Never Fuck With Frenchie

I wake up feeling cold. Really, really fucking cold. I’m more confused than anything else, but it’s not long until I’m fucking terrified. Where the fuck am I and how did I get here? Oh shit, my head hurts. What in the dogshit fuck is going on? I try to move but I can’t. Why the goddamn–oh shit, I’m tied down. Fuck, it’s bright! What the fuck is going on here?! I’m frantic by now–trying to break out of whatever is keeping my naked body tied, face-up on this table. It feels like a stainless-steel operating table or something–I don’t know. I’m just fucking cold and I have no idea where I am. I can’t hear anything but the flourescent buzz of the light right above my face. It smells sickeningly sterile in here. I don’t know what that means for me, but I do know that I didn’t know I was going to be here. I don’t want to be here. More than anything, I don’t want to be here. Oh God, am I going to die? Did I just get kidnapped?
“Haha, quit squirming. It’s not going to help you.”
My eyes are wide open now and I’m not moving a muscle. He’s right above me now, but the light is too bright for me to see him. His laughter just serves to terrify me further. I’ve been beaten, kidnapped, and tied down by a madman.
“You know, the fear you’re feeling right now–it’s funny to watch. You just can’t appreciate it because you’re the one tied down. If you could just see the look on your face. Haha, hold on. Let me get a camera. I’ll show you.”
He leaves for a moment and I am more desperate than ever to get up, but no matter how hard I try, I can’t break free. It’s not long until he’s back.
“I’m back! Did you miss me? Well, I suppose not. Haha, I’ll bet it’s just the opposite. Remember what I said about the look on your face and the fear and all that? I really want you to see your face. It’s the funniest goddamn thing I’ve seen in months. Haha, I have an idea!”
There’s a short pause, then “You better keep me laughing, because as soon as I lose interest, I’m going to cut a gash in your abdomen deep enough for you to smell your own shit.”
I make some distorted expression I’ve never made before and a flash of light blinds me for a couple seconds. When I can see again, there is a polaroid picture of my own terrified face right above me. I can’t see it very well because it’s in the way of the light above me and there is no light below me, but it gives me a second to see my murderer.
“You know, pissing yourself wasn’t very nice. It’s just more for me to clean up.” Then, he bursts out laughing. Hard. I’m the funniest thing Frenchie has ever seen.
In between bouts of giggling, “Matt, you knew this was going to happen someday. I mean, you can only push a person so far until they…well, kidnap and murder you! Haha!”
I know I’m fucked anyway, so I spit on his face. Frenchie doesn’t laugh.
I feel a pain I’m not used to. Something has gone through my hand, but I can’t even figure out how big it is. My reflexes force me to yelp and pull away, but pulling away only rips it through my hand.
Frenchie laughs his goddamn head off.
Bleeding and resigned to my fate, I finally open my mouth: ”Seth, I never meant–”
“SETH?! HAHA, It’s SETH now?! No, please. Call me Frenchie.”
“Seth, I–” Frenchie breaks my toe. I scream. “What the FUCK do you want from me, Frenchie?!”
“Haha, I want a title shot. I’ve only ever wanted a title shot. And I want it to be fair. I don’t want any goddamn guest referees. But most importantly, I want you to keep your fucking mouth shut before the match. No trash talking me and saying I get fucked my men or anything. If you say one goddamn thing, I will cut your slippery little tongue out. Hahaha!”
“Are you fucking serious!? You kidnapped me because you want a fucking title shot? You fucking piece of shit! Fine! You’ve got your shot. But on one condition.”
“Hahaha, who the fuck are you to be making conditions right now? But go ahead. I’m curious now. Be still, my fucking heart. Hahaha.”
“Fuck you. My condition is that, if I retain my title, you eat an entire ziplock bag full of my shit while I fuck your mom right in front of you.”
“Hahahaha, you know, I really didn’t think you’d pull out the ‘Frenchie’s mom’ thing in this position, but I’m proud of you. I was going to cut a hole in your throat and fuck it until I came into your lungs, but that little bit or courage went a long way. Hahaha, I’ll see you at summerslam!”
That’s the last thing I remember until I wake up in my bed. My hand is bandaged and I can feel a splint on my toe.
Before I get up to start training, I mutter to myself, “Frenchie is going to get the MATTer of Fact so hard, he’s going to sneeze testicles.”

