Message-ID: <35717asstr$1016140212@assm.asstr-mirror.org> Return-Path: Reply-To: aquillae@excite.com From: "Aquillae" MIME-Version: 1.0 Content-Transfer-Encoding: 7bit X-Original-Message-ID: <20020314191949.D2CCF29A1B@xprdmailfe.excite.com> X-ASSTR-Original-Date: Thu, 14 Mar 2002 14:19:49 -0500 (EST) Subject: {ASSM} [VBC] Another Day, Another ASS* by Aquillae (Assd Celeb, Assd satire) Date: Thu, 14 Mar 2002 16:10:12 -0500 Path: assm.asstr-mirror.org!not-for-mail Approved: Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories.moderated,alt.sex.stories Followup-To: alt.sex.stories.d X-Archived-At: X-Moderator-Contact: ASSTR ASSM moderation X-Story-Submission: X-Moderator-ID: dennyw, newsman ANOTHER DAY, ANOTHER ASS* Written by Aquillae Copyright March 14,2002 No part of this story may be reposted to any newsgroup or website, nor archived on any website where the intended intention of said achieving is to require payment for the reading of this story or any story on said website. The author retains the rights to all forms of publication and distribution of this fictional story in any media now existing, or any media that may in future be developed for the transferring of information, be it written, visual, audio, or digital. The author makes this one time granting to allow the literary organization know as ASSTR, which at the time of granting this right, has a website at www.asstr-mirror.org, the right to post this story in a form that is most advantageous to the readers of ASSTR on any of the webpages that they, the operators of ASSTR, deem appropriate, and are also part of the www.asstr-mirror.org directory. ---- Another Day, Another ASS* Written by Aquillae Copyright 3/14/2002 Any comments or complaints about this story should be directed to Aquillae@excite.com It was nine o'clock on a Friday evening in early spring. The regulars, and the new comers, were all gathered in the great hall of ASSD to drink and chat, to sing and dance, and perchance to act out the naughty little desires that wet the appetite and stirred the blood of both the pure and corrupted alike. Into this festive joining of flesh and spirit stepped the young gentleman from the Sovereign State of Pennsylvania, lately returned from his erotic adventures among the voluptuous vixens of Venetia. Upright and tall he walked with a slow and measured pace. He was dressed from head to toe in sparkling golden chainmail. His fair countenance was set with a determination of spirit that brought swoons of purest admiration from the youngest and most impressionable of the fare innocent maidens present at the gathering. To these inexperienced, na ve young girls the young writer and noted philanderer who walked past their tables appeared as a stately knight out of some Arthurian legend bound on some heroic quest. In truth, Aquillae was desperately searching for a place of solitude from whence he could remove the iron wedgie that his chainmail thong was inflicting upon his posterior. He found seclusion among the many statues of the notable writers of ASSM fame who's illustrious careers and infamous exploits were now immortalized in bronze. Between the bronze lifelike statues of Pred and Dulcinea he stood and faced the seating area. With as much tact and skill as he could muster, Aquillae placed his hands behind his back and began the difficult and painful task of removing his chainmail wedgie. He returned a thin lipped smile and nodded to those seated near him when they turned in response to the jingling sound of his metal links. Almost finished with the painful task at hand, Aquillae relaxed his vigilance over those around him and slowly breathed a premature-sigh of relief. He could feel the last few links were now willing to slip somewhat comfortably from their uninvited position. But just as he was about to move his hand and complete the removal, someone bumped him. Startled by the unexpected contact and fearful that his secret rear actions had been discovered, Aquillae involuntarily jumped. His right hand, still holding the strand of metal links, quickly jerked up, pulling the metal links tightly up and deeper into their uninvited position. Teary-eyed, Aquillae turned very gently to face the bumper. Before him stood two young females dressed in a rather peculiar assortment of clothing. The closest to him, and presumably the one who had bumped him, was dressed entirely from neck to toe in leather. Her long, rich, red hair was tucked under the deerstalker cap she wore. From behind an ornately crafted magnifying glass a large, distorted eye examined him closely. The eye blinked twice. Then