0 comments/ 14757 views/ 0 favorites Polska Blood Sucka Phucka Ch. 01 By: soupwarsproject Night #1 My name is Zebedeusza S. Kubrokovich. My last name rhymes with “Cute boy who loves dick.” Call me Skowronek, or in English, call me Skylark. I’m part Japanese and part Polack. I’m a PolskaJap so shut your yap! I’m a little chicken who likes sucking Dickens or, maybe I’m tofu and Dear John’s the fool. Am I a minor, or a well-preserved wallet miner? My youth is the truth, but my age I won’t let those damned chickenhawks gauge. If they ever find out, with dinner I might go without. Since you’re my pal, I’ll give you a tip-in, I voted for Mr. Algyro J. Kwapien. Right now, I’m somewhere in Krakow, hanging with my baby-girl crack ho and getting a blow from her boyfriend, His pimpness, so slow. Her name is Rocket. She loves to smoke it while sitting on her boyfriend’s face. That buck isn’t the only schmuck she fucks in this place. Heh! That fat chick is phat shit. She fucks me alone for some cheating, when he’s too busy ho-beating. Don’t tell her dude though, or my ass will be skewered through. Rocket and the Lark, two prongs on the pitchfork, inseparable like AIDS on a bareback cock-itch dork. Check out my teeth. Aren’t they beyond belief? They’re filed as evil as the Joker’s wild. Thanks for the compliments. They’re fangs for my condiments. Blood and the man milk are tasty treats for my dirty feats. Don’t worry; I only bite when the time is right. Oh yes, I’m a sucker for the suckers. For two hundred bucks, I’ll turn you into a bad-assed vampire motherfucker. At least that’s my hustle when I’m working the muscle. Is my claim true or just an illusion? Just think about it, and guess the allusion. I heard that some bleeders have the cures for all illness. My “H” and my Ivy, you need some excising. Thus, until I find that clean blood fucking, I guess I’ll continue to keep right on trucking. America, land of the cash and home of the bad; it’s where I always want to be at. I’ll be pimping and not skimping, living off the land, saying what I want, not giving all my money to some phony ass who calls me homey. I should be retired, not pimped out and tired. I want to meet the nigs that will get me some gigs, dancing and playing, rhyming free-style. Fuck Poland, I’m leaving! I’ll be cruising to the white sands of … I’m so damned dumb, New Jersey’s got no white sands. My grasp of geography is in absolute atrophy, but you bet your ass, I’ll still get the trophy. Jersey has the bitch who will listen to my pitch. Lady Liberty the French copper-skinned cutie; she will make sure that I collect my booty. I don’t mean my ass, as cute and round as it is. I mean it in the piratical sense, so don’t get hysterical, Spence. Rocket is coming with me, and we’re going to have a blast. It’s going to be her, a postcard from her spaz, Chaz, and the flesh-and-blood me. Just the thought of that full-bodied mama’s anallingus gives me the tingles. I guess I’ll continue to give cunt some cunnilingus. “Oh Skylark, that’s the shit.” Even with lights so dark, you can still see her tits doing the jiggle to the left and to the right. Earth Goddess allures me and takes my will to fight in this angle. She’s wearing red suede boots that barely reach her ankles. Looking at her fishnets, I realize that her nets are cuter than mine are. The bitch has garters and hitches. I got elastic doing the same trick. Oh yeah, did you notice? I’m always cross-dressing. It keeps me from stressing about looking like a twelve-year-old girl. It isn’t that bad, so don’t be so sad. Babe I’m so pretty, even the heteros give me dinero so they can blow up their tip as I’m taking a sip of their... Need I be graphic, Mr. Fantastic? Her noises so zany make me as hardheaded as Dick Cheney. Akinyele the rap boss once told us, “What do you choose to lick: pussy or dick, people throughout the world, it’s your pick.” I’m eating Chaz’s prick too, so I guess I haven’t made my pick. It’s too hard to choose, so how can I lose if I play it both ways. The asshole thinks I’m one-hundred percent gay and that’s okay. That just makes