Danny rolled over... and tried to figure out where he was.
He wasn't a big drinker, but it turns out that was a part of tomcatting with Elmo...
That night was the last chance, really - his pal was picking up some stuff and going to work in Chicago. He'd gotten shot at Luzon, and lost his right leg and ankle. They thought he was going to die. So Elmo was a pretty happy guy, all things considered. He talked about going to business school at night.
It all sounded very exciting. Danny had never been further away from home than Dubuque. Elmo's farm was the closest to Danny's uncle, so they'd been friends forever even though Elmo was two years older. He came back home definitely more of a man than a kid... and he always did heal up fast. That goof-ball got around real well on the wooden leg. He got Danny in a bear hug right away and was real sorry he couldn't stick around, but the job started on Monday.
"Come up there," Elmo grinned, with that gleam in his eye.
Miz Adams heard him, and shook her head - but she was smiling, and Elmo caught it. She would be spreading the rumor, well before the sun went down, that her boy and Danny were taking on the Windy City. That notion made Danny feel pretty good.
His friend made a subtle gesture at Miz Adams. "See? Now it's as good as true, so you gotta do it. Hump coal or something."
"Or something," Danny said, not too sure about rushing into that big of a change. But if somebody he knew well was nearby... Dang, but it was so good to see Elmo again.
They'd gone over to the Top Hat, across the county line, with a bunch of their friends.
Now Danny was the youngest one of the bunch. Always had been. Lew got back in '44 from France but he was still kinda shellshocked. But they dragged him along, and he warmed up when Elmo started talking about the dames in Calamba City.
Amos had lied about his age and ended up fighting the Japanese, and then he'd gone into business with some other vets in Chungking. Fred had come back and moved to Rapid City with Judy, and little Pete was under the dirt in France somewhere.
Danny's uncle swore that he'd blab if Danny enlisted before he was an adult. He refused to sign the paper, so Danny had to wait. Right before the harvest and his 18th birthday came, the first A-bomb was dropped...
So he missed the action.
But Elmo didn't, and he had lots of stories. He ordered another round and lit a cigarette. And he'd always made fun of his older brothers for smoking, too. Danny thought it made Elmo look a lot more grown-up. Elmo saw him eyeing the pack of Luckies and nudged 'em over. When Danny shook his head shyly, Elmo grabbed his neck.
It was a lot like the first time Danny ever smoked a cigarette - Elmo, again. They'd gotten drunk a couple of times on cheap beer, the summer before Elmo went off to war, and he used to "pester" Danny until he smoked too. He was sure Danny wanted to, but just needed a push.
It was a great night. Danny drank about five bottles of beer, and all the women were good-looking by the end of the night. The stories were funnier, the music was better... and Elmo came back from the bar with a crooked grin, handing Danny a pack of Luckies and a box of matches.
He'd smoked more than half of them. The cigarettes and the beer went together well, even if one wound him up and the other helped him relax. Tomorrow he was going to pay for all that fun, but he was going to get to town and get his first purchase of Luckies out of the way - three packs, he was thinking.
Elmo wandered on and off the dirt-track when he drove 'em home. Danny was in the middle of the front seat, between Elmo and Lew. They both smoked like chimneys.
Danny was a little juiced, but he got a cigarette lit without fumbling too much.
"Today, you are a man," Elmo joked. Lew chuckled too.
"Go suck a drainpipe," Danny said carelessly. Elmo swatted his head, but Lew nodded at the comeback. Danny felt good. If these guys could take on the world, he bet he could go to Chicago and do just fine.
"Get the address from my ma," Elmo had urged him, in front of his uncle's place. The light was off, inside, so Danny knew there'd be hell to pay...
"Okay."
"I mean it. Next week I'll be settled. Two weeks, tops. C'mon up."
"Sounds real good, if I don't get a better offer," Danny teased.
Elmo parked his cigarette between his lips and stuck out his hand. Danny caught on and did the same.
"If I don't hear from you this month... No, but seriously, I'll say you strolled in and you're doing just fine when anybody asks. They call that 'covering' for a friend. But I expect to get a letter, at least. I need a familiar face. Come up there when you're free. I mean it. That would be so great."
"I will," Danny promised. "Thank you, Corporal."
He watched the guys roll down the road.
Another car rolled by. That was unusual, it being so late at night. Maybe Mr. Olsen was drinking again. Half the town went over the county line to the taverns. It wasn't dark enough to be the Olsens' car, or anyone else around there.
