The Old Cunt

WiseGuy Productions
Presents:

The Old Cunt
(tales from city centre)

by Van Morsel


Everyone called him The Old Cunt, but not to his face kid, hell no kid, we called him The Good Chef to his face…his ugly shit of a fuckhole of a face. He was the best kid…the best goddamn vegetarian chef in the business ya dig kid?…fucking contradiction in terms if ya ask me kid…but don’t ask me kid, im a fuckball!!

So anyway, he was teaching me the art of food, but im no cook dig? Shit… Im no cook, Im an agent you shit arse, a double agent see? Hell, maybe a triple agent. Who the fuck can remember, not me..and that’s just the point you pisser…fuck knows what the shit I was doing in this hell hole whores arse of a cunt rotters kitchen, part of my cover story? But I got so many cover stories kid…who the fuck can keep track. I can’t even remember what my mission was. I got cover stories on top of cover stories and fuck me kid, I just figure that HEAD OFFICE will call me eventually, remind me what the fuck im supposed to doing, who the fuck im supposed to be killing, what Sectors im supposed to be infiltrating…anyway, fuck it….i’ll figure it out.

Anyway……The Old Cunt was busy making some fag arse asparagus quiche type mix to feed to some high rolling queer banging cock lovers…fucking sickening I tell ya kid….so I took a little trip to the store room kid, whipped my pants off and started dangling my old fella in the curry…jiggling it around, really getting amongst the flavours kid…and the thing is kid, and don’t go spreading it around see, there was something in the texture kid, the fluid, the potato pieces. Jesus kid! I got me a full wood kid, ya hear me kid? A great fat throbber. A boner kid. So ya know what I did next? I worked it like a jackhammer , shot my man wad in the salad dressing, (the queers at table 9 gobbled it back without so much as a second thought, no one notices these things kid) old stringy man fodder all through it, warm and dripping kid, warm and dripping.

But it wasn’t enough. Shit no!! So I start smuggling small animals into work. Hack a goat up or deep fry a stray cat, and I blend it up into the tofu parfait, and I can see it working kid…these filthy dykes at table 6 kid, hell, these lesbian bitches get their first taste of meat in years , and their eyes kid! Well, their eyes double in size and you can hear and smell it. These decrepit old lesbian cunts starting to drip and throb kid, this great slushying sound, and they throw off their garments, shave their legs, pluck there armpits, trim their pussy hairs, and the next thing ya know their out getting cock kid. Three at a time kid. One for each hole. Gangbang and double penetration kid. (Reminds me of the time I beat a dyke to death in Sector 9 for no apparent reason, as she lay there dying and covered in her own filthy blood she begged me to screw her. Said she wanted man meat in her one last time, said she’d been a fool, said that no amount of dyke fingers, tongues or strap-ons could compare with the real deal, but I wasn’t in the mood kid. So I just stomped her good and proper until her brain oozed out and lights in her eyes went out real nice like).

Anyway there’s no need to tell ya that The Old Cunt, The Good Chef that is, well he wasn’t taking to it dig? He was trying to run an upmarket joint kid, and these cock hungry ex-dykes were not good for its ‘public persona’ kid. So he goes into a mad rage, gets ‘The Fear’ good ..starts throwing pots, pans, knives, salad accessories around. And in the middle of this rage, hell, that’s when he notices me. That’s when he see’s me kid! And im standing there with half a stray cat hanging out of the deep fryer and a small goat that im trying to hide behind the dishwasher, and you can see it kid, his eyes, his neurons springing into action, and he puts two and two together. Next thing ya know he comes at me with all he’s got. But im fast kid, real fast. I fend off 12 knife jabs and get in a lucky shot: a quick slap to his upper thigh. So anyway this goes on for a while kid….we’re both wild-eyed kid….this is life or death dig? So we got ourselves a real fight like, not that faggot shit you see outside bars at four on a Sunday morning. This is real kid! And in the process we accidentally hack up the waitress and kitchen hand, poor fella. So this fight lasts three days dig? And its not good for business, I mean, the orders are really stacking up now kid. People getting impatient kid. Some fag whore at table two screams out “I ordered five goddamn scrambled fag salads two days ago you pricks!!!!!” and the slong queen at number 10: “fucking shit man!!!! Where’s my fudge packing hummus frittatas and my pita bread alpha arse bean spread!!??” So The Old Cunt was getting tired now….and that’s when I got the drop on him. I forced his shiteyed head into the deep fryer, knocking the stray cat out of the way, turned it up to level 9 and slit his throat with the fish slice..real classy like!

So The Old Cunt gives up the ghost, leaving me in charge. So I blend him up good and feed him to the fairy queens at the bar, goes down a treat I tells ya kid. So since the waitress and kitchen hand are dead I end up running round like a right shit eater…waiting tables, taking orders, doing dishes, cooking meals, balancing the books, and taking time to wanga the occasional ex-dyke of course….and that’s how its been ever since ….shit, I won me 15 International Cuisine awards kid. But the thing is kid…..whats HEAD OFFICE gonna say, when they finally realise Ive forgotten the mission? Jesus kid it won’t be pretty. Shit no!!! but I got a restaurant to run dig? Hell, you need a job kid? Hell, I could do with an extra set of hands. Yeah kid…why not? We’ll be a team kid. You know the difference between a salad and a stew? Na, me neither kid, hell, just flop ya wanga in it, it’ll all pan out kid, ya dig?




THE END