him less suspicious of my bitch-stealing ways. It makes his less expectant of the extermination I proposition. Bóg, the trog, he’s bringing the rock with the smog. Rocky wants the freebase, so she leaves the Lark in Chaz’s skinny punk ass. He takes my might in his hole so tight; takes it all in while she’s smoking her baddabing. She hadn’t had any in four years, yet she’s still crackheading. Her craving is craven. Like a Snicker’s bar, the rock’s satisfying. “Where did you get the shit?” Rocket cheered through her crying. “I thought there was an embargo.” She didn’t know much about Bóg’s cargo. Bóg’s spokeswoman, Ace, explained the situation as if she were Harry Truman on a base. “It’s the last of the coke. I scored it from a hoarder. After you smoke it up, it’s all gone. America is still under quarantine or some sort of embargo. I think it’s one of the two.” You should’ve heard that fat girl sing like crimson and clover. The opera was over and it was so over. I’ll be hating and dreading, upcoming withdrawals. Rocket’s sweating like mad. She needs a damn towel! Polska Blood Sucka Phucka Ch. 02 All Day Long #2 The second chapter of this saga has less morally or stylistically redeeming qualities than chapter one. I apologize for our first encounter, but I was warming up my rhymes like the sunrise in the beaches of San Juan. The second day of my little trip begins with a mouth-bang stereotype, it continues with a jovially gay Joycean moment, and it ends with a bang. Not the kind you think though, so, it all begins when I crave for the genie of the magical medical bong. Red bandana wearing, black trench coat and white wife-beater bearing, suspenders not holding his baggy pants high enough to cover his shorts because he don’t mind the staring, nigger-wannabe Chaz the pimp dares to talk this way to the Lark. “Shit, bitch, I understand your itch, but you got no cash for breakfast and hash.” Fucking Chaz, he poses and waves his hands as if he had gas. His “old school” jive makes him look like a damn fool on stage, live. His rhymes are as madly predictable as arithmetic beating multiplication tables. “I’ll give you a blow job, if you give me a little grass and a lot of grub.” He opens his fly and out comes the beast with one eye. I stick out my tongue and circle the foreskin. The faker’s shaft is as thin as a wide-tip marker. His cock is much darker than his white-bread skin. Maybe that’s where he gets this idea that he’s actually a "nigger-in-kin". I shake my tongue as he slides the snake down my mouth. His hands push me further down into the abyss of doing my quotidian biz. My wet lips carefully surround my carefully filed fangs. I’m not chancing any punishment, no thanks. I slide up and down, up and down the pole, like all the pretty horses on the merry-go-round of my soul. Within a few seconds, I’m taking it all, to the hilt and to his balls. Up and down, round I go, when will he spunk? Nobody knows. Is this worth a bowl of the skunk, bro? Sometimes, even I don’t know. I feel the beast moving in for the kill. It shakes, and it shivers, it grows a tad more. A few drams of semen Chadzynski is spilling. My sweet little pink mouth that dude he doth fill-in. It’s all in a day’s work for this simple street whore. This is just my life in the Polack-hardcore. Stop laughing South Central girl because I’m being serious! “Here you go bitch.” I smile through the cream as a bag full of dreams falls on my lap. She is my medicine, my little life rope, my friendly and helping, sticky green dope. I’m wrapped around her finger like Pandora’s Box to hope. While I fondle and caress my tiny plastic-wrapped reward, my pimp throws me into distress. “You’ve already had breakfast.” I cannot deal with this stress. “If you want more, better run fast, my freshly fucked lover. Today is the day the trash truck comes over.” “Cholera!” I scoot out the door, with cum in my mouth and a bag in my boot. This is the everyday shame I must endure. This is done to ensure my survival, ladies and gentlemen. Please stick around guys and gals. I am the boy-toy who will be Chaz's rival of