Fid Big Fat Fanny Fast–Chapter One

Mock Duck surveyed the task at hand. And it was a huge task indeed. Mock Duck, all five-foot one inch, and 120 pounds of him, was next in line to be the Mayor Of Chinatown in New York City. But his boss Hung Far Low presently held that position, and was not likely to die soon, unless somebody caused him him die. And that’s where Big Fat Fanny would come in handy.
Word had reached Mock Duck that Big Fat Fanny, in addition to whacking people for Tony B, sometimes did freelance work on the side. So Muck Duk had now put himself in the position to pay Big Fat Fanny in advance, in inches, — five inches to be exact, for work to be done later, that he would then pay her for in cold hard cash. That is, if he could persuade all six-foot, six- inches and 660 pounds of her, to take the job.
As fate would have it, Mock Duck was now prone on top of Big Fat Fanny, in her Mulberry Street apartment, trying to figure out how, in the Great Wall of China’s name, he was going to penetrate her, when her entryway was hidden by over six hundred pounds of ripe, rolling blubber.
Mock Duck aimed his manhood towards where he estimated Big Fat Fanny’s prize would be, and thrust inward.
Nothing. It was like pounding his pud into a huge marshmallow.
Mock Duck plunged forward again. Still with no success.
After about a half dozen futile attempts, Mock Duck felt he slipped into something.
“Am I in?” he said.
Big Fat Fanny blew a huge pink bubblegum bubble, popped it, then rolled her gorgeous green eyes. “No, you’re not in. Move over two inches to the left.”
Mock Duck slithered over to the left and made another stab at it.
Big Fat Fanny blew and popped another bubble. “No, you moron. My left. Not your left.”
Mock Duck slithered a few inches the other way and jabbed again. “Am I in now?”
She rolled her eyes. “Get off me. I have an idea.”
Like he was sliding down a ski jump, Mock Duck slipped off Big Fat Fanny and steadied himself on shaky legs.
Big Fat Fanny rolled herself off the side of the bed. She stood tall and very wide.
With her bleached-blond, beehive hairdo piled high on her head, Big Fat Fanny looked like a cartoon character on steroids. To put things in perspective, one of her giant breasts was approximately the size of Mock Duck’s chest. Expanded.
Big Fat Fanny blew, then popped another bubble. “Now do what I say and we’ll get the show on the road.”
“Anything for you, doll,” Mock Duck said.
Big Fat Fanny pointed a fat forefinger at the bed.
“Lie down on your back,” she said
Mock Duck stared at the bed like it was filled with hot coals. “You want me to lie down on my back?”
Big Fat Fanny rolled her sweet eyes and smiled. “That’s right hon. Do what I say and I’ll take you right up to heaven.”
Mock Duk gulped. “Ok. But how about a couple of stops along the way.”
“Just do what I say,” she said
Mock Duck positioned his back onto the bed, like he was laying into his coffin. “I’m so ready. What’s the plan?”
“Leave it to me,” Big Fat Fanny said.
Mock Duck squirmed. “What choice do I have?”
She smiled brightly. “None. Now close your eyes.”
Mock Duck felt his heart beat faster. “Close my eyes?”
“Yes, Dearie,” she said, blowing and popping another bubble. “Close them tight. I’ll tell you when to open them.”
Mock Duck closed his eyes, praying it was not the last time he would be able do so.
Big Fat Fanny backed off the bed, one slow step at a time, until her rear end touched the far wall.
Then like a sprinter pushing off the blocks, she surged forward, then jumped.
Mock Duck’s eyes opened an instant before Big Fat Fanny belly-flopped right onto his chest, pancaking him tight into the box spring and effing mattress.
Big Fat Fanny heard bones cracking. Then a faint whistle emanated from Mock Duck’s lips, like air escaping from a punctured balloon.
His eyes rolled in his head. Then stopped, staring straight up at Big Fat Fanny.
Big Fat Fanny, blew a bubble, popped it, then put her ear to Mock Duck’s heart. She heard a faint beat.
The Chinaman bastard was still alive.
Smoke coming from her ears like an angry bull, Big Fat Fanny rushed back to the wall. She pushed off with her right hand, sprang forward and pounced on Mock Duck’s chest again. Blood spilled from his mouth and nose and he made a gurgling sound like he was drowning.
Face to face with her flattened foe, Big Fat Fanny pushed down hard with all her 660 pound might, grabbing both sides of the bed for additional leverage.
More bones cracked. Mock Duck’s face turned white and blood oozed from his ears.
Big Fat Fanny pushed down harder and screamed, “Die, you Chinaman bastard!”
Mock Duck’s tired eyes implored. Then realizing mercy was not forthcoming, Mock Duck summoned his last bit of strength and spit a wad of blood into Big Fat Fanny’s face.
She screamed like a hyena, then wiped the blood from her face. “That’s it! Now you made me mad.”
She rolled off the side of the bed, turned her back on Mock Duck and slowly paced a few feet away. More angry than the last time someone else got the last meatball on the dinning room table, she put herself in slow reverse and when her back reached the bed, she flopped backwards, not on Mock Duck’s chest, but in a sitting position onto his face.
Mock Duck’s nose was now tucked tightly into the crack of Big Fat Fanny’s butt, which was not a pretty sight, especially from Mock Duck’s point of view.
Big Fat Fanny rocked slowly back and forth, blowing and popping bubble after bubble.
Sensing the kill was near, she pushed her rear end down with all her mammoth strength, on Mock Duck’s face.
Almost bored, Big Fat Fanny stared at the clock on the wall. She inhaled and blew a huge bubble, then waited until the second hand circled the clock twice.
Figuring the deed was now done, she burst the bubble, which was now the size of her head, and slowly extracted her rear end off Mock Duck’s face.
To say Mock Duck had a shit-eating grin on his face was not far from the truth. But the simple fact was, Mock Duck was indeed now dead.
Big Fat Fanny picked up the phone and dialed her friendly neighborhood carting company. The two men who showed up were the size of National Football League interior lineman.
After greasing their palms with a few thousand scarolas, the two men carted Mock Duck over to the local morgue.
The wet one in the East River.
All in all, it was just another day at the office for Big Fat Fanny.


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