Silly Lilly the Sillybitch: Can't Win for Losing: Part 2 The Rematch



"Shit! How stupid of me. I can't believe I keep falling for his . . . ooh!"

I hate Richard. I mean, I REALLY hate him. How did he ever turn Marci against me?

As I stood there, with custard all over my face and chocolate goo running down it and then dripping onto my boobs, I thought back to how this had started, AGAIN!

"Lilly, Truth or Dare, Who is the Sheriff of Nottingham?"

"Ha! You must really think I'm stupid. Like I'm not going to remember that it is Harminder Singh Dua! How ridiculous can you get?"

"Lilly is that your answer," Marci, my used-to-be best friend, asked with a bewildered look on her face.

"Of course, it is, you mindless twit!" I sneered at the woman's attempt to trick me.

"Oh, I am so, so, sorry, Lilly. But you are wrong." Her quirky smile was infuriating.

"WHAT! You have got to be kidding me. It has to . . ."

But Marci cut me off. "You're thinking of the previous one. The new sheriff is Councillor Nicola Heaton. And that means you lose."

"FUCK!"

And since I had been so sure of the answer, I chose truth, which meant that I now had to take not one, but two punishments. The first was a custard pie, heavy with whipped cream, to my face. The second punishment was a one-liter carton of chocolate custard over my head. And I was a mess by the time my former friend finished her messy assault.

"Who was the first person to climb Mt. Everest?"

Oh shit, I know that answer. I do. I really do. Oh shit. Who was it?

YES! I have it!

"It was Sir Edmund Hillary in 1953."

My smirky look of triumph was quickly brought back to earth when Marci said, "Who was with him?"

FUCK!

"You fuckin' bitch. You just . . ."

"Lilly, who was with Hillary when he climbed Everest?"

With a loud sigh, I said, "I don't know."

And Marci hit me with a chocolate cream pie in my face.

But then sleezeball Dick slipped up behind me and poured a big bucket of green slime over my head.

"That's for saying those three magic words, Lilly."

Oh, I was so pissed. I was already a mess, and I knew there would be a lot more to come.

"Lilly, outside of our sun, what is the closest star to earth?"

Oh shit, I . . . I should know that . . .

"I . . . uh . . . It is . . . oh shit. It's . . ."

"Lilly, what's your answer?"

Oh shit.

The Dickless Wonder had a big sloppy banana cream pie in each hand, so I knew what that meant.

"Uh, I don't know," I barely whispered.

With a grin and a slapping sound, he smashed both of those banana cream pies into the sides of my face. Yellow goo and white fluff splattered everywhere.

"The correct answer, Lilly, is Alpha Centauri. You really should have watched more of Lost in Space." And then, he emptied another bucket of green slime over my head.

"What kind of star is Alpha Centauri?"

Fuck! I don't know that.

"Uh . . . I don't know."

"Wrong answer, AGAIN," Richard said with a knowing grin. "It's a binary star system."

What the fuck is a binary star system?

This time, it was Marci who did the damage. She plopped another of those chocolate pies into my face, adding to the muck already there. Then she followed that with a bucket of green slime over my head. They must have had a hundred gallons of that shit, because every time I said, "I don't know," I got slimed. It was like that stupid kid's show on Nickelodeon back in the 90's.

"Next question, Lilly," Richard said, "Exactly how many stars are there in the Milky Way?"

"How the fuck am I supposed to know that?"

"Lilly, the question is 'how many stars are in the Milky Way?'"

"I don't . . . oh very funny . . . ha ha. You little bastard. Well, I'm not falling for it. Give me your forfeiture, but I'm not getting another bucket of green slime for saying, 'I don't know!'"

Oh Shit! Me and my big . . .

And then, Marci poured not one, but two buckets of the green goo over my head.

"Wait a minute! Wait one damn minute. Why did she pour two buckets of that slime over my head?"

With a snide comment, Richard said, "well one was the forfeit for getting the wrong answer. The other was for saying those three little words."

"FUCK!"

"Oh, wait a second," Richard hurried over as Marci walked away from me.

"We haven't given you your punishment for the wrong answer."

"WHAT . . . what the fuck are you talking about? Marci just gave me two . . ."

"No, no, no. That was Marci. But you see, on the card," and he pulled out an index card, "It says you have to take six pies for getting this question wrong.

"Sorry Lilly, but I'm afraid you gave the wrong answer."

"FUCK YOU"

"No Lilly. Fuck You!"

And with that, I received six pies to my head. Two pies to my face, one a banana cream and the other a chocolate cream. Then that dickless Douch bag plopped an all chocolate pudding pie onto the back of my head, before giving me a pie sandwich made up of a coconut cream pie and a strawberry cream one. Finally, last but not least, he slammed a big slimy caramel pie, covered with chocolate sauce on top of my head as a pie hat. Needless to say, my head was a complete mucky mess. And I hated Richard that much more.

Now, they just started getting really mean and nasty.

