Entries From Mr. Tuttle's Journal

As you may be aware, Mr. Tuttle was an integral part of the homosexual acts that took place on Saved By The Bell. Tuttle would often lurk in the shadows or hide in camouflage while Belding, Milo the Janitor, Mr. Dewey, Slater, Zack, Zack's dad, and Kevin the Robot would anally violate Screech. Tuttle would reveal himself near the end of the attack and would be masturbating vigorously, almost as though his life depending on it! Here are some hot entries from Mr. Tuttle's Journal that were written by Buckins over at the Dustin Diamond Love fansite message board:

Fri Mar 30, 2007 10:21 pm Post subject: Mr Tuttle's journal

I came across my old "Saved By The Bell: Bumper Scrapbook '91" and had a leaf through it. They had a fascinating article that was supposedly an extract from Mr Tuttle's journal. It was most insightful, so I thought I'd share it.

Journal, 03/21/91

I was sitting at my desk, working my way through a box of éclairs, when Belding dropped a note at my desk and darted out the room. “Blood and spunk bash, the cafeteria, 1700 today”- I could feel my chins jiggle as I shuddered in anticipation. Had he really managed to trick that succulent little sploof receptacle Screech again?

I was in the cafeteria by four thirty, sweating and twisting my nutsag with impatience. Finally I heard some voices. I tore off my clothes and leaped into the deep fryer. It was reasonably spacious and the sides were coated with greasy residue, making for a snug fit. I could distinctly make out Belding and that young Latino stud engaging Mr Powers in conversation. Something about getting ready for the ‘double dog with extra mayo’.

The next thing I heard was the crunch of something – probably a chair leg - contacting with Screech’s jaw. The assault and the little fag’s pained gurgling sent titillated quivers all over my hefty body, but it was the follow up of screams of terror and Belding’s mocking, high-pitched laugh that really got me going. Lubing my hands with the fryer oil, I started rampantly pleasuring myself, mingling my grunts of ecstasy with Screech’s continuing cries for help. The taunting and the sound of body on body continued relentlessly. I just had to take a peek…

I looked out just in time to see the virile Mexican fellow unleash a spectacular upward spray of diarrhea into Mr Powers’ face whilst Belding was near to splitting him in half with his elephantine thrusts from behind. This broke a seal of sorts for me and I began rolling around in my slimy lair with lusting energy, licking my own chest and letting out unrestrained groans.

After several more minutes, a crashing broke the air and everything was thrown into quietness. Then the two assailants chuckled and left the room, leaving Screech to sob iaway in a state of violated trauma. I climbed out of the hideaway and saw his scrawny form quivering on the floor. His zubaz and gaudy shirt were torn and his body was coated in a cocktail of bodily excretions. A wild grin spread uncontrollably across my face. I must have been panting with delight, because he looked up and saw me coming towards him – “No! NOOOO!” – but it was my turn now…




Posted: Thu Apr 05, 2007 5:45 pm Post subject: Another 'Mr Tuttle's Journal'

Found another Tuttle memoir, from the Saved By The Bell: Summer in Style book that came out in '92.

Journal Entry 06/18/92

Another damn heat wave in California! Once again I had to coat my loins with wetwipes to soothe them from the sweltering air and friction burn of my ample thighs. Little did I know how much things would soon be heating up...

I ended my class early today because the heat was getting too much and I was feeling rather peckish - it had been a whole hour and a half since I finished that jumbo 'slaw burger! As I was packing my briefcase, I overheard young Mr Morris and Slater inviting Samuel Powers to the carnival. I immediately smelt licentious opportunities in the sultry air as Screech eagerly agreed to accompany his seeming friends. Pretending to go over some test papers, I waited for the students to leave and quickly followed them...

I tailed the trio into the carnival. I heard that handsome Zack Morris mention something about going to the game stalls and once again that naive, bush-headed tool concurred with enthusiasm. At this point I noticed how his pale, boney legs shone in the sun in those loose, zubaz shorts. I slowly wiped a trickle of drool from my chin and continued to track my quarry.

The young studs finally led Screech to the port-o-potties that were used by the smelly carnies. I heaved myself into a nearby dumpster, pulled down my sweat-soaked pants and grabbed myself a half-eaten cotton candy. "Let the show begin!" I thought joyously.

Screech had contorted his face in confusion. The muscular Slater asked if he wanted to play 'Lucky Dip'. He happily replied in the affirmative. At this point, Slater lifted him high in the air and dunked him head first in the filthiest looking commode on the premises. The sound of Screech bubbling away and the sight of his flailing, skinny legs immediately had me giving my groin a circular massage. When he finally pulled him out, Screech had two pieces of stool lodged in his eyes and was spluttering out a mixture of urine and filthy sanitation chemicals. I launched into full scale masturbation at this point and as ever there was more to come...

Mr Morris said he wanted to play "Test Your Strength" and claimed he would 'ding' Screech's bell. He followed this up by whacking Screech square in the genitals with a gangplank - looking on at the writhing, sobbing wretch I pounded furiously, my delighted laughter merging perfectly with the nearby screams of pleasure of the carnival-goers.

Slater then took charge, telling Screech he should check out the fairground's newest attraction 'The Deep Plunge' - pulling him up by his curly hair by one hand, he wrenched out his greasy, tanned member with the other. Leveling it to Screech's face, he declared "You must be this tall to ride!" and forced it deep into the pathetic whelp's stupid face. By this time I was rolling around in the dumpster uninhibited, covering myself in all manner of filth and garbage. The Mexican playboy climaxed, withdrawing to positively drench Screech's face with thick semen, which quickly crusted over in the heat. Mr Morris aimed a few kicks at the beaten Screech's kidneys and the two left, laughing and satisfied with their work.

I rolled out from my refuge, sticky and utterly stinking of waste in the early evening sun. Screech looked as though he was beginning to feel relieved that the ordeal was over. Than he looked up and saw me lurching onwards, my veiny member pointing decisively at his battered from. He clawed at the ground, his screams for help going no further than the two of us, screams that only fuelled my yearning. He was all mine...