David
Once upon a time, in a land far far away, a squirrel came to be. The mother wanted to name him Nutty, but upon the all-powerful, ever-encompassing word of the father, it was decided that he would be called David.
Thus, began the chronicles of David the squirrel of Nutland. Chit chit. David grew up in an ordinary squirrel home, where females were of insignificant value. A female squirrel was worth less than a quarter of a nut. A quarter of a peanut, to be precise.
The males squirrels spent most of their time fucking around whilst the females busied themselves with work. Gathering nuts, shelling nuts, storing nuts. And when I said fucking around, I meant fucking around. Leisure equated to Chit Fuck Spas, quality, swanky establishments where the males would play with each other.
Literally play with each other.
Female squirrels were only violated when there was need to further the family line. Sexual intercourse as a recreational activity meant male squirrels fucking male squirrels. Odd as it might seem, it had been such since anyone could remember.
Nutland was a place filled with nuts. Chestnuts, hazelnuts, peanuts. But the most coveted of all nuts was the Golden Coconut. The Golden Coconut was the stuff of legend. Its existence could not be confirmed, as the last time any squirrel came face to face with it was almost three years ago. Which is fucking long in squirrel years.
Yet, every squirrel in Nutland dreamt of the Golden Coconut. It was rumoured that the Golden Coconut would bring balance to Nutland. How? There were many different postulations.
The fat squirrels theorised that it would bestow upon its owner an inexhaustible supply of nuts. And not just coconuts. Any kind of nut!
The right-winged squirrels pressed that the owner of the Golden Coconut would be recognised as rightful ruler of Nutland, which was leaderless as long as anyone could remember. He would be crowned the King Chit, with hundreds of squirrels at his beck and call.
The radical squirrels said to anyone who would listen that it would restore normalcy to the sexes. With the finding of the Golden Coconut, females would finally garner a place in squirrel social hierarchy. And the male squirrels would actually want to screw the females. For leisure! As would be expected, this unorthodox theory was not very popular.
Growing up, David always questioned his sexuality. Although he was content spending his days in the various Chit Fuck Spas, deep down he felt uneasy. Queasy almost. He longed for something he did not know. Something he did not dare ask anybody.
In Nutland, a male squirrel with questions, an uncertain male squirrel was the bane of society. Male squirrels lacking conviction would be.. would be.. It is too awful to say. Awful, awful.
David wondered (silently to himself, of course). How could living in such a society be normal? Where you can't even ask questions? Where recreation meant a dark, black hole? Where your mother meant less to you than half a peanut?
The questions gnawed at him. It ate David up, slowly but surely. His threshold was fast approaching. He was soon feeling as if he would burst.
One fine morning, he got up from his comfortable crushed-peanut-shell bed, brimming with confidence, full of conviction.
He was going to find the Golden Coconut, and pray that it did what the radical squirrels said it did. Nothing would stand in his way.
to be continued..
Thus, began the chronicles of David the squirrel of Nutland. Chit chit. David grew up in an ordinary squirrel home, where females were of insignificant value. A female squirrel was worth less than a quarter of a nut. A quarter of a peanut, to be precise.
The males squirrels spent most of their time fucking around whilst the females busied themselves with work. Gathering nuts, shelling nuts, storing nuts. And when I said fucking around, I meant fucking around. Leisure equated to Chit Fuck Spas, quality, swanky establishments where the males would play with each other.
Literally play with each other.
Female squirrels were only violated when there was need to further the family line. Sexual intercourse as a recreational activity meant male squirrels fucking male squirrels. Odd as it might seem, it had been such since anyone could remember.
Nutland was a place filled with nuts. Chestnuts, hazelnuts, peanuts. But the most coveted of all nuts was the Golden Coconut. The Golden Coconut was the stuff of legend. Its existence could not be confirmed, as the last time any squirrel came face to face with it was almost three years ago. Which is fucking long in squirrel years.
Yet, every squirrel in Nutland dreamt of the Golden Coconut. It was rumoured that the Golden Coconut would bring balance to Nutland. How? There were many different postulations.
The fat squirrels theorised that it would bestow upon its owner an inexhaustible supply of nuts. And not just coconuts. Any kind of nut!
The right-winged squirrels pressed that the owner of the Golden Coconut would be recognised as rightful ruler of Nutland, which was leaderless as long as anyone could remember. He would be crowned the King Chit, with hundreds of squirrels at his beck and call.
The radical squirrels said to anyone who would listen that it would restore normalcy to the sexes. With the finding of the Golden Coconut, females would finally garner a place in squirrel social hierarchy. And the male squirrels would actually want to screw the females. For leisure! As would be expected, this unorthodox theory was not very popular.
Growing up, David always questioned his sexuality. Although he was content spending his days in the various Chit Fuck Spas, deep down he felt uneasy. Queasy almost. He longed for something he did not know. Something he did not dare ask anybody.
In Nutland, a male squirrel with questions, an uncertain male squirrel was the bane of society. Male squirrels lacking conviction would be.. would be.. It is too awful to say. Awful, awful.
David wondered (silently to himself, of course). How could living in such a society be normal? Where you can't even ask questions? Where recreation meant a dark, black hole? Where your mother meant less to you than half a peanut?
The questions gnawed at him. It ate David up, slowly but surely. His threshold was fast approaching. He was soon feeling as if he would burst.
One fine morning, he got up from his comfortable crushed-peanut-shell bed, brimming with confidence, full of conviction.
He was going to find the Golden Coconut, and pray that it did what the radical squirrels said it did. Nothing would stand in his way.
to be continued..
This entry was posted by tsh, on
Thursday, August 11, 2005.
You can bitch back.
say it