Killing Mr. Crimpy (This one is pure shit, disgusting, and just generally fucked)
Crimpy, sometimes call Crimp, had bright green hair. And green skin. And a penis covered in a green salve to keep the dieseaes the riddled it from running amok and covering the rest of his body with hard, red bumps. Crimp's buisness card read simple "Money Maker" and he lived in a very sparsely furnished four bedroom condo on the westside of Franklin.
His life consisted of getting up a five AM, at the office by six PM, and into the downtown dungeons by nine. There, he would spend hours suspended from the chains and beaten savagely by round midget women in spiked heels that would no doubt end up stomping Crimp's back and balls by the end of the night.
Crimps would wander out of the dungeons, smelling of ciarette, burned flesh, and sweat at around midnight everynight with empty pockets and a slight weave and wobble to his walk. His Mercedes Benz, usually parked in a garage six blocks away so as to keep his annonymity down amungst the midget doms, swish queens, and whore, would silently carry him back home and into his bed.
Blood and Sex. Sex and Blood. Add some money, big mooooooney. That was Crimpy.
Addiction. Hooked on the heels and the midgets and the coke and the poppers and the duct tape and the scene. The rushes got duller, the adrenalin not as uncut. The midget doms and the swish queens got uglier and the strap ons didn't pack as much of a whallop as he plunged them into himself with a dozen 18-year old Taiwaneese Throat Chanting Whore Gods around him.
Boredom. New high needed, anyone may apply.
Enter Johnny Redman. Johnny Redman was former KGB Spooky guru. After the fall of the wall, Johnny decided to take the random curriosities and bizzare items he collected over the course of a thirty year career and put them on the open market for the freaks of te world to fight over.
Alien anal probes. Taiwaneese zombie cocks that fucked all night. Hitler's secret porno stash. Johnny Redman sold it all. If it was wierd, dealt with sex, and expensive, Johnny got it for you.
When Crimpy hears that Johnny Redman was in town, peddeling his expensive and twisted pornographic menagerie, Crimpy couldn't refuse.
Crimpy met Redman in the presidential suite in the finest hotel in downtown. Crimpy met Redmann with a briefcase full of money and a hard on just thinking about all the new and vile toys Redman brought with him.
There was a mystical jewish dildo made of the wood of Roman Crosses. There was a jar of sec lube from beyond pluto that was found with Stalin's corpse. There was a lock of Mary Madeline's pubic hair.
Everything a hyper rich, hyper freaky perv like Crimpy would die for.
Crimps spent hours with Redman, looking from item to item s Redman sprawled them on the bed, explaining the histories of each one in a thick cryllic accent. Redman never mentioned price. Not once.
At the end of the night, Crimpy came walking out of the hotel room without his manilla envelope, a dead, flat look in his eyes, a line a spittle running from his upper lip to his Adam's Apple, and a red, growing stain on the front of his white pants. He stumbeld and pushed himself off the walls of the hallway like a drunkard, trying to push towards the elevator, a crawling, moving feeling in his bowels. A hiss and a hum comming from inside his head.
He fell against the elevator doors and felt the world spinning faster and faster as the edges got darker. His new toy crawling inside of him and singing to him as it tore through him.
It was the best high yet.
His life consisted of getting up a five AM, at the office by six PM, and into the downtown dungeons by nine. There, he would spend hours suspended from the chains and beaten savagely by round midget women in spiked heels that would no doubt end up stomping Crimp's back and balls by the end of the night.
Crimps would wander out of the dungeons, smelling of ciarette, burned flesh, and sweat at around midnight everynight with empty pockets and a slight weave and wobble to his walk. His Mercedes Benz, usually parked in a garage six blocks away so as to keep his annonymity down amungst the midget doms, swish queens, and whore, would silently carry him back home and into his bed.
Blood and Sex. Sex and Blood. Add some money, big mooooooney. That was Crimpy.
Addiction. Hooked on the heels and the midgets and the coke and the poppers and the duct tape and the scene. The rushes got duller, the adrenalin not as uncut. The midget doms and the swish queens got uglier and the strap ons didn't pack as much of a whallop as he plunged them into himself with a dozen 18-year old Taiwaneese Throat Chanting Whore Gods around him.
Boredom. New high needed, anyone may apply.
Enter Johnny Redman. Johnny Redman was former KGB Spooky guru. After the fall of the wall, Johnny decided to take the random curriosities and bizzare items he collected over the course of a thirty year career and put them on the open market for the freaks of te world to fight over.
Alien anal probes. Taiwaneese zombie cocks that fucked all night. Hitler's secret porno stash. Johnny Redman sold it all. If it was wierd, dealt with sex, and expensive, Johnny got it for you.
When Crimpy hears that Johnny Redman was in town, peddeling his expensive and twisted pornographic menagerie, Crimpy couldn't refuse.
Crimpy met Redman in the presidential suite in the finest hotel in downtown. Crimpy met Redmann with a briefcase full of money and a hard on just thinking about all the new and vile toys Redman brought with him.
There was a mystical jewish dildo made of the wood of Roman Crosses. There was a jar of sec lube from beyond pluto that was found with Stalin's corpse. There was a lock of Mary Madeline's pubic hair.
Everything a hyper rich, hyper freaky perv like Crimpy would die for.
Crimps spent hours with Redman, looking from item to item s Redman sprawled them on the bed, explaining the histories of each one in a thick cryllic accent. Redman never mentioned price. Not once.
At the end of the night, Crimpy came walking out of the hotel room without his manilla envelope, a dead, flat look in his eyes, a line a spittle running from his upper lip to his Adam's Apple, and a red, growing stain on the front of his white pants. He stumbeld and pushed himself off the walls of the hallway like a drunkard, trying to push towards the elevator, a crawling, moving feeling in his bowels. A hiss and a hum comming from inside his head.
He fell against the elevator doors and felt the world spinning faster and faster as the edges got darker. His new toy crawling inside of him and singing to him as it tore through him.
It was the best high yet.