Chapter 1: Error 404 – Dead cows
A dead cow lies in the middle of the road, dead…
About the cow (which is dead), is the skeleton of demolished VW beetle, the smouldering remains of which form a perfect ring around the cow. The Nazi wagon smoulders, like upward tears, as a woman cries her downward tears next to the dead cow.
“Why!?” she cries before suddenly feeling self-conscious and aroused at the same time, having been thrust into existence as well as consciousness, in the first chapter of a light, yet paradodick porno novella. The woman cries, at the futility of her existence which she just realized will come to a sharp and unexpected conclusion at some point over the next few days and most certainly in the middle of intercourse. She also cries because she likes cows.
Can-D, was born in the town of Havens’ville as the youngest of twelve girls. While her sisters went on to become major CEOs and high-end, empowered, overpaid bureaucrats, Can-D chose a more humble lifestyle, taking over the stripper farm which had been in her family for generations. Times, however, were hard, and they were only going to get harder. Haven’sville had seen season after season of thick rainfall, commonly known as a reverse drought to such stripper farmers. Yes, the reverse drought had lasted nearly three years, and the strippers had become overweight with intense nourishment. It really was a sad sight, strippers running fully clothed across the great plains only to die from over-heating a few miles away. You couldn’t even husk the bikini corns anymore. The farm had hit rock bottom.
Can-D lay crying next to the dead cow (yes, lay) spooning its corpse. The act is a result of the overwhelming sense of impending nothingness as she knows she will be ripped back into the dark void from which she had been taken only a few moments earlier. The act reminds her of her first love… Ronald. He used to like being the little spoon because he was insecure with his masculinity; which is one-hundred percent the reason she broke it off with him. She never knew how love worked, and especially not love between an Irish Cyborg like herself, and a full-bodied American human with three testicles like Ronald. For she had secrets which even he could never penetrate, secrets so deep within her sphincter that no coffee-filled enema pipe could reach.
She begins rubs her face in the cows grey matter, hoping this will shield her from God, but it is futile, for God isn’t only everywhere but in everything, he is up to his elbow deep inside of you, deep throating your soul. The cow’s warm brains remind her of that slender braincase of her android lover, Emilio, the Greek/Italian Billionaire Playboy Prince, whose settings start at sexy. She remembers the days and nights and days again that she was thrown into his hot throngs, which were both hot and throngy. Though she knew it could not last, for he had to leave, soon after sexing half the population of Havensville’, to his private sex-ship, Calapso, which is also on the moon.
She also had secrets which he would never know, because he never took the time to know her. To him, she was just number three-thousand one-hundred and forty-one; the woman who short-circuited his pleasure core, but not his heart. After that, he was forced to give up his goal of sexing the other half, deciding instead to shoot himself into space, where he definitely currently is.
She was about to rube her genitals against its leg, but the cow shook her off, kicking her in her clitoris, before standing upright and breaking the circle made by her Nazi Wagon, walking back across the road.
Can-D was still crying, this time because she was kicked in the clit. She had read enough light paradodick porno novellas to know that the cow had to die in the beginning in order for the story to progress. It was a plot hole which needed to be filled before plot holes could be filled. She picked up the twisted VW logo, which had now bent into the form of a swastika, and began beating it into the cows head, carving, with her strong, cyborg-farmer forearms, chunks of flesh from the cow. She dropped the swastika as the cow bent to its knees, raising the smouldering drive shaft into the air and finishing the cow off, thrust it through his head.
Can-D breathed a sigh of relief before falling to her knees to cry again. She remembered that she still liked cows, and, if anything, she had only brought about the end of the novella sooner by complying with its plot. On the other hand, however, she could not have lived with herself knowing that a zombie cow was running loose in her town, though she was certain it would have fixed her problems, raising from their shallow and unmarked graves, those strippers which were taken by the reverse drought.
The cow mooed, a half demonic, half fascist moo, now infected with a cursed Nazi object and undead. Can-D sighed, now unsure that she was in fact in a light paradodick porno novella. She unbuttoned her shirt, letting burst two ripe, juicy, watermelons of cleavage, girdled in neat overhangs of revealing undergarments, accompanied by lazy, overused and vague adjectives.
She sighed, realising she could not get away from the genre, and, taking a gun from her purse, turned the cow a third American.
This was not her day.
Source: reddit.com/r/Erotica/comments/uz1d04/qt314_by_by_danny_grinder_enjoy_this_paradoxical