Silly Lilly the Sillybitch: Can't Win for Losing Part Two

Somebody took pity on me and handed me a large towel. It wasn't my former friend and her dipshit boyfriend. It was that Montana guy. After a couple of minutes, I had managed to wipe away just enough muck so that I could see, breath and hear again. But I was still covered in that crap.

"Thank you," I mouthed the words to my savior.

I wonder where Montana is. I think it is in the western part of the United States.

"Lilly," I heard Richard say faintly through my impacted ears, "your next task is to run to that street light, and back, and you have thirty seconds to do it. Starting NOW!"

"What!" I looked at the end of the street where the lone light pole stood and knew there was no way I could do it.

"Fuck. Just go ahead and give me the punishment. I can't do that."

"Okay, then," the smug bastard said, for failure to perform the task set forth, you are sentenced to . . ."

I didn't hear the rest, but I knew by what Richard and Marci were now holding in their hands, that I was in for another round of mess.

Richard had a two-liter carton of chocolate custard, while Marci had the same in strawberry.

Hmm. I wonder where she got that strawberry custard. I didn't even know it had made its way to the east shore yet.

With Richard in front, and Marci to my rear, they poured that gallon of liquid mess all over me. The front of me, from head to toe, though still covered in sticky oatmeal now had a layer of chocolate goo over it, while Marci made sure the back of my bathing suit was covered in the pinkish substance.

"I hate you," I said as I looked at Marci. We had been friends since kindergarten.

"Ha. You think you hate me NOW. You haven't seen anything yet!" Marci spat out, almost hatefully.

"Marci, what happened to you?"

I was so shocked, because I had never seen my friend act this way, especially toward me. Instead of answering, Marci turned her back and walked away.

"Okay, Lilly," Richard was talking again as he carried over two buckets, this time the smaller, two-gallon ones, "time for Truth or Dare!"

"Uhgg, I hate these silly word games."

"In what year was the Battle of Hastings fought. And what famous sign appeared in the heavens that year?"

Oh shit, I know that. I got it.

"Truth or Dare, Lilly!"

"Truth, 1066!"

Yes!

"And the other part."

"What other part?"

"Come on, Lilly, you can't weasel your way out of this one," Richard said while looking down at an index card in his hand. "What famous sign was seen in the heavens that year?"

Oh shit! Me and my big mouth.

"I . . . uh . . . uh . . . fuck. I . . . I just don't know. FUCK!"

With a gloating look on his face, Richard said, "the Battle of Hastings was fought on October 14, 1066 and Halley's Comet appeared in the night sky. The Hoary Star as the comet was called back then, was considered an omen of doom.

"Who fought in the Battle of Hastings and who won?"

"Duh, the British of course, you idiot," I said with a snide look.

"Who did they fight?"

"The French, who elssssss . . . ?"

Oops. Me and my big mouth, again.

"Who won the battle?"

"William the Conqueror!"

"Who lost it?"

Fuck!

"In what year was Halley's Comet last seen by the naked eye on Earth?"

"What?"

"In what year was Halley's Comet last seen on Earth?"

"I don't know. How the hell am I supposed to know that?"

"Alright let's tally up the score. The Battle of Hastings was fought in 1066. That's one right. But you didn't know that Halley's Comet was seen in that year, so that is one wrong. The British did fight in the Battle of Hastings, but it was against the Normans, not the French. So, the score is knotted at 2-2. William the Conqueror did win the battle, but you did not know who lost it. That was Harold II, who was killed during the fight. That makes it 3-3, but then you did not know when Halley's Comet was last seen on earth, which was 1986, so that means you have four losses."

"And that means," Richard said with a snide look on his face, "that you have to take four punishments."

"NOW WAIT A MINUTE. WAIT JUST ONE DAMN MINUTE!"

"I only took one truth or dare. There was nothing said about any of this other shit."

"We're not going to argue that, Lilly. You kept answering the questions, which meant you gave implied consent."

"Fuck this shit, I quit. I'm not taking any more of this shit."

But as I moved to the parking lot, Richard and Marci cut me off.

And then to make matters worse, Richard pulled out a pair of handcuffs. They took me to a seesaw that was not being used and put me on the damn thing. With my hands cuffed behind my back I could not fight back. They made me straddle that abominable thing and then they tied me up to where I could not move.

"Shit," I said while struggling to get free. "Fuck. Fuck you, you go fuck yourself," I said as I tried to kick Richard in the balls.

"Whoa. Whoa there, little lady," he said, "you're getting a little hot under the collar, Lilly."

"I think we need to cool her off, don't you, Marci?"

"Most definitly."

"What? What are you talking about?" I said, not liking the way they were looking at a large container of ice cream that had been sitting on the table for an hour or so.

"Yes, I definitely think she needs to cool off," Marci said, reaching for that gallon of melted chocolate ice cream.

"No. No, you wouldn't. Don't you darrrrrrrrrree . . . ahhhhhhhrrrrrrrrr," I screamed as all of that melted ice cream landed on the top of my head.

Oh, it was so cold.

"I hate you, you fuckin' bitch," I screamed as loud as I could. "This is IT! If I ever get out of here, you're dead meat!"

"Do you hear me, BITCH? Do you aaaahhhrrrggg . . ."

That slimy weasel, Richard had thrown a bucket of ice water into my face, just as I was telling Marci off.

