Buttweasel and The Astronaut

Fresh from his successful butt-banging of a fat chick (now dead from diabetes induced gangrene) Buttweasel set forth for pastures new. His son would have to fend for himself now - using the power of dance to gain the trust of the upper classes and his blow darts to kill them and steal their gold. What a life he was set to lead!

Buttweasel had trekked wide and far, but he finally reached his goal. Arriving in Cape Canaveral he eyed the Space Shuttle and all the sexy lady astronauts waiting to board.

"A target rich environment!" exclaimed Buttweasel.

He'd seen how those ladies dressed - with their white slacks, oxygen tanks and oversized helmets. If those ladies liked a bulbous head, they would surely love Buttweasel. His bell-end was massive, just like the mighty Kaisers of yore.

The first step to enter the compound. Buttweasel was not a NASA employee, so he decided to set himself up as a private contractor and wait for essential services to be privatized. Soon enough, his wish was granted. Undercutting Halliburton, Enron and Blackwater Private Security, he won a conduct to safety inspections. Finally he had is 'in'! Neglecting his duties (leading to countless deaths) he set out on his butt-hunt. Sure the ancient liberal dinosaurs in Congress complained - but the contract was set in stone and there was naught that could be done. Bravo Buttweasel! He was finally living the American dream.

At first Buttweasel tried the NASA bars, but none of the lady astronauts seemed interested. They only had time for the male astronauts. It seemed no Earth-based dick wasn't good enough for them - not even one as bulbous as Buttweasel's. Buttweasel had never gone to space, so Buttweasel was clamped out of their tight little poop-shoots before he even entered the room.

Never one to accept defeat, Buttweasel filed his safety report an hour early - and stowed himself away in the space-shuttle payload bay. If the lady's wanted an astronaut, an astronaut Buttweasel would be! Carrying with him nothing but half-brick for protection, an acetylene torch and fresh block of lard, he hid himself beneath an NSA spy satellite and waited for launch.

He'd chosen his journey carefully: Sandra, was on mission that day. Buttweasel had smelled her spacesuit before and it wreaked of lube. "Sure sign of a hungry back alley" thought Buttweasel, and he was right.

As the shuttle climbed into orbit, Buttweasel set about his mission. Using the torch to burn through into the cabin area Buttweasel felt he was entering Narnia.

The first astronaut he came across was a man! Buttweasel took no chances. He clubbed him in the face with the half-brick. For all he knew, the man was a Chinese spy. "Buttweasel the patriot!" that's what they'd say! He could see the banners even now! If only he'd had a gun, he could have acted on his suspicions even quicker.

The next astronaut was dealt with the same treatment. Probably a Ruskie! Bamm! Another one down for Uncle Sam!

Now it was time to find Sandra. Sandra was minding her own business, cowering in a corner. But Buttweasel knew how to bring her out of her shell.

He danced his seductive dance, this time in zero-G! Snaking and gyrating, he certainly caught Sandra's eye - and inspired her lonely heart. It was exactly what she needed after the tragic death of her husband, Commander James Wong.

"Oh Buttweasel!" she sighed, "You make me feel young again!"

"Oh Sandra!" soothed Buttweasel, "I've never felt this way before!"

"Spear my rear!" Sandra exclaimed.

And Buttweasel obliged. Larding up his cock before pressing it lovingly into Sandra's gaping exhaust pipe.

"Jesus Christ!" she moaned, as Buttweasel gently plundered her.

It wasn't long before the pulses started flooding along her hind-tube.

Buttweasel felt the excitement grow in his dick.

And all at once he spurted, expanding her rectum with his tadpole soup. This sent Sandra over the edge and she trembled like a sacrificial goat as waves of ecstasy consumed her body.

"Oh Buttweasel! You are the best!"

In celebration, they left the airlock and sat on the nose cone of the space-shuttle. Sandra sat between Buttweasel's legs as he nuzzled her neck.

"I'm the king of the world!" cried Buttweasel, flailing his arms - and sending Sandra spinning into space.

There was no use crying over spilled milk. "So long my darling!" Buttweasel shouted into the darkness, then climbed back inside the craft ready for re-entry.

"Houston, we have a problem!" Buttweasel spoke into the radio, "The shuttle was riddled with spies - Russian and Chinese! Flight Engineer Sandra Jones was killed in the mayhem! We must abort the mission!"

"Identify yourself soldier!" Mission control replied.

"Contractor Buttweasel sir!" Buttweasel replied, "They locked me in the payload bay when I discovered their plan! They wanted to throw me out into space as part of their jihad!"

"Have you dealt with the situation Buttweasel? Are you safe?"

"Yes sir!" said Buttweasel proudly.

"Good work!" said the mission commander.

And Buttweasel guided the shuttle back to Earth - to a ticker tape parade and a gleaming medal! Clive ran to him from the crowd, his golden necklaces swinging from his neck. "Daddy, my hero!" he beamed.

America had once again saved the world from tyranny!

In next week's episode: Buttweasel poo-pokes a tea-partier.