Danny waved, finishing his smoke.
He just didn't want take the chance of going inside yet and having his uncle bite his head off. He was drunk. So Danny sat on the porch swing, to collect his thoughts. Another cigarette sounded real good, but he was afraid it was becoming a habit already.
Chicago - where Capone ran things, back in the day. Lots more women there...
That light-colored car was coming by again. It had turned around. So Farmer Olson was still taking the pledge, it seemed like, and from what they said that was good for everybody's sake.
Danny felt peaceful, and happy, like anything was possible. He watched the car approach, real slow. It was good to be more careful than not, he thought, yawning real big.
Then he woke up in bed.
A big bed, thick and nice. Definitely not the one his uncle got for him -
He sat up. Oh, dang, that hurt. His head felt like there was a cloudbuster going on inside. He eased back down.
Not his room. It was clean, though. Some other farmhouse...
There was a new pack of Luckies on the nightstand. He was glad to see 'em, and that feeling was so weird that it took him a minute to remember why. Elmo. What a card.
Actually, yes. Maybe it would distract him from the headache. Danny dug in his pocket and got his own pack out.
Instead of being something he had to force himself to do, the smoke felt good. He liked watching it leave his nose. I'm not going to be so proud when I want to quit smoking for good, he thought. His uncle had never been able to give up his pipe.
He brought the ashtray over and set it on his chest.
A tray floated through the door. There was a plate on it, piled with food, and two bottles of beer.
Danny stared.
"Hello?" he said worriedly. Stuff didn't just float around by itself -
A bed-stand came up, from the floor, and settled down over his belly. The tray just came right down, nice and easy. Steak and potatoes, scrambled eggs...
He eyed the beer. "No coffee, huh," he said. Then something Lew had said - hair of the dog. Elmo had to explain it to him. Well, heck, if it did anything for the headache he had, darn tootin'. He had a couple sips of beer.
A cup and saucer floated in.
Well, that was fast, Danny thought. It landed on the nightstand, easy to reach.
"Thank you kindly," he said. "Where are you?"
There was no answer. An invisible servant, though, might not be able to talk. He chuckled at the joke, and smoked his cigarette. Maybe he got so drunk that he couldn't see -
"Hey. Where in tarnation am I?"
Still nothing. Well, his gut wasn't flipping all around, like it did when he got the flu. He could stand to tuck some breakfast away.
The sun was well up in the sky, though. Danny hadn't slept in this late since he had the flu last year. His uncle had to be cheesed. Serves him right, Danny thought happily. He took another drag and extinguished the cigarette, then picked up the fork.
"Awright, time to go home," he muttered. His head had settled down. Smoking seemed to help, there, but he was thinking that had to be an excuse to keep firing 'em up. He managed to get his legs down alongside the bed -
But a crazy thing came through the door. Black, shiny... gloves. At least a dozen puffed-out hands, like they were worn by men. Coming right to him.
Pulling his legs up, and slamming them on the mattress. Pinning his arms.
The next thing that floated into the room was a bunch of big canvas straps...
There was a fight, but he lost. That was plumb certain. Strong fuckin' invisible hands -
He didn't usually talk as rough as his Uncle Ted did, but this was a wild situation now. The gloves had pulled his clothes off, and strapped him down! Arms and legs were spread toward the corners of the mattress. Most of them waited in the air above him for something.
Cigarettes and matches magically cruised over him, as if he was about to get served up.
Danny had never been tied up, much less anchored as snugly as this. It ain't right, he thought. Something was in the cards here...
If he dozed off on the swing, it would've been easy for these hands to haul him into that car. He was trapped somewhere, and the reason worried him. Not right at all.
"What's this?" he asked the gloves.
As if they were waiting to be asked, durn it, they showed him.
Gloves said howdy-do to his poor feet.
Another one curled around his rod.
He couldn't hold the laughter back when slippery fingers grabbed hold of his sides, and his neck, and his knees.
Lunging around didn't change a thing. Stuck right, he thought as if from a good distance away. But the gloves could do anything, and he wasn't able to move!
The unseen "host" had been so nice to him -
Somehow, the door started to close. Oh no, he thought, even worse. The straps were too thick. He was really in for it now.
A lock turned - on the other side of the door? - and more of the gloves landed. Caught real good in the tickle room, dammit.
