Monday, November 16, 2015

Frank Dieselwang and the Person who pet cats in the wrong direction.

Frank Dieselwang came across someone who was unintentionally petting the cat in the wrong direction, and the cat was clearly distraught.

Frank looked at this person and said "Hey the cat doesn't like that you should do it this way," and demonstrated the proper technique.

The person looked as though a light bulb had exploded in their head, but in a good way, and nodded agreeably, "Oh, I see!"

And all was well.

Wednesday, November 11, 2015

Frank Dieselwang Vs. Christmas Coming Prematurely

It was early November, and Frank Dieselwang was looking over stuffing and cranberry related recipes in an adorable hand me down apron when the Dieselphone started to blink, a landline that indicated he was an important business sort of person in this day and age because who really has landlines these days except people who are important business sorts of people.

“Frank Dieselwang, and Thanksgiving Prep Central, what can I do for you?” Frank Dieselwang said, affecting a somewhat fatherly tone in the spirit of the holidays, subconsciously mimicking in a fond way the fatherly figures in his life from when he was a lad, even though mostly they were still alive so it wasn’t really so much wistful as it was a homage to them as good people.

“Frank, it’s even worse this year,” said the voice of Yodlinda P. Sweetpeas with the urgency of someone who had something really urgent to say. 

Originally taken by Geek2Nurse

“What is it?” he asked, because he wanted to know what it was that was worse this year.

“It’s Christmas, and it’s coming even earlier this year.” Yodlinda’s grimace was evident even through this auditory method of communication.

Monday, November 2, 2015

Frank Dieselwang and the Man with Angry Hands

"My hands are super angry and I am going to punch you," shouted the man with Angry hands, let's call him Bill.

"Hey Bill, you better calm down," Frank warned him off.

Bill stared back suspiciously, his hands muttering angrily, "How did you know my name was Bill?"

"You know that's a good question but let's not dwell on that too much."

Bill threw the tray of fast food on the ground, which the author neglected to mention, "Enough talk, let's do this."

Frank, bastion of peace and caring, held up his hands in the universal gesture of "hey, let's not fight."

"Hey, let's not fight," Frank said.

Bill charged at him, roaring in a roaring fashion.

Frank sighed and punched Bill so hard Bill was blasted into the durable plastic bench and was knocked out cold and then he stopped talking.

Frank apologized for causing a scene and ordered a hamburger, because it was cheat day.

Wednesday, October 28, 2015

Frank Dieselwang vs. Pumpkin Smashers LLC Part 2

Frank had just finished cleaning out the store with a mighty throw, chucking the 50 pound trash bag of crumbled pumpkin and squash type muck into a dumpster as though it were merely 5 pounds, which was a strong but not guaranteed indicator that Frank was ten times stronger than a normal man, but clearly it can be seen that he is one not to be messed with, in spite of his good humor and being good with children. 

Original content taken by Alexander

Cinderella smiled at him, “I thought you were just here to be the muscle, but it seems you have a really good sensibility when it comes to sanitary practices and a helpful kind manner.”

Frank clapped the pumpkin goop off his hands, and grinned back at her, “No problem Ms. Hubbard, it’s the least that I could do, as a kind person and not because I am a man who is trying to get into your pants,” which was clearly a trustworthy thing to say since he was trustworthy and you’ll have to take the author’s word for it.

Suddenly, a thunderous crash sounding like fifty pumpkins being smashed with steel bats rang from across the street, blasting away the peace and the risk that the reader would be subject to some rather poor conversational writing. As Frank, Cinderella, and that easily forgotten generic side character who I guess we’ll call Bob because it’s faster, looked over, they saw the villains of the story staring them down, wearing various terrible costumes  but all with the logo of a hammer and a pumpkin beneath it, and fire and sparks and clearly the author should commission some art because sometimes a picture is worth a lot, like maybe a bit more than 999 words, but not necessarily more than 1001. 

Frank stared them down through the newly washed window through the stained glass pumpkins and acorn squash that decorated the window, then stepped out of the store to face them. “You must be the Pumpkin Smashing Gang.”

Their leader, who was clearly their leader because of their increased height and shoulder broadness, as well as the totally sweet looking mask that looked like the top half of a smashed Jack O Lantern, bellowed back a correction. “Actually we are the Pumpkin Smashers LLC! We find that the advantages of this structure allow us to be more competitive with other smashing groups due to more favorable tax treatment!”

Frank smirked and pounded his right hand into his left palm, a few times, to make the point clear that they were in for a pounding. “Alright Pumpkin Smashers S Corp, you’re going down!”

The leader picked up their bat and roared back, charging forward with the anger of a train engine that could express the anger of emotion, bat held high, “I said LLC!”

Frank met their charge head on, batting the bat out of the leader’s hand like a bat hit by a bat, with his left hand, and punched their face with a meaty right hand. 

“Well I guess that means, you’re liable to get smacked down,” quipped Frank, belying a deep enough understanding of LLCs to make a relevant joke.

With the a sudden crack, like the kind you see in a plumber’s jeans as they lean underneath your sink, the semi Jack O’ Lantern mask cracked on the leader’s freshly punched face, splitting into two equal approximately equal parts. The leader’s distinctly feminine appearing face was a surprise to Frank momentarily, but that surprise was quickly dashed by the look of menacing snarliness on their face. 

Frank looked at her curiously nonetheless, “Oh, I had no idea you were a woman!”

She growled back at him, “I consider myself a man!”

Frank nodded, relenting, “Then you are a man. Let us duel, man to man in this case, because even though you are a foe I respect your identity!”

