The following events are true. What happens in this story did actually occur in real life; nevertheless, this is a work of fiction and does not bear any resemblance to real life. The characters herein are works of fiction and do not bear any resemblance to people either living or dead, except the principle characters that constitute most of the story.
In Search of
The Manly Travails
of the Masculinists
by Don Juan
Act Juan, Scene Juan
It was dawn and the sun swept across the land like a mighty wave, illuminating everything in its path with golden fire. Don Juan Falsestaff was traversing the finest taverns and brothels in the land in search of a crew to board his ship. For Plump Jack had a secret he would share with his crew, that of Pleasure Island. Pleasure Island as everybody knew was a mythical land of Elysium; it was where everybody could find their greatest desires come to life, but only sexually of course. Although everybody knew of the island, only Falsestaff knew how to get there, and it was his aim to gather the finest crew of men and whores and set sail on the Good Ship Sexy Muthafucka in search of Pleasure Island.
After many fruitless hours of searching and chewing on the fat of the land, Falsestaff came to a shitty looking tavern going by the name of ‘The Cock and Swallow’. He decided to venture forth, inside finding the most squalid, and whore-ridden dump he had yet seen. The scum in this place stank of real ale, steak and trifle, the ambience had a little to be desired and there was even a two for one offer on the whores.
“Excellent!” muttered Falsestaff, under his breath. He had reasoned that the men in this place must be real men, after all this was no wine bar but a filthy whore-ridden shit-hole populated entirely by whoremongers and trifle eaters. What was needed, however was a ruse, something to attract the attention of the rabble in order to allow Falsestaff’s eloquent ministrations to drip from his tongue and flow through the room.
Falsestaff walked up to the bar, took out his cock and banged it vigorously against the wood of the bar. Of course, this did not produce a slapping sound as any other man’s cock would have but made a definite wooden knocking sound. This loud knocking certainly caught the attention of those in the tavern for when they looked closer the man doing the knocking appeared to have not a cock of flesh, but one of wood. Falsestaff’s appendage was not just any wooden cock, but one that had been carved by masters of their craft and ornately engraved with the figures of beautiful yet whoresome maidens. Just the sight of the cock took the breath away; nothing else was required to capture the attention.
“Good morning ladies and gentlemen, boys and motherfucking girls. This is your captain Don Juan speaking, and I’m here to rock your world. With a tale that will soon be classic about a man you all will soon know. A buccaneer he, and friend to all: Don Juan Falsestaff.”
With attention firmly grasped in his sweaty palm, so he began his weary but fantastical tale for all who would listen. He told of his reputation that was as wide as his girth and of his travels and travails. He told of his thrills, bills, kills, spills, hills, mills, and sills. He told of whores, strumpets and wenches. He told of trifle and real ale and red meat. He told of the treasures and of the terrors of the earth. Few were untouched by his tales, while all were enthralled.
Falsestaff related to the crowd his desire to gather a crew and sail what could be a greatly treacherous voyage in search of an island of only myth. Many were turned away claiming they were afeard or some such shite, and by the time that Falsestaff had turned all cowards away there were few left.
Some were turned away on appearance alone, while others were turned away due to their tiresomely unmanly names including Sebastian Buckthorn and Nathaniel Basingstoke. One big chinned hopeful by the name of Giuseppe Dubois was turned away for being too stupid to be able to walk in a straight line, once denied he zigzagged lugubriously away.
Falsestaff could not bare simpletons or flounderers, in his words:
“There are three types of idiot, the idiot who knows he is an idiot (probably the best type to be) the idiot who doesn’t know it yet, and the idiot who thinks he is a smart arse.”
Finally, a camp middle-aged man with one arm calling himself the Dread Pirate Bonney Lass was turned away. Falsestaff delightfully described him as “the most boring arsehole I've ever spoken to.” Adding that: “you would have thought having only one arm would give him a bit of character.”
Those who he settled for were an odd bunch: Long Johnson Silver, Jacques Ouef, and Thordequeer. The rest of the crew being comprised of his faithful pet and beloved friend – the half-Jew, half-dog Arsebeard, and a filthy nymphomaniac prostitute of name Anelle by birth but dubbed Jizelle by her clients due to her rapacious appetite.
