Night of a Thousand Minutes
Part I
It was night. The moon was full. The sun was nowhere to be seen, because like I just said, it was night. It'd be a pretty piss-poor night if there was some sun involved. Even a little bit of sun would've spoiled the spooky ambiance (that's french for atmosphere). But luckily, there was no sun. That's because it was night.
I strode manfully up the path to the castle. It was a long path, long and windy, like a sentence in a novel that refused to end, taking all manner of strange twists and turns, like a waterpark slide built by an mad, demonic architect, sent from the very bowels of hell to enact a strange and cruel torture upon thousands of sun-fried kiddies who just wanted a quick thrill with a splash at the end and their parents, who were only after a relatively cheap day of summer family fun, especially after all that gloomy business with grandma and her dodgy hip, so fragile, so crumbly, a bone-biscuit munched by the ever-hungry maw of fate.
I knocked at the castle door. Shave and a haircut.
All of a sudden I was plunged into darkness. It was Otis, the Count's manservant. I swear to god, he was even blacker than last time. If you looked under Nigger in the dictionary, you wouldn't see his picture. Thats because nigger is a racist word. He'd be under African.
'Can I take your coat, Mr. Frothington?' he asked, his voice raising slightly at the end to indicate he was asking a question.
'No, I replied' I replied. I was recording myself on a dictaphone, so I could write this story later. 'Note self, I continued' I continued, 'remember not to write a second "I replied" when writing this up later.'
Otis led me up the stairway, it was a long, winding stairway, like the path I described earlier, only indoors, and made of stone instead dirt. We travelled upwards and onwards and forwards and skywards, all simultaneously, till finally, we reached the top of the stone tower. Otis gestured at the door, then hastened back down the stairs. 'What is he afraid of,' I thought, 'besides the AIDs epidemic?' There was only one way to find out. I took a deep breath, and opened the door.
Inside, I came across a most disturbing scene. I'm ashamed to say such horror managed to sexually excite me so powerfully, but we can't help who we are. The Count was standing over a gory operating table, hacksaw in hand. He didn't look up as I entered.
'Glad you could make it, Gregory' he said. 'You're just in time for the main event.'
'What's going on here, Count?' I replied. I wandered over to the table. Littering the floor around it were dozens of mutilated rabbits, and some empty chip packets.
'What we have here, Gregory, is the ultimate union of form and function. Listen, we all know rabbits like to fuck, eh? Well what then would happen if you cut out the brain and placed it in the body of a Nazi!'
He threw back the sheet, somewhat over-dramatically I felt, to reveal the fresh corpse of a Nazi foot soldier. Around his head was a thick, hasty line of stitches, probably from the brain-swapping procedure the Count had just talked about. He looked stone dead.
'He looks stone dead' I said.
'Oh he is, for the moment.' replied the Count. 'But i'll have him up and about soon enough. Think of it gregory, an army of horny, goose-stepping zombies. Ever had a pelvis jack-hammered into your face at 30mph?'
'Once,' I replied, 'but I don't like to talk about it.'
'And the best part is each zombie will sire another, and another, and another, till the whole world is fucked to death. And there, at the top, will be me and my camcorder.'
'But Count' I said, quite smugly, 'everone knows Nazis are infertile.' I'd heard that watching jeopardy a few weeks ago.
'Indeed, indeed. And that's why I need one last, key ingrediant. The sperm of a potent, desirable male. By the way, Gregory, how are the kids these days? Still young and healthy?'
I was uncomfortable with such an obvious segue. I backed slowly to the door, only to find it bolted from the other side. I slammed my fist against it
'Otis, you fiendish monkey! Open the door!'
I turned back to find the Count advancing on me, wielding his gothic vaccuum menacingly.
'Don't worry Gregory, this won't hurt... much! Mwahahahahahaaaaaaaa'
He was probably lying. It would probably hurt a lot.
