Big Bottoms in Little D.C.
Q-hat, leader of the underground resistance movement Novax, read the latest report with clenched teeth:
Agent Nobody Status: Death by Assphyxiation.
Target still at large.
Little by little, the democrats had been expanding their voter base through widespread facesitting. One of them in particular was a woman Q-hat had been chasing for years: New York Senator Patty “Phatty Boom Batty” Kardassian. Her cheeks alone had already turned three swing states blue.
“But sir,” Q-hat’s trusty liaison ‘the visitor’ said. “I don’t understand the connection with sitting on people’s faces.”
“It’s simple, visitor. A couple years back, The Science found that prolonged oxygen deprivation causes people to vote democrat. But the dems are about to get creamed in the midterms and the masks don’t work fast enough, so instead of stuffing the ballot boxes they’ve turned to stuffing people’s mouths .. with ass. Yes, visitor, in the booths of the country the cheeks of dems are squatting and growing heavy, heavy for the midterms. But it’s not over yet.”
“What do you suggest, sir?”
“Get me the man from London.”
“But I thought he was retired.”
“Then we’ll just make him unretire…”
LONDON, ENGLAND
A. listlessly scrolled down his phone looking for his next ‘anal arrangement.’ A proclivity of girls in the city liked it in their bottom, which is to say up their arse — that was something A. could dig. In fact, it was his specialty. He couldn’t think of a thing on earth he’d rather be doing then shoving his huge —
Ding dong.
The sound of the doorbell roused A. from his reverie. “Hmm, that’s odd. Today’s arrangement was scheduled for an hour from now…” He opened the door to find a well-dressed gentleman, and not an anal whore as originally surmised.
“Good evening sir,” the visitor said in his stiff, upper crust voice. “Your services have been requested from across the pond.”
“I’m not sure how you found my location, but you can go ahead and lose it. I’m done with that life.”
“Are you quite certain of that, sir?”
“I’ve got a cushy job and all the buttocks I can shag. I don’t intend on changing that.”
“Perhaps, sir, but are you quite sure you’re satisfied with these common buttocks?”
“What are you implying exactly? Anyway, I have an anal arrangement at four on the dot and don’t wish to be delayed.”
“Very well, sir,” the visitor said, resting his attaché case atop an outstretched hand. “I will take my leave just as soon as you look at these materials…”
A. snatched up the file irritably and gave it a cursory glance. Then did a double take. Then held the pages up to the light and stared intently at its contents. The paper rattled in his quivering hands.
“This — this can’t be.”
“Indeed, sir. A fine rump, one might say.”
“Fine isn’t the word for it. This is one of the most desired rumps of the western hemisphere…”
“Indeed sir. And uh, there was one more thing…”
“What?” A. Looked up with eyes shining like twin moons. “There’s more?”
“If you will direct your attention to this box here,” the visitor said, pointing to a pink felt-wrapped box at the base of the briefcase.
A. gingerly lifted the box — this weight, this density — no. It couldn’t be. The visitor’s eye’s twinkled. “A vintage number, so I’m told, sir.” Turning the box with trembling hands, A. carefully popped the top. The object inside was cool and smooth to the touch. He gulped.
PinkToucan Back Door Relaxer. A. gazed lovingly at the bottle. “It’s German. Best lubricator on the planet… They discontinued it after getting sued in 2022… The plaintiff’s anus was made so slippery by the product that her partner slipped and broke his cock. The company settled outside of court for fifteen million euros.”
“How fortunate for you sir, that Q-hat was able to find several crates of the product…”
“Several crates?” A.’s eyes almost popped out onto the floor.
“Well then, will you be joining us? The helicopter is waiting on the roof.”
Just then the elevator opened at the far end of the hall and out staggered a woman in a shiny turquoise leather jacket, tall heels, and a giant perm; she tugged down her mini skirt past the exposed triangle of her black panties as she hobbled towards them. “A.!! I’ve been waiting soooo long for — “
“Out of my way, trollop.” A. pushed past and grabbed the elevator, clutching the box to his chest. “I’ve got bigger bums to fuck.”
