“Get off of my lawn, you damned kids!”
And so went the familiar cry of Old Man Buttinski – once known as Dr. Robert Buttinski to his more mature patients, Doc Butt to the not-so-mature ones. And now, the next generation of the not-so-mature ones fought a never-ending battle to make his retirement as hellish as possible.
And here the little terrors were, stomping all over his prized roses, the latest centerpiece of his prizewinning lawn and garden. Tossing around a football, the three young boys were laughing, playing without a care in the world. Obviously, this needed to change…who better than Old Man Buttinski to bring about such a change?
The carefree children went about their frolicking as if they hadn’t heard his reasonable request. A well-aimed garden hose certainly put an end to that! One of the retreating children – a little pudgy one that made Buttinski cringe just to look at – threatened to “tell my big sister, and then you’ll be sorry you big stinker!” Certainly, the very thought had the old doctor trembling in his slippers.
Truly, it frightened the poor old man! At least, the thought that she’d look like her brother did, anyway.
Making a mental note to call the gardener, Buttinski went back inside to meet the disapproval of his latest trophy wife. “Oh, Bob! How could you?”
“Don’t ‘Oh, Bob’ me, little missy! I’m sixty years older than you,” he replied grumpily. It was true: he had just passed the centennial mark, where she was still in her early forties.
Mrs. Buttinski was not amused. “Bob, I’m your wife. Remember?”
“Heh. That’s what the others said, too!”
The morning brought a visitor to the door, holding down the doorbell and bringing a doubly-cranky Bob Buttinski to the door. Sleeping on the couch had disagreed vehemently with his aging back, and whoever was at the door would make for a nice target for his elderly rage…
“Hi there, Mr. Buttinski!” rang out from the throats of two lovely young ladies on his doorstep. While wondering where the nearest bottle of Viagra might be, the dirty old men returned their greeting.
“Um, hi. Uh, girls? What can I do for you? Or…to you, heh.”
“What was that?” the brunette on the left asked.
“Um…”
“Right,” said the exotic beauty on the right.
“Mr. Buttinski,” the brunette continued, “we have a problem.” Buttinski, who had just realized that he was, in fact, out of Viagra altogether, couldn’t agree more. “See, sir, one of the boys you soaked yesterday was my brother. He’s obnoxious, I know, but he’s still my brother.”
The old man was distracted by the tank top stretched tightly over the other girl’s generous breasts. “And…?” he prompted.
Without another word, the girls pulled water balloons from behind their backs and pelted Dr. Buttinski in the face. Choking and sputtering, his aged reflexes forced him to take it all in. Especially as the girls turned around to get at the basket on the ground full of more water balloons.
And what a wonderful sight it was, the girls bent at their shapely waists, loading up on more ammunition. In particular, he could see the top of a white undergarment peeking out over the brunette’s jeans. A cunning plan came to mind…
To be honest, it wasn’t very cunning. In fact, it was just him grabbing the panties to wedgie the insolent brat…and he certainly couldn’t forget her lovely friend! However, as he stuck his hand into the back of the other girl’s pants, he couldn’t find anything. The girl, for her part, looked back and grinned – she actually grinned at him! “Nothing gets between me and my Calvins,” she purred with a wink.
Now he recognized her. She was the daughter of the supermodel. How could he possibly forget that? She certainly had the looks to follow in her mother’s footsteps. But, for the matter at hand, he merely shrugged and grabbed the belt loop on the back of her jeans.
The twin looks of horror upon their faces was almost worth the trampled roses…almost. He pulled up on both panty – a thong! – and jeans and was rewarded with the loveliest shrieks his old ears had ever borne witness to.
Not settling for a run-of-the-mill wedgie, Buttinski yanked up and down upon the thong and jeans, watching the girls bounce likewise from foot to foot, trying unsuccessfully to relieve the pain in their bottoms. Of course, this couldn’t last forever; eventually, he’d have to let them go. This could bring trouble, assaulting young ladies – especially given how much he was enjoying it! Perhaps Viagra wouldn’t be necessary after all…he’d have to ‘make-up’ with Mrs. Buttinski ASAP.
An unintended benefit/side effect: as the brunette’s thong went up, her bouncing was letting her pants slip down inch by inch…even as Doc Butt noticed this, they were already halfway down her rear! “Oh, ow! Mr. Butt-Bu…ow ow ow owwwie! Mr. Buttinski!” she cried. “Let us go! Ow! We’re sorry!”
Her friend joined in. “Ah…ow! Yeah, let us go! Pleeeeeeease!”
Old Man Buttinski was certainly an agreeable sort of person, and happily complied with their request: he let go of their clothing, and was treated to one last show. The supermodel’s daughter stumbled her way face-first into a nearby bush. Her wiggling butt and futilely kicking legs stuck out, the rest of her body trapped within the network of leaves and branches.
The brunette was even more of a sight: her pants had dropped down to her knees. As such, her post-wedgie stumbling was severely hampered, and her wildly swinging arms could not help her balance in time. Tripping over her own feet, she fell backwards…butt-first into the basket of water balloons!
Though the water explosion of dozens of balloons being violently popped at once drenched Buttinski’s legs (still nothing compared to the girl’s thong and lower regions!), he noticed not at all. An idea had come: “Oh, girls…?”
Through threats and cajoling, he convinced the poor girls (Claire, the brunette and older sister of the chubby kid, and Virtue, her best friend) that the only way to save the boys from time in the local juvenile detention center was for the young ladies to work off the value of the roses and shrub around his home. He sent them away, beside himself with excitement.
Mrs. Buttinski was not amused. “And just what do you plan to do when they come over, Bob?” asked his third trophy wife, fifth wife overall.
“Oh, I’ll think of something…” he replied, hurrying to the phone.
“ACME Catalog Ordering Department? Hi, it’s Bob Buttinski…Yeah, it’s been a while, hasn’t it? How are the kids?…Well, actually, I wanted to make a few purchases…Oh, yeah, I know!…What? Oh, right. Well, the one on page 63, actually…The extra-aggressive model, please…Hm? The target? Well, there’s two. You see, there’s these girls coming over…”