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Re: Mike Daydreams More TIL5 Goodness...


Booyah, son.

Quantnico. The hour is getting late. The investigators see time as elastic, and they are presently comfortable with stretching time for all it is worth.

Because they know he wants to tell.

Sweating. Eyes seeing something that is not there. Mike begins to speak:

"Leather. Lace. A misguided boy. Curiosity about his own body, and the hidden bodies of others."

"Pretty flowers flutter in the breeze, but to close in for a scent is to become prone to be a bee sting on the sensitive flesh of the nose."

"This is sissy rapist crap" says one of the investigators, the G-Men in the dark department store suit with the tie loosened.

A twenty-dollar tie. The horror.

"Yeah" says another investigator, not even looking at the gathered group or Mike, but from appearances, responding to his own musing. "Tell me about nine-eleven, fancy boy. Explain it to me, like I was a Martian or something and had never heard of it."

Mike doesn't respond, thinking the agent on the fringe, in the shadow, is somehow talking to himself.

Everything said to oneself is of course an accusation, an indictment, a needle prick into the heart, which itself is in shadow by nature, as it is buried deep within the breast.

"Text-to-speech bot is patient" says the first investigator. "And I'm on overtime. Earning on my upcoming vacation."

"Turn off the video feed so we can pudge on him good" says a third investigator. Mike thought he was not interested in extracting the truth from him, but maybe just wanting to see some torture. Too many trips in grey Detroit sedans and paperwork may effect a man, leading him to do things he would ordinarily find objectionable.

"Maybe my parts are all wrong on the inside, like mirror-backward or upside-down or something" said Mike.

"That's it" said the third investigator, picking up a thick telephone directory. "I'm about to reach out and touch someone."

He hit Mike in the head with the heavy book. It was a dull sound, blunted. Like punching away into nothingness. No broken glass. No catharsis. Just a flat feeling with a canvas of anxiety.

It was like a daddy shower, and Mike was half-asleep; thankfully not in danger of making a stray glance into the face of horror with his sleepy eyes.

---
"My first thought was, he lied in every word, That hoary cripple with malicious eye.."
-Robert Browning
11/15/2016, 12:57 am Link to this post Send Email to abaddon1215   Send PM to abaddon1215 MSN Yahoo Blog
 
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Re: Mike Daydreams More TIL5 Goodness...


The end of Pikesworld - The rise of evil

Dave held Derek tenderly in his arms. A nurse passed Dave a white woolen blanket. Dave carefully wrapped Derek in it. Derek grunted and groaned, pain visible as he scrunched up his face. The thousands in the hospital car park loomed close, as if surrounding them, circling them. Dave felt uneasy. The stares from the Sorto locals seemed unfriendly and unwelcoming. The figure of a man appeared on the roof top and the mood changed quickly. Dave eyed him. His mouth dropped. The man was holding something, a wrapped flag.

With Dave and Derek far from the sight, back at Pikesworld a mad mob of young children had gathered and were running amok. The Okra art museum was the first to be hit. Much to big Rikishi's dismay, all the Okra artwork was ransacked, piled high outside and set alight to the cheers of the strange mob. Molotov cocktails hurled on any building in the park, a scene of chaos and confusion. The mob laughed at the destruction, as one by one, fires were started and smoke filled the air. Rikishi could only look on in horror. He stumbled, dressed only in his black thong, as the mob struck him down with heavy rocks.

At the beach, the gypsies were busy building the sea defences for the coming invasion. Another mob of older teenagers approached, batons in hand, outnumbering them ten to one. Hands held high, something made the gypsies give up without a fight. It was something about this mob that was different to any other foe.

Back at his hut, Beady panted and cried as he looked longingly at the painting of him as a baby with his naked mother. He grabbed at his groin, breathing heavy and crying with the seering pain of his wound. The door to hut flew open. A man in uniform waltzed right in unannounced . Beady eyed him briefly, half-smiling, then realizing something and eyeing him with terror. A rifle butt smashed into Beady's skull.

The two Prince's sat outside a bar in the tourist district of Sorto. Prince, that is the singer, played footsy with Prince Charles. Charles pulled his feet back and shook his head. Prince sighed, then downed some rum straight from the bottle. A miltary jeep pulled up, skidding to a halt.
'What is this!?' The bar man argued, as the men in uniform went over to the Prince's table outside.
'We hide no longer.' The man said seriously, roughly grabbing the little prince and putting a handgun to his head.
'Oh wonderful!' The bar man said, delighted. 'Hang the pictures and hoist the flag high!'

Burgerson wandered the woods alone. From the undergrowth, a mob of camouflaged men stood up, each holding sniper rifles. He went for his gun, then turned to see he was surrounded.
'It would be sensible to put that down.' A voice commanded him.