suddenly the expression changed from one of suspicion to one of recognition and welcome. "Oh, it's just you, Aquillae." The magnifying glass was removed and Aquillae was happy to see the familiar face of an old friend. "Hecate? Is that you?" She brought the ridiculously curved pipe she was holding up to her lips and nodded. "I know you like the leather look, but I thought today was the VB challenge. You know, chicks in chainmail." "What, what?" she quickly asked. Then blew into the tip of her pipe. From out off the bowl a cascade of bubbles streamed up into the air. As the bubbles began to pop she leaned close to Aquillae and spoke, "No time to talk. The game's afoot!" And with another quick blow on her pipe, she passed through the floating bubbles and headed off in the direction of the ASSM archive. Aquillae stood dumbfounded as he watched her leave, clueless as to what she was up to. "Sssssh!" a voice came from behind Aquillae. He turned to see who the person was that had shushed him. What he saw was a real life vision of a cartoon character from his childhood. The cartoon vision held up its short double-barreled shotgun, the tip of which had a cork stuck into both barrels. The figure leaned close to Aquillae and commented in a peculiar voice that was strangely familiar. "Be ver-r-r-r-r-r-ry quite. We're hunting troll." Aquillae stooped down to peered under the brim of the large hunter's hat. The playful spirit that sparkled within those blue eyes assured him of the true identity of the girl under the hat. The playful female's smile broadened as she saw recognition in the face of an old friend. "Katie?" Aquillae whispered, unable to believe the facts that his senses were telling him. "Sssh! I'm working undercover." Not far away from the two, a group of catholic schoolgirls from Our Lady of Constant Sorrows where standing around the bronze statue of their hero, Katie McN. A high-spirited youth by the name of Amy Bradshaw stood beside the statue and posed in the likeness of the bronzed legend for her friends. "Undercover?" "Yep! I'm helping Hec track down a nasty troll." She pushed up the brim of her hat. "And when we find that wascly troll," she aimed the shotgun off into the distance, "I'm gonna give `em both barrels." There was a quick double pop from the end of the shotgun. The corks popped out a few inches, and then flopped down to dangle below the shotgun from their strings. Susie Hendricks heard the quick double pop and felt a rush of air against her back. She turned to investigate it while her classmates moved along the long line of statues. Quickly she sucked in a breath as her young mind raced wildly with the information that her eyes where supplying her. One of the schoolgirls turned to ask Susie a question. What she saw nearly made her heart stop. With an earth-shattering scream Susie's friend cried out in a voice only a young teenaged girl could reach when in the presence of their idols. "KATIE!!! Ohmygod! It's Katie!" Katie froze. "Oops." Starring at the wide-eyed young girls who had all now turned to stare at their idol, Aquillae commented, "It looks like the jig is up." "And gone!" Katie replied as she tossed the shotgun to Aquillae and dashed for the girls' locker room. Close on her heels were the schoolgirls from Our Lady of Constant Sorrow. Behind the girls and trying to keep up was Sister Mary Elizabeth, her dark brown skirt pulled up to her knees revealing her trim black stocking legs running as fast as they could to keep up with the teenie boppers. Chasing Sister Mary Elizabeth was Father Ignatius. Kenny Germera walked out of the boy's locker room adjusting his newly purchased turtle shell from Froggy dot com. The shell, which was a sharp olive green with yellow rose detail work, was one of the new 2002 streamlined Boogie Shell models, guaranteed to turn even the clumsiest of turtles into John Travolta. Katie rushed past him in a blur and hurried into the girl's locker room. Kenny saw the girl's from Our Lady of Constant Sorrow running at him and did what came natural for a turtle - he pulled himself into his shell for protection. Unfortunately for Kenny, his reflexes where not what they used to be back when he was a young tadpole in the lily pond, and he struggled to pull his limbs into his shell. Just as the screaming, rushing mob of teenaged schoolgirls was upon him, Kenny managed to pull his limbs into the shell. With a last desperate squeak as he beheld the approaching collision, Kenny pulled his head into his shell. For a brief moment, the overly priced, richly decorated Boogie Shell hung motionless in the air. Then as