Bollocks-face

Downey Hoover is an agent of the Rhizome, but he has a broblem: he gets scat attacks.

Shoobie doo-wap bop shoo-bop bop, shooo...

So whenever he's sneaking up on somebody to kill them, he's always running the risk of scatin' out of control. It hasn't happened since he killed Pointus Bartholemieu...

He was sneekin' up on him like somethin' silent when these scats just started slippin' out his mouth...

Scoot ti de ba ba da doobie doobie doo boo da...

And Bartholemieu no doubt heard this nonsense and turned around. But even though Downey was scatin' that didn't stop him from capin' Pointus in the face.

Pop!

Pointus grumbled "bollocks" and died as Downey scated.

Shoobie do do cha, chapa du cha che...

It was a terrible incodent and Downey didn't want it to happen again. It was dishonorable, he thought, to sputter such nonsense over a man as he died. So he drove this morning to Hattingsworth Pendleton-Huxley Bureau to the St. Christopher Hospital to inquire about his uncontrollable scat attacks.

~

"Oh there's no doubt that these attacks are quite undesireable, Mr. Hoover." the physician stated. "And not at all acceptable in proper society."

"Indeed, sir."

"Though I must ask you some questions and I apologize if they are of a personal nature. But I shall remind you that these inquiries are only for the benifit of your health, sir."

"Of course."

The physician looks down at his clipboard, "Are you the son of interracial parents?"

"Oh heavens no, sir."

Check.

"And have you at any time had associations with a negro?"

"No."

"What about in your childhood?"

"I don't recall, sir."

"Perhaps, you had a negro nanny?"

"My nanny was an old English woman born and raised in Cottingdale-Hastings Bureau. She was of the Saxton family whom are of direct lineage from the Queen's second butler."

"Ah, of the Pendleburrey family. A very pure breed, sir. But what about servants. Any negro servants?"

"I don't recall. I don't have a mind that pays much attention to the negros, so I suppose it's entirely possible."

"Ah, but the mind's eye, sir. The mind's eye could have easily spotted one."

"Entirely possible."

"So it is possible that when you were still in the cradle, a negro servant was cleaning nearby, and possibly hymning to themselves a rap song."

"Yes..."

"And this was somehow imbedded in your mind in a way that you were absolutely helpless to resist; you didn't know the risks of listening to this kind of sound, so your poor mind was molested."

"Molested!"

"Yes, molested. By a negro servant." The doctor pulls out a chattering vile from his white pockets, "These pills will remedy your problem."

"Thak god, sir."

"Their simple molestations are no match for modern medicine."

~

Downey took his medicine as deliberately as possible. Though he did not follow the directions as precisely as he should have. He took them with milk when he should have used Hashworth Whiskey. So he started to develop a crease in the center of his face. By the second day, it was more of a great divide. And then a bi-lateral covex started to form across his scalp, which caused his hair to fall out at this location. By the third day his mouth separated into six equalateral tri-vexes, whereas they each developed in this position, their own sets of lips.

By this time, Downey was obviously worried, but he couldn't bring himself to go outside, or even show his face to the outside world, for fear that he might scare people into heart attacks. But his horror was far from over. His voice became as silent as a breeze because of his separate mouths and only a single set of teeth. Though he would then develop on the fourth day a newly formed orvis, which is basically a hole in his temple so that he could attach USB compatable devices to his brain. But first he needed a driver and several other hardware modifications before it was entirely operable. So his brain separated in two - right down the middle and then developed their own halves. He now had two brains - one to control general functions and the other to control interaction with human manufactured devices.

But this was only the beginning. After the separation of the brain, his eyes formed angenieux cortexes, a sort of telephoto system for spying on his enemies - he had always wanted this. And after this, he could feel in his throat something tremendous happening. In fact, he was developing six vocal boxes, every one speaking a different language: English, French, Spanish, Russian, Mandarin and Arabic - this was the default programming, however, he could change them in the future via USB. And after the six voices came to be, the seventh seal in his face closed - that being his original mouth.

