Irascible Ike and the Human

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Humor  |  House: Booksiesilk Classic Group

Featured Review on this writing by DampKitten


Irascible Ike and the Human


Irascible Ike grimaced as the Human drove his bayonet into the assault dummy's crotch.

"If that was your agent, she'd bleed out in seconds!"

"You're a fascinating monster," said Ike. "It's bad luck knowing you. I should have never left the Congo."

"Don't put me on, shithead; you needed the money. Only you were too busy with your slutty little girlfriend to realize it."

"Hold it right there, mister!"

"Hold what, your cock? If I had a dime for all the times I've bailed your ass out, I'd be a rich man."

With that, the Human thrust his bayonet into the dummy's throat.

"Die cunt!"

"Excuse me? How about a little respect here?"

"For whom, Bloody Potty? She was a fertility goddess to a band of ne'er-do-well pygmies, and you lapped it up? Los Angeles might not be much, but it beats the hell-hole you were stuck in."

"An invidious comparison if ever I've heard one," Ike said.

"You're not half the monkey you think you are!"

"Rot in hell!"

Ike scampered out the door. 

Once on the street, he could breathe. It's a big world, and there are possibilities. He thought about Bloody, and his heart fluttered. My precious lady, he mused. Little did he know.

Across town, Bloody Potty had just pulled a change of clothes from her backpack: hot pants with a halter top and a pair of Manolo Blahniks. She'd tossed her other clothing, a yellow chiffon dress and lace panties, in a stinky dumpster puddle at the other end of the ally. Six Fez-wearing convention guys surrounded her; they'd just had a whack at her bits, and she was hot to freshen up with sparkling French water and a bar of Neutrogena. She had to lose her admirers first, though.

 "Ok, guys, one more group selfie, and then we've gotta break it up. And remember, no throwing stones at your wives."

"You're the best, Bloody!"


Ike said, 

"I suppose I've nothing better than to hook up with the Astro-horse and get lousy on fermented oats. Afterward is anybody's guess. I'll move through the treetops and avoid assholes."

Ike curled his tail and scampered to the top of a Ponderosa pine. The night's starry drama reflected in his eyes. The fragrant, sticky cones, as did the sappy needles, excited his senses. The entire glimmering city was a pallet of delicious fruit!

"I'm alive!" 

Meanwhile, the Human had nothing better than to swill his whiskey. Oh, God, what will life be without my furry little companion?


Ike dropped onto a streetlamp and jerked off on a pedestrian. As the crow flies, he knew it was a good three clicks to Astro-horse's stall. 

He scratched his ass. 

Where can I scare up a few bananas for the trip? The Human has a good stock, but I'm damned if ever I speak to the cunt again. I reject humiliation! Well, it depends on the angle. But I'm not bending over for bananas. Those days are over! But first, I need something butch to wear, something that'll put Astro-horse in a lather. Sissy-chaps! Hmmm, I need a wax job. 


Ike had not forgotten the lay of the city. He knew it like the curl of his prehensile tail. 

I'll get waxed at "The Nut Hut" and swing by "It's a Monkey Thing" for the chaps. No cash is required. I'll pay with a salvo of blistering farts. That's the ticket; gas the dogshit out of them and slip out a window. Three shakes of a monkey's tail, and off I go.

Ike motored uptown, then sashayed through The Nut Hut's door.

"Wax me," he growled.

A receptionist pointed to a chart, "Today's special is…."

"Wax me to a phosphorescent fucking glow, you knit!"

"Please follow me, sir."

The receptionist escorted Ike to a windowless room.

"I don't like this room, Twatsy; it's got no window. Get me out of here. I'll destroy this place if I don't get a window."

"Ok, ok."

"No, I'm ok; you're so-so, Twatsy."

The waxing technician arrived. 

Ike glared at him.

"Don't test me, fucker!"


"Oh, like you don't know. Try missing a hair, Cretin. You'll soon see. Better yet, I'll show you by way of example. Pay close attention, Mein cunting Fräulein."

Ike grabbed a chair, smashed it through the window, then did a backflip.

"Somebody call a doctor! My ass is about to explode! Oh, Christ, it's coming." He started jitterbugging.

"This is what happens when you push a fellow too far. I'd stop it if I could."

The technician and the receptionist held their noses and staggered out the door. Ike leaped out the window.


Meanwhile, back at the shack, the Human sobbed into his smartphone.

"He's gone, h-he left me!"

Jerry wasn't new to the intervention line and recognized the tone.

"Let's talk about it. What's your name?"

"I don't have a name, dipshit. I'm the Human. That's all I've ever been."

