The Sport Of Kings (681 hits)
Category: NoneRating: 1.21 on 8 reviews (Rate this item) (V)
Submitted by HHH (View user info) at 2006-07-05 23:50:35 EDT
I generally pride myself on being a responsible and well rounded individual. I generally hold myself in high regard, even when masturbating to aerobics infomercials because my internet is down and the porn mags have disappeared. But there are times when my actions have been so ridiculously...impossibly...embarrassingly stupid that I have had to call into question my right to continue to influence the world around me. There are days when the mistakes I make could, and one time did, kill a small African tribe from sheer shock value. Today was just such a day.
It began as any day, but as I lurched lazily into the "kitchen" of my flat, I realized I had a powerful hunger for an entire loaf of bread. Having passed out the night before from something I don't remember, I was confused and starved. I ate a little more than I should have and literally polished off all of our food supplies for the week except the frozen tuna some idiot bought that has remained uneaten for months. Some revere it as a religious symbol, but most fear it, not daring to question it's ungodly powers of nastiness. Oh, and also a few eggs. In retrospect, I wish I had eaten them
The beast of my hunger satisfied, I took my morning piss off of our seventh floor balcony onto the landlord's patio on the ground. As the stream fell, it spread into thousands of tiny globules, making what I'm sure would have been quite the show for the landlord to see.
"It's raining piss again, god damnit!" He'd exclaim, throwing a football through his cable TV set in anger, the channel always tuned into wrestling or NASCAR. He had been complaining for months about the shit that would fall off of "somebody's balcony", but, being near-autistic, had not realized it was the room with the constant parties and pot smoke, not any of the other quiet residential flats above or below.
When Phil woke up in the stairwell covered in beer bottles and Dylan knocked on the door, having woken up nude in the parking garage, we had a meeting in the center of one of our two rooms. The subject: what to do with the day.
Get wasted? No beer.
Get high? No pot.
Eat? No food anymore.
Watch TV? I smacked phil - he had broken the TV a week ago.
Resort to sheer caveman-like stupidity for entertainment? We could handle that, we supposed.
We really couldn't.
First on the agenda, locate a battlefield. The toilet was no fun, as shit and piss are generally not a "hands on" kind of subject. We couldn't do anything outside, because we were tired and had no car.
My morning piss had inspired me, and we would resort to a good old fashioned game of "The Sport Of Kings" as we called it. It was really no more than throwing disgusting things we could find in the apartment over the balcony into the world below, but to be sure, there was something strangely noble, prince-like, about watching the look on an old man's face as he realized he had just been struck by an improvised saran wrap bag filled with beans and pubic hair.
First to fly over the brink and into the street was a sandwich bag of steaming morning piss. I nearly gagged as I was chosen to throw it, as several holes in the bag caused a bit of leakage. The bag sailed true through the air, and we all screamed "GOLDEN SHOWER!" in a manner I'm sure the mightiest Spartan warrior and the bravest six year old would have been familiar with. The bag burst, and as the speed of it's decent forced it's particles apart, it truly became a golden shower. My eyes darted to the street below, and my heart sank. In one moment, I had truly sealed the deal: I was going to hell. For below me, my friend, was an oblivious and innocent mother, taking her baby in a stroller for a walk. As she heard our mighty hail descending on her like a bird of pray, she looked up, and time stood still.
We all held our breath as we realized what would next transpire.
Cars slowed, clocks ground to a halt, and somewhere in the distance, a single tear rolled down a nun's cheek in shame. An imaginary chorus of Viking warriors bemoaned her tragic fate as the slings and arrows of outrageous fortune assailed her.
I mean piss. I meant to say piss. A steamy, musky, body-temperature shower of piss.
We all stood still as she first jumped back, thinking it to be a simple trick of some college boys with a water balloon and too much free time, but as the familiar scent of sugar crisp wafted through the battlefield, she screamed bloody murder.
Or maybe rape.
Yeah, I'd say it was more of a bloody rape scream.
We thought she would very well seizure right there, frothing at the mouth with a mixture of our piss and her spittle, but we couldn't be too safe. We all knew the drill, and we dropped to the deck, concealed by the concrete railing of our balcony. We would have pissed our pants, but it had all been used up in preparing this urinary holocaust. Many high fives were exchanged, and there was much rejoicing.
However sometimes Karma can be a bitch.
An hour later, once the buzz had died down, we got back to work.
We first threw the tuna at a car's windshield, laughing hysterically as it swerved and ran up onto the side of the road in shock. The juices dribbled down the windshield and we all assured each other of how "awesome" "cool" and "wicked" it was. We were masters of our world and our vocabulary.
We tossed the eggs one by one onto the road, delighting as they splattered open, at one point spraying their eggy bounty onto an old woman crossing the road. We would have felt bad about this, but our next-life room reservations were already so deep in the filthiest pits of hell that we had no shame.