rivals. For now, I might as well be sucking on Hades’ semen, living in the world completely filled with demonic bastards that leave me steaming. Fortunately, tomorrow’s a new chapter and I plan to be the victor. I’m the slave-raptor, who’ll sip the nectar and whip his master in the coliseum! I can taste the victory. YUM! Now that I finished eating trash, I going to need some more cash so, let us switch to the next scene and about noontime on the same day. You’ve followed me thus far you masochist, now let’s be on our way. I'm pissy, I'm feeling bad. Amyl nitrite, loves this fag. It’s useful when taking cock. My dupa is getting some. I'm cranky, I feel so sad. I got Rocket, in my head. I'm used to it. It’s just like death. This old dude is going to cum. He's gonna cum. He's almost cum. He's finally cum. Yes. Ha! Ha! Ha! Switch! Finally, it's time to vent out of my rage. I'm the bisexual shaman, chuj-ramming transvestite sage. If you could be here, now, you would simply stare. I'm taking my share, as my man-meat blood flares. I'm incorrigible in my sweet schoolgirl dress so lewd, as the man is carefully screwed. My pigtails as green as a pool table, they amuse. Skylark screws and loosens the noose. Detonating fuse! Who G-damn motherfucking made who? Stricture of his anus fiercely spurts out lube. Like a long neck goose, feeling loose and frictional. Mythical Sabeen, magical like fable, call this witchcraft, an alchemical view of a moon daisy. Reckless is the sum of my cognition of what cum is. It is painless for me, as I fill him up with the whitest of shit. “You liked it?” I asked as he caught his breathing. Aren't H and the Ivy like love? Death ejaculate filled the glove. Unless of course you’re into the bareback, with an attitude like old-timers who thought tuberculosis was romantic. That kink too I will attack, but plain vanilla pedo-wannabe-freak didn’t want to get thwacked. Thanks for the company and thanks for the cash. Now like the Missus, I must dash! I earned these dollars for making him holler. I’m not giving this wad of dinero to Chaz el pimpero. After tonight, that fucker won’t feel fine. His ass is mine, retribution divine. I’m finally going to put him in the back of the line for the reincarnation wine. Land of the Polska I love you, but my Rocket loves coca more than you. America, America, someday I will grow wings. It’s understood that in your ‘hoods, there’s bling and shiny bling. It's about three or four. The old dude drops me off in that one alley by the abandoned art studio. I wave goodbye at Mr. Puzio as he motors off in his Ironhead Sportster. I rap at the door next to the dumpster. Marek Wnukowski recognizes me and opens the door. I walk into his illicit store and he knows the thing that I want more than my Rocket. “Cholera jasna,” he screams as he tries to find my killer-killer-bang-bang among the clutter and the clang-clang. As I tell him to hurry the fuck up in Polish, he yells at me the same language, “Odpierdol siê, cwelu!” Ha! Ha! I supposed I deserved that bit of slang. I retort with a much gentler slam, “Nie b¹dŸ frajerem, pieprzony fagasie. Chaz musi umrzeæ, francowaty kutasie!” If you want to know what I just said in English, then it’s tough shit for thee. The translation loses the beat. This is Krakow, buddy, and that’s the way it be. Marek shakes his vek like a wet dog emerging from a dank bog. He sells me a used and abused Smith and Wesson for the pimp to learn a lesson from my sweet little schoolgirl impersonation. If you think this is hard for you to swallow, Marek tells me something that you could translate as follows: “May you get cholera! If I didn’t know you were a fucking anorexic half-Japanese midget with a dick and cash, I’d rape you! I’d rape you in the ass and then I’d shoot you in the head. But, you’re such a faggot whore that you would probably enjoy it!” That slam is cute. It’s astute and accurate, and I really would enjoy it, because I have a death wish and that’s the sitch. There's goes my money but here's my gun. Marek, he tells me to go have some fun. Joy mixed with pain accompanies me as I walk