tagNovels and NovellasPolska Blood Sucka Phucka Ch. 03

Polska Blood Sucka Phucka Ch. 03


The Morning of Noodles, Cabbage and Prophecy #3

Today, I’m going to make some egg noodles for a cheap and boiled Polish dish. It’s kluski kapusta po! Pay attention, because you will want to compile your shopping list. These noodles are kosher and very economical. All the ingredients are readily kype-able at a supermarket in your locale.

Crack six eggs and beat them about. I hate it when things don’t turn out. “Zebedeusza, you’re such a disappointment.” It’s the morning after. I add a pinch of salt as my auntie is having a fit. “I don’t see you for months and you nearly get yourself killed. Gawd, you’re such a meshuganeh, kid!” Pain, gloom and folly, they bring nothing but sorrow. Chaz missed his appointment with the hereafter, because I can’t shoot straight. Add just enough flour to make a ball of dough. There’s a real possibility that I won’t see tomorrow.

On the positive side, it was worth seeing him quiver and piss his pants as the bullets missed his ears. Hearing Rocket say, “You’re an absolute shinning pink puss! Skylark is more of a man in his schoolgirl garb than you’ll ever be you’ll ever be, you big wuss!” She smacked him on the head and kicked him on the balls. “You’re a retard. Oh, and by the way, Skylark has AIDS and your dick’s excessively small.”

He screamed whaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaat like a little girl crying. Those fucking female condoms and dental dams that she always used with us didn’t seem so ridiculous anymore did they, Chaz the soon-to-be-drying? The bullets ran out and so, we got out. The gang wants our corpses for a little skinning. I’m not afraid of Chaz. He is as fearsome as a little lass in the Alps named Heidi. Bog and Ace, they’re a completely different disaster that I shall reserve for an up and coming chapter.

Back to the present and my aunt’s resentment. “How do you get into such messes, Zebedusza? You turned out to be just like your mother.” Auntie pats my back as she tries to restore order. “Why don’t you just cut your hair and let it return to its natural color.” That old woman always seems to have a plan. “You are such a handsome young man. Perhaps, if you started dressing in something other than drag, you might be able to find a nice Jewish girl to marry.” As always with her schemes, I disagree. “There’s no reason why you should be dating that low-class Gypsy shiske. You can do so much better, you winsome boytchick.”

Three, two, one and the Rocket comes undone. “I am Romani, not a low-class Gypsy shiske, you fucking Jewtard dzukli!”

Six, five, four, my poor noggin’s feeling sore. “Auntie, Rocket is not a low-class woman. She just has a few emotional problems.”

Nine, eight, seven, I can’t tell this won’t be heaven. “She’s a Gypsy who got kicked out of her caravan for being a whore. Is there anyway she can get any lower?”

Ten, ten, ten, shit, here it comes again! “Odpierdol siê! I left the caravan because my ideas on how a woman should behave were too revolutionary for that band of small-minded reactionaries.”

“Yeah, and your ass was too fat for the wagon.” Knead dough until smooth, and roll until flat. I need to drink some whiskey from a flagon.

For the next round, auntie and my girl exchanged the nastiest stares. As I cut my noodles into thin strips, I feel so very scared. After a seeming eternity, my sweetheart screams, “Dzukli,” and spits on the ground. Rocket’s ass peeks out of her candy red vinyl dress as she climbs pissed-off upstairs.

“Why don’t you want to marry a nice Jewish girl?”

“Auntie, I’m not exactly into nice Jewish girls.”

“Oh Gawd, that shiske tsatskele turned into a bum-humping feygele, didn’t she? Oy vey, I could deal with the green hair and the women’s clothes, but this is too much for my frail heart.”

Cholera and fuck this shit. I can’t think in English anymore, let alone at all. I’ll just let dialogue context take care of this while the noodles begin to dry.

“Jestem nieszczêœliwy wiêc jestem zrzêdliwy”

“What did you say, dear?”

“Jestem zmęczony, ciociu.”

“Zeb, you know I barely understand Polish anymore. Unlike your mother, I was almost grown when our family moved back to Poland. You know how it is. I usually hang around the Americans and Israelis in this neighborhood, so I don’t get a chance to practice speaking very often. Please snookums, speak to me in English.”

“Dlaczego? Jestem Polakiem i jestem w Polsce!”

“I understood that, and I do realize that you are Polish and this is Poland.”

“Jestem bardzo zdenerwowany, potrzebujê marihuany.”

“Did you just say marijuana? You smoke marijuana?”


