The continuing story of ...
"Who are you?!", demanded Hildy. The old man's response was not entirely rhythmic, nor was it certain that he was responding to the question,
The name echoed, unnervingly decorating his thin, wheezy gasps between squeals. Hildy stepped back, unsure what to make of this man... another step, the wheezing grew stronger... step...
Hildy was taken by surprise this time. Her reaction was immediate, instinctual, ratty. Tensing her whiskers, she pounced upon the old man, his wheezing now colossal, and with her horrible teeth proceeded to gnaw on his head.
Again, she was taken by surprise. This old man was no human. No. His head tasted like... she couldn't quite pinpoint... Horseradish!? No, the flavour was distinctly lacking 2-phenylethyl isothiocyanates. It could only be one thing.
Hildy drifted off into a daze, it had been a long time since she had last encountered this flavour. The flavour of the dread wasabi.
Thinking the top-hatted man to be having a laugh at her expense, Hildy decided to nip his little joke in the butt. Head held high, she marched right up to the giggling man in tuxedo and spats. As she reached him, she realized he was not even looking at her.
She cleared her throat. "What's so funny?"
Still giggling, Mr. Oddly Wonderful looked up at Hildy with his shit-eating grin and said, once again, "Where's weenie?!" His eyes open wide, he laughed boisterously.
"Are you laughing at me?" Hildy asked.
As if by way of explanation, he looked deep in her eyes and shouted, "WHERE'S WEENIE?!!" then held his sides as he laughed harder than ever.
Hildy cold-cocked him with all her strength, which was still considerable in spite of the jolly rogering she had just gotten.
With a hurt expression, the man looked at her and said, "Weenie?" Casting his eyes to the horizon, he slowly turned his head as if looking for something and said, "Where's wee...THERE'S WEENIE!"
Emerging from cobwebs, Hildy awoke with a start. She had been in the embraces of Morty, the great wind, and just as some peculiar climax was reached, she saw dazzling stars that disappeared into a bleeding, inky blackness. Her eyes were itchy with cracking, salty sand, she coughed and found her lungs to be dusty. How much time had passed, she was unsure, but it seemed an age, though her body was still slim and curvy in the right places, her whiskers still had the spring of youth. She stood up on nearly atrophied limbs, fell forward again, sat up, and looked apprisingly at her surroundings. Was this where Morty had taken her, as they swirled around and around in the skies, she could not tell. It was night. The air was still, her panties were still around her ankles, perhaps it was that and not atrophied muscles at all that had caused her to stumble. She had never known the air to be so still, since it had so often carried her about willy nilly. As she pulled her dusty undergarments up over her thighs, she stood again and found a more sturdy footing. Now she noticed in the distance a giggling man, he seemed wholly preoocupied with something and did not notice her as she approached. She heard his voice, clear as a bell in the strange, dark, still air.
"Where's weenie?" he giggled, "Wheeeere's weenie!?"
Morty sensed Hildy's feminine longing. He was stunned into stillness, the The Pigman fell 7 storeys into a mushy pulp with no further thought from the pair of mismatched lovers. How to consummate this sudden moment was all they were concerned with. Morty wrapped his particles about Hildy, pressing the air into breath that travelled under her garments. Hildy sighed and resigned herself to whatever fate Morty would bestow upon her, be it a loving caress or a violent storm of passion that would surely tear her limb from limb.
By this time Hildy had made a hollow for herself inside a tree for the occasion of devouring the fine cake she now had in her possession. She wallowed it's crumbly bits about in her mouth before gulping the remainder of the confection down in one swallow. Her belly pooched in the delightful and happy if somewhat unnatural and distended fashion of one whom is not so often well fed. She was not so far from Morty and the Pigman that she couldn't still hear the latter yelp and bemoan as he made dips and swells through the air by the power invested in Morty by the space state of Helgado.
Wiping the crumbs from her whiskers, she peeked out of her hollow and delighted at seeing someone other than herself being whisked about by the winds. She kind of wondered at the force she perceived to be Morty. It was something palpable; she could sense that this force had a name, and that it was indeed Morty. He was like the point of light between her eyes at orgasm, the air that played with her skirts and her legs as she was whisked away, time and again. She felt as if she’d been having an intimate relationship with this force, with Morty since she first touched herself in that particularly naughty way at the age of 13. She emerged from the tree and walked purposefully and seductively towards Morty and the Pigman, swinging her ample and attractive bottom in the only way she knew how. She no longer feared the Pigman since she had gained his own personal power from his fine cake, the power of someone a little too well fed. She looked up at the winds blowing him about, at the signs that Morty, her first lover, was towering above her. She raised her voice above the pitiful noises of the Pigman.