gravity began to notice that someone was obviously ignoring him, he reached up and started to pull the shell and it's hidden occupant back down to the earth. But before gravity could teach the wayward object a lesson in physics, the girls from Our Lady of Constant Sorrow rushed pasted and bumped the falling shell. Through the rushing crowd of teenaged bodies Kenny was bounced like a ping-pong ball. Unfortunately, Kenny made the mistake of poking his head out of his shell. He knew it was a mistake, but the continuous pounding he had absorbed from being ricocheted around his luxury shell had drove him to this desperate act. He tried to talk to the girls as they rushed by and knocked him around. But he only managed a few brief words before his momentum would send him bouncing of the body of a young teenager and flying away toward some unseen body. Unfortunately for Kenny, the last body he bounced off of was the one that belonged to Marcy Simcock, a tall, athletic girl who loved to play basketball, soccer, field hockey, and softball. The velocity, with witch Miss Marcy Simcock sent Kenny flying out into the great expanse of the hall, was, as physicist like to describe, terminal. "Waaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaahhhhh!" those gathered in the great hall heard three seconds after a blur of olive green with yellow rose streaks ripped past over their heads. While flying through space, Kenny decided to do a little experimenting with the physical laws of nature. Unfortunately for Kenny, the first law he decided to test was Newton's law of motion. With a loud amphibian thud, Kenny lost his argument with the approaching wall. Now splattered on the wall, his limbs shooting out from his shell, he now resembled a starfish more than a turtle. "You Bastard!" Souvie cried in anger. "You killed Kenny!" "Ah, no. It's all right. I'm not dead." Kenny struggled to turn his head and look over his shoulder at the people in the great hall. He gave them a reassuring smile. "If someone could just give me a hand here, I'd appreciate it." Conjugate and Dr. Spin carefully started to peel their amphibian friend from the wall with a pair of large spatulas they borrowed from Father Ignatius' box of goodies. Nat, by this time, was gaining on the swift footed Sister Mary Elizabeth, who was following her girls into the locker room. With a last burst of lusty speed, Nat closed the distance and reached for the tempting cloth of her habit. He just missed and grabbed only air as Sister Mary Elizabeth passed through the door to the girls' locker room. The true huntsman that he was, Nat never lost a step as he regained his stride and dashed for the portal to that wondrously strange world that had filled the dreams of many a pimpled-faced young boy with thoughts of silken undergarments seductively concealing the forbidden, and lusted for flesh of a young teenaged girl. Nat dashed. Nat raced. Nat went splat on the closed door to the girls' locker room. Nat rubbed his injured nose, and tried to regain something of his bruised dignity. For when he had made the abrupt acquaintance of the hard metal door his silk lavender boxers had popped their elastic and where now down around his ankles for all to see. Standing quickly, Nat tried the handle, and then pounded on the door. "We're sorry," a politically correct female voice that was neither too old, nor too young addressed Nat as he tried pushing against the door, "but you are not allowed to enter the enclosed room. Please discontinue your pushing." "What?" Nat stopped, and failing to realize that he was now starting an argument with a door, questioned the voice why he could not enter the girls' locker room. The voice paused for a moment in thought as if it had never expected anyone to challenge its decision. "Well," Nat put his arms on his hips, "I'm waiting." "You are a male, correct?" the voice hesitantly asked. "Yep." "But you still want to enter the this room?" "That's why I'm pushing on the door, lady." "You do realize that this is the girls' locker room, don'tyou." Nat chuckled and turned to those seated near the door listening. "I'd wouldn't want to get in there if it wasn't." The others laughed. "You could easily use the boy's locker room. There's no one in there at the moment. And..." the voice paused, then lowering her voice continued, "well, you do understand that there are no urinals in the girls' locker room." "Look lady," Nat was now becoming a bit annoyed with the whole conversation, "I'm not trying to get in there to use any urinals or toilets." "Then why do you want to enter the girls' locker room?" Nat