down the lane. I wonder if I am capable of killing for the thrill of watching Chaz suffer. Will it bother me to be that candle-dick’s snuffer? Will it bother me until I am insane? I need to make myself tougher and rougher if I am going to beat that motherfucker. The revolver is the problem solver, but is murder really the solution I seek? G-damn, that fucking bum garbage-herder that just passed by with his shopping cart reeks like fart, rum and hamburger. Train of thought choo-choos back on the track. What do I do, boo? Should I slay or let it go? Chadzynski, has to let me know. If he dis’ there will be rampage, if he hate there will be carnage. Chadzynski has to let me know: should I fuck him or fuck him up? “Czesc Wiktorja! Cześć Morela! I wave at my homegirls. “Cześć Skowronek! Jak sie pan miewa?” The ladies shriek like a chorus of Greeks. “I am well, thanks for asking!” Excuse me for losing the groove. I was saying hello Apricot and Victoria in my language, so don’t get all outraged. They’re new girls, the new members of the crew. They’re runaways from the villa. I eye Chaz’s new mini-bitches distractedly. They still dress in loose pants and glittery t-shirts. They still laugh without needing a high first. Give them some stress and a rapist’s glands. Touched by hundreds of groping hands, they’ll drink the squirts until they can’t stand. Before they know it, they’ll use some X for their giggles as their way-too-young-asses jiggle and wiggle. It’s really too bad. It worked like that for me boys and girls. Just thinking about it makes me want to hurl. Poor things they think they’re so free, but lunch my friends, it never comes gratis. I carry this gun in my hand, wondering whether it can make me a man. Probably not, but it all isn’t for naught. I see my Rocket and she waves me down. She cannot bear to see me frown. “Hey Zebedeusza, what’s your problem?” I grump like the Gollum, because I hate it when she calls me that. I look down at the ground. I screw up my courage and open my mouth. “How the hell do I shoot a round from this gun I have found?” She slaps me on my back and I nearly fall. I’m blaming the liquor for her g-damned gall. “Dracu,” my Gypsy Rocket muttered under her tipsy drunky breath, “you want shoot Chaz without having a basic working knowledge of how to use a forty-five. It’s a pure baxt you’re still alive, you loser Polack fag! Oh by the way, do you know if Bógumil scored some more crack?” I don’t know why she always uses people’s real names on the street when she’s intoxicated. That’s so fucking dangerous. Oops. I must regain my groove and bust a move. “Roch Edyta, get a fucking grip. I just want to learn how to work this stupid thing, so don’t go on a trip.” Notice how “Rakieta”, the Polish version of Rocket’s street name, flows much better with her real name than with “Rocket”. I point this out, because it is linguistically and stylistically relevant to how Rocket got her soubriquet. You see, she is hot, but so is her temper. Like distemper, it festers and like a “rakieta”, it blasts off the spot. This is a tangent, irrelevant like a Matthew Walker knot. However, as a master freestyler, I thought it would be nice to share. “You called me Roch Edyta. I really must be drunk like a Yiddish cock-sucker green-haired punk.” Fuck you, say my blue eyes to her guise. She clenches her teeth as if she were about to queaf and her eyes become big like golden dried figs. “Of, course, I did not mean all bagel-dogs, I mean clip-tips… um, Zionsts of the green-haired persuasion.” The Skylark is annoyed like a cranky nark. I nearly slap the gun against her anti-Semitic yap but stop before I pop her chops. “Just teach me how to shoot this damn thing before I bitch slap you with it.” Word up! Please credit Poganin for Polish text editing and jackalgoddess for other editorial assistance. Polska Blood Sucka Phucka Ch. 03 The Morning of Noodles, Cabbage and Prophecy #3 Today, I’m going to make some egg noodles for a cheap and boiled Polish dish. It’s kluski kapusta po! Pay attention, because you will want to compile your shopping list. These noodles