The Night of the Hyper-realistic Jorts
My name is Morty Mitchell, I'm the bad kid on this side of the gated community. A real nasty dude. It was a night like no other, September 27, 1990. My parents got fed up with my constant troublesome antics. After I ruined their parade float for 5 consecutive years, they had reached the limit of their patience and love for me as their child. As punishment, they decided to send me to my cultist grandparent's haunted house where my twin brother died in his sleep a week earlier.
It was late afternoon, I was preparing to leave my parent's house. I double checked everything in my Signed Wayne Gretzky LA Kings duffle bag. Something was wrong, I couldn't find my gameboy. I shouted for my parents, they weren't home. I scurried around the house in a huff, looking in the usual places my parents hid it. They told me I was grounded from it, but fuck them they suck. I turned their bedroom upside down, but no luck. I started trashing the living room and realized that my gameboy could only be in one place. The crackhouse down the street. My parents give those crackheads a couple 20s and they'll guard anything with very small holes in their security. I finished trashing the living room, and ran to the crackhouse. It was packed. 5 guards out front, 2 in back smoking crack, and several strewn around the main floor patrolling like zombies with sub-machine guns. I waited in the bushes and cased the joint until it was beginning to get dark. In the hours I waited inside that bush, I couldn't find a gap in their patrol cycle large enough to get in unnoticed. Stealth is out of the question, I have to go in guns-a-blazing. Sneaking through their neighbor's yard, I hopped the fence and hid behind the bushes next to the guards out back. Suddenly, another thought came to mind. This is exactly what my parents want me to do. My parents know about my fear of crackheads and they want me to work through it by systematically killing a house full of them. Even though I could faintly hear the bleep bloops of my gameboy coming from inside the crackhouse, I decided to cut my losses and leave. The possibility of doing what my parents want is a fate worse than death. I wouldn't be manipulated, not anymore. I would have to kiss my sweet fucking holographic charizard goodbye. On the way to my grandparents, I took a shortcut through Little Italy. It was getting late, so all the wops in the neighborhood were out smoking and making crepes on the street. I approached a Psychic shop with plastic lawn furniture out front. Sitting in the lawn chairs were about 5 fat Italian men. I held my breath to guard myself from their stench and tried to go around them. One of them saw me and raised his bushy eyebrows into a scowl, his hairy guinea jowls began to move as the rest of the men saw me and raised their jet black eyebrows. All of their foreheads were crumpled up beyond recognition, and all of them started shouting at me in Italian, "Di Buca De Peppo, don't go to that house, you monk." I didn't know what monk meant. So I shrugged it off and walked faster towards the railroad. They started shouting something about God and eventually their voices faded away into the night. It was quiet, I was walking down the railroad tracks, it wouldn't be much further. In the distance I spotted a silhouette. It was Walter Odger, let's just say, he knew my grandparents very well. His crew was contracted by my grandparents to come and lay some hardwood down in the front hall. He claims that as soon as the team got into the house, one of his workers fainted. The worker in question started vomiting blood, so Walter ran over to see what was happening. Walter cradled the worker who continued to cough up blood, trying to think of what to do. Urging his partners to call an ambulance, Walter looked up to see his entire crew having sex with my grandparents and eating each other's tongues. He looked back down on his fallen ally, only to realize that they both had a hard on. Soon after seeing this, Walter blacked out and woke up to himself waxing the floors. The wood was set in place, his job was done, but his ass was sore, and he didn't remember any of it. It's then, he claims, he couldn't stop waxing. He used his waxing machine to the point of exhaustion and passed out. When he came to, he had cum on his chin and was lying on the sidewalk with the corpses of his crew. The autopsy revealed that the cause of death was a flying object shaped like jorts that blew a clean hole through their chests. Unfortunately, forensics couldn't identify the sperm. Walter Odger now works for the union, making sure nobody returns to my grandparent's house. I know this story because when I ran into Walter on the railway tracks, I told him where I was going and his face went red. He told me everything he knew about the house in detail. He must have screamed at me about that house for an hour. I told him to get lost because he was creeping me out. He started screaming something about God at me, but I was done with him. I haven't survived this long by listening to adults, and I sure as hell wouldn't start now. His screaming baby voice and stupid red face faded into the night as I ran off.