Morty had returned and he was consumed with the rage of the terminally bored. Like a middle-class high school student at a slipknot concert he thrashed and spun, his ethereal body sucking air up into a severe low pressure system as he descended upon his former home planet.
Hildy and the Pigman wailed horribly as the winds picked up and the dark force of morty made its presence felt. But Hildy was the first to snap out of it, in a moment of clarity, she dived through the pigman's window and grabbed his cake, making a break for it before the pigman knew what was happening. By the time the Pigman had made it out of his house, the cyclonic winds were too much for him. He was swept up into Morty's vengeful storm and spun and spun around in circles. The nausea he felt almost overcame his rage at the theft of his fine, fine cake. He wanted to destroy everything in sight. Only there was nothing around him but winds and debris.
As Morty's rage began to calm, he realised what awesome powers he had come to possess. The fate of Pigman was completely within his hands. He began to toss the Pigman up, down and around, watching him with intense interest.
At which point something unspeakable occurred causing both Hildy and the Pigman to wail in disbelief.
Hildy, the rat-faced girl, watched the pig man from outside his window. Despite her name, she was quite beautiful. She wasn't sure when they started calling her the rat-faced girl or why. It could've been because of the nervous twitch in her nose, or her buck teeth. But she knew it was most likely because of her whiskers. And they were genuine, honest-to-god whiskers, not just some hairy upper lip. They shot out from either side of her nose and would twitch when it did. She first noticed them when she was four and they had been steadily growing longer ever since. When she was a child, her mother told her it was because she let the barn cats lick her face. Throughout her life, she tried to pretend the name didn't bother her. But, it was especially difficult to maintain her dignity in the high school cafeteria when the others threw pieces of cheese and cornuts at her and chanted, "Hildy Grace has a rat face!"
Aside from the whiskers she was perfectly normal and her physical beauty was undeniable. She had legs from here to Nova Scotia and an ass that wouldn't quit. She spent most of her time entertaining men from the bar who found her whiskers to be "exotic." Some people in the town claimed she had magical powers. This was less on account of the whiskers, but rather because she had an unusual habit of being caught up in localized updrafts that would whisk her away into the air and carry her to the outskirts of town.
Which is exactly what happened twenty minutes before she stumbled across Pig Man's house and noticed he was admiring a very fine looking cake. The pig man fascinated her, but more than that she was drawn to cake. It had been a full day since she'd eaten, and what with flying across town and having to walk the 27 miles back home, she found herself rather famished. She wanted that cake, and at that moment she was prepared to do anything to get it.
The pig-man had an unusual name. It was Pig Man. At least that is what he was called. No one knew his real name, which I will not speak here (because I don't know it). He felt good about his cake. It was a fine piece of cake. He looked closely at his cake, studied it's crumb structure in detail. He held the cake out away from him and admired the way the light fell across it's textured surface. Yes it really was a fine piece of cake. Pig Man felt really good about it.
He placed the cake down on a platter that he had made especially for the cake. The platter was made of genuine turtle-shell, he had killed and gutted the turtles himself. They were baby turtles that he had found on a beach one night, and very small, so he had had to kill a lot of them. He killed them with quick pounding from his heavy hoof. It felt good to snuff out the little turtles, but not as good as it felt to see his great piece of cake sitting there all soft and moist on the gleaming turtle-shell platter. He felt so good about his cake that he stood up and did a little piggy-dance. The piggy dance felt pretty good to him. He always thought he was a good dancer. He only messed up one part, which was the snout-spin, because he had tried to spin around without taking his eyes of his piece of cake. He didn't mind too much that he messed up the spin, cause after all, he still had that cake.
The cake looked almost too perfect in the afternoon light. It was so moist and full of flavour. He bet it was, anyway. He hadn't tasted the cake. Not yet. It would be a long time before he even got around to thinking about eating that fine, fine, piece of cake. No, right now, he just wanted to look at the cake. It felt really good, to just sit there and look at his cake. His delicious cake. He knew it was delicious cause a great cake was bound to be delicious. And this was a really great cake. It was so great that he wanted to get up and do another dance. Only he didn't do any dance cause he was worried that he might mess it up again, and he didn't want to mess up the piggy-dance in front of his cake.
No it was better to just sit. Just sit there with the cake. With his
cake. I was his cake and he felt really good about it.
the world grew progressively tired of fashion. it eventually came to the point that no one cared about what anyone else did. and no one really tried to do anything. morty gazed down at the troubled sphere and wondered who he could punch.
in a matter of moments he spotted a particularly delicious slice of cake, being held jealously by a particularly disagreeable pig-man.