Murdering *****.
Chapter XXII Napalm Pilot Pervert The Magic *****-Dragon
"Chris, or may I call you Massa Debbil?" The Pervert intoned poofily,
ignoring Debbil's pleas for human kindness, wasted on The Pervert who
coincidentally was again wasted on Spankodin. As usual.
"Mercy, homes gnome sane, yo Honor!" pipes up Chris de Debbil, enjoying
this thespian encounter. And the euphoric surge of Spanko through his
lungs, all his senses tuned to high G, homes.
Then, not, as The Pervert launches a recital of matters racial, thusly:
"For I have sworn thee fair, and thought thee bright,
Who art as black as hell, as dark as night."
"Wha' thu--?" goes Chris.
But The racist Pervert is no longer to be stopped in his continual
quest for injustice.
"I now pronounce run-on sentence upon you with appurtenant split
infinitive foisted thereupon, after all due consideration, in lieu of
military intel penitentiary four, for I and my creator am bombed, saith
I, aye aye arise Sir Loin, bayou the power vested in me, I solemnly--"
At this very moment, something escapes Bombsaway Bob The Pervert.
"Something escapes me!" exclaims he, not so much reinforcing the point
as stating the obvious. As usual.
Whatever it was, this ... thing, it was on the loose. The Pervert
himself couldn't quite put his finger on it.
And that, Dear Reader, is well so, because it would have been like Bob
heavy petting his own Willy Pete. Not a pretty sight. Bones sticking
out, flesh on fire, napalmed spermatozoa everywhere, that sort of
thing.
It was a nameless thing, an abomination. It would be nice to say "it
made a clean getaway".
But to say so would be untrue. It ripped a huge bloody gash in the
double-wide seat of The Pervert's underpants, leaving them on fire and
all the inhabitants within - human and otherwise - dead, burnt to a
crisp like so many Vietnamese women and children The Pervert would have
on his conscience, if he but had one of those to haunt him for his
sins.
"Holy smoke!" responded Chris, choking on the smell. "What have you
been eating, Perv?"
That for the time being was the last semi-coherent statement ever to
come out of Debbil's Abdicate, aka Chris, before lapsing into a state
of vegetative indifference to match his I.Q. ... due to the
stereo-caustic fumes now emanating from both ends of The Pervert's
anatomy - his Spankodin-tainted overpowering Meth Breath and whatever
it was that died a fiery death and went to hell via his buttocks.
Due to the extreme similarity between The Pervert's face and his
backside, it's really hard to tell which was which, for the purposes of
identifying the respective sources of his flatulence. It was really
really bad.
Mimi keeled over, fainting dead away.
Stain was rehearsing hate-filled laMaze ceremonies in the outhouse at
the time of the incident, so he and his baby survive this episode -
sadly, say some - unscathed.
A lone survivior, Tiny Humping Futtock scuttled out of the room, his
eyes streaming but otherwise still capable of respiration, his extreme
dwarfism enabling him to operate under the caustic cloud layer
emanating from Bombsaway Bob's nether regions.
It is from Tiny's verbose journals that we are able to reconstruct what
happened next.
"Where was I?" asked The Pervert, of no-one in particular. Since
nobody was well enough to answer, he continued. "As I was saying--"
And here followed a repeat performance. A long, moaning, high-pitched
bubbling, smack-sticky sickening butt rasp, as falsetto as his
effeminate voice, which seemed to last for about four minutes signaled
the emergence of yet another of The Pervert's volatile aerobic bowel
movements, one which even he, with an I.Q. in the thousands (negatively
speaking) is unable to describe in words. Much less punctuate.
"And why, indeed, should I?" ponders he, "Since, after all, anyone who
has encountered the motion of my oceanic bowels is distracted beyond
belief from the minuscularity of my masculinity ! The number of those
who, having smelt my breaches of California Nocturnal Emissions Law,
then go on to report me for war crimes, is zero. Possibly because
there are no survivors of such emissions. As usual."
To say that The Pervert spank-farts like a pig, verbally and anally,
would be a gross understatement. But let us not dwell on the fat mass
murderer's physical frailties. To use the Stain de STD Rothwelloid
plural *We* are here to bury The Pervert, not to praise him.
He and Debbil's Abdomen, Chris, had been playing Snoop and De Judge,
with The Pervert directing and starring as His Honor Jackoff
Ffalse-Staff, while Chris - until he was so rudely gassed - had been
playing Snoop Da Playa, a guy who did nothing much of anything, except
rap and drive a defective Saturn with no front license plate which no
self-respecting car thief in his right mind would ever steal.
This raises the suspicion of the authorities, who promptly send over a
SWAT team to investigate.
Sadly, Debbil has forgotten to pay off Da Man, aka Daryl Gates.
As a result, and as our story-within-a-story opens, Debbil Snoop is
languishing in a luxury suite at the taxpayer-funded concentration camp
for profit - no, not Guantanamera Bay, silly - Quantico of Mass
Destructio, Amen.
It has been 300 years to the day, and Chris aka Snoop has pinned his
hopes on a gubernatorial pardon.
The Governor himself is an ex-felon, hence the applicability of this
feeble expectation. However, the Guvnor is also a bit dotty due to his
historic ingestation of steroids. Also, the pardon, although issued,
is not legibly signed.
Finally, to add insult to injury, The Pervert, in an effort to thwart
justice, sits on it. Under the immense pressure of The Pervert's
buttocks, the pardon - Chris's last straw of mercy - spontaneously
combusts.
"Tis as had I pulled the multi-port lethal injection system meself with
mine own finger!" ejaculates The Pervert with considerable relish. "Oh,
Killer me, how deeply runneth still my water rectal..."
But all are already lifeless. And so once again, The Pervert's
paunchline falls flat, his murderous nature surprising no-one.
Absolutely no-one.
As usual.
<to be continued>
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