The man in the postbox

As a child my brother tormented me. They would hit me, steal my toys and make my life a living hell. The worse thing they ever did though was convince me that a man lived inside the post box. They told me that I should never put my hand too far into the post box because if I did he would grab me and never let go off my hand until he pulled me into the box and ate me. My mother oblivious to this torment frequently sent me to post letters. Each time with each letter I slowly fed the box, fearful that I might lose my fingers. As I got taller I tried to peer into the slit in hopes of seeing the man in the post box, but nothing came to light. It was only in my teens when I posted a letter without a stamp by mistake did I dare force my hand deeper down. The moment my wrist caught onto something cold and sharp I screamed and ran away in fright. Thankfully the days of email made such adventures increasingly less frequent. It was only in my twenties did I finally discover the truth. As I was about to post my vote for the upcoming election, did I see the postman. He opened up the post box and emptied all the letter into a sack. An empty box with no man inside. On the rim of the slot were metal spikes that I later learned had to do with stopping thieves, and were not in fact to terrify young children. It’s strange how obvious it was a lie, but I guess I never realised the real monsters were my brothers.

Defined by my medication

I’ve become defined by my medication. My personality is my addiction, but it’s not drug abuse because my doctor gave me a prescription. I’ve never felt so normal, but it’s never quite the same. Yet I lose a part of me with every pill I swallow and I question if this is the real me or an artificial clone of who I should be. A stranger that smiles back in my reflection or a friend that weeps. I’m lucky there’s a solution, but I do miss the lows, the drama, the drive, the flux of emotion. Does that make me a terrible person or is it just the medication? My mental crutch, my sword or my shield, or maybe my kaleidoscope? I prefer the last, the colours and shapes I never saw. Now I’m more convinced I’m head fucked on my meds. I’m becoming defined by my medication, anti-depressant, full of energy, cartoonish vinegar and a lack of reality. A mix of chalk, hormones and modern science miracles.

Public transport woes of the 19th century

Victorian England and on the train men and women were busy to get across the country. While first class was a sophisticated affair, the middle carriages were more cramped and open. It was after the third stop that he arrived. For some unknown reason, part way through the journey, an unnamed man set up a phonograph and proceeded to play it on the train. At first many though he was merely testing the device, but eventually it became clear he had no intention of turning it off.

‘Excuse me good sir,’ said a gentleman, ‘but could one possible turn off this apparatus as we are currently commuting in peaceful reflective silence?’

‘You what?!’ responded the stranger.

‘You are disturbing the tranquillity of this service with music which quite frankly is not to mine and many others’ taste. Perhaps you could play something softer and quiet or simply wait until you leave the train you play your music.’

‘Listen blood, unless you think you can get this off me, I’m not turning it off.’

‘Good sir, I will be forced to inform the conductor and have you removed from this place.’

‘I had to have your mother removed off my dick last night.’

At those words a women fainted and needed to be revived with smelling salts.

‘Listen here you foul mouthed beast, get off this transport at the next stop or you will regret it sorely,’ shouted the gentleman.

‘You don’t wanna vex me mate… you’ve proper vexed now… I’m gonna bang you out,’ shouted the stranger.

The gentleman then pulled out a pistol and shot the stranger.

‘Holy shit blood you shot me,’ cried the stranger.

‘Yes and in three minutes after I’ve reloaded, I will shoot you again if you are not off the train sir. Now depart.’

The phonograph was hobbled away by the stranger and the gentleman returned to his newspaper.

The works of Wendi Bear: The Inkwellknight review

I first discovered Wendi Bear works on a little WordPress blog ‘It’s not my fault’. Her short stories were as insightful as they were graphic. It was not ‘refreshing’, but rather ‘invigorating’ to read a blog with real passion and fearless story telling. It was magnetic; I was puzzled to try and decide if this was a pure work of fiction or an exaggerated truth. Either way it was entertainment on a weekly basis. Though I had known about her first novel for some time, I never really had the spare cash to invest in a full collection. Well after a new job and a bit of free reading time on the two trams and bus each morning I figured I could treat myself. So I bought both ‘It’s not my fault’ novels and decided to have a read. Needless to say I have a lot to say about them. I will discuss both books individually, though there may be cross over throughout.