I arrived at the house after taking a shortcut through the railroad tracks. The sidewalk in front of my grandparent's spooky estate was torn to pebbles. The rest of the sidewalk was pristine, newly laid concrete. I wondered why they didn't fix the pavement in front of my grandparent's house. I remembered that Walter told me construction workers had suicidal thoughts whenever they stood on the driveway. So they took it up with the union who pulled some strings at city hall who got the house condemned. Turns out the city council knew about the house and were trying to get it wiped off the face of the earth. Apparently, there was a small majority of taxpayers that had suspicions that the house was used for satanic orgies. Which was true, and the mayor sure as hell knew it because he attended. Eager to cover his tracks, the mayor decided to get my grandparent's haunted fuck house off the map. They haven't figured out how to get it demolished yet because no crew will get within the property lines. In fact, the city can't even put a fence around the condemned property. The guy who put up the condemned sign had a heart attack on the lawn and people didn't come back for a while. One guy who lost his son to the house tried to take a couple molotov cocktails to it one night. The police found his body in a lake with a hole through his chest that resembled a pair of low-cut jeans. Even out of town independent construction crews have backed away from the demolition project because of the legends of old. Construction workers respect their elders enough to listen to their warnings about the house. Workers that started in the 80s have stories branching back to the 50s about my grandparents house. Most of them end with the team of workers getting abducted, killed, or joining a sex cult. I found out later that this was because my grandparents would often target crews out of town to protect their reputation. Walter said a lot more stuff about it, but I sort of dozed off while he was talking. The house in question was bleak to look at. It looked like a rectangular cock and balls, it was a little creepy but far from the instant death trap Walter described. There's an atrocious lawn that stopped growing anything back in the 50s, a long winding pathway that leads to the front step, a plastic pink flamingo, and a gross looking door that warped into a zigzag pattern. The old, rotted wood that tiled every inch of the exterior took a color of deep dark black. The only window facing outward was on top of the huge spire on the top floor. For a brief second, I thought I saw glowing eyes coming from the attic, but it might have been my stupid brain playing tricks on me. The house belonged to my grandparents who bought it in the 50s, and let it go to shit within a week. After that, it was one crazy construction project after another. The place was an architectural marvel. It's got crazy contraptions like secret doors, illusory hallways, and pocket dimensions. The Escherian design of the house still baffles the most seasoned of video game dungeon crawlers. I had forgotten the exact details of the house's design, but I would have plenty of time to explore since my parents took away my Gameboy that I PAID FOR. It was dusk, and the air was still as I walked down the pathway and up the stairs. As I opened the wet and warped door, the wind that was inside the house blew me off my feet where I hovered for a few seconds. My Wayne Gretzky duffle bag was launched away from me. The wind sucked me inside and the door closed behind me. I hit the ground and began sliding fast along the floors that nobody had dusted decades ago. I tried to slow myself, but it was no use, all the dust and wax had made the flooring completely friction-less. I was at the mercy of my own momentum, if I didn't think fast, I would hit a wall and die. I was maintaining terminal velocity down the main hallway. I shot through the narrow hallway and hit a wind pocket that slowed me down. But there was a problem, a 90 degree turn at the end of the hallway. At these speeds I couldn't make the turn, let alone change direction, so I had to think fast. I reached into my pocket and pulled out some spare shoelace and a railroad spike I picked up from the walk over. I was moving at over 80 mph and the hallway ended in 10 feet, so I needed to act fast. I fastened a makeshift grappling hook and used my momentum to toss the railroad spike through the right facing wall. It stuck true and I gripped the shoelaces tight and went around the corner, almost passing out from the gforce. The shoelaces broke 3/4ths around the turn and I hit the wall. I bounced on along the right and left hallway like a bowling ball bouncing between the side guards that losers use. Only at the speed of a pinball caught on two bumpers. I slid into an open doorway and came flying out the opposite doorway with the same trajectory. With my eyes sealed tight by dust, I couldn't see the china cabinet at the end of the hall. I came crashing into the china cabinet. By the time I got to it, I had slowed down from the bouncing and survived the impact, but I had bigger problems. All the china had knocked loose, and the china cabinet wasn't pushed up against the wall all the way, so it rocked backwards away from me. It almost fell over but it found its balance point and stood there for a little bit. Until another current of air wrapped around the hallway and pushed the china cabinet on top of me. I folded into a back-roll and hopped to safety as the china cabinet crashed inches away from my knees. I started to sob, the whole ordeal was the scariest and most disorienting 3 seconds of my entire life.
