Monday, May 24, 2010

Expectations Are Our First Mistake

Elena walked into the shadowed rotunda and took her place in the exact center. Deeply recessed lights around the perimeter made tight circles on the granite floor of painfully bright light. From in-between the lights stepped nine robed figures. At the gesture of the tallest, a light stabbed down from the ceiling, pinning Elena. She could see The Justices now, grim and filled with hate.

“Who now comes before us?” boomed Roberts, his voice clashing with its own echoes in the airy confines. “Kagen,” the others intoned, “sent to Us by The One.” Elena stood up as straight as possible at the mention of The One, the effort making her wattle quiver queasily.

“Who speaks for this woman?” asked Roberts, with all the hollowness of meaningless ritual. “No one must,” the rest answered, “For she was sent to Us by The One.”

Roberts walked forward and after a beat the others followed. He pulled from his robe a crumbled sheet of thick paper. He tilted it so that she could read it in the light. Elena could make out the familiar words: “We the People…” The rest was obscured by nine fat lines of dried shit.

“On your knees,” Roberts said.

Elena dropped down, accustomed to following orders without thought. Looming over her, face shadowed once more, Roberts said “Hold out your hands.” Scalia let out a hysterical giggle and Roberts turned and backhanded him to the floor. Scalia’s smug grin was filled with blood when he finally stood. Ruth stooped down to run a finger through the blood when Roberts turned back, and then began to massage it into her crotch under her robe. Elena caught a glimpse of iron gray pubic hair and gagged.

Roberts crumbled the paper into a rough ball in Elena’s hands. “What We do today, We do for Expediency’s Sake,” Roberts continued. “Expediency’s Sake,” the others replied. Roberts produced a match and struck it quickly on his front teeth. The paper in her hands caught quickly.

“Wha-What are you doing?”

“SILENCE!” Roberts thundered. “WE DO WHAT MUST BE DONE!”

Elena looked away from the flames getting closer to her hands. The Nine were all holding their palms out toward her, each twisted and furrowed by scars. Elena knew what was expected.

The fire was over soon, raising a mass of blisters. Elena rocked back and forth slightly as she waited for it to be over, the acrid stench of burning shit filling the rotunda. She waited until the last ash went out, hanging her head in pain. A warm splash hit her hands. Roberts was pissing into them--spraying really--through a small but tight erection.

“Stand,” Robert’s said, almost gently, “and be welcome.”

The Nine all pulled large, crude knives from the sleeves of their robes. Stevens tottered over and handed his to Elena. “Do it quickly, child,” he rasped, “and with no mercy.”

Roberts stabbed him first, in the right kidney, but only lightly. Ritual demanded he survive for eight more. The rest fell upon him as Elena watched in horror. Bleeding, gasping on the floor Steven reached out for her. Knowing her place, she cut through the hanging folds of his neck as efficiently as the dull, pitted knife would allow. Stevens died, a constant stream of blood bubbling from his ripped open throat. They wiped their knives clean on his tattered robe and stored them. Elena tried to emulate them, but the sleeve sheath was unfamiliar and the knife clattered to the ground.

“Leave it,” Roberts commanded, “it is time you know Our final secret.”

The eight of them stepped back and dropped their robes as one. Elena thought first to look away, but then stared in terrible fascination. All eight of them had penises.

Ruth and Sonia giggled as she looked as closely as she could. A distended clitoris. Just a distended clitoris.

Roberts lifted his penis. “Behold,” he said. His scrotum had been split along the seam and the edges hung like veined labia around the testicular void. Elena’s bile rose at the mutilation.

“All Supreme Court Justices are hermaphrodites. They have always been and will always be,” Roberts said. “And will always be,” the rest responded.

“But… I’m not…” Elena protested.

Roberts let out a grotesque chuckle.

“You will be.”

Friday, May 21, 2010

Thursday, May 20, 2010

Monday, May 10, 2010

The Kagan

She looks so much like this fat kid named Murray from summer camp that his face is all I can see. Murray was just the shittiest little fucktard ever. He laughed like a farting pig and smelled twice as bad. He sweated constantly, a greasy sheen all over his body. The worst part about Murray is that he both thought he was hilarious and the smartest guy in the room. Everybody hated his guts, even the adults.

One day the camp took us to a water park. Murray was running around like a moron, flabby and white and still reeking of piss even after all day in heavily chlorinated water. They were herding us from area to area, and finally we got to the water slide, the real tall and fast one. Murray was all mock-brave insisting that he got to go first, but he got shuffled to the back of the line like always. At the top, the water park guards told you--with numbing repetition--to keep your ankles crossed as you went down. Not why, mind you, but to just do it or else. I went down and was waiting at the bottom when it was Murray's turn. He let out a retard whoop and went down the slide, his legs wide apart, the edges of his feet scraping the sides of the slide.

You keep you feet crossed so that you don't force a whole lot of water up your ass on the way down. Murray's landing in the splash pool was followed by a spreading brown stain in the pool and on the ass of his swim trunks. No one could imagine that one fat kid could really have that much shit in him. Murray started crying and wouldn't come out of the pool. The counselors all had a furious debate amongst themselves over who was going to go down in the shit-tainted water to get him out. It was the first time I laughed so hard I got really close to throwing up.

They finally coaxed Murray out of the splash pool, his shit-filled shorts riding low on his blubbery hips. He cried all the way into the locker room, a disgusted camp counselor dragging him by his ham-hock arm and doing nothing to comfort him.

They shut down the water slide for the rest of the day.

Thursday, May 6, 2010

The Love Loveultion rEVOLution Ution

Ron stood before Sarah wearing nothing but the folds and wrinkles of his 75 years. But his manhood was erect, as hard as it ever was in the 1950s.
Sarah slipped her glasses from her face and twisted her mouth into a grotesque parody of a wry smile. She struggled out of her blouse, slowed down by armloads of cheap jewelry and fumbled buttons. She couldn’t take her eyes off of Ron’s erection. It was Texas-sized, hopefully a tight fight for a vagina pried wide by a series of children. She clawed at her pantyhose to free her throbbing sex for him. She was wetter than she had been in a decade, the dry lack of response for Todd’s clumsy pawing and squeezing a thing of the past. Her dampness filled the small, dark office. Ron breathed it in greedily and slapped his turgidity sharply, making his penis bob expectedly.
Sarah unhooked her bra and her heavy breasts swung free. Her areoles were brown and baby-gnawed, slowly contracting to form deeply wrinkled, but hard nipples. Ron grunted. Sarah fell to her knees in front of him and took him roughly into her mouth. His penis was meaty and saliva dripped from her lower lip in long ropes as she forced him deeper and deeper, choking herself. She ringed the base of the shaft with strong fingers and dug her thumb into the base of its underside. Ron groaned when he could feel the convulsions of her throat as she gagged on him.
Sarah came up for air, tears running down her face, dragging long black trails of mascara down her chin and neck. Ron leaned in for a rough kiss, his tongue jamming in and out of her mouth. Pulling back, he spit in her mouth.
She broke away and Ron motioned her up and over to a chair. Sarah got on her knees and spread herself wide for him, a whispered fart escaping as she did. Her genitals gaped like a ragged wound.
Ron punched her right in the cunt and got to work.

The Nickclegg

A nickclegg is a cross-eyed well monster from Irish folklore. Since it possesses no genitals or brains it really only presented danger to especially stupid children who play in wells. Also the inspiration for the nursery rhyme:

Nickclegg, Nickclegg
Fall down the playing well
and he'll dry-hump your leg
No matter how very much you beg
or kick or scream or rebel,
There's no escaping foul Nickclegg