The leader nodded back “Thanks, I appreciate that, but unfortunately this pumpkin store needs to be smashed, and you are in the way, so  we will smash you as well!” He growled, “Get him!” The leader pointed a finger forward, at Frank, and not a coincidence. The gang, I mean LLC, charged forward. Belated, it should be mentioned that there were twenty of them, aside from the leader.

Frank easily handled two of them, grabbing their heads and smashing them towards each other like two hands clapping, clocking them together like two heads being hit into each other, and their heads made a dull thudding noise, as dull as a calculus teacher is to a student who really dislikes calculus.

He turned around, setting the manliest of jaws in a deep grimace, bracing for impact with the other 18, which is a number we know of based on arithmetic. 

With a sudden repetitious impact, three heads were slammed with what sounded like a hard hollow object at rapid pace. Frank looked up at his surprising ally, Cinderella “Sugar Pie” Hubbard, brandishing a staff tipped with two laminated pumpkins on the ends. 

She smiled back at him as she held the remaining 15 off if you were keeping count. “By the way, I know Pump-Kin-Do, and I just needed help, not a hero. Thanks for the help!” With that she yelled an amazonian cry and charged into the Fray, Frank laughing behind her as he rushed to support her defense of Gourdness Gracious.

To be continued…. 

Monday, October 26, 2015

Frank Dieselwang vs. the Pumpkin Smashers LLC part 1

The One Stop Squash Store, Gourdness Gracious, was arrayed in shambles, orange flesh and gore covering the room, a testament to the dudebomb that just exploded there, which is not an actual bomb, but definitely a bunch of dudes that went in and went apeshit in it, causing such damage that it appeared like a bomb had went off.

Taken by mikekanyo

"We can't handle another attack like this!" bellowed Cinderella "Sugar Pie" Hubbard, frustration evident on her frustration covered face. "The Pumpkin Smashing Gang We need someone to stop this from happening again!"

Hands on her highly functional hips that don't lie because hips are incapable of expressing thoughts, let alone vocalizing them, Cinderella was a picture of entirely justified anger that would not be derided or looked down upon because of her gender like in other fiction even from well meaning authors.

"Whatever shall we do!" simpered a generic side character who will be forgotten as soon as this sentence ends. "The police won't help because of some convenient reason that requires us to pursue alternative methods of recourse!"

Suddenly, the door swung open, pushed open by a tanned rough callused hand that bespoke of a lifetime of being in the outdoors, hard work, and probably punching things. This hand was followed by a similarly tanned, rough, but not callused forearm, then a bicep, and a shoulder, and finally a head.

This head, belonged to Frank Dieselwang.

"I hear you have a problem, that needs to be squashed."

"Actually, squash is our business, but we do need a man of your...qualifications, " Cinderella's eyes flicked up and down his well sculpted frame, which appeared to be carved out of mahogany, and detailed like a luxury car that just got detailed. She also checked out his package.

Frank smiled at her correction, his masculinity not being so fragile that the tiniest correction would make him fly off the handle like some people, not naming names, and nodded. "We'll get this shop back in order, or my name isn't Frank Dieselwang."

Which it was.

Wednesday, October 21, 2015

Frank Dieselwang & The CDC & The Toxic Dude Outbreak - Finale

With a superhuman effort, Frank Dieselwang and Shellandra Foreheart-Stiner Coldcrusher, but you can call her Shelly, applied their brainpower to the situation at hand, taking a respite from an intense skirmish, as evidenced by the smell of Axe and the plethora of  torn Ed Hardy shirts scattered across the nice guy blasted landscape.
Taken by Michael Sauers

Aside from a bit of sweat, and lack of shirt, and slightly elevated heartrate which caused his enormous pectorals and laser etched abdominals to heave just so, Frank was perfectly whole, and he looked on next to Shelly as she stared down the huge 90s style computer terminal at the top of the building they found themselves in after a metric ton of fighting.

Monday, October 19, 2015

Frank Dieselwang and that one guy who doesn't like Social Justice

Frank Dieselwang bounced his pectorals intimidatingly at the dudebro wearing the gaming T shirt, a trilby that he ignorantly called a fedora.

"You broke the code of conduct, and you were warned and you still kept on being abusive. You should have been kicked out long ago!"

"SJWs and Feminists are winning I dema....!" Frank's fist of great social justice smashed into the dudebro's jaw, blasting the dudebro into the sky, Team Rocket style.

Frank rubbed fist lightly, mostly to wipe off the day's worth of cheek sweat that he had touched.

He sighed, "I can't wait for Big Bad Con 2016, this would probably not happen there."

(OOC Author's Note: Sorry for the short post everyone, I had a great weekend at Big Bad Con! If you're a Bay Area Local, you should check it out)

Wednesday, October 14, 2015

Breinded Uther and the Wryters Bloch (feat. Frank Dieselwang)

Breinded Uther stared blankly across the way, resigned. The bridge to his path to freedom, and escape was blocked. Armed with several energy drinks, two pilot pens and an inspirational quote, he was unable to muster his energies to fight the most vicious of foes ahead of him, the Enemy of Creation, the Eater of Inspiration, the Wryters Bloch.

Breinded looked behind him, the streets of paved text behind him, a testament to his good works, but he could not see a path behind the Wryters Bloch to get to the promised land of Dedlein.

“Please…. I just want to pass.”

The Wryters Bloch merely stared back, placid, unmoving, but unsurpassable. There would be nothing to fear, no attack, no derision, aside from the plague of self doubt that is spawned from your inaction in the face of it.

Breinded slumped a little harder. “Someone, someone please help me.”

