Rubber Assholes: How I Conquered the Mob, Destroyed My Marriage, and Made a Horse Pregnant
Chapter 1: Porn Store
Gab rolls up to the smut shop, crashing through its front window with his ’88 Chevy Celebrity. Forty pounds of rubber assholes land on the windshield and crack it to pieces. Little Gab, his impotent love muscle, starts oozing more grease than a fast food fryer. Gab steps out the car, waddling through piles of edible anuses before approaching the porn clerk. Her name tag reads Reggie.
“Let’s see what this little dildo slinger has to say,” Gab growls to himself.
Reggie notices the growing jizz stain on Gab’s sweatpants. “Sir, I’m calling the police.”
“Lady, I AM the police, and I ain’t leaving ’til I have some FUCKING ANSWERS. Some sicko is sticking their dick in horses. They even dress them like leather daddies. Know anything about that, ya smut peddling fuck?
“Well we sell some stuff like that. A lot, actually. Our horse bondage gear is on that rack over there.” She points to a wall adorned with masks and whips. The centerpiece is a black saddle with an even blacker dildo attached. Little Gab stirs to attention. Its owner starts to think.
A fantasy plays out in Gab’s head. A way to catch the bad guys. Deep undercover. He’ll hollow a horse, strip himself bare, then crawl inside. Once there he’ll operate crude mechanics to make it appear lifelike. He’ll even align his anus with the backdoor of this hollowed horse. When the sickos come to fuck the filly they’ll be sticking their willy in the warm flaps of a lawman. It’ll be all the proof he needs to bust this thing wide open. Hell, he’ll neigh and bray if he has to. “It’s a long shot but this thing has legs,” he thinks to himself as the man in his pants unloads a lasso of rope. With that he return his attention to Reggie.
“I need a list of who’s buying that shit and if you know what’s good for you you’ll get it FUCKING ASAP.” Gab pounds the counter to emphasize his point, then leans against it to catch his breath.
Reggie leaves to print a list and Gab notices a bucket behind the counter. It overflows with spent cum rags from the backroom wack booth. He retrieves a wad of dried TP then puts it to his tongue for a taste.
“God dammit, Gab. You gotta quit doing this shit.”
He stuffs the wad in his jaw then sighs with delight as it melts through his mouth. His tongue knows all too well the sweet taste of man butter. Unable to help himself he inhales spent rags by the handful. In turn they become his cud. Reggie returns, list in hand, and sees Gab with his head in the cum bucket. He’s snorting like a pig at the slop trough.
“Oh god. Are you that cop who got fired for fucking dead animals in The Humane Society dumpster?”
Gab stands up and sneers, spitting toilet paper across her face.
“What’d you just say to me, punk?”
“I said aren’t you that…”
Gab uses the last few fingers he hasn’t lost to diabetes to grab her shirt before she can finish. He pulls her to mere inches from his face. Soiled toilet paper clings to his tongue and teeth.
“Who’s paying you, punk? Who the fuck are you working for? Cuz you look like mafia to me.”
Gab pulls a handgun from the cleavage of his greasy tits and puts it to her temple.
“I SAID YOU FUCKING LOOK LIKE MAFIA TO ME.”
Gab snatches the sales list from Reggie’s shaking hand and waddles to his car. With a shovel from the trunk he scoops DVDs and dildos to the backseat. He grabs a pink dick and runs it over his bald patch, then through the pony made from what little hair he has left. Within seconds Little Gab blows a milk bubble. Gab reaches to his pants for a handful of load then slicks back his ponytail.
“Time to catch me some bad guys.”
He puts the Celebrity in reverse, backing out the broken window, then peels away, determined to get to the bottom of this fucking mess.
Gab scans the list and knows this could turn deadly. Cops. Politicians. This thing went all the way to the top. Despite the restraining order he decides to say bye to his family one last time. Rolling up to the house he once called home he sees the lights are off. Out front are the remnants of a garage sale. After waddling up the driveway he sees old undies smothered in shit stains. Scrawled in marker is a name written on the waistband. Carini. He figures this has to be his wife’s new man.
“Carini. Linguini. Christ, he’s Italian.”
Gab tears the price tag off the undies but can’t seem to bring himself to throw them away. He tries resisting but gives in to temptation, putting the darkest stain to his face and inhaling.
“Good god that’s rank.”
He immediately blows his load.
Next he examines a pair of his ex-wife’s panties with a menstrual stain across the crotch. Gab dons them as if they were a mask, his pony bunching in the back like a hemorrhoid. Each eye peers out a leg cuff. The stained fabric of the panties expands and contracts with his every heavy breath.
He sucks a whiff of wife blood, immediately spraying dead kids into his sweatpants. He thinks of how five years back that load would’ve filled his wife. How she wouldn’t bleed no more cuz it’d make a baby.
A pair of headlights turn into the driveway, shining on Gab, panties still on head, pants still dripping like dog drool.
“Kids, don’t get out of the car,” Gab’s wife warns her little ones before approaching him.
“Baby, I came to say bye. I’m onto something big. Something that’ll get me my life back.”
“Let me guess, everyone is mobbed up? My boyfriend? The babysitter? How many years you been going on with this shit?”
“Baby, I just…”
“Don’t ‘baby’ me, you fat fuck. Is this how you want your kids to see you? I mean Christ almighty. Do you know that I lied when their turtle died? I didn’t tell them daddy fucked it to death.”
Gab’s kids run up and hug him, proclaiming how much they miss their Papa. Gab nuzzles his head to their hair, breathing in innocence through the filter of his ex-wife’s panties.
“Daddy has to go away for a while. Has to fight the bad guys. Just know that he loves you. You’ll always be his little pumpkins.”
Gab grabs his ex and forces a kiss on her forehead, staining it with spit and the blood come uncrusted.
“You’ll see, baby. You’ll see.”
Gab waddles back down the driveway, disappearing into darkness, his wife still dripping down his face. Back in the Celebrity he drops a hand down his pants to retrieve the last of his drying load. He slicks back his pony, puts on aviators, then drives off into the distance. With a diabetes dead foot he revs the engine and mutters to the moon. “Time to catch me some bad guys.