And the moment it was sealed, there was a tremendous build of pressure from within, and so pockets of wrath bulged from his first cheeks and grew with such tremendous speed, that they had to be coated in ambulance, and with regards to where the pressure would go after this, a passage to the nasal cavity was to be forged, and the air released there. The pressure was from, of course, the heartache of loosing his face, but mostly from his own decision to continue breathing. When he looked in the mirror for the last time, he began to scat in six languages - but they all sounded the same.

Time Cog

Gets me through the night faster.

"The Time Cog?"

Yeah.

"What is it?"

It's a device that sort of speeds up time. Not the kind of time on a watch - not man made time - but real time. Time that you can feel. Time that your brain knows is passing. You access it by creamating old ladies, transfiguring dog faces into dump trucks, and other literal methods of attempting to excite some rarely used areas of your brain.

You see, that sick area of your mind always has more energy than the other parts.

"Why is that?"

Because that part is never used. It's a recessed recess that few try to access becaused they stopped going back in elementary school.

"You still take recess?"

Well, no, not actually. I'm not in school anymore. Now I have to construct my own recesses. Because, really, as adults, our whole lives have so much freedom, to children, they wish they had that much, and so we cherished recess when we were children because of that. Now, we take that freedom for granted. And we feel that we don't have any, because we're tied down to survival - like having to make moneys so we can eat and live comfortably. But that's not really true.

I think we do have the capacity to take recesses if we want - spontaneously - at any time - but people don't do it because either they A) Don't know how or B) Need a diagram or C) Refuse or maybe D) Don't have the capacity and even possibly F) Are generally over stimulated to the point that the recess is so buried, so infact recessed, that retrieving it is close to impossible - the recess is possibly crushed under the weight of all the pointless bullshit they've packed their skulls with. This, is probably one of the most unfortunate things, because, I almost see it as killing a child - killing your innocence.

"Your recess is innocent?"

Well, no doubt that over the years, parts of reality and political correctness have seeped into this cavity - it's almost unavoidable - but you can govern it. You can have this recess play well with other parts of your brain - the so called "more mature parts" - the "older kids" so-to-speak. And they can both create something which is useful.

"How is it useful?"

It's useful because we need to escape once in a while.

"People take vacations."

Even that is troublesome - because you have to spend money and you have this finite timeline and flights to catch and car rental contracts to sign. Vacation? Hardly. More like a time that you really get to help out the economy - kind of like Christmas. Vacations are hardly escapes, unless you're obscenely wealthy and can afford to take really long vacations. Most people can't do that. You shouldn't have to spend money to get away from it all. This is what the recess is useful for - to escape - for free. Of course, the government doesn't like us taking these recesses because A) They don't help drive the economy and B) They can't tax it.

"Do you really think the government cares?"

Yes! There's been this movement over the past century to make daydreamers and oddballs looks like idiots and "weirdos". If only surrealism was en vogue - you have no idea of how quickly our economy would reverse itself. Please - you think they would allow people to have crazy thoughts? To daydream? Not at the expense of the economy - of course they would replace that word with freedom when they spoke out against these liberal "un american" ways of life.

"Do you think they would allow time cogs?"

I don't see why not. The time cog only makes time feel faster - it doesn't make it faster. So I don't see why they would be opposed to allowing it. Unless of course, they wanted people's well being to decrease.

"Why would they want to do that?"

Please - oh christ - you really don't know?

"No."

To help fuel the pharmaceutical industry. When people's helth is poor what do they do? They get medicine. They see a doctor.

"Or a psychologist."

Or a psychologist.


How much time do I have left?

Jennifer Dragon

Chicka pop-bop-bop... chicka. Chicka bop-pop-shoowop... a bubba wump-a, a humpa, a thumpa, a chubawumba thumpa, a boom-boom bounce, bounce, bounce bitch, bounce.

