TheDeceased
Ex-Bluelighter
Sally was still running after it happened. When she fell onto the pavement, face first, it was all over. Her handbag split open upon impact, scattering the contents across the street: a lipstick, a small alligator and a decapitated human head. Her head.
She caught it in the bag after having a run in with a helicopter. And like a chicken, she kept running around after she died. For three years, she wandered, headless, haunting the streets of Aberdeen. Three long years half way between life and death, during which time she had great difficulty travelling. Every time she caught a plane, she had to explain to the customs officials that it was her head, that she hadn’t killed anyone. But they never believed her.
The incident happened in a military base on Crowell, a small planet inside the left testicle of a Portuguese transsexual puppeteer named Lisideous Flank. Flank was a local celebrity in Gisborne, a suburb of Flapjack, Flapjack being a town that existed entirely inside the imagination of an apple tree.
After she fell, a man appeared, the pilot of the murder weapon, a man by the name of Frederick Von Shacklestein. He had been tracking her down ever since it happened.
“Can I help you?” he asked, but there was no response. The headless woman ignored him.
“Um, excuse me,” he said, “I’m talking to you,” but still she said nothing.
Finally he gave up, “fine then,” he said,” fuck you, you rude bitch,” and he got in his helicopter and flew to a place where headless women treat you with a bit of respect.
Doctor Brainman was observing all this through a microscope, aimed at a hole in Flank’s scrotum, “The woman’s head came clean off!” he said to his secretary and she made a note.
“Who’s head?” said Flank, one of the worlds’ foremost schizophrenics.
“Don’t worry Lisideous,” Brainman said reassuringly, “We’ll have you right as rain before you can say orthopedic condoms.”
“Orthopedic condoms,” Lisideous said.
There was an awkward silence.
“A small alligator,” Brainman continued dictating to his secretary, who pretended to write it all down, but never really wrote anything. Instead, the book was almost entirely full of cartoon phalluses. His secretary, Cunt Stapler-Jones, had a rare disorder that manifested in a number of unusual ways. One of the strangest symptoms was the compulsive drawing of genitals, both male and female.
Brainman never checked the notes anyway. He wasn’t really a psychiatrist. He was a dentist masquerading as a shrink, a man who took on psychiatric patients that didn’t know any better. Sometimes during therapy he would clean their teeth.
Lisideous, however, didn’t have any teeth, so Brainman focused the microscope back in on his testicles, back on the planet Crowell, back in on the headless body of Sally Newbreaker, only to find that she was no longer headless. She was running full speed towards a helicopter, having mistaken it for an old friend from her college years.
“I wish I knew where my glasses are,” she thought to herself.
“It seems,” said Brainman, “to be playing on a loop.”
Upon hearing this, Ms. Stapler-Jones nodded and drew a pair of particularly hairy balls.
“There goes the head again,” murmured Brainman removing the microscope from the man’s testicles.
“Who’s head?” Lisideous said, pulling up his pants.
The apple tree, whose true identity can only be revealed when the planets were in alignment, woke from a strange dream, only to find itself in an even stranger situation.
It had been uprooted while sleeping and replanted in the blowhole of an enormously fat woman, a woman that was so fat she turned into a whale. The woman’s name was Cordelia Proust, formerly the biggest star of fetish porn in the world and Guinness Record holder for worlds’ largest woman. Since becoming a whale, she changed her name to Cheesebrick and has moved on to animal porn.
Before being plugged up by an apple tree, her blowhole was frequented by various penises. Afterwards, it was useless. She tried to reason with the tree, but there was no use. It didn’t speak a word of English. It was French, and all Cheesebrick could say in French was ‘there’s a questionable amount of mystery left in the acquisition of pre-historical four slice toasters, simply because waffles, and when I say waffles, I mean Abraham Lincoln, waffles aren’t considered to be a legitimate form of currency, it’s one thing or the other, either a maniac with coleslaw or an almanac with Colt’s law,’ which, unfortunately, means absolutely nothing. Nevertheless Cheesebrick repeated the statement, until finally she lost her temper and, using all of her strength, fired the pesky tree into the sky.
