The Plague

The Great Plague of Vienna

FINGER MY PINKISH GREEN BUTTHOLE. The year I spent in Vienna was a fucked up year. Trust me. The Black Death had already gripped the city. Everywhere you went there were piles of the infected dead. At night, pillars of fire lit the skies as town-doctors burned the bodies, salted with that disgusting mixture of herbs and spiceS. I'd been trolling the east-end, near the floodplain, sort of where the fucking airport is now. Two nights previous, I'd thumbed a young rat-dufus musician from Mödling right in the anal flavorberry. He was playing these pipes that sounded like a cow having a splintered broom handle shoved into it's terror hole whilst being burned alive. I approached him slowly, a deranged smile on my fucked-up face. A bit of turd drool spilled over my lower lip when I revealed two incomplete rows of rotting teeth. He stopped playing, albeit slowly, and nervously gazed at me from beneath his brow. I said, "Satan’s successes are the greatest when he appears with the name of God on his lips." His eyes widened as he took a step back. He giggled uncomfortably, then took a swifter step back when I pealed back my eyelids with my claws and began whispering the dialogue from an 80's Taco Bell commercial. He really began giggling now, except it was more like a scared but inhuman squeal, and he was curling his fingers in and out over his dumbass pipes or lutes or toots or whatever the fuck they were. He started to mutter something inaudible, so, basically unprovoked, I lunged at him with breakneck speed, my dingle kong flopping in the winds like a diseased day old subway tuna sandwich. He crumpled immediately, that terrible giggling spraying the air like graffiti. I relentlessly rained blows upon him with my moto-penis and shoved several hard cheeses into his rectum. In time, he fell unconscious, so I tore off his stinky beans and sloppily devoured them in front of two small children. They were crying. I grabbed up one of the lil buggers and chopped on an ear. The kid shrieked, so I threw her into the Danube before cawing like a crazed crow until the remaining child ran from me and my crooked crook-dick, howling like Harry from Harry and the Hendersons when he's pretending to be a fucking fire engine or some shit. The musician was heaped in a pile over his pipes, sorta moaning, emitting here and there a very weak giggle. I bashed him in the head with my elvin heel and he rolled over with a fart. Then I rubbed on his crawl wiggler until he jizzed diarrhea. He looked like a pile of elephant shit in the dying light of the day, lying there in the street, in a puddle of his own red blood. I finished him off by shoving a can of Trader Joe's red salmon into his throat, then tap-danced Puttin' on the Ritz on his FUCKING chest. He flailed like a mentally retarded orangutan for a good ten, fifteen minutes as I went through this horrible routine. Passersby bellowed and waddled off, gesticulating like retards, pointing in my direction over their shoulders. A cop even tried to intervene. He was wearing a kerchief over his mouth and was waving a little stick at me. "Unhand that man!" he shouted in German. I spun like a wild top, my teeth drippings with goo and my EYES red with blood. I bounded from the dufus toward the flatfoot. The copper hollered something about Jesus and fell to his knees, his hands shielding his face. I landed right on top of his god damn head, an awful "CRUNCH" sang through his body as he doubled over under the wait of my hell cannon. He emitted a brutal cloud of flatulence, to which I could not help abarfin'. The musician was still now, he had expired, SO I BUTT-FUCKED THE CORPSE NATURALLY AND GENTLY WITH BALM FROM SOME OLD CHINESE FAGGOT IN NAPLES.

This is February, 1679.

About an hour after the murders I sorta came to in an awful haze. My eyes were foggy. I felt like a horse had surgically removed the top of my skull and then pounded on my nude brain with its smelly demon cock. The musician lay at my feet, a rancid puddle of urine had collected under his battered body in the shape of the Olympic rings. I stood with a fecal puff that caused a nearby transient to bare his teeth and hiss in pain. I wiggled my hips and shook my booty in his face until he belched, rolled his eyes into the back of his head and scurried away.

I needed a drink. 

Most of these shanties and shit-holes were boarded up, loaded with diseased rat fleas lodged in clothing, carpets, rags, grain, and shit. Those fuckers survived from six weeks up to a year and left welts the size of taters all over my balls. I popped a few of them juicy fuckers scrambling around on a rotting window sill and they burst in my mouth like gushers of hell. Even the fleas were terrified of me.