 

I will start with ‘Self Discovery and Admission’ with its wonderful colourful and playful cover art (though many have mistaken it for an indie porn star photoshoot.) The fierce and feisty glare is both inviting and evoking. It’s far more than a simple author’s pose and from one of the final stories it sounds like a fun day for Wendi.

Now we can’t judge a book by its cover alone, so what can one expect when you read this book? Well the format is a collection of short stories that are concise and well formed. One can either enjoy reading them all in a two hour blocks ( like I did) or simply treat yourself one by one like a box of chocolates (part of me wished I had done this.) It is ideal for any pace reader and what I would regard as an easy reader, though there is nothing child friendly about this book.

The stories do follow a pattern of Meets friend-gets drunk-blackout-friend retells of terrible event. It’s a solid structure (if not at time repetitive) so the pace never drags too long. While locations for the most part are vaguely described, it is a very much action driven plot meaning that for impatient readers (like myself) can get into the characters. Characters (who may or not be based on real people) are for the most part horribly flawed and thus very genuine. Their behaviour is as much of an outrage to read as it is to pity. Asterix (our narrator/protagonist/author?) is ultimately trapped in a hedonistic nightmare where everything has gone so wrong, that she might as well be smoking golden tipped cigarettes. That her endless search for love is simply pathos as she is drawn to flawed men who take of their inadequacy on her and other innocent victims.

So what can I describe this genre as you may ask? Well I see it as ‘Bridget Jones Diary’ as written by Nancy Spungen (Sid’s girlfriend just so you don’t have to google it like I did). The events are gross, bloody and graphic. With colour language and very adult content, at times I found myself cautious that no small child was reading over my shoulder. For the most part I was reading it in the way one would enjoy a John Waters script, keeping an open mind to a world I will never be part of. Granted there is a chapter that made my eyes roll after a few holocaust puns, but once you’ve entered that far into the novel you just need to plough through it or just skip that one chapter.

For me though it’s not the sex scenes, the outrageous exploits and the psychotic behaviour of the characters that caught my attention most. It’s rather the darker stories that don’t try and pull punches or play up for toilet humour. The childhood abuse and the bleak realities of adulthood makes you think more. It makes you question when reality played a bigger role in the story set up. One story very much sticks with me that starts off like the others as a ‘sexy romp’ has tragic consequences for one of her friends. There’s plenty of discussion to have around various themes and events within the book, but it might be difficult to find the reading circle that would be open to discussing this novel.

So what is the best way for me to sum up this novel? At its best, this unique and grotesque piece of art is a heartfelt scream of passion, mourning and alcohol which is more depth than what may appear on the surface. At its worse, it’s a collection of trashy gross out stories that may be ready out during a Temperance meeting as warning to young women.  For me I would happily re-read this collection and suggest it to only the most open minded (take that as you will) of people.

 

From her first novel I then got ready to dive into Sacrifice and Survival. Fans of her first novel can expect more of the humour and modern day philosophy. The cover is embraces more of the ‘Goth’ look that Astreix references through her works, though it is more subtle and tasteful than her pervious cover (though I always liked a blonde in pink).

After looking past the cover what you get is a collection of short stories, though they are more stretched out than the previous novel. Characters are allowed to expand and are explored more within these stories, though at times I would have like something short and spicy. It still has the creative language suitable for all readers, but the length alone may deter some from enjoying these ballads of madness.

The genre also takes a different shift, focusing further away from the physical description of sexual acts and more of the human consequences and build up. That’s not to say there aren’t any excessive graphic scenes, but the story is more about people and that is something I would encourage.