Frenchie-Charmed Life

Doo doo doo doo doo doo doo…
“Im hard and Im ready. Im horny.”
My urine is golden and he lives for pee
Says he lives for
“Menstruation–the best motivation”
He comes round and he goes down on me.
And I make a turd
Like a baby would do
Do ever what you want to do
Cum like cumming’s new.
Keep on munching on my poo
One dump is all that I provide you
And I speak to you like your sex is the worst.
Fucked a little boy, then you put him in a hearse.
Came like in a porno, jerkin’ with rage.
Dead little boy could not yell rape
I want something else
To get me through this
Frenchie-charmed kind of life baby baby
“I want something else”
Im not listening when you say
“Let’s try…”
Doo doo doo doo doo doo doo…
The piss was gold, it stung my nose
He was taking sips of it but said it was too cold
And he wished he could get back there
Some place back there
Fondling little boys that he would rape
Doing crystal meth,

Hoping the viagra would take.
“It wont stop, It wont go down, my little cock!
With a big cock rhythm and a smile for the cops
And then he fucked up
He took the hit that he was given
It was viagra again
It was viagra again he said
“Ow I sprained back there, dude.
I got too hard and fell asleep inside dudes.
How do I get myself back to
The boys in my bed?”
I want something else
To get me through this
Frenchie-charmed kind of life baby baby
“I want something else”
Im not listening when you say
“Let’s try…”

“I believe in the cum beneath my nose
The bitch gives a feeling a sexy feeling
I believe in the dick that grows
And a ten inch dick can make me cry
When Im with you I feel like creampie.
Would that be alright? Alright!”

When the sprain came on,
He said he was flashing
His velvety nips in the city, then slipped
On the urge to feel a guy but now he’s “struggling to survive”
“Those days you were wearing that velvet dress–
You’re the priestess. I must confess
Those little red panties they passed the test
But it would be cooler
If you were a priest for this fuckfest.”

“Son, could you hold me? And we’ll start fuckin’
C’mon, it’s all that I want to do. Just a little, now!
Feel myself–as hard as your shit’s brown.
Be scared ’cause I am cumming in mounds
And you better run for your life
Cause I’m going to be cumming for a while
Because your butt is so tight, all right?”

I want something else
To get me through this life baby
“I want something else”
Not listening when you say
“Let’s try…”
“Let’s try…”
“Let’s try…”
“…more guys!”
Doo doo doo doo doo doo doo…
The piss was gold, it stung my nose
He was taking sips of it but said it was too cold
And he wished he could get back there
Some place back there in the place he would fuck guys.
Doo doo doo doo doo doo doo…
“I want something else”

That Time Frenchie Sued Us All

I remember a time a few years back when Frenchie actually got so pissed about us writing about him that he actually took legal action against us. He claimed that we were ruining his reputation and good name within the gay community by writing so many loving things about him. His main complaint was that he didn’t like being romantically associated, even in fiction, with such “low quality man meat.” He’d use any excuse to cover for just not being a hot gay man.

It was actually pretty scary for us. I remember Tony even trying to blame it all on Zach just to get out of trouble. They hate each other to this day. A few years ago, Tony had his first child and he made this whole big thing out of Zach eating his baby Katietedrick Lockard, but to be fair, Tony really was being kind of a dick when he blamed all the writing on Zach.

It all worked out in the end, though. The judge in the case determined that we couldn’t actually ruin the repuatation of someone without a good one to begin with. Judge Judy went on to tell him that he looked like a “complete faggot” and her baliff nodded with a very ethnic grunt.

Now, we just write intentionally dematory things about Frenchie because of double-jeapordy laws.

P.S. Frenchie is a big ol’ poop butt.

God, I hate women. Women and Matt.

