Ran Out Like Red Slush Puppy

The wise Tupac Shakur in one of his songs once alluded to the pleasure to pain ratio between the moment of conception (pleasure) and the ensuing 9 months of pain. Even with all his wisdom though I bet he could have never imagined the pain of trying to perform an abortion with a leaf blower. Brenda’s got a baby ain’t even got shit on that!

My sis’ Micheesha ran us up to Carryduff to a big garden centre where we hired a leaf blower. Afterward Kimba said she felt bad cos Micheesha kept going on about how she couldn’t wait till Kimba had the triplets. As she had three kids herself she liked to imagine that one day when ours were big enough they could all be friends, her kids and ours. Kimba had to pretend like she was all excited too.
- You’re a good little hustler, I told her. - You had her well convinced.
- You don’t understand, Danny. She’s all excited. She told me she’s getting all broody again.
- Well that would be a mistake, her havin another one. She better not think she’ll be getting more benefits from the government. Derek’s gonna stop all those benefits for single mothers. Knowing Derek he’ll make it that any child born to a single mother will be fed into a massive incinerator producing clean ’green’ energy in a grand magick ritual in honour of Gaia.
- Your type of fella.
- Away and fuck.

When we got home and got the leaf blower out of the box we were pleasantly surprised to discover it had a ’suck’ as well as a ’blow’ function.
- That’s good, said Kimba. - That means we can suck their brains out like that website about Bill Clinton says what happens in partial birth abortions. I didn’t know how it was going to work anyway if it could only blow up there. Would’ve blown me up like a balloon, Danny…hawr hawr hawr!
- Your eyeballs would’ve popped out and bobbed there like a fish on a hook. I would have gently tapped them back and forth with my finger tips, like a kitten with a ball of wool.

I got the bowling pin Bogdan give to me (that he’d got from his uncle who used to manage the Superbowl) from under the bed while Kimba smeared her cunt with Vaseline. I’d already racked up a couple of lines of Mephedrone that she hovered up, so’s to give her the horn. I kissed her deep and she got her tongue right in my mouth and I closed my lips round it and sucked, sucked it like I was sucking dick. She groaned and I shoved 3 fingers up inside her, everything squelchy as her fat gelled meat curtains yielded loosely and swelled in the middle like 2 slugs in transit.

Soon my fist was pistoning, wrist deep, in and out of her and she was arched and groaning deeply like Exorcist Linda Blair. Her head twisted sharply to the left and she eyed urgently the bowling pin that lay on the pillow beside her. I handed it to her and quickly withdrew my fist. She shoved the pin up there (Setting the cast, she squealed) and I got the leaf blower (sucker) turned it on and stuck it in an inch and a half or so. Her squeals instantly turned to agonised, convulsive wails.

Bits of our babies ran out like red Slush Puppy onto a big hotel towel Kimba had nicked from the Europa Hotel especially for the occasion. I wrapped all the parts up like a parcel and put them in a laundry basket.

Kimba lay mumbling on the bed. Her blood wet little stick legs were stiff with tension and wiggling. - Leave them there. We’ll divvy the parts up tomorrow. That fuckin bitch Mistress won’t know what’s hit her.

Momma Don't You Cook No Fish Cos Daddy Gonna Bring Home Enough Crabs

So we spent the last couple of weeks, me and Kimba, but Kimba mostly, devising ways to induce the oncome of our triplets before she reached full term. We’re not too sure but, if what I’ve read about Bill Clinton and his views on partial birth abortions are anything to go by, then as long as the ‘triplet miracles’ (as Kimba has come to call them in an ironic poise) are still in utero, and you kill them while they’re in there, then you can’t be done for murder.

The first idea we had was mine which was that Kimba would eat a hankie I’d sneezed into while I had the flu. The germs would go through her system and the triplets would eventually become infected due to their weak little flowering immune systems not being able to withstand them. They would thus die in utero and she would miscarry them absolving us of murder if questions were ever to arise.
- I’m not doin’ that, Danny. Feelin all that dry tissue goin down my throat, I’ll gag. I have a very sensitive gag reflex, said Kimba.
- Maybe you might boke them up then, I said.
- Don’t be stupid! That’s nearly as stupid as your hankie idea!

So sure was I that my idea would work I waited till she was asleep one night and tried to shove the hankie (which we’d kept in an old Durex box) down her throat. She shot up in bed, as if her frame were being driven by demonic possession, and boked her ring up all over my chest and face. A liquid rainbow of bile hit me right in the bare eyeballs blinding me and a lot of it landed in my mouth. I inevitably boked my ring up too covering her in near-fresh blue wicked and pastie.

I slapped her about a bit and she reached behind her getting a iron and clattering me upside the head with it. I fell off the bed backwards head over heels and landed right smack on the top of my head, rendering me dumb for a good minute. I tried to speak but it felt like my throat were clogged up with cotton, and I thought maybe this were an instance of instant karma where the suffering and torture I were to inflict upon Kimba was revisited on me.

We made up afterward and she gimmie a hug and I hugged her back taking the opportunity to stick my thumb up her bum into the bargain. She flinched, then she said:
- Show me that stuff about Bill Clinton, again?
- What for?
- I’ve got an idea. You seen those adverts for those leaf blower machines? They’re aimed at old men who can’t rake up the leaves themselves cos they’re too old, depressed or sore? She said, autisticly...
Well if I can stretch my fanny wide enough I think I could fit one of them up there, she said trying to stretch her labia far enough so’s to fit round her above average sized fist (for a woman).
- Lets go, she said urgently as a woman going into labour ---- - Get me a bowling pin from somewhere. You’re on a full strike tonight, Danny. Fuck the Dundonald Ice Bowl!

Later when she explained her reasoning to me (which I’ll post at a later date – maybe tomorrow; maybe not) I put this track on the turntable and let her enter me through the VIP entrance (take me up the arse) with her strap-on.