"I duh... didn't sssss-sign up forrrrr... thiiiiis," he managed, before the need to roar made any more talking impossible. Shaking his head had no effect. Gloves scootched under his knees, up his legs, they got his hips...
Snuck into his armpits.
Done for, he thought, howling and barking laughter. He couldn't make enough noise to show how big the impact was, and trying to feel it completely was what his body was set to do. Not possible.
The straps held him, the door was locked, and Danny had a bad feeling this wasn't anywhere near over.
Magic hands made him hoot and holler and cackle.
There was nothing he could do about 'em. Nobody came when he yelled fuckin' laughter, and he was getting more sensitive all the time. Incredible.
Danny exhaled smoke and watched his equipment get the business. Telling the ghost to stop - well, it didn't really seem like a ghost, with all those hands, tickling like a strong man - hadn't done him any good. Serious tickling, everywhere. Pumping him up real slow, which wasn't right either.
He decided to go with the word "tickler" because that's what the slippery gloves were doing to drive him loco. Deeper and deeper the feeling went. There was no rolling over or kicking or bouncing allowed. The damn tickler caught itself a hot one. Oh boy.
The amount that he felt, each second, made him unable to think about anything else.
Narrow little brushes with short, soft bristles rode up and down, under his nuts and butt. A fatter brush with horsehair or something was continuously teasing his oiled knob.
Invisible fingers held his foreskin down. Once in a while, they squeezed gently.
He'd lost the ability to speak a couple cigarettes ago. Didn't do any good.
Another pack had been opened. At least four beers had come and gone. Danny had suffered through some incredibly long sessions like this, with the head of the bed raised a little so he couldn't help but watch the action.
This was possibly the worst. He closed his eyes and moaned. The tickling was more intense. He was here to get tickled, as long as possible, as much as possible.
It didn't even matter how lethally ticklish he was about to become - he needed to spurt. More than anything else. His captor had learned exactly how to keep that from happening while it played. More than a pack of cigarettes, so far - and even crying wouldn't come anywhere near showing how horny he was.
Hard tugs from further down got him to open his eyes.
His feet were up in the air. Thick black iron kept his ankles a little ways apart. Chains had just been pulled tight from four rings welded to the contraption.
Danny knew what was coming next.
For a few seconds he was astounded that the distraction coming from his meat had been powerful enough to let his torturer uncuff his ankles and move his damn legs - without him even realizing it. Of course, even if he'd fought like a wildcat his feet would end up in exactly the same position.
Taking a drag, he tested the chains. Nope, there would be no pulling his legs in or swinging them in the air. Caught good... like always. Same with his arms, laid out as usual -
His cigarette was taken away.
The lights went out -
Glove after glove settled in, all over his feet.
I gotta get out of here, he thought, trying to move - even a little, in any direction. This whole setup was so unbelievable. One endless hour would always be followed by another, and everything had been taken care of so today didn't have to be the only day of this craziness.
One pair of the big blue gloves kept coming after the others paused.
He fought with the straps and chains out of reflex, because -
And that stopped him. Danny sat still. Behaving, like a good ticklish boy, a model prisoner. Struggling didn't do him any good. Nothing did. The tickling would continue, period. No one would know.
Cigarettes and matches cruised to his face all day long, and gloves took form as if there were hands inside - that never failed to be really interested in working him over for the next few hours. Oil was brushed on confidently. Feathers and brushes big and small traveled right to horribly sensitive places all over him.
Danny hadn't been confused about anything that occurred in this room for a long time - at least a couple weeks. Considering how stunning the magic show was at first, that bewilderment was almost silly. A confident tickle-torturer was big on the hints, here. It approved of its hopelessly ticklish prisoner -
As soon as the fingers slid around his right instep, Danny burst out laughing.
He shook his head a little. That never did any good either.
Wherever he was kept, it had been somewhere around a month since he was grabbed... and the rumor had surely gotten around that he was going to Chicago, but Elmo said he was going to make up stuff to tell people, so they wouldn't worry.
No one would ever suspect Danny was being secretly chained down - and tickled all day long. Why would they think that was even a possibility?
For a couple minutes, he reviewed the events of that last night of freedom that had worked out so well for a tickler that was set on keeping him maddened. For weeks.
Then he just had to roar his head off for a couple minutes.
