I'm A Goddamn Voyeur, Now.

Tabernacle Tit-heads,

There's something about watching two people fucking that makes the old blood pump race. You know what I mean?

There I was earlier today, sitting in my shitbox old apartment, minding my own business watching Hogan's Heroes and eating a broccoli, chicken and cheese Hot Pocket when I hear a blood-curdling scream from the building next to mine.

I took another bite and hopped up from my chair. I don't remember if I was excited because I thought someone was getting murdered, or what, but I hobbled my way over to the bedroom window, moved the dirty drapes out of the way and looked down.

If someone was getting slaughtered, I figured it might as well be between the buildings.

Nothing. Just the old bag from the other apartment tossing a sack of trash into the dumpster. Old cunt.

I was about to go back and watch Colonel Klink get pissed at Hogan and friends, when I happened to glance at the apartment next to mine, across the mini-alley.

There, for all the world (at least all the Bill's) to see, was a tall skinny guy giving some giant hog of a woman the fucking of a lifetime. He stood there, shorts down to his knees, glasses still in place, laying pipe in something that was lying on the bed like some kind of deflated hot air balloon.

Her giant, sloppy tits were swimming around like they were paddles in an oversized raft. The nipples on those monstrosities were horrid. They were the size of dinner plates and looked like a dog had gotten after them. You know, chewed 'em up but good?

Awful.

The dork laying the pipe stopped for effect, swatted her tree-trunk-like thigh and proceeded to slowly thrust his piss pump in slowly, ever-so-slowly. The hog on the bed grabbed the pillows like they were bundt cakes and screamed at the top of her lungs.

Now this was something!

While I don't want to sound like some kind of queer, I couldn't help but wonder what artillery this skinny fuck was packing. I mean, I don't like guys or anything. After all, I was in the Korean War for crissakes. But still, I had to wonder what his secret was.

What did this 110 pound punk have that made Moby Dick's daughter shriek like this?

As if the guy could hear the questions cycling through my amazed mind, he pulled his swollen johnson out and rolled her over. I watched as her giant buttcheeks sent ripples of fat away from her cavernous buttcrack to the triple-sized thighs.

It was then I saw what my neighbor was packing.

The guy had a short prick, but what he lacked in length, it uncannily was made up in girth. This bean-pole had a cock on him as wide as a stove pipe. Honest to god. Go get a can of coffee and you've got a pretty close match.

It was unbelievable. I had to keep watching...

...that was, until he parted the fat slob's massive butt cheeks to reveal the snarly, hairy shit socket contatined inside. It looked like someone used it as an ashtray. He was going for the back door. That monster was going to put that giant thing in her dumper.

That was all I could watch.

I went back to the living room to my Cold Pocket and turned Hogan's Heroes up. Way up.

Even so, I could still hear that big bitch's screams.

A stove-pipe. I'm not shitting you.