Female Inflation

disclaimer: well i meant to have this finished and out by april 1st (1997). why? well, it's related to that day. now on another note, i've noticed a trend. i tend to write short stories, of just a few pages. why? i just do. i notice other authors write epics. yet, they are jealous of my lack of long pages. they want to write short stories. i don't get it. short stories are easy. epics are hard. to each their own. well anyway, in the past some have complained that my stories are too short. tough. deal. least if they're bad, you didn't spend as much time reading them. that's what i say. and also, well, there is no and also. train of thought derailed. not a good thing in this profession, if i can call it that. more of a hobby since i'm not paid for this. not that i'm griping, i enjoy writing. it's a learning exercise. humm. where was i? oh yeah, this is supposed to be a disclaimer. well if you've read this much of it already, you'll probably read the story and i won't be able to stop you by saying you have to be over a certain age (i think it's 52) before you can go on. if you didn't read all this, you'll probably skip the story, and are too young to read it anyway (so give it to your parents and have them read it to you). note one day my disclaimer will be longer than one of my stories, and then i will have my revenge.

fool for the day

by munch wolf

her breasts grew real big and popped out of her shirt.

ps. see, it happened. my disclaimer was bigger than the story. the joke's on you.

actually, the story is down here. yes, really.

so on a side note, since i have your attention. know why there are bumps around the nipples? instructions in braille. no seriously, try reading, and keep reading, and reading, and oh that feels so good ....

oh sorry, story time. keep going down, there's one somewhere around here. i swear.

further down.

further.

to the right now, 0h yes. that's it. now rub real hard.

heh, you think there's a story in here don't you.

maybe there is, maybe there isn't.

but you're the one wasting time reading.

ok, all the children should be gone now, scared em off. story time.

Melody's eyes opened slowly, she could barely see. All she felt was the large bruise on the back of her head. "Ugh... what happened..." She murmered...

She remembered she was walking to her car after work. Sirens could be heard in the distance. She had heard some mad man was on the loose, free from his room in the insanity ward in the near by prison... She jingled her keys and WAM!... lights out.

First of all, I would never pick up a hitchhiking stranger. Ever. But she was neither hitchhiker nor a stranger. I knew her from somewhere- around campus maybe. I even knew her name. It starts with a D, I think. She’s rocking that whole tomboy thing: That short hair, tight ass, tittieless, t-shirt, jeans and sneakers kind of look that most chicks out grow by the 6th grade. She’s not your everyday day hot, but scorching nonetheless. But that’s not why I slowed to pick her up.

"Beth, meet John. John, Beth."

Beth was a janitor who loved her job. Not for any stirring work ethic or romantic spartan notions. She loved her job because a fellow named John worked at the company she cleaned up after, and John was the most beautiful man she had ever beheld.