could not believe his ears. How could anyone, even a computer as dense as this one most certainly appeared to be, not understand why a man wanted to get into a girls' locker room full of teenaged girls, not to mention a very seductive lady of the cloth. The voice asked again why he wanted to enter. "Too get some pussy! Some muff. Some tail. Some, some, some sex you ignorant pile of circuit boards!" Nat exploded. The voice let out a horrified shriek. "I can't let you enter for that, you, you immoral man." "Immoral? Who are you to make such judgments about my morals?" "I'm the Department of Justice's new T-2002," the voice replied with more than just a touch of pride. "Department of Justice?" "Yes. I was developed and tested last year. This January I was installed and became operational." "I don't recall anyone coming by to install a computer." "I was installed on new years' day." "Oh." Nat smiled, remembering with fondness the wild partying that had taken place the night before. "Well, see here lady, I'm not an American citizen who can be bullied around by some over-zealous moralist from `your' Department of Justice. I'ma" "Doesn't matter. Our laws affect Europeans too." "I'm not a European. I'm a" "Not to worry. We also hold court over Australians as well." "I'm not an Australian!" Nat screamed. "Listen you arrogant, geographically-impaired, moralistic piece of circuits, I'm a South African!" "Oh, that's no problem," the voice cheerfully replied. "We tell them what to do all the time." Nat angrily stomped off in search of the biggest magnet he could find. Meanwhile, across the room, Kenny finally came free of the wall with a loud pop. He thanked Conjugate and Dr. Spin as he rubbed his sore limbs. "No problem," Dr. Spin replied as he gave his friend a slap on the side of his Boogie Shell. Unfortunately for Kenny, the slap glanced off the shell's superior, high gloss surface and caused him to start spinning. The ultra-smooth surface of his aerodynamic dancing shell cut through the air with no resistance and very quickly had him spinning like a top. The speed of his limbs, outstretched as they were by the force of the rotation, added ever more speed to the spinning. "Waaahhh! Someone stop me!" Kenny cried out to his friends for help. Due to the speed of his rotation, and the distortion caused by the airflow around him, Kenny's words sounded more like, "What's up!". Kenny made several quick rotations round the great hall of Assd, each time picking up more and more speed as he raced toward the densely packed center. Then suddenly he hit an unused, leftover condom from Uther's challenge number one that was lying on the floor, and went spinning off toward the exit doors. He burst through the exit doors and rocketed out of the alt.sex sub group and raced toward the alt.Callahan's group. From behind the doors leading to the webpages of ASSTR a volley of trumpets sounded. Those gathered in the great hall all glanced up at the doors in baited expectation. A young novice writer leaned across a table and whispered to an old veteran, "What does it mean?" The old veteran hushed the youth quickly, and then added in reply, "It's the major erotican." "The major erotican?" the youth questioned as he saw the doors fly open. "What's a major erotican?" "He is," the veteran whispered in reply as he pointed off toward the man standing in the doorway. "Him? He's a major erotican?" "Yes, yes," Gary Jordan stood in the doorway and replied as he puffed his chest up, displaying for all his numerous medals and ribbons. "I am a major e-rot-i-can." The gathered eagerly replied, "Yes, yes. He is a major e-rot-i-can." Then as a little man in tails quickly started to play a jaunty little melody on a piano, Gary marched across the room toward the young novice while keeping step to the tempo of the music. Reaching the table, Gary pulled himself up tall, turned, dropped his trousers, and saluted the young novice with the customary ASSD salute. Lifting his trousers, Gary turned and marched off in the direction of the little boy's room, pausing as he went to salute those he recognized along the way and to sing. "For I am a major erotican. And it `tis, it `tis a glorious thing To be a major erotican." At the door to the little boy's room, he turned and once more saluted the entire gathering. The gathered people sang in reply: "For he is a major erotican!" And Gary added as he entered the little boy's room: "And it `tis, it `tis a glorious thing To be a major erotican!" In the great hall things were once more returning to normal when a low, mechanical, humming noise was heard faintly