Post by Trinea on Oct 10, 2010 9:39:10 GMT -5
The sight could hardly be described by the morticians, it was beyond the pale veil of absurdity. The scent of smoked pork and pineapple glaze played undertone to the stench of passionate bodies and decay. A pile of forty-six happy little whores, each one dead with toothless mugs and empty eyes. Their bodies were stacked atop each other like a fresh link of sausages not yet up in the butcher's window. Some were coated in blood, though few had cuts. Their throats were red and thin.
Cause of death was due to strangulation.
Their murderer lay on a chair out on the balcony. Hair like salt and pepper dotted his far from magnificent form. On his face was a look of pure joy and ecstasy, unrivaled in bliss and peace. His pale hands touched a wine glass on a nearby endtable, the contents were less than holy.
A dusty line of blue powder circulated his nostrils and a half-shaven upper lip. The blade which had done him in was found plunged half-deep in his neck.
One of the guard questioned in shock. "The bastard killed all those women and died shaving?"
It didn't have to make sense. After all...
People didn't need laws anymore, they could just do what they merry-well pleased to do and expect little ramifications. Children didn't need fathers anymore, they only needed a blade and an enemy for them to kill.
Hell, before he died the dead didn't need to sleep anymore. They could walk around town like any Tom, Rick, or Larry. So why would he have to justify strangling a few dozen whores, stacking them in a pile, basting them with demon's blood and pineapple and then dying out in the sunlight in a shaving accident while under the influence of drugs?
Logic was out the door. Insanity was embraced. Spontaneity was enjoyed. And lives were lost.
An inquiring brother to the killer was the first to arrive after the incident was found by the guard. He found a lovely note that proclaimed it not a suicide but more an acceptance of the mundane and meaningless.
"To whoever gives a d**n, give it to one who rightly deserves to.
I'm maybe what we call, a good man. A good man does good things, gets what he wants, enjoys life, and gets out the door with a smile on his face surrounded by loved ones. Look at me. I bought a couple nice stones for grinding into powder, a keg of the thicker-than-waters, and two pineapples. And a flock of whores for good measure.
Realizations came to me and they said Bubba, you don't need a reason anymore. Just do what you want. Be debauchery incarnate, have fun, get laid by someone with a pulse, and vent all that pent up frustration.
So I decided to do that. Turns out I'm actually fun. And that people actually don't give a d**n if I walk around town in a bathrobe with nothing on under it by pajama pants and mismatched socks. I can throw a party, I can give into temptation, and that I am no longer a man of stamina.
But hey, you can polish them off. Light knows I'm not a greedy man.
Anyhow.
To my only son who is a failure, talk to my estate lawyer.
To my only brother who isn't in the lockhouse, talk to my estate lawyer.
To the brother who ought to be in a lockhouse, man get help. You can't keep going on like this, you need to get your shit together and get a real job, and get used to the fact that people aren't nice anymore.
And to Daddy dearest, I threw a bag of kodo shit at your grave. X. O. X. O.
Toodles to youdles,
Andi Bubba."
====
And the funeral was what was to be expected of the Bloomenwaltz family. A priest half-slurring his words throughout the sermon, a brother unsure of what emotion he ought to feel, and a son angered by the words of an estate lawyer.
The brother eventually settled on a small smile as the coffin was laid to rest.
"Your father says he forgives me. He leave you any special words?"
"Dad says that if I don't marry a woman and produce children, he's going to have all his wealth dropped off the side of Outland."
"That's all?"
"And that he'll haunt my ass."
The men looked at each other and then to the coffin now six feet beneath.
"Sounds about correct for your father."
They nodded and walk away from the site. Another tombstone along others in a small gated quarter.
To the left was the great Patriarch's stone, slightly stained still from a previous act of vandalism. Regardless it still read: "Forever Successful."
To the right was the stone of the matriarch which read: "Shall remain beautiful into eternity."
And in the center, by the newly crafted grave was a stone of less substantial size which read in tiny print: "Died Valiantly Rescuing His Family from a Sinking Warship."
Cause of death was due to strangulation.
Their murderer lay on a chair out on the balcony. Hair like salt and pepper dotted his far from magnificent form. On his face was a look of pure joy and ecstasy, unrivaled in bliss and peace. His pale hands touched a wine glass on a nearby endtable, the contents were less than holy.
A dusty line of blue powder circulated his nostrils and a half-shaven upper lip. The blade which had done him in was found plunged half-deep in his neck.
One of the guard questioned in shock. "The bastard killed all those women and died shaving?"
It didn't have to make sense. After all...
People didn't need laws anymore, they could just do what they merry-well pleased to do and expect little ramifications. Children didn't need fathers anymore, they only needed a blade and an enemy for them to kill.
Hell, before he died the dead didn't need to sleep anymore. They could walk around town like any Tom, Rick, or Larry. So why would he have to justify strangling a few dozen whores, stacking them in a pile, basting them with demon's blood and pineapple and then dying out in the sunlight in a shaving accident while under the influence of drugs?
Logic was out the door. Insanity was embraced. Spontaneity was enjoyed. And lives were lost.
An inquiring brother to the killer was the first to arrive after the incident was found by the guard. He found a lovely note that proclaimed it not a suicide but more an acceptance of the mundane and meaningless.
"To whoever gives a d**n, give it to one who rightly deserves to.
I'm maybe what we call, a good man. A good man does good things, gets what he wants, enjoys life, and gets out the door with a smile on his face surrounded by loved ones. Look at me. I bought a couple nice stones for grinding into powder, a keg of the thicker-than-waters, and two pineapples. And a flock of whores for good measure.
Realizations came to me and they said Bubba, you don't need a reason anymore. Just do what you want. Be debauchery incarnate, have fun, get laid by someone with a pulse, and vent all that pent up frustration.
So I decided to do that. Turns out I'm actually fun. And that people actually don't give a d**n if I walk around town in a bathrobe with nothing on under it by pajama pants and mismatched socks. I can throw a party, I can give into temptation, and that I am no longer a man of stamina.
But hey, you can polish them off. Light knows I'm not a greedy man.
Anyhow.
To my only son who is a failure, talk to my estate lawyer.
To my only brother who isn't in the lockhouse, talk to my estate lawyer.
To the brother who ought to be in a lockhouse, man get help. You can't keep going on like this, you need to get your shit together and get a real job, and get used to the fact that people aren't nice anymore.
And to Daddy dearest, I threw a bag of kodo shit at your grave. X. O. X. O.
Toodles to youdles,
Andi Bubba."
====
And the funeral was what was to be expected of the Bloomenwaltz family. A priest half-slurring his words throughout the sermon, a brother unsure of what emotion he ought to feel, and a son angered by the words of an estate lawyer.
The brother eventually settled on a small smile as the coffin was laid to rest.
"Your father says he forgives me. He leave you any special words?"
"Dad says that if I don't marry a woman and produce children, he's going to have all his wealth dropped off the side of Outland."
"That's all?"
"And that he'll haunt my ass."
The men looked at each other and then to the coffin now six feet beneath.
"Sounds about correct for your father."
They nodded and walk away from the site. Another tombstone along others in a small gated quarter.
To the left was the great Patriarch's stone, slightly stained still from a previous act of vandalism. Regardless it still read: "Forever Successful."
To the right was the stone of the matriarch which read: "Shall remain beautiful into eternity."
And in the center, by the newly crafted grave was a stone of less substantial size which read in tiny print: "Died Valiantly Rescuing His Family from a Sinking Warship."
