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parisknyghts · 11 months

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The Greats (a novella)

The Greats

"The greatest beings find out they must come together to fight evil or something ". Episode one

Chapter One - Piper

Piper sat down just a second, having just finished her daily 250 mile jog, she felt she deserved a little bit of the rest as it were.

The first fist flew past her face fast, her reaction time always on the right key eller note she managed to not only stand up but dodge the heavy bladed weapon that was thrown at her back. It dug fourteen feet deep into the mostly innocent maple tree that provided many passersby a bit o shade... For a price.

Ten.

She counted 9 masked, armed and possibly underage assailants surrounding her person, it was ten but by the time she finished counting she had already dislodged the obsidian harpoon from the tree trunk and had returned it to the owner. The stabby way, like it landed into and through his coccyx parts. He screamed like a bitch and went down even more like a bitch or something.

Piper drove the outer edge of her forearm into the first approaching thug, a rather large fellow, she slowed his attempt at a tackle by shattering his upper windpipe.

Pushing him away with a thrust kick she used her pencak silat training to swifty turn and completely rip out the neck nerve of another.

"A ha!" She shouted mockingly.

For a brief second she switched to ledrit style to leap in the air, spin kick another fool before dropping the bone part of her knee onto the big guys back most neck gristle. It went kaputz.

"A ho!" She shouted from her foaming mouth.

American wrasslin was up next, the jog had driven Piper into a frenzy.

She spun and dodged the next attacker before catching the masked woman by her waist and overhead belly to back suplexing her through a nearby hadron collider.

It exploded and the shrapnel flew all around, injuring two more attackers most important groin bones.

A saito suplex to another heavy one left his upper body meat and confidence and health a shambles.

As Piper yanked one of the assailants ribs from his back to use as a weapon on another goon he fell to his knees and begged off.

"Please! I beg you, it's only a telegram. Don't hurt me and me mates anymore..."

Piper slowly dug the rib bone into the man's left most eye.

She said, "A what?"

The man slowly and with Shakey hands reached deep down into the front of his mossy pants and produced a wet envelope. Fat shiny leeches swarmed the outer layer, they tasted funny.

"F... Fighting telegram ma'am. It's supposed to be all in good fun, a little row to get the juices going." He said like a chump.

They both had a good and hearty laugh as Piper took the telegram.

"Do you think I could remove this rib bone from my -"

"No, no leave it in. It suits you." Piper said as she walked away, the mechanics of opening the envelope proving to be quite befuddling.

That's when the second chapter happened.

Chapter two - Bridewell

Hock Bridewell was an Ill man, his cellmate Jug Illman however was pretty even keeled and unabashedly polite.

As Bridewell shaved his back, the sounds of the old man struggling underneath Jug began to get on his nerves.

Bridewell could shave his own back because he had cool ass long arms, like he could scratch his ankles while standing straight up and shit. It was awesome.

For a shaving instrument he preferred to use a baleen whale tooth he stole when he was aught 13 years old (adjusting for inflation of course). He stole it from a plug ugly pirates French maid, the cool of her last breath as he leapt upon her back over and over gave a nearby kitten a shiver.

Kittens are baby cats who come out of the cats cloaca after they dig a deep hole on a safe enough beach and shed their last skin.

Bridewell liked kittens but he did not like cats. When cats get too old their fur tastes too much like shit.

"I'll have that cigarette I owe you in a few years Bridewell me pal, I've finally secured myself a spot on the kitchen staff. Tis a working man now I am!" Jug said with a greasy grin. He quivered for a spell before grabbing his yummy belly.

"You alright there...?" Bridewell stared at his cellmate with great and deep concern in his autumn hued eyes. He had never seen the man so much as sneeze or cough or eat or sleep or drink or talk or breathe or blink or have a shadow or -

The sound of a man screaming in the distance was soon followed by the familiar roar of a drunk Minotaur. It sounded sexy.

Wayward but dapperly dressed Minotaurs were known to leave their salty hovels from time to time and enter Pleasureville prison from time to time through a door in the back that no one ever remembered to lock.

They would get drunk off 10 day old pig wine and become well randy and quite talkative.

Even rarer though it was still like everyday they would grab a man by his arms and legs and head and groin and pull the opposite direction. Merriment was had by all.

Another cool game the Minotaurs and prisoners liked to play was they would see how fast they could debone. The rules were kinda vague but basically the bones had to be removed one by one, and the wish bone was to be avoided. You didn't have to start with the feet but prisoners sometimes have more bones in their feet than other people. Last count it was like 650 (as reported by famed bone counter and astrophysicist Neil Degrasse Iron Mike Tyson chickens and peer reviewed.

Bridewell retrieved his trusty abacus from deep in the toilet and began to calculate the size of the Minotaur by the scale of it's bellow.

As Jug violently shook on the cell floor, frothy blood squiring out of his ears in short burst and pooling around the feet of a passing turtle, Bridewell secured Gjölly to his back.

"Stay here Jug my friend. I'll return soon, I have business with this particular Minataor." Bridewell said with a wry upturn of his uppermost lip.

With a pep in his ass and step he sauntered out of the cell.

CHAPTER 3 - Bridewell

GJÖLLY was the solid stone sledgehammer that belonged to Bridewell. It was a magnificent weapon and tool. Made from the rock that some giant wolf was pooping next to, Bridewell noticed it's strange dexterity and smell.

The big ugly dog or wolf or whatever was tied to it by a very lazy owner. Bridewell took the stone and the chain and used them to forge his mighty weapon. He has yet to find anything that it cannot smash like a boss, ya heard me shorty?

"Leslie, you cheap bastard! Time to pay the piper." Bridewell said as he stood on the gray cracked wall, directly above the shocked Minotaur (or Leslie as he was known to his chums and trivia night contemporaries).

Leslie set both duffle bags full of ear bones down and was obviously annoyed at having been startled.

"My word Bridewell, have you no manors. I swear you're going to give me a stroke one of these days. Sneaking about as you do." Leslie droned.

Bridewell hopped down from the wall and circled around Leslie with a smile.

Leslie was becoming perturbed. He said, "... Is everything kosher Hock? You seem a little, tense. You say you're working for Piper now.. the thing between she and I is personal. If she has anything she needs to say to me, she can pick up the phone or drop a telegram like a normal goddamn per-"

The sound of Leslie's collar bone snapping in five places as Bridewell leapt into the air and with great gusto and glee brought Gjölly down onto his person, was kinda cool.

Her erect vagina signaled the need for interest in Lickity Split as she observed the much bloody interaction.

The mission of recruitment weighed heavier on what was left or right about her soul.

Chapter 13

Wicked.. a taste of the morrow. Is the word. But then…

Paul was not an unpeculiar fellow. Some would say he had a knack for the abstract by way of "jack o tradeitis", the man knew just a little bit enough about almost everything but not a bit enough to make something of it.

He sat cross legged atop his banyan wood desk puffing away at a tobacco pipe full of lush brown brown and locally sourced cinnamon, pondering the small ownerless Pomeranian skulking past his pale green garden. He wondered what that hund smelled like.

With an awful crash the door to Paul's office splintered and buckled and just a shade later the whole piece of wood split and almost fell to the floor save hanging by a meager hinge.

Paul straightened his back and let out a puff of smoke in dismay as standing before him in the doorway, nearly breathless and disheveled was a man named Jack.

A large bodied, furrowed brow and damp with sweat his muscles had torn through the sections of his brooks brothers suit making the man look most ill fashioned.

He was holding a bent ax, the one a lumberjack might carry but well rusted and twisted at the center in what Paul presumed was some sort of chopping accident.

Paul spake "I say jack, we haven't seen you in at least a season! Since I believe the whole debacle with Mrs. Havershams stray gazelle.."

"Shut your fucking mouth you sick ... Fuck!" Jack worded.

Jack reached into his trousers and produced a thick and tattered paper cover novel of some type. He tossed it into Paul's face and raised his ax high into the air. Really high.

"Explain this!"

Paul took thirty short puffs from his pipe and retrieved the novel from the floor where it had landed after hitting him in the nose. The blood from which slowly dripped down his face.

Jack fumed and his buxom chest muscles heaved as he practiced an ancient art known to few as Patience fu. Taught to him no doubt by the great practitioner Hanzo Gruber of little Berlin in West Kyoto, Paul suspected.

Paul studied the tome with little more than a few grunts and slight eyebrow raises. Maybe a wry upturn of his lips or the turgidity of his left nipple betrayed his conclusions.

After a few terse moments he looked up at jack and said..

"...why did you throw this in my face? It's quite heavy and appears to have both semen and fecal matter on it."

Jack bristled, "that's my fecal matter you son of a bitch. Stop changing the subject. What's the meaning of this? Why did I find it locked up in your shoddy ass basement and why does it have the names and personal info of hundreds..."

He took a step forward crushing a few roaches and snatched the pipe from Paul's hand with great violent force, shattering one of the man's favorite fingers and scratching deep enough to expose white meat.

Paul was deeply offended and finally uncrossed his legs. Sternly he addressed his increasingly unwelcome guest.

Paul said, "I'm not as happy about knowing you as much as I was before, jack."

Jack spit in Paul's mouth just as the final venomous words were being spat from his part time lord and keep.

Jack bellowed, "Lies! This vile wretched ... Accursed thing! When I found it, I .. the madness! The flames.. heaving breast, flames licking my face -"

He began to pace in a semi counter clockwise concentric mobius strip. He muttered to himself at the top of his voice as Paul began to become annoyed at the loss of his pipe.

"Why.. why did it have hundreds.. maybe thousands of people's names, and addresses.. and..."

He stopped after stepping on another sweet roach and turned to Paul.

"....Paul. Yellow paper? And why are most of the people in your... Book. Why are they dead?"

Paul smiled, " and why the business listings and adverts jack? I don't know what -"

Jack swung the bottom most part of his leg high into the air and brought it down on Paul's scrotum bones with a crunch.

Jack whispered, "I visited those homes. Those people and those businesses too as well Paul. You know what I found in your sick wake?! Entire places called blockbuster left abandoned with nothing but rats and mostly used but still usable condoms! What did you do to those people?!"

