Chuck Tingle
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Conservative Pounded By The Realization That The Protest Music He Grew Up On Does Not Actually Support His Current Hateful Ideology
🕑 Added 2023-06-01 18:16:49 +0000 UTC
Sentaor Porp Gringle is a hardline conservative who delights in making the world a difficult place for those who disagree with his hateful politics. He’s a powerful figure, and today he plans to wield this power by stopping the Unicare Reform Bill—a legislation designed help unicorns with broken horns—from passing. Senator Gringle’s speech is interrupted, however, and with a newly free afternoon he decides to wander the National Mall.
It’s here that Porp stumbles upon a protest in the form of a musical performance from one of his favorite bands, Anger Against The System. Senator Gingle rocks out a bit, until discovering that he is the target of these protests and the musician’s he grew up on have nothing but distain for his hateful ways.
Now Porp and the physically manifested realization that the protest music he grew up on does not actually support his current hateful ideology are diving deep into what it means to be a rebel, culminating in a hardcore gay encounter that will change Porp Gringle forever.
This erotic tale is 4,300 words of sizzling human on gay living concept action, including anal, blowjobs, cream pies, rough sex, and the handsome sentient realization of artistic misinterpretation.
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CONSERVATIVE POUNDED BY THE REALIZATION THAT THE PROTEST MUSIC HE GREW UP ON DOES NOT ACTUALLY SUPPORT HIS CURRENT HATEFUL IDEOLOGY
By Chuck Tingle
As a United States senator, there are a lot of days where my job is actually pretty meaningless. Don’t tell the citizens I’m representing that, of course, but it’s the truth. This is because most of the votes we make in the halls of the senate are straight down party lines, the decision of where I land already determined well in advance of any particular debate. The majority of the time, we’re just going through the motions.
Every once in a while, though, something comes along that gets folks on either side of the aisle riled up. A few people from our party will switch over and start pushing towards a compromise, or dissenters from their side will do the same. It’s rare, especially these days, but it happens.
Today is one such day.
All afternoon the senate has been abuzz, chatter filling the halls as various groups rally for their side and discuss whether or not we’ll be able to pull this off. Usually, I enjoy a little bit of healthy competition, but on this particular issue I find it disturbing.
The liberals are trying to push forward a bill that says we should help unicorns with broken horns get the care they need, and this particular issue seems to have wormed its way into the hearts of my colleagues. However, as a conservative, it is my solemn duty to hate all things loving and charitable, and I’m firm in my convictions. No amount of sappy, free-loving nonsense can melt this hardened shell, especially when it comes to Big Horn.
I will stop the Unicare Reform Bill if it’s the last thing I do.
Now, as the official vote looms before us, it’s up to me to coax our party back into line. Too many of my allies have been drawn in by these ridiculous unicorn sob-stories, their common sense blinded by sickening empathy.
Fortunately, it sounds like we’ve got the votes.
“I now call Senator Porp Gringle,” cries the speaker, banging his gavel loudly.
I stand up and fix my suit, well aware this speech will be on every political news network for the next several days. I can’t wait to see my eloquent words juxtaposed against shots of crying, sniveling liberal unicorns as they mourn the loss of the Big Horn agenda.
I approach the podium and clear my throat, checking the microphone.
“My friends and colleagues,” I start. “As you know, today’s vote on the Unicare Reform Bill is an important one. I understand many of you are conflicted on this issue and you’re looking for guidance, especially amid my conservative allies. Let me remind you what it is we’re fighting for: truth, freedom, justice. We are the rebels, the punks, the outsiders.”
I gaze across these hallowed chambers, making eye contact with as many fellow senators as I can to drive this message home. The words falling from my lips are deeply important, not just for this particular issue, but for every vote we’ll ever make. The philosophy I’m sharing is exactly why I got into politics in the first place, the bedrock of my conservative ideology.
“In the words of well-known conservative rockers Anger Against The System ‘Evil wears a suit and tie, politicians lie and lie. Time to step up, show them why we fight.’” I continue. “As we cast our vote, I want you to remember-”
There’s a loud clang as the room plunges into darkness, a collective gasp washing through the senate chamber. Seconds later, a generator whirs to life, safety lights blooming in the stark white to illuminate our surroundings.
“Order! Order!” our senate speaker calls out, struggling to quell the frantic chatter. “It appears we’ve had another power outage. I move to reschedule Senator Gringle’s time until tomorrow, with the vote to follow.”