"Lilly, what time is it in Hong Kong?"

"How am I supposed to . . .?"

SPLATTT!!!

Before I could even finish my sentence, Marci slapped a big custard pie into my face.

"In what year did the British fleet defeat the Spanish Armada?"

When I didn't answer in 'a timely manner' Richard took great delight in slapping a strawberry pudding pie in my face.

"Who was the commanding general of the 1st British Airborne Division during Operation Market Garden?"

"Who was the commanding general that was killed during the Battle for Montreal in the French and Indian War?"

"Who was in command at Rourke's Drift?"

"What British warship, finally sank the Bismarck?"

The questions came rapid-fire. And so did the pies, followed by buckets of green slime every time I said, "I don't know."

It was a caramel pie to the face for not knowing that Major General Roy Urquhart was the commanding general of the British 1st Airborne Division during Operation Market Garden and a orange cream pie for not knowing who General James Wolfe was. For not knowing that Lieutenants John Chard and Gonville Bromhead, who despite facing odds of well over 20-1 at the Battle of Rourke's Drift, defeated and drove off the attacking Zulu army, it was a coconut cream pie and for failing to answer that HMS Dorsetshire fired the torpedoes that finally sank the German battleship Bismarck, Richard smashed an extremely sloppy chocolate pie into my face.

After that, Marci slapped a gooey caramel pie into my face while Richard slammed a blueberry cream pie into the back of my head when I didn't know who had won Wimbledon last year.

Then Marci caught me in another pie sandwich, this time front and back, with two of those big, gooey, chocolate cream pies, because I forgot what year the Magna Carta was signed. I think they just used the questions and answers segments as an excuse to trash me. I was a complete mess by the time they finished their mucky assault. But the mess was far from over.

"Has England ever won the World Cup?"

"Uh . . . yes." My answer was far from decisive. I really didn't know. And Marci poured a 10-liter bucket of custard over my head just because she could.

"What year did they win it?"

"Oh Shit! I don't know."

"FUCK! I can't believe I . . ."

But then that green slime came down onto the top of my head. And when it was finished, I got another of those messy chocolate pies to my face.

And then, it was on to the challenges.

"Now, on to the challenges, Lilly," Richard said in a deadpan tone.

Great. Just fuckin' great.

I don't know what was worse. All the dumb questions that were designed for me to get wrong, or the mindless challenges that twitless wonder thought up. But they had a forfeiture for each one, and I was always getting messy. And with each added layer of muck, I became that much more unrecognizable.

The first of these so-called challenges was riding one of those space hoppers between two made-up baskets like I was playing a game of soccer. And I had to drop 33 balloons filled with orange-tinted shaving foam in those baskets. If any of the balloons broke, I had to smear that shaving cream over my face and chest. Nine of them broke so I got a good dousing of orange foam on my face and boobs.

Then I had to dance like a chicken for five minutes while holding a dozen eggs in a small basket. And every time I failed to 'dance properly' I had to smack one of those eggs over my forehead. And it only took four minutes before I had smacked all of those eggs against my face. As the slimy yellow goo ran down my face and dripped onto my boobs, I was getting madder and madder at the dipshit duo of Richard and Marci.

OH . . . you just wait. One of these days . . . one of these days, it will be MY turn.

But on this day, things would get worse, a lot worse. I had to walk across the McDonald's parking lot, doing a duck walk. And I had to balance a dozen balloons filled with orange shaving cream, in my lap while doing so. For each balloon I lost before I made the journey to safety, I had to pop it over my face. Nine times, I had to do this to the merry amusement of a crowd of onlookers on their lunch break. Needless to say, I was not a happy camper.

But it got worse. I had to do the 'March of the Toy Soldiers' and every five yards I had to reach into a pouch at my side and pull out an egg, then smash it on my forehead. This meant an additional two dozen eggs going splat on my face.

My humiliation, however, wasn't complete. When I finished marching, there was another two dozen eggs waiting for me. I had to take off the ridiculous high-top hat and break each egg into it. And you know what Dickhead Dick made me do. I had to put the hat back onto my head.

Everybody was getting a real laugh as that egg goo slithered its way down the sides of my head from that hat. I'll tell you, if I had a gun, I would have shoved it up Richard's ass and pulled the trigger.

But now, my former best friend, Marci, got really mean. She brought a big bucket, and in it were the remains of 100 eggs, shells and all.

"Lilly, I want you to dunk your head in this bucket, and then lift the bucket and upturn it so all those eggs flow down onto your head."

"WHAT!" I just about exploded. "You have got to be kidding."

"NO! Do it, Lilly. Do it now!"

Oh, Fuck me . . . that stupid bitch has really . . .

But I did it. And all that egg slop came gushing out and flowed down my head. I felt like a train wreck. I knew I was a mess. And as I stood there, with all that yellow goo running down my body, I knew what it was like to really hate.

Oh, if I could just . . . oooh!