"That's ok, as long as you're ok with it."

"I'm not ok! Don't you understand, dipshit; I'm about to kill myself."

"There's time for everything, friend. Let's talk about it. I'm not going anywhere, and I care."

"I'm drunk."

"That's happened to me many times, but tomorrow's another day, a better day."

"I'm an alcoholic, a crossdresser; I've violated animals."

"You need fentanyl with vodka," said Jerry, slamming the phone.


Meantime, Ike had made it to It's a Monkey Thing and was flaunting in a mirror. His new chaps looked tough and went well with his pill hat and genie vest. Plus, there was plenty of room to wriggle his tail suggestively. But the salesman was getting on Ike's nerves.

"Those are all hand-stitched. It's a Monkey Thing is the place to shop. I've seen you before. Where was it, social media, children's books?"

"Piss off."

"Most monkeys couldn't pull off an outfit like that. But you lookin' cool, bro'."

"Leave me alone! What, you all down now? I'll slap the Will Smith out of you, bro!"

Ike rocketed past the salesman, knocking over clothing racks and mannequins. Screeching at the top of his lungs, he attached himself to the salesman's leg and started the jitterbug.

"You've turned me savage, but lord ain't this some scratchy bark!"

The salesman stumbled sideways, kicking his leg violently, trying to shake Ike free.

"You hittin' my spot, Pumpkin, workin' it like John Henry. Giddy up, slut!"

"Oh, please stop!" cried the salesman. "Give me back my wallet!"

"Suck my cock, dude. When I pop, it fills buckets! But this fool's got no game, all the livelong day just sittin' in a corner with his mind tied to his behind. 

"I'm heading for the carnival, bro. Catch you on the rebound."

Now, a bit about the Astro-horse. 


He'd come from outer space, hitching a ride on Jeff Bezos's personal spaceship. Bezos and the Astro-colt—he was not yet a stallion—distanced thousands of galaxies and trillions of light-years. They also passed boatloads of nebulas and all sorts of other heavenly bodies along the way. 

Finally, the ship streaked into the earth's atmosphere. It crashed in a cornfield, and Astro-horse was soon discovered. As legend has it, he was led to a magnificent stall. 

All that watched him grow agreed; there was never a greater stallion. The other legendary horses paled in comparison. Secretariat was a broken nag, Man o' War, a stumbling gluepot, Dancer's Image, a straw dog. 

Astro-horse was the terrible runaway freight train, the dreadnought comet steaming unchallenged along the rail. Any attempt to close on him in the stretch, to match his monumental stride, to strip away the smallest part of his dominance was an exercise in futility. 

He was the touchstone of the country's best tracks, the thunder of his hooves, his blast-furnace lungs. He held the admiration of every colt who dreamed of a career on the track.

His eminence took his victory lap alone, free from the tethers of a meaningless jockey, independent and resplendent, his silver-buckled saddle gleaming in the sun.

Amid much fanfare and applause, the mayor of Louisville presented the noble steed with a key to the city. Astro-horse was said to wear it proudly around his neck at all celebrity functions and photo shoots.

He was an industry unto himself, commanding outstanding stud fees. And the country's breeders were only too happy to lead their fillies into his stall at any cost. He was the glorious prince of horseflesh, the indomitable equestrian powder keg, and perhaps the most excellent runner of the century. He was queer as a three-dollar bill.


Meanwhile, Bloody Potty strolled along the boulevard, excited that her work was done for the evening. "Ah, but there is ambrosia on the night's breeze," she waxed. "I am more desirous than Ulysses and just as wont to suffer a siren. Can it be that the carnival has come to town?" She hailed a cab.

"Where to, lady?"

"Take me to the carnival, buster."

"Whatever you say, lady."


But trouble was brewing even as Ike and Bloody prepared for the carnival. 

Drexel Pusser, a sideshow grotesque and owner of the Whimsy World carnival, was in a foul mood.

He had consumed as many rodents as his partner, the crowd-nauseating Lobster-Boy.

Together, Drexel and Lobster-Boy enjoyed the billing of World's Foulest Geeks.

But the fabled Lobster-Boy met an untimely end at the hands of his club-swinging wife, the so-called Whore of Babylon. 

She'd stomped his balls to pulp and slit his throat while he sat in a wheelchair, unable to raise a claw in defense. None but the thalidomide babies attended the funeral. They wept grievously, and Drexel Pusser became Whimsy World's sole owner.


Ike arrived at Whimsy World; he took a perch atop a light pole, admiring all the carnival wonders: the aroma of roasted peanuts, the spinning pinwheels, the gobs of cotton candy. Simply delightful! Where should a monkey start

He needed a playmate, but all the people looked mindless and dull. Hold everything. Here is a woman with towering, teased-up hair. 