"My nutsack hurts!" Paul chided.

Jack was becoming unnerved.

Chapter 10

Paul thought a lot. He liked thinking because being smart was what gave him boners. He liked getting boners since he could recall being a wee lad standing on the marmy shore, fish shit and sand between his toes as he watched the treacherous waves.

"They come and they go boyboy... They come and they go. Like your aunty on a Sunday." The cracked out but still kinda hot in a nerdy kinda way bullet train hobo barked, his voice seemingly the result of him drinking a mixture of glass and coffee.

It was times such as this that were around 5 am. Also, it was ass can open of whooping time as it so happened that the boy known as Paul "Falcon" Maltese had exactly one so called friend.

"Grrrrreada ooooopar ficu fuck.." Jack screamed as his heavy blows rained down onto and collapsed the skull parts of the hobo. About the monkey blood stained man's middle torso and inner thigh meat Jack jumped up and also down.

As the man's bitch ass screams became wheezing pleads of prayer or mercy Paul turned to gaze back out at the wet water. With his eyes. Which were also wet.

"Why hast those words... That that man had said... Why do they stick with me so." Paul purred.

A seagull with two heads swooped down and expertly pooped into the gaping mouth of a sunbathing maiden as she slumber. The Z's coming out of her huge boobs were sharp. Man. Her boobs were like, so huge.

The sound of her smile as she swallowed the umami guano brought Paul to his revelation.

"I'm super smart and I should be a detective because I'm good at noticing things mon!" He said in a Jamaican accent.

Paul turned 72 cubits catercorner to Jack's left most knee.

"I say, dear jack. I shall return. I'm going to go become a famous detective!"

Jack gave Paul a blood plasma covered handed high five and 6 before leaping 68 billion parsecs into the air, snatching the sexy seagull out of the sky with his bare dick.

Jack bellowed "I don't give a fuck what you do. Just don't ever be evil or I'll kill your whole body till it's wet and dirty!"

With a splat and perhaps half of a skasplooshka his nutsack snapped back into place and Paul was brought back to the hear and now.

Then he realized he was past aggravated, ideally seeing a grave misunderstanding about to be birthed Paul raised a single elbow into the air.

"If I am who you think I am, and I deduce that if it weren't so then you would kommer ikke into my personal home and barraged me with these redundant and weak sauce ass queries! Now haste your genital blows. Away with your besotted and furthhence insipidus moral artillery, motherfucker! Disrepute and gelatinous gallons of spunk I spit uton your violent ways, especially when aimed towards my personal pieces! You have within your hot bod a flame of mystery.. and who else. Nay. Nah son. What else... Could possibly scratch your itchy ass gooch? I.. Paul Maltese!! Shall solve this most fatigued riddle for you. If you have money." Paul moaned seductively so loud that his throat parts began to a shimmy and a shake.

Jack looked his old comrade up and west before reaching into his pants roundabouts his crotch side and producing an eye juice and temple sinew laden dog leash for dogs.

He said, " .... That piece of pussy clot was having his dog make fart solids on your lawn so I made his eyeballs into a pussy."

Paul produced an illegally sourced teak wood smoking pipe from his desk after fumbling around in his broken Fleshlight drawer for ten minutes before turning to jack.

"I will always have your back, too old friend. You are.. a good man."

Paul poured a fathom of gin and black tar heroin into his pipe before picking up a local rat and squeezing its arse tendon juice into the exotic mixture. He struck a match and it called the cops.

I know, right?

Chapter 7

Guiltee McKee hard a had life. Reading what was not good for his brain like. Sometimes math made him anal muscles feel itch and bad hurt!

He walk funny and look ugly so titty people with fancy hats and tight cloth cross the street or snicker like candy bars at Guiltee.

"Him have soft dick for life style currently." He whispered in him crooked cranium.

Happen upon most prestigious government funded money laundry scheme.

"B... Bunk. Bunk have papers trade for cheap ass."

Sudden Guiltee have wood in top penis. He hard AF.

"Guiltee who is me! Me Guiltee go put security fucker clitoris gristle in mouth and clomp!? When me have money for ass. Ill repute ass great for these me penis!" He sang as he skipped down the road.

Paul turned the volume of his pale gray Sony walkman down, the Ramones will have to wait. And they were famously known to hate waiting.

As he slowly but confidently climbed out of the rustic yet quaint city dumpster Paul readjusted his condom, keeping close watch on the piece of shit ugly bastard known as Guiltee "possibly up to something or a rapist I don't know he looks fucked up" McKee.

"Methinks this will be a fun ride."

Paul drooled. The way he slurped up his own spit sounded like an angry gay elephant.

Making sure to stay no less than 40.544 kilometers but no more than 6.988887 barleycorns within his mark Paul kept one wet eye on Guiltee (ugly ass piece of shit), and one dry eye on his surroundings.

Obviously observation serves tons of folk bro. On the middle left a toad's bits and crannies hung lazily on a mossy prostitute's back as she sat reverse cowgirl upon a poor excuse for a log.

On the nearer left a jackal slunk about with a sway in it's tender gait indicting the iller effects of drug abuse, no doubt scavenging about behind Old Man McScabbies absinthe laden meat pie store.

Guiltee turned his nasty looking body towards the street where other ugly people probably lived. If their bods were decent enough Paul might throw one of em a handful of his essence.

Guiltee hunched over and took a bite out of the fallen ice cream stained pavement and began to chew.

Sharpening his crooked bicuspids.. Paul surmised with his brain. He loaded a few .454 cassulls into his mateba autorevolver and checked his fanny pack to make sure his stash of rusty hypodermic needles were well stocked. They were.

Guiltee leaned heavily against a graffitied wall across from a thriving coxswain thrift depot and began massaging his own prostate while he chewed his gravel, surveying the land.

Paul stopped by an ancient news-stand and took a long hardy piss on the intricately displayed candy selection so as to not draw suspicion to himself.

"Hey! You can't urinate your piss on me knickknacks and wares ya bloody twat!" Shouted the owner seductively.

Paul tossed a few pence over the elderly lady's visage and as her greed distracted her Paul quickly scooped all his urine back into his penis and disappear down an alleyway.

Chapter 80

"The art of deduction is for losers." Thought officer Growler.

599 wet bodies lay stacked upon one another in a most ghastly and some would say gaudy fashion.

The local donut clowns were perplexed and full of vitriol, once again having been outwitted by the crime dude coined and perhaps dinar'd "bony ass robber guy".

"Bony ass robber guy is number -135 on the most wanted list. My supervisor or general or whatever is pissed at me and keeps making me cry. I love him. Doesn't he see that? Am... Am I invisible?" Sergeant Growler was a wreck. Three thousand failed marriages. A smidgen of herp on his dick and a wagon he used to ride but fell off of due to his liquid porn addiction. The rookies shook their long heads behind open halls in plain sight and spit in his ear whenever and wherever he roamed.

Growler placed a single tongue on officer Bricksticks shoulder.

"Officer Bricksticks... I'm going to pass out. Tell my momma.. she had some tig ol' biddies.. and... I wish I coulda.. " Growler began to openly weep from the front of his pants and some of his eyes.

"A bit of curds and whey for lunch it is then, plus if I were you I'd get that dick problem checked out." Paul mimed. Catching the attention of Officer Growler from behind the rancid pile of cat bones stacked in the shape of a throne.

Officer Growler threw up in his own mouth and then swallowed it and then repeated the process for forty minutes as he slowly crawled on his shoulders and knees towards the gumshoe.

"E FUCKING gad Maltese. How do you do it? And what are you doing here? Last I heard you and your beastie got nicked for a few skull crushings and international peeping Tom Geneva violations down in middle Aberdeen." Growler spat.

Maltese shuddered and let out a small puff of smoke, "We escaped, Growler."

Growler spat, "You don't say".

"I studied under and inside many great escape artists the world over, plus as you are quite aware I am a master of over 40 deadly and arcane scientific fields. Banned and shunned by even the cruelest of philosophers and theoretical astrophysicist."

"Nope, I didn't know shit about that." Growler screamed.

"Not to mention I managed to procure the souls of several battle tacticians, Warfield assassin's and six buff Aussies."

"Oh fuck.. for real?"

Maltese smirked with his mouth and lips.

"I told you all this before, no doubt your low and pathetic level of intelligence has caused you some form of voluntary brain retard life."

".....ok. Why -"

"Allow me propose a bit of quo pro quid. I suggest that I help you with what is most presently perplexing you and your limp dick partner and in return you... Simply do me a small favor."

Officer Bricksticks approached scratching his chest hair through the rips in his uniform, "Wow, you really are a master detective Maltese. How did you know I was a limp dicked?"

Maltese grew slightly impatient.

Stuffing his Triassic period amber dabbed maple wood pipe with two ounces of bath salt soaked hashish he took a deep pull, being offered a light by a passing broad with a nice hat and a wet smile.

"By the gait in her walk I can tell she is a fan of what is known colloquially as doggystyle, note the curve of her shadow as the ultraviolet rays bounce off her loose bunghole. Poorly concealed beneath a knock off gorilla skin hoop skirt most likely haggled in the purple light district. As evidenced by the burnt sheepskin condom stain on the nape of her shoulder." Maltese spun around six times and then faced the officers.

"You, Growler are super gayly in a tryst with your immediate supervisor and are in no doubt great pain in your penis knuckle as well as your soul. The knot in your cheap government issued tie is off by exactly tenteen atomic units which is a mistake you only make when you are under great physical and emotional stress. Exhibit A.. you will recall thrice regaling me with a long and boring tale of your school boy days. In which you cried yourself to sleep at night for ten years straight due to worrying that your parents would one day remember to care about you and in doing so would find out that you were only barely passing your classes. Also during which time a banded eyed racoon had taken up residence in your dorm room and would sexually hurt your body at night." Maltese screamed with a frothy mouth.