That is the sound Jennifer Dragon makes when she struts her stuff. It's pretty hard to put into words, but imagine this... your town has just been destroyed by an F4 tornado, and out of the smoke, the cinders, the absolute destruction comes this woman about the size of a cannon. She has cankles, missing washtowels, oversized t-shirts, slanted tits - the whole package. She is huge. But she walks through it all like it's no big deal. Though her trailer has been trashed, she has only one current priority - to find sustinance.

She's gotta pack her face with something soon, or otherwise her stomach will open up a black hole. But there really isn't any food around - it's all been blown away by the twister. But she thinks some people are hiding their foodstuffs - and no doubt this is wise when Dragon comes snooping around - but nobody in all honesty had even found food, or were even thinking about hunger at the moment.

A middle aged man has salvaged his Lay-z-Boy recliner and placed it where his house once was. He sits in it - rubble about him, wishing he had a beer and a television, but when Dragon approached, this would be his entertainment...

"Where's your food now fat ass!" the man yells from his chair. But this, was a mistake.

Dragon's breath impulsed her own brain sockets an upon this hunger-induced rage, her bodess stormed toward the man at something like maybe less than five miles per hour. But this was very fast - she approached with such an anger, and with such spectacle, that the man was awe-struck at the lobes of fat which thundered towards him. He peers beyond the fat and looks at her skeleton - poor thing.

The man hadn't been this scared since the twister. And though his ears didn't pop when she arrived over him, his pupils dialated as Dragon's teeth sank into his flesh. She began to eat him alive. He would have tried to stop her - but it seemed that her breath was fire - cooking the flesh as she ate him.

A bird coos from a treelimb.

Apparently, Jennifer took some substantial amount of offense from this - so she threw out her hand and digipathically annihilated the bird - it burst into a temporary fountain of chemicals which dripped all over the man's carpet.

"You bitch" he moaned under her spell, "Finish the job!"

So she ripped off his thighs - the meatiest parts of his body - and threw his remnants into a vortex she created out of her own left slipper. She watched his body tumble into infinity as she ate the rest of him. She was a monster - a bitch - and a Dragon.

Wings burst from her shoulder blades - ripping through the flesh like a pulsating corpse-fuck and she flew away into the daylight - her fat body bobbing up and down - her face in a state of terminal drunkness - blood dripping from her mouth and smoke puffing out her nose.

What a state, what a wicked state is this, she thought to herself as she surveyed the destruction. But in the distance, someting captured her eye. There it was - the tornado. There she would take out her vengeance, and possibly find some of her food floating around inside it.

But as soon as she started off, an expert duck hunter from below fired a twelve gauge clusterfuck into her side - sending Dragon tumbling to the ground. She bashed into some bog which captured her massive body, but fucked up her hair.

The hunters approached her with weapons drawn - a wise decision.

"Hey haw!" one of the hunters called out, sending a Beagle dog to investigate the kill.

But as soon as his little white mitts dipped into the bog, a slithering tongue sprung from the muck and sucked the dog down under.

"Hoa, now." the hunter stopped everyone.

"Let's light this bitch up." one hunter suggested.

Weapons drawn, they aimed at the beast and fired. But when the bullets came near enough, the beast emerged, drenched in surge of mud and bog sloth - the Beagle dog captured in her gaping mouth. The bullets only got as far as her stomach - she ate them and spit out the dog, sending him ripping through the air at such a tremendous speed that it impaled itself on one of the shotgun barrels.

This defense from Dragon was only followed by a breath of pure fire. She bellowed and blew some of the hottest flames upon the men, and they all burned alive - shotguns left in cinders and rounds exploding in the heat. Her job here was done, so she flew up into the sky and dialed nine one one.

With flames comming out her mouth, "My bitch is on fire!" But she melted her cell phone - so she devoured it. It was at this point when she was dialed out of existance thank goodness.