But then Richard and Marci just had to really humiliate me. They made me put on one of those funny triangular-shaped hats like the colonists wore when they had their little tiff against English rule back in the 1700s. I believe the Americans call it the Revolutionary War.

As we came around to the front of the McDonalds, I saw a picnic table loaded with pies, all of them chocolate cream pies.

Fuck, that bitch knows I hate chocolate. I know who thought that up. Shit, I'll be wearing all of them.

Now, as I stood there, with about two dozen people watching, Marci came up to me and said, "we have something different that we want you to do, Lilly."

"Really," I said rather snippily, "what's that?"

"We want you to sing a song, Yankee Doodle. And after each line, you slap one of these glorious pies in your face."

Oh, the look I gave my former best friend. But I did it. And I even had to sing, Shave and a Haircuts; Two Bits, just so I would have to slap two more pies in my face. In all, it was ten pies, ten of the gooiest, messiest, chocolate cream pies. You could no longer see where all the egg slop had covered my head. Now it was chocolate pudding and whipped cream that made such a mess of my face.

But now, I had to get back on that stupid space hopper. And I had to hop it around under this overhead rack. The rack was about thirty feet long by five feet wide. And there were these giant balloons hanging from it. There were big balloons, really big balloons. And they were about half full of some kind of liquid. Knowing these two dimwits as well as I do, they weren't filled with water. Ha!

Oh shit . . . I am so fucked! I thought to myself when Marci handed me a pencil.

"Now, Lilly," my former friend said with a smirk, "we want you to hold this pencil in your mouth and when you hop underneath one of those balloons, you try to pop it with the pencil. You have two minutes to pop as many of these balloons as you can. Any that you have not popped at the end of that time, will be popped over your head."

Well, you know what happened. And I didn't even see it coming until I was under that first balloon. Just as the pencil was about to burst that balloon, it hit me like a ton of bricks.

Oh shit! This is going to be so . . .

Pop!

When that balloon burst, a torrent of green slime was unleashed down upon my upturned face.

I almost choked as that slippery goo hit my face, some of it went into my nostrils and some even made its way down my throat. I dropped that pencil and had to dismount to retrieve it. I looked like a green muck bomb had gone off over my head. From my shoulders up, I was completely saturated in green slime. The lower half of my body was still covered with messy brown chocolate, but my upper part was now as green as a leprechaun.

Oh fuck. There are fifteen more of these balloons.

Well, I only got five of those sixteen balloons. Every time I popped one, a new torrent of slime was unleashed in my face. And I lost the pencil each time, so I had to dismount losing valuable time. At the end of two minutes, eleven of those muck bombs were still hanging there, unscathed.

But my two so-called friends would have none of that. One by one they held a balloon over my head, and then they pricked it with a pin. When they were finished, I was so trashed as to be unrecognizable. Not a square inch of me escaped that green onslaught.

"Ooh. I just hate you, you fucking bitch!"

"Ha! You think you hate me now . . . Just wait until I'm finished with you" Marci said as she stuck her tongue out at me. "I've got so much more in store for you."

For now, however, they marched me, from the McDonald's parking lot to a place a few hundred yards behind the fast food restaurant.

Marching. Those two twits are actually making me march like a fucking soldier. I can't believe this shit. It was bad enough before, but this is ridiculous.

"Not again. FUCK!"

As we marched around the corner of McDonald's, now with a crowd of around 30-40 followers, I saw what those two twits had arranged for me. Obviously, they had been hard at work, probably most of the night. I saw where there had been three mudholes dug. The first two were small, hardly large enough for one human to fit. In these two, the mud was kind of watery almost soup-like. The last one was a lot larger, probably about 40-50 feet in length and five feet in width. And the mud was extremely sloppy.

Oh fuck. Here we go again . . . Did they really put barbed wire over that long one.

"Shit," turning toward Deadbeat Dick and Marci the Merciless, I said, "if you think I'm going to get in that shit again, you have another . . ."

"LILLY, get your ass down there, NOW!"

Richard was pointing at the first mud hole, really nothing more than a big mudpuddle. But I knew resistance was futile with Marci starting to crowd me from behind. So, I stepped into the first mudhole. And it was cold.

Shit. What have I gotten into, now?

"Lilly," Dickhead Dick said, with a smirk, "What we're going to do is . . . play army."

Fuck you, you slimeball. You're not going to be playing army. I AM!

"What we're going to do," he continued, "is a PT, or physical training, test . . . just like when we were in the army."

Crap. What are you talking about?

"What the fuck are you talking about, Richard?"

"Oh, you know, Lilly. Sit-ups, push-us . . . you know, like in the army. You have so much time to do as many as you can. We'll forego the run and . . . instead do a low crawl over there. And he pointed to that big, sloppy mudhole. The one with the barbwire.

Oh shit.

"And you do remember how it works, don't you, Lilly? You have two minutes at each stage. We'll call this Stage one, and you'll have two minutes to do as many sit-ups as you can."

