J seethed with the knowledge that Germy was near. He knew Germy was in this city, possibly only a few blocks away. He could smell his loins so he continued acting this way, doing whatever his jejune hormones told him to until (as it always does) the body,
just
gave
up.
He fell into a deep sleep.
When J awoke the weather was warm and pleasant. The smell of a nearby corpse was revolting. He sat up and wondered what to do next.
“What next?” he asked aloud. The noise of buzzing flies was distracting him. He ran a hand over his brow, hoping to clean the grime off. Really, he only mixed blood from his forearm with the gore already drying on his head and face. He blinked. He reached into his pocket and pulled out his diary and pencil.
He wrote in the first clear page: “What next?”
Looking at it coolly, the answer was obvious:
- Get a shower,
- Call mother,
- Try not to read so much Hernandez-Prize,
- Find a halfway reasonable person to talk to.
But, he asked himself, wasn’t “reasonable” some sort of con, just a fast-food induced hallucination, or a dark plot conceived by the people who knew what was really going on?
Or was it just the Hernandez-Prize talking again?
He groaned.
“Oh well. I think I might get a drink and hopefully I could score some quality Mono,” said J aloud.
He continued in thought: “I think it’s time to find a decent hangout, maybe something sleazy...”
J opened the yellow pages and quickly located a bar called Sodomighties. It was an S&M bar and J liked the name.
He spotted a taxi driven by an ‘orse on the Boulevard of Bastards from Bendigo, got in and informed the taxi driver of his destination without paying much attention. J just wanted a drink.
“Awright guv, but why would yer want ter go ter a place like that? A bunch of real fuckin’ weirdos go ter that ‘ole. I fink you would much ravver go ter the freak boozer in this tahn, quite an astoundin’ place. Yer could find yor Ree-land there.”
J suddenly looked up.
“Do I know you?” he asked as he pondered where he had seen this Cockney Italian stallion before.
“Evrybody knows me,” answered the horse in a lousy, almost sarcastic manner, “yes, we ‘ave met. Fink man, back ter yer youth. Remember me from the park?”
J looked deep into the horse’s dark eyes. The shock of recognition was plain to see on his face.
“My God, you’re the horse that... nuzzled my... penis. I was only five years old.”
The old stallion laughed heartily, letting a dribble of saliva swim between the chunky stubble down his chin.
“So how are you Dad?” asked J.
“Oh, I’m okay,” he said, “now where do yer right wanna go?”
God suddenly flashed a bright blinding light into J’s head. He was bathed in this light for a few seconds. God, who was in the form of a naked twelve year-old girl, said in his deep gruff voice:
“Remember the trial. The next step is to seek that which is the size of a thumbnail, but which bends the world.”
J was back in the cab again.
“Oi! Where ya’ goin’?” asked his Dad.
“I told you,” said J with a deep, controlled, almost satanic voice, “I wanna go to fucking... Sodomighties, Dad.”
“Okey-dokey. Wot eva yer want, guv.”
After ten minutes of completely silent driving, J figured out the riddle of the thumbnail thing. God was talking about Mono13. J had to score some Mono13. Perhaps wisdom would be found.
They pulled up outside of Sodomighties. It was the shape of a sphere cut in half and placed on its base. It was completely black with only the smallest of entrances. A huge mutated bouncer with literally thousands of muscles stood in black pants at the front.
As J exited the cab, his dad asked him, “How about a big wet kiss for yer ole man eh son?”
“I have grown out of that, father,” said J.
The old horse leaned close to the window, inches away from J.
“I wanna fuck yer wiv an animal,” he said with leering obscenity.
“Not now, I’m in a hurry.”
J’s mind suddenly filled with traumatic flashbacks.
“Suck it son, suck it. Eat my shit, baby.”
“I can’t help it, it’s hard.”
“It’s too big, Daddy, my bum hurts.”
“RAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!”
“Don’t touch me on my penis daddy. Don’t touch me in my bottom...”
J headed straight to the bar, jumped it, and then kicked the female bartender in the balls (deviant bars are famous for the bizarre genitalia of the bar staff). He looked under the bar and quickly located a semi-automatic pistol and immediately shot four rounds into the chest of the oncoming bouncer. In a bleeding rage initiated from his chance meeting with his father, J again leaped the bar and headed for the exit whilst shooting at anyone who may slow him down. He managed to shoot one particularly paranoid deviant who was of the belief that J was attacking all these people only to spite him. J made it out the door only to see his father gently driving off in his taxi with another passenger.
“Get out of the fucking car, you fucking cum sucker!” screamed J outside Sodomighties as he kicked a mutant in the head in an attempt to take his or her car. After two shots to the head, he or she finally decided that it may be safer just to let him take the car.
“Fucking manual!” cried J as he stalled the car in attempt to follow his perverted father.
He eventually got going and headed off in pursuit.
“I’m going to fucking kill you, you dirty dirty old cunt! Dance Forty on this, you mother-and-son-fucker!” screamed J as he let off several rounds in the general direction of the taxi, still at least seventy yards ahead. Suddenly he felt a sharp pain in his right bicep. Despite the absence of a wound, blood began to ooze from the point of the pain.
On The Street (Thirty Four Seconds Previously)...
“Do you think I should consider applying for that job in Psychis?” Germy asked to his heavily medicated personal assistant as they returned from a lovely evening at the local wine bar.
“No maybe I shouldn’t. It would be ever so awfully inconvenient to have to move again.” Germy continued before his assistant could respond.
Germy spotted a taxi and motioned his personal assistant to hail it down but then realised it already had a passenger. In disappointment he turned to walk back along the sidewalk. Suddenly he heard some gun fire and felt a sharp piercing pain in his bicep. He looked down to see blood flowing from his arm.
“I’ve been shot! Look! I’ve been shot! I cannot believe that I have been shot,” he squealed.
“I cannot belieeeeeeeve I’ve been shot. IIIIIIIII cannot believe I have been shot. I cannot believe I have beeeeeeen shot.”
He said this numerous times, trying to figure out which phrasing sounded the best. Then he fainted. A small plop of a fart came from between his greasy buttock cheeks as his personal assistant slowly dialled for an ambulance.
Inflict Kafe Gavani On The World
  
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