A  Beating For No Reason 
by the Moronic, Idiotic, yet adorable Madman



Melissa here yet another time to recount the story of how some of us girls at
our girls' athletic house at State University beat the shit out of Zack, our
houseboy slave. We have done this many times before, but Zack deserves to be
constantly beaten and the moronic Madman is far too stupid to think of any
other themes to write about.

Usually, when Madman writes his crappy stories, there is some sort of reason
for the beating, no matter how stupid that reason might be. Some of the
idiotic reasons include a salute to baseball, support for striking workers and
even an ode to vegetables. These are just a few of the moronic topics that
Madman has based his writings upon. So it is a good thing that Madman is too
stupid and/or lazy to think of another topic. His stories are at their best
when they deal solely with senseless sadistic violence with absolutely no plot
and, certainly, no social redeeming value.

This story is guaranteed not to include Kelly or anyone else shoving a
golfball up somebody's ass. Although this ridiculous and senseless act makes
no sense at all, it has become a bellweather trait of Madman's stories. That,
alone, should testify to the amazingly low quality of them. It has been said
that given enough time, a monkey would type the complete works of Shakespeare
In a matter of a few minutes, the same monkey could type out a story that is
better than this one or any of Madman's pieces of crap. The only problem is
that Madman types his stories on an iPhone and a monkey may lack the fine
motor control to type on such a small keyboard. If the instrument was large
enough to allow our monkey to type one letter at a ti me, then it would
definitely be true. Perhaps, if one could motivate a small mouse or an insect
to type, they could, over time, create a story far superior to Madman's on an
iPhone.

If these stories were stored in a time capsule and aliens from outer space
found them, years after human life was past, they would have a solid clue as
to the reason. If mankind still existed, they would know that they were
dealing with a vastly inferior species and could do or take as they desired.
Religiously, this would confirm that no God existed, or if he did, that he was
really a moron, certainly not all knowing, all good and all powerful. Then
again, the devil might have defeated him to thrust this crap in the name of
literature at people as part of creating hell on earth. Creating Justin Beiber
is also part of that insidious plan.

It is well overdue to get into the violent sadistic part of this story. The
meaningless explanation of the reason for the lack of a supporting plot is far
longer and more tedious than any of the stupid, poorly written ones that
Madman has previously written. So, with respect to violence and to all life
forms that imbide some sort of liquid or fluid, here it goes.

We took Zack down to the basement to begin yet another beating on his
worthless hide. A worthless hide fits in well with a worthless story. Since
the beating had no theme, we could punish him in any way that would maximize
his pain and amuse us, perhaps, but not likely the reader, to the max. Joining
me was Stacie, Rebecca, Lisa, Jessie, and my roommate, the incomparable Kelly.

While we were deciding what to do to him, we circled Zack and threw punches
and kicks at any and all parts of his body He had no way to defend himself, as
multiple blows were constantly coming at him from all sides and all angles.
When Zack fell down on the mat, we continued stomping all part of his body.
When we stopped, Zack was breathing hard and gasping in pain. A trickle of
blood seeped out of his nose and he was already in bad shape.

Now, we were ready to trap our already helpless victim in some very painful
holds. Kelly, our most sadistic bitch, pointed out that Zack's left knee was
not yet recovered from the knee bar he had to endure last session and that it
was an excrutiating hold. We decided to apply it to both is knees
simultaneously. We dragged Zack, on his back, toward our bench press bench.
Stacie and Jessie held one of his ankles on the bench facing him, so they
could enjoy watching him suffer. Then they sat down on his shins, just below
his knees putting tremendous pressure bending his knees is the wrong
direction. Now we really had Zack in excrutiating pain and were eager to
increase it. Jessie and I laid down on opposite sides of our helpless prone
victim and each applied a painful armbar. Now all four of his hinge joints
were being forced to bend the wrong way and Zack was in total agony. Any one
of our holds usually brings forth an immediate submission in a UFC fight and
we had four of them simultaneously and refused to release any of them. We
still had two girls left to add to Zack's agony and we wanted to maximize
their effect. Rebecca used her muscular legs to snare Zack with a figure four
head scissors. She had incredably strong legs and was not shy about ramping up
the pressure on her helpless victim. That left Kelly to complete this phase by
repeatedly stomping his midsection and balls We continued this attack for
several minutes before we got bored and wanted to continue Zack's torture
another way. We also wanted to torture the readers of this piece of crap story
by thrusting another unrealistic scenerio upon them.

We also wanted the punish the science of linguistics by grossly misusing the
noble English language. Zack was lying on his back and totally helpless. It
would be easy to take advantage of that. We could torture both Zack and all
the readers of this crap simultaneously However Zack was the only one we had
access to, so we would concentrate our efforts on him.