The structure does alter a little as the formula ‘friend-drink-consequence’ became more infrequent and characters become regular cast members as oppose to throw away stock characters. It dipped into the darker issues of relationships, domestic abuse and childhood drama. Issues that people should be able to discuss and get off their chest in a safe environment. Many of these stories at least explains (if not at times justifies) Asterix’s behaviour.

It’s hard to make a comparison to other works. At first I thought a Las Vegas based ‘Angela’s ashes’, but that doesn’t settle right for me. Honestly it may be better for people to read the novel themselves than explain a comparison. Compared to her first novel though, there wasn’t quite as much to think about after this book ended.

So how to some up this novel?  At its best it’s a good collection for anyone who is already an establish fan of Wendi Bear’s work that add more background to her characters. At its worse, a strained series of misadventures that might not hold your attention too long. It’s not a fan favourite for me, but if there’s a book three I could keep the faith.

 

Thus ends my reviews, which I shall place on amazon review. If Wendi does ever read these reviews, I wish to thank her for some wonderful stories and I hope that all criticism is taken constructively and that she knows all praise is taken with sincerity.

Glassman vs Dr Acid- Finale

Glassman was lying on a white cotton bed. He gently rolled over to his side to see Daisy Jade beside him. She was an average looking women with ruffled brown hair, but to Glassman she was an angel.

‘Daisy, how, what happened?’ he mumbled but she pressed a finger on his lips.

‘You need to wake up,’ she said.

‘I am awake, I’m here with you, I’m dead. I can be with you forever.’

She gave a smile and held his head to her shoulder.

‘I’m sorry… I’m sorry,’ he cried.

The roughed up barman had finally let down his guard.

‘It wasn’t your fault do did what I want you to do,’ she said stroking his head.

‘You’re still as wonderful as I remember you.’

‘Well you’ve aged a bit, you could use a shave,’ she teased.

She then turned away from him.

‘You need to go back and save them,’ she said.

‘I can’t, I want to be here with you,’ cried Glassman. ‘We can be together now, no more fighting or wars. No politics or worries about taxes. No more idiots in costumes and men in suits. We can finally make up for lost time.’

‘Time is what we don’t have… after this we have to part. Before I died I left an imprint on the group. My spirit is shared with all of you. Only when everyone is at rest will I carry on with you all.’

‘So I stay here, let them die and we carry on.’

‘That’s not what I want… I want you to live a full life and a great one. I am not in pain and I fear nothing anymore.’

‘Please don’t leave me.’

‘There’s not much more time, I need to reveal to you the secret of your power. Your power isn’t control over glass.’

‘What?’

‘You control anything made with silicon… glass, sand, computer chips, you are an Elemental Psyker.’

‘Really?’

‘Glass is easy for you to control because you see it in your mind, but once you concentrate you will be able to control so much.’

‘So how does that get me out of the situation?’

‘You’ll figure it out.’

Slowly white light began to glow around them.

‘No not yet… please just one more minute,’ begged Glassman.

‘I love you Mathew,’ said Daisy.

She then turned around and leaned in to give Glassman a kiss. Suddenly there was darkness and Glassman was overcome by an agonizing pain.

 

‘Oh God, I’m still in this fucking lab,’ he muttered.

‘Glassman hurry,’ shouted Big B.

‘I’ve been shot arsehole, what do you want me to do… wait.’

Glassman struggled to rise to his feet.

‘I’m going to honest, I don’t have enough bullets to finish all of you off so I think I’ll just have to do this by hand,’ said Dr Acid walking towards the Burrower.

‘Let’s see if you survive the acid test,’ he grinned before clasping his hands around the meek villain.

The Burrower’s screamed turned to gargled cries as his skulls melted into his mouth and his skull disintegrated on to the floor.

‘Oh fuck,’ shouted Scott, ‘he just killed that guy.’