Meanwhile at the edges of Virginia, the UN’s jackboot squadron were regrouping, forming a phalanx directly pointed at America’s rear end, just in case anything like January 6 were to happen again…
EL PASO ABORTION CLINIC — TEXAS
“MY BODY, MY CHOICE” RALLY
Patty “Phatty Boom Batty” Kardassian III strutted out on stage like a wild lioness, the crowd’s adulation reaching fever pitch. The area was packed with a menagerie of mid-to-late 30s cat ladies determined to kill every one of their remaining eggs at no matter what stage of development: it was time to get their autonomy back.
“We are happy to announce,” Patty began, “that the Biden administration has agreed to overrule Texas’s draconic anti-abortion laws…” The crowd screeched and hollered as if Henry Cavill himself had just walked on stage. “…under the condition that every abortion hereon must coincide with a covid booster.” The cheering died down into a confused chatter. Tough audience. “We are also happy to announce that the vax actually does leave you barren after all.” Confused whispers. Some light clapping. She was losing them… It was time for the show stopper:
“Actually, the vax is just an anterograde abortion! You will have choice over your body in perpetuity!”
“Body?” “Choice?” “Choice body? Body choice body?” The crowd murmured, at length breaking into a slow clap which went on to surge into a full standing ovation. Saggy office women hollered until they passed out. Wine aunts hallucinated night after night of unprotected Tinder sex without fear of conception. Karens frothed with bitter glee at the prospect of denying men the potential to reproduce. The crowd screeched and frothed in a mad frenzy rivaling a Rihanna concert…
“Bodychoicebodychoicbodychoicebodychoice…”
Patty waved to the crowd victoriously and waggled her gigantic buttocks off stage into the backroom. Just as she sat her voluptuous cheeks down to take a breather, she felt a pinch in her neck. She knew that pinch — it was the needle of a syringe.
But that which A. had just injected into her was no vaccine.
She woke up in a stupor, the room blurring before her eyes. A man was standing before her grinning.
“What are you doing you disgusting freak!” Patty wailed. “Are you a Republican?”
“No, actually,” A. replied. “I don’t believe in the two party system — it’s just two sides of the same bent coin.”
Patty gasped. “A c-conspiracy theorist?! Next you’re gonna tell me that January 6 was not an insurrection, but in fact a false flag instigated by federal agents in order to denounce their political enemies as terrorists so they could be dealt with in unconstitutional means… YOU SICK FREAK.”
Dead silence hung in the room. A. finally broke it: “Anyway, it’s time to fuck your bum.”
“Over my dead body!” Patty’s mug broke into a scowl — turning crimson, then purple, then glowing white hot. She easily snapped her bondage (which, she noted, was only low grade stuff — to get real constraints you have to shop at a reputable kink store. She had been a loyal member of Amazonian Prime for years…) “What did you think, that I was just some chump?” she spat, bearing down on A. He couldn’t tell if it was him shrinking or her growing… Patty sneered, her thighs thickening to twice their original diameter, her face a chinese lantern, her buttocks twin airbags. “Now kneel before your mistress!”
He felt dragged to the ground like a magnet to a fridge door. Paralyzed and stock still, he watched Patty turn her cheeks to him — every pulsating sinew of her expanded flesh rippling and pulsating. Her ass cheeks eclipsed the light of the room and descended upon him in slow motion like a scene from 2001: a Space Odyssey. “Think yourself lucky,” the ass mistress’s voice echoed from afar. “The last thing you’ll ever experience is this Patty Boom Batty all over your ratty rat ratty face, you slime!”
A. intuited that death was imminent. Yet in spite of everything, his cock stood on end in one last salute to this magnificent rump. A single tear trickled down his cheek — it would soon trickle down hers.
“What a way to go,” he mumbled through that Fort Knox of flesh enveloping his airways.
He went.
And then he came.
