Chuck Tingle
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Comic Strip Writer Scomp Adams Haunted In The Ass By The Things He Can’t Say Now That Free Thought Is Illegal Then Realizing It Is Legal He’s Just Not Smart Or Funny And Is A Bigot That Nobody Likes
🕑 Added 2023-02-28 14:16:32 +0000 UTC
When Scomp Adams, creator of the comic strip Dilbot, finds himself slipping into irrelevancy, he fights back with a series of offensive, bigoted comments. Of course, he’s not trying to be offensive, he’s just a free thinker who is very, very smart and cool.
But when Scomp goes too far and Dilbot is removed from all newspapers, he sets out on a soul-searching journey to discover if he’s really as smart as he thinks he is. This brings the writer to an office break room and an encounter with the physical manifestation of all the things he can’t say now that free thought is illegal.
But is free thought really illegal, or is Scomp just a bigoted jerk that nobody likes?
This erotic tale is 4,100 words of sizzling human on gay living concept card action, including anal, blowjobs, rough sex, and physically manifested belief that everything is someone else’s fault love.
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COMIC STRIP WRITER SCOMP ADAMS HAUNTED IN THE ASS BY THE THINGS HE CAN’T SAY NOW THAT FREE THOUGHT IS ILLEGAL THEN REALIZING IT IS LEGAL HE’S JUST NOT SMART OR FUNNY AND IS A BIGOT THAT NOBODY LIKES
By Chuck Tingle
I awake with a start, sitting up in my rolling office chair as a startled gasp escapes my lips. The sunlight is just beginning to stream through my bedroom window, casting the room in a warm, golden glow and announcing another exciting day.
It’s unclear what is it that so abruptly pulled me from my slumber, so I take a moment to reenter the waking world. I push away from my desk and stretch out so that my arms and legs can reach their full length, erupting with a long, satisfying yawn that seems to drift on and on forever.
I’m a bit sore, but I’m always a little sore when I wake up in the morning. Some have suggested that sleeping in an office chair is bad for my health, effecting my posture in a way that will have terrible long-term effects on everything from my mental well-being to my bone structure, but what do they know?
Scientists and doctors love telling everyday white-collar office workers like me what to do, getting off on their elite status while folks like myself grovel behind their computer screens in cramped cubicles. There’s no way I’m listening to their advice.
If anything, the words of my general health practitioner only make me want to sleep sitting up at this desk even more. I moved the bed out of my room, placing an office table and chair in the space where it once rested and catching all my shuteye right here.
I’ve always felt more at home in the world of the modern office, and I guess that extends to my sleeping habits—scientists be damned!
I roll my head from side to side, moving extra slow as the cracks and pops rattle across my spine in a wave. The sensation is deeply unpleasant, but it has to be done.
A digital chime rings out from my desktop computer, then another, and another, filling the air with the caustic tone of fresh email deliveries. I can only assume this is what woke me up, but based on the angle of the morning sunlight, it’s still a little early for this many messages to be coming in.
Eventually, I manage to pull myself back up into the standard seated position, turning on my desktop monitor and taking a look at my inbox. My opinions have gotten me in trouble over the last few years, meaning my fan mail has slowed significantly, but for some reason this morning I’ve found myself greeted by page after page of fresh new correspondences.
I furrow my brow curiously, pushing my glasses up onto my nose as I read aloud. “We regret to inform you that The Billings Times has decided to cut ties.”
I open this letter and quickly skim the contents, my heart sinking as I fully come to grips with what’s going on here.
Immediately, I jump to the next email, a message from City Of Devils Weekly. Within the first few sentences I can already tell where this is going, following a similar trajectory of the first letter.
As I make my way down this long list, I begin to realize the awful truth. Every one of these newspapers is writing to inform me that my comic strip, Dilbot, has been dropped from their publication.
In fact, the only newspaper that’s saying something different is a small journal called The Super Racist And Extremely Homophobic Monthly, who have actually offered to start publishing my cartoon within their pages.
I shudder, disgusted by the thought. I’m not a racist or a homophobe or any other kind of bigot, I’m just a free thinker with some big ideas.
“Are you though?” comes a voice from behind me.
