Busty Burger Babes Behind Bars Behaving Boobily.

Lube Me Up with Fry Grease Part 9!

I’m here to write smut and make my parents wonder why I’m like this ok? It’s not my fault I miscounted episodes, but luckily for you depraved lot…it’s in your favor. Now I get TWO more chapters to cram even more things into other things that probably shouldn’t be stretched that far. I’m not about to wax poetic on what shouldn’t go where, you’re not here to discuss the antagonistic duality of right and wrong. You’re here to find out what’s squirpa-chirpin’ in that jail cell and wtf was in that wall safe. So let’s get on with this grease-stained show.

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Wendy’s confusion was battling her unrelenting urges to have it her way with Birdie’s dripping wet [breakfast platter]. Her rational mind knew they were running out of time, that she just used a Burger King slogan, and So that’s what a cloaca smells like. As the downy darkness descended, feathers parted revealing an angry eye winking furiously as it got closer to her face. Flashes of her college years, wondering if she could ever really be a patty-parter, flooded her mind. It was as if her body and her mind were battling for dominance, but at this moment her nose was the loudest challenger. The acrid scent of piss jar, greasy pennies, and musty basement hovered above her quaking jaw.

Just as she was about to accept her fate and justify having had her tongue in worse places, the door burst open. A flustered Ronald ran in the room with a stack of papers in his hand, out of breath. They all hit the floor when he saw the chicken bones & food containers littering the floor, the prison bars, and a sexy chicken about to lay an egg on his lover’s face.

Birdie quickly flew up to her perch for safety, shrilly crying at the intruder who interrupted her salad bar getting mandible mopped. Wendy writhed on the floor, slipping out of her trance to call for Ronald. He trudged up to the cage entrance where Birdie angrily squawked at him and pecked in his direction.

“What you say Bird?”

Ronald barked, cowering behind one arm so his vibrant red wig wouldn’t get McSnatched and helping Wendy up with the other. He eyed Wendy’s state of post-sexual-congress dishevelery: that he knew so well and the still squawking bird of Scaradise in the corner. Once upright and in a better state of mind, Wendy was able to try to explain to Ronald what just occurred.

“We uhh, we was just playin MacDaddy.”

“It’s alright Wendy, this…” he looked down at the papers strewn about, “well…that explains everything! It turns out you’re not just some oversexed gutter butt who spreads her all beef patties for that special sauce on her sesame seed buns…” he paused to gather his thoughts.

Birdie squawked & cleared her throat. Wendy paused and said,

“You’re going somewhere with this right?”

“Yes, sorry I just realized we haven’t eaten in this entire multipart season or whatever the author’s calling it now.”

“I’ll say mack!” blurt out Birdie from her roost.

The pair turned to her with surprise.

Ronald said, “I didn’t know you could talk, I’m sorry. I thought you were one of the Colonel’s hybrid circus freaks from years of fowl fucking in order to create a new super-race of sexy chickens!”

Birdie clucked and cried in a manner that meant WELP.

“Anyways, ladies…er ladies and gentle-chickens: back to what I was saying!” He started retrieving the papers strewn about the floor. Wendy started to help and Birdie flew down from her perch to grab the few that landed near her.

“It’s all here. That biscuit boffing bastard has been slipping us sex drugs in plain sight and we were none the wiser!”

“Sex drugs?!” mused Wendy.

“He’s been doping up his food with some special compound he’s calling finger-lickin-freak-panty-dropper or FLFPD for short. It turns anyone who eats it into a wild sex-craved cock gobbler who will lose their mind if they don’t get some sneak-a-link strange in their face with no abandon!”

Birdie squawked from the corner, with a half-eaten chicken leg in her hand mid-chew, “It’s in the buck-baguckin‘chicken?!”

The two stared at her incredulously.

“I was cluckin’ hungry, ok?” the bawdy baddie bird-broad hybrid chirped.

Ronald slow blinked but continued, “The cole slaw. It’s in the cole slaw! That’s where the dammed fool mucked it all up. Doesn’t he understand, nobody in their right mind willingly eats cole slaw!”

The two dames guiltily stared around the dingy prison room.

“Dear McJesus, McMary, McJoJo and the fry guys…don’t tell me…how much of it did you both consume?”

“Enough” whimpered Wendy then gushed moistily, “It’s creamy! It’s crunchy! It keeps me regular! What’s not to like?!” she screamed, sobbing with guilt.

“I just dig that tangy zip daddio” belted Birdie, still holding the chicken bone for some odd reason. “Just make sure ya clear the room after supper unless you want to get crop dusted like nobody’s business.” she quipped, jerking and pecking under her wing randomly.

Wendy shrugged and welped in agreement.

Ronald was frantically looking through the paperwork, searching for answers.

“It says here that too many doses could make the effects permanent. You two could be like this forever unless we find the antidote! It must be here somewhere.”