“Sir!” I shout, struggling to remain calm. “With all due respect, I think the generator is more than enough power to let us finish our business today. We have the votes!”
“Unfortunately, that’s against protocol,” the speaker retorts, banging his gavel. “This session is closed. We’ll get the power fixed up and continue our vote tomorrow morning.”
The senate immediately rises and begins to clear out, the crowd shuffling towards various exits. I can’t help but find myself deeply disappointed as I watch them go, suspecting my cause has suffered a serious blow. That speech was going well, and the emotional effects will be greatly dampened a second time around.
Still, there’s nothing I can do about it now.
Instead of dwelling in my misery I step down from the podium and gather my things, filling my briefcase and making my way out of the senate chamber.
As I step outside I can immediately feel the sizzling heat in the air, much more oppressive than usual for Washington DC this time of year. It seems like temperatures are constantly rising, the effects getting so bad that it’s causing routine blackouts across our fair city.
If only we knew what was causing this gradual, catastrophic change in the climate.
If only.
I go to make my way down the senate steps when a faint, distant sound halts me in my tracks. I freeze, listening carefully to these strangely familiar tones as they drift across my ears. There’s usually some kind of noise happening out here on the National Mall, a protest or a rally or just mobs of tourists wandering around and chattering with excitement.
However, this noise is more rhythmic.
There’s something about the faraway racket that triggers a siren’s call in the depths of my subconscious brain, pulling me towards it. I should probably go home and get some rest, but my desire for practicality is completely overwhelmed by the curiosity that now blooms within the pit of my stomach.
Instead of heading to my car, I turn and make my way down the front steps of the senate building. My walk is brisk and direct, cutting across a wide open field of grass as the sound grows louder in my ears.
It’s only now that these undulating tones begin to find their shape, coalescing into something truly incredible. This song is “Heck Off” by Anger Against The System, the very band I’d just been quoting from now rocking out just a few yards away.
Suddenly, my stride transforms into a jog, propelled onward by the sound of crashing drums and a mighty triumphant guitar. This is my favorite part of the track.
I round a cluster of trees to discover a stage has been erected, and that Anger Against The System are, in fact, rocking out right in front of me.
“Yes!” I erupt, jumping up and down and pumping my fist in the air.
I immediately push into the crowd, moved by the pulsing rhythm. The audience is already whipped up in a frenzy of movement, and I quickly slip into the similar mental zone. We are all vibrating on the same wavelength, each and every one of us moving in unison as the beat pushes and pulls us.
“Heck off, I won’t do what you tell me! Heck off, I won’t do what you tell me!” comes the furious voice of the singer, a pterodactyl named Tack, repeating this powerful mantra over and over again.
I’m shouting along, crying out at the top of my lungs and giving it everything I’ve got. After a long day in the senate this is exactly what I needed, and although I’ve been listening to this song ever since I was a kid, never before have these lyrics resonated so deeply.
I feel like this song is the perfect summary of my current political battle, a modest, humble man doing everything I can to fight against Big Horn. I’m standing up for what I believe in, looking those needy unicorns in the face and loudly proclaiming “you’re not gonna get a damn thing from us.”
When the song comes to its triumphant end I erupt in applause, leaping up and down with excitement. My heart is full.
Tack takes a moment to address the crowd.
“Who’s sick of all the corruption and lies?” the dinosaur bellows.
“Yeah!” I scream in return.
“Who’s sick of the greed and hate?” he continues.
The crowd cheers back enthusiastically, matching his growing intensity.
“I am!” I shout, adding my voice to the mix.
“Who’s sick of… Porp Gringle?” Tack finishes, giving this final line all of the force he can muster.
I start to cheer, but the second these words register within my brain I awkwardly fumble. Hearing my own name in this context is so shocking that, at first, I’m not sure I understood him correctly.
I turn to a woman standing next to me. “Wait, did he say Porp Gringle?”
The woman nods, then furrows her brow. “I’m sorry, not trying to be a jerk, but has anyone ever told you that youlook just like Porp?”
“What’s wrong with looking like Porp?” I question.
The woman laughs. “It’s not what he looks like, it’s his rotten heart,” she replies. “That dude is absolute scum. A monster and an idiot.”
“I mean… I don’t know about that,” I reply.
