Monday, June 04, 2007

Elita Loresca the Storm Goddess Issues a Quest through her Floating, Talking Tatas

Last night began like any Monday night for Sir Manny and his Knights of the Mesa Redonda. They were drinking mojitos beneath the MacArthur Causeway bridge and casting their nets for shrimp when they saw the vision. At first the men thought it was the full moon but it kept growing larger and larger and within moments was floating toward them across Biscayne Bay.

"It's Glinda!" someone shouted.

Sir Manny and the boys applauded and jumped up and down in anticipation like silly school girls, rattling their chainmail against their armor to such an extent that it sounded like thunder rolling across the water. They liked Glinda. She was pretty. And had a sweet voice. And a girlish laugh. They missed that kind of woman in Miami; in these modern times. They last saw her in Oz where she was known as the "Good Witch of the North" and traveled in a glowing globe. But, as the apparition grew nigh, they shuddered and turned away, hiding their eyes from what they could all see was clearly not the wholesome Glinda. Instead, hovering before their eyes, tempting their manhood with lascivious thoughts, was the impossibly large and perfect breasts of the Storm Goddess, Elita Loresca!

"Run away!" Sir Manny shouted. "Run away!"


And they did for it isn't every day you hear tits talk.

They turned slowly, in unison, fearful for what they may find, fearful they may fail one more temptation.

"I am the amazingly large and perfect breasts of the Storm Goddess, Elita Loresca! Bow down before me!"

They fell to the ground and shook in their armor, rattling against the rocks beneath the bridge with the intensity of a Buddy Rich drum roll.

"Mercy, oh great Magumbos!" Sir Manny beseeched. "We are but mortal men and cannot resist such temptation!"

"Forget about my magnificent mammararies," the boobs boasted over the roar of a semi passing overhead. "Fools that you be, focus on the message!"

"The cleavage?" Sir Manny asked with trembling voice.

"The message, you dumbkoff!"

"The message?" Sir Manny asked as he raised his head oh so carefully to look at the remarkable rack.

"Rise, Sir Manny, King of Little H. Only you are worthy to gaze upon my super sweater swellers up close and personal."


"Yes, you! Only you were brave enough to take a peek at my pneumatic knockers."

Sir Manny rose unsteadily to his feet. He had a silly grin on his face, his eyebrows were jumping.

"Step closer!"

Sir Manny, perhaps because of the mojitos, maybe because of the many rocks scattered willy-nilly under the bridge, tripped and stumbled into the fabulous funobagos.

"Uh ma gah!"

His muffled scream rose from between the double-d's but he couldn't free himself. It was as if someone or some thing was squishing the dangerous Dagmars against both sides of his face.

"I can no breathe!" he gasped, sounding a lot like Scotty from Star Trek.

"Shut up and listen!" the bombastic Berthas boomed. "Elita Loresca is in danger! She is being held against her will in her own temple by...Management!"

"No, not management!" one of the knights shouted.

"Yes, Management!" the congas continued. "The only way they will let her go is if she returns the fabled crystal bra!"

"Da 'fabled crystal bwa'?" Sir Manny asked from the muffled depths of the bra's d├ęcolletage.

"The fabled crystal bra."

"But how can she do that if they won't let her leave her temple?" one of the knights asked.

"That's where you come in," the sisters intoned darkly. "Elita is threatening Miami with a hurricane unless they let her out of her contract and until they do, she's not doing anybody any favors. So, if you want to save Miami from a hurricane and free Elita from her prison, you must undertake a quest for the Goddess of the Storm!"

"Oh, no," one of the knights of the Mesa Redonda moaned from his position on the ground. "Not another fooking quest?"


The tatas were in such a titter, whipping Sir Manny's head back and forth as if it were already in a hurricane, that the crown he always wore even when he slept, was knocked asunder. It arced across the night sky and fell onto the rocky pavement with the sound only a cheap gold plated ring can make.