are kosher and very economical. All the ingredients are readily kype-able at a supermarket in your locale. Crack six eggs and beat them about. I hate it when things don’t turn out. “Zebedeusza, you’re such a disappointment.” It’s the morning after. I add a pinch of salt as my auntie is having a fit. “I don’t see you for months and you nearly get yourself killed. Gawd, you’re such a meshuganeh, kid!” Pain, gloom and folly, they bring nothing but sorrow. Chaz missed his appointment with the hereafter, because I can’t shoot straight. Add just enough flour to make a ball of dough. There’s a real possibility that I won’t see tomorrow. On the positive side, it was worth seeing him quiver and piss his pants as the bullets missed his ears. Hearing Rocket say, “You’re an absolute shinning pink puss! Skylark is more of a man in his schoolgirl garb than you’ll ever be you’ll ever be, you big wuss!” She smacked him on the head and kicked him on the balls. “You’re a retard. Oh, and by the way, Skylark has AIDS and your dick’s excessively small.” He screamed whaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaat like a little girl crying. Those fucking female condoms and dental dams that she always used with us didn’t seem so ridiculous anymore did they, Chaz the soon-to-be-drying? The bullets ran out and so, we got out. The gang wants our corpses for a little skinning. I’m not afraid of Chaz. He is as fearsome as a little lass in the Alps named Heidi. Bog and Ace, they’re a completely different disaster that I shall reserve for an up and coming chapter. Back to the present and my aunt’s resentment. “How do you get into such messes, Zebedusza? You turned out to be just like your mother.” Auntie pats my back as she tries to restore order. “Why don’t you just cut your hair and let it return to its natural color.” That old woman always seems to have a plan. “You are such a handsome young man. Perhaps, if you started dressing in something other than drag, you might be able to find a nice Jewish girl to marry.” As always with her schemes, I disagree. “There’s no reason why you should be dating that low-class Gypsy shiske. You can do so much better, you winsome boytchick.” Three, two, one and the Rocket comes undone. “I am Romani, not a low-class Gypsy shiske, you fucking Jewtard dzukli!” Six, five, four, my poor noggin’s feeling sore. “Auntie, Rocket is not a low-class woman. She just has a few emotional problems.” Nine, eight, seven, I can’t tell this won’t be heaven. “She’s a Gypsy who got kicked out of her caravan for being a whore. Is there anyway she can get any lower?” Ten, ten, ten, shit, here it comes again! “Odpierdol siê! I left the caravan because my ideas on how a woman should behave were too revolutionary for that band of small-minded reactionaries.” “Yeah, and your ass was too fat for the wagon.” Knead dough until smooth, and roll until flat. I need to drink some whiskey from a flagon. For the next round, auntie and my girl exchanged the nastiest stares. As I cut my noodles into thin strips, I feel so very scared. After a seeming eternity, my sweetheart screams, “Dzukli,” and spits on the ground. Rocket’s ass peeks out of her candy red vinyl dress as she climbs pissed-off upstairs. “Why don’t you want to marry a nice Jewish girl?” “Auntie, I’m not exactly into nice Jewish girls.” “Oh Gawd, that shiske tsatskele turned into a bum-humping feygele, didn’t she? Oy vey, I could deal with the green hair and the women’s clothes, but this is too much for my frail heart.” Cholera and fuck this shit. I can’t think in English anymore, let alone at all. I’ll just let dialogue context take care of this while the noodles begin to dry. “Jestem nieszczêœliwy wiêc jestem zrzêdliwy” “What did you say, dear?” “Jestem zmęczony, ciociu.” “Zeb, you know I barely understand Polish anymore. Unlike your mother, I was almost grown when our family moved back to Poland. You know how it is. I usually hang around the Americans and Israelis in this neighborhood, so I don’t get a chance to practice speaking very often. Please snookums, speak to me in English.” “Dlaczego? Jestem