As I looked down at that brown slime, I realized it was not as watery as I thought at first. Instead of having a soup-like consistency this slop was more like stew. I was standing in about six inches of mud and the bottom four inches of it felt like real mud with only the top couple of inches being watery.

Oh shit. I'm going to get fucked up again . . . I hate the fucking mud. That's part of the reason I got out of the army.

"Okay, Lilly . . . are you ready?"

No . . .

"Assume the position!"

Oh Shit. This is so cold.

"Fuck," I exclaimed when my thinly clad bottom hit the slimy muck. But I sat down. I assumed the position.

"Alright, Lilly. Ready, set, GO!"

And then I started doing sit-ups. As Richard counted, I went through the motions, as each time I laid back and stretched out fully, the mud came slathering up my sides and over my hips. The only good thing about doing a sit-up is I didn't have to get my face down in that mud. But it was so cold.

I almost got thirty sit-ups. But number twenty-nine was the limit. My abs were on fire, and I just couldn't do anymore. As I lay there, soaking up mud, Marci started to needle me.

"What's the matter, Lilly. Can't you do anymore?"

And she followed that with, "I thought you were supposed to be so tough."

"Afterall, you were a corporal in the army, right? You were always bragging about that. Can't you even do one more? HA!"

I wanted to kill that bitch so badly. I wanted to rip out her eyes and shove them down her throat until she choked on them. I wanted to . . .

"Marci, you can just . . . kiss my ever-Lovin' ASS!"

But she just laughed.

When Richard counted down the last few seconds, he said, "Okay, Lilly, now that you've had time to rest, we can move on to the next stage, the 'push-ups.'"

"What do you mean, rest? I haven't had time to rest, you fuckin' piece of . . ."

"Up and at 'em, Lilly. Time's a wasting and we don't have all day."

Oh shit! I'm going to get so fucked up in that muck.

"You know the drill, Lilly. You have two minutes to do as many push-ups as you can" And before I could even think of anything to say, Richard said, "Front Leaning Rest Position, MOVE!"

And I did it. Automatically, like I had done so many times in the army. Assuming the position with the toes of my feet resting on the slippery ground under six inches of squishy, gooey, mud, my hands rested palm-down in the slushy muck. My arms were straight, and my back was rigid. Mud was halfway up to my elbows and my face was mere inches from that slop.

"Oh Fuck," I murmured. "I am going to get soooo muddy."

But before I knew it, Richard was counting down, three, two, one, GO!"

And then, I was doing pushups. As I bent my elbows, thus lowering my body closer to that slimy soup, I very carefully made sure to keep my face out of the mud.

Shit! How long can I keep this up?

"Five, six, seven," I heard Richard count with each repetition.

Oh fuck. Push-ups were never my strongest suit.

"Eight, nine, ten."

I managed thirty seconds, then forty-five. By now the count was up to fifteen, then sixteen. But as Marci's count reached one minute, I was on my final legs so to speak. Sitting on a count of twenty push-ups at the one-and-a-half minute mark, my arms gave out. And with a very loud splat, my face, and then the rest of my body hit that slimy mud. When I managed to pull myself out of the mire, I could hear everyone laughing. And I was so pissed.

You fucking jackasses. If I could . . .

When I came to my knees and then to my haunches, I sat there with gooey mud running down my face, then my chest and my stomach. With my hands I rubbed that muck from my eyes, so I could see, and I snorted brown mucus from my nostrils so I could breath. I was burning with anger, and my rage was so intense that I didn't feel the cold. I wanted to reach out, to take hold, to destroy, something, anything but most especially Richard and the woman who used to be my best friend, Marci.

Oooh . . . I just hate you.

"Oh Lilly," my former best friend, cried out, "You look so good . . ."

"Kiss My Fucking Ass, Marci!"

But she just laughed that much harder.

Oh! One of these days . . . one of these days, Marci . . . It's going to be MY turn!

But now, it was time for my final humiliation in that mud. As Richard led me to the larger mudhole, my heart almost seized up. It was at least forty feet long. And that mud was so sloppy. Whereas the first two courses, the mud was soupy, this one had real mud. I couldn't tell how deep it was, but the first two mud pits were about six inches deep, so I assumed this last one was, too. Wrong answer.

"Lilly, I imagine you are tired now, so we won't do the running event. Instead, we'll do something easy. All you have to do is crawl through the mud. And you have a full two minutes to do it. Of course, if you don't make it in the allotted time," Richard said with a wicked grin, "there will be a punishment. And that is you have to crawl back through the course."

Shit. That's just great.

"GO!" Richard's sudden command startled me, but I didn't want to have to crawl through that course twice. Without thinking, I dived in. And that . . . was a mistake.

With a loud splashing sound, I went completely under the muddy mire. It wasn't a few inches deep, rather a foot or more. In an instant I was completely covered with that brown muck. When I came up for air, I couldn't see, hear or breath because of all the mud that covered my head. I had to forcefully blow sloppy brown muck out of my nostrils, one at a time, all while desperately clawing muck from my eyes so I could see and digging slimy goo from my ears so I could hear. And when I got that slop out of my ears, I could hear the crowd laughing again.

