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satanic goatslayer
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The stench of maggots and expired dairy products invaded my nostrils. Ten minutes ago I was busy ingesting chemicals and listening to some music. Where had I gone wrong? What possessed me to enter the lair of the chopsticks, in search of a fresh coconut? I’d have to go back a bit to find out.
My brain was working a split shift, my body slowly extinguishing the flames of awareness. In the early morning, a different sort of folk walk amongst us. I passed a phone booth, and a scraggly man grunted and threw his now emptied vodka bottle at me.
I walked over to the man and passed his bottle back to him, giving him back the only thing that defined him; an alcoholic. I told him that shine is better, hearing only a slight gurgle as recognition of my voice.
Stealing bread nets a reward of limb amputation in some countries. In my world, gurgling is rewarded with swift justice.
“You filthy boar! The early morn is considered a good time to die, I trust you agree?”
He grunted again, this time spewing forth chunks of stomach lining and bile. Such a waste of skin needs not rehabilitation; rehabilitation for him would come in the form of a blade.
I played jingle bells on the phone pad, and then tied him to the booth with some rope. He was too sloshed to even notice. Sympathy is my one weakness, so I unsheathed my scimitar and with one precise movement, removed his head from his spine and watched as it crashed down to the ground. When a man is beheaded, a strange presence illuminates the air for a split second, then fizzles out as quickly as it came. Oddly enough, I could swear that I smelled Aqua Velva as I glared at his blood.
I entered the corner store not knowing what to expect. The china store is a funny little place. Normally I wear deci-dams when I go to the store, due to the annoying conversation that usually takes place.
A triangular shaped hat slowly ascended from behind the counter.
“Ahhhhhh welcum too my shop of mystawee and suspense”
The man stood 5 feet tall, perhaps weighing in at 103 pounds. I asked him if he could feel it coming in the air tonight. He told me that he didn’t know what I was talking about. I replied back that life’s been good to me so far, and then he blankly stared at me.
“GOT ANY ROODLES, YOU FUCKING HUMAN VOID??!!”
It was early, and I was a little on the snarly side. Looking back , I might have been irrational, but I care not for the feelings of retail salesmen.
“What you say????? We have remon juice and brananas, even chocorate bars, pick now, or get out fo-EVA!”
I pulled out my fork and stuck it in his forehead.
“I eat with a fork, what do you eat with??” I calmly asked.
“You die now!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!” he chirped back.
The small chinaman ran at me, then jumped up and kicked me directly in the nose. Blood poured out of my nostrils, like a tranquil waterfall surrounded by rotting food. I jumped back, did an Irish jig (as I’ve been known to do in times of stress) and tackled him to the ground and began to punch him in the face as hard as I could. He fell asleep or something, because he wasn’t moving. He didn’t seem to be dead, but just to make sure, I shoved a hand mixer into his throat and began to mix until blood spewed forth. I looked around cautiously, then did the “2 legit 2 quit” hand movement along to an imaginary beat provided to me by my own brain.
The store fell into a state of suspended animation, or so it seemed, until an even smaller lady shoved a corn stalk in my back.
She shrieked at me, the eyes of a lunatic glaring into my soul.
“Hang soo chi, good for me! Xiang chu tao, you die now!!!!!!!!”
The situation was serious. There she was, a four foot chinawoman with a broken corn stalk in her hand threatening me with death. I had to act quickly.
I rolled back behind the canned goods and grabbed some water chestnuts. Using my butterfly knife, I poked a hole in the can and threw it at the woman. She began to twitch; water chestnut juice is like kryptonite to the Chinese. This gave me a chance.
The window of opportunity was small indeed. I ran at her with my knife and stuck it in her throat, much like one would do with a pig. I removed the knife from the wound and blood began to pour out like a faucet. I guess that’s where the old expression “bleeding like a stuck pig” came from.
I held her by the hair and kissed her on the forehead, then scalped her and hung it from the lamp above me. Stealing her goods and pornographic magazines was much needed therapy for me. I felt slightly bad for killing a couple of store workers, but that passed when I noticed that there was an itch on my scrotum.
Daylight was still to come, but I was rather fatigued, so I rented a room at the adult video store and had a quick nap. It’s peculiar that when you sleep in the lesbian aisle, people tend to stomp on your ribs and call you a fantasmic cosmonaut. I tried to sever a man’s leg at the knee, but fell short when the entire series of “Dildo Whores” fell from the shelf onto my face.