Okay, so it’s me again bois. Let me just start out by saying I really hate Matt Mills. Like, I know we’ve been over this again and again, but that motherfucker is really REALLY pissing me off. Do you know what he did today? He made a fake myspace bulletin from a fake Frenchie myspace. What the fuck Matt? Do you think you’re clever because you write about me being gay and cuddling with Zach in college? It’s not like it even happened that often. Jesus! And I only slipped my finger in his butt when he was SLEEPING so he wouldn’t notice. No harm, no foul.

Anyway, the main reason I’m writing this is that I want to officially state my hatred for women. I’m not saying I’m gay now or anything. I’m just really tired of my mom sleeping around with my “friends” and always bossing me around like I’m a little kid. I’LL PUT AWAY MY DINOSAURS WHEN I’M GOOD AND READY, YOU TWAT! UGH!

Wall-E was good. I went and saw it with my dad. I did the whole penis-in-the-popcorn thing, but he wasn’t hungry and all I got for my trouble was a buttery weiner and bad-tasting popcorn. I’ll trick you into touching me again someday, dad. Just you wait. Maybe I’ll be like “April Fool’s! My dick is in your mouth!” when you wake up next April. Hmm. That’s not very subtle though.

Anyway, I heard Matt Mills is single now, which means Arielle is single now, which means I can hurt Matt. All I have to do is woo Arielle with my machismo. I’ve been doing crunches like woah for the past two days and I just bought the newest Richard Simmons “Sweatin’ to the Oldies” video. A couple more days of this and I think I’ve got a shot. Well, not really, but whatever. I’m still going to try.

Anyway, I’ve got to find a way to get in touch with Arielle, so I’m going to do some internet “research.” Bye cuties.

-S”F”W

Strange, but True French Encounters: Part 3

One time I told Frenchie about Alain Robert, the famed “Human Spiderman” (a man famous around the world for climbing tall buildings without any support cables: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Human_spiderman) and he got fucking PISSED.

“Look, I’m way more deserving of fame than that fucking guy. I totally climbed like fifty trees when I was little. Fuck that guy. From now on, call me ‘The Human Wonderwoman.’ I’m going to fucking be way more famous that that fuck. Give me like two days.”

I was kind of weirded out and all but, truth be told, I forgot about the whole thing until I turned on CNN a few days later. I don’t normally watch the news or anything—I just really wanted to see if they were going to show that news anchor guy crying about Tim Russert’s death. What I saw was way sadder.

There he was—Frenchie was actually on the news. He finally made it. However, it was kind of fucked up seeing him in golden daisy dukes, lassoing and raping mentally retarded children to “get the truth out of” them. I’ll admit, the golden tiara was stunning and the corset was expertly tailored, but the hair was all wrong and nobody was going to believe that those thighs were built for crime-fighting—nosiree.

Despite his posturing, it wasn’t long before Frenchie was taken down. Those bracelets were not bulletproof at all. In fact, I think they were tin foil. Frenchie was shot thirty-six times—all in the groin and wrists. I think the policemen were making it a point to keep him from reproducing or raping any additional retards.

Before tripping on his cape, hitting his head off of a retard’s head, and passing out, he screamed one final thought:

“I AM AN AMAZON GODDESS! YOU CAN’T DO THIS! GOD DAMN YOU ALL! AND GOD DAMN MATT MILLS MOST OF ALL! YOU BROKE MY HEAR—“ *CRACK*

Strange, but True French Encounters: Part 2

So I was at the Mountaineer the other night–you know, just hanging out with the guys, sticking to the seats, avoiding food-borne illness–the whole whatever. At some point in the conversation, Matt got the idea to go to call Frenchie. We all kind of just assumed Frenchie wouldn’t answer and Matt would leave a funny voicemail or something. Frenchie never answers his phone. Especially not at four in the morning when he’s masturbating, playing with his Ken Doll collection, or masturbating while playing with his Ken Doll collection.

