When Cold Revenge Met a Hot Carl.

Lube Me Up with Fry Grease part 6!

Happy Smutday smutophiles, ya lil nasties! Have you recovered from last week’s episode yet? In case you missed it, that was my first ever *cough* fictional threesome! There were tailpipe vapors, balloon knots, and even the Colonel’s OnlyFans page. Gross huh? Whatever, I’m sure you’ve gotten off to worse. RIP your mama’s hand towels in the guest bathroom.

So where were we? Oh yeah Ronald, Wendy, and Hamburglar are now trapped in a torture chamber together. Like…no one wants to get out of this compound do they? The vapors hit ‘em & that’s it… WELP. Colonel Sanders must have something gross planned for them & he might have to call in some backup since his last hired merc had his head in Wendy’s clouds. Let’s see what fucked up shit I can come up with this week.

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The EKG meter beeped at a stalwart pace as Henrietta neared her final days. She weakly beckoned for her son from her deathbed. Her big, strapping handsome baby boy who just turned eighteen not but a week ago.

“Carl…”

“…Carl”

“CARL!”

She yelled weakly, steaming up the oxygen tube attached to her nostrils. Blinking the room into focus before her oversized no-good son walked in the room, his gait slightly off as he adjusted himself in his jeans.

“What is it ma? I was changing.” he said with a deep manly twang.

“You look so much like your father,” she said lovingly gazing up at him.

Carl was pulling a wedgie out of his ass through his jeans and was really going for it.

She scowled. “Your father liked going to the movies too.”

“Pa didn’t none care for the movies ma.” He mumbled distractedly, still pulling at himself.

“No, but you both sure the hell like picking your seats! Lord rest his soul.” Henrietta clucked angrily.

Carl slowly blinked and stopped fussing with his fanny.

“…I’m dyin son.”

“Ok…when?” he asked absentmindedly.

Henrietta sighed loudly, “Well I don’t know Carl now do I? Nobody does…but soon,” she coughed into her embroidered handkerchief, “I can feel it.” She cleared her throat, “I have to settle my affairs & I need to finally deliver the message I promised your daddy I would give you on your 18th birthday.”

“You had affairs?” he asked while sniffing his fingers and scowling.

“You fuckin’ shaved ape! If I had a dollar for how many times we tried to leave your ass at the zoo!” She paused, collected herself, and tried to decide the best way to say what she had to say while maintaining the little life force she had left.

“Your father was a noble man. He fought blindly for his country and died in combat like a fool. They pointed to who he was supposed to shoot and he did whatever they said.”

“I know all this mama” Carl said, crossing his arms with an attitude.

“What you don’t know is your pa was double crossed by a godforsaken clown! That red-nosed ginger fucker left his post to go bury his [Big Mac] in some Philly’s [cheesesteak]! That’s why he told me to tell you, on your 18th birthday…the only way for you to inherit the Karcher fortune and the business…is if you seek out justice for your father.” She delivered the last line as if it was her last, exhausted from the emotions racking her poor, withered body. She turned achingly to see her son’s expression to only catch him digging in his ass again.

“GO KILL THAT FUCKING CLOWN YOU BOOTY DIGGIN IDIOT OR YOU GET NO MONEY!”

That snapped the cretin into action as he turned, saluted her in the wrong direction, and ran out her door.

“AND PUT SOME OF THAT BABY POWDER DOWN YOUR BACKSIDE, YOU’RE MAKING ME ITCH. GOD KNOWS YOU HAVE ENOUGH OF IT!” She yelled out to an empty room, wearied and slumped into her bed as her EKG flatlined.

******

Carl Jr. stormed into his room, yelling “GOT TO KILL THE CLOWN!”startling the exhausted maid who was on her way out with a mop and bucket. He locked the door behind him and proceeded to access his secret storage area, locked by high security voice recognition and retinal scan devices.

“System Unlock” he said in his deep, confident voice. A secret panel of artillery opened, allowing him to grab a massive amount with ammo to match. He stuffed half of his arsenal into black duffle bags before checking the time on his phone. He still hadn’t packed everything.

He looked around cautiously as his face scrunched and he tensed his vocal cords until an infantile voice cooed “GOO GOO GA GA!”

Half of the wall opposite him opened to reveal an oversized baby crib, an extremely shiny rocking horse, and an assortment of rattles and pacifiers. The bullish brute stripped down to his birthday suit and donned a cloth diaper instead. Fastening the clasps shut before his [Six Dollar ThickBurger] fully sprung to life.

The grown ass man waddled towards a small mini-fridge before he got on his hands and knees to peer into it with wonder. He pulled out a bottle full of milk, which he lovingly tongued and stroked before clamping onto with his drooling mouth. Lust filled his head as he climbed up into the oversized crib to begin his ritual.

He finished his milk and burped loudly, dropping the discarded bottle through the slats of the crib. He lowered down to his belly and thrust his stiffening diaper onto the crib floor, humping it with abandon. His cherubic face contorted into a sickening grin as he crossed his eyes and bit his lip. The fact that his dead mother was only a few feet away from him and the fact that he had important business to conduct would not dissuade from him busting this adult baby nut. Just as the familiar stomach gurgles and body shakes began to hit him, he bore down on his bowels and started filling his bambino bloomers with the most foul smelling baby bomb known to man. That release was going to make his next release that much sweeter as he felt the warm sensation shoot up his lower back. The diaper had reached full capacity. He rocked and bucked his hips as all the liquids in back seeped up front with nobody around to change that baby’s pamper.

Being a stinky baby was all he wanted, his eyes flashing to his oversized rocking horse. He stood up, pulling himself up by the tines of the crib, lowering the sides so he could get out easily. He waddled toward the shiny red toy with sparkling anime baby eyes as sludge dripped down his leg and hit the floor like the season premier of Flavor of Love Season 2-and if you don’t get that reference why are you even still reading this.

He grabbed a bottle of lube and eyed the long, shiny [Big Carl] that had been retrofitted into the seat of the rocking horse. He licked his lips and unvelcro’d the side of his sagging diaper just as his cell phone rang. His eyes darted to it sitting on his bed, indecision plaguing him until he recognized the number from afar and ran to pick it up.

“Ye-yes sir?” he said, attempting to hide the trepidation and breathlessness in his voice.

“IS THIS, I SAY, IS THIS CARL JR?”

“Yes, yes sir it is.”

“BABY BOY, I SAY BABY BOY”-he lowered his voice- “…I’ve got a job for you…and you’ve got a lot of cleaning up to do.” Colonel Sanders said before hanging up his jitterbug with a jaunty flip closed.

Passive-aggressively yours,

Phrique