Like a blast of lightning shot from a cannon that was modified to shoot lightning thanks to rubber and other things, Frank Dieselwang, arms flexed as tight as olympic swimmers in the most tensed part of a butterfly stroke, burst in, wearing a Muse shirt because he just left a Muse concert, which was not at all some kind of reference to writing. With a roar and swing, he blasted the Wryters Bloch, Bane of Beauty, the Warden against Wordcount, into dissipating nothingness.

Breinded looked up, and Frank turned back, eyes firm and manly, hand held out. “I won’t carry you to Dedlein, but I believe you can get there with your own two feet. Will you get there?”

Breinded took Frank’s hand and looked up with thanks, “Thank you, I think I’ll be able to make it.”

Monday, October 12, 2015

Frank Dieselwang and the Somewhat Anachronistic Bootlegger

"Nyah nyah, you'll never get away with this copper! Nyah!' said that not at all dated mafioso armed with a tommy gun and a fedora but not in the nice guy sort of way, as he menaced Frank Dieselwang with the aforementioned tommy gun.

"We'll see about that Caponata Coglione!" Frank Dieselwang declared right back, suddenly taking his shirt off for really no discernable reason, baring himself in the mid afternoon sun, his nipples aimed aggressively towards his aggressor. The size and firmness of his erect nipples clearly demonstrated a physical opposition and willingness to fight for his beliefs and justice.

Wednesday, October 7, 2015

Frank Dieselwang and the Sumo Earl (or maybe Duke)

With a thunderous roar, the Earl of Sumo shouted at Frank Dieselwang "I AM THE EARL OF SUMO," in a loud way, which was perhaps a bit of a redundant sentence the author realized after failing to proof it the first time. The volume was of the power to shatter mugs, shattering all mugs within a 100 yard vicinity, yet all of the glasses within that vicinity remained untouched, because it was a mug shattering shout, not a glass shattering shout. There was also a glass mug, which was kind of strange but not unheard of, and it crack a bit to be unusable but it didn't exactly shatter.
Sumo Taxi, taken by Richard Pluck

Monday, October 5, 2015

Frank Dieselwang & the CDC vs. the Toxic Dude Outbreak, Part the Second

"You're starting to turn into your moth..." began a young man wearing a Limp Bizkit shirt, before Frank shoulder checked into a dumpster.

Frank began to show slight signs of exertion, which for him meant that sweat was dripping at a slightly increased rate from his hot, sculpted torso, glistening and highlighting the creases in his abdominals. He flexed his chest, causing his pectorals to bounce up and down at an andante tempo, much like Mozart's Piano Concerto No. 21.

Wednesday, September 30, 2015

Frank Dieselwang & the CDC vs. the Toxic Dude Outbreak

“We’re glad you came into the office today Mr. Dieselwang, I’m Shellandra Foreheart-Stiner Coldcrusher, but call me Shelly,” Shellandra Foreheart-Stiner Coldcrusher said, giving him a firm handshake as he entered the clear bubble office that was intrinsic to the CDC while sensuously simultaneously spraying him up and down with a canister with her other hand. During this process, her eyes ate up his extremely masculine form, his skintight shirt clinging alluringly to his abdominal muscles which seemed to ripple like perfectly melted chocolate being poured into a parchment paper lined half sheet pan.

“Mrs. Dieselwang is my mother, you can call me Frank. And it’s a pleasure and an honor,” Frank replied warmly, totally and manfully unfazed by the sanitizing spray, without taking offense to anything she did, “I understand you have a problem with Toxic Males.”

Monday, September 28, 2015

Frank Dieselwang vs. The Zombcchini

Frank Dieselwang didn’t set out to take on a seven foot tall Zombcchini with biceps the size of bowling balls, but when his assignment was to take on the Moreganic industrial complex, he should have foreseen something like this happening.

Monster Zucchini, taken by Meg Lauber

“Well, when life gives you Zombcchini, make Zomboli,” he quipped before flexing his arms and charging forward, a metaphorical truck with huge arms charging with abandon towards a vegetable patch.

Earlier that day…

“As you can see, Professor Gasolinedick, this is the most Moerganic of factories! Everything is certified organic!” shouted the “organics minded” director of Pharm To Tables Totally Industrial Moreganics Factory. That director’s name was Director Cuppingplant Barpillow.

Wednesday, September 23, 2015

Frank Dieselwang vs. the Buxom Brick Boulderer

[Switching to a different one shots for now, while I try to regain my inspiration for So Sous Me, please let me know if you rather I finish that one!]

At the time when most decent people were asleep, Frank Dieselwang bore his 8 back abdominals out in the starkly dark moonlight, his muscular curvatures glinting like quartz crystals in a mine with subpar light, which is to say somewhat dimly but more than you’d expect things to gleam in the night.
Bricks, originally taken by Marc Falardeau

It was the witching hour, and most decent sorts were safely tucked away, but Frank was up. Even though Frank was a decent man, because the author used the word “most” and not “all” this is not necessarily a contradiction. 

Monday, September 21, 2015

The Calm before the Smoke - So Sous Me - Part 8

With a mighty heave of his corded muscles, perhaps three times as corded as a well above average man, Frank heaved in an enormous piece of wood into Taeryn’s cavernous smoker. 

