Suddenly, something caught Mickey's eye. What was this sticking out of the pile of garbage they had landed in? Was it..? -why, yes: a Middle-Belgian-to-Bed-Stuyanese dictionary. Mickey tossed Barton Buttmarten the tome. The epicure flipped quickly to Appendix Q: Check Yo Delf Befo' You Wreck Yo Delf - Handy Phrases for Everyday Use, and found what he was looking for. Buttmarten read aloud, attempting his best to perfectly mimic the accent, of which he had heard three full words.
"Yo, son" intoned Barton with gusto, "we is in requirement of some serious motherfuckin' anal assistance, na'mean son. My boy jus' got hit off wit' jus' 'bout a rectal 187 by dat ill nigga Screwtoons McFoolery. Man, it were one thuggish bebuggering, na'mean son, and it would behoove a nigga muchforsooth if you could give a brotha' a hand on where my boy can score for that shit that's the shit, son - you know I'm talking bout that greasy greasy, spread so easy up in your Anal-eez?"
"Oh dat. Whyn'cha say so, son?" drawled Dub-C. "What you wanna do, na'mean, is up on Stuyvessant, they got dat donut and porn emporium. They prob'ly got yo shit, na'mean. "Yo, and check out they got that Dreemy Kreemy Kombo, na mean. Ya get a free issue of Cream Filled Teens with the purchase of a dozen creme-filled donuts, na mean."
Barton and Mickey thanked their new friend, and headed in the direction he had indicated, seeking to soothe the mouse's sore and torn anus. They were off again, into a world of adventure and mystery (or at least pornography and pastry) - drawn inevitably, by what immpetus they did not know, into the lair of the Abominable Charlie Brown.
While Mickey Mouse applied his ointment and perused photgraphs of strippers in cheerleader outfits, their distended orifices spattered with ejaculate, Barton Buttmarten savored the donuts, his trained tongue deconstituating every flavor. "Ah yes, I believe I do see," explicated the gastronaut. "The secret to the recipe is that rather than using heavy cream in the filling, they are simply recycling the lube used during the filming of the pornotographic cinema that goes on in the back room. I am sure of it."
Mickey bit into a donut. "You sure can call it, Barton buddy," he squeaked. "I would have guessed DAP kitchen and bathroom caulk. But be it caulk or K-Y, my bunghole's balmed, and I believe we've arrived. Let's pay ole Chucky a visit."
Barton hit the buzzer repeatedly, until a savage hissing groan issued from the speaker and they were buzzed in. The stairwell smelled (as did every stairwell in this city) of malt liquor and piss. Two Hatians stood in a doorway smoking a blunt and speaking in some incomprehensible dialect of English. The epicure wrapped his chambardnay tightly against his face to stave off the eye-watering aroma and pushed Mickey Mouse ahead of him, as they made their way to apartment 223.
The door was ajar and the pair entered. There was no sign of the Abominable Charlie Brown, however. A white guy in a beanie played X-Box with a tall racially-mixed follow with an afro pick sticking out of his gargantuan 'fro, while in the corner former Speaker of the House, Tom Delay, gently massaged the prostate of a young lad with his glans. Kneeling rapturously and the feet of the young specimen was Father Doheny, awaing the immaculate communion.
Suddenly, with a cry like a pterodactyl fighting the giant squid, the Abominable Charlie Brown came swinging like Tarzan from an inexplicably placed vine. He wore no trousers and his weird trademark zigzag shirt was torn and bloodstained. His round head was covered with pustules and sores. But his cyborg aim was deadly precise. Releasing from the vine, he turned in air so that he was flying ass-first at Mickey Mouse, then reached behind him and, grabbing the rodent's ears, pulled Mickey's snout deep into his rectum. The two rolled on the floor, and Barton could tell by the scent of spoor that Mickey mouse was strangely turned on by the encounter. But something also was not quite right in the scent, something that even the highly trained nostrils of Msr. Buttmarten could not place.
The pair finally stopped their frolicking when the Abominable Charlie Brown fell into a retching and coughing fit, and proceeded to vomit up his spleen and a can of creamed corn.
"Why 'tis a miracle of truly loaves-and-fishean proportions," ejaculated Strativartius Buttmarten, snatching up the organ and the corn. "The sweetbreads do chime vigorously with all corns of the cremed nature. I shall prepare for you a feast of yay gustatotalean proportions, whilst ye young lovers doth make that beast which hath two backs."
"And I have a little surprise of my own, Charlie Brown," Mickey Mouse squealed. "Trust me it's better than a fucking Christmas Tree." He unbuttoned the giant buttons on his red shorts and pulled them down, as the zomborg looked on in sexual rapture. Instead of the wee mouse pee-pee one might expect, Mickey possessed an enormous clitoris the size of a ping-pong ball. There was no vagina nor pubic hair - just the lovely love nub like a second belly button. "They named me Mickey, because when I was a baby they thought it was just a malformed weiner - but really I'm an anaphrodite."
The Abominable Charlie Brown let forth a gutteral roar of arousal, bit off most of his left bicep which he chewed up and spit on the floor - one of many such piles of masticated flesh, Barton noticed - and pounced on Mickey. Barton buttmarten adjusted his wainscollar and headed to the kitchen to prepare his feast.
After the meal, which the Abominable Charlie Brown ate backwards, shoving the food up his toothy anus, Mickey and Charlie announced that they were getting married. "I never could resist an ass-masticator," Mickey tittered, then looked sad. "I hope you understand, my epicurious fried. I hate to abandon you on your quest after you saved me from Screwtoons McFoolery and the Dimension of All Anal Action, but this is true love."
"Graagh, me know," cried the Abominable Charlie Brown, and gave out a whistle. With a beep-beep boop-boop, R2D2-with-a-boner rolled into the room.
"Ah," ejaculated Strativartius Buttmarten, "a dowry. And what better travelling companion than R2D2-with-a-boner?"
"And check out this feature," said Mickey Mouse bending over for the robot. Barton Buttmarten watched in awe as the blue and white droid pumped away at the mouse's ass, finishing off with a gaggle of beeps and whistles.
Once R2D2 withdrew his boner, Mickey Mouse stuck his finger in his rectum and pulled it out dripping with white goo. He held the finger to Barton. "Try it."
Barton Buttmarten took a lick. "Bleeding and tormented Crist!" he expostulated, "That's the finest Bernaise Sauce I've ever encountered. This is indeed a fine gift! Thank you my dear and cherished friends, and best of luck on your nupitals. I must away!"
And with that, Barton Buttmarten and his new droid companion turned into birds (Florence Nightingales to be precise), spreading their wings to the sky and taking flight above the soot-stained highrises of Brooklyn, seeking beauty, truth, and new adventure.
(What kind of crap will happen next? Will the shit hit the fan, or will the fan bitch slap the shit first? Tune in next week and find out. We promise a shorter wait.)
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