Fin
It was night. The moon was full. The sun was nowhere to be seen, because like I just said, it was night. It'd be a pretty piss-poor night if there was some sun involved. Even a little bit of sun would've spoiled the spooky ambiance (that's french for atmosphere). But luckily, there was no sun. That's because it was night.
I strode manfully up the path to the castle. It was a long path, long and windy, like a sentence in a novel that refused to end, taking all manner of strange twists and turns, like a waterpark slide built by an mad, demonic architect, sent from the very bowels of hell to enact a strange and cruel torture upon thousands of sun-fried kiddies who just wanted a quick thrill with a splash at the end and their parents, who were only after a relatively cheap day of summer family fun, especially after all that gloomy business with grandma and her dodgy hip, so fragile, so crumbly, a bone-biscuit munched by the ever-hungry maw of fate.
I knocked at the castle door. Shave and a haircut.
All of a sudden I was plunged into darkness. It was Otis, the Count's manservant. I swear to god, he was even blacker than last time. If you looked under Nigger in the dictionary, you wouldn't see his picture. Thats because nigger is a racist word. He'd be under African.
'Can I take your coat, Mr. Frothington?' he asked, his voice raising slightly at the end to indicate he was asking a question.
'No, I replied' I replied. I was recording myself on a dictaphone, so I could write this story later. 'Note self, I continued' I continued, 'remember not to write a second "I replied" when writing this up later.'
Otis led me up the stairway, it was a long, winding stairway, like the path I described earlier, only indoors, and made of stone instead dirt. We travelled upwards and onwards and forwards and skywards, all simultaneously, till finally, we reached the top of the stone tower. Otis gestured at the door, then hastened back down the stairs. 'What is he afraid of,' I thought, 'besides the AIDs epidemic?' There was only one way to find out. I took a deep breath, and opened the door.
Inside, I came across a most disturbing scene. I'm ashamed to say such horror managed to sexually excite me so powerfully, but we can't help who we are. The Count was standing over a gory operating table, hacksaw in hand. He didn't look up as I entered.
'Glad you could make it, Gregory' he said. 'You're just in time for the main event.'
'What's going on here, Count?' I replied. I wandered over to the table. Littering the floor around it were dozens of mutilated rabbits, and some empty chip packets.
'What we have here, Gregory, is the ultimate union of form and function. Listen, we all know rabbits like to fuck, eh? Well what then would happen if you cut out the brain and placed it in the body of a Nazi!'
He threw back the sheet, somewhat over-dramatically I felt, to reveal the fresh corpse of a Nazi foot soldier. Around his head was a thick, hasty line of stitches, probably from the brain-swapping procedure the Count had just talked about. He looked stone dead.
'He looks stone dead' I said.
'Oh he is, for the moment.' replied the Count. 'But i'll have him up and about soon enough. Think of it gregory, an army of horny, goose-stepping zombies. Ever had a pelvis jack-hammered into your face at 30mph?'
'Once,' I replied, 'but I don't like to talk about it.'
'And the best part is each zombie will sire another, and another, and another, till the whole world is fucked to death. And there, at the top, will be me and my camcorder.'
'But Count' I said, quite smugly, 'everone knows Nazis are infertile.' I'd heard that watching jeopardy a few weeks ago.
'Indeed, indeed. And that's why I need one last, key ingrediant. The sperm of a potent, desirable male. By the way, Gregory, how are the kids these days? Still young and healthy?'
I was uncomfortable with such an obvious segue. I backed slowly to the door, only to find it bolted from the other side. I slammed my fist against it
'Otis, you fiendish monkey! Open the door!'
I turned back to find the Count advancing on me, wielding his gothic vaccuum menacingly.
'Don't worry Gregory, this won't hurt... much! Mwahahahahahaaaaaaaa'
He was probably lying. It would probably hurt a lot.
Fin
posted by Welshy at 5:31 PM
0 Comments:
Post a Comment
<< Home