“Cunt,” Brainman said, “I have a strange feeling.”
“Me too, Dr. Brainman,” Cunt said, scribbling more genitals, “me too.”
“I feel,” Brainman said, “as if the world is coming to an end.”
“Yes,” said Ms. Stapler-Jones, putting down the book, and taking off her clothes, “life as we know it.”
A ferret entered the room and started unbuttoning its shirt.
“Who’s this?” Brainman asked, staring.
“Who?” Cunt said, rolling down her stockings.
“The ferret,” Brainman said, “the ferret,” by which time the ferret was completely naked.
“Oh,” his secretary replied, “that’s Philip, I thought it’d be fun if he joined in.”
“A ferret? What are you fucking crazy?”
The apple tree, meanwhile, had reached the peak of its ascent and started coming back down.
“What’s wrong with ferrets?” demanded Philip, “you racist or something?”
“Ferrets,” Brainman said, “are not a race, they’re a species.”
Upon hearing these words Philip leapt onto the dentist, ripping him to shreds.
Cunt Stapler-Jones started masturbating violently, clawing at her vagina with her long manicured nails and drawing blood as she always did.
“Fuck him up,” she said to Philip, moaning, “fuck him up good.”
The tree landed in a lake, on a giant spoon, instantly dissolving in water. A cotton sponge absorbed the water, then a needle, a vein, and Delivery. An eighty-seven year old Nazi war criminal posing as a twenty-something Christian fundamentalist injected the apple tree. His name was Randolph Klitch. Peer pressure was involved.
The universe inside Lisideous Flank’s left testicle coursed through Klitch's veins, planets and stars surging through him. And he experienced the entire universe, everything that has ever existed compressed into the duration of the drug. A universe in three hours.
Klitch didn’t have much experience with injecting universes. He’d never even injected a constellation. So after only a couple of minutes, he blew his cover and was arrested for crimes against humanity.
The trial was held in an all-night gay disco, due to the courts being occupied by a travelling circus. During the sentencing, the judge, the honorable Cornelius Patrick Riceburger, accidentally swallowed his gavel, consequently choking to death. Gavels were then replaced by small bells, until another judge choked to death on a bell, which was finally replaced with a gong, because gongs are so big that nobody could possibly fit one in their mouth.
Klitch was sentenced to three days in a tropical paradise. He had a choice of four fabulous locations: Hawaii, Madagascar, Indonesia or Hell. In the end, he chose Hell because he’d already seen the other three.
The Devil greeted him at the gates.
“I don’t usually do this,” said the Lord of Darkness, “but I’m an enormous fan of your work.”
Klitch smiled, the way he used to smile when he tortured Jews, “Danke schön,” he said.
Little did Satan know, that Hell was actually a figment of Christianity’s imagination, and there was a meeting taking place on Earth to discuss whether or not the old religion was ready for retirement.
“It’s a pretty old religion,” said Barbara, “it’s had a good run.”
The minister had seen his congregation shrink over the years. Only four people remained, including himself. They were all in attendance. There was Jason, a twenty-three year old musician, Barbara, a widower and Van, a serial killer.
Rev. Pious spoke, “God is still just as relevant now as ever.“
“I'm going to kill you all,” Van thought to himself, “and fuck your bodies,” he closed his eyes, taking himself there.
“I’m afraid it’s time, Reverent,” Jason said, already rigging the church with plastic explosives.
Satan and Randolph Klitch started to disappear as the last four remaining Christians stood across the street from their church.
“I love you all,” Van said, still planning on fucking them when they’re dead.
“God save us,” Pious said and he pushed the button, blowing the church to smithereens.
A pigeon had just arrived home to the roof of the church, to find his children murdered by a vengeful worm. An epic battle ensued. And then, right at the climax, as the church exploded, Jennifer Aniston was circumcised by a Smurf and the hood of her clitoris was stretched out and made into a small hat.
This where all Smurf hats come from, not from Jennifer Aniston, I mean actresses. Smurfs wear actress clits on their heads.
