HELP! A Bear Is Eating Me! - Mykle Hansen [13]
Marcia and Edna. What a riot. If I were in a hospital recovering from exotic neurosurgery, and you were a biographer for a large publishing house, sent to capture the exciting story of my trial by bear, perhaps you’d ask why I chose to handicap a perfectly legitimate hunting trip by including a couple of jelly-kneed women who don’t even enjoy killing. You might wonder, as some members of Image Team no doubt wonder, why, of all useless jelly-kneed PMS-ing bitches, I would choose to bring that burbling font of aggravation which scientists call Edna. But especially you have to be wondering, why would I bring both my so-called “life partner” and my under-the-radar fuck? In the same car, no less?
Well … I can’t exactly tell you. Not yet. But I can tell you this:
Marcia from Product Marketing came along because I told her to come, and she does what I tell her to do, which is the cornerstone of our relationship and what makes her such an excellent fuck. She is a whore of the finest caliber. She sucks it, she takes it in the ass, I can slap her, I can dress her up and boss her around, I can stick it in every hole and she takes it squealing. She is tight and round and versatile, and compliant. Frankly, I am addicted to fucking Marcia from Product Dialogue. She’s a sex-pill I must take regularly to relieve the crushing stress of delegation. And I mean regularly — I put her on birth control just so she’d quit bleeding on me every month, so I could still fuck her on schedule without ruining my Calvin Kleins. There’s no way I could survive a week away from civilization without a Marcia to fuck. Especially with Edna on board.
Edna I do not fuck. I used to, for years. I know Edna’s vagina like I know my own driveway. But I’ve moved on from there. Edna’s vagina is neither tight nor versatile, and especially not compliant. Edna’s vagina is as kinky as a cold bowl of oats. There was a time, back in the halcyon days of early wedlock, when for some reason cold-oat-bowl sex seemed intimate and charming. Back then I had just caught hold of the first rung of the ladder to the top, I was young and starry-eyed with a huge future to offer, and Edna was young and pretty and had a large inheritance. From the moment I met her, I knew she’d buy me things, if I could just embrace that cold bowl of oats deep inside her. I suppose I knew someday I’d be able to afford my own things, but I just couldn’t wait. I’m impatient, and I love things. And I suppose at times it wasn’t hard to pretend that she was good enough. She used to be sweet, and quiet, and less fat.
But oh, how the world turns. While Edna has grown tiresome, I’ve grown strong. I’m high up on that ladder of success with a clear shot at the top rung, and I’m most handsomely compensated. Oh, the things I can buy! Such fine things, and so many of them. My Rover. My fine clothing. My luxury condominium in Bainbridge. My guns. My porno. Tight furry slut-pants for Marcia. Budweiser by the truckload, Slim Jims by the mile.
Is it really my fault? I wouldn’t be so obsessed with money if there wasn’t so much great stuff for sale. I blame society. And this story of mine, this ordeal under this car versus that bear, is going to net me seven figures, easy. I bet the Disney Channel snaps it up for one of their nature specials. Should I settle for seven figures? I wouldn’t start there, but could I settle there? I think not. There’s going to be all the collateral as well, the books and cartoons, plush toys, Happy Meals, that stuff ’s worth a lot. But if we could piggyback the Say No To Bears campaign onto a Disney nature special, I might be willing to settle