Eventually, they made it to they bunkroom. It weren’t a real bunkroom — it was actually the helipad room. Ain’t nobody ever land a helicopter here, so the helipad control room was just an empty space overlooking the helipad itself. Helipad doohickeys done got gutted years ago. Cody liked the windows — being able to see the prairie spread into the horizon endless as heaven. Cody the freollento discottoned to the cold, so he was glad to share the only bed with Buck.
Cody was relieved to get back to the quivering quiet and cozy comfort of the helipad room. He done outfit the walls and the floor with covers to keep the cold from creeping in. Since he was a little feller, the smallest non-Guatymelon around, plenty the big men might would take a whack at him just for fun. They ain’t done so yet, cuz Cody was often accompanated by Buck and his big-ass muscles.
Sprightly as a sparrow, Cody jumped right onto the bed and sat still for pert-near a whole second before he jumped right back to his feet. He straightened a wall-blanket that done sag, then he stepped back to consider how stable it was. Satisfied, Cody fished up a battered pack of cigarettes and lit one. Buck finally lumbered in oxen-like, his oft-broke nose wiggling like a loose pier.
From Cody the Roughneck
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MN Manmacker's mansploitation