Dave looked up. The crowd in the hospital car park grew by the minute. The man on the roof was Hinzman. The hotelier stepped in nearby, crouching to be level with Dave and Derek.
'Beautiful isn't it.' Hotel Bill whispered into Dave's ear, pointing to a flag being hoisted high on the roof. It unfurled slowly and then fluttered wildly in the wind. The crowd cheered. The hotelier smiled madly.
Dave froze.
'What the..' Dave uttered.
An orchestra assembled on the roof stepped forward. Trumpets roared and the crowd of thousand sang in unison the 'Horst Wessel Lied', as Hinzman gazed proudly and raised his hand in roman salute at the flag, a Nazi swastika.
'What's.. going.. on?' Derek said, words spoken slowly in pain.
'!@#$ got real.' Dave said, bemused, as he looked up at the hotelier Bill, who winked back and sang his heart out. 'This is a dream, it must be.'
'No dream.' A small child said, passing and handing Dave a small Nazi flag.
Dave dropped the flag and let his grasp of Derek slide. Derek flopped to floor with a thud. Dave stood, his face as white as a sheet, panicked filled him. The crowd sang and he looked all round for an escape route.
'What about Beady?' Dave said, grabbing at the hoteliers arm. 'You loved him.'
The hotelier continued to sing, ignoring Dave.
Dave let go and moved sharply away, looking to escape. The hotelier grabbed him back and thrust a handgun into his side.
'That is a Luger pistol, Davey boy.' The hotelier said, snarling. 'Move and I shoot you dead, you stupid English fool.'
The singing stopped as the nazi anthem came to a close. Cheers roared as the orchestra played the german marching song 'Königgrätzer marsch' as Nazi soldiers began marching in formation in front of the hospital. Women and children hurled roses at the soldiers.
'You're all nazi's then?' Dave said, almost laughing.
The hotelier nodded, putting a nazi pin on his lapel.
'And him?' Dave said, looking up at Bill Hinzman, dressed as a brown shirted thug.
The hotelier nodded again. Derek stood up, unwrapped from the blanket and nude. Several brown shirts barged through the crowd at the sight of the naked Derek and grappled him to the cheers of the crowd.
'Degenerate artiste.' The hotelier blurted, then spitting at the manhandled Derek. 'Take him away!'
'What's going to happen to us?' Dave said, as Derek was dragged away.
'Much pain and misery, but maybe we let you live.' The hotelier replied, pointing at the smoke cloud emanating from Pikesworld.
'Oh !@#$!' Dave barked back.
'Our youth sent on a errand. Burn the park and the degenerate art.' The hotelier announced. 'You're all to be rounded up and disposed of.'
'Disposed!?'
'Maybe you live.'

'Our time has come!' Hinzman raged through a microphone. 'No more hiding! Sieg Heil! Long live the Sorto Reich!'

'My god!' Dave cried, frightened. 'This can't be.'
'You were the perfect cover.' The hotelier said, smirking and clapping his hands at Hinzman. 'You're silly little park, eyes distracted from the island of blonde hair, blue eyed aryans. The Nazi's never went to Argentina, Davey boy. It was Sorto Island!'
Dave looked at the crowd. Some of the locals rubbed off black face, revealing white skin. He winced at his own stupidity.
'God no!' Dave cried to himself.
'Ha, ha.' The hotelier said mockingly.
Hinzman eyed Dave from the roof of the hospital and mouthed something to him - 'RUN.' He saw a truth in Hinzman's eyes. Hinzman wasn't part of this, was he? The hotelier surely, but good old Hinzman.
Dave bolted quickly. A small child stuck out his foot, tripping Dave instantly.
Hinzman frowned from above, dissapointed.
'You're under arrest!' The hotelier snapped back, hitting Dave over the head with the Luger.
Dave lay helpless and unconscious on the floor, then moments later five brown shirts picked him up and carried him away.
'Take this man to the cave prison and place him with the cowardly Frenchman.' The hotelier ordered the brown shirts.



Dave woke up. A tall, fat half-naked, bar a loin clothed Frenchman loomed over as Dave lay on his back, eyes opening.
'They got you to, eh?' The Frenchman said, then blubbing into a sulk. 'I've been here for six months. Damn those nazi pigs! I cry for hours. This is my life now.'
'Dave Pike.' Dave said, extending his hand.
The frenchman shook it and lifted Dave from the ground
'Gerard Depardieu.'
'The actor?' Dave asked. 'Jean de Florette?'
'Yes, that was me. The very same.'
'How did you find yourself here?'
'My Yacht.' Gerard replied, shaking his head. 'I circled all the islands, chose this and the bastards sank my yacht. They held me prisoner and I sit on my arse waiting to die. Well, most days. Other days, I dream I'm roaming with the fairies. You have to dream. We have no escape, I'm afraid.'
'Dave!' A familiar voice called from a barred cell.
Dave turned his back and Derek gripped the bars to a cell across the cave. They were all there. The gypsies, Burgerson, Beady, the princes and more.
'You !@#$ idiot!' Derek raged. 'This is all your !@#$ fault!'
'It's okay!' Dave called back, trying to calm Derek. 'Hinzman isn't one of them! He'll think of something. He has to.'
'Sshhh!' Gerard loudly hissed, grabbing Dave. 'They'll hear us, you idiot!'