Frank grunted with slight exertion which nevertheless resulted in his porterhouse steak sized pectorals to heave heavily in the sweat inducing sun as they were coated liberally with sweat, the pectorals with which he wiped down with a rag in a spiral pattern so that the sweat caused by the sweltering sweat inducing sun, the heat causing his nipples to lay flat against his chest, waiting for more ardent stimulation.
Modified image, originally taken by Blake

Wednesday, September 16, 2015

A Contest of Grills - So Sous Me - Part 7

Frank, shirtless, sat bare-chested in the sun of a well lit train car as two drops of sweat hung like jewels from the tips of his engorged nipples, so excited he was for the competition to take place. Like the dual nature of man and woman, Frank and Taeryn were bathed in light and darkness over and over again to some dramatic effect, to the author’s best approximation and attempt to class up this piece with visual imagery.

Repeatedly, the train went through mountain tunnel entrances and came out into the light again and back in again into mountain tunnels on the way to the contest site, the phallic vaginal sexual imagery readily apparent for anyone who seeks to grab it, though whether this is a victory sex kind of metaphor or some kind of screwing over foreshadowing remains to be seen, even for the author who is kind of flying by the seat of his pants at the moment.

“Did you say to put the salt on the right?” Frank asked, pointing with his right arm, and flexing as he did so, revealing the sexy “cuts” in his muscle definition simply because he could do so, “Or the left?” he continued, pointing towards the left in a different arm holding but equally tantalizing pose, for the sake of variety. He held this pose unnecessarily so that anyone who liked male bodies could appreciate him for a bit.

“Naw silly! Ya put it in the middle, cause it’s important,” Taeryn answered playfully, hip checking him, the velocity of that movement causing his chest to jiggle slightly, in spite of its hot firmness. She admonished him encouragingly, pressing her cleavage together with her arms as she said, “Now git yer game face on, cuz it’s bout ta git HAWT.” 

Reassured by the sight of her winning face and encouraging words and not her bosom, though that was a nice bonus, not that he was trying to look that way, Frank put on his Nintendo Entertainment System playing face; pensive, attentive, undivided. Which was pretty much the only way you can beat a Nintendo Entertainment System game. 

After a perhaps excessive amount of mountain tunnel entering and re-entry, Taeryn and Frank, Taeryn slightly in front because she was the leader of this expedition, entered the fairgrounds of Mega Oil Magnate Landing LLC (Formerly known as Goldenrod Fairgrounds) and headed to their station, Number 4, which had been prepared by a lot of those same townsfolk who have supported her time and time again but the author hadn’t had time to flesh out. 

“Good luck to y’all!” The crowd collectively called out, while simultaneously leaving, saving the author time and mental energy, instead of forcing him to make up characters on the fly/read back a bit to remind him of some names.

Taeryn pointed at things and barked orders in a meaningful and purposeful way, and Frank got to work helping her set up the mise en place. Frank wiped his barrel chested barrel chest torso, more sweat gleaming down his pectorals and biceps and abdominals as he stood in the hot Texas sun, even though there was a perfectly good canopy there.

Taeryn queried in a drawling fashion, “Aren’t ya hot out there?”

Frank smiled at her, assuming it was a compliment, “It’s kind of you to say that.” He pecs flexed reflexively, subconsciously showing off how hot he was for her, before he consciously realized the true meaning of her statement, “Oh, right. Force of habit.” And with that he shifted into the shade, effortlessly, like a sleek jungle beast sliding back into the bush.

Time lazily passed, like a high school senior in June who had received his college acceptance letters from his backup school already and was resigned to living closer to home than he wanted, and they waited until it was time to throw down. 

For the sake of adding wordcount, Frank and Taeryn gazed around at their competition at their own stations, a pretty motley assortment of competitors. 

There was the requisite newbie at Station 1, also known as the “one and done” table. This year it was Waid Ayed Inos Cente, who would in a normal year be destined to see the corruption of the competition, go home, and then probably get a job as an accountant, having his or her or their dreams of being grillmaster crushed underfoot like the notion that a bachelor’s degree is all it takes to secure a good job in modern times.

Huffily, the officiant, Fauxsef Pallehgreengo, shouted, “Let the  Big Jim Bob Joey’s Mega Meat Mountain Competition begin!”

There was Peligro Infierno at station 2, the stoic latino competitor of the open air barbecue joint, Fiesta Del Chorizo, known for his bounty of sausages. He nodded respectfully at Taeryn, conveying with a gaze that he wanted anyone to win except for the dick at station 3. “Good luck to you Ms. Yewanewon.”

Taeryn smiled back at him, grim and respectful, knowing that the outcome was probably beyond their control, “Y Usted, Senor Infierno,” she said in his grandmother’s tongue (He was born here, and his parents, but he did appreciate the language, as they were friends in the trenches together and this was a good thing, and not just appropriation/showing off her language skills, which is still nothing to be ashamed of).

Such pleasantries were not exchanged with the dick at station 3, almost interchangeable each year, the main commonalities being that it would be an entitled male with blood ties to the Barbecuerporations that had taken over the town. This dick will be described later because the author had already written the description and it doesn’t quite fit here, so sit tight reader.

As though cued, a shot fired through the air, ringing with promise and anticipation as competitors raced to their stations, eager to deliver an excellent product deserving of a win, except for the one smarmy looking brat that vaguely looks like the reader’s nemesis from high school, named Chaz Bradding Sanjeevingtodd, and pronounced in the most annoying and insistent way possible to the reader (options include nasally, self righteous, entitled, self important, etc).

As Taeryn blazed through the initial steps to assembling her ketchup and rub by rote, Frank competently kept up with her, grappling with thick, hard wood, and setting it ablaze with his practiced lighter, and then got to working on the meat, sawing through the ribs with a keen eye and steady arm, going back and forth with intensity and care, stacking the sausage with the precision of a master log cabin builder, and massaging tenderness into the pork butts with his strong, masculine hands. 