over the music and chitchat. Suddenly a voice was heard, raised in an anguished, pleading tone. "Pussy! Tits! Asshole! Cock! Pussy!" The doors to the ASSM annex burst open and into the great hall drifted a small cylindrical shaped robot. It scooted across the floor with an effortless motion. In it's wake it left tiny rippling waves. A young writer, clutching his newly finished story in his hand, crashed through the doors in pursuit of the robot. With his last breath he cried out, "FUCK!" and collapsed to the floor exhausted. The shinny silver robot turned on its hover jets and regarded the fallen figure. Slowly the robot floated back to the young man. "Sorry Charlie, but you know the rules. You only get one shot at a review." The robot gave a mechanical smile. "Gotta go. Gotta run. Got lot's more stories to review." And with that simple explanation the robot once more turned on his hover jets and started to drift toward the exit doors so that he could file his latest reviews. The young writer reached out his trembling hand that held the crumpled remains of his erotic efforts and in a weakened, beaten voice whispered, "fuck," and then collapsed unconscious. Into this scene of despair and anguish charged Virago Blue - writer, mommy, bathing beauty, and chick in chainmail! She knelt down, adjusted her chainmail skirt, and then lifted the young writer to cradle him in her arms. "How can you be so heartless? So cruel?" She pressed the young writer to her ample bosom. The robot turned. "Heartless? Cruel? Madam, I am neither. I was programmed by the great Jimmy Hat to perform a function without favor or malice. My criteria, unlike some other humanoid reviewers I could easily mention, are based solely on the written words. Nothing more. Nothing less." The robot prepared to once more head off for the exit. "But what of art?" "What?" Confused by the unfamiliar word not found in his vocabulary file, the robot stopped. "Art," Virago repeated as she clutched the young writer to her bosom even harder. "Surely there is some room for the consideration of art in your reviews." "Art? Sex? Art and sex?" The robot's hover jets started flickering on and off in wild patterns as it tried to steady itself. "Who would read sex stories for art?" "I would," Virago declared proudly, tossing her luxurious hair back over her shoulders, and displaying for the robot her strong, yet feminine chin. "You. Read. Art. Sex." The robot struggled with this alien form of logic. Virago gave a light flutter of her long eyelashes. The robot's hover jets worked franticly to keep it stabilized as it raced through the perceived paradox of the arguments. Faster and fast the robot spun as it raced through its database trying to solve the paradox. As it blurted out the words faster and faster they became an unintelligible jumble of sound that rose higher and higher in pitch until only a shrill mechanical whine was heard. Then suddenly the robot stopped spinning abruptly. "Does not compute. Does not compute." The robot shook violently as smoke started to drift out of its mechanical body. "Jimmy. Please explain. Please explain." For the final blow, Virago blew the robot a kiss. Unable to resolve the paradoxes it had discovered in its coding, Jimmy Bot self-destructed. As the one-time reviewer robot exploded into a dazzling display of pyrotechnics, showering its glittering pieces of metal and circuitry over the great hall like a fireworks display, a small voice somewhere in the back of the great hall quietly started to sing Beethoven's `Ode to Joy'. Slowly the small voice was joined by a few more voices, each singing slightly louder and with more emotion. The singing grew louder and louder as more and more voices were joined into the beautiful melody that celebrated the triumphant spirit until the entire gathering was singing joyfully. As the song ended those gathered in the great hall hugged and embraced one another in a happy celebrative mood. The End ---- Another Day, Another ASS* Written by Aquillae Copyright 3/14/2002 Any comments or complaints about this story should be directed to Aquillae@excite.com Okay, here are the questions to the quiz. How many do you think you can get? 1. What fictional sleuth was Hecate modeled after? 2. What cartoon character was Katie modeled after? 3. What popular song of today gives its name to the School that the girl's come from? 4. What popular tv show does Souvie's dialogue come from? 5. From what musical is Gary's song taken? 6. From what Sci-Fi tv show of the `60s does Jimmy Bot's destruction come form?
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