And all the king’s horses and all the king’s men could not put Humpty Dumpty together again.

 

But really, a giant egg-man is a pretty silly thing to break, right? I think most people would be relieved not to have a talking product of ovulation around, and Fleshlight would probably sop up the remained with a bit of cheese dip. But I digress.

 

It went like this. The royal parties had gathered the finery that they had gathered. Mouth Down South had plundered the far reaches of Amazon, while Just Get It Over With merely reached into her voluminous closet and pulled out an outfit that most of the party would kill for. Dick Ass Mother Fucker nearly did, but Wrinklepecker had borrowed his hunting knife and hadn’t yet returned it.

 

The parties rode forth, Cockamole calling out gleefully as Golden Snowball and Wee Wee ran by. And it was truly a glorious evening, with Bierectional only finding the slightest bit of human feces, and Pole Her Bare luxuriating in the finer parts of life like above freezing temperatures. Buck Fucka led the crowd around the block, while Young Male Blow Job and Purple Pussy Eater were content to take a longer way about. Miss Delivery soon corrected their course, followed closely by Fuck Norris and Chicken Bone Her, who were happy to keep company with Tongueless’s Penis as long as they could.

 

Limbo Bimbo found a wonderous garage snail, Red Hot Vagina found a wonderous bag full of tricks, Minor 69er found a wonderous drink check, and Wee Wee found a wonderous detour around the heights of Bernal. All was well, and all would have been well, until the sun set and the moon rose.

 

“An utter travesty!” One Night Only brought Tuna on Top’s attention, and she had no choice but to call to Queen Douche to have her set eyes upon the catastrophe that had befallen. Vagina Dentata couldn't even look.

 

“The royal éclair! It’s been dashed to pieces on the urine-soaked ground!” cried Douche, aghast, and it was only Hand Pump’s steady assurances that could comfort her.

 

“It totally wasn’t Allahu Aqbark,” Masterbaster declared.

 

“I was giving him scritches at the time,” Backwash backed him up. Cum Test Dummy noded in agreement, as did Mary Tyler Whore. Apparently Allahu Aqbark had been making his rounds that evening.

 

“I may have photographic evidence,” Dick Simmons informed them. “It, uh, may take a week or so to develop though.”

 

“I’ll begin collecting the funds. For its repair,” Muff Daddy advised.

 

“I know, I know,” said Good Shit. “I’ll put together a committee to … ahem… probe the incident. But who to probe first?”

 

“I’ll volunteer!” Can’t Eat Pussy offered, but Good Shit immediately wandered away, his attention already elsewhere.

 

“Once I put together one of these,” Bloqueen mused.

 

“Oh yeah, how?” asked Tears of Semen.

 

“Well it was very complicated. And involved Aquavit,” Bloqueen admitted. “In fact, it may not have happened at all.”

 

“I think we should just pretend it never happened,” Fuck Buddy suggested.

 

“That’s a good attitude,” On All Fours replied. “Cuming Mutha uses it all the time.”

 

“Can’t we just buy another one?” Fucker asked.

 

“Of course not, they’re priceless!” Five Angry Inches retorted.

 

“Oh, should I not have eaten the other one I found?” CPA asked, wiping his mouth.

 

“Just how many of those things are there?” aksed Millimeter Peter.

 

“Enough!” Douche answered. “But that doesn’t fix the one on the ground.”


A roar resounded from the crowds, and the dread dragon Do Her Well swooped down and snatched the broken éclair in her claws. She stuffed it into her mouth and let out a firey belch before flying off into the night. 

 

“Hey, that was my ride!” yelled Just Doesn’t Get It, chasing after her.

 

And all the Queen’s horses and all the Queen’s men said fuck it and went to the on after again.

 

The End