5 Second Fiction Two Thousand and Fifty Three

Once again Abner Deggent told a woman soldier she was unfit for the manly art of combat and was beaten senseless for it.

5 Second Fiction Two Thousand and Five

Abner Deggent was proud survive the death-orgy of the Amazons, he was less proud that several of the Amazons had died of boredom.

5 Second Fiction One Thousand Nine Hundred and Seventy Eight

Abner Deggent caught the thief on an abandoned yacht. His wife said it was one of the rare times he had found the man in the boat.

THE MANLY ADVENTURES OF ABNER DEGGENT

Island of the Toroga

The Most Dangerous Blame

Abner Deggent Goes Commando

Raiders Of The Lost Primate

The Sultan's Challenge

Abner Deggent's Christmas Hits

THE MANLY ADVENTURES OF ABNER DEGGENT: Abner Deggent’s Christmas Hits

THE MANLY ADVENTURES OF ABNER DEGGENT

Abner Deggent’s Christmas Hits

by

Al Bruno III

Life as the personal biographer of world renowned soldier of fortune Abener Deggent had exposed me to locations, cultures and venereal diseases of the most exotic nature. Our Christmas eve adventure on Finch Island was no less unique.

But first allow me to introduce myself I am Ralph Brooks and perhaps you have read some of my other stories such as Abner Deggent and The Cardshark Of Sharu or Stop Those Nazis! Be sure to check your local newsstands.

Finch Island was owned by a minor league crime lord known as ‘Mr. Finch. It is a small island. Its proximity to Mexico and international waters makes it a haven for smugglers and cutthroats, its proximity to the state of California ensures a regular influx of cheap floozies and pornographers. It was only natural that in the summer of 1951 the winds of fate, and a minor shipwreck, would bring us there.

Abner Deggent’s ordeal of pernicious percussing, began sensually enough. Deggent had brought a woman of questionable hygiene and negligible sobriety back to our bungalow. They wasted no time removing each other’s clothes. The floozy caressed his mighty thews, until Deggent could take no more and he wove a trail of kisses from her furry bellybutton towards the wild thatch of hair that had undoubtedly hidden the delta of her Venus from view since the latter days of the Roosevelt administration.

I would go into further detail but that was when Deggent realized I was still in the kitchen and he chased me out of the house. With no other recourse I made my way to the town’s only bar, a ramshackle establishment owned and run by the master of the island himself. I had barely finished my first beer when Deggent sat down on the barstool beside me. “Sorry about that old chum,” he said, “but a man has needs.”

“Finished already?” I asked.

“Yes,” he explained, “Besides, I have a date with Sherrie in twenty minutes.”

I had to laugh, Deggent had always been one to favor quantity over quality. It was one of his most American qualities. “So you left that other woman alone in our bungalow? How very trusting.”

“I sent her packing, she wanted to make small talk but men have no patience for such things. Iit reminds me of the time...”

Before he could go on both of his floozies came storming into the bar. Deggent stood to meet them, “Ladies! I didn’t know you two knew each other. Perhaps we could-”

The floozie on the right slapped him. Ever the gentleman Deggent turned the other cheek only to have the floozy on the left strike that side. His back against the wall Deggent stood his ground. Finally Mr. Finch restored order by firing a shotgun into the air, killing two of the people attending the unruly Tupperware party on the second floor.

The floozies ran out the doors but the master of the islandblocked our way. He asked, “Why did you not strike back? Do you like being to be hit?”

“No,” Deggent said, “I just don't believe in striking women in mixed company.”

“On this island we slap fight for sport,” Mr. Finch explained, “two men enter the town square and only one leaves.”

“That sounds ridiculous!” I sneered.

“Do not mock, there is much money to be made.”

That got Deggent's attention, “Money you say?”

“Yes,” Mr. Finch nodded.

“Much you say?” Deggent asked.

“Yes.”

“Then tell us more.”

Mr. Finch explained the rules of the strange sport as he led us to the non- euclidean town square. Two men would face each other, trading blows to the face until one could take no more and surrendered. Cash was wagered on the outcome of these slap fights, odds were made on who would win, how many slaps would be exchanged and who would burst into tears first. Abner Deggent declared himself up to the challenge and ordered me to place bets. We were both feeling very confident that this strange challenge would allow us to restore our finances. If we made enough cash we might be able to repair our boat and be back on the mainland by New Year’s eve.

By sunset all of Finch Island had gathered around the town square. Deggent had stripped to the waist and was preening for the audience. I, meanwhile, was placing bets confident in Abner Deggent's rugged manliness.

