LoudCrownVic
5,000+ posts
1/1 of Team Team Team
Well, i don't give a crap what people think and TwistedVisions asked me to post it forever ago. So there.
Monkey Suit
“Where are my glasses?” So late at night and dark, poor Tom couldn’t find his spectacles, he couldn’t see. But what is there to see? I am the only one who will do any seeing here.
“Hello? Jacqui? The lights have gone out.” Must be the storm. I laugh at storms, they are so frugal, they kill so few people. My my, how he searches about. What it must be like for the poor bastard to be blind.
“Hello? **** it, why do I always have to lose my glasses?”
“Here are your glasses. Put them on.” I say, how the maggot coils at the sound of my voice.
“Who is that?” I stand over the helpless creature, who dons his spectacles, so they might amplify the darkness. He reaches out, curious at first. “Jacqui?” My spiked bat swings, and I crush his curius member, like a paper crane under a car tire. I observe with subtle enjoyment as the little worm realizes the damage that has been done of him, and holds his hand close to his chest, and drenches his shirt in his freed vitality.
“Gahhh!” It’s funny, every person sounds different when I first hit them. A Louisville slugger bat with about 2 pounds of 4”deck screws tapped through it works wonders for people like Tom.
“Well Thomas, we meet again.” I greet him properly now, as he clutches his ruined hand in utter agony, the least of which he will experience.
“Please don’t kill me, whoever you are, I have a wife and children!” Ohh, boo hoo ha ha! I did too once. Dirty bastards.
“I am here because of what you’ve done.” I sneer, enjoying this more, and yes, more so. “You killed them, Tom. You killed them all. Now you must pay the price.”
“I don’t know what you are talking about!” He shouts, so loud, my goodness.
“Rememer the car you hit on May 3, 2001? A mommy, a daddy, and their two children died then. Why? Because you are an ignorant slob.”
“I… I didn’t hit them on purpose… I need an ambulance.” My, he is one scared duck. I am sure he will wet himself. I am so scary.
“Oh right, sorry, that is all I am going to do to you. Where is the nearest phone?”
“There should be one on the dresser in the next room.” I am of course, a nice guy, he should get prompt medical attention as soon as possible.
“Stand up… Stand up! There you go.” I love this game. It makes everything seem so comical, so ironic. “Now go to the phone.”
“Okay…” He walks, taking each step cautiously, and guides himself through the door along the wall, while clutching his ruined hand, still, like it was a dead puppy. He finds the phone, picks it up and gingerly dials 911 on the adorable luminated keypad, smearing it with black from his injuries in the limelight.
“Are you safe now?” I ask, soaked with viscious sarcasam.
“Yes, once the ambulance comes.” He says, his voice quavering like a hurt child- which he killed. “Hello, uhm, I have hurt my hand badly and need paramedic attention, the address is;”
“Tell them you’ve hurt your legs too.”
“But I haven’t hurt my legs.” And with that I took a mighty swing, and knocked him flat oh his back, tearing part of his left calf and most of his pant leg off completely, it tangled from my bat like a flag. I watch as the blood pools up nicely under his thrashing form, and listen as he screams, and swing again at his legs as they kick helplessly. I hit them until they cease to move. I ruin them.
“Tom, Tom, Tom, now you know what it feels like. Your victims won’t see you where you are going and justice is served.” I flip on the lightswitch an illuminate the scene, the ceiling, the carpet and the dresser are littered in chunks of flesh and blood, all featureless and red in their terrific coverage. I paused, and took a special tool out of my pouch, a flat metal plate on a handle.
I found a light socket and plugged it in, soon it was red hot- a stove coil sandwiched between sheet metal.
“And this is how you stay alive.” Tom had passed out some time ago, I took his now maimed body and re formed it, cauterizing his wounds. The operator still begged for Tom’s voice, but he was drowned by the heinous sizzle of flesh.
I’ll admit, Tom will never be the same, but neither will be the lives he ruined. I pack up my tools into a large backpack, caked in smoking viscera, and walk out the front door. My job is done here- another fool who meets what it feels like to be on the receiving end of the blind hate of drinking and driving.
Those Guys
It’s funny how stuff can pile up on you when you’re gone. Just yesterday I went out for five minutes and the blasted telephone lit up like crazy, I came back and there were eight messages on my voicemail, people asking me where the hell I was.
“So you are an important person, is that correct?”
