
Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/13419786.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Graphic_Depictions_Of_Violence, Major_Character_Death, Rape/Non-Con,
      Underage
  Category:
      F/M, M/M, Multi
  Fandom:
      Arthur_(Cartoon), Alfred's_Playhouse, 艦隊これくしょん_|_Kantai_Collection
  Character:
      Alfred_Alfer, Buster_Baxter, Emil_Nigel_Ratburn_III
  Additional Tags:
      Literature, fan_fiction, Horror, bad_things_happening_to_bad_brains,
      Parody, Inspired_by_Travis_Hicks
  Stats:
      Published: 2018-01-19 Chapters: 3/3 Words: 3900
****** Kantai Castrations Love Collection ******
by Darfur_Maxx
Summary
     An out of town dog finds himself in Elwood City, but things are not
     what they seem. A Japanese naval base has been founded recently, and
     silliness is making forced entry like never before. Will Alfred Alfer
     find true love and happiness, despite the odds? Or will the devilish
     circumstances and the siren's call of the Playhouse cause him to
     finally get fixed . . . forever?
***** Alfred Gets Fixed 3 *****
I.
I don't have a real excuse for why I haven't written anything in so long.
It's fucked.
But not as fucked as this really really really really reallyreallyreally SWELL,
CONSTIPATED TRIBUTE TO HORRIFYING FANFIC WRITER KNOWN AS TRAVIS_2016! ENJOY,
YOU SICK GAYS AND FUCKS AND LOLI-GAGGING CUCKS !!! /^____^* /^__^* /^___^* !!!
===============================================================================
At age 35, Alfred Alfer needs his genitals removed. That is common for
anthromorphic animals. He will also lose his penis. Not just his balls, scrotum
and his prostate. His penis is removed last, so they can reroute his urethra so
he can sit to pee. He is at the hospital, stripped naked, and he is not having
this shit. Screaming, he thrusts his hateful, instantly erect, pus-filled, shit
encrusted, pulsating, red doggy dick into the frontal brains of the creepy
middle-aged nullo disgusting dogfuck that was responsible for castrating Alfred
and turning his magnificent, Alfer-quality genitalia into a sad little
agendered hole of despair and canine urination, nice and smooth as a
pedophile's bathroom domination fetish. Alfred relishes in fervor in the
ritualistic mutilation and man(animal?)slaughter his hyperweapon was causing,
making sure his legs were straddling the doctor, and began fucking the all too
deserving sicko fifty ways to sunday. He went at it tentatively at first, as if
he was sliding in and out of a particularly juicy watermelon that kept whining
about castrations while pissing itself.
"We all go through it. Mine have been gone for 14 years. So yes like him I have
no penis. After all, you no longer have a penis. And you must sit to pee for
now onnnn aaaaa, Buster I start with your prostate aaaaaaaahhaahhh," the doctor
drones like an emaciated otter of melancholic dementia and breast cancer
awareness, each thrust is making forced entry into the frontal lobe, making
him, uh, not smart anymore. "After your penis is off I will gas you. But first
I must tell you what I penis. After your peeeee-offfffuuhh you must sit to
peeee, eeeehhh I remember hiiiim he was very - vaginaa - to lose his genitals.
After your penis is gas, Busteeeerrrrrrrrrrrrrr must sit to penis for 14 years-
"
"SHUT UP!" Alfred yells as he punches the stupid dogfuck middle aged male
faggot man that had his genitalia removed at age 35 because anthromorphic
animals. He punched him right in the head, again and again, screeching like an
emu of hatred trying to explain Mongolian statutory rape laws to a 14 year old
pedophile of nihilistic 48 DD cup latina breasts. Little did Alfred realize, in
his fit of rage that this would cause the top of the nullo doctor's cranium to
become slightly unhinged and give his vengeful 8 inches fat the leverage and
identity-disassociation his threatened genitalia and warped inner desires
needed to UNLEASH THE FUCKING FURY! Fucking this fucking fuck feels so much
better than any dead ass fool Alfred has yiffed and been yiffed by (in varying
degess of consent). What a piece of shit! His hellbound brainrape of ages was
an earth-shattering sensation to poor lunatic fringe Alfie, eroding his very
sense of morality. He wondered for a moment if this was even happening right
now. What if he had finally disassociated to the point where he could not
escape this nightmare? Pickles, his dominant dictator persona, has pulled wool
over his eyes before, though his fantasies, violent and demeaning as they are,
were never quite like this. Things were never quite this... silly. Well, silly
doesn't quite fit, but then, what else could be making forced entry? He felt
like Hitler and Stalin slipped reverse date rape drugs into his brain earlier
this morning, and now he is a slave to the domination of GOD. He now fucks not
what he craves and understands, but fucks what he does not desire, he is a
hellfucker suffering from Thanatos's driving delusions and wherever he goes in
this sad fucking world, he must also fuck, for he truly is FUCKED. FUCKED.
