carlo
Carlo took to murder like a guinea takes to cadillacs. And cadillacs didn’t float he thought. The coast went by in big blue blur as he thought of sea horses that did float over the waves, perhaps the cadillac would be floating with them by now along the bottom. The corpulent fellows desired exploded moments of awe. Several of the witnesses to the event learned in time to resist the desire to be scunnered when approached by missionary elders of Mormon. It was in the obese action that the problem lay, how could one ever forget three telepathic anuses chanting out, “succumb to the clap, clap, clap.”
boop boo ppboop! the anuses eeeee went. boop.
He thought of cartoons. garters. bosco. ah god get them out of my fucking head. bzzzz. Taunting anuses. What a couple a fucking assholes. The talking asshole duh d booop is de rigeur in this fucked-up krazy kat landscape. Everyone’s got an asshole. here in the land of nod, carlo duly noted, everyone has an opinionated asshole. You ofay muthafuck, they gurgled. get the fuck out of nod. Assholes.
Assholes, now all at the bottom of the sea, Carlo knew. He had sent them there. Sent them there with apopapopapop from his .38 and then severed the brake line. no way now to keep 3200 lbs. of the finest Detroit steel that was ever shit out of the bowels of some godforsaken Pittsburgh refinery from meeting with Neptune at the bottom of the sparkling bay. Yeah, GET out of nod you fucking yuppie touristy fucks. When they had laughed at his broken nose in the simple white diner that morning they weren’t expecting his bandaged blood stained nose to lead the way to their BelAire mansion on the hill. Were they laughing now? No, he thought. He laughed, danced,, did a jig, frolicked through the twelve foot square 25 cent a night flophouse, laughed some more, nearly tripping over his own feet, nearly pissing himself with the thought that you can’t laugh with your lungs full of salt water brine.
Violence time, violence mind, laugh. Good day for a run he thought. I seem to remember a man who was hiding by a tree yesterday as I was strolling along eating that dill pickle. I’m going to go back and look again. I despise being spied as I’m in thoughts. It is like eves droppers, sneaky, brazen dirty things that they are, destroy what is beautiful by design. I want to be alone in my dragonian glory, flogging the slaves so proudly upon my floating gallows heading into the past, my destiny time. Laugh with me and we will travel across those seas. To far off distant lands where the maidens sing and cavort through golden waving lines of wheat and corn singing of our exploits. Yes, oh how I will laugh, laugh even now while thinking of the many men’s torsos that have been split wide by point blank ten gauge solid slug shotgun rounds as wide as those milky thighs will spread before us as we march through those golden waves of grain and then of the blood spilt before us on our hands and faces, to lick it from our lips, the salty sweetness of the colour of red, the colour of conquest, desire, fear and lust, blood and sweat, love and cleaving.
The color of white, forget. blank. tabula rasa. carte blanch, the promise of violence with no hangover. rewards. no risk. blue, blew, bloo, massa bloo. like the road maps on the mealy and milky backs of a thrice-dead corpse. days. empty vein. bleached dough. gutters of reddy red red gore.
Even in his perversions, carlo wasa sa sa a a patriot.
A patriot. But what does that mean? remaining true and faithful to one larger idea and remain true and unswerving he did. Fuck me over and I will fuck you twice. He fingered the carved wooden handle of his .38 that snuggled neatly within the breast pocket of a salvation army suit. At least I will put two solid neat slugs in your skull... the only two things that would faithfully remain in service to Carlo. Spinning truly and faithfully...
boop boo ppboop! the anuses eeeee went. boop.
He thought of cartoons. garters. bosco. ah god get them out of my fucking head. bzzzz. Taunting anuses. What a couple a fucking assholes. The talking asshole duh d booop is de rigeur in this fucked-up krazy kat landscape. Everyone’s got an asshole. here in the land of nod, carlo duly noted, everyone has an opinionated asshole. You ofay muthafuck, they gurgled. get the fuck out of nod. Assholes.
Assholes, now all at the bottom of the sea, Carlo knew. He had sent them there. Sent them there with apopapopapop from his .38 and then severed the brake line. no way now to keep 3200 lbs. of the finest Detroit steel that was ever shit out of the bowels of some godforsaken Pittsburgh refinery from meeting with Neptune at the bottom of the sparkling bay. Yeah, GET out of nod you fucking yuppie touristy fucks. When they had laughed at his broken nose in the simple white diner that morning they weren’t expecting his bandaged blood stained nose to lead the way to their BelAire mansion on the hill. Were they laughing now? No, he thought. He laughed, danced,, did a jig, frolicked through the twelve foot square 25 cent a night flophouse, laughed some more, nearly tripping over his own feet, nearly pissing himself with the thought that you can’t laugh with your lungs full of salt water brine.
Violence time, violence mind, laugh. Good day for a run he thought. I seem to remember a man who was hiding by a tree yesterday as I was strolling along eating that dill pickle. I’m going to go back and look again. I despise being spied as I’m in thoughts. It is like eves droppers, sneaky, brazen dirty things that they are, destroy what is beautiful by design. I want to be alone in my dragonian glory, flogging the slaves so proudly upon my floating gallows heading into the past, my destiny time. Laugh with me and we will travel across those seas. To far off distant lands where the maidens sing and cavort through golden waving lines of wheat and corn singing of our exploits. Yes, oh how I will laugh, laugh even now while thinking of the many men’s torsos that have been split wide by point blank ten gauge solid slug shotgun rounds as wide as those milky thighs will spread before us as we march through those golden waves of grain and then of the blood spilt before us on our hands and faces, to lick it from our lips, the salty sweetness of the colour of red, the colour of conquest, desire, fear and lust, blood and sweat, love and cleaving.
The color of white, forget. blank. tabula rasa. carte blanch, the promise of violence with no hangover. rewards. no risk. blue, blew, bloo, massa bloo. like the road maps on the mealy and milky backs of a thrice-dead corpse. days. empty vein. bleached dough. gutters of reddy red red gore.
Even in his perversions, carlo wasa sa sa a a patriot.
A patriot. But what does that mean? remaining true and faithful to one larger idea and remain true and unswerving he did. Fuck me over and I will fuck you twice. He fingered the carved wooden handle of his .38 that snuggled neatly within the breast pocket of a salvation army suit. At least I will put two solid neat slugs in your skull... the only two things that would faithfully remain in service to Carlo. Spinning truly and faithfully...
posted by BrenGun at 9:01 AM
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