Then the contest began, two men traded slap after slap, the air rang with the sound of flesh striking flesh and soon both men’s faces were as red as the bottom of a naughty schoolgirl’s after a good, hard spanking.

Five men tested their mettle against Abner Deggent, five men retreated from the square with watering eyes and broken spirits. My hands were full of loot- fifties, twenties and counterfeit trading stamps. As I was counting Mr. Finch approached me, “You have done very well. Do you have enough to repair Abner Deggent’s precious boat?”

“Sadly no,” I explained, “it will take more than a few hundred dollars to repair the SS My Ex-Wife Took Everything Else.”

Mr. Finch watched as a sixth challenger ran sobbing from the town square, “Then I have a proposal for you. If Deggent can defeat the island’s champion I will triple the money you have in your hand... Including the trading stamps.”

“And if we lose?”

“Then your boat is mine.”

We took the offer.

Deggent smirked as the island’s champion stepped into the town square. My first impression was that he was a slight, almost sickly-looking man with a sunken chin...

...and a left hand five times the size of a normal man’s!

Despite the wildly cheering crowd I could hear Deggent swallow heavily. I glared at the master of the island knowing we had been effortlessly tricked.

I said to him, “You’re a mean one, Mr. Finch.”

5 Second Fiction One Thousand Nine Hundred and Seventy One

Abner Deggent agreed the tribe's 'tests of endurance' before he realized a plane full of dildos had crashed on the island.

5 Second Fiction One Thousand Nine Hundred and Sixty Two

If not for his advanced thumb wrestling skills Abner Deggent might never have survived the night of the pygmy nymphomaniacs.

5 Second Fiction One Thousand Nine Hundred and Forty Four

It was genius for Abner Deggent to disguise himself as an ape, it was bad luck he did it during mating season.

THE MANLY ADVENTURES OF ABNER DEGGENT: The Sultan's Challenge

THE MANLY ADVENTURES OF ABNER DEGGENT

The Sultan’s Challenge

by

Al Bruno III

“Are you sure you have to be completely naked?” I asked.

Abner Deggent answered me with a distracted tone, “Of course.”

“Well if you say so...”

At the sound of a key turning in a lock, he looked up from admiring himself, “It’s time.”

“Already?” I felt my throat go dry. Our evening in captivity had passed so quickly.

The door to our cell swung open to reveal a pair of the Sultan’s personal guards. Personal guards! That was a joke. These men were mercenaries, lowly cutthroats with no sense of morality or dignity. The very dregs of humanity.

“Hey Ralph,” the taller one of the two said, “long time no see.”

“Er.. yes. Hello Francis,” I said, “...and Joe.”

The mercenaries led us at gunpoint through the twisting dungeon hallways.

Who am I you may ask? I am Ralph Brooks the official unpaid biographer of the legendary Abner Deggent, and this is the tale of the Sultan’s Challenge.

Of course you readers must speak the name of Abner Deggent with tones of hushed wonder but just in case you are exceptionally uninformed or stupid I will try to encapsulate the greatness of the man in a few sentences. Abner Deggent was the greatest adventurer of the post World War Two era. He was a righter of wrongs, a soldier of fortune and creator of a delicacy known in some corners of the world as ‘the Bloomin’ Onion’.

Our quest for the treasure of Priester John had brought us here to a tiny protectorate on the Horn of Africa. This land had recently fallen to the control of a Sultan who was as cruel as he was riddled with gout.

It had come to our attention that this Sultan had in his possession the legendary Map To The Diorama That Revealed The Location Of The Tomb Of Priester John. We presented ourselves to the Sultan and requested to see the map.

He refused and that left Abner Deggent with no choice but to steal it. I have learned that the call of adventure and the rule of law frequently find themselves at odds, this may be why many adventurers frequently find themselves having to call lawyers.

But I digress, let me turn our attention back to our fully justified attempted robbery.

Yes, attempted because dear reader, while Deggent’s fingers were legendary among the brothels of Singapore they utterly failed him when it came to the art of safecracking. We were captured and found ourselves brought before the Sultan.

To save us from the executioner’s block Deggent challenged the Sultan to a duel of honor but as gout had left the Sultan’s left foot swollen to the point where his toes looked like small yams he instead presented Deggent with a challenge as intriguing as it was deadly.

Deggent and I were marched up a flight of stairs and into a room decorated with the soft colors and lurid paintings. The air was thick with the odor of exotic perfumes. The Sultan was already there, he looked up from conferring with his seven beautiful wives. “Deggent!” he said, “I thought I told you that nudity was unnecessary.”

