a story inspired by the Stark Fist - contains PORN!

From: "Sir Dr. Rev. Siegfried The Red" <spammersdiesiegfried1@mediaone.net>
Newsgroups: alt.slack
Date: Sat, Feb 16, 2002 2:42 AM

Several years back I was reading the Stark Fist when I happened across an
article about one Church minister's carnal experience with Connie Dobbs.
The minister (whose name escapes me) asked others to write in about their
own "experiences" with Connie. Summoning up the official Order Subclench
Chronicler, The Sir. Dr. Rev. David M. Ready, H.O.O., I asked him to
ghostwrite the personal experiences of myself and my fellow Orsonic Order
Mindslaves, Gar and Vern. Here follows the story:


It so happened one fine day that Rev. Gar Drastic was assigned by Orson
Welles to deliver a consignment of German Prairie Squid to the Connie Dobbs'
house. "Orson Welles?" you ask. Well, okay, not really, it looked more
like Albert Einstein, but he called it Orson Welles. Anyway, what followed
was probably one of the least darkest chapters in the history of The Order,
mighty subclench of the Church of The Subgenius.

Gar walked up the pristine country lane leading to the Dobbshouse, ignoring
the thirty or forty armed guards eyeing him murderously, and knocked on the
front door. Momentarily, it was answered by one Connie Dobbs wearing
nothing but a six-inch length of dental floss and a feline grin. "Hello?"
she said, dropping the floss. This caught Gar somewhat off guard, but
knowing that there is no accounting for the eccentricities of the Dobbsclan,
Gar accepted her invitation to come inside and have an Orange Whip whilst
she verified and signed for the contents of the squiddy package.

Taking a seat in the office, Gar tried as hard as possible not to notice
Connie's somewhat more than obvious state of undress. This, however, grew
increasingly difficult as it seemed that Connie was trying as hard as
possible to draw Gar's attention to this very fact. Connie swiveled about
to face her desk drawing forth a squiggle-wiggle pen and proceeded to bend
over, pushing her magnificent tush in Gar's face. Gar gulped and promptly
turned red. But, steeling himself against the seething cauldron of
temptation welling up deep within the depths of his thingy, he shuddered,
sweat a bit, and resisted.

Finally, after what seemed like an eternity the signing of the squiddy
forms was complete, and Connie turned her attentions toward the good Rev.
Drastic. The pure Rev. Drastic. The kind and chaste, Rev. Drastic, who
would certainly never even think about considering dreaming about in a
million years the thought of seizing up another man's wife, thrusting her
roughly to the floor, and reaming her out doggie style. Connie spoke, a
sound like liquid cheese being poured over a half-baked Ritz.

"Thank you for the squid, Rev. Drastic. You've accomplished your mission
with great success, even, as much. Now I'd like to give you a little

"Oh, that's quite alright," answered Gar, disturbed by her rather deviant
speech patterns, and expecting a rather larger than average tip. "Please,
Connie, don't go to any trouble. You see, Orson Welles deposited a check in
my Swiss ..."

"No, Gar. That's not exactly what I meant. I want to reward you ... in
another way," purred Connie.

"Connie!" exclaimed Gar, who was quickly losing his temper. "I don't
believe what I'm hearing from you! First you answer the door naked, then
this! What would "Bob" think of this? You should be bloody ashamed of
yourself! You should feel damn lucky that I'm not going to tell "Bob" about
this. Okay. I'll be going now." With that he set down his drink and got
up from his chair to leave.

"I don't think so!" growled Connie, shoving Gar roughly back into his
chair. "This is how it's going to go. You're going to stay here and you're
going to fuck me hard and you're going to like it!" Brutally, she slapped
Gar and began to unzip his Orsonic Sub-Clench Multi-Purpose jumpsuit.
($39.99, wherever finer jumpsuits are sold.)

"No! Connie! Stop!" Gar gasped, struggling. "Stop it! Don't you know
what you're doing to "Bob?" "Bob's" in hell right now and he knows what
you're doing and it's killing him!"

"Fuck "Bob!"" yelled the blessed anti-virgin. That stupid little prick,
and I do mean little, can't even get it up for me half the time let alone
fuck me in any way that might be considered remotely satisfying. God! You
don't know how long it's been since I've had a real man! Someone like you,
Rev. Drastic!" By this time she had Gar's pants down around his ankles and
was working her tongue methodically around his ear. "I want you in my hot
fuckhole! Now!" and with those horrible, damning words, she jumped up into
Gar's lap and began pumping up and down with the desperation that only
someone who is cheating on the world's living avatar of slack can muster.