Growler amazed, "how did you -"

"I took the liberties of invading your mother's home and finding a photo of you from that time previous, your school uniform was off... By exactly tenteen atomic.. units. Stress. And you officer Bricksticks, a few of my larger mates took turns on your long missing sister and during which she revealed to them that for your entire life you've had precisely two tragedies and one phobia. Tragedy moja - when you were born the doctors left you on the floor while out on a well deserved smoke break, neglecting to cut your umbilical cord. Instead differing the task to the lice infested rats, albeit smart ones. One of whom would proceed to begin a several days long psuedosexual affair with your nasty mum. Until of course he broke her heart. Driving her to a most orgasmic and brutal suicide. Tragedy mbili, five years ago you were out walking your blind dog -"

"How did.. is my sister ok? -"

Maltese grinned from ear to ear, "No. She's dead. Now, Silence. Obviously the dander on your shoulder and mouth and fingers betray the swill you feed your mutt. Poor in quality and high in nitric molecules that over a very short amount of time lead to a dog's nuts falling off and wicked cool eye degradation."

"Well I make a most meager wage.."

Paul stomped down on the officer's hip with enough force to impress a disparate bloke.

"I demand you stop interrupting me as I haven't the minutes nor seconds. When you were walking your hunde it sniffed out some bone. Bones that had inexplicably been claimed by a giant marmalade cat. It was rat bone. They fought. You ran. They chased you, forming a bond over your cowardice. They forced you down and ripped your uniform and put the rat bones in your penis hole. They stalk you and every once in a while.. like today. As shown by your ripped uniform.. they repeat the assault. So now.. officer Bricksticks. With the trauma of the rat. The bones. The throne. All of these things have given you a phobia."

Maltese posed like hulk Hogan, gesturing towards the bone throne.

"With this, before you. Your phobia is triggered.. causing your very dick. To be quite currently and possibly forever... as they say… a limp."

The officers looked at each other, thought about kissing and then looked back at Maltese.

"...sorry to have doubted your genius deduction skills Maltese. We're sold. What do you need.... Master?" They groaned.

Maltese took a quick sixteen puffs..

"Gentleman.. if you and your badges will follow me."

Chapter 2

We were all arrows, long time ago..

The air was bitter and salty, scraping against Paul's face like so many shards of night.

"Do you believe the comets ever falter, young Falcon?" Queried the Akkadian mage, striking her volcanic thunder forged sasumata in a mnemonic pattern.

Against the burning elk which shook alongside the earth, with each blow stoic embers danced like big booty freaks when the beat is bumpin'. Ya heard me?

Paul struggled to maintain his inner mantra, each inhale a harsh reminder that he had yet to transcend.

"It's not up to us to judge the tenacity of the cosmos.. we cannot fathom the importance of their final destination.." Paul whispered as the sharp stone he balanced upon slowly dug into his fine ass foot palms.

The Mage turned a keen nestle milky eye quickly towards her apprentice. She said in a low growl, "..becoming a master of escape requires the blood and sacrifice of the weak. Word life."

Rising up from her perch, the mage with a swiftness of a coked up peregrine leaped towards Paul, swinging her weapon with such force that the air around it began to sizzle.

Paul spun on his blisters in time to dodge the blow but in doing so lost his balance and fell neck first onto a hissing cobra with an attitude.

It bit the shit out of his neck skin and back bacon meat. Paul didn't like this for some reason and writhed in pain as the mage rubbed her pert nips and cackled.

"Why... Like.... What the fuck for real tho?" Paul whinnied as the venom coursed through his veins like a grand prix.

The Mages teeth twinkled ever so suddenly as she nodded towards the snake.

"Solstices ago, when the moon was still sat in the sky so close you felt you could reach out and fuck it.. I needed to borrow ten bucks. So I sold my essence to a passing serpent who told me he knew a guy. Yadda yadda, I needed to offer the taste of a fool to pay the vig. So.... Yeah." She mused as the snake winked at her and retrieved its auburn derby hat, it's business here no doubt reaching a most satisfying conclusion.

"Ok well fuck you and that bitch ass snake. I should -"

Paul was yanked back to now as the nightmarish screams of several lethargic coxswains floated heavy on the flap of so many burning leaves.

A near to pomegranate bonsai tree made a most curious birth, the expulsion thick with a tepid sweet eller metallic aroma that struck with a most furious yeet.

One coxswain proclaimed, "ohhhh shit. Ok. This isn't good. I don't like this."

Paul gyrated towards his center view of the situation, it was as thus.

Two billion factory workers ran in hexagonal zag zigs as their flesh began to smell hella good. Similar to an Austin, Texas inspired seasoned mesquite sauce burnt on an onion laden brisket, coleslaw made of sweet earwax like big momma used to beat you for eating. A downtrodden depot behind them smoldering most river Styx like, stank ass brimstone waning near beauty.. their noice skulls displayed signs of hurt.

"Ok.... Ok. This is fucked. This fucked me. What the fuck?" Growler brayed as he emptied his twelfth to second clip into the jowls of the now 52 hay bale tall Guiltee McKee.

The suave behemoth swallowed the bullets fired into his crooked mouth with a gulp before slowly removing his wet cotton fatigues. The scent of the newly formed cloud droppings took a most throbbing route as heated beads of innocent bystander marrow formed big black estuaries along the ripples of his officer meat filled tooths.

He said "Me stupid, and Iggy.. am so pain in blood pump organ, most ball blue in era. Most ball... Blue.."

Paul placed his damp palms and fingers and knuckles into his last pocket as he approached a clearly unnerved officer Growler.

"Relax bro. Everything will be fine." Paul snickered as he gently eased growler to the soil.

"But... He ate bullets... Then he ate... He ate my partn... He ate... Oh shit.. my donuts... I left them in the shop... The police carshop I mean." Growler spat as he hissed.

Paul had little time to ascertain the situation, which had spun least heinously out of fubar.

Chapter 54

Some people taste funny. Ain't nothin this ol' dirtball can throw that can break down a strong will.

Maltese furiously scrolled through his vintage Asian porn collection located on his computer phone like device as he gathered his thoughts. His palms began to sweat as the terse temperature caused by the burning people running past became a nuisance, he enlarged the gif of a thick veiny vulva and meditated.

Guiltee McKee was a query of a specimen. He was ugly. He smelled like a dusty wallabys taint, and his shoe game was lacking. Still, upon consumption of various forms of matter he would grow in size and strength, as well as developing a slightly indifferent cowlick.

"Me are balls blue!!" The hulking brute autotuned as his rampage became exceedingly erratic.

Reason. Craft. Achieve. Thought Paul as he finished adding his twelve thousand word long scathing review to the comment section of the bukaki video he was currently studying.

"Bad form" would be a magnetic summary of his intrepid thoughts.

The detective sauntered over to the unattractive criminal, his soft but taut hips swaying side to side and up to down with a hateful riddim.

"I say... Oaf. May I bother you for a few picoseconds of your temporal proclivity." Maltese was in true form.

Guiltee turned to face Maltese with a look that said "bitch, please" and tossed aside the bowl of kneecaps he was munching.

"When you have words for Guiltee... Bu.. bunk hurt. No time for fake ones, mustard on the beat!"

Maltese checked the hours and seconds hands position on his flame retardant limited edition patek, the raw speckles of oort cloud asteroid mined diamond dust that coated the face impressed even the most frugal of bastards.

He said, "I am a man of great skills, intelligence and style. No doubt when you gaze at my person you feel pangs of jealousy and doubts concerning your manhood... Stop me when I'm lying."

Guiltee was taken aback, he clutched his pearls in abackness.

"..........continue." he said as he choked a little bit on the eyeball juices of an elderly barkeep who happened to be in town for a high school reunion. Awkward.

Paul stepped ever so closer to the hulking brute, whose unattractive but muscular tendons glistened against a smoggy early winter backdrop. With each deep breath the beads of steaming perspiration evaporated into tiny altocumulus clouds that formed a breathless atmosphere of contempt and desire near the monster's buff ass chest. His buxom tongue hung damply from heaving lips, temptation unbound as a furtive damsel peered out of her sniper encampment for only two reasons. To kill the enemy. And to take peeks at the ugly ass hot dude eating people and gravel roundabouts the coxswain depot.

Anyway. Paul licked the side of his rose petal infused Damascus pipe before inserting a pound of raw crushed Percocet, lighting it on the smoldering frontal lobe of a soon to be deceased boat barnacle collector, Paul took 7 long puffs and then 68 short hits before stepping ever so much closer to the now entranced galoot.

"Check it. I didn't do any research into your background but I can tell you're all fucked up bruh, from the cat jizz stain on your favorite aglet, one with a decent degree of learning can surmise that a cat jizzed on your shoe. It was a multiplier. Your mood already askew after having awakened from yet another lonely evening dry humping your previous landlord's ribcage sinew, procured by nefarious means no doubt." Paul puffed away as Guiltee slowly took a knee, the detective's mastery of deduction and weavery of alphabet math stuff was noice. Having a calming but moist effect on even the most astute of pervs, nuttas and wayward carny.

Maltese had sway.

"Me... Me feel getted. Me want more of brain man. Wicked boner me have." Guiltee whispered into his own armpit.

Paul stepped once again closer to the foolish beast, now within a breahes hair or less than 907 half hectares the detectives pungent crotch just barely grazed Guiltee McKees chin split.

"I and you are not that same Mr. McKee, if I may call you such..." Malteses keen eye spied officer Growler being a bitch. Also crawling towards his cruiser. Paul continued, "I get ass all the time. Because I'm awesome. I'm just keeping it real with you, you're whack. But with my expertise in flavor and clout chasing I can turn your paltry existence into something that benefits me and most likely grants you what you so desperately desire..."

"Hooker love!" Shouted Guiltee.

"Precisely. Now Guiltee, if you will.. so kindly dust yourself off. We can begin."

Maltese turned his back towards the front of officer Growler.

"Belay that reload officer. I and the monster have come to a most amicable armistice. Isn't that right motherfucker?"

Guiltee nodded in agreement.

"Yup. We are peace now. Apologies for what eat people and destroy factory depot. Me shit. Me surrender." And with that guiltee began regurgitating all the irritating mark ass tricks he ate.

