Sheep Fellatio

Sheep Fellatio

A novel

It was nine o’ clock in the morning. That is not to say that it was precisely nine, or that it was even morning at all. But it was daylight outdoors and the clock claimed it was nine so Bullet Dragontooth, the leading expert in Facepunchology, went ahead and assumed it was.

“Should probably leave for work” he gravely muttered to himself while sipping from a mug of boiling shark urine. Bullet contemplated this while finishing his cup, and then looked out the window. There was a gigantic laser blasting robot outside terrorizing his block.

This was not an everyday occurrence. Even though Doctor Blade Zindel had pioneered a way to create sentient mechanical AI in the ‘30s, and later Professor Maxx Guns stole that technology and placed it in enormous mechs, the concept of large androids did not catch on. Partially because nobody knew what to call them and just used whatever science-y word that kind of sort of meant robot that popped into their head, and partially because it was decided unanimously that giant robots just suck if you cannot pilot them.

Thus Bullet deduced something was amiss, he decided to verbalize his thoughts:

“I guess I’ll be checking into work late today.”

Promptly afterwards he smashed his window with his mug and combat rolled through it. Bullet paused for a moment to wonder why he did that when there was a perfectly good door he never used, and he really did not have the money right now to replace yet another window he obliterated while in the line of duty. This was a moment paused for too long as Bullet noticed a chunk of flaming debris making a bee line directly to his cranium.

“Looks like its time for me to split” Bullet declared and launched himself off the ground into what used to be a truck. Using his majestic stallion-like arms, he clenched into the debris and ripped into two. During this he caught a glimpse of himself in a flying shard of a shattered truck mirror.

Bullet was a man of about thirty four years in age. He wasn’t entirely sure, he stopped celebrating his birthdays a long time ago after an assassination attempt at a Chucky Cheese’s, but thirty four sounded good enough. His square face was covered in a five o’clock shadow that was frozen in time. His dark hair bristled, and Bullet decided this was enough time wasting and tossed both truck halves in the general direction of the robot.

“HAVE SOME BREAKFAST” Bullet howled as he started to wonder if he could have said something cooler. Other possibilities started running through his head such as “Eat this” or “Who’s hungry?” Bullet then wondered why all of his one liners were about food.

It was at that moment Bullet realized he had forgotten to eat breakfast.

“This weaponized hunk of junk can wait, I’ve got more important matters to tend to” Bullet said aloud. As he crashed through the window of a random apartment he wondered why he felt the need to say that. These thoughts were interrupted by the screams of a nearby woman who was just getting out of the shower when Bullet decided to drop in.

“I am terribly sorry about the loss of your window madam,” Bullet announced with a voice that revealed years of smoking, “but if you could just point me towards where you keep the bread and utensils, I’ll be on my way.”

“What about my window?” inquired the pneumatic woman who must have been in her early twenties.

“It will be taken care of, eventually. Now seriously, where’s the bread? I’m starving over here.”

The woman pointed in the general direction of her kitchen and opted to not say another word. Bullet decided he would rummage through the kitchen himself. Finding the bread was not much trouble, although it was white bread. Bullet preferred wheat, but he was willing to let this slide in a time of urgency.

“WHERE DO YOU KEEP THE UTENSILS?” Bullet roared. The woman quickly responded with “They’re in the cupboard.”

Bullet flew the cupboard doors open and was confused when he saw bowls filled with forks, spoons, and assorted cutlery.

“What the-?” he began but realized this only made his quest for delicious survival even easier. Bullet grabbed a bowl filled to the brim with knives and poured it onto a slice of bread. Cutlery rained onto the bread, and a few fell onto the floor. Bullet placed a second slice of bread on top, grasped the two halves, and began to eat. There was a satisfying clanking sound as metal met molar. The delectable yet rusty taste of the knives took Bullet Dragontooth back, back to an earlier and simpler time.

Bullet was raised in a cottage in the mountains by a pack of wolves. They taught him everything he needed to know to function in the fast pace society he lived in. Bullet would never forget the time his innocence was shattered and he became a man.

“Mommy, why didn’t Santa come this year?”

“Because Santa doesn’t exist you stupid hairless kid, that’s why.”

Bullet finished his sandwich and no longer felt the need to dwell on haunting thoughts. He proceeded to return to the giant robot he assumed was still outside when a breaking announcement came from a nearby television.

“I’m your meteorologist Ron Killfist, and today’s forecast is scattered showers of exploding dinosaurs”

Dumbstruck, Bullet could only muster “By Jack Malcolm Thorpe Fleming Churchill’s singing arrow!”

End Prologue