you.
What you don't know is what happened next. After the birth of Jeffy Coitus.
If I had to tabulate your big questions, the big things that are frustrating you right now, it would be easy to summarize it as follows:
1. What the fuck is going on with this story?
2. Is this a soap opera?
3. What's with the silly story breaking up?
4. Do you own a television, or a crab?
5. What the fuck is going on with this story?
6. Just why is this story about Jeffy Coitus?
7. Does it have a happy ending?
8. Does this story have as much boring sex description as Harlequin Romance Novels, which stop working after a woman has had an honest-to-God sexual experience since they're so patently dull and decidedly fake?
9. Can every July 28th be free Ice Cream day?
10. Why should we care about Shannon Hollon?
I shall answer these questions now:
1. Don't ask me.
2. Don't ask me.
3. To keep you interested and confused.
4. No.
5. Cubans.
6. Because he's the main character, you fucking moron. You're really frustrating me.
7. Yes, Unfortunately.
8. Only if you send naked pictures, you inexperienced, ugly, bitch.
9. Vote Barack for free Ice Cream, McCain for free Ice Cream Sandwiches. How can you go wrong? Get out and vote! Republicans, Democrats, it doesn't matter! Show the world how not stupid you fucking Americans are! VOTE GODDAMNIT.
10. Well, one, because she's got a beautiful name. And two, because she... well, lemme just tell you.
Creaking on a chain that swung due to wind from a nearby basement window, the light above her head shown through long pillars of dust. It reminded her of when she was a child and would wake up from naps in her room, the light from the window reminding her that she was trapped inside a home with a neurotic mother who constantly babbled about nature VS nurture.
"You finally up, whore?" a gruff, but somewhat high voice from her left said.
"What the... what the fuck?" she asked, leaning up slowly. Her head felt quite heavy. Drugs.
"If you have anybody terribly important to say goodbye to, you'd better do it soon. Your kidneys will make a great selling item... goodbye, Shannon."
Marcus, she thought angrily, leaning up as much as she could through the pain in her abdomen. She knew something was missing inside. It's impossible to not know that it's gone. It was as though a piece of padding always present under her shirt was suddenly no more.
Pain ran through her, and blood began to seep through the half-assed stiches, into her shirt.
Slowly, she closed the phone, realizing that its ringing had woken her up. Although, she didn't remember answering it.
She did remember being raped, vaguely.
Things were slowly piecing together in her head, and the more they did the worse her head hurt. She knew all of the pain was going to frustrate her efforts, but it was clear to her that she had to accomplish something before dying.
And she knew she would surely die.
"Jeffy..." she said quietly as she began to rise up. "I have to find my son..."
Tumbling over her own (rather sexy) feet, she fell to her knees and began to crawl to the basement stairs.
Her cat's shit, left on the floor where she fell, smeared across her knee.
Didn't matter.
All that mattered was getting to her son before she died.
Even whores have feelings of matriarchal loyalty in the end...
END CHAPTER 5 (FIVE)
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