AXE manspray

Lizzie Borden

Forgive me, I was pulled out of bed by my dick by several severely agitated federal agents and although I gave them nothing, it was still a rough start to my day – especially since I was still tripping on baker’s aerosol. Anyhow, I might be a little fuzzy on this one as I sit here, nude, clenching my butt-cheeks together and slurping day old Rainier. Fuck.

Back in the day, I worked the railway a good deal. I traveled from town to town, shredding the anile of multiple hobo dank bunz. The money was good, but every now and then I’d have to stop off in some douche bag and collect extra green for an anus re-sewing operation or something to that degree. I loved the railway though. Loved it. I became real close to this fuck-face named “Milky.” He was a real cunt sniffer and I mean that in the worst way. He loved to play the harmonica. I mean the cocksucker could manipulate the mouth-harp with his RUBBERY schlong!

This one day we were all riding along, Joe and the Crabs, Dirty ‘Boner’ Larry, Dustman, Gibbersdaffer and Milky. Milky is playing a mean harmonica and we are all just listening. I was watching that sparkling instrument with enormous desire. My eyes were glistening with lust. He was halfway through “Old Susannah” when I could contain myself no longer. I lunged at Milky. He screeched and threw his arms up in defense. I ripped that god damn harmonica from his mouth and shoved it up my own ass. There was this unanimous gasp from the other occupants before I spun around and shat the harp right back into Milky’s mouth. He was lying on the boxcar floor, crying and screaming “TIS THEE DEVEEL HISSELF! THE BEAST! OH LOORDY HELP US ALL!!” then his speech went into kind of a gurgle as his mouth filled with my doodie water. Without motive, I bashed him in the spleen with my boot heel and vomit sprayed all over the other motherfuckers in the car. They screamed as one and recoiled in terror to the darkened corner of the car. I grabbed the closest little bitch and looked him square in the eye. He was shivering and smelled as if he was literally living inside a campground outhouse shit-hole. “I’m pregnant,” I said in a real low-voice. “It’s yours.” Then I grabbed him by the pants and chucked him through the open door and into a ravine. I decided that was my cue. After six straight months of no showering and having only eaten rat semen and horse apples, I was ready for a god damn break. So as the fuckin’ trolley passed through this little town, I leapt from the boxcar shouting “GERONIMO, YA ASSHOOOOOOOOOOOOOLES!!!” and landed head first into a fucking cow.

Well I stood and sorta brushed off my nut sack. I left an impression of my face in the cow. So I brush my shit off and stumble toward town. I needed a god damn drink and I needed a god damn job. I stop just short of this stupid sign that read “Fall River.” Well I didn’t know where the fuck that was. The name sounded like a spot I used to dump bodies during high school. I went sauntering in to town along this god damn dusty road. It had to have been a hundred degrees outside. I was sweating. I had on these wool britches and I couldn’t handle the swamp crotch so I ripped them off. The stench was unbelievable. Unbelievable. I mean I almost passed out and you know it’s bad if I can’t hack it. Well immediately the flies are all over me. It was nice to have my cushion crumbs out in the wind, but the fucking flies were buzzing and hooting all around my hell no bouncies and I was getting real agitated. I hobbled around like that for about an hour. Townsfolk left and right were avoiding me like the plague. I kept extending my arms and rolling my eyes back in my head, reaching out to them and moaning like a retard. Little bits of vomit were spilling from my mouth and that smell, oh my god I smelled like a dead child that had been rotting in an old wine barrel in the hot hot heat for 2 weeks.

Well here I am, trudging along, my fucking pants around my ankles and I smell like God’s toilet after a storm at sea. I decide that I’ve got to get out of this heat. I went for the first house I saw, No. 92 Second Street. The residents had no idea I was coming that day and if they had, they would have run themselves shitting into the fields and bludgeoned themselves to death and then set themselves on fire after pouring battery acid into their ocular cavities while watching “Howie Mandell: Howie in Maui.” That being said, I wasn’t ready to fuck shit up, but after all these years, I still surprise myself. This is Thursday, August 4th, 1892.