Polakiem i jestem w Polsce!” “I understood that, and I do realize that you are Polish and this is Poland.” “Jestem bardzo zdenerwowany, potrzebujê marihuany.” “Did you just say marijuana? You smoke marijuana?” “Tak.” “Why on Earth are you doing drugs? I don’t see you for months and look at what that Gypsy makes you do!” “To mój medykament” “Medykament sounds like medication. Are you sick? Do you need a doctor? Why don’t you ever tell me anything?” “Rakieta, gdzie s¹ zio³a” “It’s up here, come and get it.” “Zebby, please answer me in English. Are you sick?” “It’s just a little asthma. The pot helps.” Auntie hugged me. I don’t think she bought the asthma story. “I hope you know what you are doing, zeeskyte.” Suddenly, her mood turned sorry. “I’ll be back when the noodles are dry to shred the cabbage. Now, go watch some teevee. It will calm your nerves and keep your mind off me.” My auntie complies with tears in her eyes. Up the stairs, I fly towards the bedroom. I walked into the room. The aches will leave me soon. I think of how she helps me heal. The smoke she clears my mind, my lady from Delphi. Mary of Juana, you purify and you release my pain. Your lace dispels the gloom, like the summer sun of June in the shire of dreams and emerald mist. I’m stoned out of my mind as my Rocket gets her toy and my blight. She straps it on as I’m floating in a cloud. Holy shit and for crying out loud! The Destroyer dildo is one-third my height. I’m far too doped to fight, as she shoves that fucking thing into my unprepared midget butt. Maybe auntie’s right about my lover. Perhaps, I picked this bitch because I’m nuts. I pass out from the pain and as my consciousness wanes, I have a vision that drives me insane. Her pussy is much tighter than a fortress. My cock does not receive the access code. Her eyes are brown, but they almost seem frozen. That statue girl, her Zen has got me cold. Please speak. Fuck me. Kiss me. Tease me. Wake up, girly. Your sleep kills me. The mirrored walls of a funhouse surround us. Will they release her from her mind’s abyss? Her lips are soft, but her tongue’s in a tight truss. Here’s your cash bitch, now chick begin to speak. “Please me. Love me. Fix me. Thrill me. This dream kills me. Our Lord needs thee.” The girl she speaks, she moves and now she scares me, “Oh Zebedee, God loves you, please don’t leave.” My thoughts are turning dark about this girly. “Oh Zebedee, please join His Ministry.” This is what the bitch spoke, “Please just a little poke.” The preacher, she removes my brand new rubber. She arches her neck and I bite her hard. “Infect me and the Lord will heal your illness!” I believe her, when she says, “His seed penetrates me and I feel how the mustard tree of my faith grows and grows inside me until I am about to blow. Though I am beneath Him, I love how He feels inside of me. Flash of life before my eyes replays my story. Gazing at Him, I see His Glory. I will never kiss Him. I will never tease Him. I just aim to please Him. It is through Him I have this power. Without His seed, I cannot be reborn. You need His seed to be reborn. His seed is still dripping inside me. Reach inside me and feel his seed against your manhood. We’ll both feel the pleasure of his seed.” Is this sacrilege? Is this sacrifice? What is going on? Is this a revelation or merely a deception? Suddenly, I hear her mind, and her mind it speaks to me between yelp and squeals and screams. “Hearing your rhymes, I feel the freestyle. When I touch you, you get confused. Following Him, you went Calvary and now you’re falling at His feet.” Inside her cunt, I get His blessings. On her, I taste His glory. From her, I get the healing. Has this ended the story? I believed when she said it. Oh, was this the cure? Could this be true? Alas, it isn’t true. A slap to my head brings me back to reality. “Skylark,” I have the munchies and you’ve been just lying for the past two hours. Get your ass downstairs and make me some noodles and cabbage. I’m fucking hungry.” Truth hurts and so does my ass. I want to be back in my dreams, with the strange religious lass.