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.
This is a world where a person could dress up like a sexy umbrella if they wanted to, and wanted to she did because she is a strong powerful woman without any other justification than the author saying it is so, completely oblivious to his inability to relate to real women. But at least he isn't writing about manic pixie dream girls (though you might wish he had by the time you were done with this book).
That aside, her hair was done up in a perfectly coiffed poodle princess curls, and her makeup was perfectly applied in such a way that made her two luminous eyes, one purple, and one yellow, and one gray, stood out and bore into his soul.
She knew he was dumbfounded because he was a dense stupid man, but she wanted him, so she announced herself to him again.
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. But that didn’t last long since the author realized that this character wasn’t appealing to the audience and a pack of wild wolves charged into the bar, but not one of those hipster bars, but like, a really manly bar, where his kind wasn’t typically seen.
I digress, the wolves tore into him and whisked away his corpse into the collective forgetfulness of suspended disbelief, only remembered in the very niche fanfiction of this eventually completed piece.
Sudden pan shot dramatically to the other side of the room!
Through the saloon style double doors which 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 your 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! Barechested 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. 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.