“Did you?” Deggent struck his manliest pose, his loins were at their most rampant, “I only hope that I don’t ruin your lovely wives for you.”

“What are you talking about?”

“The challenge of course.”

I cleared my throat, “Ah, Abner, the Sultan’s challenge is to resist the charms of his harem, not to charm them yourself.”

His expression tensed,“What?”

“Weren’t you paying attention?”

“Assume I wasn’t.”

“The women of the harem will entice you for an hour,” I explained, “and if you show any signs of... excitement the Sultan’s guard’s will castrate you with a blunt potato peeler.”

Abner Deggent nodded with understanding. I couldn’t help but notice that his hands had shifted to his suddenly decidedly unrampant groin. “Could we...” Deggent asked “...perhaps talk about this further?”

The mercenaries forced Abner Deggent into a soft chair; one stood on each side of him. Francis had his M-16 at the ready, Joe ran his thumb along the edge of the gold-plated potato peeler.

At 11 o’clock the Sultan placed a hot pink hourglass on a nearby table and his wives went to work.

And such work it was! First they danced, slowly undressing each other. Each discarded veil was allowed to drift across Deggent’s exposed skin. When the women were naked they began to oil each other’s bodies until they gleamed, not a single soft crevice went neglected. Occasionally lips brushed against flesh and they cooed with delight.

I tore my eyes away from the scene to see Deggent watching them, his eyes wide, expression grim but thankfully his manhood remained flaccid.

The room seemed to have become very warm and the scent that hung in the air might remind one of the odor of the locker room of the Rockford Peaches women’s baseball team circa 1945.

Not that I was ever caught spying there. That was a completely different Ralph Brooks.

The women of the harem surrounded the chair Abner Deggent was seated in, prostrating themselves and grinding against one another like a living carpet of sapphic desire. The mercenaries kept a close eye on Deggent, carefully watching for the first stirrings of arousal.

Which, as far as I’m concerned, spoke volumes about them.

After what seemed like an eternity the lasts grains began to run out of the hourglass. The Sultan whispered in amazement, “I don‘t believe it!”

Suddenly Abner Deggent screamed and rand from the room. I followed as quickly as I could but his speed was almost inhuman.

He locked himself back in our dungeon cell.

Did he make it? You might wonder but as I heard the frantic slapping noises and grunts of relief I knew that an hour had gone by and Abner Deggent had reached the stroke of midnight.

5 Second Fiction One Thousand Eight Hundred And Ninety Two

Abner Deggent wouldn't hit a man wearing glasses, so he paid one of the guys on the streetcorner to do it for him.

5 Second Fiction One Thousand Eight Hundred And Seventy Eight

She said “Throw me the whip and I'll throw you the idol!” Abner Deggent cursed himself for bringing a dominatrix on a tomb raid.

5 Second Fiction One Thousand Eight Hundred And Seventy Two

As far as Anber Deggent was concerned the only thing that made sense about women is that women never made any sense.

5 Second Fiction One Thousand Eight Hundred And Sixty Four

Abner Deggent left a trail of destruction and illegitimate children in is wake, frequently on the same nights.

5 Second Fiction One Thousand Eight Hundred And Sixty Three

Abner Deggent was captured by a band of pirates that only wore soft fabrics but he vowed to escape the Cotton Swabs.

5 Second Fiction One Thousand Eight Hundred And Forty Three

On December eve after falling asleep in a brothel, Abner Deggent was visited by the ghosts of Syphilis past, present and future.

5 Second Fiction One Thousand Eight Hundred And Thirty One

After losing his treasure in the Valley of the Wolf Men Abner Deggent was barking mad.

5 Second Fiction One Thousand Eight Hundred And Seven

Abner Deggent wasn't the kind of man to bring a knife to a gunfight but once he had brought a chainsaw to a quilting bee.

5 Second Fiction One Thousand Seven Hundred and Ninety Nine

Abner Deggent tried to escape through the air ducts, slipped and tore off his foreskin, causing him to circum-vent the issue.

5 Second Fiction One Thousand Seven Hundred and Ninety One

As the battle with Col. Screame spilled over from the drawing room to the aviary Abner Deggent flipped him the bird.

5 Second Fiction One Thousand Seven Hundred and Eighty Six

If Abner Deggent had paid more attention to the tribal elders he could have avoided The Ordeal of the Cuttlefish Jockstrap.