**** straight. Like I was telling you before, it isn’t easy owning your own business. People always need this or that, parts ordered… That’s to be expected, you know?
“When was the last time you saw him?”
Oh, I’d say last week. He said he was going to go out for lunch with some friends. He took his little blue Chevy. The Corsica. Said he’d be back by at least four thirty.
“And did he return that afternoon?”
No… He did not. That’s why we’re here, right?
“When did you contact the police after you noticed his disappearance?”
I gave him a couple days, cuz he’d been working some serious hours, I figured he might have crashed out with one of them, you know? I thought I’d give him some space. Then I started getting real worried after about four days, and started calling around. Somebody wanted a day off and I had to find him.
“Did it bother you that he called your number approximately 48 hours after his disappearance?”
Yes it did.
“Did you pick up the phone when that call came to you?”
Yes.
“What did he say?”
… I... Well, he talked absolutely flat, like a machine almost. He said, Hello, Clarence, I am good. They are treating me good here. You must not worry. Do not look for me, I am somewhere else now. Thank you, goodbye.
“… What… What proof do you have that…”
S’what he said.
“So, what makes you believe your subordinate was abducted?”
He had some shady connections. Strange people would come into the shop and ask to see him and he would walk out for a few minutes and then come back in. he usually was real quiet after that. These were the real strange types, like camouflage, trench coats, crew cuts, tattoos… I told him to meet them somewhere else. I didn’t want those military skinhead types around a family oriented business.
“And what did he say to that?”
Nothing.
“So how were these so called shady people connected with his disappearance?
This is where it gets strange. I saw a bunch of those driving around a couple times in a suburban with tinted windows- and I swear I saw someone in the back struggling to get out. It’s not one of those definite things… Gut instinct, you know?
“… My superior officer is telling me you know more about this, much more.”
He is fulla it- I just run a lube shop; I don’t follow stray kids around all day!
“Clarence, James and I have had a long day. Unless you want me to dope you up so you talk, I would do it voluntarily.”
Blow me. I don’t know.
“Why don’t you just tell us? I have been nice and given you all kinds of opportunities to tell me where William is. I get a different story every time.”
Not by much, I just remember the story more every go around.
“Allright. Allright. That’s fine. You still won’t tell me a lot of things that I want to know- and you know **** well what they are.”
Like what? I just change oil and tires and smell like WD-40, I’m not in cahoots with the mafia, man.
“How am I supposed to believe you?”
What else do you have?
“Nothing…”
Can I go now? It’s Sunday and I want to go out and get drunk before I gotta go back to work tomorrow.
“I’ll be ****ed before you leave without telling me what you know.”
Bend over then. Ugh!
“…So, now that I have upset your chair after kicking you in the chest, you have no other sentiments?”
They’ll kill me. You gotta know that, jackass. I have a girlfriend and her kids to look out for. If I don’t get curbstomped first, they’ll chase away my business.
“Those skinhead military types you talked about are in for a big surprise real soon. That goofy kid that worked for you was that guy, James’s brother. And we aren’t cops.”
No shit…
“You see this? Huh? Open your stupid eyes!”
You guys…
“Yes, US GUYS!”
That’s awesome…They are… And James’s brother is… Well, as long as I don’t die, I will tell you.
“Shoot.”
They made me change a tire once on their creepo Suburbans, and I opened the dash to find out the factory inflation pressure, they had it all screwed up, one tire had 50psi in it-
“Get to the point.”
They had a bunch of business cards for the Sheetmetal Works down by the river on Wake Boulevard. There is a pawn shop right next to it that sells lots of guns- bet your *** that is where the scummy ****ers breed.
“But you have no idea where they are hiding him?”
Not really. Can you pick up my chair? It’s hard to look at your feet sideways.
“No, I am not interested in walking into a hornet’s nest for a shootout. I know **** well where they like to congregate, and now I know exactly who we’re up against now.”
If you can find his blue Corsica, I’ll guarantee he isn’t far from there. At least take these handcuffs off man…
“Nope.”
He prolly drove to wherever and they most likely are keeping him somewhere close. They have a few safehouses out in the ‘burbs, even a couple out in the country.
“Listen, it’s not like I hate you or anything, but I know you are not telling us any more than before. I want a location. Or else.”
Okay, but I don’t know the location. So I am going to die, aren’t I?
“Nope, not for at least for or five days.”
Ow, shit no, come on! They didn’t tell me **** it! Please, please come back guys, aww man, hey, I’ll ****in’ tell you!