A hour later, Hinzman emerged at the entrance to cave.
Dave sighed with relief, sensing freedom. Then behind Hinzman, six brown shirted thugs pushed Hinzman into the cave prison with heavy blows from rifles.
'!@#$.' Dave said, watching Hinzman then being beaten to the ground.
'Merde.' Gerard added. 'Well done, Mr Pike. If that heep of flesh and bones was our ticket to freedom, you just gave the poor bugger up to those pigs.'
'Marvelous!' The hotelier shouted, stepping into the cave flamboyantly. He was clad in all black, along with black trenchcoat and a skull and bones nazi hat. 'Take that traitor, lock him up and throw away the key!'
The hotelier wandered towards Dave and Frenchman's cell.
'GIVE HIM UP!' The hotelier shouted, removing his black leather gloves.
'Who?' Dave said, looking at all the people he knew in the surrounding cells. 'You have all of us!'
'YOU KNOW WHO!!' The hotelier raged. 'DAMN YOU, PIKE!'
'Beady?' Dave replied, nervously.
'No, I'm here!' Beady shouted from another cell.
'Who?' Dave asked, the hotelier's face getting right up close to the cells bars.
'YOU KNOW WHO - BLOODSTEVE ROCKYOURFACE!' The hotelier bellowed madly.


---

12/25/2016, 10:13 pm Link to this post Send Email to knights   Send PM to knights
 
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Re: Mike Daydreams More TIL5 Goodness...


Hinzman's journey to the cave

A guard sat slouched on a old wooden chair at the entrance to the cave, half asleep, skull and bones hat brought down to cover his eyes from the sun. His ears pricked up and he was roused by the shouting from inside the cave. It was Derek's high pitched whining rant, then Dave spilling the beans on Hinzman's treason. The guard jumped from his seat and ran down a hill to a guard post below. Word had got out. Hinzman's freedom fleeting. It wouldn't be long before the supposed Nazi sympathizer and now traitor to the Sorto reich was facing swift and painful justice.

Hinzman stood eating a bagel in the cafeteria of newly christened 'Saint Hitler of Braunau Hospital'. Moments after eating the last of the bagel, nature called. He ambled awkwardly past the jubilant Nazi's that lined the halls, offering smiles, thumbs up, and to any soldier a quick roman salute and 'Heil Sorto'. The toilet in reaching distance, he pushed open the door and waddled to the nearest cubicle. Yanking down his pants, he emptied himself, a single drop of turd coming out, the size of a small penny.
'Damn.' Hinzman sighed.
'Too right, you fool.' A voice replied. 'Damned, not damn. Damned, you are.'
'Huh? Who's that?' Hinzman gulped. He immediately pushed open the door, while still seated. The toilet, for all he could see empty, but the voice known to him.
'How could you, Billy?' A translucent figure said, emerging before him. It was John Wusso.
Hinzman, eyes widened, gripped at the sides of the cubicle, shuffling to stand. Silent, he ignored the vision and made it to his feet, falling immediately, tripping on his pants and underwear.
'Your fate is sealed, darling.' Wusso said, laughing in his dress.


The hotelier stood in his freshly laundered SS uniform in the lobby of the hospital. Calm had descended on the partying and silence fell all around. William Blighford, the chief of much mayhem was a lie. His real name was Willem Heydrich. The hotelier as he was known to many as for his cover occupation had done so well in infiltrating and subverting the Pikesworld enterprise that he was given a high-ranking role in the now open Sorto reich. He was now chief of the secret police. Sorto's own Gestapo. The leader of the new reich itself had personally blessed him and washed his feet. And the leader himself was now making a rare appearance from his underground lair. The hotelier kept an eye of his watch, then twiddled his thumbs in anticipation. This low-key grand entrance meant a lot to him. For months the hotelier played moronic, batshit and homosexual to reach the heights of the high-ranking Sorto nazi elite.

A Volkswagen beetle slowly drove towards the hospital entrance. No fuss to be made, the orders were to keep it respectful. No chauffeur, the man drove alone. It was fuhrer. He opened the door to car and staggered out. He wore an unflattering, all-colourful male posing pouch, his fat gut sticking out. His hair a mess and looking unwashed, as he continued to drunkenly stagger forwards, Willem couldn't help but feel the prior and celebrations party atmosphere had been destroyed by the reich's leader. Regardless, Willem stepped forward and offered a salute.
'Danke, mein friend.' The fuhrer responded to Willem and about five other Nazi's saluting.
'Sorto ist Fritzl! Fritzl ist Sorto!' Willem cried exaggeratedly.