The hand took hold. Gently, insistently, it steadied his foot - preventing the last shred of relief Danny had hoped to get. Now he couldn't turn or flex at all.
Like a vivid nightmare, the other glove curled its fingers and touched his arch.
"Oh no, hah hah hah hah, nnnnnooooo," he crowed. The magical kidnapper had learned just how seriously sensitive his feet got when they were steadied from over the top-side like that. It knew three or four ways to make the most of his darn feet. Strokes from under his toes to the sides of each heel made him loopy - and when they sped up enough, or pressed down a little more...
As the number of fingertips doubled or tripled, Danny gave them his full attention. Every second of the tickle-attack was warm, and fun - near the surface. The fun multiplied, deeper down, and when there was more than two gloves tickling away he couldn't even pay enough attention to feel everything enough. Taking it all in was harder when more gloves or toys came and tickled.
Danny stayed right there, day and night, because of the straps and, sometimes, the chains. He started almost every day, and ended every night, unable to get away from the gloves.
All that dedicated tickling was why he'd been brought there. The hospital staff never appeared. Not even once. Trays came and went, cigarettes floated to his lips, matches were lit just as smoothly as if the invisible man had done it a ten thousand times before, just like Elmo's oldest brother or Lew had.
The monster hand skated down to his heel, pressed its way back up to his toes - and sped up.
Immediately he was shaking his head. No, no, stop, no, please don't. But he was laughing his head off, arching his back, trying desperately to twist around. His arms stayed right where the straps had been keeping them all day.
He longed for some other guy to walk in. Danny had realized a while back that the idea of being found and taken away from the gloves was a joke - but he was dying for someone else to know for a fact what he went through. Every damn day. Cuffs, chains, spotlight, his aching nipples, all those cigarettes, his whole crotch getting teased so damn slowly.
Unless they saw it for themselves... no one would believe this was even possible.
His thoughts scattered like leaves in the wind when the fingers sped up.
Danny roared at the gloves, throwing himself this way and that. He absolutely had to get his foot away from those giant fingertips. It tickled way too much. So many hours of brushes and creams had made his soles unbelieveably sensitive...
And these gloves really got to him. Size, and power, carefully scaling it back so they could keep him insane for a full hour, then another. The material was so horribly soft. When the pressure increased, the maddening sensations went deep. Huge gloves - made for tickling, he was sure. And he was the target. Perfectly smooth. Intolerable texture against both the top and bottom of his poor foot.
Even the color drove him mad. That light blue color wasn't threatening, and it wasn't girly either.
One hand kept a snug grip around his throbbing foot, making sure its partner could sweep and rub, work on the base of his toes, comb the sides. Over and over and over, Careful, ceaseless - no matter how Danny kicked and writhed around because it was far too shocking to take, durn it, even if the game was to crank the pleasure of a massage way up into tickling that only a true tough-guy could take.
The invisible so-and-so who ran things here, and filled his amazingly long days, had found where to work on his skittish body to step up the effect... shoot, all the time. He was feeling levels of reaction inside that would've made him pass right out on the first day. New heights were reached all the time! Well-planned, relentless - and it was still hard to believe that somebody laid him out that well for head-to-toe petting. An abnormally strong spell of pure crazy.
He hooted at the gloves, he keened, he tried to laugh like a man.
It took only a small fraction, though, of the breathtaking fever at times like this to overwhelm him. Danny would be unable to keep tugging at the restraints, and then he'd be too focused to laugh properly. The next cigarette would be stuck between his lips real soon, wouldn't it. A-yup.
All that unbearable pleasure kept on... increasing.
There was more contact.
His eyes opened, sorta automatically.
As usual, the fingers had kept up the diabolical tickling long after he'd stopped moving and barking laughter. No break for Danny.
And he chuckled like a lush at the second pair of gloves that started on his right foot. Please, he wanted to beg, not more fingers. But that was a stupid urge. There was no chance at all that the gloves would be taken away now - or any time soon - and there were still more of 'em poised and ready to join in.
During the last couple weeks he had learned that there would always be more and more tickling. His captor ran the place, making absolutely sure Danny got every possible second of softly raking fingers and busy feathers and devastating squeezes and brushes that skated and scoured like they were never, ever going to stop...
But the last of the fear had gone when it sent the letters for him. Someday, this unbelievable play-time would end.
At first he'd been babbling, as the gloves drove him out of his doggone mind. Let me go, c'mon now, this is too much. He finally just quit trying to convince the tickler.
