GONE IN A MATTER OF MINUTES #4

Written by Vandemonium1

Edited by CreativityTakesCourage

Remember, this is a series of simple stories, showcasing different ideas. There is zero character development and details are vague to allow anyone that is interested to expand on them easily.  

If anyone wants to flesh them out with consequences, you have my happy permission. If you’re a new writer I will help as much as I have time for.

It has been independently rated at 2.5/5 pickaxe handles on the rating system CreativityTakesCourage and I came up with. CLICK HERE FOR THE BTB-OMETER

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I’ll let you into a little secret. I hate wankers. You know the guys I mean. The ones who have big bushy beards because some celebrity was photographed with one and all of a sudden all the hipsters have one. The ones with the knees torn out of their jeans because, again, some celebrity was seen like that. One member of this particular sub-breed of wanker was less than amused when I pointed out that this was a re-cycled trend from my youth, the 1980’s.

However, I wasn’t a wanker then and I refuse to be one now.

As I inched forward in the queue at my local McDonalds, I bemoaned the fact that the guy in front of me was a nauseatingly stereotypical wanker extraordinaire. Bushy beard, check. Fashionable tattoos of Marvel comic characters, that will look right stupid in another ten years, on a 45 year old, check. Jeans fashionably tattered at the knee, check. Leather loafers, check. Manbag over shoulder, check. And let’s not forget the super-dark sunnies, worn indoors, check.

Just then hipster’s phone rang and he pulled it out of a belt pouch with a flourish. No doubt hoping everyone within range would realise it was the latest and greatest model iPhone, sooooo superior and soooo much more expensive than those of everyone else around. I waited for the inevitable. Something wankers like this just HAD to do. Not for this guy a hushed conversation with the phone against his ear. Oh no. One button to answer the call, a second to put it on speaker and everyone within spitting distance (tempting or what?) got to hear both sides of the conversation.

“Hey, doll face.”

“Hey, stud, what are you up to?”

“Oh, just getting some dinner to replace the juice you sucked out of me all afternoon. Man, I came almost as many times as you did. I do like a woman who’s neglected by her limp-dicked husband.”

This last was followed by a half yell, half scream from the phone’s speaker.

“Justin, how many times do I have to tell you, shut the hell up about my husband. He does just fine in the sack and I WILL NOT have you denigrate him like that, okay?”

“Sheesh, fine words from a woman who just spent half the day sucking and fucking another guy in her husband’s bed. Don’t bite my fucking head off.”

“I’m sorry, Justin, I get very protective of Daryl, you know that. He can’t help it if he’s exhausted after all the overtime he’s working. He wants the kids to finish school with no student loans and I love him for that. But I also love what you and your big cock can provide me with.”

The guy looked around, beaming, clearly hoping everyone had heard that one. I’d rather I hadn’t; the conversation was sickening. Guys like this should be neutered. Sadly, the conversation didn’t end there.  He was nothing if not predictable. I pretended I was checking a message on my phone.

“Are you sure you can’t lose hubby for a couple of hours this evening and we can finish what we started earlier?”

“Tempting, big fella, but my pussy and ass are just too sore from today. I’ll need a couple of days to recover. Besides, Daryl will be home shortly, he rang ten minutes ago to say he was picking up burgers on the way home.”

At that point, I reached over lover boy’s shoulder and snatched his phone. Holding it to my mouth I growled, “That’s right, Veronica. About your burger. What was it you wanted again – a Quarter Pounder? Or was it a Big Mac?”

The only sound from the speaker was a shrill scream and the sound of the phone hitting the floor. I stepped into the personal space of oh so average trendsetter with a look of thunder on my face. He had to tilt his head uncomfortably back to look up at me. His face was a mask of terror. I was the best part of a foot taller than him I don’t know where all his blood was going but it sure was deserting his face. He saw the biceps in my arm and my huge, calloused hands, products of years of good, honest, manual labour.

I reached down and grabbed his wedding tackle through his wanker jeans with my left hand. He automatically stood on tippy toe.

I looked around at a whole bunch of people studiously not seeing anything. I guess they don’t like wankers much either.

I squeezed with both hands. My right hand caused the phone to crackle and break. My left hand caused an unearthly scream.

What can I say? Some things break easier than others.  

The End

Now lighten the fuck up!

My wife is blaming me for ruining her birthday. That’s ridiculous, I didn’t even know it was her birthday.  

A Muslim was sitting next to Paddy on a plane.  
Paddy ordered a whisky. 
The stewardess asked the Muslim if he’d like a drink. 
He replied in disgust, “I’d rather be raped by a dozen whores than let liquor touch my lips!”
Paddy handed his drink back and said, “Me too, I didn’t know we had a choice!”  

If you were offended by either of the jokes above, I have bad news. You’re a boring, PC wanker.