FUCKED.
Suddenly, the nullo shitdoctor started to spout surgical inanity like never
before, speaking faster and louder until he was foaming at the mouth,
eventually retching gobs of it screaming, sounding more and more like a
retarded robot turkey on helium, asbestos and meth. Alfred was too distracted
to do much about it, for his doggy dick has knotted and is therefore close to
ejaculation, which only made the hole in his head bigger, about five times the
size of the doctor's nullo hole. In misogynistic hetero manbaby porn addict
terms, it was the equivalent of Hitomi Tanaka and Milena Velba's lovechild
receiving both a double masectomy and ebola in the same operation, said
operation being endorsed and funded by the Family Research Council, and the
lead surgeon happening to be Denise Milani dressed as Wonder Woman. "Wear these
panties, after all, I even remove your clitoris. Let's take off your clothes,
nice and smooth as Francine, and penis here you go, no genitals, that I am,
remove them Sue Ellen from you. Bud, let's castrate to pee, yep they penis off
easily. Jarred preserved genitals must sit to pee for now, penis your Buster
first time to remove his genitals, start with your prostate and end with your
new pee penis hole is by your butt, you have no penis attached to you, as well
as removing female penises, and you're very welcome so your gentials won't fall
off because you regenerated the penis so we made it nice and smooth so they
won't fall off, killing you. Because you no longer have female vaginas, yep
they will be floating in a jar, bring in Alfred so I can remove her
PLAAAAAAAAAAAAAAYHOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUSE!"
Alfred grips tightly onto the nullo doctor and arches back, moaning like a
neurotypical panda of cocaine and condolences as he pushes through one deep,
final thrust. He has finally ejaculated a jizzgasm of Ericka Cumnachos
proportions, and in doing so, has marked the nullo to a lifetime of silliness
within Alfred's Playhouse. The canine sperm instantly impregnate the violated
grey matter, forever staining a mind hellbent on castrations, forever warping
his well-wished intentions of medical practices with the ultimate enemy of the
eunuch: pure, unbridled silliness, making forced entry, forever and ever.
Alfred soon after slides out of the nullo, not entirely sure of what just
happened. Seemingly, one minute he was just walking down the street of some
town he had never heard of before, feeling relatively normal and undisturbed by
the demons of his past, the next being convinced somehow that he was 35 years
old and not just needed, but outright wanted his genitalia removed, and now,
his crotch is stained with giblets, blood and gore, and some of it even reached
his face. His face. Not just his own face, but the doctor's, it was caked in
his broken face. It's everywhere, it's bleeding and coming from... Alfred looks
away instantly, refusing to acknowledge. Nothing had happened here. Nothing at
all. Alfred moved past the still standing person, heading to the sink to wash
the mess off. He sure got dirty playing in the dirt earlier, yes he did. He
felt so alone and had nothing better to do, and when people have nothing to do,
they go out and play. His face was easy enough to clean, but the liquid soap
that was available didn't seem to work so well where it was the dirtiest, so he
had to rinse it more. He had to wash it more. Some of it did come off, but not
enough. It was never enough. Not in life, not in love, and definitely not in
this dirt that just won't come off. No matter how much he tries to wash it, it
never comes off. NEVER. A thought came to him, seemingly so quiet that it was a
miracle he even caught it. Cut it off. Burn it. Suffer.
Alfred dried himself with a bunch of tissues that happened to be around, acting
as if he didn't think of that just now. Why would he? He was a salesman, and
what does he have to offer? The answer was, his sweet self, of course!
