From truwe@swelling-itching-mind.net Fri Jun 05 10:54:30 1998

Newsgroups: alt.slack.devo,alt.slack

Subject: Re: Nenslo's Great Idea

From: truwe@swelling-itching-mind.net

Date: Fri, 05 Jun 1998 10:54:30 -0700

 

saint@prairienet.org wrote:

> In article <35778E02.5A0C@n.slo>,

> NENSLO <n@n.slo> wrote:

> > I got this great idea to build an ocean liner out of old pie pans.

> > The Piepannic. That's what I would call it.

> YOU GO TO HELL!

> YOU GO TO HELL AND YOU DIE!

> FUCKIN' PUNS!

> -st. andreux

 

Bennett Cerf will haunt you. He's dead, but he has the power to move,

and KILL. His shambling, once-human form will burst through your window

one night. You'll sit up in bed, hyperventilating, staring into the

darkness vainly looking for the thing that broke in. Hours will pass,

and no movement. You'll ease into a light sleep, planning to look for

the thing in the morning. "It was just a raccoon, anyway."

 

The next morning, your scare almost forgotten, you'll feel the cool air

from the broken window and curse softly to yourself. Swinging your legs

out from under the covers, you'll sit on the edge of the bed,

contemplating the price of plate glass. That's when he'll grab you, by

the ankles, just like you always KNEW something would when you were a

kid. Screaming doesn't help, but you will anyway. It will seem as

though your whole existence is one loud, shrill note, pushed out through

burning lungs and hoarsening vocal cords as Bennett Cerf drags you under

your own bed.

 

They'll find you a day later, huddled in the corner, gibbering like a

madman. The deep scratches on your legs will be ascribed to the glass

shards on the floor, and all your shrieks of warning about the "undead

humorist under the bed" will be disregarded totally. The stench from

beneath the bed will emanate from an old suit, covered in some sticky,

soupy substance, an evil black sludge that the police will consider

taking samples from, then saner heads will prevail and the whole mess

will be chucked in a Dumpster.

 

The scariest part, the part you'll remember, vividly and incessantly, as

they wheel you in for the ECT, is how it almost seemed to be trying to

talk. With body so decomposed, reeking dead tissue moving only through

power of will, it was almost incomprehensible. But you know what it was

saying.

 

"transporting gulls...across staid lions...for immortal porpoises."

 

Its echoes never leave you.

 

Annnnnnnnnna

--

|<truwe(at)mind.net> | Ben, Shelley, Matie & Annna* |alt.slack.devo|

"If there were a use for bags of vomit, do you think so many people|

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