X - ECUTION (Part 1)

Author: IrRev. Friday Jones

Email: friday@subgenius.com

Date:1998/02/18

Forums: alt.slack, alt.Friday

 

X - ECUTION 1998 by The IrReverend Friday Jones

The Devival had been winding down great until the guys with the guns

showed up. It was May 16th - no 17th now - and at 2 AM, the wooden floor

of the Philadelphia theatre was throbbing to the music as the last

SubGeniuses filed out, dancing a heavy thump-thump as they headed for the

door. Rev. A. Poca Lipzz sighed in relief: nothing had gone wrong! No

blown-out fuses, no last-minute cancellations, all of the Reverends seemed

happy and high and well-paid, the sales table was practically empty as

Rev. Friday packed away the handful of remaining merchandise, and emptied

out the 'Donations' bottle. That's when the guns were pulled. "Hand over

the money. All of it." ordered the man with the thin beard trying to

cover his acne scars. Behind him, a tall, expressionless man pulled a gun

and aimed it directly at Rev. Stang, who paused in his free-form closing

rant, posed on tip-toe like a great white cat. "Give him the money or the

Preacher dies," he rasped. Her hair matted with sweat, Friday glanced at

Rev. Strange, who was standing at the door, watching the last of the

people go reeling down the street. The robbers had good timing; everyone

was out of the building except for the inner-circle SubGenius performers -

and Lipzz. Lipzz, who had just wanted one last Devival in his hometown,

and now this had happened! Just when he thought he was safe and it was

all over but the partying. Lipzz' mind raced, faster than a squirrel

running around inside a pumpkin: Stang shot, Friday shot, or worse yet,

all the money gone, the money Lipzz needed to pay the Preachers' fees ...

Friday made a little flat-fingered gesture at Strange, who instead of

running for help, as Lipzz was silently screaming for him to do, closed

the door to the street. And stood in front of it. The music stopped. It

was so quiet that you could hear the quiet pocking, ticking noises from

Friday as she stretched herself erect, her neck suddenly seeming an inch

longer, her shoulders high, as she reached out with one hand, fingers

spread upward, and TWISTED. The two gunmen were suddenly the ones on

their toes, as Stang relaxed. The gunmen were reaching, stretching, the

guns falling from their fingers, their mouths open. They looked like men

caught on a thousand fishhooks, each one pulling UP. Invisible fishhooks,

but somehow connected to the figure of Friday, her hand touching nothing

but air. The tension was so tight in the air that Lipzz could hear it, a

high humming that actually came from Friday's throat as she closed her

outstretched hand and PULLED - and the gunmen collapsed. One hit the

floor with the meaty thud of a steak hitting a countertop; the second lay

twitching, eyes rolled back and his mouth full of blood. What happened

next happened very smoothly, and Lipzz, numb, just tried to take it all

in. Jesus was at the table; Friday passed him a wad of money and handed

him the swag suitcase. Legume appeared from behind the stage, and with

five deft moves, folded up the podium and carried it away under one arm.

Strange and Friday converged on the collapsed bodies of the gunmen;

grabbing one apiece, they hauled them towards the back door. The

musicians disconnected their power cables, scooped up their instruments

and left. The lights went out. Stang took Lipzz by the arm and guided

him out the back door as well. Two minutes after the gunmen pulled their

weapons, the theater was empty and bare. There was a tiny spot of blood

on the floor in front of the bare sales table, where it would dry and be

swept away unnoticed by the janitor in the morning.

 

***

 

The alley behind the theater was packed pretty tight by the three Church

vehicles, the truck and the two passenger cars. There was a streetlight

providing a little illumination, but not much. Then someone turned on the

truck's lights, and the harsh brilliance showed Lipzz what he really

didn't want to see. The tall gunman was down on the ground, with Strange

just now popping a clear capsule between his lips and closing his mouth.

A black fuzz seemed to run over the corpse's face, a fuzz that sank in and

started to eat away at his flesh. The bones of his skull were showing for

a moment, before they too were eaten away. This was not nearly as bad as

what Friday was doing. She had the pimply guy flat against the brick

wall, facing her, her face close enough to his that sweat from her hair

was dropping down onto his neck. Her left hand was against his chest,

inside his torn shirt - at least that's what Lipzz really wished he was

seeing. But he could see, too clearly, that the fingers of her hand had

sunk into his chest, bloodlessly. The gunman whimpered like a whipped

dog, thrashed his head back and forth. Blood flew from his mouth, looking

like a flight of insects in the brilliant light. With a growl, Friday

grabbed his head with her other hand, and it sank into his skull, slowly.

She shook the man who was grafted onto her, pressed her forehead to his -

and then smiled. Her hands came free with a "schloosh" sound, and the man

collapsed. He wasn't breathing. Thank "Bob" he wasn't breathing.

