Madame Pandora
Deliciously Aware of Impending Sins
- Joined
- Dec 7, 2000
- Posts
- 1,627
Kerrie's not here...you're all stuck with me....
Once upon a time...
In a far-off kingdom called Literotica, there lived a somewhat outspoken Republican named Cheyenne.
Cheyenne lived in a small cottage with her lecherous father, Sparky, and their dog, Todd.
She was a professional woodswoman who often handled labor negotiations between all the little creatures of the forest. The beavers, especially, benefited from her diligent professionalism. She single-handedly negotiated the end of the "Great Fur Strike" of '99 and put her actions behind her convictions when she dislodged the first deadwood from Beaver Lodge 2204's "Picket Dam," thus returning beavers everywhere to their happy little tasks of gnashing stumps.
The trees, as one could well imagine, did not care for her.
One day, while conversing with the Wicked Witch of the Wood, Devorah, Cheyenne let slip that she was making a trip to her liberal Grandma Laurel's house to see how the poor old soul was recovering. The Bushbabies seemed to be on a crusade to ruin the lovely garden that Grandma Laurel had taken such care to plant and nurture. Devorah assured Cheyenne that, should Grandma Laurel need help, a special potion would be available to turn the Bushbabies into thinking beings which could be reasoned with, thus enabling Cheyenne to work her powers of negotiation in such a manner that all would be happy. Devorah made Cheyenne a goodie basket for Grandma Laurel and bade her a safe journey.
But, Limpy Log had been close at hand, and, hearing of Cheyenne's intended lone journey through the forest sent out the word through the Pube Root System that only the trees could hear.
She was halfway to Grandma Laurel's - in the deepest thicket of the woods, when a slim, gnarled old tree moved in front of her.
"You're blocking my path." Cheyenne smiled pleasantly, already moving to circumvent her puny obstacle.
"My name is WoodyViagra." The hollow, limbless tree replied. "I've been sent to teach you a lesson."
"Will that be the lesson of wit?" Cheyenne cooed sweetly, her hand nonchalantly sinking into the goodie basket Devorah had prepared.
"Ummm...no." Woody rasped quietly.
"Then it would be the lesson of intelligent conversation?"
"No."
"Keen insight?"
"Ummm...no."
"The social economical impact of feeding wolves on the government's budget?" She allowed herself a grim grin as her fingers finally clenched about the object she'd been seeking.
"Look, bitch!" The gnolly old tree growled in humiliation and frustration. "I'm going to just stand here and call you names and beat you up a little okay?" His flaccid stump bent menacingly toward her.
Without another word, Cheyenne withdrew the Jackhammer Jesus from her basket and shoved it into Woody's single knothole, rendering the numb stump blind.
With a shrug and a whistle, Cheyenne sidestepped the quivering shrub and once more set upon her way.
She had only gone a few feet, however, when the surrounding trees began to loom in on her. They waddled angrily into her path, blocking her in.
"Alright, bitch." One sneered angrily. "You may have defeated our Troll Tree, but you don't have enough goodies in that basket to defeat all of us."
"No." Cheyenne agreed sadly. "I have only some bread and cookies and a potion for my Grandma Laurel in my basket."
"Ha! That's what we thought!" The birch replied smugly.
"Oh. But I do have this one thing in my pocket...." Cheyenne murmured quietly, withdrawing the handsome butane cigarette lighter her father, Sparky, had told her to always keep with her.
Oddly enough, the trees moved aside and fell silent, and all Cheyenne's little woodland friends gathered around to escort her the rest of the way to Grandma Laurel's house.
Grandma Laurel was, understandably, upset over the loss of her Jackhammer Jesus, but was so happy to see Cheyenne safe that she even forgot all about Bushbabies and the freedom of tree speech and all other such concerns.
And they lived happily ever after.
The moral of the story is: If you're made of wood, don't mess with the bitches who know how to fuck you with fire.
MP
Once upon a time...
In a far-off kingdom called Literotica, there lived a somewhat outspoken Republican named Cheyenne.
Cheyenne lived in a small cottage with her lecherous father, Sparky, and their dog, Todd.
She was a professional woodswoman who often handled labor negotiations between all the little creatures of the forest. The beavers, especially, benefited from her diligent professionalism. She single-handedly negotiated the end of the "Great Fur Strike" of '99 and put her actions behind her convictions when she dislodged the first deadwood from Beaver Lodge 2204's "Picket Dam," thus returning beavers everywhere to their happy little tasks of gnashing stumps.
The trees, as one could well imagine, did not care for her.
One day, while conversing with the Wicked Witch of the Wood, Devorah, Cheyenne let slip that she was making a trip to her liberal Grandma Laurel's house to see how the poor old soul was recovering. The Bushbabies seemed to be on a crusade to ruin the lovely garden that Grandma Laurel had taken such care to plant and nurture. Devorah assured Cheyenne that, should Grandma Laurel need help, a special potion would be available to turn the Bushbabies into thinking beings which could be reasoned with, thus enabling Cheyenne to work her powers of negotiation in such a manner that all would be happy. Devorah made Cheyenne a goodie basket for Grandma Laurel and bade her a safe journey.
But, Limpy Log had been close at hand, and, hearing of Cheyenne's intended lone journey through the forest sent out the word through the Pube Root System that only the trees could hear.
She was halfway to Grandma Laurel's - in the deepest thicket of the woods, when a slim, gnarled old tree moved in front of her.
"You're blocking my path." Cheyenne smiled pleasantly, already moving to circumvent her puny obstacle.
"My name is WoodyViagra." The hollow, limbless tree replied. "I've been sent to teach you a lesson."
"Will that be the lesson of wit?" Cheyenne cooed sweetly, her hand nonchalantly sinking into the goodie basket Devorah had prepared.
"Ummm...no." Woody rasped quietly.
"Then it would be the lesson of intelligent conversation?"
"No."
"Keen insight?"
"Ummm...no."
"The social economical impact of feeding wolves on the government's budget?" She allowed herself a grim grin as her fingers finally clenched about the object she'd been seeking.
"Look, bitch!" The gnolly old tree growled in humiliation and frustration. "I'm going to just stand here and call you names and beat you up a little okay?" His flaccid stump bent menacingly toward her.
Without another word, Cheyenne withdrew the Jackhammer Jesus from her basket and shoved it into Woody's single knothole, rendering the numb stump blind.
With a shrug and a whistle, Cheyenne sidestepped the quivering shrub and once more set upon her way.
She had only gone a few feet, however, when the surrounding trees began to loom in on her. They waddled angrily into her path, blocking her in.
"Alright, bitch." One sneered angrily. "You may have defeated our Troll Tree, but you don't have enough goodies in that basket to defeat all of us."
"No." Cheyenne agreed sadly. "I have only some bread and cookies and a potion for my Grandma Laurel in my basket."
"Ha! That's what we thought!" The birch replied smugly.
"Oh. But I do have this one thing in my pocket...." Cheyenne murmured quietly, withdrawing the handsome butane cigarette lighter her father, Sparky, had told her to always keep with her.
Oddly enough, the trees moved aside and fell silent, and all Cheyenne's little woodland friends gathered around to escort her the rest of the way to Grandma Laurel's house.
Grandma Laurel was, understandably, upset over the loss of her Jackhammer Jesus, but was so happy to see Cheyenne safe that she even forgot all about Bushbabies and the freedom of tree speech and all other such concerns.
And they lived happily ever after.
The moral of the story is: If you're made of wood, don't mess with the bitches who know how to fuck you with fire.
MP
