There she was. Jynx. The lady who got retardedly lucky when she happened to inherit not one, but $1.07 million dollars of shit from her goddamn late father. And now it was my turn to appraise her. She told me, with an air of ignorant horseshit, that she had never been appraised before. I’ll show that cum-gobbling whore! The PBS cameramen wheeled up all of their shit in front of my booth. I was giving them the eye. This glazed pottery’s the highlight of this episode, that eye said. We’re gonna record this shit then, buddy, said their eyes, and their camera lenses as well.
“Well, Jynx, we’re gonna get rolling here real soon. Here’s how metaphorical shit’s gonna go do-“
“One, you do not swear in front of me like I’m some bottom-bitch fuck-head. Two, fuck metaphors.”
“No, fuck you, and fuck your metaphors.”
“Okay, well then, PBS cameraniggers, you ready?”
A few cucks in blue clothing (I’m not stating the specific style of garments because fuck you) gave me overly-enthusiastic thumbs-ups, and I glare intently into the lenses that will capture PBS history.
Jynx opens her wrinkled maw. “My father was in China, two different times, I think in the late 30’s and sometime during the 40’s, with the army…and, he was a liaison of some sort. He was just a Kentucky farm boy, but he learned Chinese, and…” my hatred for those commie fucks made my mind go numb for a few seconds, until Jynx finally expects me to vibrate the air in front of my mouth.
“Um, Jynx, well, it would seem that this shit right here is some glazed jade and celadon from the Qianlong Period. This means that they were made in the 17th goddamn century.
Jynx looks at my fucked eyebrows as I pause, thinking about how pissed I am that she inherited this chink bullshit.
“That means that the glaze you’re looking at is nearly 300-fucking-years old. If you’d like, I can give you a fresh glaze right here, beside the table.”
This new offer gets Ms. Jynx to drop her cunt-act right away. “You know, that sounds like a pretty solid idea, Mr. Callahan.” She looks down at the artifacts placed upon the table. “I believe there’s some lube in the jar; we’ll need it.”
A PBS camerafag opens a 90’s film canister and throws it at me. Standard condom housed within. I’ve got this. I rip open the canister and chuck the condom into her face, simultaneously ripping open my denim trousertrove and giving my erogenous pile of skin a whirl into her face.
“Here ya go, Jinx, here’s an antique that’s just a little more than a half-century old. Gobble the glaze, my friend!”
She presents a stale smile towards my middle-aged member before spreading her ignorant, lower-class, virgin lips across my ancient penile shaft. The asshole appraisers and auctioneers behind us scramble for the remote for the PA system, which promptly blasts forth a glorious jazz guitar rendition of Kazuya’s Theme https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=anjKTOsM-sY. Memories of a thousand hours of the delightful gay wrestling and Touhou music stampede through my mind, and apparently my cock as well.
“That’s precum, Mr. Calla-“
I throb it to take aim and blast old, mutated semen into her eyes. “ii, desu ne!!” I scream into her face.
“This tastes nigai 苦い, Mr. Calla- “ I’m 57, you dumb bitch. Of course it’s nigai.” One of the appraisers, standing beside a portrait of a cat with yellow eyes, rushes a cart up to the table, and I, James-fucking-Callahan, throw all of the merch atop it, opening up the jar with the lube in it. “At least call it kǔ, you stupid whore.” ejaculate I, once more with my kahk, and with my spit. As I turn to escape, Jynx rubs a cum-rope out of her eyes, and is suddenly stopped by the bottle of lube being poured onto her face. “This isn’t Astroglide, nigger.”
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