Once upon a time there was a little boy named Dingleberry McSlingus. He was devil-eyed dingus, that boy. About as dumb as they get. Legend has it the local Elk’s club administered an IQ test to an old can of Barbasol shaving cream and it scored higher than the boy. Tough to navigate the world when you’re dumb as nails.
But he tried. Oh did he try. What was lost in brainpower was made up for in sheer determination. Whatever Dingleberry wanted, he got. “Stay away from that McSlingus kid!” the fathers warned. “He might just steal your soul!”
He never stole no souls, but he did steal. If you could name it, he stole it: Butter, bread, bowling balls and overalls. If it could be stolen, he found out how to get his sweaty little McSlingus palms on it. One time the Pookajoongus girls found him finger blasting a fourteen pound bowling ball out West of the Gleeb River and called the cops on the boy; but by the time they arrived the ball had already been robbed of its innocence, now a slave to the emotional trauma it had endured.
“It’s sad to see another ball go down the road of irrevocable harm,” thought the townspeople, but hey… what are you gonna do? He’s a McSlingus. And a McSlingus is gonna slide their dirty little McFingers into whatever they can. Sometimes you can’t fight fate, and sometimes fate is an entire bloodline of inbred numbskulls finger fucking a bunch of bowling balls like it’s 1962 all over again.
Rumor has it the family bought up all the Worcheshtire sauce from Mississippi to Maine in the 1980’s and bathe in the stuff on the 13th of every month. This can neither be confirmed nor denied but if you try to get in that barn they will kill you, make no mistake about it. Little Barry Pock learned that the hard way. Poor kid didn’t know any better. Went out beyond the fence looking for his baseball and thought the barn looked like an awfully neat little place he hadn’t explored before. Next thing you know he was getting his head blown off by old man McSlingus without a question asked or answered.
The Pock parents tried to sue old man McSlingus but he was so deep in the judge’s pocket he could feel the man’s pecker rise at the sight of dawn. Crazy what sheer determination can do even in the complete absence of any cognitive function whatsoever. They never stop, the McSlinguses.
The dogs seem to do the brain work in the family, leading each McSlingus to the proper place where work should be done. Some people wonder if that technically makes them slaves but by Billy if they aren’t the richest cats in town then my name isn’t Tinkerbell McTuts. Crazy what can happen when all you do is farm all day. One thing will always remain true in this world: man’s gotta eat.
Nobody really knows who’s in charge at the McSlingus farm. It could be the dogs, it might be the cattle, but more than likely it’s that broad from Baggenstein. Word got around some female from the faraway town saw herself a good old fashioned opportunity and wooed one of the McSlingus boys into a consensual or non-consensual relationship. Nobody knows which; it’s hard to give consent when you’re too brain dead to know the difference between dick and balls in the first place. It’s just a miracle she didn’t get her tits blown off.
One of the college kids accidentally flew a drone over the residence one day and claims to have seen a woman talking to a bunch of dogs, so it can only be reasoned she’s the one in charge. Whether it’s the Baggenstein broad or not is beyond anyone’s guess, but it sure as shit ain’t something you make up if you’re a college kid from Preston who never knew about the damn McSlingus family to begin with.
Nobody really knows what to do about the whole situation. People are certainly concerned, but at the same time the crop output from the McSlingus farm is absolutely unrivaled. The town eats cheaper than a hotty-too-naughty on a first date. I tell you what if a lady got the bacon she don’t have to pay for no grease, you catch my grits?
Anyways, the whole situation is a moral dilemma of epic proportions. Some suggest we blow up the whole place and just be done with it once and for all, but Danny Dives made the point that a McSlingus never dies and it’s reasonable to think the whole attack could just make the family mad.
It’s that Dingleberry kid that really gets us worried. He’s the only one since Gargleglut to wander into the town like this, and we all know what happened with young Garglegut McSlingus. Damn kid broke into a Walgreens and swallowed so much women’s deodorant his intestines exploded and coated half the town with his half-digested shit storm. God help us.
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