Frank was extremely confident and competent, and it is clear this is not the story where the assistant bumbles through and does lots of stupid things only to come through at the end with some kind of clinch accident and reveals himself to be the hero who saves the day, because the readership should be really tired of that crap by now.

“Ribs! Ready?” Taeryn shouted at him to reach through to his ears in the rising chaos of grillmasters working loudly and in a hurry.

“Yes! Ready!” Frank asserted, holding two whole racks of ribs before him, and Taeryn rubbed her hands herb fortified salt up and down this meat, and Frank threw it into their large oil drum smoker. The sausages, already seasoned, were slid in with care onto a rack to cook and drip onto the other meats, and the butts went to the bottom.

The crazed work over, Taeryn and Frank smiled at one another.

“Well, now we keep an eye on it for a while.”

“Good work Taeryn, we’ll get through it and get you that prize.” Frank said, with more confidence than anyone else, because he was a Dieselwang, and because he hadn’t seen the corruption of the competition firsthand. In the distance, Peligro Infierno shook his head sadly, as though he had heard.

Taeryn set her jaw. “Sure hope so Frank. Sure hope so.”

To be continued.

Monday, September 14, 2015

Getting Saucy! So Sous Me - Part 6

Taeryn gasped gently, as Frank’s meaty hands closed around the pair of her meaty tomatoes.

“Softer! Gently! Gently grasp it just so… yes, just like that… now… twist the tips.”

Frank, while a massive specimen of man who would appear to have the fine motor control skills of a Rhinoceros on a T-Rex sized dose of Ketamine, displayed technique and care, as he slowed the grasp of his sausage like fingers to grasp firmly around the pliant skin of her tomatoes, the tips of his fingers reaching the top of that supple flesh, and he tweaked the top ever so gently, until they gave way, and yielded to him, and fell off into his hands.
Two Big Tomatoes, taken by fs999

Wednesday, September 9, 2015

Frank Dieselwang in So Sous Me! - Part 5

[Extremely NSFW sex story link here once the author gets enough interest and an arbitrary (crowdbasing website) pledge level is reached]

Later, after that extremely satisfying sex scene:

Modified/Cropped image of a Fit Finn, taken by istolethetv. Only a rough approximation of Frank Dieselwang's perfection.

“Damn, your abs are amazing,” Taeryn declared, lending credence to the notion that the author has constantly been hammering, that Frank is a great looking guy, especially his abdominal area, but also the rest of him too.

Frank smiled and continued to flex his abdominal area for her visual benefit, then maintained this flex, for reasons that will be detailed shortly.

Wednesday, September 2, 2015

A Woman Named Sally - Part 2 - End

Trigger warnings: Gore for humor's sake and/or mild violence for humor, text descriptions of nudity.

Photo by Ben Hussman.

Frank Funburthers looked on with mild astonishment that his serendipitous thought was so suddenly thrust before him like a plate of pickles in front of someone suffering from a severe salt deficiency and an extreme love of delicious pickles, and preferred them plated. That is to say, he was extremely pleased. 

“Hi, I am Frank Funburthers,” he said with an air of male self satisfaction, the very picture of male privilege who was societally conditioned to expect a certain quality of life through naught but his own entitlement. “I’m very pleased to meet…” he started to say, as he knew that the audience was greatly looking forward to some wild umbrella tearing erotica.

But that didn’t last long since the author almost too belatedly realized that this character wasn’t appealing to the audience. The author employed some misdirection and pointed out that this location was again, a bar, but not one of those hipster bars, but like, a really manly bar, authentically manly, like a biker cowboy bar that was surprisingly progressive in spite of its old fashioned style and rugged individualism. It was the kind of bar where the kind of man such as Frank Funburthers wasn’t typically seen, which will absolutely explain what happens next.

Suddenly a pack of wild wolves, jowls a dripping with slobber and a desire for the blood of poorly written characters, charged into the bar.

These selfsame wolves tore into him and whisked away his bloodied and mangled corpse (or mildly injured and continuously protesting body arguing that “he can change, he can change!” which fell upon the deaf ears of the author who knew some ideas were beyond saving) into the collective forgetfulness of suspended disbelief, only remembered in the very niche fan fiction of this eventually completed piece of work that would be known as the Chronicles of Frank Dieselwang, and lets face it, this piece will probably be edited out by any competent editor.

With a sudden pan shot dramatically to the other side of the room, the audience/reader’s attention is forcefully but not uncomfortably* redirected by the author.

Through the saloon style double doors that showcase just how positively manly the bar was, burst a man who threatened to outmanly the room that he just entered. Perfectly tanned from just the amount of time he spent in the sun (to the reader’s personal preferences) his square jaw and dark black hair framed piercing green-gray eyes that penetrated the soul in a deep and stabbing way that is probably symbolism for something** that will occur in about four chapters from now. Or two depending on how rabid the readership is.

But back to the manliness! Bare-chested from his belt up to the top of his perfectly disheveled hair that showed that he did real work but not so messy that it was clear he was a bum, unless you’re so into that sort of thing, his body rippled with the easy flexibility and musculature evocative of a hunting cat well sated after a kill, sweat dripping from his muscle girded muscles onto the floor. Oh, and he had good broad shoulders that reminded one of a workhorse, and big pecs too. But not like, scary big, whatever that means to the reader. He wiped his brow with the back of his hand and turned to regard Sally like some kind of …. Predatory animal that is not a hunting cat because repetition is bad. 