The hulking behemoth, now only 8 feet tall and a svelte 500 leagues heavy, smiled and turned to face the detective.

"Me am.....-"

Seizing the opportunity, Maltese reach into his utility belt and grabbed a handful of hypodermic needles, which he then proceeded to toss into the criminal's face muscles. Guiltee screamed and wailed as the exotic drugs and poisons entered his body and burned. Causing mental and menstrual hallucinations as well as itchy aortic migraines.

Maltese spit on a gray pigeon that flew too close before grabbing many more needles and slowly dropping them into Guiltee McKees back pants around the butt area. Expertly, Paul grinded the sharp interlopers into the criminal's anal situation.

Guiltee bellowed and howled. Slippery warm tears pooled atop his musty upper lip as the buffoon wailed.

He sounded like a straight bitch. For real.

Chapter 22

Take your time sweet child, and then may the wicked come..

Officer Growler awoke with a start, ribs were damaged. Breathing laboured and shallow, wet. Metallic taste tainted the fruit of his lower mandible, his loins were a little achy but other than that he was alright, I guess.

He strained to see past the stars hindering his vision, both of his eyes and his hefty belly button were swollen shut, a mighty knot swell up as if so many volcano on his top moist head. A single tuft of silky hair sat pon the lump, Fred Flintstone wouldst get a nominal boner from how awesome the lump looked.

"D.... Donuts .. need.... Don..." The officer stereotyped as thick human blood pooled in his throat. His blood.

Maltese was close by, but said fuck that and continued on his personal mission. He put his new Fleshlight away and stare deeply into the now fallen and quite lucid Guiltee McKees eye bits.

"Now... That I have successfully captured your attention, and before the fuzz no doubt place you into a deep dark guarded hole.. I require a bit of information." Maltese snatched a small sparrow from the ground and then spun it in a circle before launching it into the air. It flew... But not how people like sparrows to fly.

"B... Bunk .. me hurt.. drugs so potent... Me help them. Please.. cure our selves .." Guiltee spouted.

Paul pulled his pants back up around his waist fromst his ankles and took a comfortable seat on the pavement beside his bested foe.

"You poor bastard.. succumbed to the vile violent. The wretched Desire. In the blink of a whores pink eye you fell asleep, and in your slumber you forgot who the fuck you was dealing with. Now tell me where I can find one associate of yours before I set the rabid dogs of justice loosed."

"Who you look at for?! Please.. me snitch... Me snitch so hard for you.. me snitch you long time." Guiltee said in a poor but serviceable eastern Sicilian affect.

Maltese got a boner from how good he was at his detective stuff.

Chapter 6

Average!? I beg to differ, and I aim to please.

Some people called her Hattie. Well, the pieces of shit that managed to survive her existence did anyway. She had many names.

Picture this. Backdrop, harsh drought circa west Lebanon. A poorly trained and fallable vagina physicist named Portsmouth soaped down and gloved up for a suicide mission, he was set to task as presently the finest molecular biologist this side of Istanbul got herself in a family way.

She exhaled twelve thick clouds of pure krank from her multifaceted canary yellow tsavorite chalice while calculating pi to it's 630th sine integer, thus proving the nonexistent phenomenon known as "big dick energy" as she found great humor in the pain foreceding the baby making its way through her whole fancy cervix.

Having trained in wombwu-chun since she first got on the rag the fantastic and bombastic maiden let out a deep and gutteral fart noise through her bottom entrance, the density of which caused much discord and confusion amongst the lesser informed hostel patrons. They were all like "ewww..."

It didn't stink that much. Hattie fumed, reminiscing about her mother as she observed the legal maladies taking place exactly 693.5 pascals from her well scouted hiding place where she was hiding.

She watched Maltese with a great fury. The huge palooka with the needles in the front of his face was spilling all the beautiful bean footage. Gesturing wildly and slightly over dramatic with his appendages and licking his lips in a whorish but inviting fashion.

"It would appear a new game is afoot my dear detective Maltese... My lady boner is big. And my mind boner is big too. Because of the challenge... " She cussed the heavens while shaking her fist in tepid apoplexy.

Chapter 11

Call it whatever you want, just don't touch it bro.

Realizing there was no time to haste Paul Maltese sped through town at a flimsy 545 mph, barely dodging most of the pedestrian traffic as he was shivering from the constant fire he felt in his immediate bottom.

With an obstructive bleat the soggy vibrations rippled through his well defined belly and blatantly muscular intestinal tract, the big one. His guts aflutter, the world's most addictive detective pulled over with fervor, the screech of the well worn tires on his vintage red panda leather interior Subaru sounded something similar to your mom's.

"I.... Gotta take a shit." Said some weirdo who lay sprawled before the entrance, his penis and halve drunk bottle of spirits all askew.

Paul ignored the bum ass dude as he stormed into the establishment, his sharpened turd well into berth.

The information he has gleaned from Guiltee McKee had proven to be most furtive, ever closer to resolving his case he placed three thumbs deep into his booty guts to help alleviate the poopy pressure.

Approaching a fine ass freak behind the counter of a local vasectomy museum Paul licked most of his lips and said, "I... have poop coming out. Help me."

His turgid words jolted her awake, a lazy day guarding the wares of ancient losers and mummified collectables made her a dull dame.

Readjusting her patent vibranium strap on, the 9 foot tall vixen spit out three bloody teeth before loosening the tungsten wires on her chartreuse bustier, her plump breast meat was well seasoned. Smoked in burnt yak butter maplewood lotions for a lot of days and then soaked in salted peppercorn maxi pad scrapings.. she had it all.

Paul relieved himself in his mock velvet Rolex trousers and wafted away the eye watering stench with his favorite hand while lighting a bit of makeshift broken crack pipe glass resin in his rustic pipe. With a Dana carvey impression he said, "You're sexy. I don't need to use the facilities anymore.. can I sex you. With my penis?"

Chapter 88

Gods pray as well, but they too are met with painful silence..

Their sex business was poorly executed. Paul's dick top and center felt as if it were cascading against burly limestone, his partner was no help. Her dry gyrations against his impoverished member a lame brained attempt at nut busting.

The long haired gimp watching from the latticed balcony lost her erotic fever. What was supposed to be a wild evening of jacking off like a boss had become a retrospective incursion into her flailing psyche.. remembrance of times past when she walked in on her mailman and milkman double teaming the vice principal (who looked most bored).

Paul finished with a grunt and spit on his own reflection as it mocked his performance in the mirror. His sperm exited with a beleaguered sounding gong.

She looked at him funny.

"So.... You said you needed to use the phone or laboratory or something?!" She screamed while choking herself.

"Oh yeah, the case. Thanks.. I almost forgot.". Paul did with his mouth.

She tossed thirteen million crinkled and most damp yen into the puddle accumulated nearest the fridge door.

"Here. Next time don't be bad at sex, and also you made mess in the sheets. I don't like that anymore." She scatted.

Paul sat up on his tippy toes maintaining perfect balance on the water bed.

"Hmph." Was the sound his heart made.

"When we first met I anticipated your desire to grind uglies with a stranger as evidenced by the angle of your female clitoris dangle, known to harden and vary in texture.. and aroma.. when the female version of the grape ape was aroused. As you know, or maybe you don't now that I've been inside you and listened to you moan foolishly.. the grape flavored or rather hominus purpilious majori the third is our closest genetic relative."

Locusta the freak snatched her cockles deeply, the anger on her visage quite apparent.

"Obviously you're just a no pussy eating loser posing as some great detective and you're guessing your way through a sad career hanging out with lunatics and fool hardy sycophants." She cackled in a rough Irish brogue.

Maltese bristled, "Funny enough you should say that shorty, tell me. This substance that I felt under our bodies and under my current toes is supposed to be... Water? Yes?" Maltese screamed as he ripped a piece of the bed frame from its position and raised it above his knees.

With that Locusta snatched up her purse, her extensive but unimpressive CBL minor league card collection then made a quick ricotta cheese, hot prosciutto and garlic bread banh mi before leaping through the farthest window upper ankles first, her dexterity as she crashed onto a passing clerical tourist carrying a bevy of vintage Thracian currency was a sight to behold.

Maltese watched as she rolled off of the holy man's mushed cranium spunk and performed a perfect 450 backflip over a sentient robot clearly disguised as what public transportation buffs refer to as a "sweet 24 wheeler hauling more hog tit tips than whatever's a lot of them". With a vikings crotch tuft worth of artillery to boot. She landed on her muscular earlobes before disappearing into an abandoned opium den owner's shoddy duplex. It wasn't that shoddy I guess. Sometimes I just get jealous.

Maltese opened his third pack of crushed steroid flavored edible undergarments and emptied them into a oblong collectible cereal killers serial bowl filled six thirds of the way with cheap distressed male emu milk water.

"No doubt my false poor sexual performance will influence her travel.." he howled into the night. The pale gray wolves lapping at a muddy stream got so hard from how much they thought he was a chick wolf with huge wolf honkers.

Their crooked lupine members throbbed indiscriminately against the swollen winter gust, a big black and sweaty starlit comet grazed the pulsing hot atmosphere. Pumping slowly in and out of the dirty earths tight but deep gravitational pull.

The canine emergency reaction hairs on the back of their muscular neck muscles harkened back to a nother time. Whenst their were less separation a mongst continents.

Wooly mammoths roamed hapless plains blistering with pre mesozoic mushroom trees.

Gallot, the alpha wolf laid his musty but cold nose on the nape of his gay wolf lovers belly.

It was going to be another harsh winter.. but hope was a yonder.

They heard what sounded like a female wolf. And they all got boners.

Word.

Maltese checked his brand new solid uranium brick cell phone.

Thirteen thousand billion messages from his comrade Jack. No doubt concerning the mystery... Perhaps some physical threats.

With a great explosion Paul's impotent bowels made short work of not only his trousers but also the Raphael forged equine robot deco that blanketed the perfectly vertical wall nearest the other room.

Chapter 35

Uh ohhh, spegettios sang the bells.

The next door tenants of the harsh foliage covered hostel were at the moment knee deep into a most rousing bout of playing the dozens when the serene boom interrupted their bitter proclivities.