The fuhrer of Sorto was Joseph Fritzl. He dropped to his knees and then wet himself.
'I pissed myself.' Fritzl laughed.
'A freshly tailored suit, my dear leader.' A young soldier said, carrying it in his arms.
'Who's this Hinzman?' Fritzl asked, patting the young soldier on the head and taking the suit.
'That's me!' Hinzman announced, coming through the sliding hospital door.
Fritzl pointed Hinzman down.
'Yes, mein Fuhrer?' Hinzman asked.
'You have done a good service to the Sorto reich.' Fritzl said, still dressing himself.
'Thank you. I did what I had to [sign in to see URL] the reich. My father's father was German, you know.'
'Still, much more to do with you yet.' Fritzl said, pulling on his boots.
Hinzman bowed and went to shake the leader's hand. Fritzl waved him away.
'It's an honour, mein furher.' Hinzman said, emotion filling his words.
'To betray your kind?' Fritzl asked, knowingly with a smile.
Hinzman nodded.
'Willem!' Shouted Fritzl.
'Yes.' The hotelier replied.
'Come hither. I need your ear!'
Willem stooped in. Fritzl sat crossed legged on the pavement and whispered something to the hotelier. Willem smirked and turned back, he eyed in Hinzman and raised the roman salute. Hinzman returned the salute. Willem marched forward. Hinzman and the hotelier stared each other down.
'My good friend.' Hinzman said, smiling.
Willem removed his hat, tossing it to his side to reveal his bald head. His squinty eyes filled with rage from behind his spectacles, and then he sucker-punched Hinzman right in the solar-plexus.
'Aarghh!' Shrieked Hinzman, slumping forward grabbing at his chest.
'To the cave with you, lad.. To the !@#$ cave!' Willem snarled. 'Traitor!'
Fritzl stood up, fully dressed as would be reich's chancellor. He clicked his heels and gave salute: 'Heil Sorto!'

Hinzman was dragged away. A mallet to his head, a punch to the kidneys, a boot in his arse. He yelped in agony. Marched to the cave, a beating every other yard. Every step of the way, Wusso's ghost in the dress, chuckling at Hinzman's distress.

At the cave, prodded inwards by rifles, he emerged to all the prisoners. Hinzman gazed forward briefly and then to his side seeing Dave and Derek. In his eyes they saw his pain and the look of defeat. He fell forward in microseconds, but to all those eyes in the cells it was an everlasting thud to the hard dusty floor.

'Where is BLOODSTEVE ROCKYOURFACE?' Hinzman heard, reawakening. It was the hotelier. Eyeball to eyeball with Dave. 'I ask [sign in to see URL] is !@#$ is BLOODSTEVE ROCKYOURFACE?'

---

12/30/2016, 3:36 pm Link to this post Send Email to knights   Send PM to knights
 
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Re: Mike Daydreams More TIL5 Goodness...


Allow me to rebut.

Who can be content when the enemies of freedom work mischief unfettered?

Dateline: North America

Elements from KNB are complaining amongst the remnants of the media that the zombie carnage being broadcast on the news doesn't look real enough. The headshots lack believability they say. They have a solution, they say.

Ghost Wusso tried to overtake Doctor Bloodsteve, whilst Herr Direktor was on the wireless set with Meala Jobbowitch discussing a deal for participation in the films the Moon Patrol trilogy. Doctor Bloodsteve clinched his body immediately in shock, and all that was visible of Ghost Wusso was his shins and feet sticking from Herr Direktor's exposed anus.

"Gory its dark in here!" said Wusso, sounding cramped-up to an extent and uncomfortable. His voice sounded sad, and far away, in the darkness of where the sun does not shine.

Suddenly, Doctor Bloodsteve took in a great gulp of air, inhaling mightily, and with that, Ghost Wusso was pulled in, through the back door.

And Doctor Bloodsteve was, for a time, not himself, in the most sincere of meanings.

---
"My first thought was, he lied in every word, That hoary cripple with malicious eye.."
-Robert Browning
12/30/2016, 11:54 pm Link to this post Send Email to abaddon1215   Send PM to abaddon1215 MSN Yahoo Blog
 
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Re: Mike Daydreams More TIL5 Goodness...


See also: Monte Hellman, The Shooting(film), Bernardo Bertolucci, The Grim Reaper(film, international title)

Lokken had it all, or what remained of it all. For things were in quite a mess, with zombie hordes roaming the cities, the countryside, the stripmalls and the ski lodges.

To the side, in a special box, was the Peanut Gallery: Richard Liberty and Howard Sherman. Or their reanimated corpses. The zombies. Because they were among the first casualties of the zombie onslaught. Lokken took their grunts for approval for whatever she was up to at the particular time.

AT ONCE, SUDDENLY! Doctor Bloodsteve ejaculated himself into the room with a giant spear in his hands, held across his chest.

Herr Direktor said "I got you now!"

"I don't believe this crap" said Kristina Lokken. "That stalker guy from Oktoberfest is still alive!"

"I hired this man Will Spear to find the skunk that run down my son in the dusky thoroughfare of Ogalala" said Herr Direktor. He indicated that he was talking about the actual spear in his hands. Personification.

Lokken went for her wireless set to text message Robocop to come help with that lunatic stalker from her past.

But Doctor Bloodsteve was already just close enough to touch her flesh with the tip of the long spear(Will Spear). He savaged at her, swinging this way and that, with the proverbial Ten Foot Pole.

Frankly, the doctor of film was scared to get any closer.

Lokken slapped the spear away and it bounced on the floor, landing in the far corner of the room. She looked down at her belly, with torn cloth and blood-superficial wounds, but wounds nonetheless.