I sat on the side of the hallway trying to calculate all the physics of what happened. But I remembered that calculating physics is what my bogus boring lame ass parents would want me to do. So I stood up and stopped thinking about it because fuck my parents. As I got to my feet, all the pain hit me at once as the adrenaline faded. There was a sharp pain in my chest, I broke a few ribs. Pained, I clenched my fists to activate my Berserk mode and looked around me. I decided to backtrack. I stood up and almost lost my footing, but the speed at which I was going blew a lot of the dust away from where I slid. My pants were ripped to my bleeding ass cheeks, so I must have taken off a layer of wax too. I could only walk on the parts of flooring that I already dragged my ass across. Following the clean streak in the dust, I walked in the zigzag line that I created by bouncing and decided to take another run through the infinity door. I came through the opposite doorway and I thought it was fun. But I had to tighten my fists because my brain was trying to think about it. It's a technique I learned on the street, Berserk mode. You can train yourself to reduce your pain, fear, and overall IQ by squeezing your fists. I skated down the hallway until I came to the railroad spike I threw as a grappling hook. The spike got lodged in there. My ribs are broken, so I can't risk opening my hands and turning off Berserk mode to pull it out. So I left it and slid back to the entrance. I had nothing else in my pocket, so I couldn't make any more grappling hooks or neat gadgets. I made it to the entrance and realized my trail had come to an end. I looked to the unexplored dusty part of the house. With my fists clenched tight, I realized that the rest of this journey is a mystery that would test my capabilities as a legendary street hood. I bent my knees, leaped forward, lost my footing and hit the floor face first. I picked my face up from the ground and slid down the left hallway from the entrance. I skidded to an abrupt stop and my vision went dark as I hit my chin on the dirty ground. Reeling from the blow, I assessed my surroundings. There were two rooms to the left, two hatches to the attic, and two doorways leading to the backyard. As my double vision returned to single vision, I realized there was only one room, one hatch, and one doorway leading to the backyard. Suddenly, I felt a gust of wind that blasted out of the hatch of the attic. The strong gusts caught my chest and lifted me to my feet; the wind gods have accepted me as their champion. The wind stopped and I felt super cool. I approached the hatch's opening and looked up into its deep dark darkness. I couldn't see anything in the darkness so I closed the hatch. I turned around and the hatch flew back open. I figured the wind gods wanted me to come back; my palm started to ache from making fists. I walked into the room on the left. There was a large bookshelf with a lot of dusty dusty books and nothing much else to write about. Imagine a library, that's what it looked like. I thought about checking out one of those books and reading something, but then I saw what lay on the carpet. There was a small dirt man, moaning in agony. I thought that investigating the dirt man was exactly the kind of critical thinking behavior my parents want from me. The streets are my teacher so I left the room in protest and clenched my fists tighter. I decided to try my luck finding a Nintendo that my dead twin brother left up in the attic. Besides, if I decided to read, I would have had to blow the dust off a book, and I couldn't deal with that much cliche. Especially if the book was the Necronomicon or something, I wouldn't be able to handle that level of cliche. I needed both of my hands to remain as fists, so I would have to get in an awkward position to read anything, fuck that. With my luck, that living dirt monster would scream like a dying puppy if I got too close to it. I clenched my fists to the point that my brain forgot everything in the library. The last thing I remember was standing outside of the library. Suddenly, I heard a noise come from the attic so I decided to investigate.