‘Thanks for the commentary Captain Obvious,’ said Starlet.

‘Oh I wish he was here,’ said Big B, ‘he’d of pointed out how to escape from this place.’

Dr Acid then walked over to Glassman.

‘Any last requests?’ he taunted, ‘A glass of water perhaps?’

‘The computer that’s going to cause the volcano to erupt is that your own design or something you got out of a box?’ asked Glassman.

‘My own design, void of all glass parts,’ he said proudly.

‘All full of computer chips and circuit boards?’

‘Well yes why?’

Glassman made started to laugh.

‘What’s so funny?’ asked Dr Acid.

Glassman rose up his hand and concentrated. The computer started to malfunction and the countdown ended. Slowly through the vents little pieces of green collected into a sphere that landed in Glassman’s hand.

‘What… there’s no glass in my computer?’ shouted Dr Acid.

‘Silicon bitch,’ shouted Glassman.

He then hurled to ball into the ceiling and created a crack of light. The light shone onto Starlet and she began to glow light blue.

‘Oh no… no… no… no NO!’ screamed Dr Acid as Starlet was able to free herself and the rest of the captured heroes.

Dr Acid tried to command the water pipe to spread Big B, but there was no response.  Halitosis ventilator was removed and he walked towards Dr Acid. Dr Acid fired his gun, but Halitosis let out a green fog from his lungs which caught the bullets. Dr Acid was trapped in his own lair as Big B began to expand. His body bulked up, five times larger and he sent his fist into the villain. Dr Acid was punched through the wall and was left with his limbs hanging out of it.

‘Scott bring the car around, we’re finally going home,’ said Big B.

 

Glassman walked over to the remains of The Burrower. Starlet walked towards him.

‘Sorry about your partner,’ she said.

‘He wasn’t my partner… he wasn’t even my friend, he was just a guy who ran around in a costume trying to be a hero,’ said Glassman. ‘He helped save the world and no one ever going to know. Not his wife or kids, not the people he worked with. Just makes you think sometimes.’

‘The greatest heroes never seem to come back from the war, so we have to keep their names alive by fighting for what they believed in.’

Big B managed to create a large enough hole in the ceiling for Scott to climb through and find a vehicle to drive. Halitosis picked up The Burrower’s body and carried it over his shoulder.

‘We’ll get him back to his family,’ said Starlet, ‘maybe we can have a few words with the guys up top and see if his family can be told the truth. Let’s face it, not likely that anyone would believe them.’

‘I came here to end some legal debits and that it, call it a day at last,’ said Glassman. ‘I’m no fucking hero.’

‘So what you’re going back to your bar and waste your life away?’

‘No… I heard that deserts usually go on for miles and miles in the middle of nowhere. I think I might set myself up there to rest.’

‘You need to come with us, you’ve been shot.’

‘Then if I am meant to die… it’s my time.’

‘You can’t say that Glassman, we need you. We need you because you’re the only damn one who willing to say ‘I am a sell out and this is wrong’. The world needs heroes that can accept their flaws. This group was lost without you. Come back and be part of something good again.’

Scott was able to find a pickup truck and drove it towards the exit.

‘Everyone on board,’ shouted Scott.

Glassman looked to the truck, then to his wound and back towards Starlet.

‘I’ll keep my promise for you Daisy,’ he thought to himself as he was helped by Starlet towards the truck. ‘I just hope I don’t have to keep it for much longer.’

The Return of Glassman

 

When Glassman returned to his flat, the lights were flickering. Sat on his chair was a stranger wearing a suit; he had a long moustache and in his hand held a brandy glass.

‘Hello Glassman,’ he said sipping his drink.

‘No,’ said Glassman pointing to the door he had just walked through.

‘I’ve been waiting for you.’

‘Don’t care, fuck off before this gets bloody.’

‘Now, now, we can’t be so rude.’