She lunged, grabbing Herr Direktor Doctor Bloodsteve. She shoved his face onto her bloody stomach. "LOOK WHAT YOU DID YOU HORRID MAN!" she screamed. She lifted his head up and looked in his ghost-possessed, bewildered, blood-stained face.

Her own face was covered with loathing for the ineffectual Boll.

Then Robocop burst in the door with his fully-automatic machine pistol, but without the gun arm they gave him in the third film. The third film is not part of official canon. In my opinion.

See also: Robocop 3, Frank Miller(screenwriting credit)

---
"My first thought was, he lied in every word, That hoary cripple with malicious eye.."
-Robert Browning
12/31/2016, 12:27 am Link to this post Send Email to abaddon1215   Send PM to abaddon1215 MSN Yahoo Blog
 
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Re: Mike Daydreams More TIL5 Goodness...


HIS NAME WAS WILLIAM HINZMAN

The hotelier danced alone in a crowded ballroom. Much younger, long hair, side burns, frilly shirt, flair trousers and heeled shoes. It was the 1970's. The music was disco, German disco. It was the Sorto Dome, the place to be. A young lady caught his eye.
'Who is that?' Willem chimed softly to himself, eyeing the lady from behind. She sat on a stool at the bar swigging good old German beer from a pewter tankard. Even from behind and with his view obscured, Willem believed her to be the 'one.'
'I must.' Willem said to himself. In his head the word 'confidence' sounded. 'Have confidence. She's mine.'
He confidently walked towards the bar, strutting in tune to the disco beat. He was feet away. Emotions raised at his close proximity, he gazed at her beautiful soft skin and the way the flowery dress she wore enveloped her body. He blonde hair, a pure breed, the smell of perfume, the scent of a good German frau. His penis twitched. He smiled.
'Lady.' He said, softly without response. The music drowned out his voice. 'Lady.'
He raised his arm and caressed her shoulder, then tapped gently.
'Another drink!' He shouted.
He hadn't even seen her face. Her head rocked up and down.
'A Berlin special cocktail, my dear?' He asked. No response. He tapped her shoulder. 'A Berlin special?'
The swivel stool she sat on turned round at slow pace. Willem licked his lips in anticipation.
'My god!' Willem cried, horrified by the woman's face.
The face was Dr. Bloodsteve's.
'Oh sweet Jesus!' Willem added, arms flailing. The music in the club fell silent and the people in attendance vanished.
The woman with Bloodsteve's face, produced a meat cleaver and swung it at Willem's neck. Blood spurted on impact and Willem dropped to floor, blood spraying out of his carotid artery. Bloodsteve's face stared down from the stool, grabbing at his breasts and smiling wildly.

Willem awoke in the cave. He lay in the dirt, the prisoners in cells watching him closely. He perched himself up with his hands and then stood. He yawned as he approached Derek's cell.
'Where is he!?' Willem asked, kicking dirt in Derek's crowded cell. Where's Bloodsteve?'
Derek shook his head.
'You know where he is, Mr Okra.'
Derek continued shaking his head, then turned to see Dave, who held his finger to his lips.
'Okay, okay.' Willem said, turning away. 'Have it your way. I've asked and I've asked, yet you tell me nothing. You know though. We know you know. We just needed a location, but no.'

Hinzman was plonked down and chained to a folding steel chair hours before. He endured beating after beating, as Willem quizzed everyone over Bloodsteve's location. Hinzman braved it, screaming to everyone not to tell of Bloodsteve's whereabouts. He now sat unconscious, under a bloodied white sheet, hidden from view.

'Okay, okay. Have it your way. Have it you bloody way.' Willem repeated. 'Music, please.'
An ancient vinyl record player sat on a desk in a far corner of the cave. It was wind-up player, it's sound coming as its pin dropped. An old recording of Beethoven's 'Moonlight Sonata' played out, it sounding ominous and eerie as the music bounced through the cave.
'Heinz!' Willem called out, as he pulled off the sheet to expose Hinzman's swollen, bloodied face and battered body.
A huge brown shirt thug walked into cave, a frown offered from his menacing face. He carried a car battery and jump leads.
Willem grabbed a bunket of ice cold water and tossed it over Hinzman.
'Mummy!' Hinzman cried out in shock. Willem and big nazi laughed.
The prisoners looked on aghast. Willem and the thug stripped Hinzman of his clothes and attached one lead to Hinzman's testicle, with Willem then waving the other lead in the air. Hinzman cried out in pain, the worst yet to come. Derek began to speak, but then Dave silenced him again with a finger to his lips again. Willem attached the other lead to Hinzman's testicle momentarily, an electrical surge running through his body. A burning smell emanated from hinzman as he cried out in sheer agony.
'He's...' Hinzman uttered, frothing from his mouth.
'Your pain will end.' Willem said to Hinzman, faking sympathy.
'He's dead.' Hinzman replied, spitting blood at Willem.
'NO!' Willem shouted back, attaching the lead back to Hinzman testicle to shock him. 'YOU'RE !@#$ DEAD!
Willem and his nazi henchman stood back. The electrical current ran through hinzman and the prisoners begged for mercy, but it was pointless. Willem walked away, the brown shirt following. Hinzman's body wriggled as the electrical current fried him up. Smoke then wafted through cave as his body started to cook. Hinzman was dead. Derek began to cry uncontrollably, standing then pacing his cell back and forth . Dave sat crossed legged, hands over his eyes, not quite believing what had just happened and wishing the world away. The rest of prisoners fell into a somber state of mourning and despair.
'That poor sod.' Beady said, grabbing at the bars in the hope they'd bend. 'Not me, I won't die like that. '
'Now you know why I dream of the fairies.' Gerard Depardieu added wistfully, taking a crap in his cell's commode, looking down at Dave. 'I have seen this many times.'