He kept his eyes locked on her as he strolled across the bar like he owned it, which wasn’t true, because it was owned by someone else, but due to some background, he happened to have saved this bar from some evil corporations, which the author believes can be a universally accepted foe (as opposed to good corporations. #NotAllCorporations). The author’s main point for all of that was being the savior of the bar lent special privileges to that savior, which is displayed by the conveniently placed outdoor style shower inside the room, placed in the corner, which this new character had requested. 

It was frosted from the waist down so that as he stripped only his perfect buttocks were visibly as he stripped and tossed his clothing over the side and manfully soaped his bulging 10 pack abdominals down with soap, cleaning off an honest day’s grime, the evidence of the work washing down the drain from his body… of work. 

He made his way to the nearby dressing room, modesty barely preserved, for whichever ways can be imagined by the reader, but if you don’t have that imagination due to the reader’s boss giving the reader a hard time today, the reader may choose to imagine a towel held firmly yet flowingly from a strong clenched grip, fluttering with the movement of this character’s movements, bouncing around to show a lot of skin, but never the penis. 

Some time later, enough time to show that he didn’t slack off with preparations, but not so long that it made you wonder what was taking so long, which should be a pretty clear indicator of how good a lover he would be, this perfectly sculpted man of a man stepped back into the room.

When he emerged he was well put together again, in a tailored Italian cut suit, navy in color, a bespoke checked Italian shirt underneath the perfectly fitted jacket. They clearly were of some money to show he knew the value of quality and buying to keep clothing for a long time with good maintenance, but not so much that he appeared a dandy.

He strode over to Sally confidently, who by now was sitting at the bar and strangely not surrounded by the typical frat boys and dudebros that would normally populate this kind of bar if it was in the wrong kind of city (which this was not), and looked into her eyes, communicating to her with a single glance the confidence and experience that only the most worldly of men can, indicating that he knew they would be drawn together with possibly frivolous reasons in a torrential affair for the ages or at least a few hundred pages. He also communicated through Sally to the audience that he was no Frank Funburthers, but instead a much more audience pleasing, improved Frank.

“Pleased to meet you. I’m Dieselwang. Frank Dieselwang.”

She looked down and licked her lips, her nipples pressing hard against the thick but clear plastic of her worn umbrella.

“You certainly are.”

*No guarantees that you experienced no discomfort, but the author has hope.

**That something is sex.

Monday, August 31, 2015

A Woman named Sally, part 1

Introductory note: Sorry folks, I didn't want to rush part 5 as it has not met my muscly standards, so instead I bring you something from the Dieselarchives, A woman named Sally. Sorry for the interruption, rest assured there will be a continuation of the saucy adventures! Until then, let this piece tide you over for now.

Frank Funburthers sat around staring at the cucumber dish in front of him, and knew he needed a woman. A woman named Sally. Suddenly a woman walked into his room wearing an umbrella.

Photo taken by 55Laney69. Apologies that it is not duck patterned.

"I'm Sally," she announced to the room, letting all know that she was Sally, and since this is third person omnipotent you can rest assured she isn't lying.

The metal ribs of the umbrella clung to her voluptuously thin form, making marks in her skin, the flimsy clear plastic and duck patterned plastic hiding everything and nothing at all. It clung alluringly to her 34JJ breasts made all the larger by her parking meter thin waist, Her head popped out the top where the cheap aluminum spike would probably have been in the normal world, but not this one. 

Wednesday, August 26, 2015

Frank Dieselwang in SO SOUS ME! Part 4

This is not the actual recipe, but a tribute to the recipe presented in this story. Original photo by jmcar.
“Oh yeah, give it to me,” Frank attempted to say, which was difficult given the massive length of sausage stuffed into his throat by a very eager Taeryn. So it came out more like “ommm gyah, gibmehtemuuurrr” which was pretty good considering the circumstances of physical difficulty he was overcoming.

“You know, people say it’s the best sauce in town,” she said saucily, as the camera (but not Frank's eyes because he is a gentleman) panned down her feminine form again, displaying her heaving bosom, shining lightly from her sweat from her exertions in the kitchen, her smallish waist, but not too small, as she was a grilling expert who spent a lot of time standing up, but also needed to sample things and be strong, and then her big butt, which the author recognizes as something that’s appealing in the current tastes of many male readers, due to songs about the preferences of certain serpentine creatures unless various baked goods are in a woman’s possession at the time of observation.

Monday, August 24, 2015

So Sous Me, Part 3

Original Photo taken by Henry M. Diaz

To describe her sauce, imagine this reader, taking a bag of rusty nails, broken glass, the leftover residue of fifty fifty year old toothpaste tubes and the grease of your local public transit if you have one. Put that into a blender that can liquify anything, including broken class, leftover toothpaste tubes, and a bag of rusty nails, and the grease found on local public transit.

It was the exact opposite of that. Except that it was liquid, it was not opposite that way. Basically it was the opposite of torture, which is pretty good I think.

Wait, that’s a really lazy literary convention, scratch that, unless it really worked for you, in which case you could probably skip this next paragraph.

For Taeryn, making a sauce wasn’t just cooking, which it was, but it was also a way of life. From the ketchup she lovingly made tomatoes she lovingly handpicked and hand grown and the onions lovingly hand cooked, literally in the palm of her hands with a greasing of olive oil, after a strong workout. And then Frank was able to swallow it all down off of a well muscled, lean, strong, sausage.

It went down like this. Frank was hungry one day, after working on the railroad system of Polesbumpkitkisstown, and the sweat was pouring down his perfectly formed pectorals and abdominals in figurative rivers, because literal rivers would dehydrate even a prime figure of man that was Frank Dieselwang. Nonetheless, he needed to eat, so he went to the local hole in the wall barbecue restaurant that most people hold up to be the best places to eat and in this case it actually bore out.

