Fiction: Legend Of The Great Shanky Stank
By Dr. Henry Lydo
Well boys, jest sit on back in them chairs right there, ‘n let me tell ya all abo’t the great big Shankie Stank! Once a long time ago, I worked over on a hillside called Bank Mountain, no kiddin. The place I worked at was called the Shankie Screw. Don’t that sound, in all of them words., just kind of.., ring a bell with ya in the breast there? Ya know what I mean, here? Hooowl now! (The audience falls out) I’m about to die from laughin’, and jest started tellin’ ya this damn story here! That’s bad of me tonight, don’t ya good people reckon?
My big bosses name was Larry Swank. He was a medium sized man who kinda walked with a wobble, like a drunk shit ass duck trying to walk on hot sand, an’ pick a booger out his nose at the same time; if you good folks here tonight can even picture such a thing now. He had a nose so damn long I always felt if he tried to eat pussy, he probably couldn’t keep from shovin’ it up her asshole at the same time. Or better yet, maybe she got her kicks like that, and let him flip flop her over, from side to crusty side. How’s that for makin’ the best from an uncomfortable situation, eh?
Ole Larry, my ex-boss there, had an assistant. Her name was Belinda Scank. She was near ‘bout as damn big as Larry’s own sow was. Her ass was so damn wide, I swear four men could O’ climbed up on that thing now, and had a plenty O’ room to hunch at the same damn time. She was so ugly I don’t believe she ever combed her bangs down, ‘cause her hair kept jumping back up to stay out a her g—damned face! All around the whole job site we used to hear everybody say the nasty sow was a real whore from hell, believe it or not. But I could never figure out how. I mean, were they drunk? Please people here, you would have had to see this female monstrosity to believe it! It really was that bad now.
One of the men there on the job actually claimed he went with big booty, Belinda, for awhile, no? She had some big booty breath to go with that great big nasty ass too, let me tell ya all about it now! I honestly don’t see how the poor man stood being around her, personally. She sure must have had some good pussy for him to over look that thing’s short comin’s , is all I got to say! When I was around her I couldn’t tell whether it was her belly churnin’ smell, or of she’d actually taken a shit, to tell the truth about it. Maybe that was the problem thinkin’ back on it; maybe she took a shit rather than left it, like she was supposed to. I honestly never could figure it out, myself. (crowd applause)
Well, believe it or not, this man claimed you couldn’t trust ole Belinda from one room to the bloody next, if he was at any kind of a house party. He even claimed he carried that thing to the great big zoo way up in D.C., there. What’s its name now? The one in Rock Creek National Part There? The National Zoo, I think? Ole Belinda done all right, the man said, ‘til he carried her near the gorilla cage. He said he turned his back at soda machine, and when he turned back around, ole booty breath, Belinda, had up and vanished just like that, for crying out loud here!
So this man threw his head back and started sniffin’ the pussy funk floatin’ on the wind. When he finally followed it back to the gorilla cage, he walked up on ole booty breath Belinda inside the g—damned cage, a gang bangin’ the g—damned gorillas, for all that sweet Dolly Dixie was worth; and there was nine of ‘em, if it means anything to you a good people in here tonight! I mean, honestly, what’s this pathetic world comin’ to this day and time, with the way people are? Think about that for a moment, here.
All O’ you fine people are laughing about this matter I am speaking of here, but I’m telling the God’s honest truth! I mean, for real. You may read these words I have written, or if you kin hear me speak, jest look me straight into my face. Do I honestly seem like a person whose lying?
You know what else that man told me? Hell, you won’t believe it! You just won’t believe it. Let me tell you good people all about it! He told me there was something about that sick, rotten egg smell, that made a man jest want to jump down there and eat that barrel sized pussy, (the crowd rages with laughter) a damn Barnum N Bailey freak monster, in and of itself. Boys, he said to me, ole Belinda was like a funked up witch castin’ a demon’s spell on him! It made him jest want a jump down there and go rootin’, like damn wild hog strung out on bore-out steroids, in that nasty sour putrid thang now!