Long Johnson was the proud bearer of a razor sharp and still incredibly masculine beard. He described himself as a ‘Scottish Communist Space Pirate’ and looked every bit the part. He was a man with a purportedly genuine silver prosthetic cock, though less aesthetically pleasing than Falsestaff’s prosthesis it was possessed of greater practical value. Long Johnson’s Silver was a silver vibrator, which had been carefully wired into his prostate, the vibrator would then twitch pleasingly or even violently and fatally should he wish. The twin drilling-vibrating action was a marvel of modern mechanics, responding to prostate flexes and came about due to a drunken duel of pistols. During the duel his opponent cheated and shot him in the groin with a cannon, Long Johnson of name at the time by reputation was his fortune – the cannon ball completely destroyed his prized genitalia but left his legs unscathed.
Alongside the marvellous tool, Long Johnson had requested they installed a pair of stress balls where his testicles once rested, in order to dispel in part his quickly flared temper. In times of great strife or anger, Long Johnson could grind his testicles together for comfort; alternatively should he so wish he could flex the vibrator to speed seventeen – the speed of death.
Jacques Ouef was a vulgar Frenchman with a varying accent, which ranged the whole gamut from arseholish Parisian to conniving Burgundian vineyard worker. Asked Falsestaff of the Frenchman:
“Jacques Oeuf . . . did I pronounce that correctly?”
“Actually it’s pronounced Jacques Ouef.”
He systematically twirled his effeminate moustache, as presumably in the region of France he originated from even the women wore plush beards. However, it was hard to hate him for all his faults, his extreme flagrant vulgarity and perpetual stream of innuendo somehow made him amiable. Though French he was still rude, arrogant, obnoxious, and misogynist, in fact he had every characteristic Falsestaff was looking for in a crewmember. Jacques Ouef was promptly employed as the chef though it bothered Falsestaff that Ouef felt the need to throw his load at every passer-by of even marginal sexual attractiveness.
Thordequeer due to his great height was appointed lookout, from atop the crow’s nest Lookout Thordequeer would espy potential plundering fodder in the form of smaller treasure laden vessels. He was half Viking and another half of indeterminable origin, which did not go far in explaining his hobo-like appearance, his ragged manly beard – as preferred to Falsestaff’s rugged manly beard – and his penchant for jokes about child abuse. He was a spectacular crucible of contradictions, though hobo-like in manner and personal hygiene and dress he contrasted the rags he patched onto his body with a shining top hat and blacked out monocle in place of an eye patch. What astonished most was his habit, or even ability, to do nothing in speech but talk in rhythm’d verse; on acknowledging Falsestaff’s warning that the voyage would be dangerous he responded with a haiku.
“High layered trifles,
Tower greatly above us.
They will fall some day.”
Arsebeard was of course half-Jewish on his mother’s side and half-dog on his father’s side, but all pirate on both sides – his inside and his outside. His mixed heritage resulted from a great scandal a few years previous in which a respectable Jewess gave birth to a raving sex mad hairy child. He had the body of a dog but the face and stature of a man. Arsebeard came to be Falsestaff’s companion due to an unfortunate set of circumstances, which Falsestaff related to his new crew.
“I used to be a freelance pirate, plundering whenever I could and being a pirate I needed some sort of smart-mouthed irritating companion like a parrot. I never could stand parrots you see so I bought myself a midget down at the market. Delightful little thing he was, constantly making wise cracks and stealing my wallet to go and buy whores – just what you want out of a pet really. One day I thought it would be funny to throw him in the water. Of course he couldn’t swim and the poor buggar drowned, sure I could’ve jumped in after him but I was eating what the fuck else could I do, I ask you. So I went back to the market and who do I see on sale – only this hairy fucker here dry arse-fucking a white-rhino. When I saw him go for a pile-driver I just knew he was the one for me, and he’s been my best friend ever since.”