The entire building's brick and mortar structure quaked with a most venomous rattle against their gullible and tasty bones, the sweet marrow of which became humble and doubtful in integrity as the first, second and fifth elbow delivered to their countenance tripled in veracity and heat with each blow.

About two minutes ago Jack got tired of waiting for answers. His tolerance was the greatest and his patience was without compare - but c'mon bro.

"C'mon bro!" Jack belched at the top of his lungs with a heated breath onto the face and neck of the elderly tramp making his way westward with nothing but his finger paint sammich and a ruck sack full of like ten million dollars worth of sexy exotic animals in his insulated backpack that was like a rucksack.

The tramp was aghast and soon a ghost for he was in Jack's way, which is no Bueno.

No bueno.

Jack knew Paul Maltese was in one of these buildings, and he kinda wanted to know how long this mystery was going to take.

Take time, or anything from a good man and there was gonna be murders. Most wicked.

There was a Convo, like this.

Jack: "it's yellow mmmm hey so!"

Then the now hurt person said, "..are we ok? You seem -"

A broken femur.

Jack snapped the thigh bone of one person. He broke it, so good. Let's know a bit about jack. He's...

Chapter 16

Wait. This happened first.

Paul took a breath. His secretary and front desk receptionist was angry, she was used to rudeness but God damn.

A red haired vixen with hips to match sauntered into the detective agency carrying her teacup sized three headed komodo dragon in a mock turtleneck style Maserati handbag.

"I say, I have a most intricate plot and or scheme that I ... Er.. I mean I need to hire a private slong. I heard the best one works hair after he got discharged from the seamen corps all over someone's face. My poor elderly but disgustingly wealthy husband has not only fallen ill, but he has been missing since the rebirth of slick. He's old like that. He's sick like that. He's probably cold like that. I worry about his bones like that. I would inquire at his nursing home. The owner, her names is Cleopatra Goldstein." She scatted.

Paul listened with his ears as the flustered commotion outside interrupted his daily god cussing session. Various gods in literature got dissed with scornful disdain and meaningful spite while Maltese stood over and before an altar he haphazardly stole from a drunk monk on a vacay that became a staycay.. in the ICU.. cuz o how hard Maltese bopped him about his well polished noggin bones.

Sekky, the secretary (as some lame losers might call her) was a staunch advocate for animal abuse. Even despite this her mad libbed mindset inferred a classically trained wit, betrayed only by her porn star shaped back and Marc Jacob glasses that held no lens's, only fancy frame.

On her illegally uru mined desk sat fifty gallons of collectable erotica themed, wrestling superstar bobbleheads shoved into a ming era style mason jar. Pickling slowly in unholy juices. Also she had a few pictured frames but they were all factory setting laden, nothing personal. Just the original happy family porn you get when you procure the keepsake.

The red head punched a rabid fruit bat out of the air as it attempted to mate with her upper jaw, swooping down from aloft the long deceased canaries' human hair and used toothpick (haphazardly crafted in a faulty drug induced stupor from a confused blue swallows parasite residue) nest located on the third most bookshelves shelf that only had a few books on it. Cool pornographic books. With pictures of naked bodies in them.

Like ... As far as one of them. It's not like you can't find it on the internets or something but it's like, hot flower petals and shit side by side with mildly thick broads messiness. Plus there were ancient cartographers lame brained attempts at sketching many short, hairy burly blokes, bangers and mash. Get me bruv.

There was one that was nothing but wizard beard long pullouts featuring the best bleached taints of post mortem disavowed prophet's.. the eloquent poems accompanying each pimpled picture popped perfectly plike pthe pletter p.

"Pwhat in the heavenly fuck are you staring at you big toothed botch?!" Sekky spoke with words towards the fire headed future client.

"... Harrumph. A most erroneous abrogation was interred on my person, I was fittin to fuck somebody up but my favorite show was on. I beseech your most famous detective services. Also I have no intentions of betraying his trust or using him for a grander scheme." The redhead said as she adjusted the glasses on her head by at least 23.14645zed7 kelvin.

Back in the back office, a torrent of orange light converged on Paul's pupils. A miniscule migraine migrated through his mental portions. It hurt. In his head.

Smashing through his office door head first and landing most unceremoniously afloat a nervous pot smokers spray tanned back Paul punched his way into that person's neck and recovered what appeared to be an audio recording device, bro.

Sekky was no slouch. She smirked as she had previously scouted the interloper entering the office looking all interlopy.

"A listening device. I suspected as much ... Good show Mr. Maltese." Sekky grunted.

Maltese turned to sekky face first and laid both his feet on her desk with a jolt.

"The flies encircling the decaying necromancer outside my chamber door began to vigorously mate in a self destructive manner. Mushing their junks together with wanton abandoned ment." He cajoled, his upper lips twitching and covered in carpet cocaine.

Sekky dug her nails into her own back as she smiled, "Which at this time of decade only occurs in temperatures suited for clandestine audio recording. Especially when said equipment is made by a -"

"-lighthouse keepers olive skinned midwife." They finished together. Hands in wet pockets.

INTERMISSION

This dude walks out, and he's hot. Then like, this chick walks out.. she's totally hot too. She has breasts. Big ones. And her booty is tight. But sorta bouncy. You know what I mean.

So anyway. The dude, his boner is heated. NASA couldn't build a bigger rocket. He's practically getting his pants Prego cuz he so horny. And he don't wear boxers nor briefs. He Rambo. Dick scratching his zipper. Ykk.

So the chick is smart and funny and stuff. She's all like.. rubbing on whatever's down there in her underwear. And she's like.. "yo.. one time a gorilla was famous in a zoo.

And butt it was lonely in its but. So the zoo dudes said to a crowd of dudes .."yo, our gorilla is lonely so can one of you keep it company and suck it's ball sinew and shit for 5000 dollars American?"

A bated hush came over the crowd.

Ace space pilot Scout Bombardier raised his sturdy yet girthy fist.

"I shall do this horrible thing. Yet I have conditions and shit. Meet me behind or next to the closest disco teque. We make sexy time deal but only after you hear me say things."

The misconstrued but thick bottomed zoo lords met his stalwart request.

"What is it you seek?' they… said.

Scout emptied his buxom bowels on a familiar owl.

"Firstly, I demand that there be no kissing of the mouth." He was lying, he was totally gonna kiss that gorilla.

"Secondly, I pray that my wife and ugly children no hear bout me banging ape ass!" He also said.

"And third!?" They beckoned.

"I require two solstices to sell off my assets to pay for the gorilla sex. I need time.. to raise money. For the sex I am mistakenly willing to pay for as opposed to being paid for.. for the sex. I'm going to have with the gorilla. Which will have kissing. I will give you money.".

End intermission

Chapter One

Maltese took a long proud and slightly racist breath, "Well done Sekky. Your training is coming along swimmingly. I noticed a few dollars missing from petty cash. Those are my dollars. Don't touch them or I'll fuck you up. Next week we shall begin your blind submerged cave river creature anti toxin rituals."

"Please stop training me." She pleaded.

"No!" Maltese compromised before turning he's gaze towards the flame haired dame.

"And you... What can you do for me!" He exclaimed.

"My complaint is already explained." Plainly, she feigned.

"But .. I'm willing to let you torture me for information. I just want answers." Bleated the mysterious client.

Paul extended one of his most famous hands.

"Do you know anyone who wants to make a lot of money selling drugs?" He mourned, his cold perspiration well past pronounced.

The red head smirked before baring her sharp teeth.

Chapter 16

Sitting aloft three satin soft yaks relaxed backs while they napped Maltese smiled before he set aflame ten long cigarettes, next he attained a well laid loin of wet pork and set it on the blackened floor before his long backed company. Yeah.

Forty mugs of thick hot barley mead set forth for the sake of thirst and boss ass merriment.

"Let me say, I am most displeased and aroused to here about your old ass husbands demise." Paul spake.

"I think you mean hear." The red head demurred as she bit off a huge chunk of the wet broiled beast.

"....do you have money or drugs? Or perhaps I can touch you... I mean I'll take your case but I gots to get mines too." Paul chastised.

The red headed vixen reached deep into her grossly plumped boob fjord and produced a damp but well embroidered business card.

"I have all of that and more... If you can truly help me. You're gonna want to start hear, motherfucker."

Paul took the card deep into his warm hand, squeezing it and feeling every veiny inch of the letters. It read, "Gigi's Old People's Drop Off and Emporium" followed by most of an address, the rest partially burned off with something hot Maltese surmised. Maybe fire or something.

Maltese grinned as the unforgiving sol blazed through the toast brown stained office vinduet. Just outside, perched on the sill was a most curious looking ibex. Most curious looking indeed.

Chapter 26

Boney Scummspiser slowly removed the octagonal edge of his lower boot from the brune haired Constantinoplian oar makers only neck. He meant bizness.

At a famous 680 lbs the poor soul had a not good life. Born with a rarefied airborne disease known to only the darkest quantum theory cultists OL' bones as he was knowns suffered from Ohshityubonsfukdupedisis..

Or perhaps he didn't suffer, but instead prospered most heinous. With an inner skeleton dense enough to handle 856 ohms of gravitational air pressure, padded by 80 stone worth of frothy man meat and muscle.. his epidermis twas not skin. Rather a ghastly mixture of additional and multiplicationized razor sharp bone and cartilage that smelled like ancient fishmongers from eastern Carthage.

These things in addition to his morbid proficiency in Queensbury rules fist of cuffs and Emperorexhumed krav noob saibot breathing exercises exalted Boney a life sullied in the juices of excess crime profitability.

He relished in squeezing the local patriotic whore biz chroniclers, their semi hourly gazette rife with nascent articles concerning the sordid superfreak negotiations taking place twixt the heavy tongued Jerzeter fecal kings ( a gang heavy in firepower but low in your mom's) and thee Proper Yorkshire Purple Ribbon Youth Choir (a fairly recent and evenly taint skin thirsty crew of slothy religious artifact enthusiast who had lost their luster for peace).