He looked up and grew enraged at the sight of Birdie caressing Wendy’s perky hardened [tater tots] through her shirt while she seductively rubbed the chicken bone along her open mouth while Wendy’s eyes rolled to the back of her head.

“DOES ANYONE WANT TO GET OUT OF THIS PEEPEE SOAKED HECK HOLE?!”

The bisexual bosomy besties broke their embrace in disbelief.

“We must find that antidote!” they said in unison.

#####

The container of FLFPD in Hamilton B. Urglar’s hand jostled, spilling more of its volatile contents onto his porous glove. Mayor McCheese’s grinning face was plastered on the label of the glass flask.The combination of the smell and the direct contact with his skin caused his pupils to dilate and his raging rapier to unfurl. Hamburglar’s eyes crossed and a line of saliva dribbled down his chin as he stared at the growing gusset of the dearly-departed decaying dude’s diaper. Gastrointestinal gasses gurgled greasily out of the grotesque grownup’s gaping, groaning gasket.

His quivering mouth professed, “robbbbbble.”

[That baby’s pants are full.]

The smell of the devil’s morning-after breath, baby powder, and a thousand blackened meat diapers¹ soaked in rancid ground beef juices left out in a hot methlab, with no ventilation for an entire summer woozily wafted over him as he tugged at the repugnant huggies. The mountain that was once a man was turned on his side, prompting Hamilton to try with all his might to push him over onto his front so he could get at the ambrosious olfactory offering. The corpse of Carl Jr. gave way, slightly slumping away from the seat-sniffing booty bandit.

With no hesitation-because this passage was growing much longer than expected-Hamilton dove into the putrid pamper. His senses were awash with the smells of bowling shoes set ablaze and the flames doused with separated long-curdled milk. He traversed Carl Jr’s tantalizingly round assets and found his belching, billowing bunghole right in the act of pinching off a fresh loaf of heaven scented-devil’s food cake. He stared in awe, the combination of the fumes and the sight made his eyes water.

Through tear-filled eyes, the parping poop portal resembled his passed paramour in all his purple pompenstance². More tears left his eyes as his lost love momentarily returned to him. Night after night, day after day, he prayed to an absent omnipotent being for one last kiss from his snuffed soulmate. The lack of oxygen, extreme induced horniness, and general poor life choices told him it was now or never if he wanted that final kiss. The kiss of true love that would reunite him with his perished purple-penis-eater. He licked his lips and strained to pull himself deeper into the brimming backside. He paused, staring into the clenching black abyss, wanting to remember this gnarled sight forever.

He felt the rocking of the body as a large gas pocket was about to come blasting his way. He wanted to time his peck at just the right moment. The bumpy bussy lips pouted and puckered up for him when he went in for love’s kiss. Then everything went black in Hamburglar’s world and he was enveloped in a chilling, crushing embrace that he could never escape.

#####

Ronald, Wendy, and some rough bird with pig tails ran into the torture room breathlessly. Frantically yelling for their fellow captive but not seeing even a trace of him anywhere. They all tried to look away from the bloated corpse on the floor with fetid juices surrounding it like a moat of shitty security. Birdie innocently broke from the pack to see if she could identify the farting flesh fountain. Wendy and Ronald, instead walked over to the open wall safe to see what Hamilton had unearthed. As Ronald’s eyes widened at his discovery, Birdie innocently inquired,

“Hell’s Bells! Who are these two poor stiffs?” with her little chicken eye blinks and neck twitches.

Ronald and Wendy both gasped and joined her, praying that they had misheard the chirpy chesty chick. Wendy screamed as Ronald fell to his knees and broke down in a crying fit.

“No Hamilton! We were so close!” The last of his pancake makeup dripped down his tear-streaked face. Hamburglar’s body layed pinned down under the hulking carcass of the dead adult baby. The smell of skid mark tea made with spit cup fluid wafted as the thick brown porridge of excrement bubbled out from under the pair. Wendy was distraught to see her friend, her lover & her seh-cuh-tur³ dead. Crushed, like his dreams, as if someone had dropped a house on him. As Wendy scanned his lifeless body, her eyes traced the white and black striped prison suit until she got to his feet and screamed.

“Where ever did he get those ruby red slippers!?”

Ronald balled his fists and contorted his face with anguish. He screamed up to the heavens as the ruby slippers and striped legs rolled under the gargantuan corpse.

“CAN WE EVER JUST STICK TO ONE COPYRIGHT INFRINGEMENT AT A TIME FOR FUCK’S SAKE?!”

Passive-Aggressively Yours,

Phrique

1. yes, yes thats’s what that thing in the meat packages to soak up fluids is called. Lovingly referred to as “the meatpon.”

2. bruh, I’m just making up whole words today lol

3. Mary J. Blige joke, you had to be there. Not gon’ cry!