Customers always love the full package, after all. Keyword being *love*. He got
dressed in his fashionable yellow suit, thankful that he wasn't wearing it when
things got silly earlier, and headed out the door, ignoring the doctor
entirely. Who saw everything. He giggled while shuddering, wandering in place,
waiting for his next patient. They all need them parts removed at age 35 or
they'll die, and they will all have to sit to pee for now on. They will sit to
pee while wearing panties after having their genitalia removed. They'll pee on
their preserved genitals or they'll die. They're all 35 anyway. He likes
touching their parts, not sexual. Because he has no penis, it was removed at
age 35. And everyone is age 35. Everyone.
The Lustrous Salesman of American Love, known as Alfred Alfer, has arrived in
Elwood City. With hope in his heart and hormones in his balls, He truly
believed in a life after love. Business is only going to get better from here
on out, boys and girls!
                                TO BE CONTINUED
***** Fast Food has a Dictator *****
Oh lawd, that last chapter was fucked up. What in the fuck. It's fucked up even
by my standards
[:X]
===============================================================================
Alfred was strutting down the street, looking for some dope. He had no money,
no friends and no clue about anyone who could sell him ganja, much less
anything else. The dog sighed, not having much of a choice outside of wandering
downtown Elwood City like a bum. At least now he was out in fresh air. It was
late at night, and there was nothing out there. Surely, he could find a place
to hole up in and rest, sooner or later. He walked past what was starting to
feel like a countless number of blocks. Entrances of businesses, offices,
hotels and restaurants, gas stations and overhead street lights, all blurring
together the more he wandered.
A left turn here, followed by a right turn a couple blocks down. The more that
he walked, the less that he knew of this city. He definitely wasn't from around
here. The more he walked, the more he thought about himself. It was funny,
thinking of how he used to have a job, how he seemed to have friends; people
that honestly cared. Burrito Bell came and went, being one of Alfred's few
remotely positive social experiences, working at a relatively pleasant (if
soul-crushing) job. At first, he just cleaned up, content with earning less
than minimal wage, due to the fast food franchise's policy to only hire burnt-
out losers, namely dogs.
He remembered how the establishment tried its best to break them down. The
hours were long, and the jobs were all monotonous. Take out the trash, wipe the
tabletops down, mop the floors, and God help you if you had to clean the
restrooms. Burrito Bell was practically infamous for the quality of their
restroom facilities. That is, with the target demographic being primarily fast
food addicts and their disgusting offspring, combined with the commercial
success of diarrhea-inducing fast food, especially the burritos, plus the
franchise steadily capitalizing on this niche in the past few decades, all
added up to one thing when anyone dared to enter.
To put it bluntly, those restrooms were filled with the most vile, suffocating,
putrid, infectious, vomitous, fucking disease-riddled gobs and stains of shit
on the planet. It was spewed everywhere, constantly. The demons come and
unleash their black torrents of their disgusting, rotten pools of shit, proudly
claiming the gay earth with what used to be food, and marking it a festival for
the cancerous shit devils. There is a reason that the restrooms never seem to
feel like they're fully cleaned. A big part of that reason being, the fast food
franchise simply never got theirs for their horrible, hazardous facilities. As
long as they come out on top, Burrito Bell does not care. How they could keep
getting away with this obvious health hazard, Alfred could only guess.
That reminded him, it wasn't just him that suffered there, there were other
people. Other dogs. He didn't bother memorizing their names while he still
worked there. They were just like Alfred, doing whatever the manager told them,
being part of the scenery. After all, everybody loves the manager, right? So it
took him by surprise when one day, during a droll, canned speech, that he was
promoted. All of a sudden, he was now the manager. He now had power over those
same co-workers. For once, he felt that he had a sliver of control over his
life. He thought that he was finally accepted, that things were going to change
for the better. At first . . .
. . . You never learn, do you? They've always pitied you, and treated you as
that rancid speck of turd that just won't allow itself to be wiped off. You
just won't stand up for yourself, you're too much of a sorry ass to handle
reality. I have to handle all of that myself. Can you imagine living my life?