I burst in through the fucking front door like the Philadelphia SWAT team and bash right into some old dude who was attempting (I can only assume) to go take a piss on his front porch. The hit was so massive that it knocked him out cold and flung him onto the couch like a ragdoll. I emitted an ear-splitting scream and ripped open my shirt like a fuckin’ werewolf. The old dude was out like a light, snoring like a baby. This younger looking chick comes running in to see what the matter was. I darted at her and shouted “WHO WANTS CHICKEN SEX?! HOW ABOUT YOU, BEAUTIFUL?!” Well my gunky lincoln log was flopping out in the wind already so I pumped it up and charged her. She screamed and began to run. I intercepted her with my long rod and she fainted. “FUCK THIS SHIT EVERYONE IS A PUSSY!” I heard a door close upstairs so I lunged up to the second floor, heated and ready for bloody semen cookies. The first door I laid eyes on I kicked open - like a god damn wicker basket it flew and slammed against the inside wall. This woman was standing there looking mortified. I grew a grin from ear to ear and within seconds I was doing a god damned monkey bone dance all over her vaginal paradise. She was hooting and hollering and wouldn’t shut the fuck up so just before I was about to play in the mud I bashed her in the back of the head with the old battle axe I used to hide in my pubic hair bush from Tulsa. She died immediately. I must’ve bashed at her fucking head forty fucking times. She keeled over in a lump of shit on the floor and I made haste. When I got to the bottom of the stairs, dear old dad was still passed out, but the chick that fainted was kinda coming to. I got up into her grill and said, “Hi little one. HIIIIII! What’s your name?? You sweet sweet thing. I can smell your stinkies…” She looked up from under her shaking brow and whimpered, “Elizabeth Borden…” I smiled and caressed her cheek. She began to cry. Then I grabbed a good hold of her curls and maniacally huffed:

Lizzie Borden took an axe
And gave her mother forty whacks.
And when she saw what she had done,
She gave her father forty-one. 

(progressively getting louder)

Lizzie Borden took an axe
And gave her mother forty whacks.
And when she saw what she had done,
She gave her father forty-one. 

(until I was screaming)

Lizzie Borden took an axe
And gave her mother forty whacks.
And when she saw what she had done,
She gave her father forty-one.

I pulled away from her, still chanting this lunacy at full blast. She was screaming. I spun toward the dude on the sofa and raised my battle axe high over my head. I screamed “LET’S REWRITE HISTORY, MOTHERFUCKERS!” and I bashed in that faggot’s skull. I swung again and again, hacking away at his fucking face, little Lizzie Borden shrieking behind. Well after about forty minutes of this nonsense, I decided it was time to get THE FUCK back to the railway. I pounced on Lizzie Borden and pinned her there. She was squirming around all nuts like. I hawked a real nasty loogie and let it string out from between my puckered lips. Just before it touched her squniching face, i slurped it back up. She squealed and I slapped her good and hard. "I was never here or else that loogie goes into your hole." I slapped her again for good measure then stood. I barged out of the house and threw my axe into the back of a passing wagon. I vomited on the dusty street after remembering I hadn’t had a drink in over two hours.

I never found a job, but I swiped a gold pocket watch I was able to barter for sex from an eleven year old kangaroo.

As the sun set at my back, I made my way toward the rail-line, humming that sweet sweet goodness.

The Tucker Cross

The Tucker Cross

Back in the seventies, I had a lot of issues. I mean, I was really fucked up. Worse off than now, some closest to me would say…but they would never say that type of shit to my face because they know I would skull fuck them.

I was renegading in Bermuda. Three years prior, I found my way to town after inadvertently passing out in a storage container bound for the islands. I’d been fucking around on this cargo ship, ya know, as I’d lured the captain of the dream boat with plans to rape n’ rob the candy-coated sonofabitch. Well, I had a shitload of ecstasy I’d lifted from some dirt bag kid the week before. I was hoping to hop a cruise ship and pass the shit out to all the old people, but instead decided to ingest it all whilst butt-fucking el capitano.

Anyway, I came to after three weeks stuffed into this fuckin’ box without food or water. I survived because I chewed off most of my love handles and munched on the occasional diseased rat. When I was finally dumped onto this rotting dock near the Maritime Museum, I’d lost forty pounds and was addicted to drinking urine. It really sucks to be addicted to urine, because you can’t chug the vile tincture from hell without puking your guts out (unless you’re a fucking psychotic Superman.)