Um.. where was I . Oh.. Boney raised his right shoulder high into the air as his eyebrows twinkled against the autumn hued parking lot morning, leaning close to the oversalted eardrums of the oar fashioner Boney spoke in deep heavy whispers, "I... Need. You.... To 'splain something to me... Lucy..."

He brought all 68 of his cold slime dripping teeth nearer to his trembling victims cranium sound holes.

"You don't mind if I... Call you Lucy.. do you... I like to.. call 'em Lucy cuz ... He shuddered as the middle part of his tonsils came into close contact with the edge of "Lucy's" kneecaps.

"...cuz I... Cuz I'm getting the impression that you.. need to be a part of the show... But thats not where you ... Be... Long... Lucy... You

.. don't... Be... Long..."

The blood red clouds overhead hung low and heavy like well aged nuts, the air crisp and thick with the acrid plumes of torture. An environment abused by the sodium laden torrents spit down onto cracked pavement, a lone elderly badger bared what remained of it's broken teeth as it fought off rivals for a mere piece of a rotted bootleg vhs tape peddlers entrails. Entrails taste good.

Searing Madness rampaged through the very edge of ones nerves, a passerby sitting by his lonesome on a rickety trolley took notice. A low hum behind the guttural hymnals the driver sang made arm hairs stand on end. Some even stood on beginning.

Scraping the mental gray juice and bits from the top of his heels against the slovenly chest of a recently widowed meat dispensary financier, Boney realized from the insanity inducing heat.. from the rapid flashes of sickness and destructive depravity invading his thoughts...

That today must be Monday, which means it was time for a company pep talk. Plus if the one known as Carol was still alive she would most likely bring croissants and white chocolate bear claws, caramel dipping sauce with little bit of

Chapter 49

Locusta uncorked her sawed off and checked the best by date on her bullet resistant maxi pads, now with wings.

The exterior of the disjointed compound verged on the verb of "nah, bro/nahbruh". As in "yo, I was creating a Pythagorean riddim based riddle to stump my heavily implied lady lumped mate when I attempted to forego a std flavored condom and her demeanor was nahbruhed more than as per usual."

Locusta spit on the earth and wished many a pox upon Daniel Webster and the devil's homesteads. Both of them.

Her fallopian boners hast gotten the better of her yet agained.

"I see great things in your future lassy, astounding victories and glory untold... Just avoid dudes with huge dongs." Her penpals half atheist chaplain wrote her one pre winter school break.

His mother quarter died from having visions of plucky cherubs holysplaining to her about how there was whyes being and know god... so finding a church where you didn't have to get all first name basis with everybody's body but still be able to meet a decent muscular fella with a healthy romantic nature who earned himself a decent wage was antisimple to locate.

She rest the middle left of her back against a long standing cats eye marble column. It's design intricately mundane within it's artistic simplicity. Opaqueness centered on the linear details within the thinly coloured grain.

"Oh man... My body feels like shit." She bellowed.

"That's.. is what someone's.. mother's achieves." Hummed Boney. His stark but pert frequency related scale or pitch bordering on E major.

He startled and endeled Locusta's demeanor, she snatched a Prussian era fragment grenade from out of her most stinky body cavity, the pin deloosed by her main gooch muscle. Thirty picovolts away from tossing it into Boneys being...

"You have a bad habit of sneaking up on me and also you don't pay attention to your female family members emotional states. Your sisters, your cousins and nieces... They want to get a nice poem or a compliment once in awhile. For Yahwez sake men just buy em a flower e'ry thn an na' ya pikish besterd.. twod be gran' te' av a fragrant flor or tew frem summon who aisn't a stranger or strummer." She sang in a vibrato.

"You reek.. of untitled urine and.. entitled mortality." Boney gestured loudly with sounds resonating from his throat and then, subsequently.. oral surfaces.

Repleted, Locusta layed down on a stiff bleak mattress. It's heyday long sequestered, but post modern in it's aboriginal attire inspired aestheticness.

"Well, unlike you... I can find someone to love me. Even if just for a few fleeting grunts. A laymen could'st form my dreamt rivers, steamed water'd fall our entwined lust. 'enhaps a whored thast, clappin' unique in it's staunch H2O ache. Weren't thee recent a proud Jupiter, fuming failed star a long the wirn serpents dark jism? Hairy globes marked deep blue in thirst?! "

In a fiery gusto the Boney jerked.

"Better scissors than paper you rock headed bitch." He saideth gently.

"A child's fame reference from a child minded fool. Makes sense." She refracted.

"I only deal in dollars buster." He said with a swish and a switch in his hips reminiscent of pre world war two era bombshells. Like Boom. Pow. Boff! Zlonk!

The two heathens embraced comically as the room darkened.

Chapter 79

Twain.

Twain had arrived. And they were not pleased. In life, emotionally or otherwise. Fearful inwist their parse synapseses.

"Poor. Those who knows less, poor! Pour the liquid sentiments postly, port aged in the vigor of elden war. A sediment host, a taste of ale for the one who bleed, waged not for nation.. aside from gain or grain. We halfted our frozen foes.. chosen a gainst vaulted pain of olde, all-time no cap. We beastmode." They snarked as they crookedly entered the hidden parlor.

They were to be feared. They were called..

Twain.

Once splintered a moon half the size of Europa, almost as dense as your moms.

Born twice, once by curse.

One by way of sought after hate the one called Twain was both.

The deepest earth hath heat sicker than the sun, lesses gods quake as if so many tectonic shifts.

Twain.

A twice. More than. Extra dipping sauce.

Existence made a fool, for how could there be another? Time and space never considered itself to be repeatable, but here we are again.

The same power, knowledge ripped through bloody warfare and dastardly experiment.

A them.

"Why hast we been summoned?! Sayment fromst your frothing jowels nower ye makeshifted molerat.." they spake.

Locusta stepped forward with her feet, her buxom head hung low.

".... I… I fear that I have failed you m'lords."

Twain was losing his buzz.

"Spake… we demand."

Locusta furrowed her brow and let down her gaze, towards the long equator.

"Spake!! Heart fated til nothingly, words dabbled by falstastion!?" Twain was gonna fuck somebody up if they didn't get answers.

Boney bristled, "cure… cure for madness you eat. Been stolen. Locusta did her vagina wet with detective… he found liquid cure. Him penis good in girth and length but merely serviceable in aesthetic and.. of hard… only kiss vagina a … tepid a mount before rush to finger.. game. Kiss on neck but… no with emotions.."

"Oooooook… we are they. And us find displeasure in sordid details. So… Locusta lost the cure? How? We hidst that marginal ambrosia fairly troth!!" Twain was obviously aroused but they tried to hide it.

"Guiltee… was he who fucked up bro! He allowedst my existence… our existing existence to be known. I told you he was ugly and weak and ugly and stupid and ugly and weak!!" Locusta waxed poetically.

Twain slowly backed away…

"The madness we eat shall be in question.. we are not pleased."

"Uh oh… somebody fucked up." Boney smirked.

Chapter 43

At least give them a nod, those who failed to die for you…

Jack didn't give a fuck bro. He tossed these dudes inerts cross two football leagues of length before even measuring, it's like that.

It was good. His foot through the ass meat of a pretender, one time some bitch ass dude asked Jack for directions. Direct to his ass, went jacks fist finger edge knuckle parts. Through and through the pain made that dude sound like a loser.

Truth be told jack can and would and could figure anything out that he wanted to cuz of how cooler he is than everyone and smarter.

But for what bitch? Jack will punch. That's how he gets answers. He's punching you, and if you know shit he punches it out of you. Or else.

Plus he was decked out in wholly mammoth tusk armor, freshly procured from a recently deceased hemp textiles magnates favorite corporate assassin.

Jack stomped on the outer temple joint of a haggard mta employee, hard.

"I... Need answer. Yellow. Maltese... Yellow." Jack screeched. In a cool way.

Dead people with their heads crushed suck at answering stuff.

Chapter aught ten

When Twain was born it was on the same day at the same time during the same season.

The same nurses had the same name and the same stench of breathe and the same shoes.

The same moon and the same sun banked on the similar set shore on the same beach where two same turtles deposited the same amount of eggs after fucking the same dude turtle who definitely wasn't planning on being a good father or paying child support, especially not twice.

On two planes of existence two twains flourished as twice the amount of anti and anto energies split to form the second but almost identical firmament

Twain.

Boney and Locusta knelt before them in monotonous revelry.

We will stay in the shadows for now… for Maltese is arrive.

Chapter 33

Sometimes… the love lost was just.

Leftenent Growler perused his files whilst on Ill gottenly procured hospice.

Vacation days and overtime well in the red, his inner arm bone meat twas a slight or sight off kilter plus bruised, he needed a concerted effort to regale his eyes with the blotted ink jargon known as words.

WELL TONED BONES LEFT OUTSIDE ZONED HOMES

Read (or rather read) the headline on the local tree skin murder produced picayune. Previously and kinda famously known as a snuff nickelodeon inspired propaganda rag monikered eller tagged "Teen Newz n' Shitz", it's legend n' embarrassment of riches for the cuff pimpz, rather a cazcade ala tasteful bullshit that paraded the malted incompetence albeit intelligent care of the impotently important but rye law whores.

Growler readjusted then writejusted the IV drip sharpened needle point located in his northernmost cock gristle, perturbed and almost melancholy he licked the edge of his dirty badge before inciting an ancient prayer to the deity of the fuzz..

"Ohhhhhhhhhh.... Hoolllllllllyyyyyy sweeeeeet. Doooooooooonnn... Ohhhhhhhhhhnutt, mistress of theeeeeeeeeeee...." He barely matched in pitch from the original runic pork worshipper inspired tablet translatutions.

"Want to hair a joke Growler? What did the copper say to the detective.."

Maltese was swift. Crawling from the underneath of Growlers hospital mattress fluff with gusto.

"Oh shit!! Not really in the mood for nasty riddles master .. but still well good to see you, ocular in a way o weight.. E'ry curd n den." Growler spat twice. Or maybe three times.

