Hello dear readers! Perhaps someone this work seems blasphemous, in advance I offer my deepest apologies for the abuse of childhood memories. :) I would be interested to hear your feedback in order to understand whether I should continue these notes of a madman. :) And please, do not take this too seriously, because this is a fairy tale, if not for children. But a happy ending will, of course. :)
Diego Holmes.

Once upon a time, an old carpenter Giuseppe, nicknamed Blue Cock, lived in a small town on the shores of the Mediterranean. An elderly homosexual and a woman hater, having pretty much refueled with cheap swill, loved to lose his sluggish process in front of passers-by men, for which he had been beaten many times. While still a young man, a charming little stalker, seeing the color of his personal belongings, lauded him to the whole neighborhood, bursting in laughter and squeezing words out of herself. So this nickname was tied to him, and wherever he appeared, the ladies giggled bitterly after him, even those who were tired of loneliness and eternal masturbation would not mind to warm his dear friend in their hole. Giuseppe was angry, he hated stupid women more and more and more and more often nadrachival his weakly erect member with mazolic working hands.

Once he came across a log of wood, an ordinary log for firing the fire in winter.
“Not a bad thing,” Giuseppe told himself, “you can make something out of it like legs for a table, or a wooden dildo, for some old maid.” These pay well.
Giuseppe put on his glasses, wrapped with twine, since the glasses were also old, turned the log in his hand and began to cut it with a hatchet, firing his exhausted bolt for a while. But only he began to cut, someone's unusually thin female voice squeaked:
- Oh, oh, be quiet, please!

Giuseppe dropped the log that had hit his leg painfully, and laid the ax aside. Leaping sharply, he pulled on his faded pants, and, shaking with fear, began to look around the workshop. I looked under the workbench, - nobody looked in the basket with shavings, - nobody stuck his head out the door, - nobody in the street ...

He again took a hatchet and again, just hit the log ...
- Oh, it hurts, I say, woo! - howled a thin voice.
Giuseppe caught her breath and started to shake her legs. Through the glasses, sweating in a moment, of glasses, he looked at all the corners in the room, climbed even into the hearth and, turning his head, looked at the pipe for a long time.
- There is no one ...
Huddled in a corner, he remembered all the saints that are not in this world, and cursed Grandma Rozengelu, who sold him the muck that caused the fever.

Having calmed down a bit, Giuseppe took a plane, slammed a hammer on the back part, so that in moderation - not too much and not too little - the blade would come out, put a piece of wood on the workbench and only lead the chips ...
- Oh, more gentle-more gentle. - Humbly squeaked a thin female voice ...
Giuseppe dropped the plane, backed away and sat right on the floor: he realized that a thin voice was coming from inside the log.

At this time, his old friend, the organ-grinder, went to see Giuseppe.
named Carlo.

Once Carlo, in a wide-brimmed hat, walked around the cities with a beautiful barrel organ, spoiled young virgins, corrupted pious wives, instructing their horns on pompous husbands, and spent all his time in endless festivities and orgies. What was the cost of only one story that has flown around the whole kingdom, about how a wandering musician, steeped in sins, during the week communion to the novice of the convent of the holy Fayorella, led by God-fearing mother Nicoletta.

Now Carlo was already old and sick, and his barrel organ had long broken. However, as before, he terribly wanted a female body. But alas, the young charmer did not look in his direction except with compassion. And what a sin to conceal, even the elderly matrons, hungry for solid members, did not want him, so unpleasant for him was his appearance, which had been worn out over long dissolute years.

“Hello, Giuseppe,” he said, entering the workshop. - What are you sitting on the floor?
- And I, you see, lost a small cog ... Oh, let him! - answered Giuseppe, taking out a hand from trousers, and squinted on a log. - Well, how do you live, old man?
“Bad,” Carlo replied. - All I think - what would I do to make bread ... Yes, and dick on juicy holes yearned. If only you could help me, I would advise ...
“What is simpler,” said Giuseppe gaily and, pulling off his pants, bent on the floor with cancer. - What is simpler: here's a juicy hole for you, and then you will get the money, I set aside half a year ...
The organ-grinder gave him a hard, deaf kick.
- What are you thinking of this, a flaw?
- You can not joke, - offended muttered Sistery Dick, rising from the floor and rubbing his hurt ass through hurriedly stretched pants.
- I'll tell you, joker, next time I will insert that log in my ass. By the most bitch.

Giuseppe thought to himself: “How could he have forgotten about this damned log? I will get rid of this wood now. ”
“Carlo, my dear friend, do not be guilty,” Giuseppe apologized, “take this log, and
take home ...
“Ehhhhhh,” Carlo replied sadly, “what's next?” I will bring home a log, but I don’t even have a fire in the garret.
- I’m talking to you, Carlo ... Take a knife, cut a doll out of this log, teach her to say all sorts of funny words, teach and dance, teach different poses, you will stick to someone. And if you want, carry it from house to house - you will earn a piece of bread and a glass of wine.
At this time, on the workbench, where the log lay, squealed an excited voice:
- Bravo, beautifully invented, Gray Dick!
Giuseppe shook again with fear, and Carlo looked around in surprise, where did the voice come from?
- Well, thank you, Giuseppe, that he advised. Come on, perhaps, your log.

Then Giuseppe grabbed a log and quickly put it to a friend. But whether he
embarrassingly stuck, or it jumped itself, but it got right under the asshole of Carlo.
- Oh, here are your gifts! - Evil shouted Carlo.
“Sorry, buddy, it's not me.”
A dull blow from a seasoned duelist broke Giuseppe's nose.
- So, I shove myself a log in the ass?
“No, my friend,” the log itself must be asking.
Carlo hit again, from which the comrade fell to the ground.
- You're lying, you hit ...
- No, not me...

Carlo did not want to continue this conversation. He looked with contempt at Giuseppe, who was wiping blood, took the log under his arm and went home.

The organ grinder lived in a closet under the stairs. Previously, there were often heard the sweet moans of another girl, seasoned with voiced slaps of sweaty bodies. Years went by, the craving for drink required money, and now there is nothing left but
beautiful hearth - in the wall against the door. But the beautiful hearth, and the fire in the hearth, and the kettle, boiling on the fire, were not real - painted on a piece of old canvas.

Carlo entered the closet, sat down on the only chair by the legless table and, turning this way and that, he began to cut the doll out of it with a knife. “How would I call her? - wondered Carlo. “I’ll call her Buratin.” This name will bring me happiness. I knew one family - all their women were called Buratinas: The old woman was Buratina, the mother was Buratina, both daughters were also Buratina. They all lived cheerfully and carelessly ... “The old man grinned wryly, recalling his strong member’s carelessly wrapped Pupilina’s vagina to her mother, shamelessly lying on the family bed, where she had refused her husband an hour ago, citing a headache. He also remembered the beckoning twins of his twins, who had just celebrated their age. So inappropriate, the old dick was filled with power, and, in order to distract himself, he took up the log.

But not here it was, excited ...