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**Vincent Lane** · (05-29-2016)

“Run Number Forty-One! Run!”

Don’t need to tell me twice, dude. My little dream-squirrel legs were pumping faster than Sebastian Duke on a Thai ladyboy’s anus. Problem wasn’t m, though. Wasn’t even the gigantic scrotum of a man stumbling through the pristine forest like a drunken golem trying to find his way back to the drunken golem circle jerk. No, it was the way the ground was slipping under my feet like a carpet on a newly waxed hardwood floor. It was like trying to make progress running a marathon while standing on a treadmill on Usain Bolt setting.

I scratched and clawed and ran until my little squirrel heart felt like it was gonna pop in my chest and leak out my asshole. I had to think of something quick or I was just going to end up as another in a long, long line of Robbie Bourbon tiny animal fleshlights. Couldn’t happen.

That’s when I noticed all the other squirrels jumping off of a cliff nearby like lemmings. This is what it’s gonna come down to, dude? I can take it up the ass like a good Bourbon Boy, or I could put an end to all my suffering and just chuck myself from the brink? I was worried, though… if you die in a dream you die for real, right? Isn’t that Freudian or some shit? Well fuck that, dude, sometimes a cigar’s just a cigar, and if I had to clench my tiny woodland bunghole up tighter than a seven year old girl right before her first Subway commercial then that’s what I was gonna do. I’m not enough of a pussy to kill myself. Suicide is boring, and Loverboy ain’t boring.

So, real quick, I start slamming my orifice open and shut with some lightning quick kegels. After a few minutes of guillotining my anus it was sharp enough to cut the ends off of cigars with. Not a chance that big nutsack was gonna dip his wick in there unless he wasted to come put missing more foreskin than burglarized rabbi.

I was out of time though. This was it. The big bastard was close enough that his footfalls were shaking coconuts out of the trees. I could see the burst blood vessels in his nose, the jaundice of his sclera, the ashy scabs on his knees… hey, even in dreams I guess Robbie has to get on all fours and take it like a squirrel from time to time… his gouty ankles were punching holes in the ground faster and faster. I was out of time.

That’s when I saw it, dude.

Over the edge of that cliff where the squirrels all dove in waves… a reverse cascade of them, rising up riding the air like salmon up a waterfall.
Those little fuckers were flying squirrels and they just didn’t tell me.

So, I redoubled my effort to run. I headed sideways once the ground began to slip under me again, and it worked! Going diagonal worked even better, and soon I’d cut a crisscross pattern of patchwork panic across the little clearing I was in. I made it to the ledge of the cliff just as the last of the others was coasting on a gust of air up into the heavens in front of me.

I took a deep breath.

I dove.

The air was cold and getting colder on my face. Whipping upwards past me at incalculable speed. I kept falling and falling and falling… I couldn’t see the ground below me, but I could hear the rush of water getting closer. Waves breaking on rocks. Foam churning between beats of multidirectional waves.

I fell for hours. Years. Then I closed my eyes and spread my arms… and nothing happened.

I was still at the top of the cliff. I was dangling from the edge, my puffy dream tail stuck firmly under the big toe that would almost certainly someday become the first casualty of Big Man Bourbon’s losing battle against sugar levels. For now though, it was pinning me down to earth, letting me swing in the breeze by about three inches of meat. For a moment I felt like Robbie’s own penis, just missing the shame-tears and the sound of women’s laughter.

Then he plucked me up between two leviathan fingers and lifted me to his nostrils, ass-first.

“Mmmmm. You smell fresh as a daisy. Time to pump that squirrel rectum up with some 75 proof Bourbon Sauce!”

I tried to scream. I tried to run. I tried everything, but there was nothing I could do. Soon my face was pressed into the soft dirt and my little squirrel legs were spread out akimbo. I felt hot breath that smelled vaguely like Four Loko on my neck. I clenched and kegeled as hard as I knew how against the firmness pressing against my puckered out door… but then… but then…

…………………….

“AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHH!!!! ROBBIE’S TRYING TO FUCK ME!!!!!”

“Loverboy” Vinnie Lane shot bolt upright in the hospital bed. IV tubes jostled as he swung his arms madly around his head, his face darting left and right trying to find either help or his phantom assailant.

“Oh! Doctor, Vinnie’s awake!”

Roxy was right next to him, squeezing his hand, as always. This wasn’t the first time Loverboy had come to in a hospital gurney, and he knew it wouldn’t be the last. Luckily his beloved was beside him when he regained some focus in his eyes, and he immediately buried his face in her ample cleavage.

“Roxy… oh my god, Roxy… is Bourbon here? Did he get in?”

“Get in?”

“MY ASS, Roxy… did Bourbon get in it? Am I still a virgin? Can you get pregnant like that?”

“What are you talking about, baby? Robbie Bourbon is nowhere around here. He barely showed his face all week. In fact, rumors on the XWF website are saying he’s done. You might get to end a career!”

“Oh, great, another fat white dude who wants to quit the business after getting his ass handed to him by the megastar. BORING. Just call him ‘Darren Dangerouser.’”

“It’s for the best, baby. He went on some rambling tirade while trying to buy you a Hallmark card. He really seemed to think it was him back at our gym, not Amaretto. His flat-chested little girlfriend kept telling him things we said to Joey like we were saying it about Robbie.”