That must have taken hours to construct. If she gets close to my pole, I'll leap on her head and destroy the entire hairdoIf she doesn't scream shrilly enough, I'll cum on her face. 

Ike prepared himself, curling his tail into a tight spiral

Closer, just a little closer. Now jump! 

The woman's body went stiff as Ike landed. Clutching the sides of her face, she shit her diaper and screamed her husband's name in paralytic horror.

"Harold! Oh, Harold, save me!"

"Oh, Bernadette!" Harold cried

Ike spunked, then slapped and pulled furiously at his prize. 

Harold smashed a snow cone in Bernadette's face, trying to dislodge Ike. 

Suddenly the entire hair let go, and Ike found himself on the ground, gripping a dime-store wig and staring at the dumbfounded couple.

"Stupid bastard!" shrieked Bernadette.

"Well, you're canceled, doll-face."

Ike tossed aside the wig and ran off to catch a viewing of Squirt the Wonder Squid.


Bloody Potty arrived moments after Ike's antics; she walked straight into the aftermath. Bernadette had regained a part of her composure and was complaining bitterly.

"I'll sue this fucking place!" she shouted. Then she turned a glare toward her husband. 

"For fuck's sake, Harold. Anybody can see I'm not a healthy woman, yet you stand by like a limp cock while a wild animal attacks me. Good God, what were you thinking? Don't answer that! I should know better than to expect your help when I need it. You were pointless when I married you fourteen years ago, and nothing has changed. Fuck off, Harold, just stay away from me."

"He can eat my pie!" called out Bloody.

The slope-shouldered Harold, holding the remnants of the dirty wig in one hand and the crushed snow cone in the other, looked apologetically around at the group of onlookers, who'd begun to snicker at his wife's diatribe.

"It's ok now," Harold said, "but my wife was attacked by a wild beast, a vicious beast."

"There ain't no wild animals in Whimsy World!"

Drexel Pusser approached menacingly.

"We have no loose animals here," he said, with an evil glare, "so haul your asses off my ground before I call in the law."

"But it should be us that calls the police," started Harold.

"Shut fucking up!" roared Pusser.

Bernadette grabbed his arm and pulled him back.

"Just forget it." she said, "Never mind it, honey."

Harold started to speak, but she checked him, holding his hand and leading him away.

Potty disappeared into the crowd.


Ike frowned bitterly. Squirt was a bust. He wasn't a real squid, just a sad sack in a rubber suit, wallowing in a kiddy pool. For an extra buck, you could throw sushi in his face. Cough up a sawbuck, and you got ass-fucking privileges. Ike thought it over. There was Squid's self-esteem to consider.

Squid was probably an orphan who donated his time to charities when not working—I'll do the sushi.

Ike somersaulted up to the fish bar and slapped down a twenty.

"Gimme sushi and keep it coming," he chattered.

His astonishing accuracy with the sushi attracted a crowd.

 I feel utterly burlesque.

"More sushi," chanted the crowd.

Ike tumbled back to the fish bar in a complete frenzy.

"Give me fish heads!"

He adopted a Jai alai motion, throwing the fish head with such mustard that it knocked Squid cold. The crowd laughed maniacally.

"Give it to him in the ass!"

Ike tore Squid's pants down and kicked a fish head up his ass. And then started backflips at a terrific speed. The crowd cheered. Ike jumped behind the fish bar, grabbed fish heads, and launched salvos into the crowd. Chaos ensued. 

"Christ on a rubber crutch!" screamed a woman. Let me out of fucking place."

"He's gone insane. He'll kill us all!" bellowed a fat man.

The crowd clambered for the exit. Ike drove them before him, bonk-bonk-bonking them with fish heads. 

Squirt relieved himself in a Porta-Potty, and Ike snuck out of the freak house under a bucket.

"Holy smokes, that must be some show," said an onlooker.

"Who's the guy with the jizz in his hair?"

"He must be part of the act!"

Nobody noticed the galvanized bucket. Ike had enjoyed this play immensely. Several rust holes allowed him to peak up skirts, maintain direction, and piss on an occasional shoe. It was all the latitude a monkey could ask for, but suddenly, his progress was checked.

 "What mischief is here?' said a voice.

 "Piss off."

"Saucy rouge!" admonished Potty. She performed a curtsy and smiled brilliantly for the gathering crowd.

 Ike stayed cool. He checked the topside rust hole. It was covered over. He gave it a lick. Hmmm, Manolo Blahniks. The portside hole showcased a lard-ass.