Distant sound of helicopter rotors, reinforced APVs… Zipper trails mold the surface of Washington into a map of control that would make Mao weep into his Rice Krispies. In schools citywide, model UN teams go stamping around playgrounds and shaking down kids for change, staging false flag coups and blaming it on their classmates…
Julian Assange is finally outed as a CGI hologram of a man who died in 2016, triggering his dead man switch. Incontrovertible proof of the NWO conspiracy is distributed to every computer connected to the internet. Nobody notices. Mask mandates are cancelled, resumed, cancelled again, then made permanent. Oxygen depletion-related neurological damage leads to a resurgence in reality TV. Patty Boom Batty Phatty Bananaobama America Ferrera Kardassian III becomes congresswoman. The democrats win all the seats in the house and senate, setting Joe Biden up to be elected President for his second term in a landslide 120% of the vote.
But none of that was what irked Q-hat that morning. What irked him was that he had pinched his morning loaf and would feel congested for the rest of the day.
He sighed woefully, sitting on the can and firing blanks. “If only A. were here, he’d know what to do. Not about my dump, but about the other dump. The one out there.” He gestured towards the window, out which could be seen the multistory projection of Patty’s magnificent rear end on every edifice in town. “This is getting ridiculous. Like sure she has a nice fanny, but if I have to look it at a day longer I’m going to lose it.”
“It would appear, sir,” said the visitor, “that is their precise objective. It’s what you might call demoralization.”
“Oh yeah? Well I’m demoralized to the point of obscenity. Open my window, visitor!”
“Sir, I cannot recommend — “
“Do it or you’re fired!”
“As you wish, sir.”
The visitor opened the window overlooking downtown D.C. Q-hat walked straight over, got up on the ledge, and unzipped, pulling out his erect phallus.
“I’M HORNY AS HELL, AND I’M NOT GONNA TAKE IT ANYMORE!” He blew a thick stream of jissom at the LED butt of Patty Kardassian on the opposite skyscraper. The load hit the building with a Marvel Comics ‘splat’ and ran silkily down her cheeks like a white slug.
“You fuckin slime,” a voice boomed out from a loudspeaker equipped to a surveillance drone. “You’re disgusting! UN Troops are en route to your location to arrest you for attempted insurrection-by-jissom. Bend over and prepare to be detained.”
“Screw that noise.” Q-hat whistled triumphantly, and with a Broadway flourish, elegantly swandived out his 100-story window, spinning 3240 degrees in a quad-cork-ollie-nollie-nosegrab-superman-backside-switch-experimental-stalefish before plummeting down in a vertical line faster than the US economy, wiping out in a total bummer faceplant that left a Q-hat-shaped crater in the sidewalk and cost the average tax payer $14410.12. Insulin prices doubled overnight but crack pipes remained gratis.
“See you Nixon, n-n-not Nixon, excuse me, next term, I mean time, uh, you know the thing!” Joe announced later that evening in his State of the Onion-uh-excuse-me-Bloomington. "In other news, ‘Q-hat,’ former leader of the alt-right neonazi pro-drumpf extremist group Novax, was found deceased today in the downtown D.C. area. Official autopsy reports confirm he died of the Viacom variant of covid. Roseanne Barr was unavailable for comment.”
Something popped back into consciousness inside a ribbed tunnel of dim pink light, where footsteps over wet terrain called out squilch squalch squelch… It felt warm and familiar; the pungent aroma reminded him of childhood summer days kicking a soccer ball against a septic tank. Don’t go down there A., his mother would always say. Your shoes are going to get covered in — squilch. The river (?) was deepening. He wasn’t sure from where the minimal light arose, but it illuminated enough of the passage to show how unfathomable it was. Claustrophobia set in the more he transgressed into this forbidden dungeon. How did he even know he was going the right way? The right way to where?
Out there in the real world, blue helmeted jackboots were kicking in doors and shooting up the populace with substances that defied credibility; but A. didn’t have to worry about any of that now. In here was warm and cozy, and if he got thirsty he could always try drinking the water…
Wasn’t this what he had been searching for inside all those anuses? Home. Sitting down in a tepid puddle of odorous liquid, A. rested his head on the intestinal wall and shut his eyes.
Upon waking, A. was greeted by the rich scent of decay and the clamminess of a dirty diaper. He pulled himself up the viscous wall and tried in vain to reorient himself. Turning to what he perceived as the way he came, he broke into a trot, splashing through this endless tube — a geometry he knew so well, yet which now seemed beyond his powers of comprehension. But he would not be beaten by the very thing in which he excelled!