I immediately jump in shock, swiveling in my office chair. I glance around awkwardly, searching for the source of this strange, disembodied voice but coming up short.
Nobody’s there.
“Hello?” I call out.
I hesitate a moment, waiting for any response, then finally brush it off. I’m not entirely shocked to be hearing things right now, well aware that stress can play all kinds of tricks on the human mind if left to simmer long enough. As the world changes around me, this hum of background anxiety has only grown louder and louder, and with the recent news of my apparent cancellation, I’m not surprised this feeling has manifested as a mysterious voice.
I let out a long sigh and stand abruptly. All this can’t possibly be my fault.
I peek over the wall of my friend Horpo’s cubicle, gazing down at him from the ledge. Horpo is hard at work, his eyes glued to the computer screen before him, and hasn’t yet noticed I’ve arrived.
“Hey,” I whisper, hoping to break through his concentration.
Horpo doesn’t move, still deeply focused on some monotonous, spread-sheet related task. He’s wearing headphones, nodding his head slightly, so it’s no wonder he doesn’t know I’m here.
“Hey!” I shout, loud enough to finally draw his attention and causing my friend to jump in alarm.
Horpo nearly falls over backwards in his chair, reaching up to grab his headphones and pulling them away from his ears. “Oh my god,” he blurts, then glances up at me. “What?”
“Hey,” I repeat awkward.
I look of disappointment immediately crosses his face. “Oh my god, Scomp Adams, what are you doing here again?”
“I came to see you,” I explain.
Horpo begins to climb from his chair, likely to alert office security, but I cry out to stop him.
“Wait, wait, wait!” I stammer. “I’ll pay you ten dollars to listen to me.”
Horpo hesitates, letting out a long sigh. “Okay, fine,” he replies. “Keep the ten dollars, though. I feel bad for you.”
“You should!” I cry out. “Every newspaper in the country dropped my comic strip! It’s not fair!”
Horpo raises an eyebrow as I say this. “Not fair? What did you do?”
“I spoke my mind!” I continue.
“Yeah, but like, what did you say?” my friend counters. “Speaking your mind could mean a lot of things.”
“Does it matter?” I retort. “Don’t you believe in freedom of speech?”
“Sure, but there’s a difference between freedom of speech and freedom from consequences. If you say something really dumb that people don’t agree with, or find offensive, they have the right to not listen. Those newspapers are private entities, they can remove any comics they want.”
I can’t help but reel for a moment, struggling to come to terms with his unkind words.
“What the hell?” I blurt. “I thought you were my friend.”
Horpo sighs, hesitating for a moment before continuing onward. “Scomp Adam, I can’t keep having this conversation with you. I’m not your friend, I don’t even know you,” Horpo replies, an excuse I’ve heard a thousand times before. “I don’t know how you found this office, or why you drive all the way across town to hang out here-”
“The cubicles,” I interject. “This is the only modern workplace left.”
Horpo glances around, then throws his hands up. “This isn’t a modern workplace, cubicles aren’t even really a thing anymore. Not like this, anyway.”
“Well, you just answered your own question,” I reply. “That’s exactly why I come here.”
“Aren’t you like a big comic writer, though?” Horpo questions. “Why are you still hanging out in an office?”
“Because I’m also just a regular Joe, old-school, white-collar worker,” I explain.
Horpo just shakes his head. “Okay, well, I should probably get back to work.”
I pull out a hundred dollar bill. “Wait! Forget the ten bucks, how about a hundred to hang out and talk like old office friends?”
Horpo pauses, a look of genuine sadness overwhelming his expression. “You’re a successful cartoonist,” he states. “Don’t you have any other friends? If you’re looking for support, I don’t know if I’m the person to give it right now.”
I know he doesn’t mean anything by this, but the statement cuts deeper than I expected. There’s a perfectly good reason for the fact I’ve found myself completely alone at this stage in my life, and it certainly has nothing to do with my actions, but that doesn’t keep it from hurting.
“I’ve been cancelled,”I reveal. “For speaking my mind!”
Horpo flashes me a skeptical look, then turns around to face his computer. He opens up a window on his internet browser and types in a few words, then slaps the spacebar button.
“What are you doing?” I question.
“Looking up exactly what you said,” Horpo replies.
