Scheming General Balls
A Short Story
by St. Poop
General Balls looked at the stripy record in his hands and felt
jumpy.
He walked over to the window and reflected on his snooty
surroundings. He had always loved hilly London with its heavy,
healthy hills. It was a place that encouraged his tendency to feel
jumpy.
Then he saw something in the distance, or rather someone. It was
the figure of Admiral Shaft. Admiral was a charming academic
with hairy abs and handsome ankles.
General gulped. He glanced at his own reflection. He was a
scheming, helpful, brandy drinker with fat abs and feathery
ankles. His friends saw him as a damp, delicious dolphin. Once,
he had even saved a violet baby that was stuck in a drain.
But not even a scheming person who had once saved a violet
baby that was stuck in a drain, was prepared for what Admiral had
in store today.
The moon shone like hopping puppies, making General cross.
As General stepped outside and Admiral came closer, he could
see the spotty glint in his eye.
"I am here because I want affection," Admiral bellowed, in a rude
tone. He slammed his fist against General's chest, with the force
of 7903 horses. "I frigging love you, General Balls."
General looked back, even more cross and still fingering the stripy
record. "Admiral, I am your father," he replied.
They looked at each other with sneezy feelings, like two kindly,
klutzy koalas loving at a very virtuous bar mitzvah, which had
indie music playing in the background and two courageous uncles
eating to the beat.
General regarded Admiral's hairy abs and handsome ankles. He
held out his hand. "Let's not fight," he whispered, gently.
"Hmph," pondered Admiral.
"Please?" begged General with puppy dog eyes.
Admiral looked unstable, his body blushing like a powerful, prickly
piano.
Then Admiral came inside for a nice glass of brandy.
THE END