‘I fucking can, now you got three seconds before my windows turn into saw blades and slice you into pieces!’

The stranger continued to sip his drink.

‘Where did you get the brandy from? I don’t have brandy?’ asked Glassman.

‘My own personal supply,’ said the Stranger.

‘Who carries brandy around with them… wait I don’t care. Right screw it, say goodbye to your drink.’

Glassman flicked his wrist and the brandy glass shattered into pieces. The stranger got out from his seat and found another glass. He then unscrewed his finger tip and a stream of brandy poured from it.

‘Okay that’s something new,’ said Glassman.

‘I’ll brief Glassman, some of your old team mates have been captured… presumed dead,’ explained the Stranger.

‘Not my problem.’

‘There is no one who can stop him but…’

‘Not… my…problem…ass…hole…’

‘Don’t you care who ‘him’ is?’

‘No, I only care that there’s some brandy drinking squatter who refused to piss off!’

The glass shattered again. The Stranger then found a mug and refilled his drink.

‘The man in question is him,’ said the Stranger sipping his drink.

‘Him?’ asked Glassman.

‘Him.’

‘The rock band?’

‘No… Dr Acid your arch rival.’

Glassman shrugged his shoulders.

‘Dr Acid vs Glassman, the greatest clash if history,’ said the Stranger. ‘The man who could burn through all but glass, against the man who cuts all, but that which dissolves.’

‘Is that really the best description… like why not slash vs splash?’

‘You seriously don’t remember him?’

‘No, seriously I just don’t care. Look the last time I met an old arch enemy there was legal issues and a fucking mess of paperwork, vet bills, threats from PETA. I haven’t got time to chase this guy up.’

The stranger continued to sip his brandy.

‘Go home!’ shouted Glassman.

‘They need you Glassman, the world needs you,’ said the Stranger.

‘I don’t need anyone. I got a bar job and this flat… and other stuff so I’m doing okay.’

‘Just okay?’

‘Shut up!’

Glassman levitated the glass shards and formed a crossbow in his hand. He then shot a glass bolt into the Stranger. The Stranger smirked with the bolt in his chest.

‘Sorry my dear boy, but my body is actually a hard light hologram,’ he explained as he pulled out the blot.

‘So where’s the brandy going if it’s not hitting your stomach?’

‘Through my mouth, down my throat and into the chair I’m sat on,’ he said as he took another sip.

‘Stop pouring brandy all over my flat you dick hole! Jesus Christ can I go anywhere without some crazy person trying to fight me or waiting me to be a superhero. I went to buy milk yesterday and some guy dressed as a pink rabbit was swinging a bag of carrots around and throwing eggs at people. The Rabid Rabbit. I pushed him through the freezer section of the shop and placed four crates of booze on it until the police arrived. If I walk out my apartment now, I bet another wanker is going to harass the shit out of me. Even when I sleep, fucking Dream Walker ask to borrow money. Have you ever had a dream where a guy you know pesters you for money for eight hours? I have… I FUCKING HAVE!’

The Stranger looked at the pink faced superhero.

‘New deal, help us recover your old team mates and we make the King Ba-Boom lawsuit disappear. Deal?’ asked the Stranger.

‘Fine… just get out my flat before it gets any more ruined,’ mumbled Glassman.

‘Splendid, now for your team mate…’

‘No, I work solo.’

‘He’s already on his way.’

The floor began to shake and rumble and the floor cracked.

‘Oh for fuck sake no… not working with him.’

A drill pierced through the floor to real the squatted pot belly of The Burrower.

‘I’m back!’ shouted the Burrower.

‘He’s a villain, he doesn’t have any super powers, he’s grossly unfit for combat and he’s diabetic. Why the fuck would you hire him?’

‘We are an equal opportunities employer. He’s got the directions and all the paperwork to get you to Dr Acid location. Good luck Glassman and God speed.’