Arsebeard was almost a tutor delivering muff related trivia, one of his many aphorisms relating to eating wenches, as he so heartily put it, was:
“Don’t just go up and down; they’ll think you’re painting a fence. Go up, down, in, out, fast, slow, stick a fist or two in there if you like, just give it some variety.”
Falsestaff related to the crew in short the recent days as a
sexual conquistador, paying particular attention though to the reason he now
had a wooden cock and why he thought he might be able to find
“I became essentially omnisexual at one point. In the end I didn’t even care whether I was screwing animal vegetable or mineral – anything with a hole would do, if there wasn’t a hole one could easily be made. One morning I even woke up with stubble rash on my bell-end.”
Falsestaff unfortunately ended up contracting innumerable venereal diseases, least of all these was syphilis, which he related anecdotally with reference to a visit to the trifle vendor.
“Is that scurvy? Ya scurvy dog.” Asked the trifle vendor.
“No that would be the syph.”
“Well trifle is good for warding off scurvy you know and for getting rid of the syph.”
So began his tragic addiction to penicillin trifle.
Interjected Thordequeer:
“Mighty, great Falsestaff;
In search of
Cursed with Venus’ blight.”
The crucial part of the story was yet to come however and involved another venereal disease which was the blight of all avid whoremongers – cockrot. Cockrot was incurable and if not caught quickly, through the complete excision of the genitals, could easily spread to the victim’s legs.
Upon detection of the disease Falsestaff visited a physician, having spent his last penny on a hand-job from a cheap whore he needed somebody who would do the operation on credit. He wandered restlessly through the streets visiting butchers and restaurants asking them to cut off his cock. In desperation, Falsestaff finally stumbled upon a carpenter, an old almost forgotten acquaintance, who would not only cut off his cock but install an exquisite English oak replacement. Falsestaff was etherised for the operation and lay upon the carpenter’s workbench in preparation. The operation involved cutting away rotten flesh and having a port to hold the new cock in, drilled into bone.
During an ether-induced hallucination the goddess Venus visited Falsestaff telling him that the loss of his manhood would not be permanent and was a test from the great pirate god Yarrathustra. The dream vision told him that if he sought his cock of old then he had two choices: either to continue his rampant whore-mongering until he found the right woman, at which point he would instantly know she was right, alternatively he could find the mythical Pleasure Island.
Falsestaff awoke from his ether-induced reverie with renewed determination to give it to as many women as possible. After several months and much money later he was still pounding the streets and pounding prostitutes in the search of the single woman he was destined to meet. One fateful morning he wandered into a brothel of the captivating name and motto: “Mistress Quickly’s Lightning Shaggers: blow your load in thirty seconds or your money back.”
Mistress Quickly’s establishment was a cosy one with
revolving doors for quick entrance and departure, as well as a ticket machine
for each of the Shaggers. Falsestaff
feeling a little whimsical went for the girl of name Jizelle. He was rushed to her room and as soon as he
closed the door behind him the clock began to count down. Jizelle was a
delightfully bosomy girl with a soft featured cherubic face, it so utterly
charmed Falsestaff that he was for a moment taken aback and wasted a few of his
precious seconds. She knelt in the
middle of the bed, her heavy tits swaying imperceptibly. Falsestaff strode to the bed and pulled
Jizelle onto her back by yanking swiftly at her calves. He pulled her body toward himself and
prepared to slide in when he noticed something she had inked on her thigh “this
way to Pleasure” it read and was followed by an arrow pointing directly to an
oddly shaved muff – it had been shaven in only patches. Falsestaff chuckled briefly to himself and
once more prepared to enter Jizelle when he noticed the there was more writing
on the underside of her thigh, he lifted her thigh and discovered a single
fateful word, the word “
Fourteen seconds were left Falsestaff who realising the significance of this discovery immediately asked of Jizelle would she like to escape her terrible life as a prostitute and flee with him to the seven seas. She told him she was a nymphomaniac and had only been a prostitute two days so had not had the chance to experience many men. Falsestaff then asked of her would she like to help him reach Pleasure Island where she could be dicked every which way to her heart’s content, she accepted and the pair beat a hasty retreat from the brothel.
