Deus Sex Magnumcock Pt. 02

Jim woke up next to a fat chick and sighed. He wasn't surprised, just fed up.

"All right wall, what's the verdict?"

"Nothing."

"Nothing?"

"Zilch. Nada. Le zero."

"Oh, God. Five lines in and you're already rehashing jokes from the last chapter."

"Relax, it was just a callback. So, how's the fiancée?"

"As big as ever, no thanks to you."

"So what I was trying to say was that Part 1 doesn't have any ratings yet."

"Why's that?"

"It takes like 3-4 days for the editors to go through it."

"You're kidding, right?"

"No. She stays fat for now. Them's the rules."

"My life is too confusing. I cannot grasp reality anymore—am I losing my mind?" Jim said.

"Look, this isn't about your mind, it's about the world at large—if you will excuse the pun—this world, in which you exist as a real thinking, breathing person, and where I am just an invisible plane."

Jim hopped out of bed as Michelle continued to snore in a manner similar to Tim Allen's trademark grunt. He tippy toed instinctively but ultimately for no reason (she could sleep through an earthquake) and slid into the kitchen barefoot to put on the coffee.

"Let's try and figure this out," Jim said, becoming more proactive now he was secure in the knowledge there would be liquid caffeine charging through his veins any minute now. It was a modest "Colombian" roast, which Colombian was in quotes because it's really just a flavor of coffee and its beans do not necessarily originate from the country of Colombia. Furthermore, Jim was too preoccupied to check the precise country of origin at that moment.

"Figure what out?" The wall was becoming truculent again.

"This whole situation! So, you can control things in the world, right? So you can do whatever you like. Here, make the coffee ready."

"It's not quite that simple," Wall said. "I can only really control things in a way that would be ironic."

"What?"

The coffee machine PINGed and when Jim looked over the jug was indeed already full of steaming hot "Colombian" brew.

"See? You did it."

"No, no, you see," the wall began, "that time it only worked because I said it wouldn't. So it was ironic that it did happen."

"What, so like, just wish the opposite of whatever you want then."

"Irony isn't the same as just 'the opposite of what you want.'"

"Sure it is."

The wall sighed. Everyone always did this. Why couldn't his power be something easily explainable?

Jim was on his phone looking it up.

"The expression of one's meaning by using language that normally signifies the opposite." Jim said triumphantly. "See!"

"It's more like, contrary to expectation, than just the opposite," Wall tried to explain. "So if I tried to do something by doing it's opposite, I'd end up just doing the opposite thing successfully."

"So do the opposite of the opposite."

"Then I'd end up with the opposite."

"So..."

"Look, it's not like every single event, object, sentient being in the world has an exact 'opposite,' anyway. Things are unexpected precisely because we can't expect the myriad possibilities—"

SLLLLLLLLUURRRP

"Sorry," Jim said. "Coffee's still hot."

"Anyway, we need to stop this nerdishness. Especially in the opening paragraphs; everyone's going to stop reading."

"What is it you mean by this 'reading' stuff, anyway?" Jim raised an eyebrow while sipping his coffee.

"Sorry, no more explanations. Do you want a hot fiancée or not?"

Jim put the coffee down sharply, spilling a brown shiny pool all over the floor.

"Yes! Yes I do!!"

"All right, I have another game for you. All you have to do is—"

"Hold on," Jim said. "You just said you don't have control over your powers, so how can you make my wife thin?"

"Listen, thundercock, this isn't about me. If you want to live to the end of this chapter you need to start fucking more randos. It's what the public wants."

"Again with the public. What is that?"

"Do it, or you'll disappear."

Jim sighed and went to get dressed, trailing coffee-brown footprints behind him up the stair carpet. He'd get an earful later when Michelle finally roused her mountainous buttocks from her indented side of the mattress and wobbled downstairs for a quick box of cupcakes, but he was past caring. Powers of irony? Huge cocks? Rearranged faces? It was getting to be too much. He wanted to just go back to being a weird, awkward freak who dreamt about raping the girls who rejected him. That was almost a regular story, there at the start, wasn't it? And what was the deal with that doctor, anyway? Was it he who had rearranged Jim's face, or the wall? And does it even matter? Probably not.

Jim was driving to West Hollywood again, to find someone of reasonable outward appearance with which he could copulate, thus prolonging his meager, confusing existence for another half-chapter or two. Which, two halves would make one, which would mean the story would end after exactly one chapter from now—but if it was exactly one chapter later, that would mean either this chapter ends now (don't worry, it doesn't) or the next chapter ends three pages in, which would be very unsatisfying to read. Or actually very satisfying, if you, like, just wanted to count every story you finished reading and didn't really care about its content. Does anyone do that? The wall knows people who do that with literature, but certainly not with literotica stories—that would just be silly.