The Stranger then snapped his fingers and the side of the flat was demolished by a single blast. A rope ladder was thrown down from a helicopter and the Stranger flew off into the distance.

‘Why does no one ever use the fucking door?!’ screamed Glassman.

Psychic World Cup Animals

 

It was the world cup once again and all the barnyard animals watched through the window. The farmer sat with his flag in one hand and a betting slip in the other. This would be his year to win. The only animal not watching was a pig called Muddles. Every match the farmer would cheer and boo. Despite all his research and inside tips, he never won a bet. A young rooster once asked Muddles why he didn’t watch the matches.  The pig groaned and replied:

‘I’m psychic. I know who going to win.’

The pig rolled over onto his belly and slept. The young rooster had an idea. Each morning the rooster would wake up the farmer and try to get the farmer out to the pig pen. It took three days before the farmer finally went to Muddles. On the sty floor, a flag was made out in straw and Muddles lay asleep next to it. The farmer saw this as a sign and rushed to get his betting slip. That night all the animals sat waiting for the match. To everyone’s amazement Muddles then stumbled into place.

‘Who’s playing?’ he asked.

The young rooster was confused. Surely he knew who won after all, why did it matter? Unfortunately sarcasm had not been the rooster’s strong point. The straw flag was no by design, but from rustling in the pen too long. So when the final whistle blew and all the hopes of the farmer’s riches lay scattered, he may have taken it out on the wrong animal. The next match the farmer ate sausages with black pudding. The rooster was quiet throughout the match. His ears then caught a conversation between two mice.

‘Shame about Muddles,’ said the first.

‘Yeah,’ said the second, ‘if only he talked to the woodlouse… that guy taught Paul the octopus all he knew about football.’

Meat Puppets: Part Fifteen

How it all started 

 

Desperate times call for desperate measures. It didn’t take too long to find Lady Killer though. That was the only good thing about that whistling geek; he seemed to be able to find you when you need him (even if he made things worse). He thought he hit the jackpot when I asked to spend the night at his. I needed supplies and shelter, and he had both.

When we got to his hide out, it was an over fortified tree house. Not a terrible idea that Meat Puppets don’t really climb, but it still showed how childish he was. He threw down a rope ladder after entering the ‘secret tunnel’ to get to the top. I got to the top and smelt a room of sweat, masturbation and urine. It was a man’s paradise. Weapons hung on the wall, trophies and action figures graced shelves and the floor was covered in empty beer cans and food packets.

‘Sorry the place is a mess, I’ve not had visitors in… well ever.’

He quickly swept aside his mess and turned over a box for a makeshift chair. He was quiet proud of his home, pointing and explaining all the crap he had collected. The only thing I cared about were the photos. The good times, the gentle times. When a bunch of teenagers ran around and killed puppets for Youtube; when they were young, fearless and immortal. Then the group shrinks every other picture until there’s three left. I guess there weren’t enough people left to hold the camera or maybe no one wanted to look back and remember where they were after that one. I don’t know if we’ll ever forget, but I will never want evidence it ever happened.

For supper he got a tin of mushroom soup and some stale crackers, but I gulp the bowl down. When I ask for a drink he pours this blue liquid in my cup. It some flavoured bubble-gum mix that he likes.

‘I could make you that cocktail in morning if you want to go scavenge by the bar?’ he asked.

I agree if just to keep him quiet. It doesn’t work. He goes on about his adventures after the end of Youtube fame and all the techniques he knows to slay a dozen Meat Puppets at once. He even has a theory about the meaning behind the Meat Puppets.

‘Population control. It makes sense when you think about it. This all started when we were looking for antibiotics to replace the ones we over used. We pumped them to keep the cattle alive to feed more people, to keep folks that should have died alive longer. We stopped having global wars and just started fucking uncontrollably. Maybe that’s what happens… too much love not enough restraint. Then rather than accept that we have to stop fucking and die, someone tried to bring folks back from the dead. Why? To keep on fucking forever.’