You know what else that man told me? He claimed that pussy of ole Belinda’s stank so damn bad, his stomach would flip as he neared his face toward that thang! He said he would force himself passed the smell, then latch right solidly down on it firmly. There was something chemical about that smell and what he was sucking up into his mouth, it gave him a g—damn head rush! I mean, my Lord here, I’ve heard it all. Some people sniff glue, some people sniff shit in a bag, but g—damn, this son of a bitch eats rotten pussy! Have any of you ever heard of such a thang?
I personally, always wondered which one she liked best. Was it my ole ex-boss, with that sideways slanted mouth and that long ass nose? His nose must have been a good nine inches long, or more. He probably had more nose than he did damn dick. What do you good people thank here tonight? You in on this with me tonight now?
Or did she like that man, Swanger, or Swigger, whatever the hell his name was? You know, the one telling me all of these intimate details about Belinda. I mean, this man told me that sometimes when he was eating Belinda’s pussy, that thang stunk so damn bad he’d glance down at his dick, and it had drawn up into his body like a g—damn turtle head! I means, it’s really bad when a man’s damn dick is scared of the pussy smell from the one you are about to get, right?
This man actually claimed that when he carried her over to the zoo, he took ole Belinda into the flower garden, right where the tall shrubbery is, and decided to git him a piece. He claimed that when he got up on that thang and started throwin’ it good N hard, he’d get right mad with it and simply couldn’t stop. Then the unthinkable would always happen, it would never fail. Right when it started feelin’ the best, ole Belinda would cut a great big nasty fart that literally made the flowers wilt. (The crowd roars with laughter) He claimed he was afraid he’d be arrested for killin’ the pretty flowers.
Hell now, think about this for a moment; that pig, Belinda, could sit right there on Larry’s g—damned nose, and get a hell of a lot more kick from that, than she’d ever get from a Swigger dick, there, eh? The way he always talked, the nasty fat slut could suck a golf ball through a g—damn garden hose, but alas, even that luscious talent had absolutely no effect on him! He said old Belinda told him he had the two cutest little cherries one the deadest g—damned crumbly limb, she ever did see. I can tell ya all that much, for sure.
Well, let me tell y’ all.., once in a while I’d look around when we were in our occasional faculty meetin’ on this job, you know; an’ ole Larry, the big boss man, would be talkin’ to us out one side of his mouth like he always did, and I’d catch him a winkin’ at great big ole booty breath, Belinda. I reckon she was a wantin’ to score her some serious brownie points, while she got that great big booty smacked around some, and maybe that asshole tickled a little bit by that great big nose. What all O you think about it now? You know, these are insecure times we live in, and extreme circumstances demand a response in kind to the extreme!
When the meetin’ was over, I’d see ole Larry and her, ease off into one of them back rooms there in that office complex. Ever time she took a step I could hear the thunder roll. Ohhhh boy, I laugh like hell ever time I pause to think about it, now! I can just see it all right now; some rock and roll, slam and bam, N a whole hell of a lotta stank oozin on his shank. I reckon if she’d put a slick shine good enough on that bad boy, when he’d finished drillin’ her rough and steady, he’d over look that damn rotten egg breath the bitch had. You think? Eh? (The gathered crowd roars in laughter)
Well, she’d come back out a that room jest a smilin’ and a grinning, like a worthless shit eatin’ possum with a mouth full O bamboo briers to go with it, for real! She’d be just a strainin’ like hell to get them faded jeans up over them wallowing rolls of fat, as she waddled on out a that room; and he’d be a wiping them jowls in a breathless furry, like a shoe shine boy on a rich baron’s Testoni, I tell ya! Hoooowl, God, help us all here! The only thang he forgot to git rid of, was that g—damned puked out smell he had all over his face! Oh my dear God, help us all up in here tonight!