"Connie! Help! I mean no! I mean stop! I mean ... ohhhh! Yes! Yes!
Oh, no! I mean no! Oh God! Oh Connie! Oh, you bitch! You dirty, dirty
bitch! Fuck me harder, you bitch! Oh, I'm going to give it to you so bad!
God, you want it so bad. I'm going to fuck you till you scream so hard, you
bitch! Oh, yes! Yes! Yes!" exclaimed Gar as he rose up from the chair and
slammed Connie down to the floor, still pumping away at her creamy thighs.
Thrusting madly, he began to grunt and roar as Connie screamed:

"Oh Rev. Drastic! Ohhhhhhhh!"

Suddenly, as if on cue, which is in fact, what it was, the Sir. Dr. Rev.
David M. Ready burst into the room, smashing in the door with a mighty
splintering of wood, causing Gar and Connie to scream with a look of utter
terror and surprise on their faces.

"Arrrrgghhhh! Busted!"

"A-ha! That's right, you've been caught in the act Rev. Drastic! We knew
that you'd try something like this! So Orson Welles had me follow you! And
you!" he looked at the Bobwife. "You should be ashamed of yourself,

"But it was Albert Einstein!" ventured Connie.

"Silence, traitorous tart! Shut your dirty mouth! Both of you are going
to pay dearly for betraying the Church and The Order," proclaimed Dave.
"Get the hell up, Rev. Drastic! It's time to pay the fiddler!" With this
he leapt madly at Gar, and drawing a large club from somewhere beneath his
black trenchcoat, whacked Gar soundly behind the head.

Gar, stumbling to his feet, attempted to raise his hands in some sort of
feeble defense. But it was no good. Dave just kept whacking and whacking
and whacking as was his wont. Connie ran for the corner of the room,
near the previously unnoticed folding bed, covered her eyes and screamed.
Suddenly, Gar leapt up, and running like hell for the front door, tripped
over his pants, now soundly tangled about his shins and knees. He then
commenced falling face first on the floor. Then he finished the
aforementioned action. Dave, seeing his opening, jumped in and continued to
pound the living shit out of Gar's head and back until it was naught but a
bloody mass of protoplasm. Gar, barely alive, moaned twice and passed out.
Dave kicked him once for good measure and laughed evilly. Connie swooned
and fell in a crumpled, disheveled mass to the floor.

Sir Dr. Rev. Ready, caught in the grip of bloodlust, strode mightily toward
Connie and picking her up by the hair, shook her until she came around and
screamed in pain. "Now it's your turn, whore!"

Connie began babbling. "Wait, wait, Dave! Don't! Not yet! Gar told me
something! Something real important!"

"No deals, bitch!"

"No, wait! He told me a secret. About The Order. All our lives depend on
it! You have to listen!"

Dave narrowed his eyes and stared accusingly at Connie. Then he lowered
his club and spoke. "Okay, tell me, and if it's real important maybe I'll
consider deciding whether or not to punish you for "Bob." What is it?"

Connie calmed down considerably. You could almost see the gears turning.
"Well," she began, sidling up to Dave, "It had something to do with the fact
that ..." she licked her lips and turned her eyes downward. "That ... I
want to suck your cock! I've always wanted to taste you, Dave! Give me
your big meat now!"

"I can't believe you!" screamed Dave. "You slut!!" He wound up to
backhand the Dobbspouse straight into the far wall. But it was too late.
Connie already had his pants down and was on her knees, bobbing her head up
and down on his prong. Dave dropped his club with a look of amazement, then
lust, on his face, and proceeded to grab two handfuls of Connie's flaxen
hair in order that he might face fuck her into oblivion.

Connie never let up on her pistonlike motion until Dave fell onto his back
and wrapped his legs around her head. Then she began some rather amazing
tongue action which would even cause Gene Simmons a bit of jealously.
Following this, she got up, turned around, and squatted down on the Rev.'s
cock. Dave took the hint and positioned Connie on her hands and knees,
making it rather much easier for him to fuck her swollen, moistened cunt
like a maddened dog. Connie howled and screamed like a bitch in heat as
Dave grabbed hold of her 38 D's and pumped away as if there were no

Gasping for breath, Connie moaned, "Oh, Dave. I want you to come in my
cunt. Come right now. Oh, God! yes! Fuck my cunt! No! Fuck my ass!
Come in my ass right now! Oh, God!!" Dave obeyed obediently and shoved his
nine inch nail into her rosy sphincter all the way to the root, and maybe
beyond, jetting a huge wad of hot cum straight into her beautiful rounded
butt and screaming, "Oh, you bitch! I'm coming in your big ass! Ohhhh..."