Falsestaff was finished with his great tale of how he came to be where he was now and Arsebeard was feverishly humping the table leg in anticipation. Jizelle had been left on board the ship and Arsebeard had been taken drinking.
“Down boy. Down you bastard. Down.” Blustered Falsestaff as he beat Arsebeard about the head.
“Oi. Stop it you cunt. Stop it. I’m sorry alright.”
Falsestaff lowered his voice before saying to Arsebeard: “Look boy, I don’t mind you being Jewish that’s up to you just try to maintain a little piratical dignity. Okay?”
“Yarr. Okay.”
“Atta-boy. Go buy the next round.”
Arsebeard returned shortly with an abundance of unpretentious solid English ales, which the men made light work of as they exchanged hardy pleasantries and numerous toasts.
“This is my reign of terror motherfuckers.” Cried Falsestaff as he downed another pint.
Between drinks Long Johnson questioned Thordequeer his reason for setting sail:
“You don’t look like a pirate much to me. Why are you going?”
To which Thordequeer replied:
“Why, to suck to suck the very blood to suck.
To fuck to fuck the very cunt to fuck
To fight to fight the very will to fight
For we will fuck and fight from dawn till night.”
“Sounds like a good enough reason to me. Here’s to fucking and fighting.” Shouted Long Johnson Silver as he raised his glass in toast, prompting the manly men to break out in inebriated chorus.
“Fuck Fuck
Fight Fight
Fuck Fuck
Fight Fight
Fuck Fuck
Fight Fight
We can fuck, we can fight, we can shite where we like.
Cos we’re men men men; yes we’re men men men.
No we don’t give a shite about your fucking women’s rights.
Cos we’re men men men; yes we’re men men men.
We will sail the seven seas, do whatever the fuck we please.
Cos we’re men men men; yes we’re men men men.
We will fuck, we will drink, no we’ll never fucking think.
Cos we’re men men men; yes we’re meeeeen . . . meeeeeen . . . meeeeeeen.”
“Men indeed, you’ve stolen my best ‘ho.” Chimed in Mistress Quickly herself who had been standing for a short while listening to the Chorus of the Drunken Slaves.
“Why if it isn’t Mistress Quickly herself.” Drolled
Falsestaff at the sight of her. “What
exactly is your problem Quickly? Everybody knows you don’t own that place
anymore, it’s common knowledge you had to sell up seven years ago during the
‘Great Pussy Famine’. Why don’t you join
us? We’re in search of
“What indeed.” Pondered Quickly as she sat amongst the men.
“It’s settled then. All things be ready if our cocks be so.” Said Falsestaff and stumbled drunkenly in the direction of the toilet singing to himself.
Falsestaff entered the toilet and proceeded to befoul a surprisingly clean establishment while still singing to himself.
“Last night in the bathroom.
Pissed all over the floor.
Mopped it up with my toothbrush.
Don't brush my teeth much anymore.”
He sang and piss sprayed in every direction, on the high notes the stream even crept higher up the walls.
“Dog my cats ef I didn’ hear sumf’n.” Coughed Winston Kuhns, the toilet attendant. “Who is you bwoy?” He asked of Falsestaff noticing the tube which Falsestaff used to drain his bladder was being held with unsteady hands.
“Here you are my good man.” Said Falsestaff as he tossed Winston a shiny penny for his services.
“Aw shucks boss. I’s gwyne to do dat anyways.” Humbly mumbled Winston with down-turned face.
“I like your attitude. How’d you like to come work for me? You can mop up my piss all day long and get paid in shiny new pennies.”
“Gee boss. That’s mighta kind of you da.”
“Think nothing of it.”
And so the task was complete, Falsestaff had gathered his crew and now could set sail, all was well with him then. Nothing could go wrong.
“Off. Off to Brumania!” Cried Giuseppe Dubois as the gang stumbled from the ‘Cock and Swallow’ and made toward the Sexy Muthafucka.
They broke from Maidenhead and the vessel began its slow
dance across the waves.