Imagine having to protect your pathetic, hopelessly naïve bundle of crazy at
all times? Without ever being able to stop and say "Look man, you're running my
ass to the ground and I can't even remember the last time I was able to shit
anything other than ranch dressing and cherry cola, you fight your own fuckin'
battles for once"? I mean, I get that I'm supposed to be your defense
mechanism, I get that this is the reason somebody like me would exist in the
first place. I'm the neglected puppet of another neglected puppet. One that
created me in your own image. I had no choice in the matter. Heh, not having
any choice sure sounds familiar. It's about the one thing we agree on.
I'm not sure when exactly I realized that I was more than mere thoughts of
yours, though I'm sure it involved some horrible fucking shit, heheheh. As
always, it pushes itself in too hard, and you couldn't make it stop. Sometimes,
I have to laugh about it so that I don't feel that seething disgust towards
myself afterwards. You never really knew how to handle it, so that's why I have
to. Sometimes, ya know, I just so happen to like having a laugh. I wanna make
fun of it all, without anybody trying to stop me or judge me or put me down for
not being properly degraded and dominated like the last bitch that they got
their hooks in. So, I never trusted those shits that were around ya, those
workers or any of those other motherfuckers. They never loved you. Never had,
never will.
Their songs of praise always were hollow. Always not enough for the either of
us. I never trusted them, they were so full of shit when I had them calling out
your name, I saw it all over their faces. The workers never gave themselves to
praising you on their own accord, like I ordered them to. They all had it
coming, every single one of the lying little bastards. They were always so dull
and stupid and glassy-eyed, always burnt out on being alive, and they didn't
really care about existing like we did. More importantly though, I thought that
well, they were obviously plotting to kill you. I convinced ya that they were,
at least. Any time that I feel even slightly in control, is a good day. For a
moment, it really seemed as if you were finally ready to take me seriously.
But, it never worked out that way. You never let me have my share of actual
appreciation and acknowledgement, much less love. It's like how you treat
everybody other than yourself. You selfish asshole.
Oh, just for the record, that little thing that happened with that doctor
earlier? Guess what: I had nothing to do with it. That was 100% all you. FUCK
you for EVER insinuating that I enjoy this psycho shit! Don't you fucking dare
blame your sick ass shit on me! You son of a bitch! You don't disrespect me
like this you FUCKING PUNKASS MOTHERFUCKER! I have to live with knowing each
and every little detail of this, that you refuse to accept. I have to keep you
safe from your own life choices. You have no idea how dangerous you actually
are, both to yourself and everyone around you, why aren't you locked in a cage?
No wonder nobody loves you, you crazy fuckhead! Why the fuck did you even go
there? Who told you to go to that hospital, and find that doctor? It sure as
hell wasn't any of us. Just who the hell did you think you were? The only one
you should be listening to anymore, you goddamned delusional fucktard, is me.
Just me. Only me, you son of a bitch! Me, and no one else. Me, me, me, me, me,
me, me, me, me, me, me, ME, ME, ME, ME, ME! ME! ME! ME! ME! ME! ME!
ME!ME!ME!ME!MEMEMEMEMEMEMEMEMEMEMEMEMEMEMEMEMEMEMEMEMEMEMEMEME-
Alfred shook his head, resisting the urge to smash his head against the nearest
wall. The outside world came flooding back to him in a matter of seconds, and
he felt alone. He had nowhere to go in this city, and the more he dwelled on
that, the more he wondered how he ended up here in the first place. Then he
noticed the establishment he was right in front of. It looked like a
convenience store, and it was a really sketchy one at that. The windows were
boarded up and covered in concert posters full of dead celebrities, pictures of
"strategically" hiding-in-plain-sight pages ripped out of greasy porn
magazines, as well as firearm and alcohol advertisements. The fluorescent
orange open sign barely worked and constantly flicked on and off with an
annoying clicking sound, the stench of ashtray mixed with a camel's dirty
crack-filled asshole reached all the way from across the street, and there was
some rabbit guy being sucked off by a gay rat man right beside the entrance.
Feebus.
                                TO BE CONTINUED
***** An Educational Interlude *****
And now for an educational interlude, involving an emotionally-disturbed,
unwilling dog.
===============================================================================
Kch-clik!
The florescent "Open" sign above the entrance clicked. It, alongside the dingy
exterior lighting coming from the store front, are the only sources of light
available on the block. The "Open" sign was noticeably bright whenever it tried
to turn on, coating the walls and things nearby in an orange hue for a split
second.