Picturing Elmo, mad at him for pulling this vanishing act, must've got him raving about sending a lousy letter. His uncle would have even less of a reason to hunt for him if he got a note. And it had been a big surprise when the pencil and paper and envelopes had been brought over on a tray - the very next afternoon. One envelope already had his uncle's name and address on it, and the other had been prepared for Elmo - there in Chicago! Both had been written in bold black ink.
That was astounding, for about five minutes, but the magical tickler had everything else knocked. Danny's address was in his wallet. A quick stop, by the tricky invisible sneak, would've confirmed that his uncle had the same last name as Danny... and in the closest farmhouse to the west, Miz Adams must've had a letter or two laying around from her boy in the Windy City.
The canvas straps were loosened and left to hang free - from Danny's right arm only. Well, gosh, it was quite a day. He lit his own cigarette for the first time in a long while... since a lighter had floated over to the tray just for him to use. Blank paper was in front of him, and a sharpened pencil had been stuck between his fingers. Golly.
Danny got the shorter letter done first. His uncle would never, ever believe the truth. He sighed, and wrote out a few dishonest sentences instead... Hey there, I'm in Chicago, working with Elmo, all is well and I'll visit as soon as I can get away. He scoffed and took a long drag, looking around for gloves or brushes or something. "When I can... get away," he whispered, since his voice was shot. Danny shook his head. "Gonna be a while, huh?"
An invisible hand patted him on the back. Good boy. The note was taken away, folded, and stuck in the envelope. A little tube of glue drifted over and sealed it.
"And you are gonna mail that. For real?" He had to wonder - but there had never been a pretend game like this, a tease, since he'd been caught. There was even a stamp on the envelope already -
The hand curled over his collarbone, right side, and gave him a long squeeze. It wasn't the start of the next tickling round. What an incredible day this is, he thought - and now it's saying "yes" with those durn fingers. Reassuring me.
"I take that to mean 'oh heck, yeah,' now," he mumbled toward the hand.
The same response. Whoo-doggie.
"You're being... sorta nice to me." He couldn't help but grin. "I gotta remember this, in an hour or two. Can't have the super-ticklish hick get too nutty, huh? Ain't as much fun to unravel him then, the way you like."
It came as no surprise when the hand let go - and swiped the side of his head.
"Uh-huh," Danny sighed, punching his cigarette out in the ashtray all by himself. He lit the next one and tapped the pencil on the tray, wondering what he'd write on the blank paper before him - and send to Elmo. "What's buzzin', cousin," he said to it, "Gonna be a while before I get up there to see ya. I been kidnapped, yeah, and any sensible man would think I'm makin' up a real tall tale. Aw, it ain't nowhere near done havin' a gas, all over me -"
Another head-swipe.
"Swell," he sighed, and he ate more smoke. "I'll tell you about the mysterious tickler... when I see you, Elmo. And I will see you. But this ain't gonna be an honest letter either. Huh."
One idea or another got some thought, for a couple of Luckies.
He wrote Elmo's name and address on the top of the paper, and then "Hi-de-ho" under that.
"Don't tell him the truth," Danny said to himself. He looked up at the ceiling. "I really want this to get mailed to Elmo. Don't want him to think too much, do ya?"
The hand patted him on the back again.
"Durn it," he grumbled. Nodding, he started to write.
It didn't have to be a long letter. There wasn't enough paper to tell it all. Hey you, I can't believe it's been this long but I want to get to Chicago, how are you, it turns out I got a job where they really need me but it won't last forever, reply to my old address for now and I'll get you the scoop when I can.
He cocked his head back, kicking out smoke. "Well?"
The pencil was taken away from him. The word "job" was circled.
"Does that mean I'm gonna get some clams?" he joked. "This job's a nightmare." But the shoulder-hand returned. "Yes? Money... so I can get to Chicago?"
Another yes-squeeze!
Danny smoked. Well, huh. "Ain't gonna be over real soon, here," he muttered.
A pair of gloves popped up. Uh-oh. Slowly and gently, their fingers trailed down his soles.
He chuckled at 'em. "Another 'yes,' of the tickle variety. I just -"
And another friendly squeeze over his collarbone was welcome, right about then.
His cigarette was taken from him... and the pencil. As his arm was strapped down again, the letter was folded and stuck in the envelope. Danny watched the glue rise and seal the letter to Elmo... and two bottles of beer were arriving next.