Strange had just removed the wallet from the pile of clothes that were all

that was left of the tall gunman, and now he turned to the second, another

capsule gleaming in his gloved hand. Lipzz shivered: that capsule looked

identical to the ones they had handed out at the Devival, complete to the

tiny spun-sugar fishhook inside. Friday turned, made two absurdly

graceful steps towards the cars, and then collapsed against Legume, who

held her up in the crook of one brawny arm. She hissed under her breath

to the shorn head by hers, and Legume nodded. He handed Friday off to

Stang (who bowed noticeably under the load, Friday was not a little girl)

and headed out of the alley with Jesus. Out in front of the theater,

Lipzz could hear them cajoling the groupies who had faithfully waited for

them into entering the car that pulled out of the alley - one car. Into

the other car went Stang, Strange, Rev. D-D-Dance and Lipzz, drawn along

like a fish sucked into the wake of a shark. The driver was following

instructions from Stang, who relayed them from the shivering Rev. Friday.

They drove along the edge of a cemetery, then turned right onto a

tree-shaded access road. There was a beat-up Toyota parked under the

trees, and after a whispered consultation between Strange and Friday, he

got out of the car, keys in hand. The keys he had removed from the corpse

of the gunman. Strange, still wearing his gloves, quickly took two things

from the car: a driver's license from the seat and a torn-up leather

briefcase from the trunk. "Those who stand against the Church shall lose

even their shoes unto "Bob"", fluted Friday in a voice that sounded like

she'd swallowed a harmonica. Strange trotted back to the Church vehicle,

and they left. After all, they had a party to attend. At Lipzz' house.

"Right?" said Stang, with a cheery grin on his lined face. Friday had

her arms curled around the briefcase and was muttering, whistling deep in

her throat. Strange just looked at Lipzz, his eyes invisible behind his

dark glasses.

 

-- * T * H * E * X * D * A * Y * F * I * L * E * S* Final Final SubGenius

Devival & End-Of-The-World Party Coming this April to BOSTON!

http://www.thecia.net/users/friday/xdayfiles.html

 

 

 

 

X - ECUTION (Part 2)

 

 

 

Author:

 

IrRev. Friday Jones Email: friday@subgenius.com Date:

1998/02/18 Forums: alt.slack, alt.friday more headers

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Lipzz' house had belonged to his parents, and they had set aside four

rooms as Lipzz' own apartment; when they arrived, the light from around

the shades, accompanied by heated laughter, showed that at least Jesus,

Legume and the groupies had made it. The little pile of panties on the

side doorstep was a pretty good giveaway too. Lipzz had used to resent

being shut up in his own part of the house; now he blessed it. It meant

that none of the groupies would wander into the main part of the house,

where the inner circle SubGenii would be. Including Friday, who was

looking worse by the moment. Blood was trickling down the back of her

neck, but nobody seemed to be very concerned. Lipzz shivered. Had she

done this - before? How often? The truck pulled in right behind them,

bearing a load of SubG musicians. They trooped off to Lipzz' apartment,

and Rev. D-D-Dance went with them. Lipzz unlocked the front door and

ushered in his guests - all three of them. Everyone else was partying

loudly enough to be clearly heard through the walls, but Lipzz still

thought they were going to be missing the most interesting action of the

night. Lucky dogs. Jesus had slipped into the room - clever, the door

between the two sections was hidden in the closet - oh yes, he'd told

Jesus that, thought Lipzz. Friday awkwardly laid the briefcase on the

table in the hall; she seemed to be unable to use her hands, and was

maneuvering mostly with her forearms and elbows. A brief consultation

with Strange, and a checking of keys, showed that the key to open the case

wasn't here. Friday stood and looked at the case, her eyes glazed behind

her glasses. The hair on the back of her neck stirred a little bit.

"Knife" she whispered, and Stang handed her a Swiss Army Knife. With a

few quick cuts, and a deep coring with the pick attachment, Friday removed

the entire hinge section of the suitcase. Then Friday opened the

briefcase into two sections. The briefcase was full of money. Banded

together into big, thick, meaty-looking sheaves of bills, which mostly

seemed to be twenties. And fifties. And hundreds. Friday coughed, and a

trickle of pink saliva ran down her chin. "Silly idiots," she whistled.

"All this money with them, and they just had to pick up some extra money

to buy a few of Philly's finest streetwalkers. Well, I guess Joe M'Blow's

coke is going to go unbought tonight. Jesus, if you will do the honors

...?" Jesus flipped two sheaves of bills to each of them, even Lipzz, who

thumbed through it in near-paralysis: this was more money than he made in

the last two years! Then Jesus disappeared into the other half of the

house, with the money. Later, he'd slip out of the party and drop it into

a Church safe-deposit box, where it would be used as collateral for some

short-term loans due to expire July 6th, 1998. Strange took Lipzz by the

arm and companionably asked him where the food was, and Lipzz lost himself

for a few minutes in pointing out where the snacks were. Strange grabbed

an armload and slipped into Lipzz' apartment, leaving Lipzz alone with

Friday and Stang. That is, wherever they were. Where had they gone to?

He found them in the bathroom. He wished, later, that he hadn't.