Zack was still on his back and we decided to stretch his body to the max.
Stacie and I each grabbed one of his ankles. Jessie and Lisa each grabbed one
of his wrists. Then, the four of us all pulled with all our might as if we
were going to tear his limbs right off from his body. Rebecca jammed her hard
lower leg into his vulnerable throat with a brutal shin pin. Kelly crawled
between Zack's legs, grabbed his balls, squeezed and twisted them with a
devastating testicular claw hold. It's a shame Zack couldn't see the glee on
her face as she absolutely loved applying this hold. Although Zack was in
indescribable pain, Madman just futilely attempted to describe it. Madman's
chances of describing this hold in a decent and literary style were less than
Zack's chances of breaking free. Zack began crying in pain and I imagine
74.39% of the readers are crying about reading this shit as well. The
remaining 25.61% are probably too dumb to understand what they are reading or
they are concentrating more on eating chocolate covered rotten duck eggs
dipped in cinnamon and garlic powder than on reading this story. It's quite
understandable because that food would taste better to the palette than this
story would appeal to the mind of anyone with even a modicum of intelligence.

We often finish our sessions of punishing Zack by tying him up and leaving him
in painful positions That way, Zack can be made to suffer with no effort on
our part or on the readers' part. Plus Madman wanted to take a break to jack
off to an old tape of Xena Warrior Princess. The moron must be the only one
left who still uses beta.

We came up with a simple idea that should keep Zack in intense pain. It had to
be simple or else Madman would never have thought of it. Also Madman can not
recant any story with more than the most basic of events or he would get
totally confused.

Before proceeding with this horrible story, take a moment to ponder this. Why
is a glass of water clear, yet oceans or lakes usually appear to be blue in
colour? And wasn't it respectful of Madman to use the British spelling,
colour, instead of the bastarized American version, color, as this is a
British owned and run website. Yes it's true. The money you pay for your
membership helps pay for a bunch of morons to drink warm Black and Tans, drink
sissified tea instead of coffee and eat some crappy pastry called crumpets.
This is the country that lost two wars to the United States and bombasted our
ears with the so called music of Hermans Hermits. Even that name makes no
fucking sense. If there is more than one of them, than none of them can
actually be a hermit, can they? A hermit lives alone, not with a bunch of boys
with acne that can't even sing in tune when trying to ask Mrs Brown to pimp
out her daughter to them. Actually, Mrs Brown was far hotter than her piece of
shit daughter. Holy shit, they're so fucked up that they still have a king and
a queen.

We raised our weight bench about a foot off the ground by putting stacks of
books under it. The books were unlikely to be read anyways. After reading this
piece of shit story, most people would be so disgusted that they would never
read anything again except for traffic signs and whatever is printed on their
cereal box.

Then we placed a heavy loaded barbell, lengthwise, on top of our weight bench.
Are you, the reader more excited so find out how we were going to torture
Zack, or by the knowledge that this story is nearing its end? Now, we pushed
Zack over onto the barbell so that the bar was right under his lower back. His
lower back was now being forced to bear all his body weight, but of course
this was not enough. We really wanted to maximize his suffering, as well as
yours, as the unfortunate reader of this story.

We tied the sides of Zack's uniform comprising of a pink jockstrap to the bar
to prevent him from sliding off it. Now, all his weight was supported only by
the small of his back. This was just the first stage of creating Zack's
torture, but fortunately, for the readers of this shit, it is one of the final
stages.

We then tied Zack's wrists and ankles together under the bench and tied fifty
pounds of weights to hang down from them. This pressures his shoulders and his
hips, but its primary objective was to force Zack's back the wrong way over
the barbell. Now, he was suffering big time and had no way to attempt an
escape or even move. To add to his pain, we tied a five pound weight to each
of Zack's testicles, draped the ropes over his thighs and then to drop down to
put constant excrutiating pressure on hi balls. We stood to enjoy watching him
suffer for a few moments and some of us threw punches into his belly, just to
enjoy adding to his pain. It looked so funny watching him struggle to breathe
after a couple real hard blows knocked the wind out of him.

We left him to suffer alone for three hours. During this time, Madman was able
to jack off to his favorite warrior princess and the readers had time to relax
and recover a bit of sanity. When we came three hours later, Zack was barely
conscious and appeared to be incapable of feeling any more pain. His pain
receptors had been so overloaded that they could only feel a sense of etherial
numbness, a sense that time had stopped and that it only existed to make him
feel pain. It was like a transcendental meditation without Walden pond. It was
like fried chicken without the chicken. It was like the barf of an Ethiopian
dwarf who had not eaten for six days. It was like the flow of electricity
through a nonconductive material. It was like yin without yang or yang without
yin. You make the call, Madman is far too stupid to understand even this most
basic tenant of Oriental philosophy. It was like Adolf Hitler giving Winston
Churchill a blow job while Charles DeGaulle drank French champagne with
Limburger cheese. It was like Bill Clinton fucking Hillary while Monica
Lowinsky was forced to watch while fantasizing about darning Donald Trump's
socks. It was like Mickey Mouse fucking Daisy Duck while Minnie Mouse had an
orgy with Huey, Dewey and Louie.

It was like all this and more. Fortunately, Madman is done making these
outlandish comparisons, because he can no longer wait to jack off to Xena
Warrior Princess. Perhaps next time he will submit a better written story that
makes sense, but don't bet on it