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| The Spring Offensive |
ANYway, these idiots are running around like retards and it’s
just pissing me off cuz I got stuck on this god damn train a week earlier when
this French soldier boy of the la Division 167e. I’d been ram-housing this bent little tard until one morning over a quiet espresso - that tasted like dog cum - and a pair of stale croissants, he coerces
me into going off to war with him. At one point during this shit breakfast, he burped quietly. I don't know why, but it pissed me off. Like a lunatic I bounded on the small table we shared and sprayed doody fish water from my thriving man-horn all over his fucking face. He puked and it smelled like summer sausage and cat food, so I puked. Unfortunately, before I could really process what I'd agreed to, I ended up murdering him in a jealous rage with a pair of greenish-stained pantyhose after discovering a used condom in his mouth. I later realized it was my used condom and I was embarrassed that things went so south so fast in our relationship.
So here we are, me with his body tied to a fuckin’ leash nude as the day he was sharted into this world, and me half naked from the waist down and wearing his battle fatigues up top. Well these douchey Frenchies are all marching along and this rubbery asshole grabs me and with the most annoying fucking voice I think I may have ever heard tells me some shit in French. Well of course I’d been drinking. I had me probably eighteen bottles of cheap French vino in the last four hours. There used to be this shop run by a mungaloid dipshit who lived with his cousin or whatever in the stank apartment above us. They’d sell me wine at whatever price I said because I’d raped them a number of times. The cousin was a pretzel-shaped paraplegic and the mungaloid would get all hissy when I’d shove my parking cone into his muddy-huh-uh watering hole. And I’d hiss really fucked up things into his ear, like lines from Clueless.
So here we are, me with his body tied to a fuckin’ leash nude as the day he was sharted into this world, and me half naked from the waist down and wearing his battle fatigues up top. Well these douchey Frenchies are all marching along and this rubbery asshole grabs me and with the most annoying fucking voice I think I may have ever heard tells me some shit in French. Well of course I’d been drinking. I had me probably eighteen bottles of cheap French vino in the last four hours. There used to be this shop run by a mungaloid dipshit who lived with his cousin or whatever in the stank apartment above us. They’d sell me wine at whatever price I said because I’d raped them a number of times. The cousin was a pretzel-shaped paraplegic and the mungaloid would get all hissy when I’d shove my parking cone into his muddy-huh-uh watering hole. And I’d hiss really fucked up things into his ear, like lines from Clueless.
This is June 15, 1918.
So this barf muncher grabs me and I drop the leash with poor
French soldier boy on the end of this just lying in the gutter and I wish him farewell
by blowing a snotrocket at his bare ass sticking in the air like a pile of gelatinous horse SEMEN
after one of my burlesque shows in Minsk. I’m drunk. I mean I am pretty fucking
lit. I am dragging this fucking rifle, Meunier A6 I believe it was. The thing
was a beast. I remember I kept firing it off and screaming “what’s up there,
flapjacks?” and all these garlic stinking Frenchmen would turn and stare at me
and I queef and reveal my smoldering golf balls. One dude barfed and when the
dude behind him got a whiff he burped then barfed tOo. It sounded like two ducks quacking.
We end up on this fucking train all packed in like boobs and
I start freaking out because I don’t have any liquor. I realized I have about a
gram of raw sweet chewy shoved into my cowabunghole so I wrest that out,
spraying a bit of blood on the boots of the darsh next to me (I flipped him off
and took the cigarette out of his mouth then put it out on the tip of my penis
and said “scellé pour de bon” "sealed for good" and winked at him.) I then proceeded to smoke the crack and blow the shit in his face until he passed out with a pffffffrt. I got so high I was doing Lenny Bruce stand up
for the next hour before I passed out in the shit bucket. Well we were near the
Marne River when they opened the doors and started this fucked up whistling. I
only knew it was the Marne because I used to dump French prostitutes nearby.
This big prick keeps pulling me by the sleeve causing me to
miss my little pop shots I keep taking at the asses of men up front. He keeps
yelling something inaudible so I finally whirl around and bust him right in the
no no nuggets. He belches something awful and his eyes go as wide as saucers.
He drops his rifle and his mouth opens up huge. I bayonet him and leave him in
the mud. Then I turned to keep following these idiots cuz I like takin’ pop
shots at their asses. Before I know it, there’s a full on war going on around
me. I find myself wandering around with shells going off right and left. For a
brief period of time (it may have been hours) I found myself huffing mustard
gas near this pile of rotting corpses I’d been ejaculating profusely and had a
bullet wound in my shoulder. I was so fucking high still from the crack that I
was jumping up and down waving my arms like a bird and singing with a terrible, cracking voice, “WE ARE THE
WORLD, WE ARE THE CHILDREN” whilst shitting myself and blowing snotty loads like a
hose from hell.
All these idiots are running up this god damn hill, Bellau
Wood Hill 142. That's what I read off a paper I found on the body of a corporal I
murdered with my big toe. Yes you dingus, you read that right. “This is fucking retarded,” I blurted as I prepared to gargle piss from a horse hooved puddle. Of course I lapped some before filling up my
canteen. Well as the battle raged around me, I did an about face and
headed back toward Paris. I still had no pants on and my frank and beans were
kinda flopping around like a diseased cucumber over a pair of rotting roma tomatoes. The lines of troops marching the other way all shrieked like little girls and I just farted that green
gas I have and kept walking. Somewhere close to town I ditched my rifle when it’d
jammed as I fired on children in the villages I passed.
Two days later I awoke up in some brothel with this ginormous
Guido motherfucker standing over me, his hand out. I have half of the dead
body of a French prostitute glued to my pecker and my shoulder has gangrene. I literally woke up screaming, "VIVA LA FRANCE!"
I fucking hate France.