Bustling with the hum of a village worth of farmers, farm supply owners, and a village’s relevant amount of pharmaceutical salespeople who were the sons and daughters of said farmers and farm supply owners who happened to be in town to show their grudging love for their parents by coming in town for the railroad renovation/annual state fair which they grudgingly enjoyed to some degree and fondness for the kettle corn, which was a lot better than most pharmaceutical salespeople who never returned home ever because they were ingrates who didn’t care about their parents and maybe called home now and then, but probably not.

Here, at the hole in the wall, lovingly torn open by Taeryn Yewanewon’s late father, grill master Ripin Yewanewon, Taeryn was sweating aplenty as she bustled about, sweat rolling from forehead, down her neck, and then into her cleavage in the classic male gaze pan shot for the sake of the reader, but Frank simply found his seat and waited to be served, and if he looked at her he kept his eyes at approximately her eye level when he did happen to be looking in her direction.

Skipping all the charming details of waitstaff and such, Frank eventually found himself presented with a big person sized (formerly gendered as man sized prior to Taeryn’s managership due to her father’s well meaning but outmoded way of thought) sized portion of burnt ends, brisket, and a huge sausage to rival any he had ever seen before, all liberally coated with a glaze of Taeryn’s special sauce. 

Frank groaned with approval as she forced open his mouthhatch (figuratively and with his consent) and stuffed her enormous sausage into it. His eyes bulged with pleasure of the pleasurable feeling of the meat entering his mouth, as well as that indescribable taste of her enormous encased meat. A small cut made at the top of the sausage started to give way the more he tasted it, revealing an even more strong meat flavor.

It was the best sausage Frank had had in his life, and whenever someone asked him what his best sausage experience was from that day onward, it would be the one that Taeryn Yewanewon gave him.

To be continued.

Wednesday, August 19, 2015

Frank Dieselwang in So Sous Me! Part 2

Picture originally taken by Steven Depolo

Frank nodded masculinely, manfully agreeing with a grunt with the woman because he was secure in his sexuality while taking orders from a woman who was an expert on sausages on how to handle her sausages. And anyone who chose to say otherwise would be handled in a mature fashion, and he would not escalate it to violence unless it was in self defense, because that’s the right thing to do.

“Just to be sure though, I won’t let this go to waste.” Taeryn said, pulling her hair back with a delicate pull of her feminine hand, toughened and rough from her tough woman barbecue master chores, hauling around her kit, chopping her own hickory fuel, and enduring the dusky heat of the pit. This hair being pulled back like a dramatic curtain, framed the living art that was her face, a smooth angular jaw, piercing blood sienna eyes and a slightly upturned nose on her face. The kind of face that made men reach into the deep recesses of their mind for a pick up line that was not written jokingly for an early 2000s website compilation of bad pick up lines.

For Frank, her pretty face was just a bonus, as he was stirred by her spirit and barbecue sauce which was #1 absolute prizewinner material, and the fact that he was commissioned by the spirit of the townfolk of Polesbumpkitkisstown to help her out, as she had never won the barbecue sauce competition before in her 5 years of competition due to the nefarious politicking and backdoor politics of the county formerly known ad Polesbumpkitkisscounty, now known Pharmdarkistcorp, LLC.

It all started to go wrong those many many years (four) ago, which is a suitable way to start a flashback, back in the distant 2011, when the local ordinance of echoing Citizens United, BarbeCuerporations United went into effect, and dictated that corporations were Grilling Sauce Judges too, along with most other grilling, barbecuing, and for some reason industrial fencing.

Just her luck that it was in 2011 that her pappy finally passed on the grill sauce competition duties to her, when all of these cards fell on the table. Lead cards, also comprised of a proprietary amalgamation of tears, sadness, and corruption.

Since then, it was a tank rolled rogues parade of travesties of justice, the most memorable one being what was known as the Exxon Mobil Oil Spill Disaster of BBQ Grill Sauce Judging history, when local oil tycoon’s nephew Chester P. Douglasrailroad won in 2013 because the taste and quality of his sauce most closely mimicked the secret annual theme of “oil,” in both taste and quality.

That and the fact that he just brought along one blue barrel of Texas Crude his uncle had given him, for the purpose of sharing not only it’s ability to drive the petrochemical industrial complex, but also its alternative uses, including hair styling, hiding the bodies of corporate spies, and yes, barbecue sauce.

Frank was but a simple man, an American man, who also happened to be extraordinarily gifted in physical health, keen intellect, and a clear deep brutal self introspection of his position in world as well as having a pretty good grasp of his own privilege and what to do with it, but always knew there was room for improvement. And he would put all of himself against that machine of cronyism, including his perfect abs, steel pipe like arms and legs, and extremely dense skeletal structure as leverage to help Taeryn Yewanewon get to her rightful place as #1 prizewinner.


Monday, August 17, 2015

Frank Dieselwang in.... So Sous Me! Part 1

It wasn’t often that Frank found himself pressed into service, working his sausage under the strict instructions of a powerfully determined Southern woman, but since he was very much in touch with social justice and a feminist he did not mind taking these orders, and she was the boss today.

“Ohhh yeah, just like that, get it nice and slick, gee howdy whillikers,” growled Taeyrn Yewanewon as Frank ran his hands over his long thick Kielbasa. 

Frank labored in front of Tara, precisely running his hands over the engorged meat of his personal Kielbasa, the meat almost pulsing underneath the skin. 

