Bingo, King of the Bongos – Part 8
Bingo is hopping on Tracy doing the Japanese style – 100 slow strokes followed by the
quick 20 stabs when suddenly he stops. A puzzled frown creases his face.
‘Tracy how come our children are all white as alabaster with bright blue eyes. In fact, they appear to be the offspring of some NAZI experiment. I mean, I am black, and you are a tad tar brush?’
Tracy’s vagina milks away. She smiles and kisses her husband and flusters into his ear -
‘Whilst you slept I injected your sack with the frozen sperm of Adolf Hitler. Do not worry they are your children and..’
Tracy hops off the 14 inch stick, slaps Bingo – ‘They
are in trouble and WHAT are you doing besides poking me? Nothing at all.’
She gets dressed, loads up with a Glock 45, and tapes a Remington, seven barrel revolving machine gun with 2000 rounds of 10.45mm explosive rounds on a belt in a back pack.
‘You and that twat Tarzan are useless. I am taking the Lear jet and I will sort this problem out.’
She gets dressed, loads up with a Glock 45, and tapes a Remington, seven barrel revolving machine gun with 2000 rounds of 10.45mm explosive rounds on a belt in a back pack.
‘You and that twat Tarzan are useless. I am taking the Lear jet and I will sort this problem out.’
With that she storms out, leaving Bingo to jerk his stick to
clear his pipe of accumulated frustration.
Meanwhile- Back in Bolivia, Pedro Rodriquez cries quietly. He had just slaughtered his only donkey to eat and smothered his 4 daughters and fed them to the piranhas he kept in his bath tub. He knew – KNEW that his miserable existence was not worth a like on Youtube. He gnawed on the donkey’s testicles wondering if that would qualify him as a celebrity to get him out of here. Hardly.
Back in Africa, Poncho and Macho have got their ragtag army of Mini Mazingi to stop murdering each other and their skulls have been well educated in the art of running away from trouble.
Suddenly -
Machos sat phone trings. As in ‘Tring tring, Tring Tring.’ Its Mum.
‘Hi Mum, what’s cooking?`
Meanwhile- Back in Bolivia, Pedro Rodriquez cries quietly. He had just slaughtered his only donkey to eat and smothered his 4 daughters and fed them to the piranhas he kept in his bath tub. He knew – KNEW that his miserable existence was not worth a like on Youtube. He gnawed on the donkey’s testicles wondering if that would qualify him as a celebrity to get him out of here. Hardly.
Back in Africa, Poncho and Macho have got their ragtag army of Mini Mazingi to stop murdering each other and their skulls have been well educated in the art of running away from trouble.
Suddenly -
Machos sat phone trings. As in ‘Tring tring, Tring Tring.’ Its Mum.
‘Hi Mum, what’s cooking?`
‘I will be dropping in, in about
7 hours. Get a pygmy on a spit roast then I will lead the attack on Buk ‘em in my Harem, and rescue Mattress.
`Sounds good Mum, do you want the pygmy barbecue or tandoori? Can you bring some more aspirins as…
`My head hurts.’
`Sounds good Mum, do you want the pygmy barbecue or tandoori? Can you bring some more aspirins as…
`My head hurts.’
---
The great battle is about to begin. Tracy on the way. Bingo
pops his wad and flies to London to talk to Tarzan – there will be a blood bath.
Keep reading. The next exciting part of, Bingo – King of the Bongos, comes to no
conclusion at all. That would be boring.
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