Frasier sat at the foot of his bed, staring red-eyed into the distance, neither present nor alert. His bed lay unkempt and the sheets were covered with crumbs. The recent apocalypse had torn apart all he had known. Daphne was now melted to a radiator, Niles was ashes scattered to the four winds, and Eddie was burnt into a wall, his blackened dog’s face the only thing marking the whitewash of the church door.
They say the soul of dog’s flies in heaven. Eddie’s soul if anything, was a mere daubing on the opening to hell.
The only thing left for Frasier was his wrecked apartment and his massive mondo-cranium. They say the only thing that can survive a nuclear attack is the cockroach. Well, it had appeared that this were not the case, as Frasier, cranium and all, sat at the foot of his bed, shivering in a dowdy smoking jacket and holding a hose, one end attached to his cock, and the other planted into his mouth. For you see, due to the apocalypse, most of the human race was now fried like kippers.
All that was left for Frasier was the ignominy of self-administered pleasure. Thusly, he was now trying to fuck himself with a hose, sucking on one end and attempting to blow his flaccid, battered penis. As episodes go, this was not shaping up to be a highlight in Frasier’s tenure. Certainly not up there with “Ham Radio”, or “The Dinner Party”. Hell, it wasn’t even as good as “A day in May”, which was fucking shit.
Frasier wept, and the tears rolled down his soiled garments and wrinkled scrotum, as he repeatedly sucked and frustratedly tugged the obscene device, while watching a flickering video of his ex wife Lilith addressing students at a psychology conference.
Suddenly, without warning, the staggering blotched face of his radioactive dad tumbled through the door, still wielding cane and silvery mane now flecked with singed black hair. Frasier was not more surpised about his dad’s apparent survival, as he was terrified that his father had caught him sucking himself off with a tube.
His dad was equally horrified. Not least catching his son in the midst of plastic tube aided onanistic fury, but because it was his hose.
He left without saying a word, and Frasier’s eyes turned to the ground, humiliation complete and etched across his fucking massive forehead.
While Frasier gazed at the carpet, his father slowly head-butted the wall while screaming.