Before the woman can finish, Tack’s voice rings out again with an unexpected announcement. “Thanks for coming to our protest against the powers of oppression. We are here to stand up to the tyrants who are trying to stop the Unicare Reform Bill from getting through the senate. We are here to fight the system. We are here to fight scoundrels like Senator Gringle.”
I stand utterly dumbfounded, just staring at the stage with a blank expression on my face.
“We just got word the vote was delayed another day,” Tack continues. “That means our protest is working. Let’s keep that energy up. This is a new song, it’s called ‘Senator Gringle Is A Fascist Pig!’”
The band launches in a powerful riff, the crowd promptly blasting off in yet another frenzy of movement. Protestors churn and swirl around me, but I’m still frozen in place.
It feels as though my heart has been ripped from my chest, a terrible hollow space now all that remains. I can’t remember a time I felt this deeply, fundamentally misunderstood.
Letting out a long sigh, I slowly turn and make my way out of the crowd. Instead of walking back across the open space of the National Mall, I take one of the less traveled paths though a monument garden, hanging my head and processing my feelings.
“What the fuck?” is all I can think to say, the words falling limply from my lips.
As a man who is constantly hoping to project confidence and power, I rarely let my emotions bubble up to the surface. I’ve made an art out of suppressing my feelings and pushing ahead, yet in this moment the weight of my sadness is too much to maintain. My walk slows as the relative quiet of this statue garden washes over me, wrapping me up in its solemn embrace.
Eventually, I stop, standing awkwardly and staring off into nothing. I can feel the slightest hint of a tear forming at the corner of my eye, slowly building and then finally cresting over the edge to run down my cheek in a singular wet streak.
“Rough day, huh?” comes an unexpected voice from behind.
I flinch, frantically wiping my face as I turn to address this visitor. The press is likely ravenous for answers about today’s hearing, so I expect nothing less than a reporter with a microphone, but what I discover is a truly unexpected sight.
A shiny compact disk hovers before me in his clear case, this large entity featuring a smiling handsome face at the center of his circular internal form.
“Who wants to know?” I counter, immediately putting up my defenses.
“I’m Heelo,” the floating disk informs me, “but you can call me the physical manifestation of the realization that the protest music you grew up on does not actually support your current hateful ideology.”
I immediately scoff. “Of course it does. I’m an old school rebel!”
“Yeah?” Heelo asks, raising an eyebrow. “You sure about that?”
I’m so used to being reactionary that I hadn’t really thought about what I was saying until the words came tumbling out. Now that my denial is under scrutiny, however, I’m immediately struck by the fact that my confidence in this particular arena is crumbling.
My body language suddenly falters, the tension dissipating as I accept the emotional complexity of my current situation.
“Okay, fine,” I admit, shaking my head. “What’s the deal? Why did Anger Against The System change their mind about so many things?”
The living compact disk just stares at me for a moment, as though he’s waiting for me to answer my own question. When this doesn’t happen, he finally offers up a response. “They didn’t change their mind,” Heelo states. “This is the same band playing the same songs.”
I scoff. “They were never woke, though.”
“You don’t remember the album Pigs In The Capital?” the physical manifestation questions.
“Yeah, that was about all the socialist pigs trying to destroy the world,” I retort.
The physical manifestation of the realization that the protest music I grew up on does not actually support my current hateful ideology cringes. “Oh man, I’ve got some news for you… you’re the pigs.”
“I’m not the pigs!” I blurt. “The band is called Anger Against The System! They’re saying down with the system of the leftist agenda.”
“You’re also the system,” Heelo informs me flatly.
I just shake my head. “There’s no way. If that were true then those guys would fucking hate me. It’s not like they’re out here holding a…” I trail off, the puzzle pieces finally slipping into place.
“Holding a rally against your bullshit political ideals?” the living concept offers, finishing the sentence for me.
“Oh my God,” I fumble, nearly buckling at the knees as this realization hits me like a ton of bricks. I stagger a bit, settling on a nearby set of marble steps that lead up to another grand monument.
I put my head in my hands, struggling to come to terms with this mighty internal shift. “Am I the bad guy?”
“Actually, yeah,” Heelo confirms.
I glance up at him, brokenhearted.
“Look where you’re sitting, though,” Heelo continues, motioning to the statue behind me. “On the steps of the Tingle Monument.”
I turn and gaze up at the beautiful marble carving, a dedication to the omnipresent author who created this reality.
“Even though the real worldversions of your kind are blowhard assholes who will never change, thisis a fictional parable,” the physical manifestation explains. “You’re here specifically to learn a lesson and alter course.”