Maltese produced his dusty stained thirty tonnes of compressed painite encrusted quarter bent squat bulldog shaped pipe from the deepest nor hollowest part of his northwest pant hollow.

Allowing a modicum of disparity it were close to ten clicks of staggered witch hazel flavoured crank sprinkled and well mixed with elephant tranq dust, in the hug of one thumb and two middle fingers broken down for fiery inhalation consumption tossed into the smoking apparatus.

Maltese took tenetyeleven or twelventeen deep pulls before he sat native American cross legged, ballzak Indian styled on the chilled floor.

"So.." Maltese belched

"We have us a bit of a non starter.. a conundrum circa rubix."

Officer what's his name queefed deeply.. his intestines aloft of sudden non starter fecal improprieties. I know a lot of words.

"You're suspect has been squeezing the local rag peddlers ya dig. They was Havin the shit slapped outta Dem wit a cool cats best pimp hand, bitch. Check it. The fool ass trick you seek is monikered Boney and I have deduced that he is part of a vast criminal network." Maltese bloviated like a gangsta.

"So you've helped me solve me case it is then?! Jolly right and gay times abound. Surely me cap will give me a promotion and a proper handy ta boot!? Oh gailee gala galoo!" Officer Growler found the second wind to hop out of his hospice bed and do a Russian dance. You know the one, where he's like low but like kicking out his legs like a loser.

"No... No that's not what's happening. I don't give a fuck about you or your ambitions bro. I'm taking this case personally. I got sex from one them earlier and I want more. So you'll have to wait until I'm done to talk to your cap. Or I'll hurt you. In your body. You know I'll do it. Test me. C'mon motherfucker!! Test me!!" Maltese calmly explained to a now nonplussed and openly weeping Growler. He was crying like a straight bitch cuz.

Chapter gg

You want to know the limits to the evil of man? Convince him that forgiveness exists.

Maltese once made a mistake. That's more than once enough, a snail can be too slow. Believe it. A reflex to fast... An ass too fat. However, impossible.

This freak was off kilter, making them ass chaks claps most proper. Like a beast on mode the frontal meat of her left glut made a most pleasant aroma.

Plus her tits were huge. Nips on fleek.

This old folks hostel were not the best. If someone was to have a job where they picked out the best old people dump places, they would be all like, "hi, I'm Mary. That's not my real name but I work here. Some of these older old guys have big dicks. I fuck them. I work here I think. I gets money. This place smells of the shit. It hast rats most bubonic in nature and crest. Like toothpaste!!"

The madness was spreading. Like your mom's cheeks. Man.... I used to hang outside your crib. She kept them curtains open, you just knew by the way she looked at you when you came over to play late hump day hardcore D&D...

The way she came downstairs into the basement accidentally wearing a see through night gown prom cut slutty hellboy themed hat made his boner squeak.

"You came here for our confidential mental records I reckon .. suga. I like slavery." She whispered like a jerk.

Her name was Grimple. Weird. But just. Maltese stalked his own veritable shadow as he paced fro und to about the bleak pastel themed office.

"Most presently, in accordance with my several restraining orders.. I am disallowed to force you to cater to my inquisitive whims. Mind you though, I am and will always be Maltese. Therehence by the bevy of clout my name carries you are well aware of things that should persuade your compliance." He flowed in a voice similar to old school yet prime Dark Man X. His least sexually attractive but favorite lyrical mc.

"If I want it you got it all you gotta do is set it baybay.. ride or die. Arf arf..! " Quipped Maltese.

Grimple leapt across the room and produced a thick yet curved 90 centimeter long bladed weapon and placed it near enough to Maltese esophagus location to split a follicle sample in thrice.

Always on his boss shit, Maltese sidestepped vertically whilst maintaining perfect perception, his left most hand eight aught degrees catercorner to the opposite roof he blocked the sharp thing before delivering a healthy albeit slightly racist hapkido chop to her partially swollen clitoris vien.

It sounded like Kerplunk!

Stunned and flabbergasted Grimple staggered expertly backwards before falling over the pile of used air conditioning units layered hastily against the chambermaids favorite bookcase.

Novels and smut bibliographies laden pon the dusty tasting shelves bore much resemblance to centuries past when racoons were rampant and as tall as a crows gaze.

Like... One of the smut books. It has pictures or rather caveman style motifs of huge crooked phallic beasts.

The hairs coloured faintly of yeastly wheat crops, leastly lapping at the peppered thigh meat sodden with delicious sweat.

Another one.. of those smut books. Had the suspenseful origins of the

Grimple rose up from the ground and tulipped in a circle before attempting to kick the shit out of Maltese favorite face, unwavering he paused never while ducking and returning diagonally with a prime Mike Tyson uppercut type knee to her lowest mandible.

"Enough!" She laughed as the blood like plasma squirting from her achy teeth nerves splashed the adjacent wall in a voltaire inspired political statement.

"I give.. I thought I could kill you. But I was wrong. Unless!...? Nah... That won't work. I'm sorry... Wait! Maybe if I..... Oh... No. That will probably get me kicked in the fucking mouth again. I guess I give up. I can't think of a way to kill... Wait! I know. I'll try this!!"

Grimple was met with a tricep inspired downthrust among her middle neck before she could complete her attack, the force of which gave a nearby earthquake measuring worker and cigarette lobbyist the sternest sense of arousal.

"Ow. That hurt. Ok. I give up. What do you want to know? I'll give you anything you want. Anything you need. Just name it. It's yours. Just love me. Fear me. Do as a say and I will be your slave. " She laid out as plainly as she could.

Maltese did a 630 degree tope suicida in mock approval of his success.

"I forgot what I came here for...." He worded.

"....." She didn't said.

"Oh yeah, I need access to your records room or something."

"....oh. sure. cool." Okayed Grimple, gesturing vigorously towards the next partly lit corridor with the edge of her wet collarbone.

Maltese rubbed her cankles as a sign of mutual respect (not really) and thanks. He rubbed them hard, and aggressively.

With a sweet pep in his step the stalwart gumshoe ran towards the information thing room at full tilt. His tongue wagging dryly.

Paul was not only astonished by what he discovered in the hundred liter bale of documents and papers with covers on the front and back with words on and in them, but he was also astonished.

Chapter 5

Jack pissed in the eye pupil of a daunting gong farmers latest pupil, freshly clocked out and marginally dark in demeanor and having worked up an south Carolina sauce soaked slow smoked BBQ brisket cut perfectly from the sweetest lump of giraffe ass sinew perspiration scent.

Seasoned in the heavily scotch bonnet peppered regolith of whiskey barrel aged makeshift seasonings, the aroma was bullshit and he knew it. It made Jack tremble with unbridled rage, his tumescently muscular abdominals rippled justice desiring pain.

"Yellow! The book yellow!!" He screamed cooly as he pounded down on the mass group of bystanders heated skulls. They screamed, like weak ass banshees.

Sending the edge of his fist deep into the heart juice of an elderly midwife, her reaction was mild but dead. Cuz she died.

"We don't need that attitude Jack. We all know... You're a good man."

Maltese pleaded sarcastically from the bottom of his heart.

Jack bit off forty more pieces of a lame eyed strangers nose and sweet forehead inerts before slowly turning to see the salty detective. In Maltese hands a familiar site.

"You brought that with you you sick sick shit shit fuck fuck! Jack made obvious his manly feelings with his people parts.

"No... Tis a copy. One of many my dear ally. It is a rendition of information most fowl. And foul. You see..."

Maltese masterly produced his least sturdy solid opium chalice and seductively inserted two fiftieths of dank ass Birchwood moss doused bath salts before taking a huge rip, the flame provided by the maybach inspired torchlight he kept on his person.

"...once a time ago the people of this land used to allow their local lords to print several editions of a book containing not only their names, but addresses and telephone digits. It was madness, no doubt the reason behind so many awesome home invasion dismemberment serials. Like raping brand crunch and strangle puffs. What we have here.. jack.. Goodman.. "

"Is called a phone book." Maltese chimed as he tossed the pile of papers at jacks dick.

"Oh." Jack screamed as he leapt away, bounding 500 leagues into the air no doubt on his way back to his residence to finish his Gilligan's island themed snuff films.

Maltese sat down on a fire hydrant before it went kaputz, the massive stream of hydrogen and oxygen sending him flying into and through a local rat peddlers marketplace window pane.

Chapter 999

From a distance of roundabouts sixty Pokemon arenas she watched.

"It was going to be quite the adventure." She thoughted.

Killing Maltese will have to wait.

.. readjusting her prism linked Navaja sword on her waist...

Sekky smirked.

It was going to be quite the adventure indeed.

Chapter 04

Again with the grimace. There was once a time when you smiled…

"Oh shit, I hate this. Word to big bird my job is hard. Like my sexy parts." The captain of manager or whatever of the police place was perplexed. His caseload heavy with cases that were hard to solve.

"Growler officer, I should hurt your feelings!" The admiral blatantly threatened.

Officer Growler hid his penis his worry, nonplussed he shuffled paperwork on his desk in a fashion that was sure to endanger the innocent lives of many people with dark colour to their skin of perhaps in possession of vaginas. Which is sometimes considered a problem.

Maltese drunkily tethered into the station, his form rare.

"Oh… so the words make sense.. Growler need not be emotionally raped this season, nor a different way of life produced. I have solved this query, motherfucker. You see…"

The thirsty leftenant sparked mad ism as he procured a half moistened breath, his dry lips dry like dry stuff.

"As you have previously been made aware my sex liquid marks a scent, trained in the most arcane of scientific and latent technological techniques I was thought the vein of my member mark the victim of my poor sexual confection. Needless to say I was able to find one old man. A wealthy old man."

"Damn, bribe me harder Maltese." The captain spewed.

"In an hour's time I will be at the forefront of a red headed broad, her wealthy mate shall be explained as having been succumbed to the madness. Which based on the pale dirt I found in his person after having dug up his wet body.. uh.. something. The one you seek called boney is rumoured to be taking up residence in the pissy smelling location I followed my one time paramour to. I was not able to arrive in time to see who they were meeting but boney is still there."

Maltese yelled.