Oh, you just wait. One of these days . . . one of these days, it will . . . WILL BE . . . my turn.

"Fifteen seconds, Lilly You're way behind the eight-ball."

Oh shit.

Desperate to beat the time, I started crawling through that sloppy muck. Every three feet there was a strand of barbed wire, specifically designed so I would have to dip my face into the slime. And it also slowed me down. Getting further covered with mud every foot of the way, I crawled through that muck. By the time I finished my crawl, I was so dirty that my own mamma wouldn't have been able to recognize me. But I made it. And with two seconds to spare.

When I stood up, however, it was with great difficulty as it felt like I was carrying thirty pounds of muck on me. Every square inch of my body was covered with sloppy, deep brown mud. I was a complete mess. And I was so pissed off.

Looking at Richard and Marci and seeing the smirks on their clean faces just made me that much angrier.

Shit. Keep it up . . . keep it up, you too pieces of shit. One of these days . . .

"Wow! You made it Lilly." Douch bag Dick said, in surprise, "and with two seconds to spare, too. I am impressed."

"But, I think," that Douch bag said, behind an evil grin, "I think we'll still have you crawl back."

"WHAT! You have got to be kidding me." I exclaimed. "There is no way I will do . . ."

But before I could finish my sentence that slimeball picked me up by the straps of my swimsuit and tossed me back into that fucking quagmire.

Landing face-first with a resounding splat, I was so angry that I bounced up in a flash, only to fall flat on my face again, as I slipped in that gooey muck. I fell three times before I could regain my feet. And each time added another layer of that sloppy mud. By the time I finally came up for air, I was so angry that I could have chewed nails.

"RICHARD, You FUCKIN' jackass. I will . . ."

"Lilly," he said in a condescending tone, "crawl back where you started."

Oh, I was infuriated. I was so pissed. I wanted to murder that man. If looks could kill, he would have been long dead. But I did what he told me to do. I crawled back to the starting line.

I didn't want to even think about what I must have looked like by the time I got back to the starting point behind that McDonald's. When I stood up, it felt like fifty pounds of almost liquid mud just ran off me like a waterfall. Looking down, I saw that brown muck pooled at my feet and I knew that the same crud was covering my hair.

Now, the questions started up, again.

"Lilly, what was the longest battle during World War I?"

"Who shot down the Red Baron?"

"What year did the tank first appear on the battlefield?"

"What was the best fighter airplane the British had during the Second World War?"

And with all wrong answers I got another round of messy slop. And lo and behold, since I used the three magic words 'I . . . don't . . . know' I, also, got a bunch of green slime over my head.

Since I didn't know the Battle of Verdun, fought from February 21 until December 18, 1916, was the longest battle of World War I, Marci slammed a custard pie into my face, and when I couldn't answer that, supposedly, Canadian flyer Roy Brown was credited with shooting down the famed German ace, Manfred von Richthofen, otherwise known as the Red Baron, in a reasonable time, Slicky Dick plopped a banana cream pie over the top of my head. And since I don't know the first thing about either tanks or fighter planes, I could not reply that the first tank used on a battlefield was in 1916 during the Battle of the Somme, nor could I say how great the Spitfire was during the second world war. That cost me a strawberry pudding pie to my face by Richard, while Marci took great pleasure in grinding in one of those really gloppy chocolate pudding pies all over my boobs.

After one really trying session with Marci, my punishment was a ten-liter bucket of chocolate syrup over my head. As all that really dark brown, slimy goo ran off my face, I just stood there in shocked silence, wanting to kill her.

Then there was the time Douch bag Dick and Marci the Merciless double-teamed me. They each threw a bucket of ice-cold water in my face. Though my teeth were chattering, and I was shivering immensely, that water did clear some of the muck from my face, even if only for a short while.

That dastardly duo would alternate the questions with a series of messy challenges, or even just for plain meanness. One of their ways to thoroughly trash me was by using duct tape to seal all the holes in my swimsuit except the neck hole. They taped shut both leg openings and both openings for my arms. Then, while Marci, dear sweet Marci, held open the neckline, Richard poured what felt like fifty gallons of custard into my bathing suit. That cold custard filled up every nook and cranny in my one-piece swimming suit so that I looked like a hideously bloated creature, sort of like a beached whale. And then do you know what they did? Do you know what they did?

While Marci, my used-to-be best friend, held open the neckline of that one-piece, Drop-dead Dick punched me in the stomach. And out shot a huge stream of sloppy yellow slime straight into my muck-covered face. I didn't feel a thing because all that gloppy goo shielded me from Dick's punch, but it was just another level of their pure evil. The only good thing about that slimy assault, and in fact just about the only good thing which happened to me all day, was that Marci caught just about as much of that yellowish onslaught in her face as I did. And I got a good laugh at her messy face.