With his left hand securely holding it erect, and an expert flick and swish of his right wrist, he basted his sausage with a generous coating of lubricating sauce before holding it to Taeryn’s mouth with pride and perhaps a bit of trepidation.

Taeryn opened her mouth  with the shape of a circle, which is an O, gasping at the size of it, and took it into her mouth, moaning at the taste briefly, before biting into it with a crisp snap.

“Not a bad Kielbasa, golly Jim brick wallies, but I think you stuffed your Kielbasa a bit too generously, we’re gonna need a better balanced piece of encased meat if you’re gonna be my sous in the Big Jim Bob Joey’s Mega Meat Mountain Competition.”

Taken by Steven Depolo, borrowed under creative commons license.

Wednesday, August 12, 2015

Frank Dieselwang vs. Dr. Knotty - Part 3 - ALL NSFW Climax!

rope swing by Nate Steiner
Warning! This is entirely NSFW, and perhaps my third time ever writing erotica for a larger viewing audience!

Click here if you accept and want to read!

Thanks for visiting and stay tuned for the rest of the adventures of THE CHRONICLES OF FRANK DIESELWANG!

Monday, August 10, 2015

Frank Dieselwang vs. Dr. Knotty - Part 2!

Regina looked at the Bondageagogo with some debatably plot driven but very understandable trepidation in slight quantities, not because she was a woman showing vulnerability to appeal to the audience but because it was a freaking ten-foot-tall self-propelled rope monster. Then she remembered she had just rescued the most manly of men, who put the “men” in specimen, Frank Dieselwang, and gave him that cool nod people can do with their chins. “You got this?” her chin seemed to imply?

Frank nodded in a manly way, as though to say, “Yeah I totally got this,” in a non-verbal reply, as evidenced by the manliness of his slightly cleft chin that was indicative of manliness based on the author's experience with American media. With great derring-do and a clever plot twist, Frank Dieselwang curled his arm like something curly and straightened it, delivering a punch into the rope monster, propelling the rope monster into Dr. Knotty, which neatly TIED UP the story, demonstrating the author’s complete willingness to pick the lowest of low hanging fruit.

Unconscious, the rope monster reflexively tied itself up around Dr. Knotty’s prone form, which would tie up any plotholes of Dr. Knotty waking up and ruining the rest of this story.

NSFW WARNING: SEXUAL THEMES AHEAD, by clicking you accept that you are of the right mind and maturity to see my attempt at writing sexual themes.

 Click here if you accept the warning!

Wednesday, August 5, 2015

Frank Dieselwang Vs. Dr. Knotty - Part 1

Source: Tied up in Knots by Mary Anne Enriquez
Frank Dieselwang’s 18-pack glistened with sweat due the sweat causing weather in the hot heat of the sun. He was fit, to be tied. Because he was fit, and tied. His scrumptious form of man meat was most peculiarly specimentastic because he could not be constrained, yet there is a certain convoluted conflict presented in this story because he was in fact constrained, because of the bonds tied around that hot, muscular body of his.

The other parts of his body glistened as well, for the sake of consistency.

“You’ll never get away with this, Doctor Naughty!” said Frank Dieselwang to his captor.

“It’s Dr. Knotty, you fool!” screeched Dr. Knotty, who somehow was able to tell that Frank was punning his name with a homophone of his chosen nomenclature.

Dr. Knotty whipped his whip in a whip-like manner, menacing Frank Dieselwang with it. “You are going to get it in an extremely convoluted manner. Dr. Knotty paused for dramatic effect, because that is important for pacing. “And by ‘it,’ I mean death.” Dr. Knotty cackled with glee and whipped his whip some more for emphasis, with possibly phallic connotations depending on who is critiquing this piece of fiction, and how much research they have done on the author’s life, if they are trying to do it from a New Critical or historical frame of mind.

Frank flexed his pectorals, abs, triceps, quadriceps, and quinticeps in a sudden rage and explosive display of power because the author felt the need to move the plot along.
Causing the bonds to snap! Exclamation points for empha!s!s!!!


Wait no, that’s a bit too sudden. They almost snapped, but just barely didn’t snap because of the need for dramatic pause and suspense, as well as the author realizing there was a trope to be overturned here.

With a strong and womanly cry, Regina Fortisovum, burst through the window that is inexplicably not reinforced given Dr. Knotty’s usual overpreparation and penchant for security, and yelled. “Did someone ask for a rescue that is for once not a damsel in distress? Seriously, that gets old, dudes.”

With that she threw with expert precision a razor sharp makeup compact (that betrayed the author’s poorly thought out attempt to be inclusive and show women can be strong but still relied on female oriented knickknacks and imagery) into the last few threads of rope that barely contained Frank’s condition of being tied up.

Suddenly freed from their confinement, Frank’s hard nipples announced their presence with a hard thumbs up, which is a metaphor for how hard his nipples were in that they were erect, kind of like thumbs.

His pectorals started to sway up and down for really no reason other than the titillation of the reader if the reader is into that sort of things, and then he flexed, the cuts of his muscles and abdominals which were so defined they could apply for an unpaid internship at the Oxford English Dictionary factory.

Suddenly beset by the two heroes, Dr. Knotty unleashed the Bondageagogo, his rope golem!

Bondageagogo, which has no relationship to and is definitely not a direct reference to the show that takes place at the Kat Club in San Francisco on Wednesdays (that’s 1190 Folsom if you were curious), stirred himself to attention, the many ropes that comprised its appendages that totally obeyed the laws of physics and basic engineering principles advanced upon Frank Dieselwang and Regina in what would surely lead to a pitched battle that the heroes would only barely overcome through derring-do and a clever plot twist….