---

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Re: Mike Daydreams More TIL5 Goodness...


Robocop burst into the room, heading straight for Bloodsteve, who ran in a great circle to evade the cyborg.

The [sign in to see URL]. screen: "Variously known as the Doctor of Film. Subject All Points issued by Sorto Island Security."

"You will come with me" said Robocop, to Bloodsteve, the Doctor of Film. "Or there will be trouble."

With a mechanical hum, Robocop put on a burst of speed and caught Bloodsteve by the arm. Robocop's body was as perfect as technology could bear. He was a veritable manhunter, as before the zombie outbreak he roamed Old Detroit long hours everyday bringing in criminal after criminal, working with a disaffected zeal, if there was such a thing. A purpose, but without emotion. If only he could enjoy his success.

The [sign in to see URL]. screen: "This item is gift wrap eligible. Is this item a gift?"

Robocop slapped Bloodsteve about a dozen times with Bloodsteve's own clutched arm, saying "quit hitting yourself." Then he bent Bloodsteve's arms behind his back, presumably to restrain him. Bloodsteve screamed.

Outside, the 1988 Ford Taurus sped along towards a small private airstrip where a jetcraft awaited.

Robocop stopped the car amidst a throng of policeman near the jet, and they all ushered Bloodsteve from the Taurus. One of the cops put a Hannibal mask on Bloodsteve-one of the kinds that prevent biting.

Bloodsteve screamed "You better put that on me, else I'm taking a mouthful out of some f*cking body."

With that he was put aboard the plane, secured by chains to the floor. The cops waved at the pilot of the plane as began to taxi away.

The pilot was Meala Jobbowitch. She had volunteered for the assignment, saying she would not even accept payment for the work of piloting the small jet to Sorto. It was just, she said, getting shed of Bloodsteve.

On the [sign in to see URL]. screen: "Please take our Customer Service Survey about today's transaction. We would like to know what you think about your experience with our store."

---
"My first thought was, he lied in every word, That hoary cripple with malicious eye.."
-Robert Browning
1/5/2017, 10:27 pm Link to this post Send Email to abaddon1215   Send PM to abaddon1215 MSN Yahoo Blog
 
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Re: Mike Daydreams More TIL5 Goodness...


Carnage and revenge

Hands in pockets, the boy traipsed about without a care in the world. He walked a sandy path, brambles and berries to each side, acres of arable green land all round. The path led to the gypsy camp. The boy was Okra's long-lost son. Seemingly unaware of what was happening on the Island, when he'd returned to the beach to find his gypsy cohorts, he found an empty beach. He was returning to the campsite to find them instead.
A mechanical buzzing sound overhead. A weird creation of a madman or genius thought the boy, it was the wooden and cloth winged Onithoptor. A figure waved out to him from it.
'You watch this!' The voice called out from the sky to the boy. It was the hotelier in his haunting black SS uniform.
'Bill!?' The boy shouted back realizing who it was, as the strange flying machine disappeared from view.
'Watch!' The voice shouted back.
The roar of aircraft above, then a jet flying low. It had the nazi insignia. The boy saw it as it whizzed by at great speed. Then something dropping from the aircraft. The boy flopped to the ground. An explosion sounded, vibrating the sandy path. He looked up, then was blinded by the great light. First the clear of day, then the flash of an explosion so bright it seared his eyes. The cries of the wounded and dying followed.
'Blind!' Okra's son said, scratching at his eyeballs. 'I can't see.'
'Terrence!' A voice called out to the terrified boy. He couldn't see him, but it was Dukker, chief gyspy. His clothes were burnt to his skin as he walked unsteadily toward the boy. The nazi's had dropped a napalm bomb on the campsite.
'Mister Dukker?'
'Here, lad, here.' Dukker said, grabbing the boy and cradling him in his arms. 'Least you got the clothes on your back, lad.'
'What happened?'
'We've been fucked, lad.'
'I saw a plane with the Hitler logo on it.'
'Hitler logo, eh? A Swastica?'
'Yeah, that.'
'The rumours..' Dukker said, then pausing, Terrence feeling the man's grip slide. 'Don't do it!'
A gunshot fired out. Terrence jolted upright in shock as Dukker's blood and brains sprayed his face. He couldn't see anything. He prodded Dukker gently to no response.
'Dukker?'
A soldier stood over the dead gypsy and the boy.
'Gypsy?'
'N-n-no.' Terrence replied, his voice wavering.
'You're in luck, boy. I can't shoot you then.' The soldier said, laughing.
'Where's Dukker?'
'You blind or something?'
'Yes. Where's Dukker?'
'That liquid you feel is his blood, son.'