Even when the world is ending men have only one thing on their minds.

‘Now I wonder if we should even continue. Maybe the world should finally give up. Maybe it’s just time for them to rule. You know I was a nobody when this started. I was invisible. Then one day, one of the kids in my class who came back starts ripping into the geography teacher. Everyone freaks out, but I just screamed and pierced a pair of scissors into its skull. Everyone then started treating me right. The next time it happened someone called out my name ‘save us, save us!’ You know what it feels like to be a hero? It’s great, the best feeling ever. In time I got in the news and I met other people who saved people from those monsters. We started a channel and helped a lot of people. It didn’t matter I never made any money, I just wanted to have that rush. I hoped one day someone would love me, because for the first time ever people got to see the real me. The brave, creative man I wanted to be. Then we lost Craig. He loved having a drink before a hunt, but he got caught and bled out before we could save him. Stupid bastard. Then Mikey got ill and we had to put him down. More and more died until three were three of us. We started arguing and went out separate ways. They’re all dead now. Just me.  I started out as nothing and now I feel like I’m the last of something. You ever feel like that?’

I hate seeing men cry. I’ve seen mourning before, but this is hopeless bawling.

‘Lady Killer… I never even got to second base.’

Too much information. Maybe some women would have pity on the guy, but me… I still have my principles and I’m not letting him touch me.

It takes a good hour for me to relax enough to fall asleep; old habits from Meat Puppet attacks and a mixture of concern that he’ll try something in the night. When morning comes he’s already up with two cans of peaches ready. After breakfast I promise myself to discuss supplies, but then he points something out. It’s the cinema he wouldn’t shut up about. Next to it is a playground and a snack stand. The stand’s probably empty, but the cinema might have something, if only torches and batteries.  There are two mobsters outside, but we finish them off quickly. A quick strike by my pistol breaks the neck of one, while Lady Killer makeshift club smashes one skull open. He counts them like points, but I just regret not being able to save them.

The cinema has a few packs of dry popcorn and batteries. They even have some sweets, but they’re stuck together in solid blocks. You could hardly call it pick and mix, more like brick and chisel. Postmodern artists would shit themselves with glee if they could see my work after hacking into the Pear drop (the Pear lump to be honest).  While I was searching, Lady Killer was setting up the film for us to watch. As we walked down the hallway I saw all the posters for movies that no one ever got to see: sequels that never ruined franchises, rom-com crap, the latest animated children’s knockoff Pixar film and something to do with racism that no one outside of America could really relate to.

He put on ‘Sleepless in Seattle’ because it was part of a mother’s day special they had on. I wish it had been Evil Dead, but what can you do? (Yeah I know I live in a horror flick, but I can still enjoy horror when it’s just a fantasy.) It’s nice to have some respite from my mission and even though he’s a creepy, sex obsessed, egomaniac, it nice to have someone just to hang out with. We just watched the film and forgot about everything. I hope I could have more days like this. I wish we both could have had more days like this, but throughout the film he had this cough. I had heard it in camp time and time before. I thought he was immune, but I guess he was just a fighter whose time was running out.

After the film he finds a bottle of rum and we share a few sips from separate cups. I finally ask him for the supplies and explain my situation; that I’m on a mission to end the war. He laughs at the idea. He thought that was his job. I go into more detail and tell him about Danny and the rest of the horde. He thinks it’s a bad idea, but agrees to give me a few extra cans and some water. He makes me promise to come visit him again. I can’t tell him the truth, so I agree. If God has mercy someone else put him down instead of me.