My friend starts to read, his eyes dancing along the digital lines of text. “Oh… oh no,” Horpo gushes, more to himself than to me. “These are… real quotes? You actually said this stuff?”
“It’s all taken out of context,” I reply.
Horpo clicks on a video link, opening a streaming file from my own personal blogs. He presses play and the sound of my voice fills his cubicle, drifting out from within the computer speakers.
“Yes, I’m very racist!” the video of me announces proudly. “No other context needed. Those are my thoughts and feelings! If you want to listen to the part before I said this then it’ll only explain even more how awful I am, and if you keep listening, it’ll also make things worse. By the way, I hate kittens. I am a bad person and I mean every word I say.”
Horpo shuts off the video and turns back to face me. “Why would you…” he trails off, having trouble finding the words.
“It’s out of context!” I blurt. “I’m a free thinker!”
My friend just shakes his head. “Listen, Scomp Adams, I kind of enjoyed it when you started showing up at this office pretending you worked here because the rest of the world has moved on and you’re struggling to find some kind of relevancy in your life. Like, it was interesting or funny or whatever, and I thought maybe you just needed someone to talk to, but now it seems pretty obvious you’re just kind of a bad dude.”
“I’m misunderstood!”I cry out, throwing my hands up. “This is such a classic Dilbot situation!”
Horpo just shakes his head. “I have no idea what that means. Can you just leave? I really don’t want to call security.”
With that, my friend puts his headphones on and turns back around. He dives into his work, ignoring my presence.
I’ll admit it, this moment stings, and for a brief second I wonder if there’s a sliver of truth to any of these terrible suggestions. What if I really am a shitty person? What if this isn’t really an issue of free speech, but something much simpler?
What if people just don’t like to be around annoying bigots with endless bad takes?
I sit with this a moment, then abruptly shake my head to clear my thoughts. I’m a very, very smart man, and I think I’d realize it if my own behavior was the cause of all this strife.
The best thing to do now is just push onward, continuing down this path in exactly the same way until my results change. I’ll head home and dive into some new strip ideas.
But first, chocolate milk.
I leave Horpo’s cubicle, but instead of heading for the exit I make a sharp turn towards the office break room. The second I step inside, I’m greeted by the wonderful, overwhelming scent of freshly brewed chocolate milk, the quintessential beverage of overworked office employees.
This break room is currently empty, nobody here to stop me from strolling over and pouring myself a tall cup of the good stuff before heading home.
I approach the chocolate milk maker, pulling down a mug from the cupboard above, but before I get the chance to pour my cup an unexpected voice announces itself from behind me.
“Maybe you are a bigoted prick,” comes the unexpected voice.
My hand jerks in shock, nearly dropping the mug but somehow managing to hold on tight. I turn around to see who it is that’s caught me stealing a little chocolate milk from the machine, but once again I’m shocked to discover that nobody’s here.
“Hey!” I cry out, growing frustrated. “Why are you following me?”
“Am Ifollowing you? Or are you putting in a lot of effort to carry me wherever you go?” comes the disembodied voice.
I faint tingle works its way down my spine, causing me to instinctively shudder.
“Oh!” I blurt as a strange floating speech bubble slips around from behind me, now hovering in the middle of the break room.
There’s an odd familiarity to this manifestation, and despite his bad boy appearance there’s something about him that immediately puts me at ease. This comic strip speech bubble sports jagged edges—to show alarm or excitement—and down the middle of his body are a variety of specialty symbols. On their own, these symbols can mean several different things, but when placed together in this particular way it's typically used to signify a curse word.
The thing that catches my eye the most about this physical manifestation, however, are his ravishing good looks and playful smile. This speech bubble is undeniably handsome.
“Do I know you?” I question, struggling to place him.
“Of course you do, I’m a part of you,” the speech bubble explains. “I’m the things you can’t say now that free thought is illegal.”
A slight gasp escapes my lips. “Where did you come from?” I question.
“Inside your mind,” the physical manifestation explains.
“That’s strange,” I reply, chuckling to myself. “I could’ve sworn I felt you haunting my ass.”
“Oh, I was,” the living concept continues. “Your head is up your ass.”