"That's my reward," he said to the open beer that was coming to his mouth. It was pretty obvious that his main reason for being caught was gonna start up again, real soon. Glove after glove showed up, "worn" on those invisible hands, and they looked ready.
Well, shoot, he was in a weird mood. "I guess you know I appreciate that. The letters. How can I prove it? Huh? What can we do today, that you just can't get enough of?"
Boom. His feet. Fingers, tickling away, bottoms and sides and tops and toes.
Danny's head flew back. Aw, he roared like he really meant it.
The tray floated up, went away - and a bunch of gloves got busy on him. Ev-ry-where.
The wearer of the gloves had showed him, over and over again, exactly why he was caught.
Hours seemed to go by. The tickling never let up. Danny had never found a way to distract himself from the tingling fire that crackled everywhere, and all the way up from his soles.
His captor must've been watching closely. A minute of hard tickling always destroyed any attempt to think, and sometimes the fingers kept right on drilling. Convincing himself that the sensation was something he could learn to tolerate was prevented just as surely as passing out. He was never allowed to miss a moment of the deranged excitement planned for him - and that was exactly why he'd been brought to this room.
He laughed at the gloves, now just blurry blue shapes moving. Always tickling. The mysterious hands that kept them pressing and petting didn't seem to understand mercy. Not at all. It had to be perfectly obvious that Danny just couldn't tolerate this - couldn't really feel it enough. But the hootenanny continued, hour after hour after hour. He would be kept here, in fetters, isolated from all others who might help or interfere.
And the magician's plan had worked perfectly, for so many weeks, that it was little-kid stuff to hope for anything to happen that would get him out of this.
Fingers dragged on and on. Sweat poured off his body.
He was desperate to howl and laugh harder than ever before, but even that wouldn't make it stop.
A long time later, slick leather touched down on his belly. He looked - and thin, oiled gloves wandered down around his purplish cock.
Another hand touched down. It played with his pecs lazily.
Danny erupted in giggles - wild, unhinged sounds. After a few seconds, though, even that reaction trailed off. Totally feeling all of the unbearable contact was what he was there to do. Plumb impossible! More pleasure was always being traced in here, squeezed in there... always more, and there was no way to understand half of it.
More gloves were coming.
Today, as usual, there would be no unnecessary pauses in the tickling.
He knew exactly what was going to happen again tomorrow.
It was wild to remember what he used to think.
Never hearing or seeing the staff wasn't because of some bad whack on the head or something. Twelve or thirteen Luckies was fun, partly because it would raise eyebrows back in his town. The gloves tickled him, and that seemed to prove that there were hands inside 'em - invisible - that also brought him the trays and the beer. Gotta keep the ticklish guy good and healthy...
But a long time ago - how many weeks? - Danny faced the facts. There was only one tickler, somehow bigger than a man or a woman, and it could use fifty gloves all at once. It snuck him into this place, and it knew how to lay him out so he couldn't roll or budge. Then it could tickle him as much as it wanted to. He could see nothing but enthusiasm, when he studied the gloves. The invisible hands inside 'em moved like sticking it to him had its complete attention, always so satisfying. Riding him, all over, was a big win.
The playing with his loins always seemed to make him more ticklish. Nobody would ever believe this strange shit.
There was no saying why it caught a smoker, and then made him get so serious about that. Some days Danny had seen three empty packs of Luckies on the table, and another one open. Even after learning that, he just couldn't get enough of the damn things.
Sometimes he imagined what the invisible tickler might say to him. Danny had certainly learned a few things, and they were unmistakably true...
You are in my house.
Staying here.
Helpless and naked, so every ticklish spot is easy to attack. I know you just can't take it - but you always wake up ready for more, body and mind.
Weeks and weeks of tickling you isn't anywhere near enough.
The sensation will get stronger, inside you. That's as sure as the sun rising in the east. You can take more of it than most men, so you're gonna feel it more every day.
You'll smoke and drink and squirt like the real man I caught.
You can be sure that no one will find you.
Thinking about how outrageous or unfair it all was - well, that was a complete waste of time.
Winter couldn't be too far off. Maybe somebody else would get tickled in 1947. Right? He hoped so.
Aw, nothing at all made sense here.
He took a long drag and waited to see which tickle-tools would be floating up next.
2023