So for the first few months, I ran around the island snatching at young man sucker-peckers. I grew these real nasty rat claws so I could tear open big boys’ britches with the force of a fucking jet turbine. I also developed this fucked up piece of property I still keep on the bathroom wall: a vacuum face mask, which would clasp to the tip of targeted man pecker and suck at the bladder, forcing relief from the victim. It was really fucked up. So I’d usually hop and skip around town, not really showering or sleeping or taking care of myself in any way. I looked like an unholy nightmare.

After about nine weeks of this nonsense, I was wrested from my toilet nest near the police station (copper piss is bliss) and forced into some sort of rehab program or some shit by a bunch of nuns. I was a real maniac for the first year of that god damned shit. Because I had lost so much weight and looked like a fucking rat child who had been consuming ONLY urine for the last 63 days, they thought I was some sort of malnourished child and not the 45 year old serial killer considered armed and extremely dangerous by many government agencies including Mossad, the GRU, the Guanbu, MI-5, the FBI, the CIA and the NSA. I couldn’t get out of there. I mean I just couldn’t. Every time I would rebel, refuse to eat, murder someone, break shit, rape a nun, set something on fire, etc….the god damn fuckers would just throw me right back into circulation. Every day it was pray, eat, clean, pray eat clean. I had to live with all these other little fuckers that would beat me up and make fun of me at night. I really hated it. Then, our youth group pastor began to touch me inappropriately. I would run screaming and crying to the head mistress or whatever and she would just backhand me and send me back to the father. He would put on this god damn puppet show with a Kermit doll and a mouse doll and then stroke my noodle and make crazy voices like fingernails on a chalkboard. I would throw my hands over my ears and just scream and scream and he would laugh until tears were running down his face.

During the fifties, I stayed in Bermuda, briefly, while working on my human sex trafficking gig. I knew this piece of shit that lived nearby, so eventually I was able to get a message to him. We’d done some work together in Egypt on Operation Damocles when I’d forged my way into Mossad. One night, Manny was his name; Manny sneaks into the monastery and slips me a little .380 pistol along with a note. The note basically said that he would scratch my back if I’d scratch his dick. Well I knew the fucker was into high-profile theft so I reluctantly complied (although Jesus God in heaven I would do anything to get out of that hellhole from hades.) So that night, I left a note outside my window for Manny, letting him know I was down. Fuck me I wanted McDonald’s. I waited for Sister Ignacio to ring the bell for lights out and feigned sleep. At final check, I slipped from under my covers and tip toed down the hall into my youth pastor’s room. He was already asleep and snoring, an open Bible spilled over his chest. I cocked my lil .380 and put it in his ear. Then I open my fly and whispered, “Padre? Padre?” He slowly opened his eyes and smiled when he saw me. I felt his grody paws go for my crotch. Well what he didn’t know was that I found a bear trap in the maintenance shed and loaded it, then shoved it in my pants. When that iron fucker snapped shut on him, his eyes went enormous. In less than a nanosecond, I pulled the trap out (three of his fingers were sheared clean off) and shoved my throbbing hooligan into his throat before he could scream. While he lay there, gagging on my sweet honker, I slit his throat with a little pen knife, the whole while humming the happy birthday tune. When the mother fucker eventually died, I snuck out through a side door and into the night.

Manny met me around the corner with a half-gallon of nasty island swill or rum and I downed the shit in about 45 seconds. I was breathing fire and covered in blood. Manny took me to a nearby cemetery, where he hashed his plan. It was a gay plan, but I was out of the church and free so I kept my promise. His idea was to lift this stupid gold cross or something that had been found somewhere in a sunken ship or some god damn thing I don’t fucking remember. I also wasn’t listening much because I was horny as all god knickers. I was supposed to start work the next day as this curator security guard or something. I had a lot of connections in the industry, you know, political figures and the like that I’d been blackmailing over the years. Anyway, this fucking cross was supposed to be coming in to the Bermuda Maritime Museum. The Bermuda government bought the god damn piss pilot for an undisclosed amount of bullshit just in time for the fucking Queen of England to take a peep at the thing. I’m always down to rock dope Jesus pieces so I did what I was told.