“Bye!”
Monkey Suit
“Where are my glasses?” So late at night and dark, poor Tom couldn’t find his spectacles, he couldn’t see. But what is there to see? I am the only one who will do any seeing here.
“Hello? Jacqui? The lights have gone out.” Must be the storm. I laugh at storms, they are so frugal, they kill so few people. My my, how he searches about. What it must be like for the poor bastard to be blind.
“Hello? **** it, why do I always have to lose my glasses?”
“Here are your glasses. Put them on.” I say, how the maggot coils at the sound of my voice.
“Who is that?” I stand over the helpless creature, who dons his spectacles, so they might amplify the darkness. He reaches out, curious at first. “Jacqui?” My spiked bat swings, and I crush his curius member, like a paper crane under a car tire. I observe with subtle enjoyment as the little worm realizes the damage that has been done of him, and holds his hand close to his chest, and drenches his shirt in his freed vitality.
“Gahhh!” It’s funny, every person sounds different when I first hit them. A Louisville slugger bat with about 2 pounds of 4”deck screws tapped through it works wonders for people like Tom.
“Well Thomas, we meet again.” I greet him properly now, as he clutches his ruined hand in utter agony, the least of which he will experience.
“Please don’t kill me, whoever you are, I have a wife and children!” Ohh, boo hoo ha ha! I did too once. Dirty bastards.
“I am here because of what you’ve done.” I sneer, enjoying this more, and yes, more so. “You killed them, Tom. You killed them all. Now you must pay the price.”
“I don’t know what you are talking about!” He shouts, so loud, my goodness.
“Rememer the car you hit on May 3, 2001? A mommy, a daddy, and their two children died then. Why? Because you are an ignorant slob.”
“I… I didn’t hit them on purpose… I need an ambulance.” My, he is one scared duck. I am sure he will wet himself. I am so scary.
“Oh right, sorry, that is all I am going to do to you. Where is the nearest phone?”
“There should be one on the dresser in the next room.” I am of course, a nice guy, he should get prompt medical attention as soon as possible.
“Stand up… Stand up! There you go.” I love this game. It makes everything seem so comical, so ironic. “Now go to the phone.”
“Okay…” He walks, taking each step cautiously, and guides himself through the door along the wall, while clutching his ruined hand, still, like it was a dead puppy. He finds the phone, picks it up and gingerly dials 911 on the adorable luminated keypad, smearing it with black from his injuries in the limelight.
“Are you safe now?” I ask, soaked with viscious sarcasam.
“Yes, once the ambulance comes.” He says, his voice quavering like a hurt child- which he killed. “Hello, uhm, I have hurt my hand badly and need paramedic attention, the address is;”
“Tell them you’ve hurt your legs too.”
“But I haven’t hurt my legs.” And with that I took a mighty swing, and knocked him flat oh his back, tearing part of his left calf and most of his pant leg off completely, it tangled from my bat like a flag. I watch as the blood pools up nicely under his thrashing form, and listen as he screams, and swing again at his legs as they kick helplessly. I hit them until they cease to move. I ruin them.
“Tom, Tom, Tom, now you know what it feels like. Your victims won’t see you where you are going and justice is served.” I flip on the lightswitch an illuminate the scene, the ceiling, the carpet and the dresser are littered in chunks of flesh and blood, all featureless and red in their terrific coverage. I paused, and took a special tool out of my pouch, a flat metal plate on a handle.
I found a light socket and plugged it in, soon it was red hot- a stove coil sandwiched between sheet metal.
“And this is how you stay alive.” Tom had passed out some time ago, I took his now maimed body and re formed it, cauterizing his wounds. The operator still begged for Tom’s voice, but he was drowned by the heinous sizzle of flesh.
I’ll admit, Tom will never be the same, but neither will be the lives he ruined. I pack up my tools into a large backpack, caked in smoking viscera, and walk out the front door. My job is done here- another fool who meets what it feels like to be on the receiving end of the blind hate of drinking and driving.
Those Guys
It’s funny how stuff can pile up on you when you’re gone. Just yesterday I went out for five minutes and the blasted telephone lit up like crazy, I came back and there were eight messages on my voicemail, people asking me where the hell I was.
“So you are an important person, is that correct?”
**** straight. Like I was telling you before, it isn’t easy owning your own business. People always need this or that, parts ordered… That’s to be expected, you know?
