In a dark dank hovel under a bridge where the Internet highway zoomed overhead lived a gnarly troll. On this particular day in December, which happened to be Christmas Eve, troll was doing what he always did, go online and trash other people’s stories. A tiny little Charlie Brown tree stood all askew in the corner of his hovel, he had no Christmas cards except for ones that he took from other people’s mailboxes.
He sat in his stained t-shirt and greasy boxer shorts, a stub of a cigar between his teeth, one hand working the mouse while the other played with his dicklet (it wasn’t full size). It always made him hard whenever he found a story not to his taste knowing full well instead of going on to another, he gave it a nasty feedback or bombed it under the name Anonymous. He pushed his boxers down to his ankles before hitting the ‘submit’ button, it always made him climax when he did it gave him a feeling of great power. His finger was poised on the button of his mouse while his other hand was furiously pumping away, well as best as you can with a dicklet, when he heard a noise behind him. All of a sudden he felt his chair being spun around violently and it stopped in front of three scathingly gorgeous women, a blonde, a brunette and a redhead. The surprise frightened his dicklet so that it popped back in like a turtle hiding in its shell.
“Who the Hell are you?” he screeched. He was obviously pissed at the interruption.
“Listen up Troll,” said the brunette, “we are muses chosen by a large contingent of other muses, the Local # 69 to be exact, to inform you that we are sick and tired of you bombing and trashing our hard work. Do you know how long it takes to inspire some people? No, you don’t or you wouldn’t be so foul.”
The troll crinkled his nose and stared at her with his beady troll eyes. “I don’t know what you’re talking about, now git outta my house!”
The brunette turned to the redhead who was trying to untangle herself from the web of garland that was tossed randomly around the hovel, “Show him Trixie.” With that, the redhead unraveled a rather large scroll that cascaded to the ground and kept rolling until it was almost out of sight.
“Don’t know? I think not, “ said Trixie. “According to the data collected on this scroll you’ve made countless posts on stories that you’ve destroyed for your own entertainment.”
“That had to be from years ago.” Snorted the troll.
“Nope, this scroll is from the past month, you’ve been working hard over the holidays I see.” The redhead then crossed her arms after letting the rest of the scroll fall from her hands.
“Frankly troll we’ve had enough.” The blonde finally spoke up. “Today of all days you will atone for your sins.”
“What are you talking about?” the troll was starting to sweat a little.
The brunette, who was really getting irritated, spoke again. “Do you remember this and I quote, ‘I could write better crap with one hand tied behind my back.’ “
Trixie was really looking forward to this part. “Now’s your chance troll boy!”
Suddenly the troll was sitting facing the computer with one hand literally tied behind his back. His other hand was in mid air ready to type.
“Hey! What’s going on here? This isn’t fair.”
“Sorry troll, not my rules.” Said the brunette.
“Nope they’re my rules.” Laughed Trixie.
Betty, the blonde muse leaned against the monitor. “You’re going to write a story, with our help of course. Now let’s see…how about we find you naked in a closet spying on your sister who is making out with her best friend while your brother butt-fucks you?”
“Oh Betty, that’s brilliant. You’ve covered voyeur, lesbian, anal, and incest all at once!” Trixie danced about excitedly.
The trolls hand started typing the beginning of the story as the brunette, Shirley, jumped in on the fun. “Yes, but it’s against his will, so now we have non-consent even though it gives him a raging hard-on.”
