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By (user no longer on site) OP
over a year ago
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Little Red Riding Fugy promised his mother that he would be good at his grandmother's. He set off wearing his favourite red panatloons (he was also wearing his thong), yellow gingham shirt, green waistcoat and his new red pointy hat.
His grandmother lived in Carnoustie, which was not far from Arbroath. It was just a short drive from the maisonette he and his mother shared with two impoverished BBC scriptwriters and a transsexual plumber, called Buboo.
No sooner had Little Red Riding Fugy entered Arbroath train station and stepped into a carriage, than he was accosted by a bald, tattooed American werewolf. Hang on a minute...an American werewolf in Scotland—on the Edinburgh-Aberdeen train....surely some mistake??
Anyway, the more fugy looked at the werewolf he realised he didn't look much like a wolf at all.
Little Red Riding Fugy was a bit short-sighted on account of all the time he spent masturbatinjg with his mother's favourite wooden spoons. But, he was far too vain to wear glasses or contacts. So he didn't spot the telltale signs that would have warned him he was dealing with a merciless bisexual lycanthrope rather than a very hirsute stockbroker with a luxuriant beard and a sexy, American accent.
"Good afternoon, Little Red Riding Fugy," he said politely. Wait a minute...how the hell did the werewolf know his name? Well, it's obvious isn't it? He was wearing his red pointy hat! Just because he's American doesn't mean he's several votes short of a full majority, does it? He'd have to be blind as well as stupid not to notice the frilly red thong riding riding high over Fugy's pantaloons.
"What's a pretty little thing like you doing all alone on the train during a high terrorist alert?" he asked.
"I'm going to my grandmother's." Fugy replied.
"And what's in the pretty basket you're clutching so tightly in your little hand?"
"A bottle of Brandy, some potted shrimp and some spliff," replied Little Red Riding Fugy. "Mummy dried it fresh this morning because Granny's feeling a bit low so she'd have something to cheer her up."
"And where does your grandmother live?" asked the werewolf.
"In Carnoustie. It's a big old mansion near the dog's home. It's surrounded by a tall, beech hedge and lots of massive oak trees. Granny lives in a flat in the south wing. You must know it. Everyone does. It has the cleanest windows in Scotland from all the licking I give them."
"I do," replied the werewolf. "And it so happens I'm visiting a fabswinger who lives quite near there. Perhaps we can travel together?"
"Yes, that would be nice," said Little Red Riding Fugy, eyeing him up and down appraisingly. "Gosh you're a big boy. How tall are you?"
"Six feet," said the werewolf.
"Hmm," Fugy said to himself, "be a bit long in the leg, but it'll do... Is That your' own beard is it?" she added aloud, reaching up to stroke the soft growth mantling his cheeks and chin.
"Yes."
"Mmmmmmm, feels like a wig to me.."
"How young and innocent he is," chuckled the werewolf to himself as they found a seat in the empty carriage. "And how firm and perky his littlebuttocks look in those tight pantaloons. Why, she's going to be even more of a pushover than old Mr44. If I play my cards right I'll get to gobble both them before they've even noticed my gums are a bit more vigourous than the average stockbroker's....."
To be continued......
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