Yes, it was clear now where A. had been transported.
“The Anal Zone.”
“Plurp.”
Turning in shock, A. found himself in the company of an old friend.
“Butthole!”
“Plurp plmph squirp,” the butthole tooted, floating in the brownish pink light.
“It’s good to see you too. But how come we can communicate?”
“You’ve finally allowed yourself to join with the Anus,” the butthole parped. “Instead of only poking your head inside.”
“You’re right. I was always clinging to this fantasy that I was in control of the anus. That I could subject it to my will. But the fact of the matter is that the anus was the one controlling me. I have been obsessed with buttocks for as long as I can remember… Why couldn’t I see it until now?”
“Sometimes you can’t see what’s pressed right against your face, A.” The butthole stretched into a smile. “You can’t see the ass for the cheeks.”
“That’s the real reason I ended my career. I was afraid of pushing myself to the limit. But I realize now that true happiness can only be found in the extreme.”
A. stopped and turned. He would not go backwards anymore — he would penetrate deeper into the anus, further than he’d ever ventured to explore. And at the end there would be an open mouth, a mouth which led to eternity.
“Plruph, plump flrrup!!” A. parped aloud in fluid flatulations, his feet barely touching the water he now skimmed across like vampire jesus, his arms pinned back Naruto-style, his head forward, a cock rocket tunneling 20,000 leagues into the anus …. Deeper, deeper, deeper!! He was becoming analfuck itself… traversing the infinite intestine of a cosmic beast, the torturous u-bends and s-curves and swamp after bog after deluge of liquid shit… Until eons later the brown light paled to crimson, then peach, then bright red — a golden glow in the distance growing larger and larger and larger until — shooting out of the mouth, like a whore spitting out a load — A. rocketed into reality.
1000-inch building-mounted LEDs in downtown D.C. gleamed with the face of Joe Biden and the ass of congresswoman Patty Kardassian.
“We won the midterms you s-stupid sons of bitches,” Biden’s voice boomed. “Now you c-can’t do anything about it! Jackboots are on their way to take your webbings, uh your webms, uh excuse me your w-w-w-… your guns man, cmon! So give them up willingly or prepare to be castro-casperated, n-no-not that, ah you know the thing man, where we cut your balls off!”
Below the screens, truck convoys faced off against UN tanks — it made Tiananmen Square look like Spongebob Squarepants. The arena rang out in a cacophony of honking horns and HAARP directed sound guns playing the brown note.
When out of nowhere, a giant butthole opened into the fabric of reality, birthing a fully-grown Englishman.
A. stood tall amongst the opposing vehicles, his taut, muscular body gleaming like a bronze god.
“It’s time to fuck some ass.”
Channeling the Anal Force through his body, A. parped his way through the invading forces like a hot knife through Marshmallow Fluff. Spy drones circling overhead tried to assess the situation but could not keep up with the incredible speed of A.’s bowel movements, as he yanked the foreign soldiers and flung them 50ft high, gassed them out in their tanks, and used their own pants-shit sound guns to amplify his parps, rattling their skulls at brownian frequencies and turning their brains to diarrhea. Jackboot after jackboot exploded in a haze of blue helmets, red gore, and brown slurry.
The stalemate which had continued for weeks was brought to a close within just a few minutes.
THE WHITEHOUSE, WASHINGTON D.C.
Joe Biden sat at the Resolute desk babbling: “A-And then I thought we’d make a smokescreen using Ukraine again n-n-not Ukraine, excuse me. Iraq. Afghanistan. Czechoslovakia!”
Patty sighed. “I think he’s broken again.”
A loose bolt popped out of Joe’s head and hit the wall, leaving a dent in Lyndon B. Johnson.
“Darn it,” a muffled, elderly female voice came from under the table. “Those useless H-1Bs can’t make anything right.” Clicks and snaps issued from Joe’s crotch. He sat dazedly staring straight ahead, his mouth ajar, every so often spluttering out a word or two “…Laptop…Sniff…Chicago…” He picked his teeth.