"Round up the swat teams and secure the baton hatches! Belay the paddy wagons boyos we've a monster who's rights need violation!" The Major sang to his men as he slowly did a blood pumping striptease til he was wearing nothing but his heavily stained knickers.

Maltese made short work of manners as he left. Disappearing through a large rat hole while the officers scrambled about.

Chapter 56

Maltese was well pleased.

Having found the origins of the mysterious novel his best friend Jack would no doubt cease to threaten his life with violence.

After having discovered the cure for the spreading madness located in the waterbed Paul was quick to hand out mostly placebos to the likes of the missing old man and sell the real thing on the black market for hella quap.

Pulling out his vintage pyrenean ibex skull pipe and stuffing it with toromiro tree sap flavored LSD, Maltese took 58 long deep pulls before smiling to himself and nodding off to slumber.

A good day indeed.

It was a dark and stormy fucking night.

Jack sat at his table. A rustic block made from the bones of polar bears foolish enough to fight back whenever he tried to take their recent kills.

He downed a gallon of petrol before dusting of his bloody hands and grabbing his favorite book. He jerked off on it sometimes.

"We'll Teach You To Be Special"

It was not a heavy tome, but quite jagged and acrid. It was written in jaguar blood mixed with arsenic and radioactive fentanyl. The spelling was atrocious because the writer was no pussy nor nerd.

The writer was also unknown at least by name. Legends told by losers who don't have the guts to be sick fucks say that the pen was forged in the flames of a church, saked in the eyeball juices of a billion dragons. NO. Two billion dragons.

They pull out their dicks and say things like

"Im a piece of shit. And I heard the writer of this book be the one who bit a demi gods testes Twain."

Jack punched his fireplace back to life before taking a shit on the logs. He tore the cover off and glared at page one.

- so you want to be special. Well let me tell you a little story. First a little background on me. I'm 9'16 in height and just shy of about 6,289 pounds. I work out as much as I can which is everyday all year for 24 hours. And I enjoy squeezing turtles till they pop. Which is what I was doing at the beginning of this story. There I was beneath the shade of an overfull mass grave eating rocks and squeezing Galapagos tortoises when I heard a a familiar sound.

- nearby a bag full of wizard hearts had fallen out of a nearby tree. Of course you know how they not only have value as currently but you could also shove them down the throat of gargoyles and make them shit themselves to death.

- now let me pause there. I tend to find affirmations a bit blase. But least we forget, just because something is a stupid piece of shit doesn't mean it can't be useful. Even you.

Jack turned the page with the sharpened edge of his penises.

- to be a winner. It requires practice. Dedication and some other things that don't matter. Because this is not about being a winner. It's more than that. I will teach you to be special.

- first some more background on me. I ate my first midwife when I was but a pup. She liked to bake pies and sing while she worked in the rain. A pale but buxom fiery redhead whose sweaty breast heaved as she yanked sabertooth tiger babies from their mothers stomachs by the dozens, tossing them onto a steaming pile.

- she displays potential. This is obvious. The potential to be special. So I taught her. I first yanked three fistfulls of hair from her head and anus. She didn't like this and bristled to show her dissatisfaction.

- Now to be an effective teacher one must apply pressure to the upper brain and hip area with enough force to crush the dreams of Mount Olympus. Without obstacles a person can become stagnant and gay.

Jack smirked a little as he heard the thunder raging outside. The motherfucking storm screamed like the destritis of hades as it got closer to his cabin. Jack grabbed a chainsaw made of dentist teeth and the tears of metal made live, tortured and strangled for ages, and used it to turn another page.

- a good rule of thumb is to always confide in your equals and loved ones. Seek them out when you find special people and enjoy their criticism as well as advice on how to teach them. When I wrote this manual I had full intentions of showing you how to teach the special. As I know you do or let's be honest you wouldn't have sold the souls of all you slaughtered to make this purchase of twelve easy payments $20,000,000,000,00,561,000,9999.99.

- You may be feeling a little overwhelmed by the pressure of being the one to teach the special. Lets take a breather and let me tell you a funny anecdotal.

- as I was one day staring out at the raging but yearnful tides of a new moon, I rolled up the ashes of a fellow I once new into a nice spliff and pondered. Where had I gone wrong? I have never failed per say but even during a windfall its good to stop and access, to go over it and discover what if anything could have been done better. More efficient. Did you enjoy the journey is an important question to ask oneself.

- it was then that I heard the ninny of a passing unicorn. One unlike any I had either taught or molested. It was a magnificent beast with a huge dong and a horn that gleamed in the burning mist. I moved closer as it grazed on the pile of loose mammoth tongues I had tossed aside fifteen years ago.

- as I rained blows down upon its granite hard spine it bent in half where its arse touched its stomach, I remember the stench of its dying words, not the words. And that ladies and gentlemen, is what's known as a folly. I should have taken more time to break all the bones of that beautiful creature, rushed for time for no particular reason. And though not a fault, being time efficient can deflect from time enjoyment.

Last night's rain was a sporadic heavy shower mixed with lulls of tepid drizzle. Seagulls overhead pooped against the wind and the poop mixed with the wet weather and fell on people's heads and into their mouths.

Jack used the timing of the thunderclaps to bite his way through the dead bolt, the flash of lightning was his chance to slip in like a shadow on crack. Good crack.

The security system was easy to disable, several years ago Jack banged the maid's grandmother to death AND beyond and upon her last breath she say the password.

It wasn't rosebud.

A honestly barely registered creak on the teak wood floor caused the family goldfish to stir and exit its tiny castle in a fit ...

The sound of the blade across the goldfish's throat, a slow and jagged drag - brought back memories of death and savagery.

Sunsets blanketed by sinew and smoldering human fat running down his face after a pitched battle.

Jack struggled to contain the odor of his boner.

This job was to pay like 20... Maybe even 23 dollars. Money Jack didn't need but a job is a job.

The family concubine was located in the foyer snacking greedily on rotted oyster shells. She was hot. And her booty was nice.

On the stroke of 3 hours past midnight Jack achieved a spinning back fist to the front of her ears, and then a running punt to her inner bits sent her flying into the fireplace.

The crackle of her back against burning logs caused the father to stir.

He slowly spat into his wife's open mouth until she awoke and grabbed her least favorite cricket stick thing.

"A wah da bombaclot a gwan?!" She patois'd.

Running downstairs she met her fate something similar to a cornerstone stray cat, her smaller intestines and left biceps and right biceps torn from her person ala swift blade strikes.

Jack used to chop up butchers into premium shanks, filet and loin. Tender loin.

"A fuck did you see my next soul or give me something !!" Jack whispered as he made his was up the dusty steps fourteen at a time.

The patriarch arrived at the top of the stairwell with a bag full of his pets and children and crusty unmentionables.

He tossed a few of these things as he cackled.

Jack was undeterred, but also in a rush so he ripped all the supporting beams from the walls and used them as a whole whip to strike against most of the old man's sexy back.

Interpol was watching on cctv.. they were supposed to be taking notes.

Instead... They doodled penises and boobs onto notepads. Big ones.

Chapter 4 - boat

Capn' blog.. sea date 33.90

This is my fucking boat.

She goes down, so do I. Maybe going 69 on a rusty sea vessel twice saved from the scrap was poor decision making. It's a good thing I'm not in charge of anything but this boat, and these men who signed on to help me with that starboard thing.

My first Nate Mate I mean my second mate Steve was the blackest dude I had ever seen in my life. His demeanor was solemn, almost a quickened way of sorrow. His boots charcoal and stained with stains. A deep shaded shark leather jacket adorned his 9 foot 8 tall personage, the pale parcel upon his sweaty hips filled to the brim with black licorice he never ate. Plus his skin was dark like those black people I seen one time in Madagascar.

The devil on my left shoulder told me to steer right towards the oncoming storm.

"Go right through that storm you dandy ass puss!" They whispered into the hole where my leftest most ear used to be.

"Hunh?! A whazzat?" I drooled. I was drunk. I'm drunk.

"Jesus h. Chr... Go towards that storm! Now! You Hellen Keller ass -" the voice was a pause.

I too had a deafening boner. Maybe two. For the sight... The majesty...

It gave the entire ship pause. A crew of 3 billion smarmy cutthroats interbred with many, many krunk dancers who hast lost their way. A few billion dirtbags seeking the waves of forgiveness, that will never come.. like the frail whores I frequent.

Anyway.

Back to the whores. Man they were good at whore stuff. I revisit soggy mouth filled memories of ports past.

This one time, I was knee deep in a huge set of -

"There's a goddamn monster on the side of this ship that's not starboard or whatever!" Moaned the senior rowman. His buxom chest heaving.

I procured and supplied copious amounts of LSD and cocaine for my crew so I was ganske used to their nightmare fueled screams and threats of suicide in the middle of the night.

This time was different. I felt their blood curdle, the cheap alcohol in their system also curdled. This..

I stepped on ten children on my fervent dash from the bathroom, my pale palms still furry with the windy excrement residue I was busy giving birth to.

Third mate nate journal

Acts iv

Poseidon is a bitch

I howled into the nighttime moon at night. It was dark. Me cap'n was drunk again and oh so sexy. This one time I tried to rape him and he said no so I was all like.. ok. Fine then.

We parted ways and he continued with his wedding. His guest afoul of my behavior I received looks I didn't like all night.

As I watched the treacherous waves of wet water smash gainst my sea mates scrotum.

Twas born in a isle sorta shitty in berth. The coconuts tasted like my nuts. The sand was racist. One time, this huge frog used his legs to jump on my back while my father watched and it bit me so I set my father's face on fire while he was asleep and then I got in trouble motherfucker.

So.. I see this FUCKING whale. It's not cool. But I remember it. This one time, me and the cap was down by the local pizzeria by a moisty shore purchasing faux hotdogs with a newly minted whore monger. It was fun.

it was then that a woman named Piper, and a weirdo named Bridewell hopped aboard the vessel.

#short stories #fiction #humor #funny #action #drama #mystery #thriller #action adventure #crime #superpowers #monster #creature #detective story #fight #combat #fantasy #fighting

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