It’s a tradition dating back to the 14th century when Smurfs used to hunt people for sport.
She caught it in the bag after having a run in with a helicopter. And like a chicken, she kept running around after she died. For three years, she wandered, headless, haunting the streets of Aberdeen. Three long years half way between life and death, during which time she had great difficulty travelling. Every time she caught a plane, she had to explain to the customs officials that it was her head, that she hadn’t killed anyone. But they never believed her.
The incident happened in a military base on Crowell, a small planet inside the left testicle of a Portuguese transsexual puppeteer named Lisideous Flank. Flank was a local celebrity in Gisborne, a suburb of Flapjack, Flapjack being a town that existed entirely inside the imagination of an apple tree.
After she fell, a man appeared, the pilot of the murder weapon, a man by the name of Frederick Von Shacklestein. He had been tracking her down ever since it happened.
“Can I help you?” he asked, but there was no response. The headless woman ignored him.
“Um, excuse me,” he said, “I’m talking to you,” but still she said nothing.
Finally he gave up, “fine then,” he said,” fuck you, you rude bitch,” and he got in his helicopter and flew to a place where headless women treat you with a bit of respect.
Doctor Brainman was observing all this through a microscope, aimed at a hole in Flank’s scrotum, “The woman’s head came clean off!” he said to his secretary and she made a note.
“Who’s head?” said Flank, one of the worlds’ foremost schizophrenics.
“Don’t worry Lisideous,” Brainman said reassuringly, “We’ll have you right as rain before you can say orthopedic condoms.”
“Orthopedic condoms,” Lisideous said.
There was an awkward silence.
“A small alligator,” Brainman continued dictating to his secretary, who pretended to write it all down, but never really wrote anything. Instead, the book was almost entirely full of cartoon phalluses. His secretary, Cunt Stapler-Jones, had a rare disorder that manifested in a number of unusual ways. One of the strangest symptoms was the compulsive drawing of genitals, both male and female.
Brainman never checked the notes anyway. He wasn’t really a psychiatrist. He was a dentist masquerading as a shrink, a man who took on psychiatric patients that didn’t know any better. Sometimes during therapy he would clean their teeth.
Lisideous, however, didn’t have any teeth, so Brainman focused the microscope back in on his testicles, back on the planet Crowell, back in on the headless body of Sally Newbreaker, only to find that she was no longer headless. She was running full speed towards a helicopter, having mistaken it for an old friend from her college years.
“I wish I knew where my glasses are,” she thought to herself.
“It seems,” said Brainman, “to be playing on a loop.”
Upon hearing this, Ms. Stapler-Jones nodded and drew a pair of particularly hairy balls.
“There goes the head again,” murmured Brainman removing the microscope from the man’s testicles.
“Who’s head?” Lisideous said, pulling up his pants.
The apple tree, whose true identity can only be revealed when the planets were in alignment, woke from a strange dream, only to find itself in an even stranger situation.
It had been uprooted while sleeping and replanted in the blowhole of an enormously fat woman, a woman that was so fat she turned into a whale. The woman’s name was Cordelia Proust, formerly the biggest star of fetish porn in the world and Guinness Record holder for worlds’ largest woman. Since becoming a whale, she changed her name to Cheesebrick and has moved on to animal porn.
Before being plugged up by an apple tree, her blowhole was frequented by various penises. Afterwards, it was useless. She tried to reason with the tree, but there was no use. It didn’t speak a word of English. It was French, and all Cheesebrick could say in French was ‘there’s a questionable amount of mystery left in the acquisition of pre-historical four slice toasters, simply because waffles, and when I say waffles, I mean Abraham Lincoln, waffles aren’t considered to be a legitimate form of currency, it’s one thing or the other, either a maniac with coleslaw or an almanac with Colt’s law,’ which, unfortunately, means absolutely nothing. Nevertheless Cheesebrick repeated the statement, until finally she lost her temper and, using all of her strength, fired the pesky tree into the sky.
“Cunt,” Brainman said, “I have a strange feeling.”