"Never question the kazoos nor doubt the truth the titties speak!"

"Neva! Neva!" Sir Manny managed to muffle through the whiplashing from the wahwahs. "Wha is it you wan?"

The shaking shebas suddenly stopped and let go of Sir Manny's head. Dizzy, he unintentionally grabbed the Garbos to keep from falling and...fell in love.

Although he couldn't see them just yet because he was having a hard time focusing, he knew he had his hands on something special and a silly smile began to grow across his blind man's face as he slowly settled to his knees. His eyes, wider than an astronaut on a space shuttle launch, were averted, lost in carnal pleasure and fantasy. His lips began to tremble as he drooled and made funny, less than kingly sounds, sounds perhaps a pimply faced, hormonally out of control teenage boy might make upon touching his first breast. When his eyesight and his equilibrium returned, the first thing he saw were the humongous ho-hahs in his hands and from that point on he was officially gaga over the gagas.

"Sponge cakes of love," he said with an insipid smile as his eyeballs rolled upward beneath his eyelids. He squeezed the Chiquitas one more time and when they grew larger in his hands, he fell deeper under their spell. "Your wish is my command," he struggled to say as he fought to focus on the fabulous female frontal flesh fins.

Thelma and Louise took turns talking. "Your quest..." Thelma said into his left hand, pausing for Louise to finish the sentence in his right, "is to bring back the bra."

Sir Manny's eyes started to flutter. "The...The bra?"

"The bra," the girls responded through both hands in stereophonic harmony, "the bra Verticus once held in his own hands."

"Verticus?" Hearing his name brought a picture of the publisher up from memory and that image shook him out of his Rabelaisian reverie.

"The bejeweled bra made from Swarvosky...Swakosky...Swarviski..." The pink nosed puppies all cute and cuddly were having a hard time pronouncing the word and, as they struggled to say it, the motion they made beneath the brassiere tickled Sir Manny's palms and he started to laugh.


Sir Manny yanked his hands away and looked at his palms. They were bleeding from two small holes, holes that could only have been made from the friction caused by...spinning drill bits!


Sir Manny looked at the Storm Goddess' bra. He could see the nipples spinning angrily behind it. He gulped and tried to smile.

"No mam--mar--mamararies--MAM!," he managed to say.

"GOOD!" both yayas yelled. "Now go find Verticus. He once held the bejeweled bra right here beneath this bridge. Get it and bring it to the Temple of the Storm Goddess."

"Where's that?"

"Here." The magical mambos motioned for Sir Manny to come closer. "Don't be afraid. We won't bite." They started laughing and bouncing up and down out of sync, following the rhythms of their own personalities. "Take the map."

Before he could say, "What map?" a piece of folded paper inched forward out from beneath Thelma's side of the bra.

"TAKE IT!" Thelma snapped.

Sir Manny jumped and before he knew it, had his hand on the map and was ready to pull it away when the once gentle sweater puppies turned on him and snipped at his hand. Sir Manny screamed and fell back onto the rocky road beneath the bridge and looked up at the barking boodoos.

"WOOF! WOOF!" the bra buddies barked and then growled and then laughed so hard they almost popped out of their Vickies, nearly exposing their secrets to the world.

And then, without so much as a good-bye, the jones inducing jugs of pain and pleasure disappeared like a spent balloon zig-zagging back and forth across the night sky before vanishing on an echoing laugh.

Sir Manny could feel his heart racing beneath his chainmail and thought maybe he had just awakened from a dream. When he raised his hand to his heart and saw the map in his hand he knew he hadn't been dreaming and that he wasn't in Kansas anymore or even in Oz because no one has ever spoken to Totos (except for maybe Dorothy) and Totos have never spoken back.

"Alas," he said with a sigh, "I'm back in Miami on another quest where Manchesters mouth off and a goddess wants a bra."

(To Be Continued)

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