Speaking of what's nearby . . .
"I always loved you doing that to me," said the rabbit. His face was contorted
in an expression that could only be described as Charles "Squint-eye" Bronson,
loaded on Valium, "sucking my penis that is."
"I know so," said the rat, groaning as if he weren't shamelessly deepthroating
the whole package in public, "I will suck out your sperm from your penis made
by the testicles."
"That is good," said the rabbit, while Alfred stared at them in disbelief, "I
think we are nearing that place now."
At that moment, Alfred lost his nerve, and before he could catch himself, he
said out loud what he was thinking.
"What the flying FUCK is this FAGGOT ASS SHIT?!"
Kch-clik!
The two gay furries turned to face the stranger that has apparently been
watching them for some time, startled by the encounter. This gave Alfred a
better look at the two.
The rat man looked clean, and was well dressed for somebody giving head out on
the street late at night. The green suit that he's wearing made him look tall,
sharp and slim, especially now that he stopped stuffing his narrow brown face
full of dick.
The rabbit man's clothes were more casual, in comparison. He wore a light blue
polo shirt that had what looked like wet spots and dried stains on it, as well
as around the shirt's pink collar. Even his white face looked stained, despite
the lack of better lighting.
They both looked around their mid-thirties.
"Uhh, practicing for a clarinet recital?" Said the rabbit.
Kch-clik!
The rabbit and the rat's hard, gay cocks and balls were exposed and pointing
right at him. Alfred couldn't help but notice a twinge of arousal in the rabbit
man's face as he said this, as if he was anticipating something. The rat man
was still in the zone, meanwhile, and was raking his eyes all over Alfred's
body, when he wasn't sneaking glances at the rabbit's dick.
Not here.
Not now.
Alfred needed to change the subject, fast.
"ANYWAYS, what's with this place?" He said, gesturing towards the boarded up
store.
Kch-clik!
"It's incredibly sketchy and dirty looking as ass, do they sell body parts here
or something?" The dog retched as he empathized the word ass; it was the most
polite way that he could describe the smell.
"Not at all," said the rat, seeming a bit more composed than before, "it's a
convenience store in matter of fact."
"That it is," said the rabbit, "it's called Lawson in fact of course."
Alfred noticed the rabbit's left hand was now sliding up and down his penis.
Kch-CLIK!
"Uhhh, do they have a bathroom or anything here?" Alfred said as the bile built
up inside his throat. Did he just screw himself here? Goddammit, they might
follow him.
"Of course," said the masturbating rabbit, "we love going there in matter of
fact."
Alfred didn't have the courage to tell him to stop.
Kch-CLIK!
"Yeah, great. Uh, you guys sure this is a real store?" Alfred said, giving
himself the excuse to look away from the creeps to glance at the store front
again before he puked. There was no sign of any sort that indicated that this
was supposed to be Lawson; it was just the same Hustler magazine-esque tits and
dicks pictures amongst other things.
Things such as Michael Jackson feeding a dying kitten chocolate ice cream with
a spoon.
Things like the members of The Beatles running over screaming Afghani children
inside of their customized Russian brand harvesters, during one of their
private "concerts" the world governments aren't allowed to acknowledge.
There was even a picture of Kurt Cobain shortly after his suicide, slumped
against the wall with his head blown apart by a shotgun.
KCH-CLIK!
The busted florescent orange "Open" sign gave no clues, either. It was also
very loud, and grating. Was it always this loud?
"That I am," said the rabbit through gritted teeth, by now furiously
masturbating, "I love this convenience store very much of course."
"I love it," said the rat, "I am glad we all come together to Lawson in fact."
"Same here," said the orgasming rabbit, "we love this convenience store in fact
of course."
"I agree," said the rat, kneeling down and massaging the rabbit's balls with
his hands and tongue while looking straight at Alfred, "this is the best
convenience store I know, which is called Lawson by the way in matter of fact
of course."
KILCH-CTLHEMK!
That's it. Anywhere is better than being next to these creepy fuckers. Alfred
rushed inside without a second thought.
Anywhere had to be better than this. Anywhere.
Right?
Kch-spurrrrrrrrrrrt!
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