I can’t help but laugh. Clearly, this sentient concept is making a little joke, although when he doesn’t join in with my chuckles I start to find the moment slightly uncomfortable.
“The name is Bort,” the speech bubble offers, introducing himself. “I understand things have gotten pretty bad for you lately. Everyone seems to think you’re a total asshole.”
I nod. “Obviously, I’m not, I’m a very, very smart man.”
Bort considers this. “It must get kind of lonely being smarter than everyone else, huh?”
His words strike me deep, slipping through the armor of my ribcage and striking me right through the heart. I go to deny his implication, to shake my head and vehemently deny just how lonely I really am, but for some reason I just can’t do it.
I’m sick of running from myself.
“Yeah,” I finally admit with a nod. “I’m really lonely.”
The speech bubble slowly begins to float towards me, opening his arms. “I’m here to keep you company.”
The two of us embrace, a potent erupt warmth erupting within my veins. It feels so good to be held in someone’s arms like this, especially someone so handsome and strong.
We pull apart, but not all the way, our hands still holding one another as we gaze into each other’s eyes.
“How would you like me to keep you company?” the physical manifestation of the things I can’t say or think anymore now that comedy is illegal coos.
“Fuck me,” I sigh.
The next thing I know, our lips are meeting in a passionate kiss. I give into the moment completely, allowing all the tension within my frame to loosen up as I accept the loving warmth of my handsome suitor.
We begin to make out furiously, our hands exploring one another’s bodies. I start at the speech bubble’s shoulders, then make my way down across his muscular chest. He explores me in turn, tracing his fingers down the front of my form as he learns every inch of my topography.
Bort’s digits stop at my waistline, drifting back and forth a bit as he teases me with the prospect of something more. I can feel the tension building within, my hips pushing against him.
“Please,” I sigh.
Finally, the physical manifestation has mercy, reaching down and wrapping his hand around my rock hard cock. He begins to stroke my dick in a series of long, powerful movements taking his time with me as the two of us fall into a gentle rhythm.
I notice that a giant rod has emerged from the lower portion of the speech bubble, and soon enough I’m reaching out and grabbing ahold of his cock in turn. The two of us begin to rub against one another, pleasure drifting back and forth between us as we sigh and moan right here in the middle of the break room.
My attraction to Bort is suddenly too overwhelming to control, craving more than just the touch of his hand. I drop to my knees, gazing up at the handsome physical manifestation with a sparkle in my eye as I open wide and take his massive cock between my lips.
I immediately get to work bobbing my head up and down across the sentient concept’s length, working my lips at the same pace as my hand that came before it. It’s not long before the two of us start speeding up, these incredible yearnings just too much to hold back.
All the while I reach up and cradle this speech bubble’s hanging balls, going all out as I service him.
When going faster is no longer an option I finally pull back with a frantic gasp, spit dangling from my lips in a long, semi-translucent strange. What was once an expression of playful desire has transformed into something so much more, wild-eyed and lustful in a way that’s downright primal.
I take Bort’s rod into my mouth once again, only this time I’m not aiming for speed. I swallow him gracefully, allowing the living speech bubble’s cock to slip deeper and deeper into the absolute depths of my neck. The rod plunges all the way down until it finally comes to rest, sitting well past the expected limits of my gag reflex and completely plugging me up.
I hold like this for as long as I possibly can, savoring the feeling of submission to this handsome concept that hovers above me. I can tell he’s enjoying himself, the speech bubble reaching down and placing his hands on the back of my head.
When I finally pull back, the erotic cravings within me have only gotten stronger.
“I need you in my ass,” I snarl, frantically stripping of my clothes and tossing them to the side.
Once I’m completely nude I turn around and drop to my knees, popping my butt out towards the floating speech bubble. I wiggle my rump from side to side a bit, playfully coaxing him onward.
“What are you waiting for?” I demand to know, reaching back and giving one cheek a playful slap.
This kicks Bort into action, the living speech bubble floating down into position behind me. I can feel him aligning his massive cock with the tightness of my puckered backdoor, teasing my limits for a moment and then pulling back.
“Do it!” I command.
The physical manifestation of the things I can’t say now that free thought is illegal finally gives in to the craving that both of us share, plunging deep into my ass with a single, confident swoop.