"FUCK . . ." You little . . ."

But I just kept on laughing at Marci's embarrassment. "Serves you right, Bitch!"

But she wasn't going to let me have the last laugh. Not Marci, no way. While Richard held me down, Marci poured the entire contents of a five-gallon pot filled with chocolate pudding, all over me, starting with my face.

Shit!

Then to add insult to injury, my former friend poured a five-gallon bucket of yellow cake batter over my head. Then the dickless-wonder, old Douch bag Dick, covered all that yellow goo with chocolate glop as he produced a really big bowl of watered-down chocolate frosting and poured it all over my head. To say I was a total wreck would have been an understatement. And do you know what that slimy toad said. He said, "A cake without frosting isn't a cake." Can you believe that. The nerve of some people.

"Hey Lilly! Who was Richard the Lionheart's brother and what was he famous for?"

And despite getting the answer right, that little hussy still plopped two enormous strawberry pudding pies onto my boobs.

"WHAT WAS THAT FOR! I got it right, you little bitch!"

"Oh, just because . . . just because I wanted to."

"FUCK YOU, BITCH!"

I guess I finally lost my cool. There were a dozen pies sitting on a nearby table. Half were chocolate and the others were custard. I grabbed one of the chocolate pies and smashed it into Marci's face. Now this was totally against the rules. The rules clearly stated that I could take no action at all. I HAD to take everything those two dished out to me. But just this once, I lost it! Okay. I LOST IT! I admit it.

Marci didn't like what I had done. She got REALLY pissed. So did Richard. And the next thing I knew, I was being handcuffed with my hands behind my back.

"You fucking bastard . . . I oughta . . ."

But now my two nemesis led me to a platform beam. And this piece of wood was only four inches wide, and it was balanced just three feet over a pit filled with . . .

"Oh shit!"

Oh shit . . . that's motor oil! Used motor oil, at that.

The pit, that I was so precariously balanced over was full of the darkest, blackest, slimiest stuff imaginable. As I looked down at that black goo, a feeling of dread overcame me. I knew what those two were going to do to me. And with my hands cuffed behind my back, I couldn't even fight back.

"Lilly," Richard said with a smug look, "all you have to do is cross that beam, without falling off, and we'll take the handcuffs off."

My heart soared at the prospect of being set free . . . until I got a good look at that wooden beam.

Shit. It's coated with grease.

And then things got worse when Richard and Marci pulled out guns . . . paintball guns.

Oh, Fuck Me!

Well, I'm sure you guessed what happened. I got halfway across, slipping and sliding the entire way, before Dickless Dick's paintball slammed into my side. But though it hurt like hell, I still managed to get two-thirds of the way across the beam before a shot from Marci's gun got me in the ass. And with a cry of pain, I fell in that slimy black muck.

You know, those two ass-wipes almost let me drown in that black shit. Have you ever tried walking in oil. It's almost impossible. That stuff is slippery as hell. And it was three feet deep. When I fell, I went all the way under. As in completely covered with that vile stuff. I kept trying to stand up, only to slip and fall again and again.

And since my hands were handcuffed behind my back, I couldn't get up. Those two pieces of shit left me there, struggling for almost a minute.

I will say this, though, when Richard and Marci finally realized I was floundering and in serious trouble, they quickly jumped in. And Marci immediately slipped and fell on her ass. When she finally got to her feet that black grime covered her all the way to the tops of her boobs. And Richard wasn't much better.

I was coughing and trying to spit up oily goo I had ingested while still trying to regain my footing. Marci and Richard finally got my head out of the oily slop and then helped me to my feet. I promptly lowered my shoulder and knocked Marci down into that slop. She went all the way under, too, and when Marci got up not only was she covered in that oily muck like I was, but she was pissed too!

"You Fucking Bitch! You're going to pay for this!" Marci shouted through oil-strained teeth. Richard saved me from further damage, though, as he helped me climb out of the man-made sludge pit And I guess he was afraid, since I had almost drowned, because Richard quietly took those handoffs off me.

I laughed as I saw how my former bestie looked. If I looked like she did, I knew I had to be a mess too. Marci was completely coated in that black oil. Richard wasn't much better, though the black muck only came up to his waist. I was still hacking up gobs of black muck, as was Marci.

"Oh, you're going to pay for this, bitch," Marci shouted once again. "NOBODY does this to me."

"Ha! You look so good covered in all that black goo."

For the first time all day, I was actually feeling good. Naturally that had to come to an end. Before I knew what was happening Richard slipped in behind me and slapped those handcuffs back on me.

"What . . . what are you doing, Richard?"

"Come on, Lilly," but this time he said it in a much gentler tone. And without realizing what I was doing, I meekly followed Richard behind the McDonald's once again.