Night. The cave was dark at night, but not this night. A glow from afar. Dave couldn't see a thing, obstructed by the cave, but they all saw the glow.
'It's miles back.' Beady said, as he and others witnessed the great pyre from the cave's opening.
'What's happening?' Dave asked. 'I can smell the smoke, but can't see a thing. It's a fire, but where?'
'You know where.' Derek piped up, watching through his cells bars. 'It's home.'
'Pikesworld.' Beady added, wiping a tear.
'Torchlit procession, real fire, by the looks of it. There's hundreds of 'em.' Derek said, gripping the bars, his solemn face lit up by the glow. 'And a mammoth fire. I've never seen anything so big.'
'Where?' Dave asked, stressed, pulling at his hair and kicking the bars.
'Outside the Okracabana.' Beady said, turning to Dave. 'The bastards are burning it all.'
Outside the Okracabana, the Horst Wessel lied was played as streams of Nazi's passed the blazing bonfire. Copies of Dave's books were thrown on it in there thousands by Sorto civilians, who'd played along for sometime with Dave's insane idea of them being Sorto's new currency. The books burning, the people laughed at Pike's stupidity as more and more were tossed and hurled into the flames.. He'd thought them gullible, but in truth it was the other way around. Pike had been sold the lie. The island wasn't quite what he and Derek thought it was.
As the fire got bigger and bigger, soldier torch bearers marched in their hundreds as the fuhrer Josef Fritzl emerged and sat on a throne on a balcony of the Okracabana. By his side, the hotelier. A massive swastica banner dropped down the building as Fritzl put his hand up for the Roman salute to those below, a bright, shining spotlight signalling his presence. The roar of thousands of nazi's cheering was deafening.

Mr French cowered bravely in the remnants of the burned out Texas school book depository building in Dealey Plaza. After seemingly being forgotten about, he lived as a bum there, salvaging scraps from bins at night and eating rats he'd hunted. Still a free man and evading capture, he realised he didn't have long before he'd starve. Exiting the building meant death now. Something needed to be done. Tonight, this moment, this night was zero hour. He clutched at a rifle and aimed for the Okracabana balcony some way away, but his target was lit up and he was ready to change history.
'You fat nazi bastard!' Mr French uttered, spat out in anger. He eyed the man on the throne through the rifle's scope. A single shot fired out, its sound covered by the noise of nazi's festivities.

'Great isn't it?' The hotelier remarked, head dangling over the balcony to look at fire and parading nazi's. 'Wonderful stuff... You know we fried that traitor Hinzman, sparked him up right good!'
Fritzl slumped in his throne, his face opened up by the bullet. Blood poured out from his nose and mouth. He made a gasping, gurgling sound as he breathed his last. The hotelier turned round, still smiling. The smile melted into disgust, then horror, then he bawled out a blood curdling scream. The Fuhrer was dead.





Last edited by knights, 1/6/2017, 9:27 pm


---

1/6/2017, 9:22 pm Link to this post Send Email to knights   Send PM to knights
 
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Re: Mike Daydreams More TIL5 Goodness...


ON SORTO ISLAND:

Franz Josef, the beguiled clerk, at once a put-upon, but catapulted into eminence by the National Socialists.

To be interred on the grounds of the Beer-Empty WTC tribute on North Hill, Sorto Island.

In the cave, Derek felt a peculiar tickle.

Dave was trimming his facial hair with a rock he had sharpened by licking it over and over again. The stone had a sharp edge, but Dave's tongue was rendered raw and bloody.

Derek began to cry.

"Quit that mess, Derr", said David Pike.

"No! It's so strange!" said Derek. "A REAL GHOST has overtaken me! What do I do?"

"You and I both know ghosts aren't real" said Dave. "Except for Fergal Stot-to-trot's ghost. That sh*t was too real for words!"

"I'm very afraid, now" said Derek, staring vacantly into space, overtaken by fear. And a ghost.

--
HIGH IN THE SKY OVER SORTO...

...the jet from North America was arriving, circling in a wide arc over the chaos of the island. The rising smoke of the burning Okracabana made kind of a pylon or marker for the jet to fly around.

Bloodsteve had fallen asleep. The sound of stomping footsteps against the metallic floor awakened him.

It was Sam Jackson Four. The one with the patch over one eye, which was a cloning defect. He acted, but with a fake eye. Long ago he had the milky dead eye taken away and replaced with a glass one.

The glass eye he had chosen years ago was purple as a monkey's a**hole.

He came over to Bloodsteve while the Doctor of Film struggled against his restraints. He undid the lock on the floor, then walked over with the Doctor of Film in tow, to the exit door. He opened the door and pulled hard at Bloodsteve.

Sam Jackson Four said, over the wind-noise: "Hope you enjoyed your freed ride courtesy of the agency. Sorry we couldn't have hula girls waiting for you, but I guarantee you gonna make an entrance that will have them talking for years to come!"