“Typical. She probably got wasted drinking his semen. Shit’s got to have an ABV of at least 20 percent.”

“Maybe… but baby, why is Robbie even allowed to wrestle? He’s a killer. He murders people in eats their brains. Can you believe that? Not even Faux Brains from the Zombie Whole Foods, either. For real, carb-filled, non-free range brains. It’s disgusting.”

“I don’t know, dude, Shane signed some weird contracts when he was running the joint. It’s no wonder we had to get those Japanese investors. If you look close enough, all the XWF profits were going towards legal defense teams. Guys like Cain, Doc D’Ville… don’t even get me started on how much it costs to keep Frodo off the sex offender registry…”

“Ew.”

“Yeah no shit. Luckily it sounds like Bourbon’s fetish for swallowing dome on the job will come off the books sooner than later. It’s too bad though, I was really hoping to see what Dim was gonna do to him. I assumed it would involve giant

fingers and a pre-dick-loosened anal fissure. Dim would probably pull his hand out and have three condoms on his fingers that he didn’t have when they went in.”

“Well well well, look who’s woken up! Got yourself a little bump to the noggin again, huh Vinnie?”

The doctor walks into the room, clipboard in hand, wearing a bright white lab coat. He gives Roxy a perfect McSteamy smile, getting a little color to rise up in the bombshell’s face.

“Hey doctor… I’m fine. Sorry about this stuff, just gimme a little scrip and I’ll be out of your hair. I’m fine, really. No blurry vision, not even a headache, really. Just got the lights put out on me for a sec.”

“That’s true, Vinnie, you don’t have a concussion or any neck damage, so you’re mostly fine.”

“See, told you! Wait, what do you mean mostly?”

“Well Vinnie… did Roxy tell you why you have those rubber pants on?”

“Huh? Rubber pants? Wait, whoa, hold on…”

Loverboy pops out of the bed and lifts his hospital gown. Just like the doctor said, there are a pair of yellowish rubber underpants on him, like the kind you’d use to toilet train a baby.

“What’s this shit, dude?”

“Exactly. Roxy?”

The blonde twists her fingers in her hair nervously, unable to look Loverboy in the eye as he turns to her looking for an answer.

“Um…”

“What is it baby? Come on, it’s me… you can tell me anything.”

Roxy still looks uncomfortable, but the doctor is getting impatient and Loverboy is staring at her expectantly.

“Vinnie… after you got knocked out… well… ugh…”

“Yeah? What, come on, dude, why am I wearing rubber panties?”

“Because you shat yourself.”

At the doorway, still wearing his ballerina outfit but carrying a vase of flowers in one hand and a plethora of colorful balloons in the other, stands Joey Amaretto. His boisterous voice booms the embarrassing revelation up and down the hospital hallway, and several people passing by stop and look in at Loverboy and company.

“What the fuck?!!”

“Not a little bit either, bro. That shit went everywhere. I’ve never seen a shit like that before. It was like the fondue fountain at Golden Corral. Only, like I said, shit.”

“No, no way dude…”

“It was a lot…”

“This is impossible. I have a seal that could keep my rectum contained in zero G conditions. Other than about halfway to one of Roxy’s knuckles, NOTHING has ever stretched my butthole. I’ve never lost contain before. Explain it doc. Did I get drugged? Was I abducted by aliens?”

“You have C. Diff.”

“WHAT!?!?!!?”

“It stands for Clostridium…”

“I KNOW WHAT THE FUCK IT STANDS FOR. Everyone in XWF knows what C. Diff is. We pick on Ghost Tank for it all the time just because. He even went and got a bunch of tests done to prove he doesn’t have it and we still won’t let it go. It’s awesome. There’s no way I have that dude, your test is wrong. Try it again.”

“We tested it three times. There was… a LARGE sample available once you got here.”

“I can’t have C. Diff! I have a match with Robbie! If he hits me in the guts and I spray bacterial feces all over the place I’ll get disqualified! Plus my tights are custom made, dude, those things are over five grand a pair! How did I get this, dude? What the fuck?”

“Well, have you taken any antibiotics recently?”

“No.”

“Come into any direct contact with human feces?”

Loverboy’s face droops and his eyes glaze over. Somewhere in the inner recesses of his mind, he recalls the match with Peter Gilmour from a few weeks back, and the amount of human shit he had to claw around in.

“God damn it.”

“Sounds like we have an answer. Hey, Roxy, I really wanted to thank you for the panties. Here, I brought them back for you.”

Amaretto hands Roxy the underwear, clumped into a ball. They seem to glisten.

“Gross! Vinnie, my panties are all sticky now!”

“Nothing new there babe.”

“Put them on… PLEASE put them on…”

“I’m getting the fuck out of here. Vinnie?”

“Yeah, yeah… me too. Joey, thank for the stuff. You’re awful, though. Text me your Google Wallet info and I’ll give you that forty bucks. Doc, I’m outtie. I need to find out whose shit was used in that match. They’re gonna get it.”

With that, Loverboy rushes out of the room, clutching his gown closed behind him as others in the hallway snap pictures of him with their cell phones.

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