Queen Queef

I was chatting with my afore mentioned friend from two posts ago about doing short stories on all the members of Devil's Wetdream. I questioned whether Queen Queef really needed her own and my friend took that as a challenge.

Harry responded to the 911 call about an obese woman in a tank top and loincloth with some trepidation. He was eight months from retirement, and tangling with a Super, never mind an obese crazy lady, was pretty low on his, " To Do", list. As he neared the address, he felt more than heard a subsonic boom that rattled his filings. This was followed by a noxious odor of rotten eggs and...filth. Eyes watering, he cautiously pulled his squad car forward, only to slam on the brakes as a late-model Civic blasted in the front of his grille, pushed by another subsonic boom. Crazily looking around, he spied the obese (very, very, VERY obese woman) laying on the ground, loincloth askew. At first he thought she had collapsed from a heartattack, but then he saw her stomach heave, and her legs shift. "Fuck this shit!" he thought as he slammed the car in reverse, speeding out of the line of oncoming destruction just in time to miss getting creamed by a Mini Cooper. Grabbing his radio, he called into HQ; "Get the friggin' Super Troopers up here! We got us a LIVE ONE!" he screamed, just as his car was flipped by yet another blast.

A challenge that I'd say was met and destroyed. Awesome stuff, my friend. Kudos.