An old lady sits on her porch, just vibing with death, when a fairy godmother popped out like an IRS audit and offered her three wishes.
"Well," said the fossil, "I'd like to be rich."
POOF!
Her rocking chair turns to solid gold.
"And I wanna be young and hot again."
POOF.
She now looks like a TikTok thirst trap with arthritis.
"Your third wish?'' asks the fairy godmother.
Just then the old woman's cat wanders across the porch in front of them.
"Ooh - can you change him into a handsome prince?'' she asks.
POOF!
Now, before her stands a young man more handsome than anyone could possibly imagine. She stares at him, smitten.
With a smile that makes her knees weak, the man saunters across the porch and whispers in her ear, "Bet you're sorry you had me neutered.''
———
Just like that old hag, the ogre granny in front of me was thirstier than a vampire in a drought.
She hasn't been railed in 30 years and now wants me, the Hero King, to plow her fields like it's harvest season.
"I'm sorry," I said. "But I'm not in the mood for… geriatric coitus.[1]"
I didn't flat-out say no though, having a backup won't hurt.
Then suddenly—another voice:
"Hey Abella, don't hog all the meat!"
Excuse me?
HOG ALL THE MEAT?
And now I learn her name's Abella. Sounds like a retired adult film star putting everyone in Danger.
I turned—and saw something that made my sanity start drafting its resignation letter.
An old centaur woman.
Grey mane, wrinkled horse legs, and enough sass to power a generator.
"I haven't had action in fifty years. I get the first ride."
Lady, your horse ass hasn't had action since fire was discovered. I ain't doing Horsy Style unless I get trauma insurance.
Then ANOTHER voice broke in:
"No, Mia. I called dibs."
Three guesses—yep, more dusty thirst.
I begged the gods to let it be a dragon, a zombie, anything other than what I feared. But nah—just an old human woman, hunched like a shrimp cocktail, crawling into my trauma like it's a holiday home.
She had a wooden cane, white hair, no teeth—basically a haunted house in a cardigan. And still…
"Mr. Hero King," she croaked. "I'm on my last breath. Please come take it away."
Ma'am, you'll flatline the moment I unzip. You don't need pleasure—you need palliative care.
Time to shut this senior sin circle down.
"Ladies, I appreciate the enthusiasm, but I want my first time to be special. Y'know, without potential manslaughter charges."
But then—
"DO ME, HERO KING!"
I froze.
That wasn't a lady voice.
That was a man. A big, hairy man.
"Move, loose tits." He barged in, shoving the Human granny to the side and stood before me like a wet carpet with daddy issues.
The granny fell on the ground and it would take time for her to get up again.
But forget that. I have a bigger problem in my hand right now.
A hairy man was standing in front of me with a big smile.
"Do me, Hero King."
"I heard you the first time." I said.
"Then do me."
"Fuck you!"
"Please."
"No. I meant tha-"
And before I could reload my NO-cannon—
"If you're okay with men, I would like to try as well."
Don't tell me.
THAM!
A hero jumped from behind me to in front of me like a gay meteor—it was Beater.
I KNEW this man was sus from day one. This is why you never trust someone named Beater.
They are taking 'where there is a hole there is a way' to biblical levels.
"So what do you think?" Abella, the old Ogre asked, as if she just told me her business idea to an investor.
I took a deep breath. I have to make things straight. Pun intended.
"First of all," I said. "Beater, don't show me your face again. Go to your assigned country and protect it. That's an order."
Beater's eyes widened. He stared at me with those eyes. Are they tears? Just how badly did he want me?
"Go away." I said again.
"Uwaaa!" With a cry like that, Beater flew away like a disappointed mosquito whose beak broke because he tried to do a gym-rat.
Now I was safe. No, not yet. There was this hairy main too.
"You too. Go away. I am not interested in men. Get lost!" I yelled.
"Are you sure, hero king? I swallow, you know."
Hmm. I see. Well...
Wait. Why am I considering this?
"I don't care if you teleport cherries with your tongue. LEAVE, before I legally obliterate you."
"Your loss." And just like that, the hairy man walked off—probably to ruin someone else's life.
Now only the Ogre, the centaur and the human old woman who was still on the ground, were left.
"Look, Abella, Mia and what's your name, Granny? That hairy man called you loose tits."
"That's my name." The granny answered without shame or teeth.
I paid it no mind. Names were the last thing I would comment on right now.
"So all three of you are good and all but I won't do it. I believe in love. So I'll wait for that girl. That's all."
"Aw, too bad." Abella clicked her tongue then winked. "Well, if you ever feel lonely enough, you can come to my house."
"Same here. If you ever want to ride a horse, my house is right there." Mia, the centaur also went away.
These women are the final boss of euphemisms. I'm gonna start bleeding from my metaphors soon.
Only Loose Tits remained now…
...waiting like a curse that hadn't triggered yet.
She finally managed to stand on her wrinkly legs again, knees crackin' like an old haunted floorboard.
"Well, granny, take care. Maybe start chanting God's name—it's the endgame stretch for you."
She nodded slowly, her spine doing the Macarena against gravity.
"You know… I don't have any teeth…" she began, voice dipped in ancient sin.
Oh no. Granny. Please. Abort. Don't finish that thought. Return to the light.
"Wouldn't that make it feel… extra good I will do that to you?"
SHE SAID IT.
Someone call the clergy, the SWAT team, and a licensed exorcist.
Supreme Man, get me outta here. Launch me into a P Diddy yacht party. Drop me into a volcano. Hell, yeet me into the great ninja war in front of Madara—ANYTHING but this.
[1] "Geriatric coitus" is just a fancy (and way-too-academic) way of saying:
“Old people doing the dirty.”
Like… senior citizen smashing.
Wrinkle tango.
The bone zone—without enough calcium to survive it.
Imagine walking in on two 85-year-olds mid-coitus, and one of them yells:
“Gerald, did you bring the pills?!”
And you're like: “Viagra?”
And she says: “No, my osteoporosis meds! My hip popped three thrusts ago!”
THAT’S geriatric coitus.
Moral of the story: Just because the joints creak doesn’t mean the bed won’t.