Strangely enough, he picked up. Matt didn’t really know what to do. None of us did. Frenchie…doesn’t answer his phone. There was a short pause as Matt frantically put Frenchie on speakerphone. We missed the first part of Frenchie’s rant, but we did hear this much:

“…you guys. Seriously. You’re all complete fucking dickparts and I’m sick of it. I was in Wal Mart the other day and I saw Zach buying some comestibles and shit and do you know what I did? I fucking put down the panties I was looking at and fucking ran. I’m tired of the derision. I’m tired of you guys talking about how much I like dicks! I don’t even like dicks that much! I sure as hell hate mine! It’s small, hairless, and translucent!…”

Frenchie went on talking about how much he hated his own penis for another five minutes before getting back to his point.

“…and you guys never let this shit go! We were only friends in school–BARELY. I only talked to you because my online boyfriend said I needed to make some friends and keep from being such a sourpuss all the time. I never liked you! Did you know I was so upset by this whole dealio that I used to cut myself? Well, not like really hard or anything. I kind of just used my fingernails to scratch a little on my thighs, but it hurt real bad. Anyway, I’m not ashamed anymore! That’s why I wear daisy dukes! Whatever! The point is you guys are fucking dicks and fags and stuff and I don’t need any of this anymore. So you can fucking deal! I’m going to go listen to some Dashboard and masturbate!”

We haven’t heard from him since.

Strange, but True French Encounters: Part 1

I was in the line at the gas station the other day–just minding my own business, skimming the assorted candies, trying to avoid the urge to compulsively buy shit I didn’t need when Frenchie burst through the door (which is to say he slammed forward into a “pull” door, thinking it was a “push” door and stubbed his face, then pulled on the door really, really hard to still seem intimidating.).

Frenchie threw his Louis Vuitton purse down and screamed at the man behind the counter. “What the FUCK is with these gas prices, you foreign fuck?!” Frenchie is only culturally insensitive when he’s mad, which is to say Frenchie is always culturally insensitive.

The man behind the counter, sensing the escalating tension in the room that only a vegetable couldn’t sense, said “I’m sorry ma’am. I don’t set the prices. I just work here.” He said this in a completely local accent.

“Listen, Poonjob, I don’t speak Arab. And I’m not paying more than 2.99/gallon for the gas I just put in my scooter.”

“Sir, you can’t just choose your own price because you don’t like the price that’s been set.”

“Fuck that shit, you…Klingon. (Frenchie had run out of slurrs.) I have ten monopoly bucks. That’s all you’re getting. And I expect a free cowtail out of this shit. And some batteries. For, you know, emotional whatever.”

By then, the police had arrived to respond to the silent alarm the man behind the counter had pressed. (Yeah, it was fast and all. Um…there was a police cruiser right outside when he pressed it. Whatever.)

“What seems to be the problem here?” the officer asked.

Before the obviously Mexican man behind the counter could answer, Frenchie interjected his two cents:

“This brown fuck is trying to fuck me in the ass is the problem. Arrest him.”

Surprisingly, he did. And we all got free cowtails and batteries.

The moral of the story: Frenchie can be pretty persuasive when he’s being racist.

It was a Dark and Stormy Night Part 2 of 2

Seth Williamson always knew he was special. From the time he could crawl, he could make awkward sexual advances at an eighth grade level. By the time he could read, he was cybering with his first online predator. However, his talents were recreational at best and had no real foreseeable  purpose.

Until tonight.

This guild of men–this “Brotherhood of Buttstuffers” as it were, had but one purpose: to exploit and sell male children to the NAMBLA black market. They had been watching Frenchie’s progress from adolescence and nurtured his development. He was a pedophillic prodigy–a man amongst infant-touching boys. The Brotherhood needed him. They needed his talents. First, they had to gain his favor. The gay orgy was more than enough for Frenchie to love these men. And their anuses. Now, it was time to seal the deal.

——–

Frenchie had been working up a gay sweat for almost two whole minutes. Needless to say, it was a record in his anal-pounding book and he was satisfied with his progress. After another intense fifteen seconds of giving and taking cock in what could only be described as a ring of nasty, Frenchie passed out. When he came to, an elder Brotherhood of Buttstuffers scholar took him on a tour of the facilities. The walk provided a relaxing backdrop for the heavy mamma-jamma about to be laid on Frenchie.