Now, on the third Saturday of every month the Kiwanis Club puts on a fair. They called it a Renaissance Festival, with mock sword fights, jousting matches, and all sorts of stuff from the medieval days. But they also did a reenactment of a witch trail. A pretty, young, woman, supposedly picked at random from the audience, would be strapped in the Cucking Stool and then dunked in the lake. Supposedly this was how they did it in the 17th century when a woman was accused of being a witch. If she floated, then she was in league with the devil. If she didn't float, then she was innocent. Of course, if she didn't float, she would have drowned. Ha!

"Lilly," Richard said in in a soft voice, "we have one more challenge for you. If you win the challenge, you get to go free. But, if you lose, you have to go in the Cucking stool."

"Well . . . I guess I'm going to get wet," I said with a wicked little laugh. "Afterall . . . I haven't won one single challenge. Why should that change."

But I didn't know what they really had in store for me.

This challenge, this final challenge, was simple enough. Richard led me to a table that was covered with chocolate pudding pies.

"Lilly," he said, "There is a meatball in each of those pies. Your task is to retrieve each one using nothing but your lips. And you have one minute to do so."

But with my hands, once again, cuffed behind my back, I had nothing to support myself. And the footing was almost impossible since black oily goo was running down my body and pooling under my feet. I could barely stand.

Well, you know what happened. With all that black sludge covering my head and face, and with more running down into my eyes, not to mention that my hands were secured with those handcuffs, I did not get all those chocolate-coated meatballs. Despite slopping my face around in the chocolate goo that resided in twelve pie crusts, all I managed to come up with were four meatballs. I can't tell you how happy that made my two tormentors.

Yeah, keep on laughing you sadistic asswipes. Someday, somebody is going to rip off those silly grins and shove them so far up your ass that the . . .

"Oh, I am so sorry, Lilly. But you seem to have lost another challenge . . . and you know what that means."

On this day, the dick-less wonder had something up his sleeve. I was blindfolded and then strapped into that infernal machine.

"You're going to try to drown me . . . for real, this time. Aren't you?"

I knew all about the legends of the Cucking stool. So, I knew what was going to happen to me when they put me in that infernal contraption.

Great. Just so fucking great. Oh well, at least they can help me get rid of some of this shit that is covering me. But I'm going to have to hold my breath. I know those two.

"No, we wouldn't do that, would we," the Douch bag said with a wink to that twit, Marci.

"Of course not, Lilly. We would never do that."

But I wasn't reassured by her cryptic comment.

So, they strapped me in that Cucking stool. My arms and legs were strapped in tighter than a two-dollar whore in a Sunday School class. Ha!

This has to be it. This has to be the final thing. The rules clearly state that they could only torment me for one hour. ONE HOUR!

"Alright, get on with it," I said, still spitting out black, oily, goo. "Let's get this show finished, you two . . . two turpentine turtles. I just . . . want to go home."

"Well . . . okay. Since you put it that way, Lilly." As he removed the blindfold, Richard pulled out a pair of dice.

"Why don't we let chance decide how many times you get dunked, Lilly."

My heart just about stopped when a six and a four came up.

"TEN . . . ten times," that sarcastic shithead said. "This just hasn't been your day. Has it, Lilly."

Fuck. Oh well, at least it will wash off a lot of this muck.

But then, Marci picked up one of the dice and rolled it again. This time a three came up.

"What was that for" I said rather snippily.

"Oh . . . you'll see," my former friend said with a sadistic sneer on her face.

What the fuck is that supposed to mean.

And then it happened. With a crowd of close to one hundred onlookers watching, I was lifted into the air and the arm of that horrible device, used so much in the Middle Ages, swept me out over the large pond, before coming to a sudden stop.

Just as I was bracing myself for the shock of the cold water, however, I felt myself moving again.

What the . . .

This time, when the catapult stopped moving, and I looked down, I was horrified at what I saw.

Oh Shit . . . that's . . . that's . . . that's not water. It's . . . MUD. Fuck me. It's fucking mud. They are going to dunk me in that shit. Oh, you can't do that to me!

As I looked over at the condescending attitude on Marci's face, I wanted to rip out her eyes.

Oh, you fucking Bitch!

SHIT!


"YOU CAN'T DO THAT TO . . ."

But then, with a sinking sensation, it felt like the whole world had dropped out underneath me. I barely had enough time to catch a quick breath of air and hold it before I hit that mud.

SPA-LOOOOSH!

I didn't make a splash when I hit the sloppy brown, almost black, mud. It just kind of splatted. And then the lights went out as I went all the way under that squishy quagmire.

Though they didn't hold me under too long, the first time, maybe fifteen or twenty seconds, it seemed forever. Then, with a swooshing sensation that left my stomach trying to catch up, I was pulled into the air.

Gasping for breath, I desperately breathed in as deeply as possible, not knowing how long I would have before that dastardly duo dropped me into that mire again.

"Well, what do you think?" I heard Richard say through mud-impacted ears. "Do you think she's a witch? Do you think she is in league with Satan?"

"Well, I don't know. You pulled her out so quickly I couldn't tell if she was floating, or not," I faintly heard Marci reply.