 

***

 

Somewhere along the line Stang had slipped out of his preacher's suit and

into jeans and a T-shirt, and Friday - Lipzz blinked. Friday had taken

off her glasses. He hadn't realized until he saw her without them just

how peculiar-looking Friday really was. The too-wide cheekbones, pointy

cleft chin and high forehead, all white as snow, except for the huge

staring brown eyes with pupils the size of quarters. Glasses made her

look a lot more - human, shrunk her eyes down to normal size, framed her

face with ordinariness. Friday's peculiar face was running wet; she'd

obviously just soaked her head under the faucet in the sink. And on the

back of her neck, and along her spine under her thin rubber tank top, were

- points, tiny clear translucent points sticking out of her skin, like

tiny little teeth. Or scales. The points were bleeding a little, the red

running into the dark-auburn of her soaked hair. She was standing erect,

but just barely, staring wild-eyed into the mirror. Stang was behind her,

ready to catch her if she fell. ""Bob" damn it all, I'm QUILLING!" she

shrieked, her hands cut raw on the back of her neck. "Gaaa ... AAAA ..."

Stang caught her as she tottered, pulling her under his arm, and holding a

tape recorder to her face with the other hand. "Just spit it out Jones,

let it go and it'll be all over and done with" he cajoled. He rocked her

back and forth like a baby in need of burping. And Friday started to

talk, no spew, literally vomiting out the words, gagging and whistling and

speaking in a voice not her own, a deeper voice, the voice of the man with

the pimply skin who had dared point a gun at her. "Howitsdarkthemoney

helpmeothedark hurtingmecuttingmeletmego aaaOOOOO

mommypleasemakeherletmegoletmegoletmego

illtellitallthemoneytheletterthepleaseilltellyou letmege letmego

LETMEDIEDIEDIEDIEDIE!" Friday convulsed, and then was suddenly relaxed,

standing erect under her own power. She looked emptied. Clean. Then she

leaned on Stang's shoulder, which was bleeding a little from Friday's back

spines. With two hands, she loosely cupped the dark fall of his hair, and

then let it go. "You're too good to me Reverend," she sighed. Stang

patted her on the head, and said nothing. "Rev. Lipzz!" Friday shouted,

catching him around the shoulders, smiling and ignoring the way he

flinched. "Let us make a joyful noise unto "Bob" - where's the food?"

With her glasses back on her nose, Friday strode for the door to Lipzz'

apartment, stopping to put on a sweatshirt out of her bag, which someone

had dropped on the hallway rug. Lipzz looked at Stang, still in shock.

Stang just shrugged and followed Friday.

 

***

 

It was much, much later - in fact, the first light of day was starting to

creep around the blinds. Stang and Lipzz were sitting on the couch in

front of the TV, watching a replay of the Devival with the sound off:

instead, the lilting strains of Quicksilver Messenger Service filled the

air from the CD system. Friday was sitting on the floor, with her chin

fondly placed on one of Stang's knees. Upstairs, the mighty snoring of

the SubGeniuses shook the air. Completely against his wishes, Lipzz' hand

touched the back of Friday's neck, feeling the tiny little hard points.

They seemed to be loose inside of her skin, not attached to her bones or

anything. And they were sharp - Lipzz drew his hand back, fingers

stinging. "Quilling," said Friday, in her deepest voice, husky from a

night of shouting the Sacred Sales Pitch, "is what happens when a Yetisyn

tries to activate its latent Yeti telepathgestion powers. The Yeti genes

attempt to re-create the furry antennae which grew entwined with the Yeti

pelt, but instead create the tiny quills which you see on me." Friday

sighed. "And it hurts. A lot. But it's only for a few more months ...

" "Telepathgestion?" said Lipzz. Friday smiled, and her head bobbed on

Stang's knee with the motion of her jaw as she talked, like a lively

little porcelain doll on your dashboard. "Telepathgestion. I ate his

mind. And once I'd digested what I wanted from it, I threw up what I

didn't need. Once I'm on the Saucers it won't be so uncontrolled and, ah,

lethal. Which reminds me, Stang?" Stang grunted assent, the glowing coal

of his Pipe shining in his eyes. "I promise not to vomit after I eat

_your_ brain," Friday chuckled. Stang rapped her on the shoulder with his

knuckles, and she winced in mock pain. Lipzz got up and went to stand in

the hallway, feet braced against his own exhaustion. He reached into his

pockets and pulled out two things, the keys to the front door - and a wad

of $20 bills. He looked at one, then the other. He could lock the front

door behind him and go tell the cops he had a scaly brain-sucking murderer

napping on his couch ... He could leave the door unlocked and just walk

away from it all ... Rev. A. Poca Lipzz reached into his back pocket.

And pulled out his SubGenius membership card. He looked at it very

closely: as if he wanted to memorize the printing, the logos, his own

name and address on it. Then he felt the back of his own neck, and found

the same tiny little points that had been there since he was a boy. "Who

am I kidding?" he asked himself, and got no reply. Then he went back, to

drag Stang to a bed, and arrange Friday on the couch, and then go to sleep

himself. And in the back of his mind, the clock was ticking, counting

away the hours and the days to X-Day ...

 

 

THE END 1998 The IrReverend Friday Jones

 

-- * T * H * E * X * D * A * Y * F * I * L * E * S* Final Final SubGenius

Devival & End-Of-The-World Party Coming this April to BOSTON!

http://www.thecia.net/users/friday/xdayfiles.html