I looked into the deep dark opening to the attic and felt a chilling breeze that sent shivers down my spine. As I climbed the stairs, the temperature dropped and my body was aching all the time. I mean all over. I was aching all over and I could see my breath as I climbed the creaking stairs. I thought the wood was going to break or something because they were creaking, but they didn't, which was sick. I threw the hood up on my hoodie and made it through the deep dark cold opening to the attic. I made it through, and a gust of wind flew through the main floor and closed the hatch below me. Surrounded by total darkness, whatever that noise was had faded away. I stumbled through the darkness, slipping on patches of dust and soot that the wind couldn't blow away. A semi-gelatinous substance underneath the filth kept the dust in place. My irises opened up and I could see the space around me. There wasn't much there except boxes and patches of semi-gelatinous goop and dust. The constant gusts of wind had calmed completely and it felt as if the entire house was still as ice on a frozen icy lake. With the wind gone, I thought the gods were angry, or were they scared? I clenched my fists. Suddenly, I heard a noise coming from the attic. I opened the hatch and saw an even deeper darker opening to the attic's attic. I climbed through to see what was making that noise. After I climbed through, I realized the noise was actually coming from the attic's attic. I climbed through the even darker deepest darkness of the attic's attic. The sound was coming from here, I was positive this time. Shaking from the cold, I entered the attic's attic. I only found a single chest. It looked old, like an old scary cursed scary old chest in a very scary story. Only in real life. As I approached it, my fists began to tighten as a response to the fear. People who use the Berserk mode fist technique can usually only reduce rational thought. I had trained to the point of reducing primal fear which is a hard wall to get over for a lot of people. It involves turning off limiters in your strength to be able to clench tighter. It's a lot to go into, my master had gotten to the point of fist nirvana and could turn into a vegetable. On the streets, my master went by the handle, "Teen Anime Club." He was a very special friend, if anyone can find him, please let me know. I finally made it to the dusty chest, my fists bleeding as I pushed it open. It was heavy, but once I got the top past its balance point, it fell over. The top fell back and made the chest rock back and forth. It made a spooky sound as it fell back into place. I could hear the sound now, as clear as day, a steady CHA-CHUNK CHA-CHUNK. The sound I spent all this time looking for. I looked inside, It was dark, deep dark. I looked hard at the contents of the chest, but it was empty! Darting my eyes around the opening, I looked hard for anything in the empty chest. I heard the noise right in front of me, but the chest was empty! Trying to process information was hard at this point. I reduced my clench by 10% and realized that the chest was actually so dark I couldn't see anything. After I realized the chest was too dark to look into, I decided to reach my hand in and find out what was making that noise. I felt something gelatinous with my fists. It was moving from side to side. Then I felt something mechanical, and it all clicked in my mind. I stopped feeling around, I knew what was in the box. I knew who it belonged to, why they hid it, and the thought of its gelatinous side to side motion haunts me to this day.
