I got my scuggable scuggs going on.
right... about... *penis finishes dripping it's final drip of blood-urine* now!
"it's showtime"
he says, rising up from the filthy cushion of farts.
confused, he starts looking around for his scuggable scuggs.
a four part set.
where the hell is it?
part 3 was on the floor along with part 4.
now we're cooking with plasma.
1 and 2 always were the more difficult catch for scuggin time.
part 2 was found on and under the fart cushion.
part 1 he could tell was going to be difficult.
it felt like he was combing through individual carpet fibers trying to find it. eventually he laid back in the fart pad for a bit of rest.
his heart swelled with rage as the farts wafted up.
"I am going to stuff this knit balaclava up my ass," he thought to himself.
but filling his ass felt pathetic and weak when he was too incompetent And retarded to even get all four sparts of a puggable gug together.
"fuck it," he said.
"I'm not spending another night putting pathetic ass wadded up fingerless gloves inside my pathetic ass ass one more night so I better find the last piece of that scrubbable shrug to get my life on the wheels again"
(scuggable duds are the metaphor for clothes in my story and part 1 is underwear. my character stinks and can't take a shower because he can't find underwear)
he looks around in some new places but no luck.
"fuck it," he says, again.
"scuggable guggins be damned. I don't need a part 1 of a scuggable assembly. I need this tragic stink washed off my hideous hide!"
so he claws his clothes off and is horrified at the cysts and lesions covering the entirety of his body except for his lower arms, hands, neck and head.
"so what." he said, flipping his hair to one side.