Loose Lips: Fanfiction Parodies of Great (and Terrible) Literature from the Smutty Stage of Shipwreck by Amy Stephenson && Casey Childers

Author:Amy Stephenson && Casey Childers [STEPHENSON, AMY/CHILDERS, CASEY]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Fiction / Anthologies (Multiple Authors), Humor / Form / Parodies, Fiction / Erotica / Collections & Anthologies
Publisher: Grand Central Publishing
Published: 2016-09-27T00:00:00+00:00

“Most Fowl” by Ivan Hernandez

Ebenezer Scrooge sat at the head of the table that hosted his assembled family and friends and sighed contentedly as they neared the end of another prosperous, happy year. He closed his eyes a moment, sleepy from the night spent with his dearest Belle fucking in anticipation of the Lord’s birth. His nephew Fred shook him awake.

“The bird, Uncle Scrooge!” he said. “It’s the carving hour. This year’s roast is a newfangled creation. The turkey is stuffed with a duck that is stuffed with a chicken that is stuffed with a pregnant mouse! The butcher tried to tell me its name, but I mostly heard screams!”

Scrooge thought the combination strange but decided to “just go with it,” per his newfound agreeable manner. Fred’s wife brought the ornate serving tray from the kitchen and deposited it in the center of the table. She pulled away the lid to reveal an orgiastic massacre of violated meat, a hole poked in the side of the turkey through which its contents were rent outward. A thin stream of clear liquid ran from the penetrative wound, its makeup equal parts grease and jizm.

“Sweet, white Jesus!” Bob Cratchit exclaimed. “Somebody fucked the Christmas turkey!”

Moments later, they gathered in the drawing room. All the possible suspects, all the post-pubescent males in attendance. Ebenezer paced the room.

“The case is clear, gentlemen,” he began. “Our turkey has been ruined, in ways both physical and moral. We must ask ‘Cui bono?’ Who benefits? Who would take the bird meant to nourish so many on so special a day and make it suffer as if a thriving African nation thrust under the sweaty, entitled bulk of colonialism?”

Jacob Marley clinked his chains.

“As a level two ectoplasmic entity incapable of effecting a corporeal manifestation, I would prefer to be left out of these proceedings.”

“Come off it, Marley,” said the Ghost of Christmas Present. “I’ve seen you corporeally manifest behind the scullery. Need we bring in that walking sore of a milkmaid to demonstrate?”

“You’re one to talk,” Marley retorted, chains clacking indignantly. “What with being patient zero for the afterlife’s worst hepatitis outbreak since Saint Peter accidentally let in Caligula.”

“Gentlemen!” said the Ghost of Christmas Past. “We gain nothing by the bandying about of epithets and accusations. There is a turkeyfucker in our midst, and we would do well to root him out. Future, have you any insight into the matter?”

The Ghost of Christmas Future shrugged in his long black robe, then returned to tuning his acoustic guitar.

“Thinks he’s so cool because he’s the physical manifestation of man’s fear of the great unknown dimensions beyond life,” muttered Present.

“I have surmised,” Scrooge began, “that this predator would require motive, opportunity, and ability. In this, I can only accuse one man: my loyal employee with a cute butt, Bob Cratchit!”

Cratchit dropped his snifter of brandy and clenched the cheeks of his admittedly cute butt.

“You expressed dismay that you could not host this year’s festivities, you excused yourself to the bathroom for oddly

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