Nancy smoothed the third layer of brightly-colored Spanx over her slack flesh and atrophied muscles. She felt powerful in her costume and a gormless smile spread over her nerveless face.
“I felsh powershful, Sharles,” she slurred.
Chuck nodded absently as he gathered his breasts and pushed them into his armored chestplate.
“I might need a hand, Nancy,” he said, pressing his left breast in only for the right to pop out again. “I feel like a can of raw biscuits.”
Nancy settled the domino mask over her eyes and nodded. She advanced on him, claws gleaming.
“Dick is here,” Dick yelled, jumping in the room. His yellow and black uniform reeked of aftershave and stressed letter.
Nancy looked up, hands deep in Chuck’s cleavage and gave him a smeared grin.
Dick quickly turned around. “Oh, God,” he groaned, “I really didn’t need to see that.”
“See what?” Dianne asked, toddling into the room, “What did I miss?” She was stripped to the waist and her pendulous breasts swayed ponderously. Dick turned a gag into an embarrassed cough.
“To arms!” Steny screamed as he slid in to the locker room on sock feet. He was only dressed in a red speedo and an American flag tank top. He insisted he wore so little in order to remain agile.
Dianne cheered as she struggled to get into the rest of her skin-tight black bodysuit and Dick watched in fascinated horror.
“Call an intern,” Nancy said, her arm down Chuck’s chestplate, “I think I’m stuck.”
Dick sighed, grabbed her by the waist and pulled. Her arm came out with a slithering pop and they both staggered back.
“Is everyone ready?” Steny asked.
“Hold on,” Dianne said.
“We need to get you there,” Steny said, a whine creeping into his voice.
Dianne admired herself in the long wall mirror, all in the black spandex, bulging all over like a rotting sausage.
“We gotta go,” Steny said.
Dianne wedged her helmet onto her melon head and yelled “Fuck fibromyalgia!”
“Trumsh dothint sthand a shance!” Nancy announced.
They all gathered in the center of the room and thrust their fists in the air.
They shouted as one: “Democratic Superfriends… GO!”
Wait… these get to be articles now?
We have better taste in writer selection.
I’m one of the founders. You’ll never get rid of me now!
[manical laugh]
[manical laugh]
You had me at Chuck nodded absently as he gathered his breasts. I’m still laughing.
holy shit…i can’t even get through two paragraphs.
I have co-workers people…soon I will be commenting from the padded room.
I came here to cry and weep about this as well…NOW HE HAS BEEN LEGITIMIZED! God help us all.
Hopefully this story will continue and we get The Democratic Superfriends versus the evil Donald, Hat and Hair.
Not gonna lie–i will be describing people as opened cans of raw bisquits in the future. Consider that shit stolen.
Welcome, SF.
Thanks for the Feinstein nightmare.
*turns greener than usual*
And the Schumer nightmare and the Pelosi nightmare….
Nice.
A dark shadow of evil has come to our site. *rummages through the trash for the one true ring*
Too late for that one, LH. Doom has fallen.
Thank God for the FB share button. I was scrambling to post this as soon as possible to get unfriended by my entire social network.
Think of it as “evolving” your FB, straffinrun.
You have to subject your social petri dish to SugarFree antibiotics. The ones that survive the cleansing will become stronger and more able to face the challenges of their daily lives.
Jesus, if I shared SugarFree’s fiction to my Facebook page, my friends would be trying to have me committed.
I didn’t realize how much I missed these. An emptiness is now filled. Filled with rotting sausage, but filled nonetheless.
You gave Sugarfree a platform?!?
In hindsight the inmates running the asylum may have been a bad idea.
He was a founder, so the platform was built using some of his 2x4s.
The sticky ones.
broad impressions of vast angles and stone surfaces—surfaces too great to belong to any thing right or proper for this earth, and impious with horrible images and hieroglyphs
I recall a certain warehouse containing lots of art made by otherwise unemployed leftists that wasn’t up to fire code and used stacked pallets to reach the upper level where an underground rave was going on.
It was turned into a BBQ joint last I heard. What was it called again… the Crispy Hippie?
If this site ever has 10 Trump articles in a row they better be part of this series.
I read this. While at the office. I have a death wish.
As always, the metaphors corrupt the soul.
Good work.
Brilliant and hilarious.
Wow, I lost ten pounds in ten minutes after reading that!
Losing water weight from all the sweating and emission of furious masturbation isn’t really a weight loss plan. I do admire your constitution, though.
I guess we all knew this was coming.
This seems like the very best place for my verification comment, considering my avatar was filched from the esteemed SF’s website back in 2009. [tips hat]
I laughed, I cried. A triumph!
I guess this thread is the best place for this…
http://www.abc2news.com/news/state/13-pounds-of-horse-genitals-concealed-in-womans-luggage-claimed-it-was-for-medicinal-purposes
She was gonna make Gorilla Glue, but couldn’t get the paperwork to import a bunch of gorilla dongs.
Bravo! I didn’t realize that these stories were addictive until they were gone.
I read this in the bathroom. I’m sure some people were disturbed by the creepy half-stifled giggling.
I thought I had a strong stomach until I read the bit about Steny Hoyer. Well-done, as always, Sug.
Sorry to climb on this dead horse but this is a REAL thing–see #JusticeDemocrats.