Suddenly, I heard noise coming from the basement. Glass breaking, cursing, and two feet that sounded heavy. like whoever was down there was being weighed down by a weapon of some kind. I panicked and ran downstairs to the first attic and shut all the hatches. My ribs were aching from having to release my grip. I retreated back up to the attic's attic, I thought I was safe. But then I heard the pumping of the pneumatic tube my grandparents installed in the backyard. It was installed for people in their satanic cult to get to the attic's attic's attic's attic's attic faster. I heard a hatch opening from two attics above me, if I didn't act fast, there would be trouble. I opened up the hatch but it was too loud. The man upstairs in the attic's attic's attic's attic's attic had aggroed. Enraged, the man started screaming and opening hatches toward me. I tried to match his pace, but I must have lacked the primal spark of a home invader so I was slower. When I got to the first attic, I could feel his presence one floor above me. Suddenly, I heard a PFRUBTDKRUNKSPPRITZGAZOOP coming from the attic above me. I couldn't hear anything after that, the air was still. My only guess was that some crazy contraption went off upstairs and killed my pursuer. Relieved, I calmly walked over to the hatch. Flinging open the attic's hatch, I felt a strong grip on my shoulder. In one swift motion, I used my Judo training to shoulder throw the bastard over the hole. I could break his neck with my right foot in one swift motion, but as I threw past his balance point, I smelled it. My grandfather's musk, a musk belonging to my grandpapa who I thought died a month ago at the ripe age of 67. It was unmistakable, the man I had thrown past his balance point had to be my grandfather. Upon realizing this, I adjusted my swing to throw him back on his feet. I was successful, but he fell through the opening feet first and broke through the stairs. His brittle bones crashed through the stairs which broke his fall. Upon seeing him in the light downstairs, I noticed he had his cheeks puffed up and was covered in feathers, clown makeup, and 7 banana peels. It must have been a doozy of a contraption in the attic's attic, good thing I missed it. Before I could ask him if he was okay, I saw his eyes widen, when he tried to speak, 8 condoms came out of his mouth and he pointed behind me. I looked up at the attic's attic hatch. There was nothing there. Just as I was about to turn back, I saw something appear instantly above me. It moved fast, like if I were recording it, it would have looked like a 1 frame cut. My hands opened, and I felt the entirety of my body's fear and confusion as I saw a pair of hyper realistic jorts floating ominously above me. It looked at me with its red glowing hyper-realistic stitching. I screamed real loud and lost my balance point. I dropped down on top of my Grandpa's brittle, old, 67 year old body. The jorts were descending at the speed of gravity balls in Garry's mod, so I didn't have much time. I picked my grandpapa up to his feet and we ran to the door. The hyper-realistic jorts were much faster moving horizontally than vertically. We came to the front door, but it locked at some point. Me and my grandfather started turning the locked doorknob screaming "WHAT?! WHAT?! HOW?!" Luckily, the night mailman was making his rounds. He used to attend my grandparents' satanic orgies, so he had a key. We pleaded with him to open up the doors because of the jorts chasing us. The mailman unlocked the door with his key. He crept through with a knife and the intent to kill us. We saw the mailman's knife and ran away, he swung open the door and gave chase. The mailman stared at us, and we both slipped on the slick ground. The mailman approached us slowly so as to not lose his balance, my grandfather and I were flailing helplessly and kicking up dust. With the mailman grinning an evil grin, I felt as if this would be the end, but don't worry just wait until the next sentence. When suddenly, the hyper-realistic jorts came flying through the doors at mach 6. the jorts blasted a jorts sized hole through the mailman and flew across the street neighbor's house. The jorts had come to a stop after crashing through the Terwilliger's house to the backyard. Looks like the jorts are struggling with controlling his power, we had to use this chance. The mailman's body fell limp in a very realistic way, and his limbs started to slide away because of the floor. It was nothing like any video game. It terrified me, but my grandpa was in the Vietnam war so it wasn't no shit. He pushed the postman into the library. The hyper realistic jorts were re-orientating in the neighbor's backyard. I followed my Grandpa into the library without looking where I was going. I came into range of the dust monster on the carpet I forgot about and it screamed at me. I kicked it and it exploded into a dust cloud.
My Grandpapa blew the dust off the Necronomicon and began enchanting, "succ me she succ me she succ me, succ me through my joooooooorts!" The postman's body exploded into a million billion pieces and it ruined my Osiris D3's. The dust began to swirl in a tornado on top of the carpet. My Grandpapa yanked the carpet away to reveal a satanic ritual circle. Suddenly, the jorts flew to the center of the tornado. I could hear a ghastly version of my twin brother's voice saying, "Succ me through my joooooorts." My grandpapa told me to go succ my brother through his hyper-realistic jorts. I was like, what? No, I'm not doing that, no way in hell, fuck you you old fuck. My grandfather turned the page of the necronomicon and started whispering something. I blacked out. When I came to, I had my twin brother's cock in my mouth.
