Mr. Lingle makes my pringle sized dingle *t i n g l e*

Genesis 1:1

In the beginning, Papa John baked a better pizza with better ingredients. Mr. Smink and Mr. Lingle, in their eternal hunger, decided to eat the pizza, but they disagreed on who would get it.

"It's my pizza," said Mr. Lingle.

"No, it's mine," said Mr. Smink.

"NO," said the booming voice of a muscular man, "It is mine!"

Thereupon the mountain of Kottmyer stood the man, the myth, the legend; Papa John. His apron fails to hide the bulge in the front of his pants, and his muscles pulsated like the sausage hiding elsewhere.

Mr. Lingle and Mr. Smink, instantly attracted, walk (roll?) up the mountain of Kottmyer to have a feel of the sausage that Papa was packing for the next pizza. As they walk (roll?) up, they breathe heavily, not on account of their weight, but rather in the hopes of being able to feel Papa's pulsating body on theirs. Mr. Lingle makes it to the top of the mountain first, and he looks into Papa's deep, brown eyes as he cops a feel on Papa's huge, veiny, pulsating sausage. Although it stays hidden behind the apron, Mr. Lingle is unable to control the *orgasmic oof* that escapes his mouth. Mr. Smink makes it up the mountain next, and knowing his way around kids, he sneaks his hand behind Papa's apron, and feels that huge, fleshy, veiny sausage in his sweaty hand.

He looks into Papa's brown eyes as he asks, "Aren't you married?"

Papa responds, "What she doesn't know won't hurt her. She doesn't knead to know."

Mr. Lingle, acting out of jealousy, brings the sausage out into the open. Mr. Smink, wanting to savor the moment, squeezes harder as Papa lets out a "Yowza!" Mr. Smink closes his eyes and brings his lips down below Papa's waist, only to bump his head against Mr. Lingle's as Lingle suckles on Papa's giant dingle. As Lingle suckles on the veiny dingle, Mr. Smink looks into Papa's eyes as they reach in at the same time to engage in a passionate exchange of saliva.

The sweat of their bodies covers each other. Papa takes off his shirt, but Smink, unable to bring his shirt past his belly fat, leaves it on as it becomes drenched in his sweat. Instead, Mr. Smink gets behind Papa and he pulls Papa's pants down to the floor, revealing his muscular derriere. Mr. Smink, with his tiny wang poking through his pants, spreads open Papa's cheeks and shoves in his dingle until the berries are all that show.

"Oof," Smink says as he shoved it in.

Papa does nothing but moan, and he realizes that no amount of chicken choking and finger painting in his tiny shower can equate to the feeling he felt at this very moment. As Papa moans "ESKKKEEETIIIITTT", Mr. Smink screams and the custard from his dingleberries creams out. He pulls his 1 inch pinch out as the milk begins to trickle out of Papa's orifice.

Mr. Lingle, still suckling on Papa's savory dingle, shoves it down into his throat, ignoring his gag reflex. Only then does Papa finally let out his war cry, only then does he let out his earth-shattering "OOF." Lingle, finally full of Papa's reward, falls asleep as Smink collapses from exhaustion.

Papa looks at his pizza with pride and decides that it should never be eaten. It should never be given the same treatment as his veiny sausage...

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Author's Note:

Alright degenerates, go take a cold shower and drink some strawberry flavored bleach.

**Leave comments on what to improve on and comment your favorite line from this chapter**

**Don't forget to S M A S H that vote button**