"Well, I guess we'd better make sure, don't you think?"

But before I could shout out my innocence, I went in, once again. And with a loud splat, I found myself going under that slimy muck, once again. And I barely had enough time to grab a quick breath of air and hold it before my head sank beneath the mucky surface of that muddy pit.

This time is seemed like it was only a few seconds before I was once again pulled out of the mud. Only to be dropped back in that sludge again and with hardly enough time to hold my breath.

I was shaking like a leaf this time, when those two pulled me up from the mucky depths of that slop pit. It was partly from the cold of all the sloppy mud covering every square inch of my body, but also from the real fear that they might screw up and actually drown me in that mud.

I was gulping in air as fast as I could while, also, trying not to hyperventilate. I couldn't see, through all the muck that coated my eyes, and my hearing was impacted by all the mud that was blotting out sound waves so that I could barely make out what Marci was saying to Douch bag Dick. As for breathing, my nostrils had long since stopped working due to all the brown goo packed up my nasal cavities.

Oh, if I ever get out of this infernal machine, I am going to kill those two. So, help me . . . So, help me, I WILL kill them.

"Shit!"

"What was that, Lilly?"

I could hear the words, but I really couldn't make out what Marci was saying.

"What did you say, Lilly?"

This time I heard her, though just barely. I felt hands on my face and then I could see, as Marci wiped away the mud from my eyes. The first thing I saw was her grinning face not more than a foot from mine.

"I couldn't make out what you said, Lilly," that two-faced witch from hell said. "Maybe this will help."

Without waiting for a reply, Marci reached in and grabbed my bathing suit with both hands. Then she pulled it down, thus exposing my breasts for everyone to see.

I heard a lot of surprised gasps from many in the crowd. I saw one woman actually put her hands over her little boy's eyes. I was shocked beyond all believe.

"YOU FUCKING BITCH! I'm going to kill you."

In fury, I struggled against my bindings, but to no avail.

"Ooh, I hate you, you fucking bitch. Do you hear me. I hate you. I . . . hate . . . you!"

"Ha!" is all she said in return.

Then I felt myself being swung out over that mud pit, and before I could even say a word, in I went, again.

This time they kept me under a lot longer, maybe thirty seconds. I lost track of time and being disoriented I almost took a breath. Fortunately, I did not. I was gasping for air when I came up. I could feel all that slimy mud flowing down my face, over my chest, before plummeting down my stomach and thighs. As I felt that slime covering my bare boobs it just emphasized, even more, how humiliated my former friends had made me.

Shit! Shit! Shit!

"YOU FUCKING BITCH," I screamed at Marci. "If I ever get my hands on you, I will . . ."

But my tirade was cut short by a scream I recognized as my own, and then I was under that black muck again.

This time those vile evil people held me down for a long time. I don't know how long. I lost track of time. But it was a long time. I think I was on the verge of blacking out. Finally, when it seemed all was lost, I felt the jerking sensation that told me I was coming up.

I don't know if they felt sorry for me or not, but it seemed like they gave me an extra long time to catch my breath. By now, I was really shivering and I'm sure those closest to me could hear my teeth chattering.

Richard looked at me with what almost seemed pity in his eyes.

"Are you ready, Lilly?"

With nothing else to say, I just nodded my head. I couldn't answer. I was so done.

Then with a jolt and a splat, I was under again. I guess I lost track of time. Everything was a whirlwind. I no longer knew what was going on. Nor did I care. I do remember hearing Richard count off, six, then seven, eight and nine. I didn't know what that meant at the time. Later I figured it out. Just like I realized the three that Marci had rolled was when she pulled down my bathing suit to expose my boobs to everyone.

Finally, I heard Richard say, 'ten.' It's the final one, Lilly."

There was so much slop covering my face that I couldn't see him. And I could barely make out what he was saying, through my mud-impacted ears. My nostrils had long been stuffed with black muck so that the only way I could breath was through my mud-coated lips.

I guess Douch bag Dick felt sorry for me. I know Marci wouldn't have. Whatever the reason, my head had barely broken the surface of that mud pool when I was coming back up.

"Thank you, GOD!" I silently whispered.

My ordeal was over. As I felt that long pole pull back to the shore, I was already relishing the thought of a long hot shower, followed by an even longer hot bath. As I sat there, still strapped into the Clucking Stool, I watched the crowd start to slowly dissipate.

Ha! I guess this witch was found innocent. I can't believe that I keep falling for this. But I've learned my lesson Never a gain. I won't do this ever again.

Everyone had left. It was down to Douch bag Dick and Marci the merciless. But then I saw them start to walk away.

Wait a minutes. You can't go . . . you can't leave me tied up like this, covered in mud and with my boobs hanging out. WAIT JUST ONE DAMN MINUTE!

But they didn't wait. Richard and the woman WHO had been my best friend since grade school, just walked away, leaving me strapped in that stool. And then I started to really curse them out.