Amid all O this excitement, I used to hear about The Big Shankie Stank. You thought it was old booty breath, Belinda, now didn’t ya, I’ll bet? See, I got ya pegged here, tonight ladies and gentlemen. I know what ya thinkin. No, this is a massive manlike monster who lives up on the hill there by the Shankie Screw, where I worked back in this time.
You know, we all had one hell of a job there in that place. Ever body for miles around used drop by ole Shankie Screw there, where we worked, and knock their gutter scum out right into the center court of this great big ole government building, no kiddin here! Yeah, I mean, the government paid these people big money just to knock their trash out, then drive off, and simply leave the freaking filthy mess right there smack dab in the center court, no?
Our job was to sort though this garbage, sieving out what was salvageable from what was long since wasted. It would take us might near eighteen months to two years or more, just to pass the first batch through our sieve, only to have ninety percent of it to turn up being non salvageable in the end. I bet you thought the country was goin’ broke from being indebted to the Chinese, didn’t you? Some of it turned so bad after a year and a half, the government would even ship it all the way back across country to where it came from. Can you believe this? I mean, for Pete’s sake here, now people! I don’t know what else to say about it except that the confounded mess was what it was in the end.
Well, finally this abominable heap got so big the government bought in Sewer Trolls from somewhere way out in the hobo jungles, a bouncin in on nine of the most beautiful gueto salsero, just to help us sort through all of this gutter scum. The mess was way beyond our capacity to process, so the US government would give these trolls free room and board, including a mix mash of she-males shipped in by the buss loads; for the accommodating convenience of these rude trolls, ballyhooing these she-males up as granting nine exotic favors in twenty unique flavors. I never could figure out why they didn’t jest bring in some real women, but give ‘em credit where it due, them God forsaken Yankees cut it jest as close to the bone as they could, bless their heart. Here, have some of the very best in crotch crickets and root rot virus, in exchange for the grand effort, I guess, eh you good folks?
Why, the US government even handed out pay checks for these Trolls to boot! No kiddin’ here. I am just as serious as a heart attack, people! This story really is hard to believe, and I wouldn’t be honest with ya if it won’t so damn true. Ninety percent of these trolls only laid up like a bunch of hogs in a parlor; a drinkin’, eatin’ and spending all their time lookin’ somethin’ to jig, you know what I mean here? Think about that for a minute.., the American tax payers paid for this new form of netting a hobos welfare check, including buss loads of washed up whores and she-males to go with it, eh? I mean, people, pause and think about that for a moment here.
I won’t never forget it, I tell ya. One day all of them trolls were laying out on the grass, right out in the yard there inside ole Shankie Screw, male beside female or she-male, whichever came first. They called the place Shanky Screw, I figured because they shank everybody who works there real hard, right up the ass; while they screw them out of ever benefit anybody ever dreamed about having. Time they all finish with a person, he can fart thunder claps while he begs for mercy at the doctor’s office, for all they care. Retirement, you ask? Well, you can tire of ‘em shankin’ you for a week, rest a bit while you figure what benefit they screwed you on worse, then you re-tire the next week while they’re a screwin’ bloody hell out of ya all over again, right? This is what the great American Dream has deteriorated into these days, eh? If only we all could return back into the post World War Two golden age of proletariat prosperity. Just look at the scum life you’ve replaced it with Washington! I mean, my word, people. The Worker’s Union and individual liberty certainly granted us a far better life for sure, once upon a time, even here on The Ole Miss campus tonight, eh? (The gathered crowd claps, whistles, and cheers eagerly)
We were all told about the lair of the Great Shankie Stank bein’ on this hill next to Shankie Screw there where we worked. While we gazed out at all of them worthless Sewer Trolls, just a layin’ out on the grass like hogs in parlor, doing nothin’ and drawin’ that fat Yankee check; we were all paryin’ the Great Shankie Stank would roar down that mountain, with blood in his eyes, I tell ya! It was a virtual smorgasbord for the takkin. Good ole Sweet Mama Jean couldn’t have served it up here for him any better, boys! Remember Sweet Mama Jean? Catch me for a copy right after the show here.