I worked for the fucking maritime museum for seven days. Seven days I spent, barfing into the exhibits, plugging up the toilets and masturbating on the steps in front of mortified tourists. I was real long into one of these rubbing sessions when I got a message from Manny – the cross was set to arrive the next day. Well I blew my load all over this whimpering frog-like motherfucker and stumbled inside my shack. After injecting several gallons of sterno into my left foot, I promptly fell unconscious. I awoke to my alarm with a nasty snort around 8am. I had twenty minutes to get to the van, that held the piece I was about to steal. I removed a brick of cocaine from under my mattress and began snorting in preparation for what would become one of the most perfect heists of human history. This is April 27th, 1975.

I burst from my shanty about 8:05, my pants were around my ankles and I was throwing up violently. There was a little café nearby and many of its patrons ran screaming from my display. I just screamed at them “YOU’LL NEVER KNOW WHAT IT’S LIKE, MOTHERFUCKERS!” and made my way to the parking lot three blocks from the ocean. Manny knew a guy that was supposed to drive the van from the loading area with security. Once he ditched the douches with a decoy van, he dumped the actual van in a parking lot. Sure as shit, the van was sitting there. I looked around a little, pretending to be some drunken asshole. When I was sure all was clear, I snuck into the bushes and found the keys waiting for me in a little tin can. Nearby was my museum security detail uniform. I threw on my anal rags and casually fell into the van. Once inside, I drove the cock wank wagon to a nearby loading dock and parked near a fuckin’ tiki bar. I scrambled to the rear and found the iron box holding the treasure. I got a D minus in ceramics in kindergarten, so I drummed up this real shittttty plastic version of the cross using a torn picture that Manny gave me (I kept the pic to masturbate to whilst pooping every now and then). The thing looked like shit. No I’m not joking; it looked like a long dump from a rotting child horn that had been touched by King Midas. So I swap the shit cross for the real deal, package it up all nice, wipe my prints from the crap and lock up the van. I dumped the real deal into a satchel and stumbled away into the day. Supposedly, Manny’s guy was gonna take the van from the tiki bar back to the loading dock where the actual transfer team weren’t even set to arrive until the next day.

I found my way onto a banana boat set for the states and took the loot with me. I ditched out on Manny. I heard the poor bastard was arrested by Bermuda police and tortured to death. I never met his associates, so I never was able to get ahold of anyone (not that I would have anyway.) I made my way up through Delaware where I had the cross melted down. I traded the stones from the fucker for drugs and sold the gold to the guy I had melt it down for $350.

The Roswell Crash

The UFO Crash Landing, Roswell, New Mexico

I was wrested from bed in the middle of the night. Why I was already asleep, I couldn't say. All I know is that I was pulled from a pool of congealing vomit and out from under the oversized, terrifyingly hairy (and sweaty!) arm of a kangaroo-manchild named "Cooter Preference." I only remember this because as I was led from my bed I recalled spying a "Hello! I am..." sticker poorly pasted on the marsupial's chest. I recall shouting and slapping at these men, beating them about the face, neck and chest. They relented not, and by sunrise I was tied to a fucking outhouse onboard dumb-ass bus united states. The windows are blacked out on this motherfucker and some asshead has shoved his sweaty thong into my mouth and duct taped it to my face with like eight fucking rolls. I had four extremely strong cups of coffee and several pieces of three-day old sushi at around 2am, so I waxed burp-up through all the little folds and bends in the tape, spilling the refuse over my blouse and onto the floor in rotting, putrid splashes. A man next to me barfed after my episode, which made me barf again and it was really starting to piss me off.

I peed myself.

So anyway, we’re riding along on this god damned bus and my head feels like someone has shoved a plunger into my brain and suctioned the shit out of it, screaming like a demonic monkey for three days straight. Finally, I wriggle from my sex bindings and rip the tape from my mouth. I start hollering at the top of my lungs to “LET ME OUT OR YOU WILL ALL DIE!” This fucker (the asshole that barfed) slipped me a torn photo of Lynda Carter and whispered something about sexual healing. I crumpled it in my fist and backhanded him. “GET AHOLD OF YOURSELF, YOU CRYPTIC WANKER!” He summarily urinated himself and passed out in tears. I snorted at him and sought the first authoritative figure I could find. I stood and shoved my forefinger into his man breasts and said, “Hey, FUCK YOU, MOTHER! Where the hell do you think you’re taking me?!” He smirked a little and lowered his pistol, which is when I pulled it from his arms and shoved the shootin’ end up his ass, shouting “I AM LOCKED AND LOADED, MOTHERFUCKER! NOW WHERE ARE YOU TAKING ME!!!” while making these fake cocking noises over and over again and screaming “BOOM! BOOM!” after each one. He was whimpering and crying “PLEASE! PLEASE OH MY GOD NO! I HAVE A BOYFRIEND!” I exchanged the pistol for my kong bazooka and showed him what real love is. "OH MY SWEET JESUS NO!" he squealed, then I penetrated his ham-hole with my missile of Christ. He began really screaming when I started the chainsaw.