Next, I felt that familiar rumble in my bowels, and as we sat bored on our balcony, wondering what expendable supplies we could throw next, I whispered to Phil.
"Phil"
"What?"
"Dude, I think its time..."
"Time for what?"
"Dude..."
"Oh no. You can't mean..."
"Yeah dude...poopy time."
His eyes lit up like a pedophile in a McDonalds ball pit.
He crossed the deck to first mate Dylan to spread the good news.
"Dylan...dude."
"What?"
"Poopy time, man."
"FUCK YES!" He roared, reminding me of Genghis Khan.
I retreated to the toilet to do this dirty deed. I locked the door, and, breathing heavily, gave birth to a healthy five pound baby boy.
Grabbing a garbage bag from the floor that contained nothing but beer cans and a used condom that smelled of cheap barfly, I lifted my newborn child into the bag, remarking quite carefully in an improvised manner Neil Armstrong would have been proud of that it "felt like I was lifting the weight of the world in doughy shit."
We then prepared in our kitchen, blinded to our stupidity by our passion, a thick broth of brown shit soup. I diced some banana peel I found on the floor into the mix, and stirring it with what was thankfully a throw-away utensil, I declared the mixture to be "magnifique", "superbe", and fucking nasty."
We tied the bag from the top and brought the writhing ball of evil out onto the main deck. The wind rustled through our shaggy manes, and I spoke.
"Today, gentlemen, we make history..."
We decided to heave on the count of three as is customary among my people (my people being idiots who forget to explain what "heave on the count three" means to their companions.)
We all took hold of the top of the bag, where it was tied.
One... the bag shuddered uneasily.
Two... I could feel the bag stretch out in our hands.
Three... Phil let go, pushing the bag forwards, and it stretched out lengthwise. He had thought we would throw on three. Idiot. I never said anything like that, did I?
Ominously, and although at the time I did not realize why he said it, phil exclaimed "oh dear lord"
We never reached the fourth count. Me and Dylan intended to throw on the fourth count, but as we brought the now tube-sock-shaped bag towards us to power up for our last thrust, it chose that precise moment to break the surly bonds of gravity and cover us head to toe in a hearty helping of my shit and old cum. Perhaps the bag chose to break, prehaps karma chose to break the bag...man will never know. We did know we were plastered in shit.
This time, the world did not slow. It marched on, defiant - leaving me and my comrades to sort out our predicament.
Dylan, soaked in my shit and Phil's used condom juices from the nipples down, fell to his knees and began praying in a foreign language we later found out he didn't know how to speak. I began to cry. I'll admit it. My shoes were ruined. My life was ruined. We would never forget this day. Phil let out a long moan as though he had just seen his dearest loved one slaughtered. Below us, a single man and his news crew watched in disbelief. The news anchor would famously exclaim "Oh the humanity!" as he saw the carnage unleashed.
This was the greatest military folly of the modern age, nay, of all time. The liquid seeped through our clothing and corrupted our pristine virgin skin. I felt a piece of my soul melt. Somewhere, beneath the earth's surface, Satan pumped his fist and yelled "YES!" The liquid dripped away, and just dry chunks of shit remained, staining our clothes and our psyches forever.
Phil and Dylan crawled inside, wailing like banshees and injured like Vietnam veterans, and I leaned over the railing, defeated. I looked up at the sky, pinching my nose to ward off the stench, and squeaked nasally,
"YOU DAMN DIRTY BASTARD! YOU'VE TAKEN EVERYTHING FROM ME!"
I looked for some solace in the street below, but all I found was the old lady whom we had egged, grinning smugly up at me.
Truly the Sport Of Kings.
User Reviews
Submitted by GnarlsBarkley (user info) at 2006-07-09 10:22:38 EDT (#)
Ranking: 0
''His eyes lit up like a pedophile in a McDonalds ball pit.'' <--- Fucking Awsome
Submitted by JonnyX (user info) at 2006-07-06 19:47:59 EDT (#)
Ranking: 0
remember, less is more.
Submitted by JonnyX (user info) at 2006-07-06 19:47:45 EDT (#)
Ranking: 1
OK, you're trying too hard.
Submitted by alwayspeach1 (user info) at 2006-07-06 16:09:58 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
Funny.
Submitted by phuzzygish (user info) at 2006-07-06 10:56:10 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
Heh. poop.
Submitted by hour_man (user info) at 2006-07-06 04:29:11 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
I laughed
Submitted by PerkMan (user info) at 2006-07-06 00:44:19 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
Cars slowed, clocks ground to a halt, and somewhere in the distance, a single tear rolled down a nun's cheek in shame. An imaginary chorus of Viking warriors bemoaned her tragic fate as the slings and arrows of outrageous fortune assailed her.
---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------Hahahah this was fucking awesome.
Me and my friends do shit like this. hahaha that sucks man that sucks.
Submitted by joedaddy (user info) at 2006-07-06 00:01:39 EDT (#)
Ranking: 0
i'm going to wait