My grandpa told me to leave my twin brother's cock in my mouth. it didn't taste that bad, and he sounded like he knew what he was doing, but fuck him, I ain't gay. I tried to pull away but the jorts latched around my face as my twin brother's flaccid cock began to expand down my throat. I couldn't move. I heard my twin brother's possessed exorcist voice again. "Succ me thru my jorts." My grandpapa was trying to hold in his laughter as the necronomicon glowed in his hand; typical demon priest shit. When your back is to the wall, and your brother's cock is in your mouth, you go back to your training as a local street hood. Back in the 90s, there were two ways to make your bones and earn trust in the ranks, you killed or you succeed. And because I was hopping between so many different crews, I sucked a lot of cock. I squeezed my fists tight and went to town. I used the whirlwind technique followed by my casting dots that would multiply the strength of my lip slide. I hit a few lucky critical hits and the jorts started to contort around my face. The jorts made a loud screech and I sucked my brother's entire body out of the the jorts. My brother was inside of the jorts the whole time, makes you think. I slid off my knees and assessed the situation. Family therapy would have to wait. The jorts were writing on the floor, making sloppy noises in "cloudy with a chance of meatballs". I stood with my grandpa and buck-naked twin brother as the jorts burst into blue then deep red flames. I shuddered as they rose and the real spirit of the jorts, jorts jinn made himself known. He applauded my success and said he would spare me, but my grandpa and twin brother would have to succumb him to the afterlife. Which wasn't likely, even the best Thai hooker in the world couldn't succeed a spirit of his caliber off the face of the earth. It would have to be 3 Thai hookers whose life force would drain and we would have to find a place to put 3 dead Thai hookers. Which wouldn't be a problem for my grandpa, but we didn't have enough time. We had to find a way to please the jorts jinn and exorcise the hyper-realistic jorts from existence. Since I didn't want to get anymore cock on my tongue, I decided to stall. I said to the jorts jin, who are you, and it said
Hyper-realistic Jorts-jinn: "*evil laugh* I am the jorts jinn, mortal, I have come to this house because of your grandfather's sins in saigon, and your grandmother's sex crimes."
Morty: "That explains why I found my grandmother's fucking machine in a chest in the attic's attic's attic."
Hyper-realistic Jorts-jinn: "That was actually your grandfather's fucking machine."
I turned to my grandfather and he gave me a goofy looking shrug.
Morty: "Well I apologize for my family's typically fucked behaviour, clearly you have a score to settle. I know better than to get between a pair of jorts and his vendettas, so I'll leave you to your business and show myself the door."
Hyper-realistic Jorts-jinn: "You aren't going anywhere, candy ass."
Morty: "Fuck."
Hyper-realistic Jorts-jinn: "Outside of this house, you might be a legendary street hood, but here, you're nothing but my little tootsie roll."
Morty: "Uh oh."
Hyper-realistic Jorts-jinn: "I want you to beg for your life as you caress my hyper-realistic folds."
Morty: "That's not fucking happening."
Hyper-realistic Jorts-jinn: "Oh?"
Grandpa: "Morty, just suck his dick again, maybe he'll kill you quickly."
Morty: "Shut up Grandpa! I'm tired of taking orders, I'm sick of letting haunted houses, hyper-realistic jorts, and my fucking parents control my life! And I am NEVER sucking anymore cock!"
Hyper-realistic Jorts-jinn: "You're in no position to be making demands, mortal. I can move at mach 6 with laser precision, I'm indestructible, and I'm more hyper-realistic than reality itself. "
Morty: "Oh fuck, really? I've been squeezing my fists so hard that I don't remember anything before my speech just then. When did my grandpa and brother come back from the dead?"
Hyper-realistic Jorts-jinn: "Your fist-jitsu won't save you, mortal. I'll make you pay for kicking my dusty boy."
Morty: "I don't remember who your dusty boy is, but if he was still here I'd kick him again."
Hyper-realistic Jorts-jinn: "Ok, I'm gonna forget you said that."
Morty: "Well I already forgot what-"
I had forgotten what I was talking about and where I was. The room was silent... Until,
Hyper-realistic Jorts: "I've had enough of this. I haven't felt this kind of hyper-realistic outrage in decades. Here I go, I'm gonna fuck you up with my hyper-realistic slam. I'm gonna do it right now."