Meat Puppets: Part 14

 

It was my last day in tent city. The safety of numbers had quickly vanished after numerous raids by the gang. Goldie’s claws were great for slashing the fabric and Jeffery was excellent at finding the cans. They were getting closer to my tent and I knew I had to pack up and leave. As I headed away from Tent city I heard a growl that leaked into my heart. Mongo the lion was right behind me. He must have caught my scent. I haven’t bathed in days, but still I smell fresher than the rotten bodies I’ve been studying. Mongo looks a bit washed out, but otherwise is just as fierce as I last met him. The feline gets ready to pounce and I throw my gear at him. He tears into it and I get a head start. It doesn’t take long to hear the thudding come from behind me.

I just ran straight away from him, never looking back. It seems ridiculous now, but I ended up heading back towards the horde. Maybe I thought there was safety in numbers or Mongo would eat one of them. I don’t know, but I ended up brushing past Hooker and swerving around Danny. The only one that seemed to react was Goldie. I caught her attention and she followed after me. Those damn shoes had made her footing easier and it wasn’t long until she was neck to neck with me. I dreaded those bone fingers driving into my side. She then stopped suddenly and turned around. I glanced back to see what had caught her attention. Danny, Hooker and Jeffery where fighting Mongo.

Meat puppet fights are won historically on a ratio of aggression, speed, weapons and physical state. Mongo was in a better position than three mobsters, of which one was armed with a can opener. Mongo was already tearing into Hooker, ripping into her right arm. Danny had found a pipe from the tent and starting slapping Mongo across the face. Mongo roared at Danny before becoming cloaked on a tent. Jeffery dragged Hooker away from the rotten beast, though her arm was lost to the weight of the lion. By the time Mongo had freed himself, his main meal had taken flight. He had to settle for a spare arm.

In the excitement I had forgot all about Goldie. She overpowered me and pinned me to the ground. I couldn’t reach for my pistol and I thought this was my end. Yet she didn’t lash out or snap into my neck. Instead she stared at me. Those yellow puss eyes just looking at me like she looked at a tambourine. What was going on in her mind? Maybe she wanted to show the others she could hunt or maybe she wanted Danny to finish me off? I didn’t wait to find out. I did the foolish and daring. I head-butted her and threw her across to my side. Her fingers dug into my shirt and slashed up my cloths. I fled and never looked back. I had to find a place to examine myself. If I was wounded it was over. No supplies, no assistance. I knew what I had to do next. I had to find Wolf whistle. Fuck my life.

The future of petty crime

 

A news alert when off on Jackie’s phone. Another range of thumb-less victims on a crime spree. She swiped it away and carried on playing the latest download of Candy Crunch when a mugger jumped out with a knife. He pulled Jackie close to him and held a knife to her neck. She handed over her purse and her phone before walking away. That was when he called to her.

‘Stop!’ said the Mugger.

Jackie tried to run away, but she was tackled to the ground. The Mugger pinned her down.

‘Please don’t,’ she begged.

‘I’ve got something else for you, you might get a bit messy,’ he said.

Her face cringed as his free hand slide down his leg. Out of his trousers came a little box that he flicked open. An ink pad.

‘I need you to dip your thumb in this and print it in triplicate,’ said the Mugger.

‘What?’ asked Jackie.

‘Look I need your thumb print okay so I can unlock your phone.’

‘Well that’s the point, it’s so you can’t unlock it.’

‘Look I could be the bad guy in this situation. I could cut off your thumb and leave, but this is just the better way for me alright.’

‘No, cut off my thumb I dare you.’

The mugger looked at the woman. The woman then began unscrewing her thumb and threw it to the ground.

‘Some asshole already got me okay, so take it and piss off,’ she said.

‘God I’m sorry,’ said the Mugger. ‘I didn’t know.’

‘Well fuck you man, I lost that thumb back when I had a 4 digit lock. Seriously does a person deserve to lose a thumb over a mobile? Hell it used to be I gave you the phone and you’d walk off, now it’s like a bank visit.’

‘You know I’ll just take the purse.’

‘Just the purse, gee what a gentleman. Up yours you piece of shit.’

And the Mugger walked away with nothing as the woman screwed in her thumb.