Why I hate the sarcasm button, and won’t be using it.

The first time I really got to know my roommate was over the breakup of his girlfriend which also happened to be the first time he asked me for advice.

“Here’s the problem,” he said. Chris was a lanky kid with blonde frazzled hair, a year or two into his twenties. He was two years younger than me but we were graduating at the same time, partly because I took a year and a half off because of finances, but I also always thought he had a good head on his shoulders until this.
“Well,” he stammered, “We’ve been broken up for almost two weeks now. She’s even seeing this asswad (I loved the way he turned a phrase too) named Billy Bob. I mean, what the fuck kind of name is Billy Bob? It’s like I’ve been dumped for a hick cartoon character.”

“Ok, so…you want to get back together with her or… what’s the problem exactly?” I asked.
“Well she’s sick and she wanted me to bring her some soup. She sounded like she was on her death bed or something when she called me and no I don’t want to get back together with her but we’re still supposed to be friends. The problem is I don’t want to elevate our friendship any higher than just friends. Where is the line exactly? Should I care that she took the time to call me? What if I just went and got some soup and like left it on her doorstep? Would that be a good go-between? How shou—“

“Stop! STOP!!!” I yelled. “Just stop right there. You’re becoming one hellofa great big pussy. You know that?” I said very matter of factly.

I could have had a long drawn out conversation about the benefits and downfalls of bringing her soup vs not bringing her soup and the status quo for friends with/without benefits; instead, I thought the medical problem that my friend was suffering from was a much more pressing matter.

Sure enough, when we checked the back of Chris’ neck, it was changing. I was amazed at how quickly it was happening but I could see a flap of skin inching up the back of his neck. “Holy FUCK!” I exclaimed.
“What?” Chris squealed at my reaction. He whirled around and ran the back of his hand along his neck. “WHAT IS IT?! WHA-“

“Wow, ok..” I interrupted as I caught my breath. “Sorry for the way I reacted but I’ve never seen a clit hood move that fast.”
“Clit …hood?” He asked. “What do you mean, what’s happening to me? What did you do to me?”
“Whoa partner, I didn’t do anything. It’s YOU who is responsible for turning yourself into a pussy like this.” I argued.
“Fine, fuck whatever just get me to a hospital!”
“A hospital? HAH, if we take you to a hospital you’ll probably be bitching the whole way there! IF we’re lucky and we take that route, your belly button will only be the start of the vaginal opening! Of course, if we’re not lucky, and you’re being a really big pussy…”
“What?...” Chris whimpered.
“Well, let’s just say you’ll have a fully grown cervix and ovaries hanging off of your shoulders the size of beach balls.”
Chris staggered backwards at the thought of this. “What do I have to do?”
“Don’t worry,” I said. “I have a plan.”


My rear exhaust made a lot of noise so I threw her in neutral and made Chris push.
“Comon’ pussy! We’ll never get up to her house at this rate!” I yelled back to Chris.
“I…urgh…am not….urgh… a pussy,” he was really struggling because I had been tapping the breaks every so often just to fuck with him.
“Then why are you pushin’ my car for me pussy?” I exclaimed.
“FUCK! FINE!!! I’m not pushing for one more second you fucking butthorn!”
“That’s it my boy! Now get in and let’s do this!!!” and with that we fired up the engine. The car belched out some exhaust and roared forward just as Chris was closing his door.

“Are you sure this is gonna fix me?” Chris begged. The clit hood had already worked its way up to his ears and as God is my witness, his face started to look all bulbous like a big clitoris.

The night was dank and hot. A quick glance around and you could see everyone was cozy and falling asleep to the hum of air conditioning. Glad that everyone seemed too preoccupied to notice my car, I parked out of view of the street lights for some more camouflage.
“I’m as sure as the sardine stink growing under your arm pits. Let’s get this done before you have to wash your stench out of my headrests.” I said.

With that, Chris pulled a lighter out of his pocket and flicked it a couple of times. The sparks fell to the floor lighting up the area between his feet. “Ok, let’s do this.”
“Got everything?” I asked.
Chris pulled a paper bag out of his jacket. It was poofed out, but you could tell it wasn’t full of air. The bag’s paper carried the weight of something moist. Whatever liquid there was wrinkled the bag and made its skin look rasin-like.
“Fine do it and get that shit out of here!”
Chris nodded and dashed towards his ex-girlfriend’s door. I noticed that he was running with a limp. “Probably labia-leg syndrome.” I reasoned. “Good thing we’re getting this done now.”
From the darkness, I could see the spark of the lighter turn to flame. And I could see it beginning to scorch the top of the bag. It quickly, however, sizzled into the dryer parts of the bag and grew to six inches tall rapidly.

“Ding, Ding, Ding, Ding, Ding, Ding!” I heard, and started to see Chris as he made his way back to the car. He was already running better than he had been.
He hopped back in and we waited. She opened the door and I turned to Chris, “Now remember what we practiced.”
I turned the engine on just as she began to scream and stomp on the flaming shit bag. We screeched past her house and Chris leaned out the window, “HOW’S YOUR SOUP TASTE YOU FUCKIN WHORE?!?!”

The change was instantaneous. As he was leaning back into his chair his body started to morph back into its original shape. When he said “Fuck that was fun! Let’s do this shit all night!” I knew he would be ok.

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