Bean's Chores

The sun was floating lazily in the London sky, one hazy August day. Mr. Bean, frowning, looked up to the sky and wiped some sweat from his pale British flesh. Today was going to be fucked. Bean could smell it coming on the air from a mile away. He had one simple task: play a prank on the neighbourhood cat and masturbate into his son's trash can without getting caught. He wondered which task he'd enjoy less.

"Oh well, I suppose it doesn't matter either way," thought Bean, scrunching up his waxy lips in discontent. He tucked his freckled cock back into his pinstriped trousers, dabbed the sweat from his brow yet again, and gently padded his way to the alley behind his buddy's house.

There he saw "Joker" the nieghborhood tough-cat. Joker was standingo n a trash can and swinging his tail in a wide, menacing loop. For a moment, Bean was mesmerized. He had meant to dip the cat's tail in wet cement while it was asleep. Joker normally took naps around this time. Bean was so stunned, he didn't say anything-like always. Joker broke the silence:

"Hello, Bean. Looks like you've fucked yourself, mate." He extended a slender claw that glinted under the British sunlight. "You've cunted yourself." The cat opened its mouth and let out a low, bartione growl, dripping with vibrato and sex, his nimble body flying towards Mr. Bean's dumbfounded face.

Before Bean could react, the cat flicked its paw back and forth in quick succession. Bean looked down to the torrent of red erupt down the front of his shitty suit. His vocal chords hung loosely from the gash in his neck, like a broken guitar, its strings all popped and detuned. "Oh well, it's not like I talk all that much anyway!" thought Bean to himself, making his eyebrows wiggle and doing a stupid little smirk.

This was Bean's final thought before his body collapsed entirely in that damp, back alley, a growing crowd of stray cats now gathering at the site. Joker licked his claws and swished his tail. "I wish to Christ I could've killed you sooner," he spat with a feline sneer. He put sunglasses on and hopped onto his motorcycle and began combing his hair with a fishbone. The gentle purr of his engine was the last sound to be heard on the quiet street.