“I think I found the problem," the voice said. Sound of a panel shutting. Joe blinked a few times and sat upright. “Alright ladies, which of you are under eighteen?” he inquired with a childish grin.
The lady who had been working on Joe’s parts crawled up from under the table, revealing herself to be HILLARY CLINTON.
“I never was any good at getting on my knees. Much to my husband’s dismay…”
Suddenly the doors swung open and in walked A., his anal auras popping and zapping around him like Pop Rocks mixed with Coke.
Patty’s eyes opened wider than Joe’s drooling mouth. “This can’t be!”
“This is the Oval Office!” Hillary shrieked. “How the hell did you get in here?”
A. shot back a smile. “I came in the backdoor.”
“Oh my lord. Security!” Hillary tapped the buzzer again and again to no effect.
“Don’t bother,” A. said. “I already took care of those meat heads — now they’re breathing less than masked schoolkids.”
“This is preposterous!” Hillary groaned, the thick rings around her eyes quivering with outrage.
“Don’t worry Ms. Clinton,” Patty said, striding silkily towards the eagle-emblemed center of the room, her hind muscles already twitching in anticipation…
“You can put that ass away,” A. said. “I’ve learned a few tricks since I’ve been away.” His anal auras swirled around him like a reverse toilet flush. A. skated through the room, running figure 8s around the group. Joe flinched, then sniffed.
“Pfff,” Patty said. “You think that’s gonna scare me? Big whoop. I was diving in and out of the Anal Zone before I was potty trained.”
“I’m getting outta here!” Hillary cackled. “I have some emails to delete.”
“Not so fast,” A. said, extending his sleeve from out of which a thick nozzle extended. He pulled the trigger, shooting a thick wad all over the former first lady.
“Pllphh.. blaeh… What the hell is this stuff? It tastes worst than Bill’s penis!”
“PinkToucan. Back Door Lubricant.”
Patty fired off a halo of anal force from her glowing face — which A. easily ducked like a slippery eel in a Mississippi toilet bowl.
“You have speed,” Patty said, “But do you have power?”
Patty’s face glowed hotter and brighter as she powered up her anal forces: “Faaaa — nnyyyy — —haaaa — nnyyyy — “ Just at the critical moment before release, her concentration was disrupted by a bolt springing out Joe’s crotch, ricocheting off the desk and hitting Hillary straight in the head. She keeled over, stiff as a board.
“About time the old cunt croaked,” A. said.
Without his master to pull the strings, Joe fell to the presidential mat like a dead hooker.
“Looks like it’s just the two of us now,” Patty said. “There’s no further need for me to hold back.” She stripped down her tight business suit and stood there in bra and panties, turning to expose her prominent rump.
A. gazed at the display as the target slapped her cheeks and wiggled her booty like it was latin jazz night at Club Jamaica. He shrugged.
“What’s wrong?” Patty said, her face twisting in insecurity. “Why aren’t you erect?”
“I have a confession to make,” A. said, summoning all of his anal power into his fist. “I’m actually a boobman.”
“That’s impossible! Then why do you fuck so many asses?!”
A. sprang across the room like lubed lightning, plunging his hot fist into Patty’s fat bottom.
Face to face, A. looked deep into Patty’s eyes and smirked. “They’re tighter.”
His fist shot like a poison arrow straight up her back pipe… Patty squealed as a wave of intense pleasure unlike anything she’d ever experienced bathed her body in a wave of total bliss. “I’m commminnnnggggggg!”
But as she came her butt shrunk smaller and smaller, first to the size of Taylor Swift, then Ashley Olsen, then finally reducing to crackwhore.
“Noooooooo!” She shrieked. “I’m flat!”
In a panic of self-image-death, Patty threw herself right out of the Oval Office window. It was only the second floor, but with no ass left to break her fall, the landing proved fatal.
A. surveyed the room, empty of sound and life.
"Well then," he said to himself. "Time to get to work..."
Coolly picking up the red telephone, A. sat down on the President's chair.
"Yes, hello? I have a question about your Ukranian hookers. Are they into anal?"
END