"SHITTTTTT!"

"You fuckin' Asshole!" I screamed through chattering teeth.

Oh, if I could just get free right now . . . those two would be dead.

"Time for your four forfeitures, Lilly," Richard announced in a grand tone. That sick bastard was really enjoying this shit.

"Wait a minute. You just wait one minute. You already gave me two forfeitures. I don't . . ."

But that was as far as I got before Marci chimed in, "Oh those weren't forfeitures, Lilly. We were just trying to cool you off."

The look I gave my former friend could have killed. You know the saying, "if looks could kill?" Well, she would have been dead, buried and decomposing from the look I gave her.

"Fuck you," I said very loudly and very clearly.

She actually acted shocked, like I had just said something very profound. But then Richard stuck his big fat nose into our conversation.

"Well . . . time to get on with it."

And then, that slimy toad poured a bucket of brownie batter over my head.

It was one of those extra-large, two-gallon types. And he took his sweet ass time. It must have taken at least twenty seconds before Richard finished emptying that brown mess over my ruined hair.

With all my attention on that shithead, I had not noticed Marci bringing up multiple buckets. Now I saw there were an additional four of those two-gallon plastic containers of mess.

This time it was Marci who gave me the treatment. And it was chocolate cake batter. The lighter, milk chocolate slime, which had a thinner consistency than the previous muck, poured so much quicker. But then again, Marci was always the impatient one. Rather than slowly pour it over my head, like Richard had, she turned the bucket over and with a loud SPLAT, all that runny muck slammed into the top of my head.

Now it was Richard's turn, again, and this time, his weapon of mess was chocolate pudding. The only good thing I can say about that muck was that if there was anything chocolate that I would like, it would be the pudding. The creamy texture of that light brown glop was so titillating as it landed on my head, first, but then down my face and even on my boobs. It felt, nice, for lack of a better word.

But then it was Marci's turn, and once again, she couldn't wait to unleash a torrent of brown muck over my ruined head.

This time it looked like someone had taken a bunch of Hershey's chocolate bars and partially melted them. This muck was still warm, which was a good thing after being assaulted with so much cold. And there were small chunks of partially melted chocolate mixed in.

The only good thing I can say is that after this latest round of forfeitures, nobody could see the oatmeal that covered my body. Every last inch of my body now carried multiple layers of chocolate mess.

But then I saw Marci bend over to pick up another bucket.

"Wait a minute," I cried out. "you said there were were four, four, forfeitures. What's that bitch doing now?"

"Well," Marci said in a condescending tone, "this is for saying, 'Fuck you.'"

"What?"

"You have got to be kidding," I added.

When I saw that she was serious, I, once again, stated clearly and distinctly, "FUCK . . . YOU . . . BITCH!" Then I added, "And the horse you rode in on."

I even stuck my tongue out at that bitch. I know I shouldn't have. It would only make things worse. But by that time, I was so angry that I didn't care.

"NO," Marci enunciated that single word with a sharpness and distinction that everyone within earshot understood her. "No," she repeated, "Fuck You!"

And then she let me have it. This time the forfeiture was Hershey's chocolate syrup. And this time, Marci took her own sweet time. That little vixen made sure I got every last drop. Have I told you how much chocolate syrup stings if it gets in your eyes? It does. Oh, it does. It's like getting soap in your eyes.

But she wasn't content with that bucket. Marci drug out another bucket of chocolate syrup.

"No, you wouldn't dare," I shouted when Marci pulled out my lavender and yellow polka-dotted panties from her shopping bag. "Those are my FAVORITE fucking pair!"

But she did it. She took those panties, my favorite ones, and dropped them into that 2-gallon bucket of chocolate syrup. She then stirred them around with a large spatula, until they were completely covered in chocolate goo. As Richard unlocked one of my hands, Marci, using a pair of tongs, retrieved my panties and held them over my head. With more chocolate muck dripping down onto the top of my head, my former best friend sweetly smiled and said, "put them on dearie, on the outside of your swimsuit."

As I reached out for them, Marci dropped my favorite pair of panties right on my head.

"No, I've changed my mind, dearie. I want you to wear them . . . as a hat!"

As I sat there, stunned, trussed up like a chicken, madder than a wet hen, I saw Marci reach for the bucket my panties had been in.

"What's that for," I croaked, as Marci picked up that last bucket of messy goo. "You've given me all the forfeitures I earned."

"Oh, this one, dearie," she smiled so sweetly, sickeningly sweetly at me, "this one is just because I felt like it."

And then she let me have it, but good. After pouring half of that brown mucky mess over my head, Richard took hold of the top of my bathing suit and held it open for the rest of that sticky brown, almost black, chocolate syrup.

Everyone in the audience, and by now, it had become quite large, got to see everything. And I do mean everything. Dickless Dick pulled down my bathing suit, so everyone saw my mucky puppies, if you know what I mean. My boobs were now covered with all sorts of mucky stuff. And of course, now, Marci was dumping the rest of that chocolate syrup on them.

I swear, if I ever get out of here, those two are dead meat.

"No jury would ever convict me," I whispered, "would they. I mean, it would be temporary insanity, right?" That thought brought a slight chuckle to my mucky lips.

By now, I was so thoroughly ruined, utterly humiliated. I didn't think it could get any worse. I was wrong.