And so on and so forth until they lay on this floor together, basking in
post-coital bliss. Then, as if on cue, Dave got up and said:

"I've got to go have a tinkle. Right back."

And walked out of the room. Immediately, Connie went over to the bed and
lifted it up. From beneath emerged the Soon To Be Rev. Vern Gerstner,
founder and High Overlord of the infamous Order.

"Are they gone?" he asked the Ur-Whore.

"Yes, well, one gone, one unconscious. Now where were we?"

"I think I was somewhere here," answered Vern, lowering Connie to the bed
and kneeling at its foot, between her knees, "And I was doing this," he said
burying his face in her crotch and tongue bathing her reddened cunt. Connie
grabbed hold of the antlered moose hat perched atop of Vern's melon and
ground her gash against his mouth. Suddenly she began to orgasm
uncontrollably, her whole body shuddering as she whooped and squealed. Due
to Vern's consummate skill in oral manners Connie was quickly brought to a
series of ten or thirty firecracker orgasms, which caused her to bounce up
and down rapidly, hyperventilating and screaming, "Hey, Vern! Hey, Vern!
Hey, Verrrrnnnnnnn!!!!"

Meanwhile, Gar, coming to, began to stir at the sounds of Connie's howls.
Turning groggily to the source of the noise, his eyes widened abruptly to
saucer size and he yelled something incoherent. Rattled into utter
amazement at the sight of forbidden love he screamed:

"Holy shit! Arrrrggghhhhhhhh!"

Dave, having heard this clear into the next room, came flying in like a bat
being thrown out of the hollow Earth by some creature that is really good at
throwing bats. Vern picked up his head (it is detachable) and looked behind
him. Connie only gasped. The three Orsonic-Einsteinic hell-traitors of The
Order, suddenly realizing their respective situations, stared cruelly,
hatefully at each other, then ... leapt madly, drawing hideously sharp
broadswords from somewhere and hacking at each other with great force!

Dave whirled about and gutted Gar head to crotch. As the two pieces of Gar
fell apart, the right half managed to skewer Vern through the neck. Vern,
not in the least bit injured, and somewhat disappointed at Gar's unusual
lack of skill during this particular fight, took out his rage on Dave's
legs, which promptly flew out through the window and took off some poor old
lady's head. Dave fell over in a puddle of blood and a bit of Gar's gastric
juices and impaled his brain on his own sword. This bent, snapped and
lodged itself in Vern's heart, which promptly exploded, showering Gar's
corpse with bile, blood, urine, and vomit. Gar then roused somewhat, just
enough to pick up his sword and shish-ka-bob both Dave and Vern on it and
nail them to the floor. All three of them screamed and yowled in rage and
pain as their wounds began to regenerate. A bell then rang, they took a
thirty second break, and headed into the second round.

Then, just as the fight music reached its magnificent crescendo, something
exciting happened. The doorknob clicked and began to turn. Silence fell
over the room like a ten ton weight or something else heavy, maybe. Then
the door opened and who else but J.R. "Bob" Dobbs should stride in. The
Orsonic fucks stared in utter amazement as "Bob" hung up his hat, went over
to the bed, kissed Connie, and wandered into the kitchen for a snack.

All anyone could do was stare, mouths agape. Then the fight really began.
Everyone chopped each other to bloody shreds and died and screamed and so on
and so forth for about the next twenty minutes. Of course, I could go into
great detail about all of this, but since I'm too damn lazy and starting to
get pretty drunk, I'll let you fill in the details with your own demented
mind. Anyway, Connie merely reclined on the bed and, becoming somewhat
aroused at all the excitement, began to fiddle with her foxhole and grunt
animalistically. Death cheered from the sidelines and said encouraging
things like "Allllrriiiiggghhhhht!"

In the kitchen, "Bob" picked up the phone and dialed the seven digits.

"Yeah, honey? It's "Bob." I can't see you tonight. I think my wife is
beginning to suspect something."


If interested in more info on The Order of Orson, send put $20 in a shoebox
and bury it in the backyard, then wait.

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