I take a deep breath, letting it all sink in and then nodding in confirmation. “You’re right.”
“So what is it you dislike so much about the Unicare Reform Bill?” Heelo questions. “Why are you being such a prick about it?”
I shake my head. “I don’t know. When you assume you’re fighting for the good side, it’s easy to just stop considering the why. I know what sides I’m supposed to take on various issues and I just follow along. I don’t really break it down.”
“Maybe it’s time to start considering how you really feel,” the physical manifestation of the realization that the protest music I grew up on does not actually support my current hateful ideology says.
There’s something about the way he expresses this that causes an uncomfortable spark to flicker at the pit of my stomach. I immediately try to quell this awkward feeling, then heed the manifestation’s words and stop. If I’m going to make a change then I need to be honest with myself, even when it’s painful.
I allow the feeling within me to grow, taking root and slowly blossoming.
“I want… you,” I finally admit.
Heelo raises an eyebrow. “That’s not exactly in line with the conservative message you’ve been spewing your whole career.”
“I know,” I continue, “but it’s the truth.”
I stand up and approach the floating compact disk, our eyes locked in a moment of potent tension. I stop directly before him, hesitating briefly then finally erupting in a fit of passion. The next thing I know our hands are all over one another, exploring each other’s bodies with frantic enthusiasm.
Heelo begins to tear away my clothes as I crack open his case, allowing the disk to slip from within. He’s fully exposed now, shining under the golden glow of the day’s fading sun.
My hands drift lower and lower across Heelo’s body, teasing their way towards the massive cock that is slowly rising from the base of his circular form. My fingers drift over his waistline, feeling the way his body pushes back against me as he aches for more.
Finally, I have mercy, reaching down and wrapping my hand tight around the physical manifestation’s enormous shaft. Heelo lets out a long, satisfied groan as I begin to stroke him, rocking his body in time with the gentle movements of my fingers. Gradually, the pumps begin to speed up as we find a pace with one another.
My lips leave those of the manifestation of the realization that the protest music I grew up on does not actually support my current hateful ideology, kissing across his shoulders and chest and then following the previous trail of my wandering hands.
Eventually, I drop to my knees, gazing up at the handsome compact disk with cock hungry eyes. His rod is jutting out towards my face in an impressive tower of physically manifested flesh, just waiting for the warm embrace of my lips. I don’t hesitate, opening wide and replacing the grip of my hand with the wetness of my mouth.
I begin to bob my head up and down Heelo’s length with rapt enthusiasm, picking up exactly where I left off. With my free hand I reach down and gently cradle the physical manifestation’s hanging balls, these two distinct sources of pleasure working together as I orally service him.
“Oh fuck yeah, that feels so good,” Heelo groans, his head titled back in an expression of utter satisfaction.
Eventually, I pop the rod from my lips and pull back for a moment, a long semi-translucent thread of saliva hanging between my mouth and the head of this enormous shake. I take a moment to collect myself and then dive back in, opening wide as I swallow Heelo’s dick.
This time, however, my technique has changed. Instead of rapidly pumping my head across his length I go for one, singular push, sliding Heelo’s rod all the way down into the absolute depths of my throat. Deeper and deeper this massive cock plunges, somehow bypassing the expected limits of my gag reflex and coming to rest at the hilt.
I hold like this for as long as I possibly can, my face pressed tight against the flat surface of this handsome compact disk. Heelo reaches down and places his hand on the back of my head, holding me like this until I’m finally forced to erupt away from him in a sputtering mess, gasping for air.
“Fuck me,” I demand. “I need you in my ass.”
I turn atop the steps, climbing into position on my hands and knees. I pop my rump towards the handsome physical manifestation of the realization that the protest music I grew up on does not actually support my current hateful ideology, giving him a great view at my puckered ass and then reaching back to playfully slap one cheek.
“What are you waiting for?” I coo.
Heelo drifts into position behind me, aligning his enormous rod with my waiting backdoor. I can feel him testing the limits of my tightness for a moment, teasing me with his cock and then pulling back when the pressure is just about to give way.
“Please,” I groan.
Finally, Heelo takes the plunge and slides his mammoth rod inside me. The size is incredible, his girth immediately stretching my ass to its absolute limit. It feels as though my whole body might tear right down the middle, but I somehow manage to accept him.