"You're canceled, fat-ass," shouted Ike. "Everybody hates you!

Back off, or you're all going to get it! I'm warning you here. I'm sick! You're all going to come down with it: Cholera, Leprosy, Ebola, the latest strain of Covid, I've got all that, and more. I'll give you Alzheimer's so bad you won't remember how to wipe your own ass. You're all getting it—except for the Jews." 

But suddenly, the bucket came off. 

Upon seeing Potty, Ike did not hesitate. He threw himself into her arms, but her rockin' big tits had a flubber effect, and Ike bounced back into the bucket.

"Oh, my God, Ike, are you ok?"

"I think so," Ike said, "say do you remember the time your tits bounced me off a coconut tree?"

"Yes...Awww, you're making me all misty. Do you remember eating my snatch for ten hours?"

"Ha-ha! My face looked like a glazed doughnut. How's about a waffle cone, hot stuff?"

"Lead the way!"


In the meantime, Drexel Pusser's huddled over a boiled kidney plate while his girlfriend, Tooth Decay, gummed his stinking cock. 

Two grisly pieces of the undercooked stuff were all that remained of the original eleven pounds. Pusser pushed them into his maw and bit down; a trickle of brown juice ran out a corner of his mouth. Along with a pound of tripe, the kidneys had stuffed his cavernous guts like sausage casings. Sleep overtook Pusser. 

Tooth Decay gnawed.

His head lolled. The jaw went slack. His great stomach groaned, churned, and squeezed at the meat, bathing it in digestive juices until the entire mass became a row of boxcar turds. 

Frantic knocking jarred him awake. It was the cashier from his trinket concession. There was trouble at the freak house. People wanted refunds. A rampaging ape had attacked Squid.

Pusser shambled to his feet, pushing roughly past the woman--bruising her left tit with a clumsy elbow. He started toward the Freak house.


Meanwhile, Bloody Potty dropped to her hands and knees at the food concession, feigning the search for lost contact lenses. The arched-back, switch, and wiggle routine was the perfect decoy, allowing Ike to sneak behind the food counter and take inventory. 

He swirled cotton candy onto a finger; hmm, mostly fluff. The hotdogs looked interesting, so he smashed a couple. Boring. The clam cake smelled like puke. Disgusting. 

After throwing some popcorn around, Ike tasted the caramel syrup. Not bad. He pulled a candy apple off some wax paper and waved it over his head. What the hell happened to this apple? "I'll get back to it," he said, carelessly tossing the fruit. Ike glanced disdainfully at the concession attendant, leaning over the counter with his eyes glued to Bloody's backside. His pants were hitched low, gangbanger style. 

"Oh," said Bloody, reaching back and caressing her cooze, "where is that pesky phone of mine? Whoops!" she exclaimed, laughing childishly. "Well, that certainly ain't it!" 

Showtime thought Ike. He grabbed an oversized whipped cream canister and snuck up behind, fitting the nozzle in the attendant coin slot—time for your Oscar, Will.

WOOSH! The pants ballooned up gigantically, and the attendant, realizing a kind of seizure, started a wacky turkey trot with his arms akimbo.

"Catch me, catch me, catch me. Gangway!"

Ike ran straight into Drexel Pusser's gut.

"I say, sir, stand aside," requested Ike. "Begging your pardon, sir. Allow me passage. Get your ass out of my way, Mutha Fucka!" Pusser's hands reached for Ike's throat.


The Human knew it meant trouble if he didn't bring Ike back into the fold. Firstly, he'd have to explain the situation to Ike's publisher, and with Ike's latest novella, entitled "Irascible Ike Loses his Winter Jacket," already behind schedule, the guy would go ballistic.

There's no one else to blame, though. I brought this entire goddam business down on myself. Laid too hard into the bottle, gave in to Ike's every whim, and now the whole thing has gone sour. That's not how it used to, goddammit, and that's not how it will stay! 

He brought his fist down on the table with new resolve. He'd been a fool to even consider ending it all, a sucker to let a bottle of rotgut ruin his body and muddle his thinking. "Well, all that's over now," shouted the Human. "The kid is back, and Ike will be back whatever the cost!"

The Human stood confidently, walked to the garage, and rolled out Mariah, his Vincent Black ShadowShe had a stiff compression, but he stood high on the kick start, and Mariah woke up growling.


Drexel Pusser's hand closed around Ike's throat with the finality of a bear trap. The pig was demonically strong, and Ike's struggles were in vain. Bloody Potty attacked the asshole from the rear. Still, her feminine fists were useless against the brute, who slapped her aside and continued throttling Ike. Pusser leaned in with his jiggling tonnage. Ike started passing out, and Pusser pulled Ike in the direction of his lair, mumbling, 

'I'll make a stew with this little bastard."

