A Bathing Beauty...

[Sycorax]

[align=center]Warning if you have a weak stomach, have a bucket handy...
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It was that time again, time for the old hags quarterly bath... not quarter of a year, quarter of a century was good enough for Sycorax. Dragging the heavy tub to the centre of the room, getting it filled with hot water, finding an unbroken mirror in the place (as usually they saw her, screamed and shattered ... at last count between her and Baba Yaga they were up to two million years bad luck between them). Finally ready she dropped the misshapen sack  that she had for considerable time called a dress. Knickers had rotted off long ago, and turned to look in the mirror.  Just before it exploded she realised the minge had become to look like a grassy knoll and similar colour, her leg hair need braiding and she swore she could see eyes peering from the monster minge. "Oi Oi Oi... tis toime ta clean ya up ya rancid haggis."



Gathering up some gardening shears she hefted her guts out of the way and attempted to trim the hedge, but it simply broke the shears "Oi, yer gonna be loike that eh... Oi'll ferk ya" Scrabbling around she found a box of matches and a splash of turpentine... Splashing it on, then lighting a match, the massive bulk of minge hair bursting into flame just as with a roaring Blaaarrrrrrrrt, Sycorax ripped a fart capable of causing global warming all on its own. Of course it caught and blew her ass over head, leags in the air as the jets stream blew the wall out. A dragon flying over saw the flame and found themselves aroused, till it looked upon her spread legged body at which it clawed its own eyes out, flew off into the forest and broke its neck on a tree. The flock of geese flying over didn't fair much better, the results of the thermofartclere explosion blowing off their feathers and fully cooking them on the way down.


Dragging her old wrinkled fat body upright again she looked in the mirror, and lifting her guts so she could see what lurked below she discovered in place of the mangy minge lay two all beef patties, special sauce, pickle on a sesame seed bun at this point the mirror exploded, but feeling around she discovered minge and legs were as smooth as a zombies backside. Now for the serious work... Taking up a pair of blacksmitsh tongs and bending over at an angle that cocked her ass up like Vesuvius, the sight of which caused a family of bats to fall dead from the ceiling, and reaching between her legs she began to dig for a few things she had lost. A sailors hat still glued to a skull, "Oi so thats where yer went yer little ferker, an here was me thinking yer ran away". Then a house brick, a wolfs skeleton, a bears skull and strangely enough a sharks jaw... and... 'Oi Oi, there ye be" her spellbook bound in human skin followed by a shower of maggots, millipedes, centipedes, scorpions, mice, dead rats and the rotting remains of several cats.

Now to clamber into the tub, the water trying to escape, but too late as the wrinkles, warts, pimples, blackheads, whiteheads, boils and carbuncles slid into the water. From clean to pustulent green with... floaters in less then a minute and that was before she threw her saggy old tits over her shoulders and let the water soak into the accumulated detritus of a quarter century. Reaching across for a hammer and chisel to break up the petrified boob goo. A soak for an entire minute then out, shaking her flabbiliscious folds before adding a dash of salt, a hint of rotting greens and yelling out "Soups on" before getting dressed. Sycorax was now ready for anything.

[Baba Yaga]

It was the wet clamour that came from the dilapidated bathroom that stirred Baba Yaga from her beauty sleep, and with a rumble and grumble which came from her throat slowly one eye opened. An empty socket, a hallow cavity all festering and maggoty, yet some though it was of course one of her most attractive features. A clawed, wrinkly hand searched through the clutter of miscellaneous items from magically powered vibrators, rusty old titty-clamps and dried up extremities strewn shamelessly upon the bedside table. Mumbling incoherently to herself amongst vile words and potent curses… in search for the single glass of water, containing her most valued and precious item… her ‘only’ eyeball. “ ‘Ere…whur’s my fookin’ eye, yer long-titted scrutom butlah!?!”