Is anyone still here?

Jim fucked this really tight girl with big tits yeah, yeah, yeah. O.K. here's the deal: we go back to the kitchen and finish the conversation concerning the limits of the wall's powers of ironic creation, and then you get to read the sex scene. No? Do it now?

Fuck.

Me.

Harder, she said, stretching her legs out wide over the Motel 6 bed, the curtains closed and a grimy, ashen light pooling below them, the shadows of two fuckers dancing on the ground. Fucker one: Jim Krampus Blaze Bikini Bottom "Cricket" Hardwood (he had really malevolent parents). Fucker two: "Barbie." The two fuckers fucked fucking hard. They fucked so fucking fast the floor fucking creaked. They fucked so fucking hard the fucking fan fell. They fucked and they fucked, oh boy did they fuck. The front desk was getting complaints.

"Hey? Front desk?" the old man on the phone said.

"This is reception."

"What's the difference?"

"Nothing."

"Listen, there's two fuckers fucking in the fucking room next to me."

"Yes, and?"

"Well, it's fucking noisy as fuck!"

"Yes, it tends to be."

"Fuck. Don't you have any fucking thing you can fucking do about it?"

"Look buddy," the receptionist said, taking a quick medicinal swig from his trusty silver canteen, a memento from the war. Which war? Doesn't matter. It had an eagle on it, the canteen. "Siiiip. Ahhh."

"Huh?"

"Sorry, just enjoying my drink."

"Oh."

"Listen buddy," the receptionist continued, now fully refreshed, buzzed, and good to go. "Just because you're saying 'fuck' a lot, doesn't mean this is still a sex scene."

"Fuck," the wall said. (The wall was pretending to be the old man on the phone). "All right, never mind, go back to your drinking."

"Siiip. Ahh."

"Fucker." The wall hung up angrily and watched Jim fuck this broad he picked up on...uh...

Jim turned around from fucking and eyed the wall suspiciously. "What are you doing?"

"Hm?" the wall said. "Nothing..."

"You're looking up Google Maps, aren't you."

"No..."

"Why did you make this all take place in L.A. if you knew nothing about it?"

"It's not that I know nothing about it. I mean, I've played GTA San Andreas with the Real Street Names Mod. It's basically the same thing. Anyway, get back to fucking, you big dummy."

Jim did so. Mandy, or like Betty, or whatever the fuck her name was—

"I'm Barbie," Barbie called out while getting railed by Jim's thirteen-inch dong.

"Why is my dick bigger again?"

"Don't worry honey," Barbie said. "I can take all of it."

"She's right Jim," Wall said. "She could take a short bus up there."

"Well," Barbie said. "He's not wrong."

So, like, Jim had picked up Barbie outside the Natural History Museum of Los Angeles County.

"'From T. rex skeletons to an insect zoo, popular attraction holds more than 35-million artifacts.'

Who the hell wrote this description? A blind monkey? I question the literacy level of this country."

"So fix it, then." Jim said, fucking Barbie's cooter till it squirted something with the color and consistency of fried green tomatoes. "Just make a wish that everyone couldn't read."

The wall sighed irritably. "Don't start with that again. Just make this two-bit whore climax already so we can blow this popsicle joint and hit the road, Jack. She's turning the sheets a strange color and it's making me miserable."

"Fine. Huuh huuh huuhhhhhhhhhhh!" Jim blew his own load instead, because he was done pleasing a girl whose vagina could have been stunt double for Slimer in Ghostbusters.

"Alright, let's go."

"Say, who was that guy talking anyway?" Barbie said, her lips bloody and her hair pointing every which way.

Jim slammed the door wordlessly and headed down to reception.

"Thank you sir," said the receptionist, with the telltale "I bet you fucked her real good" face.

"Shut up, fucker," said the wall.

#

It was the next day, and Part 1 still hadn't been uploaded.

The wall sighed anxiously.

"Don't worry, wall," Jim said with a concerned smile. "I'm sure they'll release it eventually."

"But I can't change your wife's weight until it does; if someone reads Part 1 and the promise at the end isn't met, they'll feel betrayed."

"Yeah, sure, because so many people are going to read this far. And but, what does it even mean to 'read' this far?"

"Jim, you can't keep feigning ignorance then make inside jokes like that; it's too inconsistent."

Jim lay back on his chair and sipped "Argentinian" coffee.

"Who cares? The whole damn world's inconsistent."

THUMP. THUMP. THUMP.