Then I rode ‘my’ moped home.
My brain was working a split shift, my body slowly extinguishing the flames of awareness. In the early morning, a different sort of folk walk amongst us. I passed a phone booth, and a scraggly man grunted and threw his now emptied vodka bottle at me.
I walked over to the man and passed his bottle back to him, giving him back the only thing that defined him; an alcoholic. I told him that shine is better, hearing only a slight gurgle as recognition of my voice.
Stealing bread nets a reward of limb amputation in some countries. In my world, gurgling is rewarded with swift justice.
“You filthy boar! The early morn is considered a good time to die, I trust you agree?”
He grunted again, this time spewing forth chunks of stomach lining and bile. Such a waste of skin needs not rehabilitation; rehabilitation for him would come in the form of a blade.
I played jingle bells on the phone pad, and then tied him to the booth with some rope. He was too sloshed to even notice. Sympathy is my one weakness, so I unsheathed my scimitar and with one precise movement, removed his head from his spine and watched as it crashed down to the ground. When a man is beheaded, a strange presence illuminates the air for a split second, then fizzles out as quickly as it came. Oddly enough, I could swear that I smelled Aqua Velva as I glared at his blood.
I entered the corner store not knowing what to expect. The china store is a funny little place. Normally I wear deci-dams when I go to the store, due to the annoying conversation that usually takes place.
A triangular shaped hat slowly ascended from behind the counter.
“Ahhhhhh welcum too my shop of mystawee and suspense”
The man stood 5 feet tall, perhaps weighing in at 103 pounds. I asked him if he could feel it coming in the air tonight. He told me that he didn’t know what I was talking about. I replied back that life’s been good to me so far, and then he blankly stared at me.
“GOT ANY ROODLES, YOU FUCKING HUMAN VOID??!!”
It was early, and I was a little on the snarly side. Looking back , I might have been irrational, but I care not for the feelings of retail salesmen.
“What you say????? We have remon juice and brananas, even chocorate bars, pick now, or get out fo-EVA!”
I pulled out my fork and stuck it in his forehead.
“I eat with a fork, what do you eat with??” I calmly asked.
“You die now!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!” he chirped back.
The small chinaman ran at me, then jumped up and kicked me directly in the nose. Blood poured out of my nostrils, like a tranquil waterfall surrounded by rotting food. I jumped back, did an Irish jig (as I’ve been known to do in times of stress) and tackled him to the ground and began to punch him in the face as hard as I could. He fell asleep or something, because he wasn’t moving. He didn’t seem to be dead, but just to make sure, I shoved a hand mixer into his throat and began to mix until blood spewed forth. I looked around cautiously, then did the “2 legit 2 quit” hand movement along to an imaginary beat provided to me by my own brain.
The store fell into a state of suspended animation, or so it seemed, until an even smaller lady shoved a corn stalk in my back.
She shrieked at me, the eyes of a lunatic glaring into my soul.
“Hang soo chi, good for me! Xiang chu tao, you die now!!!!!!!!”
The situation was serious. There she was, a four foot chinawoman with a broken corn stalk in her hand threatening me with death. I had to act quickly.
I rolled back behind the canned goods and grabbed some water chestnuts. Using my butterfly knife, I poked a hole in the can and threw it at the woman. She began to twitch; water chestnut juice is like kryptonite to the Chinese. This gave me a chance.
The window of opportunity was small indeed. I ran at her with my knife and stuck it in her throat, much like one would do with a pig. I removed the knife from the wound and blood began to pour out like a faucet. I guess that’s where the old expression “bleeding like a stuck pig” came from.
I held her by the hair and kissed her on the forehead, then scalped her and hung it from the lamp above me. Stealing her goods and pornographic magazines was much needed therapy for me. I felt slightly bad for killing a couple of store workers, but that passed when I noticed that there was an itch on my scrotum.
Daylight was still to come, but I was rather fatigued, so I rented a room at the adult video store and had a quick nap. It’s peculiar that when you sleep in the lesbian aisle, people tend to stomp on your ribs and call you a fantasmic cosmonaut. I tried to sever a man’s leg at the knee, but fell short when the entire series of “Dildo Whores” fell from the shelf onto my face.
Then I rode ‘my’ moped home.