A startled yelp immediately escapes my lips, not entirely prepared for his incredible size. My fingers grip the tile below me, bracing myself on the break room floor as my ass struggles to accept this handsome concept’s girth.
“Oh my god, you’re so fucking big,” I groan, my eyes rolling back into my head.
It feels as though my body might snap in half, and I’m worried what will happen when Bort starts moving. Fortunately, however, this physical manifestation is a patient lover, taking his time with me and allow a moment to adjust to his size.
Gradually, Bort starts to pump in and out, starting slow. It’s in these careful moments that I can feel the tension at the pit of my stomach falling away, any discomfort replaced by the glorious ache of pleasant fullness.
Soon enough, the two of us have found a rhythm together, slamming against one another as the blissed out sensations blossom within.
I can feel the pleasure bubbling up inside me, spilling across my arms and legs. My frame begins to trembling, having a difficult time coming to terms with all of this sensation as it flows through me.
“I’m very smart and my opinions are totally reasonable and cool. I’m very smart and my opinions are totally reasonable and cool,” I start repeating, the words falling out of my mouth over and over again in a frantic mantra. With every passing round my diatribe grows, until eventually I’m screaming it at the top of my lungs. “I’m very smart and my opinions are totally reasonable and cool!”
The pleasure is passing back and forth between us now in an escalating feedback loop, completely out of control and threating to erupt at any moment with more power than I know what to do with. Still, it doesn’t stop me from reaching down and grabbing ahold of my cock, beating myself off in time with the pumps up my ass.
These two distinct sources of pleasure begin swirling together, transforming into something so much more than the sum of their parts.
“I’m so close,” I cry out, my body quaking hard as my stomach clenches tight. “I’m gonna fucking cum!”
Suddenly, a powerful orgasm is erupting within me, sweeping me away in its wonderful embrace. I completely lose myself in the moment, every ounce of my being transforming into some incredible cosmic energy that vibrates with nothing but satisfaction.
Hot white jizz erupts from the head of my cock, splattering across the break room floor below.
Bort carries me through this powerful climax from beginning to end, never letting up for a second as he hammers away at my ass. The moment I’m finished, however, the physical manifestation of the things I can’t say because free thought is illegal thrusts deep within me and erupts with a payload of his one. I can feel his cum spurting into my ass, filling me to the brim and then dripping out from the tightly packed edge.
When the living concept is finally finished, the two of us collapse into a heap, panting with exhaustion and struggling to catch our breath.
“That was amazing,” I sigh. “I’ve never felt so understood by someone. It’s nice to know after all this time that I’m actually right and the world is wrong. I’m not just some delusional asshole, I’ve got a lot of very important points and I’m here to make them!”
Bort hesitates.
It takes him so long to respond that eventually I glance over to discover the physical manifestation has disappeared.
“Wait, what?” I blurt.
I jump to my feet, glancing back and forth as I search for any sign of my handsome, speech bubble lover.
Suddenly, the door to the break room bursts open and a man in a suit walks in. I’ve never met the boss here, but I recognize him immediately from a photo in the lobby.
The man stops abruptly, a look of absolute shock plastered across his face.
“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” he demands to know.
“I was just… I’m…” I stammer, not quite sure what to say.
“Why are you naked? Are you masturbating?” he questions. “Do you even work here?”
“I was having sex with the physical manifestation of the things I can’t say any longer now that free thought is illegal,” I blurt.
The boss scowls. “Free thought isn’t illegal you idiot,” he bellows. “You can still think and say whatever you want, that doesn’t mean anyone else has to listen.”
“But… he was right here,” I stammer.
“How many chocolate milks have you had?” the boss continues, his eyes drifting past me.
I glance at the counter to find that this once empty space is now covered in used mugs of chocolate milk, more than enough here to send anyone on a psychedelic bender.
I turn back to the boss, forcing a half-smile. “What a Dilbot moment,” I shrug.
The boss somehow scowls even harder. “What the fuck are you talking about?”
Two security guards suddenly erupt into the room, gripping me by the shoulders and dragging me away. I catch my friend Horpo’s gaze as security carries me towards the exit, offering a wave.
He doesn’t wave back.