Fortunately, this physical manifestation is a patient lover who understands the needs of my body. He takes his time, holding deep and allowing me a moment to adjust to his incredible size. As my ass loosen his hips being to rock, slowly pumping in and out with the graceful swing. The discomfort I’d initial felt begins to melt away, dissolving into a glorious bath of aching warmth.
It’s not long before the two of us have fallen into a confident rhythm together, the pleasure moving back and forth in a slowly escalating feedback loop. Every pound up my backside propels me a little closer to an inevitable orgasm, the sensation swelling larger within.
I reach down with one hand and grab ahold of my rod, beating myself off in time with the handsome physical manifestation’s anal hammering. These sensations swirl within me, transforming into a majestic cocktail of unexplored bliss. Never before have I been fucked like this, carried away to a place of carnal passions I could’ve only dreamed of with my previous uptight mentality.
“Oh my fucking God,” I groan, my body starting to quake and tremble as the climax looms. “I’m gonna cum!”
The steadiness of Heelo’s pounds quickly transforms into a mighty barrage, the compact disk hammering into me with everything he’s got. Despite this frenetic speed, he still knows exactly how to hit me deep within, massaging my prostate in just the right way as the erotic simmering finally boils over.
I throw back my head and let out a howl of pleasure, a potent orgasm ripping through my body. Hot white jizz erupts from the head of my shaft, splattering across the steps below in a series of beautiful, pearly streaks.
All the while, Heelo doesn’t let up with his thunderous slams, carrying me through the entirety of my orgasm. The second I finish he plunges deep and holds, unleashing a torrent of pent up spunk. I can feel his massive cock twitch with every payload, the cum filling me up until there’s no room left and it comes squirting out from the edges of my tightly packed asshole.
Heelo finishes and pulls out of me, the two of us collapsing onto the steps in a state of fucked-silly exhaustion.
“That was amazing,” I gush.
“Not bad at all,” the CD replies with a confident laugh.
I take a moment to collect myself, breathing in the cool air of the evening. The sun has just started to dip, creeping its way closer and closer to the horizon line in a glorious eruption of purples and oranges.
“So I’m a good guy now?” I question.
Heelo scoffs loudly, apparently shocked by my audacity. “No, you’re a fucking monster. You’re also an utter moron,” he retorts, “but… there’s still time.”
I’m a little offended by this. “What the hell? I thought we’d fuck and I’d become the hero.”
Heelo shakes his head. “You’re the protagonist of this story, but you’re not the hero. The heroes are the ones who’ve been out here fighting for truth and justice since day one, the people you’ve been battling against for years. You’ve got a lot to make up for.”
I sit with his words for a moment, letting them sink in.
“Yeah,” I finally reply. “I get it.”
“Action, not just words,” he explains. “Your journey isn’t ending, it’s just beginning.”
The senate chamber falls into silence as the speaker bangs his gavel, calling the morning’s session to order.
“Alright, after our brief interruption yesterday, it appears we are back on track,” he announces. “We have some final words from Senator Porp Gringle, then we’ll hold our vote.”
I stand up, my heart slamming within my chest as I stride towards the podium. I’d been nervous to deliver this important speech yesterday, but that was a very different kind of anxiety. What’s occurring now is a feeling of absolute terror, combined with the knowledge that this path is the only way forward. I’ve done enough damage in my lifetime, and now it’s time to heal.
Will I be able to repair all the truly awful things I’ve done? Probably not, but I’m gonna try my best. Like Heelo said, I’m just a character in a book. My life is limited to these pages, but maybe someone outside of this strange little world will read my story and reconsider the path they’re on.
Maybe they’ll turn back from behind a monster before it’s too late.
I arrive at the podium, clearing my throat and stepping up to the microphone.
“Hello, I’m Senator Porp Gringle and I have something very important to say,” I begin, struggling to keep my voice from shaking. I pause for a moment, collecting myself as this chamber of colleagues gazes back at me with expressions of confusion. They can tell this is difficult for me, but none of them know why.
I start again. “I’m Sentaor Porp Gringle and I have something very important to say,” I repeat, fortified in my confidence. “I was wrong.”
The conservatives of the senate immediately erupt in a state of utter confusion, exchanging glances as they watch one of their most impassioned leaders abruptly switch sides.
I pull out my phone and press play, holding it up to the podium’s microphone.
A heavy guitar riff comes thundering out, filling the senate with its caustic roar.
“Heck off, I won’t do what you tell me!” proclaims the furious shout from one of my favorite songs.
