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In the plea bargain, M had promised the Royal Canadian Mounted Police that he would never return to the Yukon Territory. Yet, there we were on a hot summer afternoon getting wildly sloshed on Johnnie Walker Blue Label on glacial-ice rocks on the porch of his rustic hunting cabin so distant from any communication and deep in the majestic and increasingly magical wilds of the Yukon Territory. This is where I got double divorced, M said, quite to my surprise because we were well into double vision by then and the topic seemed to fall down a Jacobs ladder in the glistening blue sky of dramatic cumulus nimbus. Will this be another of your famous out-the-ass bullshit stories again? I asked, probably with a whisky slur but M wasnt listening anyway. He never does, except for a favorable points spread or a favorite butt cheek spread. Right over there is where the RCMPs found her sexy frigid body, and right under the eaves of this cabin is where they found his cockless headless body, M continued, so I continued to go from double to triple vision with Johnnie and tried to listen without acting so what-the-fuck. The double-barreled 12-gage is inside on the rack. You have a nice rack by the way, silicone or saline? He had grabbed them enough times so I did not feel obliged to answer something his fingers had already told him, but then again he never listens, as I think I said, whisky slur or not. We were trapping in January and with me were my first wife, the funny no-clit no-nips Payton who you might remember, and our his-her BF who we were sharing at the time. One night we were all nude and drinking it up by the fireplace and fucking around and fucking in other directions too and we started to argue. I burped, blamed in on the Blue, then remembered Ms selective hearing was in the off position. The argument led to a bet, which you may recall is an orgasmic past time of mine, so I agreed that we should indeed see if a 98-pound nude Payton who is slightly extremely drunk can handle the heavy 12-gage and, from three or four paces, blow any or all of four objects right the fuck off. The objects were, and in my case still are, the BFs cock and head and my own cock and head. I burped again and pleaded silently to the sky to take me up that Jacobs ladder and away from this fucking guy. No such luck, but recognizing now how lucky I was not to have had it or my education in dementedness would be lacking. M went on. With our help, the BFs and mine, Payton lashed us to the porch pillars under the frosty moonlight, walked out into the snow with nothing on except the big Remington that was fully loaded and fully cocked. Our cocks were rock hard at the prospect of being gunned down or off or blasted away in some way. Payton turned and aimed, or more like waved the fucking gun at every starry constellation visible that time of night. Payton did the talking next. I only have two shots you assholes, but I will blow all of your fucking heads off, and I think she meant it. She staggered around to the side so she could shoot two phallic birds with one shot and then adjust to do the upper two heads. I was proud of her outdoorswomanship. Just as she squeezed the left barrel the ice crust under her naked feet gave way and it affected her drunken aim just enough to blow the BFs head clean off and onto my right hand where his sharp teeth took off my little finger but gave me an idea as I gripped and gazed into his dead eyeballs and Payton took dead aim again. She was so pissed off she put the business end of the second barrel right on the BFs cock and balls and blasted shot number two, but the magnum round I had put in there caused a recoil that broke her wrist and sent the butt end of the 12-gage right into the side of her head and knocked her out. So there I am strung up nude in the winter wind next to a cockless headless dead guy, holding his eyeballs and his teeth in the four fingers left on my right hand, and looking at Payton out cold in the snow. I used the BFs sharp teeth to cut myself loose and got in by the fire to de-frost my own cock and balls. I left Payton out to frost up completely as I completely realized I would then be free to find a shemale for wife number two and not have to carry around a wife and a BF at the same time anymore. I took my chopper out of there in the morning and waited for a heavy snowstorm to call the RCMPs and tell them my wife and her BF had been missing since I dropped them off at the hunting camp. When we got there, I was surprised the grizzlies had not eaten any of the remains, but I was glad the Remington was not rusted too badly. There was an inquest and I moose-shitted my way out of it with a plea bargain to never return here, so here we are. I got up from the porch rocker, left M to tell the rest of the details to no one, and staggered into a bunk to take a long nap with Johnnie. I took the shells out of the 12-gage in its rack before hitting the rack with Mr. Blue.
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