As the Doctor began to muse over these words, during that lapse in attention, Sam Jackson Four pushed Bloodsteve out the door and into open air.

In the popular vernacular, "then the sh*t was going down."



---
"My first thought was, he lied in every word, That hoary cripple with malicious eye.."
-Robert Browning
1/11/2017, 12:00 am Link to this post Send Email to abaddon1215   Send PM to abaddon1215 MSN Yahoo Blog
 
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Re: Mike Daydreams More TIL5 Goodness...


Flute
Beady lay with his back and head resting on the bars on the cell. His cellmate was Derek. Beady, a resourceful, intelligent tinker had chipped away with his hidden penknife at hunk of wood from the toilet seat for days. He was creating a flute and with much patience he was nearly finished.
'Give me that knife, you poo!' Derek mumbled, gesturing with his hand to Beady.
'Ah, done.' Beady said, as he finished chipping away at the long object. 'Very nice. Never despair when sweet song awaits.'
'Nice recorder.' Derek said quietly, 'Now gimme that knife.'
'It's a flute, Derek.' Beady said, then blowing off any remaining dust and shaking it thoroughly.
'I don't care what it is, give me the knife!'
'What you up to Derek!?' Dave called out, overhearing from across the cave.
'Heinz!' Derek shouted out, snatching the knife from Beady. 'Heinz'
The big man walked into the cave from a warders office, his presence known to all by the jangling of keys with every step.
'Derek, he's built like a brick shithouse.' Beady whispered, jabbing Derek in the leg with flute.
'I'm gonna stab him in the eye, grab the keys and get us out of here.'
The man was about seven foot tall, the build of a weightlifter, a swastica tattoo revealed on one arm. Heinz's face was unflinching at first, then he scowled the nearer he got to Derek. Derek stood, looking up at the man, a hand behind his back gripping at the penknife.
'What'd yah want?' Heinz scoffed, spitting at the floor.
'A new toilet seat, my good friend.' Derek said nervously, beginning to shake.
'A commode seat, eh? What happened to the other one?'
Derek looked down at Beady. Beady had hidden the flute down his trouser leg, tucking it into his sock. Derek pointed at Beady, who still lay rested against the bars.
'I sat and it broke.' Beady laughed, arms raised.
'He's not telling the truth.' Derek said, continuing to point at Beady. 'He's got a knife and used it make a flute out of the toilet seat.'
Beady stared Derek out. He was pissed.
'Derek's got the knife!' Beady screamed. 'And he wants to stab you in the eye!'
The giant arm shot through the bars, grabbing Derek by the neck. Derek went to strike with the knife but the strength of the man's grip and the violent shaking meant he let go of it in seconds. Derek was hoisted in the air like a ragdoll.
'Not a clever dick, Mr Okra.' Heinz hissed, increased his grip.
Derek gasped, unable to speak, face reddening, mouth frothing, and his eyeballs bulging.
'Hey, enough!' Beady protested, standing up and kicking the penknife out the cell toward the giant. 'We're done, have the damn knife. !@#$ sake!'
Heinz tossed Derek against the bars, leaving him falling to the floor in a heap.
'The flute!' Heinz demanded.
Beady looked down at Derek, shaking his head. He lifted his trouser leg, pulled out the flute and handed it to the big man.
'No!' Heinz sighed. 'Play.'
'Oh.' Beady said, eyebrows raised, smirking with delight. 'I will. A ditty for Heinz. I pray and play for my captor.'
'The Horst Wessel Lied.' Heinz said, nodding happily. 'Play that.'
'Afraid I'm not familiar with that.'
'Just play.'
'Okay, Greensleeves. My late mothers favourite.'
Beady blew out, prepared himself and then began to play Greensleeves. Out of tune.
'Okay, stop!' Heinz said, cutting in after seconds. Heinz walked away, keys jangling. Beady sank to his knees. Derek raised his head, his weary face eyeing Beady.
'You can't play. You're !@#$. Now let me jam that thing up your ass, so you get what I just got.'
'All my life, my mother said I was a flute virtuoso.' Beady said, dropping the flute.
'She was lying!' Derek scoffed, sniggering.
Beady grabbed the flute from the floor and hurled it at Derek.
'You play it then!' Beady said, puffing out his cheeks.

The sound of an owl hooting caught everyone’s attention in the cave. 'They're lying to you' A voice whispered out from the cave's entrance.
'Who are you?' Whispered Beady, his and Derek's cell closest.
'It doesn't matter. Expect help. The Island is a lie. BLOODSTEVE IS COMING. '
'Coward!' Dave shouted out. 'Help us now!'
'Shut it, idiot!' Derek cried back at Dave. 'Your mess got us here.'
'I'm here to relay a message only, my friends.' The mystery voice replied. 'Help is coming. The uprising has begun.'
'Uprising?' Beady asked.
'The fuhrer is dead. It has begun. Help coming. Bloodsteve is coming to lead us.'

Derek sat up, more composed and relaxed. He stared across the cave. Dave smiled back and Gerard began to jump up and down with joy.
'You play beautifully.' Derek said lying, passing Beady his flute back.

---

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