The elder told him everything–the inner workings of the whole compound, the gay sex, where to find a good appletini on a weeknight, and–most importantly–Frenchie’s prodigal role as the future leader of the BoB. Frenchie was so excited, he got a boner. The elder was flattered, but declined intercourse in lieu of more important business. That and his hemorrhoids.

“However,” the elder said in a lisp (an impressive feat, as the word “however” has no s’s), “you must complete three tasks to prove your worthiness before we can give you the title of Head Nigga in Charge.”

Frenchie sighed his signature sigh. He had played video games before. He knew where this was going.

“Let me guess. I find something, I do some physical challenge, and I pass some stupid mental challenge,” he said. His words dripped with concentrated angst.

“Er…yeah. Sorry. I don’t make the rules. First off,” the elder lisped,” you have to find the Dildo of Ahmon-Rah. It’s in one of these three chests. The other two contain poisonous dick crabs.”

“Okay, that doesn’t sound so tough. I can do that shit blindfolded, son.”

With that, Frenchie rolled up his ruffled sleeves, did some toe-touches (He made sure his nutsack fell out of his daisy dukes and was in plain view of all present.), and closed his eyes. Frenchie could sniff out an anal sex toy across a football field. Finding this ancient dildo was no problem.

“What’s next, you old stud?” Frenchie winked.

The elder blushed coyly. “Well, that was impressive. Alright. The second task is fairly straightforward as well. You just have to physically survive ten minutes of Grey’s Anatomy.”

Frenchie reeled. “No. It can’t be done. That’s too gay even for me.”

“You must try. The fate of the BoB depends on you!”

Reluctantly, Frenchie agreed. “Alright, master. I’ll see what I can do.”

The elder led Seth to a heavily fortified part of the compound. The room he entered had walls of eight-inch-thick lead. It was a simple room–generally used to torture traitors to the Brotherhood. Frenchie was made to sit strapped to a chair facing a small television. The elder quickly left the room and told Frenchie over the intercom to just breathe. He would get through this. Soon, all that could be heard throughout the compound–even through eight-inch-thick walls–was the sound of screaming. For ten straight minutes.

Frenchie emerged, shaking and resolute. He didn’t want to talk about it–only asked for the next challenge.

“The next challenge is the hardest of the three,” the elder said in his french accent. “For this challenge, you have to convince a 12-year-old boy to send you a picture of his genitalia in under three minutes over aim. Any longer and you will be traced by Chris Hanson himself!”

Frenchie logged in as usual–screen name: Frenchie VIII, password: scottbaio6969. It was time to get to work. He found a pokemon chat and mentioned his level 50 Steelix, Dildondita. It wasn’t long before the children were like fleshy putty in his soft, feminine hands. With an “asl?” here and a “u liek mudkips?” there, the conversation quickly turned sinister.

Fenchie VIII: o u evr masturbaet b4?

tinytim2: ya liek evry nite

Fenchie VIII: cool me 2. its betta if u get sum1 else to do it 4 u. my dad does it 4 me.

tinytim2: no wai. cool.

Fenchie VIII: yaweh. i can do it 4 u if u want. mayb more. u just gotta send me a pic to make sure ur not some faker lol. lemme see ur nekkid butthoel.

tinytim2: i rly shouldnt, but u seem nice. i’m sure you won’t exploit me and sell me to gay older men or nething lol.

And with that, Frenchie had passed the third test with 30 seconds to spare.

“Incredible! I’ve never seen it done that fast!” exclaimed the elder.

“You’re dealing with a pro here.” Frenchie brushed off his shoulders in his classic limp-wristed style.

———

With that, Frenchie lived and had sex with boys for the rest of his days as the Head Nigga in Charge of the Brotherhood of Buttstuffers. It was a storybook ending. Kind of.

That is, until Chris Hansen and his Death Troopers descended upon the fortress and ruined the operation.

But that is a story for another day. Wink.