Unclear whether she was talking to herself, or the fat-assed warty swamp-hog now splooshing about in the bathtub. No doubt giving the old plunger a good workout while flipping, flopping, flapping and fapping like an epileptic whale doing its mating dance to whatever other sea-life that was misfortunate enough to cross its path. “Oi, yer old arse-breath'd  sausage-suckin’ stumpet…whur’s ma fookin’ eye???!!!” Still fighting to find the glass, Baba Yaga begrudgingly sat up from the slimy, sweaty, pungent grime-ridden bed from which she slumbered. The imprint of her flabby, unkempt form remained sunken into the mattress left a reminding horror that ‘Weight Watchers’ truly does not work with its cutsey little rabbit-salads and polite chipper cheesecakes.

“Deemonized bunghole-flapmouth, a’said whur’s my bleedin' eyeball??” Yelled out quite loudly, the crackle and gravelesque timbre that broke the dusty morning light streaming through the tattered curtains scuttled to the shadows like a curr hound kicked by its master. “A’can’t wotch ma darn soapies without ma eyeball, koont-lipped anus slappah!”  Huffing heavily, trying to fight the matted birds-nest mess of knotty grey hair that hugged around her neck in reminisce of an affectionate viper, fighting free of it was about was fruitless as clawing through a thorn patch and ensnared by the cooter and curlies.

Lengths of ragged nightgown dropped to the floor, covering the snuggle-teethed tips of toenails, groaning the old witch rose to her feet… scratching the cellulite mounds of her arse, and digging in deep twixt the cheeks. “Ooooo ma arse! Ma arse….” And like Moses parting the Red Sea, Baba’s right hand was all up and in it… a furrowed expression wrinkling what was already an incredibly aged face, time after all had not been so kind- despite all the diabolical magick, all she really had was glamour during certain auspicious hours and those hours were usually around her soapie hour. “Twattin’ wytch-bottles’n’grimalkins!”

Hobbling towards where the door was thought to be, saggy tuckshop arms flapping in the motion as they waved about in front of her. Blindly seeking until the eye located in the middle of her withered rugous forehead lazily opened. “Fook off back ta sleep!” Viciously poking it right in the middle of its moist center.  â€œA gots no tyme for ya shenanigins Furgus, so fook yer.” It was then that in silence she cursed that bloody Jizz Lord KnobGoblin, Beesknees Bonearse. The tossing gloryhole plonker.  

It was his sodding exploding  pink birthday that took out both her eyes with its burning glitter candles playing ‘Happy Birthday’, fucking Happy Birthday indeed.  Not even Whizzpopper the Duck had been himself since, no longer finding refuge in the cavernous comforts of summery snatch, a place Baba had placed to the similarities of Bora Bora. Nothing had quite been the same since, and now the twittering cock-slapper Sycorax was gleefully singing away to herself about, phallus, waffles and foot wanking… well the word sounded like “….fundle ma furt whanking, wif ya disco bukake shyaft ballsssss.” to her demented head-holes full of wax and nut-butter.

“Quet ya rookus n schot ya dippin’ twunt sucker, ya makin’ ma goaste wanna take oufff on its own arse wagin’ and get the fook outta Dodge. O' Jeesyus weeps.” Walking face first into the door with a loud and thunderous ‘THUD!’ totally pressing Baba’s pliable features so they sunk within the drooping flesh, except with the dentures that popped out of her jowls and proceeded to viciously bite on the tip of one big toe causing the decrepit old witch to howl in pain… “OOOO MA FOOKIN’ TOE!! OW OW OW OW!! TREECHEROUS…” Losing track of the other attempting words of insult and finally in one final bout of frustration and anger “FOOKIN FONDLIN’ SLUT-BISCUIT! TA THE DEEVIL WIF YA, TA THE DEEVIL INDEED A SAYS!” Fist banging loudly on the bathroom door while hopping to and fro at the demonically possessed dentures snapping  wickedly at Baba’s feet.