A long, long time ago, in a magical land far, far away, there lived 3 boys named Buttugly, Buttbreath, and Iwannasmellbutt. They were the best of friends. Iwannasmellbutt was a Native American boy who was raised by wolves and some fat guy named Derrick who worked at the QuickieMart. Buttbreath had freckles and red hair and the pants he wore were always 3 inches too short. Buttugly was very, very ugly. So ugly, in fact, that it was unholy. Buttugly was always very down on himself and wished he’d been eaten by the wolves that raised Iwannasmellbutt.
One day, Buttugly’s mother told him of a magical Wanker who lived in the forest. The Wanker always knew the right thing to say to make anyone feel good. Buttugly told his friends about the Wanker and Buttbreath said, “We should go and seek out the Wanker for he surely has kind words for you, Buttugly, and will lift your spirits higher than my pant legs.” Buttugly agreed and said, “Yes, we shall seek the Wanker.” Iwannasmellbutt said, “I wanna smell butt.”
Off they went on their super-terrific, magical journey into the Forest of Dreams and Dry Cleaning; along the Dewdrop Trail where the Funny-Good-Feeling Ponies roamed. Yes, along the way they sang songs of joy and preformed some half-assed ballet moves. Suddenly, a hideous troll sprung from a hollowed out stump and frightened the bejesus out of them. This troll was the most fat, vile, hairy, gruesome beast they had ever encountered. “Oh, hideous troll, please do not eat us and use our bones to make a lovely pop art fireplace piece.” Buttbreath muttered with stinky breath. The troll said, “I’m not a troll, you idiots; I’m Rosie O'Donnell. My car broke down just up the road and I was cutting through the woods to get to a gas station I spotted a couple of miles back.” Iwannasmellbutt said, “I wanna smell butt.”
Buttbreath said, “Gas stations haven’t been invented yet, and neither have cars.” The scary, ugly, smelly, hairy, fat, gassy troll said, “Look kids, I don’t have time for this, I have bacon waiting for me at home and I need to get going.” The hideous troll waddled off and Iwannasmellbutt said, “I wanna smell butt.”
Finally, after miles and miles of singing and way too much ballet, the boys spot the Wanker’s castle atop a distant hill. “There it is!” shouted Buttugly. Buttbreath said, “His kind words will lift your spirits high, and your ballet leaps will soar like rocket-propelled chickens.”
So the boys climbed the 10,000 steps of enchantment and opened the huge, oaken doors of the magnificent castle. Perched before them on an ancient chair made of oak was the kind, old Wanker himself. The chair, although very old, was very comfy. It wasn’t like completely made of wood or anything, but it reclined a bit; had a nice, cushioned headrest, soft, yet firm armrests, and extra butt padding demanded by the mid-sized Wankers of the day. After all, if that sucker had been really uncomfortable, just how congenial do you think that Wanker would have been? None! That’s how much.
“Come closer my children.” uttered the mid-sized, happy, congenial, comfy, old Wanker. “Let me get a better look at you, for I dropped my glasses in the toilet last April and Lens Crafters hasn’t been invented yet. “Why don’t you just have someone else make some glasses for you, old Wanker?” asked Buttbreath. “Well, I could, but then I have to get up out of this really comfy chair, walk down like 10,000 steps, go roaming through the woods that may have ugly trolls, etc., back up all those stairs. It’s a whole ordeal.” said the gassy Wanker. Iwannasmellbutt said, “I wanna smell butt.”
“What?!” “What did he say?!” the old, gassy Wanker asked. “Um, nothing. Nothing. Don’t .. don’t pay any attention to him; he was raised by wolfs and some fat man who runs a convenience store.” Buttbreath replies. “What’s a convenience store?” ponders the gassy, old, comfy Wanker. Buttugly nudges Buttbreath in the ribs and say, “Get on with it or we’ll be here all day.”
“Oh, old, comfy, gassy, most curious Wanker, we have traveled so many harsh miles to seek your kind words so as to uplift the spirits of my good friend. He is crestfallen, weary, and still somewhat frightened by our journey where we encountered sore throats from singing, scabby blisters on our feet from much ballet, and the most hideous troll ever that called itself Rosie something.
“I understand completely my young friend, except for the ballet thing which seems a little gay, but we won’t go into that.” said the non-gay, gassy, old, comfy, curious Wanker. The Wanker looks at Iwannasmellbutt and says, “My young, strange friend; lift your head up high and be proud of who you are for others are less fortunate, such as that Rosie troll you spoke of.” Then the Wanker looks at Buttbreath and says, “And for you my onion-eating friend, here’s a banana for your monkey there.” Iwannasmellbutt said, “I wanna smell butt.”