It was a dark and stormy night

It was a dark and stormy night and one Seth “Frenchie” Williamson sat alone in his chamber. It was a simple room with simple furnishings–a penis pump here, a cosmo girl there–but the centerpiece (and the station at which Sethie spent his long nights) was the computer. Frenchie spent most of his computer hours blogging in third person or masturbating to an image of himself making out with one Tony Lockard at a “We Love Frenchie: Seth’s Friends Give Back” gala of questionable legitimacy, but tonight was a night like no other. Tonight, Frenchie would embark on an adventure of Brobdingnagian proportions–one of peril, justice, and more cornhole than he could shake a dick at.

For now, however, it was time for some pre-adventure dinner.

—–

Frenchie’s mother was what you would call “bangable”–she gave most of Frenchie’s friends (except Matt, the gay one) what you would call “a huge boner.” There were times when his friends would do what some might call “fucking his mother to make him cry,” but to those in the know, it was all in good fun. For his friends at least. And his mother.

On this night, Frenchie’s mom was rustling up a mighty feast of tofu burgers and V8 juice when, like lighting, Frenchie burst through her kitchen door looking for some eats.

“Now Sethie-baby, you know mommy’s rules about running in the house,” Frenchie’s mom said. It was a tired phrase and Frenchie was tired of hearing it.

“Mom, I’m not a kid anymore!”

Sternly, “Seth. If you live under my roof, you will obey my rules. Now sit down and eat your vegan dinner–just the way you like it. I’ll get you a Flintstones vitamin if it will calm you down.”

“Fine! Just make sure you pick out an orange one. Those are my favorite.”

“Sure thing, dear. “

And with that, it was dinner as usual in the Williamson house. Until…

—–

*BAM!* Frenchie was knocked unconscious and stuffed in a burlap sack. He awoke
and had just enough time to mutter something sarcastic about having worse experiences with sacks in the past before receiving the business end of a fist right to the cocksucker followed with a knee to the groin. It was a deep, visceral pain, but Frenchie was used to this kind of abuse by his uncle. In fact, he got semi-hard just thinking about it.

Sensing that this tactic was not working in his favor, Frenchie’s attacker opted to speak to Frenchie.

“Listen here you little shit. I know what you’ve been doing on your little computer at home. I know about the underage gay porn and your gay cyberterrorist pseudonames. I know you’ve got children locked away somewhere and your government wants those children found. Now either you are going to cooperate with us or we are going to–Aw what the fu–put your dick away. Dude what the fuck are you doing? Put it away. Now. I swear to God, I’l cut it o–Dude, seriously. What the fuck? Are you…are you actually masturbating right now? Like, in front of me? I just kidnapped you and y–Dude, dont sniff me. Don’t you dare fucking sniff me. Are you fucking serious right now? I’m a federal officer and you have your nose in my–OW. You just–HE JUST BIT MY ASS.”

With that, Frenchie was knocked cold for the last time this night. When he awoke, he felt the vibration of a moving car. It reminded him to change out the batteries on his vibrator when he got home. “Little Bunny Patterson” was getting a little lackluster in the vibratory department.

“Where am I?” he asked the driver, whose face could not be seen from Frenchie’s perspective.

“You’re in a car, oh Sexi One,” an obviously male voice obliged.

“…Sexi One? Wait, am I having that dream again? Are you Ted Kennedy? Are you going to pull over and have your way with me?”

“No, master. I am but a butt slave for you to do with what you will. I rescued you from those nonbelievers and I’m taking you somewhere safe–somewhere nobody will think to look for you.”

—–

The pair arrived just after midnight at a nightclub–a straight nightclub. Frenchie felt out of place and alone, but his “butt slave,” as he called himself, insisted that it was alright. They walked around the back and entered a door to the cellar. It was a cold, dark, long walk through the antechamber of what turned out to be a huge underground lair. Frenchie wondered if his hair would handle the moisture. Upon reaching the center room, Frenchie was overjoyed to see a huge gay orgy. All were receptive to his 2 inches of rock hard man-love and they celebrated his coming (get it?) with 200 gallons of sex oil. He was home at last…

TO BE CONTINUED