Sunday, November 01, 2009
Tale of Terror 3
Powered by Podbean.com
Text below if you'd like to read along:
It was a stormy and dark night. Wolves howled. Bats flapped. Uncannily reconstituted hulks of man-flesh clutched at metal bolts driven into their necks and muttered, ‘what the fuck’s all this crap?’ And Evil Editor sat on the edge of his bed, teasing fluff from his navel with a pencil.
Blackened whorls of foulness popped onto the duvet: hair, gunge, compacted cockroaches, and a bent dime from 1971.
Then — a snake’s head!
Spitting venom, it slithered from his guts like an umbilical cord. ‘The gateway to thisssss world issss open,’ it hissed. ‘Ssspill forth, my children, Ssspill!’
Evil swelled like he was about to fart and blackheads burst from his shoulders. Inside him, pressure like he’d never known (since he checked the slush that morning and vomited).
If these bastards erupted from him, humanity was doomed. Worth it, maybe, for Grisham. But Ramsay? Cowell? Glen Campbell?
Evil knew he had to act fast, like a jaguar reciting Shakespeare. He raced to the kitchen for the cling wrap.
Forked tongues flickered from his muttonchops as he bound himself tight — makeshift pants for his groin, and a glistening blob for his head.
‘Suffocate, you horrors!’ he cried, and sealed his mouth, pinched his nose.
But the snakes squirmed angrily on. From his skin pores! Like overboiled Noodles from Hell! Evil writhed frantically on the wrap, rolled himself over and over till he resembled a cellophane maggot. And waited.
One by one, the wriggles and kicks inside him subsided. One by one, the snakes hissed their last.
‘Phew,’ gasped Evil. ‘That was close. I could have been a goner there...’
Then the door opened. Mrs Varmighan!
She ran her eyes along his subdued manhood, and with a purr to melt Parmesan cheese, stripped to her bra and pants...
Posted by Evil Editor at 10:04 AM