Incontestable Repulsiveness
Stephen Bash hated his life.
Now I know what you’re thinking, but it really was that bad for him.
You see, he’d always been bullied. Picked on for one reason or another. But mostly it boiled down to two things, the first of which is that Stephen was astronomically ugly, but we’ll get to that in a couple of very short paragraphs. The second thing was his surname.
Bash.
“Eeerrr... you gonna’ bash one out, Bash?” the other kids at school used to say. “Eeerrr... looks like you’ve been bashed with the ugly stick, Bash.”
In truth, Stephen Bash hadn’t been bashed with the ugly stick. But imagine this.
A child, born right at the top of the highest tree, to extremely clumsy parents. The child falls, hitting every single branch on the way down, before it finally hits the ground, hard.
That’s how ugly Stephen Bash was.
He was so undeniably hideous, so incontestably repulsive, so irrefutably grotesque, that with a nonchalant glance he could make babies vomit.
His friends, those few he had, would never look him directly in the face. Most stared at a spot a few inches above his right shoulder. On the single occasion one of his few friends actually looked at his face, he suffered a mild stroke and had to take a month off work.
He’d never had a girlfriend either, though considering his incontrovertible monstrousness, that fact should come as no surprise.
Even his incredibly addictive and charming personality was not enough for any girl to overlook his indisputable hideousness.
So Stephen Bash did what any other self-respecting man in his position would have done. He attempted to acquire the services of a prostitute. He quickly learned, however, that no amount of money would convince a woman to allow his gargantuan penis entrance to her womanly folds.
He even sought women as ugly as he and frequented night clubs in the hopes of bedding a girl on the cusp of being paralytic, though not so drunk she wouldn’t remember in the morning.
Every time the result was the same. On the extremely rare occasion his personality won through, or a drunken haze made him appear only slightly fugly, his potential conquest would take one look at his mammoth phallus and pass out.
Because of these unfortunate facts and through no fault of his own, Stephen Bash reached thirty years of age, a virgin.
Throughout his twenties he accrued a massive fortune via online gambling. Some of said fortune he spent on penis reductions. However, for reasons unknown to pretty much everybody, those reductions never lasted. By the time he arrived home after surgery, his manhood had always reverted to its original size.
There was something else about Stephen Bash. Something he was unable to explain. He always felt as though he was being watched. Much of the time, he fobbed such feelings off as simple paranoia and usually he was correct.
As he played with his latest toy, a very expensive speed boat, he was indeed being watched. As he pulled a sharp left turn, kicking up inordinate amounts of spray, two individuals were looking at him from afar. As he weaved in and out of the slalom he’d created, using many other similarly expensive toys, floating upon his personal boating lake, two ′people′ watched him, and as they did, they conversed.
Before we get into why they were watching him though, and indeed about what they were conversing, perhaps a little information about them would be apt.
First and foremost, they were not human. They were aliens. At least, that’s what they would have been to humans, should mankind have ever encountered them, which they have not. They didn’t refer to themselves as alien, nor did any of the several billion species with whom they had relations.
They were of a race known as the Echofillums, which were incredibly vain and, by Intergalactic MegaSpace standards, reasonably attractive.
Their current location was a small cruising vessel, just beyond the Oort Cloud of the Sol System, on the very edge of Intergalactic MegaSpace.
“Hehe appearsappears toto bebe havinghaving funfun,” said one.
“Hehe doesdoes,” the other replied. “Butbut oneone soso incomprehensiblyincomprehensibly repulsiverepulsive, mustmust getget hishis jolliesjollies somehowsomehow.”
You might remember the Echofillums being described as incredibly vain. So vain were they, so unbelievably egotistical, so ridiculously narcissistic, that their genetic make-up included an echo, prior to words spoken. Such a thing made their speech rather difficult to understand, and as for reading their dialogue... well, that was likely to make any given reader’s eyes bleed. So with that in mind, this humble writer would ask that from now on, you simply pretend said reverberation is, indeed, there.
“What a sorry existence it is though,” said the first. “Never knowing the soft caress of a female, for fear she’ll suffer an embolism.”
“Perhaps we should help him,” the other said.
“To do what?”
“To get laid. The Universe only knows how randy he must be.”
“You speak the truth. After all, how many times have we watched him masturbate his tree trunk of an organ?”
“Several times, indeed. It’s hardly surprising his biceps are almost as large as his vastly swollen testicles.”
“Then it is settled?”
“Yes, it is settled. We will aid this unfortunate human specimen and help him attain the sweet release he so craves.”
Of course, Stephen Bash was completely oblivious to the Echofillums’ conversation. Taking that into consideration, I’m sure you can imagine his surprise when, in a flash of light so bright, so luminous, so blinding, he was instantly transported to the small Echofillum cruising vessel, just beyond the Oort Cloud of the Sol System, on the very edge of Intergalactic MegaSpace.