“When was the last time you saw him?”
Oh, I’d say last week. He said he was going to go out for lunch with some friends. He took his little blue Chevy. The Corsica. Said he’d be back by at least four thirty.
“And did he return that afternoon?”
No… He did not. That’s why we’re here, right?
“When did you contact the police after you noticed his disappearance?”
I gave him a couple days, cuz he’d been working some serious hours, I figured he might have crashed out with one of them, you know? I thought I’d give him some space. Then I started getting real worried after about four days, and started calling around. Somebody wanted a day off and I had to find him.
“Did it bother you that he called your number approximately 48 hours after his disappearance?”
Yes it did.
“Did you pick up the phone when that call came to you?”
Yes.
“What did he say?”
… I... Well, he talked absolutely flat, like a machine almost. He said, Hello, Clarence, I am good. They are treating me good here. You must not worry. Do not look for me, I am somewhere else now. Thank you, goodbye.
“… What… What proof do you have that…”
S’what he said.
“So, what makes you believe your subordinate was abducted?”
He had some shady connections. Strange people would come into the shop and ask to see him and he would walk out for a few minutes and then come back in. he usually was real quiet after that. These were the real strange types, like camouflage, trench coats, crew cuts, tattoos… I told him to meet them somewhere else. I didn’t want those military skinhead types around a family oriented business.
“And what did he say to that?”
Nothing.
“So how were these so called shady people connected with his disappearance?
This is where it gets strange. I saw a bunch of those driving around a couple times in a suburban with tinted windows- and I swear I saw someone in the back struggling to get out. It’s not one of those definite things… Gut instinct, you know?
“… My superior officer is telling me you know more about this, much more.”
He is fulla it- I just run a lube shop; I don’t follow stray kids around all day!
“Clarence, James and I have had a long day. Unless you want me to dope you up so you talk, I would do it voluntarily.”
Blow me. I don’t know.
“Why don’t you just tell us? I have been nice and given you all kinds of opportunities to tell me where William is. I get a different story every time.”
Not by much, I just remember the story more every go around.
“Allright. Allright. That’s fine. You still won’t tell me a lot of things that I want to know- and you know **** well what they are.”
Like what? I just change oil and tires and smell like WD-40, I’m not in cahoots with the mafia, man.
“How am I supposed to believe you?”
What else do you have?
“Nothing…”
Can I go now? It’s Sunday and I want to go out and get drunk before I gotta go back to work tomorrow.
“I’ll be ****ed before you leave without telling me what you know.”
Bend over then. Ugh!
“…So, now that I have upset your chair after kicking you in the chest, you have no other sentiments?”
They’ll kill me. You gotta know that, jackass. I have a girlfriend and her kids to look out for. If I don’t get curbstomped first, they’ll chase away my business.
“Those skinhead military types you talked about are in for a big surprise real soon. That goofy kid that worked for you was that guy, James’s brother. And we aren’t cops.”
No shit…
“You see this? Huh? Open your stupid eyes!”
You guys…
“Yes, US GUYS!”
That’s awesome…They are… And James’s brother is… Well, as long as I don’t die, I will tell you.
“Shoot.”
They made me change a tire once on their creepo Suburbans, and I opened the dash to find out the factory inflation pressure, they had it all screwed up, one tire had 50psi in it-
“Get to the point.”
They had a bunch of business cards for the Sheetmetal Works down by the river on Wake Boulevard. There is a pawn shop right next to it that sells lots of guns- bet your *** that is where the scummy ****ers breed.
“But you have no idea where they are hiding him?”
Not really. Can you pick up my chair? It’s hard to look at your feet sideways.
“No, I am not interested in walking into a hornet’s nest for a shootout. I know **** well where they like to congregate, and now I know exactly who we’re up against now.”
If you can find his blue Corsica, I’ll guarantee he isn’t far from there. At least take these handcuffs off man…
“Nope.”
He prolly drove to wherever and they most likely are keeping him somewhere close. They have a few safehouses out in the ‘burbs, even a couple out in the country.
“Listen, it’s not like I hate you or anything, but I know you are not telling us any more than before. I want a location. Or else.”
Okay, but I don’t know the location. So I am going to die, aren’t I?
“Nope, not for at least for or five days.”
Ow, shit no, come on! They didn’t tell me **** it! Please, please come back guys, aww man, hey, I’ll ****in’ tell you!
“Bye!”