Morty: *GULP*
In that instant, the hyper-realistic jorts shot towards my center of mass at Mach 6. My fists squeezed infinitesimally, my fingers folded in ways I can't even describe. I had reached fist nirvana. Time stood still, the Hyper-realistic jorts were fast, but in this reality, it looked slow. I was even slower, I couldn't move my body in time to dodge. I could only try to perfect the counter. The perfect counter is a move that was developed by my master. It's used to redirect powerful attacks, but the timing is extremely specific. I've done it once before, but this is major league. Then the doubts started to fade away, and fist nirvana opened up a path. I threw a punch with everything I had, dead center into the jort's balance point. My sleeve tore off my arm in slow motion, it was like I was watching a movie. Time returned, the jorts were hit with my perfect fist technique and it was checkmate. The jorts were overwhelmed by the counter's power and shot into the floor at mach 5. There was a gust from the impact that sent my grandpa, brother, and I across the room. I looked to the giant crater in the floor and took a sigh of relief. It was over, I had defeated the hyper-realistic jorts. I winced in pain, the damage from that punch felt like it broke every bone in my body. I couldn't move my right arm at all. I could only clench one fist, so my power halved. The pain was bad, but it was all over. I came to my knees and the jorts rose from the floor.
Hyper-realistic Jorts-jinn: "I underestimated you, mortal."
Morty: "Ow."
Hyper-realistic Jorts-jinn: "It would seem like you've bested me. Your fist-jitsu is the strongest I've seen."
Morty: "My fucking RIBS!"
Hyper-realistic Jorts-jinn: "Rest now, young Morty, you have proven yourself. Now I'm gonna kill your Grandpa and twin brother."
The hyper-realistic jorts-jinn smashed into my grandfather and twin brother's limbs with laser precision. My grandfather passed out, while my brother ran away holding the bloody stump of his left arm. The jorts shot at my brother's head and pinned him until the jort's weight against my brother's skull made his eyes pop out. The jort's fabric never folded one bit as they squished my brother's skull into a paste. My grandfather came and the jorts traveled through his chest. He didn't have a chance. They were moving so fast, it left a hyper-realistic outline into his chest. It kept flying and shot out of the house as my grandfather fell limp. With the jort's gone and everybody dead, I unclenched the one fist I could use and called an ambulance with the landline. That was the last time I saw the hyper-realistic jorts. After I made the phone call, my thoughts and feelings came back and I woke up in the ER a few days later. I thought things would go back to normal, but things were subtly different. For example, whenever I have an enemy, they end up dead with the outline of hyper-realistic jorts through their chest. Weird, right? Some nights in the winter, I can almost see them hyper-realistically outlined in the sky. But it's probably a satellite or something or is it?
Epilogue
It wasn't a satellite, it was the Jorts. I went out one night and urged him to come down from the sky, he did and we had coffee at a local Cafe. We had a nice chat and realized we had a lot in common. After a few days of hanging out, we decided to align with each other. That meant I could now control the hyper-realistic jorts at speeds faster than a bullet. After I raided several drug distributors, I had enough of a bankroll to do anything. With the proceeds, I bought a house deep in the mountains to protect my secret. Everyday, me and the jorts train to improve our psychic connection. Now I can communicate telepathically with the jorts. That means I don't have to tell the jorts where to shoot itself, it just knows. Currently, we're working on a mind's eye type deal where I can see through the jorts perspective. If I master that, I can control the jorts from any location on earth. All this training is paramount for taking down my parents, who run the largest criminal organization in the world. I forgot to mention that earlier but this story isn't about them. It's about me gaining godlike powers from sucking my brother's cock. I'm not proud of it, but now that I have godlike abilities, I'd like to see any of you motherfuckers try me. Next Halloween, I'll be ready to write about my parents, and previous street hood exploits. Right now, it's time to train my jorts-jitsu and take over the world. Happy Halloween.
Continued in Night of the Hyper-realistic Jorts 2: Master of the Slug Fist.
See you next Halloween.