“Me too, Dr. Brainman,” Cunt said, scribbling more genitals, “me too.”
“I feel,” Brainman said, “as if the world is coming to an end.”
“Yes,” said Ms. Stapler-Jones, putting down the book, and taking off her clothes, “life as we know it.”
A ferret entered the room and started unbuttoning its shirt.
“Who’s this?” Brainman asked, staring.
“Who?” Cunt said, rolling down her stockings.
“The ferret,” Brainman said, “the ferret,” by which time the ferret was completely naked.
“Oh,” his secretary replied, “that’s Philip, I thought it’d be fun if he joined in.”
“A ferret? What are you fucking crazy?”
The apple tree, meanwhile, had reached the peak of its ascent and started coming back down.
“What’s wrong with ferrets?” demanded Philip, “you racist or something?”
“Ferrets,” Brainman said, “are not a race, they’re a species.”
Upon hearing these words Philip leapt onto the dentist, ripping him to shreds.
Cunt Stapler-Jones started masturbating violently, clawing at her vagina with her long manicured nails and drawing blood as she always did.
“Fuck him up,” she said to Philip, moaning, “fuck him up good.”
The tree landed in a lake, on a giant spoon, instantly dissolving in water. A cotton sponge absorbed the water, then a needle, a vein, and Delivery. An eighty-seven year old Nazi war criminal posing as a twenty-something Christian fundamentalist injected the apple tree. His name was Randolph Klitch. Peer pressure was involved.
The universe inside Lisideous Flank’s left testicle coursed through Klitch's veins, planets and stars surging through him. And he experienced the entire universe, everything that has ever existed compressed into the duration of the drug. A universe in three hours.
Klitch didn’t have much experience with injecting universes. He’d never even injected a constellation. So after only a couple of minutes, he blew his cover and was arrested for crimes against humanity.
The trial was held in an all-night gay disco, due to the courts being occupied by a travelling circus. During the sentencing, the judge, the honorable Cornelius Patrick Riceburger, accidentally swallowed his gavel, consequently choking to death. Gavels were then replaced by small bells, until another judge choked to death on a bell, which was finally replaced with a gong, because gongs are so big that nobody could possibly fit one in their mouth.
Klitch was sentenced to three days in a tropical paradise. He had a choice of four fabulous locations: Hawaii, Madagascar, Indonesia or Hell. In the end, he chose Hell because he’d already seen the other three.
The Devil greeted him at the gates.
“I don’t usually do this,” said the Lord of Darkness, “but I’m an enormous fan of your work.”
Klitch smiled, the way he used to smile when he tortured Jews, “Danke schön,” he said.
Little did Satan know, that Hell was actually a figment of Christianity’s imagination, and there was a meeting taking place on Earth to discuss whether or not the old religion was ready for retirement.
“It’s a pretty old religion,” said Barbara, “it’s had a good run.”
The minister had seen his congregation shrink over the years. Only four people remained, including himself. They were all in attendance. There was Jason, a twenty-three year old musician, Barbara, a widower and Van, a serial killer.
Rev. Pious spoke, “God is still just as relevant now as ever.“
“I'm going to kill you all,” Van thought to himself, “and fuck your bodies,” he closed his eyes, taking himself there.
“I’m afraid it’s time, Reverent,” Jason said, already rigging the church with plastic explosives.
Satan and Randolph Klitch started to disappear as the last four remaining Christians stood across the street from their church.
“I love you all,” Van said, still planning on fucking them when they’re dead.
“God save us,” Pious said and he pushed the button, blowing the church to smithereens.
A pigeon had just arrived home to the roof of the church, to find his children murdered by a vengeful worm. An epic battle ensued. And then, right at the climax, as the church exploded, Jennifer Aniston was circumcised by a Smurf and the hood of her clitoris was stretched out and made into a small hat.
This where all Smurf hats come from, not from Jennifer Aniston, I mean actresses. Smurfs wear actress clits on their heads.
It’s a tradition dating back to the 14th century when Smurfs used to hunt people for sport.
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