Well after a wizzz that drowned a small weeble village, I stumbled into the only open tavern I could find. I barked like a dog for twenty minutes before this idiot came shuffling in from this dank cave like back room. He smelled like anal. Twenty-nine pear ales. That's what I ordered. This dumbass, a doofus smile from ear to ear, but eyes rolled upward - looked like Corky from Life Goes On and Lawrence Fishburne mixed together with a dash of Herve Villache - lazily sloshed the ale into the 29 steins, said nothing, actually he smelled more like a camp outhouse after a busy summer of never being emptied. He wouldn't or couldn't look at me, just kept that moronic smile on his face and his eyes on the ceiling. I still can't figure out how he could see what he was doing. And when he was done, he shuffled back into that back room, where I began hearing stomach-turning, guttural moaning and farting noises for a good hour or so straight. I remember I called in after him at one point asking if they had a pool table or ping pong and every time I would speak the moaning and farting would get louder and more violent to the point where I had to plug my ears. There were also these awful splatting noises, like a garden hose spraying against a brick wall, accompanied by grotesque gagging noises and wining, so I gave up on the pool. Just kept wincing and spilling my pear ale when another outburst would occur. Fuck it stank. The moaning and shit sounds from the back room were just as mind-numbing as ever and I began to feel sick.Well, when someone started whispering "Grandma, is that you? It me it me it Tim Tim," from out of that god forsaken hell hole of a back room, that's when I decided to step out for a smoke.

The bells of the city were ringing fucking nonstop - it was driving me into a murderous rage. God damnit. NON-FUCKING-STOP. GOD DAMNIT. I was about to take a puff of heroin or PCP and get wet in the anal, when this dink of a motherfucker ran right into me. The pansy piece of shit was wearing this ridiculous conical mask and boots that made him look like a dumbass duck. He groped at my taters, whimpering like a puppy and tried to give me an enema. He couldn't have been more than four feet tall. I tried batting him away, but that only seemed to agitate him and he began frantically rubbing these ointments on mY ass that smelled of human feces. I beat him to the ground with an angry fist before he went skittering away laughing like a poisoned hyena. "What the fuck," I managed before disappearing back into the bar. The horrible moaning noises had ceased and I was down to my last drink. No one else was in the bar. I took a stink squirt where I sat. The crack of my pants filled like a balloon and the greenish plop of turd squished through my breeches like spoiled yogurt through a squeezebox. From somewhere in the shadowy corners of the bar, I heard a woman barf. I turned my head this way and that, but couldn't see anyone. It didn't matter, though, because by this point I was talking loudly to myself about the Savings and Loans Crisis of the 1980s and how "William Black was a piece of shit!!!!" It was fairly dark outside by now, so I pissed on the bar (a high-pitched hissing sound followed by greenish steam or smoke rose from the piss) then I headed back into the night without paying.

I still had those god damned pipes with me so I figured I'd play a tune or two for the townsfolk even though there wasn't a living soul on the streets save a few dark figures scurrying through the alleys with rags over their faces. In the distance, you could see the lights from the fires of the dead. Their reflections fluttered and flickered in the busted windows of closed shops and homes. To my right stood the blackened foundation of a small church, still smoldering from whenever the vandals had chosen it. It was at this point that I got into a terrible bout of shouting "nigger faggot" over and over again I couldn't stop! I'd scream it in between terrible notes of hell from those god awful pipes. They tasted like sweat and smelled like urine. Well it went on like this for a few hours until I found myself walking along the river. Tired now, a nine inch turd hanging from my breeches like a rotting tail, I rolled into a piece of sushi and collapsed in a gutter flowing with shit and period blood. The mixture bubbled around my face and I gargled a little lap or four for good measure before belching human jizz and losing consciousness.

I'm not sure what idiot needs to keep his day job, but at some point in the night I was mistaken for dead and hauled by rat cart to the burn pits. I awoke in a festering mound of deceased plaguers. God damnit it smelled like a lump of shrimp burps left to mold in the hot hot heat for a weak inside a tin can. I vomited immediately, then tried to roll out of it and my face went right into the tortured nest of balls and penile of a dead nude old dude. I barfed again and devoured the moist meal of putrid frank and beans. I threw up sixteen more times before shitting myself. An hour later, I finally crawled from the horrid bin of shit. Fuck me. I struggled with the hangover from hell for a good three days before moving on to Switzerland where I spent four months banging blonde bimbos and working as a casino manager in Zurich. A few months later I was fired for replacing chips with groin fungus and clown cakes.