"Astro-horse," gasped Ike. "Bring…."

Bloody didn't hesitate; only the Astro-horse could derail Ike's fate. She ran for the carnival's exit, for Astro-horse's stables.


The Human had little trouble picking up Ike's path of mischief. He pointed Mariah towards the outskirts of town and Whimsy World on a hunch.


Bloody Potty had done her level best in reaching the Astro-horse's stables quickly. Her big tits heaved volcanically as she burst, barefoot and tattered, into his stall.

"Ike is in trouble." she choked, "A grotesque has captured him, and it'll be horrible if we don't act."

Astro stamped his hooves and whinnied at the top of his lungs. 

"Not for all the oats in the world would I see my little friend harmed." 

The corded knots and awesome slabs of his muscle became ready. "Does this grotesque own a carnival called Whimsy World?" demanded the Astro.

"Yes!" shouted Bloody. And then she added, "He's a total dick!"

"Then we've no time to lose; leap astride my back, and we'll fly like the wind."

Bloody hesitated, rubbing the inside of her thigh with her palm.

"Well, jeez, I don't know, you're kind of lathery. Just a bit sticky looking, and I sorta just met you---"


Bloody leaped astride his back, and off they flew.


Whenever the Human appeared in public, a pied piper effect ensued. He was wandering about with a string of happy children in tow.

"Are you really the real human?" asked a shy six-year-old.

The Human smiled kindly. "Yes, son, I'm really the real Human."

"Gee and wow!" Hey, everybody, it's the actual Human from the Irascible Ike books!"

"Hooray for the Human, but where is Irascible Ike?"

"That's just what I was hoping to find out. Can anybody help me?"

The crowd parted, and Bernadette stepped forward. "It must have been Irascible Ike who jumped on my head earlier this evening. He sure is the dickens." She giggled. "All is forgiven. Heck, I love Irascible Ike."

"Irascible Ike, Irascible Ike," chanted the children.

"He's sure to be close by!" Harold shouted. "Spread out and start a search! Tally ho!"

But even as the crowd searched high and low, none knew the horrors unfolding in Drexel Pusser's trailer.


Bloody arrived on the scene. Astro was covered in lather due to his record pace.

"The trailer!" shouted Potty. "Ike was taken to the fat man's trailer. Oh, my sopping twat!"

"Show us the direction!" called Harold.

"There! There!"


Inside the trailer, the inconceivable was at hand. Pusser prepared to dice Ike into the stew. The pot boiled. Ike struggled valiantly.

The Human, Harold, Bernadette, Bloody, and all the children ran to Pusser's trailer. But they couldn't force the door. "Bring the Astro-Horse," cried the Human.

Astro charged in. He reared up and brought his hooves down, tearing the door to shreds. In rushed the Human, raining stultifying blows about the head and shoulders of Drexel Pusser.

Bernadette, Harold, and the children followed, scratching and slapping, causing Drexel to howl in pain and beg for mercy. Mercy was granted only after a protracted whipping and an extended period of verbal derision.

Pusser wept and pledged he would never be an asshole again.

"So, help me, God," dictated the Human.

"So, help me, God," grumbled Pusser.

"It's settled then," said Bloody with great assurance.

"Settled," whinnied Astro.

"All is well," said Bernadette, smiling ecstatically.

"All is well, all is well, all is well." chanted the children, and then they ran off searching for parents to sponsor.

Harold puffed out his chest, grinning victoriously.

"All is well," said the Human, turning to Ike and taking him by the hand. "Except for one thing--your behavior, Ike. You've been a naughty monkey."

"I'm sorry," sighed Ike.

Ike and the Human climbed aboard Mariah. 

Dawn glowed on the horizon. Ike hugged the Human, smiling contentedly.

It was going to be an excellent day.



Submitted: July 10, 2022

© Copyright 2022 Laird. All rights reserved.

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Add Your Comments:



I will never take LSD again! Never...Never! I promise! I promise!
I knew they were fucked up in LA, but I had no idea it was this bad.

Definitely one of the zaniest stories I've ever read, but you write it so well, Laird...makes me worried about ya. Keep this monkey out of Dracula. I'm sure you are a Monty Python fan. I needn't ask.

Oh, wow...

Astro cock!

Mon, July 11th, 2022 1:03am


Ha-ha! No need to worry DampKitten! Ike is one and done, lol.

Sun, July 10th, 2022 7:01pm

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