| >> |
No. 3338
Time to dump some writefaggotry because bbwchan's /elite/ has shit for constructive criticism and I don't want grimdark Lemonfont in the top slot of my porn board.
>"Shit! Run! It's the coppers!" Harleen Quinzel did her best Fred Flinstone impression and skedaddled as sirens began approaching. Her newest macabre plan, a giant wind-up boxing glove designed to smash through the safe of the First National Boss Tweed Bank, gave one limp-wristed waggle in the direction of the approaching cruisers and then fell over.
>"Aw, titmice," sighed Harley, her trademark wonky accent tinged with sorrow as she slipped into the shadows. Sneaking into her secret pie warehouse base, she threw herself down on the pile of whoopee cushions she was using as a bed. "Plotting is so dang hard. THINKING is hard! I wish I had Mistah J. . ."
>"Feeling sorry for yourself again?" Looking up, Harley found herself staring up the leafy skirts of none other than Poison Ivy, hanging from the ceiling by vines. Blushing slightly under her makeup, Harley turned away, grabbing a pie from the shelf.
>"Aw, Red, it's good to see ya but it's no use tryin' ta cheer me up. I'm inconsolabatable!" She sniffled as she started digging into the lemon meringue pie, which had been specially treated by the local Mostess company for maximum preservative quality.
>"I wasn't trying to cheer you up, you absurd clown," snorted Poison Ivy, sliding down on a vine to stand over the unhappy jester girl. "I was just hiding in here from Batman. He's liable to come crashing through the window any moment now."
>"R-really?" Harley blew her nose on her jester's hat, exposing her tousled blonde hair before shoving it back on her head and digging into the pie, her stomach swelling slightly as she ingested the patented Mostess Phat-E recipe. "Ow'd oo get riff of himf?"
>"Found a bomb to throw at him. He can never seem to get rid of those." Unaware that Bats was now running up and down a pier holding the entirely inactive C4 over his head, Poison Ivy opened another pie box for her fellow supervillain. "I suppose the least I can do while I'm here is help you with your grief parade. What are you moaning about, anyway?"
>"Oh, Red," blubbered Harley, taking the new pie and slamming her face straight through the crust into its cherry-mush interior, "mmmf glrph glf gmbmbn! Omf nomf nomf gromf nomf."
>Poison Ivy realized quickly that Harley's bitching over her own ineptitude and failure to measure up to the Joker could be stifled. . . with pie. Wishing her hiding place to be as tranquil as possible, she quickly came up with a plan: 1) Give Harley the pie. 2) Watch in amusement as whatever was in those pies continued to expand Harley's rapidly bloating middle, making her easy prey for a vengeful Batman when he arrived. "Aw. Poor thing," she said unconvincingly. "Have another one."
>Harley, never the brightest girl on the block, simply groaned "thankew" around a mouthful of pie and dug in. Fisting whole hanfuls of pie from each box into her mouth, the mopey clown woman grew by leaps and bounds. Soft, almost endearing folds of flesh began to bulge under her costume, followed by the sound of Spandex stretching as her breasts thickened and her thighs widened to Jenny Craig proportions.
>"I jush can't sheemf to get thif whole thoopervillain thing down!" Harley whined, spraying wet crumbs all over the place. "Ever fince Mifter J went to jail I juft. . . Omf nomf gromf grfl flrf!" She forewent speaking for eating for quite some time, a blessing on Poison Ivy's ears. But the eating was supplemented by more absurd developments in Harley's physiology.
>Flaring out like a photoshopped Frank Frazetta drawing, her hips went from curvy to fat, from fat to enormous. Her stomach, now a portly paunch that oozed out onto her thighs, began to pop the seams on her costume. Seemingly oblivious, she ate and ate until she was a pie-splattered postergirl for the nation's obesity crisis, a hilarious jiggling mess of red black and white makeup. Then Harley finally noticed her rump was approaching Buick dimensions, and REALLY began to cry. "Oh, God dammit," Ivy growled, reaching for another pie. . .
>But there was no time, because the GOD DAMN BATMAN came through the window! Doing a somersault onto a crate of pies with a picture of a pig on it, he pointed at the two of them. "Harley! Ivy!" he growled, his cleft chin clefting. "It's time to pay for your. . . Uh. What are you. . ."
>"Quick! While he's distracted!" Ivy cackled, dragging Harley up and over to the side door. Diving through it, she waited for the inevitable sound: of overfed flesh meeting doorframe. And then she smiled.
>"Awww. Looks like someone's had a little too much to eat?" Harley was stuck in the door, her huge gut and mammoth ass cramming her into the space like the Pillsbury mascot being wedged into a toaster. "Maybe someone shouldn't have been such a whiny pig, huh?" Harley whimpered. "Or maybe," Ivy giggled, spinning the last pie on her finger, "someone's still a little hungry?"
>Harley, mouth still stuffed with pie, shook her head as Batman approached like a living shadow from behind. "Nmffff!"
>"What's that?" Ivy cocked her head. "Can't hear you over all that pie in your fat face." Before Harley had a chance to answer, Ivy jammed the pie into her craw, shoving and squishing it past her lips. "Eat it, piggy."
>Harley's body finished the progress from slim to huge, puffing out like rising bread to fill the entire doorway, folds of costume-clad flesh hanging off of her like spandex-coated Jell-o. Her cheeks puffed out in a single pie-smelling burp as Ivy fled into the night.
>"So long, sucker. . ."
>Meanwhile, Batman gingerly prodded Harley's gigantic rear, watching it wiggle like jelly. "What the hell," he mused grimly, "did I just watch?"
|