Anyway, the bus driver immediately pulled the bus over and leaped off in a panic. I pulled a disgusting clown mask from my assss crack and threw it on, then charged the motherfucker screaming “BOOGABOOGA, YOU SWEET TITS!” The driver fell to his knees in the dust and pleaded with me saying “Please! Please demon clown head, do not take my life!” So I shot him in the back of the head with his own weapon. That’s when I saw where we were.

The loud retort from the gunshot bounced off the craft and back causing me to realize where in the hell we were headed. “Why the fuck didn’t you say something?!” I said to the moron I'd been raping on the bus. He'd stumbled from the open door and was crying in the sand, his bare ass in the wind. I ran to him and pulled my clown mask off, then stabbed him to death with a bull horn while humming the credits tune from “Perfect Strangers.” The other passengers on the bus were useless so I lit a fire in the gas tank and let them burn, still bound to their seats. I yelled, over and over again, “THE WORLD IS A VAMPIRE!” attempting my best impersonation of Bill Corgan to muffle their screams. Well I spun around and there sat the shit mobile I assume we were after. The bus had been an Air Force shuttle. The man I stabbed, a Colonel with Air Force Intelligence. And suddenly it was all so clear. After forging my way into this hell hole position as a weapons communication officer, I was placed in charge of all this bullshit at an Air Force base in Roswell, New Mexico. Well, long story short, they had taken me to some sort of crash site. This is July 6th, 1947.

I walked over to the wreckage. It was terrible. Pieces of actual human shit were all over the place along with at least three bodies. I barfed. One of the bodies was moving a little, sorta crawling along and I saw immediately that it was some sort of weird, fucked up creature. I barfed again, all over my open toed sandals...and the puke spread between my toes like warm, gelatinous rat semen. The creature was aware of me and seemed terrified. It have every right to be as I had put the clown mask back on and was sodomizing the bus driver’s corpse while pointing at the fucking thing, whatever it was, as if to say “You’re next, big boy.” Well when I finished with messy cumshot, I trounced over to the crash and checked the other two creatures. They were both dead. One of them had his fucking head torn off. I barfed again. I peed myself again, which was weird because I didn’t have to pee. I came upon the wounded one and got up close and personal. It was breathing real hard, as if it were out of breath or couldn’t breathe our air or some shit. It smelled like decaying fecal penis and was real slimy too. It was looking at me with these big friendly eyes, sorta whimpering, obviously hurt and scared. I smiled. And I whispered:

Beauty is nature's brag, and must be shown in courts, at feasts, and high solemnities, where most may wonder at the workmanship. 

Then I broke its neck. 

I sat on the edge of the tattered craft for a good while, watching the smoldering bus and the streaks of smoke smearing the sky overhead. I was crying heavily and I don’t know why. I sat there for probably three hours, chain smoking until finally the cavalry arrived. When they did, it was some smart ass general who was in my face about everything. He needed to know this and that and all this unnecessary shit. I pretended I didn’t speak English until finally he lost his shit and starting raising his voice. He demanded an explanation, as crews in yellow suits tagged and bagged everything around me to be shipped off to some secret facility. “WHY IS THE BUS DESTROYED? WHO KILLED COLONEL PENSON?” etc etc. His staff stood behind him, silent and with worried expressions. I sat there contemplating everything he was asking before finally I simply told him…I told them all…

“This is how I found them.”

I left him there. Him and his staff. Dumbfounded and stupid, standing there in the desert morning. I made my way to Texas, where I developed an epic case of the clap and began working part time at a Bob’s Hamburgers.