So, Michelle was finally up.

"What the fuck?" Michelle grunted, seeing the black Colombian stains on the stairway. "Jim, did you do this?"

"Quickly, wall, make the stain vanish!"

"I can't."

"Just try for God's sake. Or do you want to listen to her harp on for the next hour?"

"..."

"Zap."

Suddenly the entire staircase turned coffee-brown.

"WHAT THE FUCK?" Michelle said.

"Well buddy," Jim said, "at least you tried."

"JIIIIIM!"

"Yes, honey?"

"Who the fuck spilled coffee all over the stairs? And how much coffee!"

"A lot." Jim said.

"What??"

"Well, you asked me two questions. I chose to answer the latter."

"Why are you in such a hateful mood today?"

Jim cringed. Whenever he did anything outside of kissing her ass it was being "hateful." The word had lost its power over him, especially since he had gotten his rocks off that morning, albeit with an alien from the planet Green Googina.

The wall Zapped again, and this time the stairs turned neon pink.

"How about now?" Wall called. He was trying to smooth things over between the warthog and her battered lover. Wall, despite his rough, wallpapered exterior, was really quite a sensitive soul; in his spare time, he enjoyed knitting hats and baking walnut cookies—or at least attempting to—he usually ended up with something like leather boots and a birthday cake.

"This all needs to end," Jim said dispassionately, staring at the piss-colored leaves falling aimlessly from the oak out back.

"But why?" said the wall.

"Not only have you lost the plot, there wasn't even a plot to begin with!"

"Yes there was. There is."

"All right," Jim said, folding his arms. "Tell me the plot."

"You got a face surgery, then you got hitched up with your fat fiancée, then you got a fuck from that redhead, then—"

"Can we please not call it 'getting a fuck'?!"

"All right, geez, stop interrupting me. So as I was saying—"

"What is this with the carpet being pink now?" Michelle grumbled in a mildly Jewish way.

"Then after you fucked the redheaded skank, you asked me to zap your wife out of being a disgusting fat slob, and then—"

"WHAT?!!"

"Oh shit, was she in the room?" Wall said, looking around. She had been.

"Welp, there goes my marriage lol," said Jim, thoroughly on the verge of giving up the whole shop.

"You run a shop, Jim?" Wall asked, curious whether this was just an expression or literal.

"Yeah, a hardware store downtown. Hardwood's Hard Wood."

"That's clever."

"Thanks. I don't know jack from shit about wood, but people come for the name."

"Yeah, it's a clever name."

"HELLO?!" Michelle roared from her blubberous throat while scoffing down three Snickers bars simultaneously in a manner highly reminiscent of something Jim had seen online once.

"Yes, honeypop, what is it?" Jim said drolly.

"YOU FUCKED A FUCKING WHORE? HOW FUCKING COULD YOU?"

"Are we doing this thing with the word 'fuck' again?" Wall asked hopefully. "I hope it counts as a sex scene."

"It doesn't." It was the receptionist on the phone.

"How the fuck did you get my number?" Jim asked.

"You wrote it down when you checked in. Anyway—"

"Who the fuck are you talking to? Put down the fucking phone!" Howled Michelle.

"Just a minute, honeynutcheerios, I gotta take this."

Jim put the receiver to his ear again. "Listen, can you make this quick? My wife's about to explode."

This could have had multiple meanings—on the one hand, she was furious; on the other, she was currently eating her way through a 5-kilo sack of frozen French fries. Uncooked.

"Yes, well, I'm calling to tell you that I had to take a penalty fee from your credit card."

"What? Why?"

"Don't give me that, Hardwood. That trashy ten-minute-girlfriend you picked up over at Jurassic Park left Ecto Cooler all over my mattress. I had to throw the thing out. Look, you're a nice guy; I normally charge $100. For you, I made it $69."

"Nonsense." Jim slammed the phone down. How dare he make such a puerile joke in the middle of the puerile domestic dispute he was having with his obese fiancée? Had he no manners? Michelle sobbed chokingly while sucking down frozen potato.

"You...sniff...don't...sniff...even...love...me...anymore." Chomp chomp chomp.

"That's not true, honeymunchkin," Jim said, kneeling down to grip Michelle's lipidated paw. "I love you. Really I do."

"You know you're in trouble when you have to add 'Really I do' afterwards," Wall said.

"Can you just shut up already?"

"Not really, you'd stop existing."

"Oh, for God's sake, not this again," Jim said.

Michelle bawled into her cold, chewy fries. "Please, wall. Just make me beautiful again. I'll do anything."

"Oh, what the heck. I'm a sucker for a girl's tears," Wall said. "Zap."