Well, the next thing I knew all of them trolls started coverin’ their mouths, and noses, throwing up, gaggin’; then the most beautiful sight on earth ever to behold appeared! These nasty, terrible, Sewer Trolls leaped up from the grass, running for all their lives in shear terror back toward their dorms. Then I heard it from way up on the mountain side, a thunderin’ rumblin’ roar, like a lion strung out on crack and thorn juice. I heard crackin’, I heard snappin’, I heard a rippin’ amd a rearin’. I saw tree limbs wilt all the way to the ground, and then he finally stepped out in the open, where my poor sore eyes could behold this massive lumberin’ creature, from somewhere in the backward most sewer lagoon.
His was a huge humanoid, maybe five hundred pounds. He had hair down to knees. He had bigger set of ham thighs than most women. He was around seven feet tall. When he lumbered passed the new tulips and roses, his breath smelled so bad all of them wilted to the ground. And the smell? His odor was unfathomable. His scent caused one to feel it was diseased in some type of way, I tell all of ya. I put a bandanna around my mouth and nose, daring to walk up, when all others only fled in great fear. Yeah, fathom that sight for a moment here, little ole me walkin’ up to that great shankie stank!
“What’s up?,” I said to him. “I don’t think we’ve met before.”
“I’m a resident here on this campus, Hoss,” he said to me, with a puzzled look on his face.
“Really?,” I inquired, in great confused dismay. “Really, ole chap? You, a resident? Here?”
“The reason you smell this funk around hereabouts, is because I’m the real shit up in this place,” he replied. “And I ain’t no joke, son, look!”
He reached inside his pocket pullin’ out and counting fourteen thousand dollars, in hundred dollar bills, right there on the ground before me.
“I don’t understand?,” I announced to him in great distress.
Well, I’ll take all of these sons of bitches money around here,” he continued. “They don’t call me the red light Sheikh of Shank for nothin. I keep dorm number ten just a rockin, and all these thorny burrs around here just a boppin’!, he said with a perverted smile, “just as long as I am not forgotten come payday.”
“I simply just don’t get it?,” I said to him, as he only lumbered about with a broad smile, giving no reply.
About the time those words escaped from my mouth, up raced the greatest mob of she-males my poor Mississippi eyes ever laid upon. I didn’t even know we had so many around here. My word, people! Ever cotton pickin’ one of ‘em fell all over this filthy monster, just as happy to see him as any thing you’d ever see. Son! I didn’t know we even had a thousand of ‘em round there.
The great Shankie Stank casually turned toward me, while he stood inside this massive mob of feminine she-males. He nodded his head as he sent a large wink my way.
“Yeah, like I told ya before, I’ll take all of this money these Yankees are givin’ these dumb ass ,sons of bitches, while I give ‘em all my special root rottin’ disease. Tell everybody I’ll keep the red light on for ‘em down at the Bowl Of Trolls, right down the hill there, at the dorm with the brightest first red light on the right.. Chau now!,” he rumbled.
The monster then turned, walkin’ with that huge she-male mass completely surrounding him, toward dorm building number ten. As he lumbered along, I thought I saw a faint pink haze, lighting up the evening sky in the direction he was headed.
(massive applause, whistles, and cheers)
Thank you people, thank you. Its so good to be here in the one and only Ole Miss National Comedy Session. There you have it, now, The Legend of The Great Shanky Stank!
Dr. Henry Lydo is a national and international academic/ ESL Instructor. He has been a writer for over thirty years. His latest publications have been two books of nonfiction with Algora Publishing, a fictional novel by Atmosphere Press, and fictional publications with combo e-zines and print magazines; Leaves Of Ink, CC&D Magazine, Short Story Lovers, The Fear Of Monkeys, and Frontier Tales. He recently signed three contracts with Pen it Publications. He has also enjoyed a lifetime of outdoor activities from big game hunting, camping, fishing, and trapping, to archaeological field work in various exotic locations. What he enjoys most of all is meeting freedom loving, interesting creative people, who are also regular dedicated fans of his publications.