“Why on Earth are you doing drugs? I don’t see you for months and look at what that Gypsy makes you do!”

“To mój medykament”

“Medykament sounds like medication. Are you sick? Do you need a doctor? Why don’t you ever tell me anything?”

“Rakieta, gdzie s¹ zio³a”

“It’s up here, come and get it.”

“Zebby, please answer me in English. Are you sick?”

“It’s just a little asthma. The pot helps.”

Auntie hugged me. I don’t think she bought the asthma story. “I hope you know what you are doing, zeeskyte.” Suddenly, her mood turned sorry.

“I’ll be back when the noodles are dry to shred the cabbage. Now, go watch some teevee. It will calm your nerves and keep your mind off me.” My auntie complies with tears in her eyes. Up the stairs, I fly towards the bedroom.

I walked into the room. The aches will leave me soon. I think of how she helps me heal. The smoke she clears my mind, my lady from Delphi. Mary of Juana, you purify and you release my pain. Your lace dispels the gloom, like the summer sun of June in the shire of dreams and emerald mist. I’m stoned out of my mind as my Rocket gets her toy and my blight.

She straps it on as I’m floating in a cloud. Holy shit and for crying out loud! The Destroyer dildo is one-third my height. I’m far too doped to fight, as she shoves that fucking thing into my unprepared midget butt. Maybe auntie’s right about my lover. Perhaps, I picked this bitch because I’m nuts. I pass out from the pain and as my consciousness wanes, I have a vision that drives me insane.

Her pussy is much tighter than a fortress. My cock does not receive the access code. Her eyes are brown, but they almost seem frozen. That statue girl, her Zen has got me cold.

Please speak. Fuck me. Kiss me. Tease me. Wake up, girly. Your sleep kills me.

The mirrored walls of a funhouse surround us. Will they release her from her mind’s abyss? Her lips are soft, but her tongue’s in a tight truss. Here’s your cash bitch, now chick begin to speak.

“Please me. Love me. Fix me. Thrill me. This dream kills me. Our Lord needs thee.”

The girl she speaks, she moves and now she scares me, “Oh Zebedee, God loves you, please don’t leave.” My thoughts are turning dark about this girly. “Oh Zebedee, please join His Ministry.” This is what the bitch spoke, “Please just a little poke.”

The preacher, she removes my brand new rubber. She arches her neck and I bite her hard. “Infect me and the Lord will heal your illness!” I believe her, when she says,

“His seed penetrates me and I feel how the mustard tree of my faith grows and grows inside me until I am about to blow. Though I am beneath Him, I love how He feels inside of me. Flash of life before my eyes replays my story. Gazing at Him, I see His Glory. I will never kiss Him. I will never tease Him. I just aim to please Him. It is through Him I have this power. Without His seed, I cannot be reborn. You need His seed to be reborn. His seed is still dripping inside me. Reach inside me and feel his seed against your manhood. We’ll both feel the pleasure of his seed.”

Is this sacrilege? Is this sacrifice? What is going on? Is this a revelation or merely a deception? Suddenly, I hear her mind, and her mind it speaks to me between yelp and squeals and screams.

“Hearing your rhymes, I feel the freestyle. When I touch you, you get confused. Following Him, you went Calvary and now you’re falling at His feet.” Inside her cunt, I get His blessings. On her, I taste His glory. From her, I get the healing. Has this ended the story?

I believed when she said it. Oh, was this the cure? Could this be true?

Alas, it isn’t true. A slap to my head brings me back to reality. “Skylark,” I have the munchies and you’ve been just lying for the past two hours. Get your ass downstairs and make me some noodles and cabbage. I’m fucking hungry.”

Truth hurts and so does my ass. I want to be back in my dreams, with the strange religious lass.

Report Story

bysoupwarsproject© 0 comments/ 9571 views/ 0 favorites

Share the love

Report a Bug

1 Pages:1

Please Rate This Submission:

Please Rate This Submission:

  • 1
  • 2
  • 3
  • 4
  • 5
Please wait
by Anonymous

If the above comment contains any ads, links, or breaks Literotica rules, please report it.

There are no recent comments  - Click here to add a comment to this story

Add a

Post a public comment on this submission.

Post comment as (click to select):

Preview comment

Forgot your password?

Please wait

Change picture

Your current user avatar, all sizes:

Default size User Picture  Medium size User Picture  Small size User Picture  Tiny size User Picture

You have a new user avatar waiting for moderation.

Select new user avatar: