trona
New Metal Member
Richard Bailey left his testicle soup uneaten on that day. On that famous day underlined in the history of mankind. On the day he found the truth. He had been a member of the bus and coach finance division for the past three decades, and he needed a change, but who knew what the change would bring about, if only someone knew...
Seven years ago in Tibet, Ireland;
"Mother! Get back into your box! I'll give you two...one...that's it bitch! Now you'll get it." Richard Bailey stormed across the living room of the bus and coach finance division with a belting stick clenched tightly in his right hand. He hammered the woman will erroneous passion, her blood now giving the stick the glistening moisture.
"Ahhhh, stop it! Please, I beg you, leave an old woman be...please," begged Joyce, his mother just before she lapsed into an unconscious state of torment as yet another bone crunched and cracked under the constant beating.
"I told you to get back in your fucking box! Bitch, now you'll see what happens when I get disobeyed." With a final stroke of aggression Joyce passed onto the next world and Richard was all alone. After palpitating her body with his shoehorn he masturbated himself to sleep.
Wilga Rivers was sitting at the desk in his den finishing his final report. A mature age student, Wilga was thirty-nine years old and this was his final piece of work to be submitted before his final exam and ultimately receiving his year twelve diploma.
"Wilga? Honey, can I get a glass of milk dear?" asked his seventy-three year old mother, Doloris, as she poked her head around the door. Wilga stopped typing and moved his head to the side as he quietly reached under the desk and slowly but eloquently he picked up a crowbar, his mother shied back in trepidation. That was Doloris' last day on earth.
Bill Grindrod turned the pages of the phone book slowly, his eyes busily scanning the page. He was flanked by three other men, peering curiously over his shoulders and head.
"Goh," he said softly to no one in particular.
"What are you doing son?" said his mother from her room, where she had been confined for the past three weeks with a serious head injury. Bill sighed, and said,
"Excuse me fellows, I have to take care of something." They all nodded in mute understanding.
With that, Bill suddenly jumped out of his chair and dived for his battle hammer. He ran to his mother's room and stood it the doorway, breathing heavily, his body a black silhouette against the light outside.
"What the fuck did you say!?" screamed Bill at his elderly mother who had shrunk back under her covers.
"I said don't talk to me when I have people over!" raged Bill.
He walked over to the quivering bed and slammed his battle hammer down randomly and rapidly in quick sudden bursts. After a while the waterbed burst and twin streams of blood flew up and fell about Bill as though he had struck oil of the gravest kind. Still hammering down at his mother, Bill heard a crack and a gurgling sound.
A few minutes later Bill returned to the lounge room, blood pervading his clothes like purity pervades an angel with scabbed wings.
"Sorry about that guys," he said.
The all nodded and murmured that they too had all had similar experiences with their mothers.
One man, called Neil McKay by some said,
"I was disciplining my eighty-three year old mother-in-law the other day, and do you know what happened?"
"No," said Bill, motioning with his blood stained hand, "Please continue."
"What happened? What happened?" urged a young man called Mendoza.
"Well, I was soundly whipping her with a sanding belt, when just like that," Neil clicked his fingers, "she died on me." Mendoza nodded then said,
"You know, the same thing happened to me two weeks ago. I wasn't going to say anything but seeing as you brought it up..."
Mendoza continued to narrate his narrative as Bill left the room to get more coffee. His footsteps being traced in his mother's sticky crimson blood.
"Anyone what a re-fill? My mother makes a devil of a cuppa..." he said.
He took two more steps and then stopped.
"Mother, can you come here please? Oh mother?" No response was heard so Bill made his way to his mother's room.
"OH MY GOD!..."
As Ryan the dyslexic fish lay on its side it knew the apocalypse designed in the Old Testament of very large copyright disclaimers was soon to abstain...
WHAT DOES THAT MEAN?
Seven years ago in Tibet, Ireland;
"Mother! Get back into your box! I'll give you two...one...that's it bitch! Now you'll get it." Richard Bailey stormed across the living room of the bus and coach finance division with a belting stick clenched tightly in his right hand. He hammered the woman will erroneous passion, her blood now giving the stick the glistening moisture.
"Ahhhh, stop it! Please, I beg you, leave an old woman be...please," begged Joyce, his mother just before she lapsed into an unconscious state of torment as yet another bone crunched and cracked under the constant beating.
"I told you to get back in your fucking box! Bitch, now you'll see what happens when I get disobeyed." With a final stroke of aggression Joyce passed onto the next world and Richard was all alone. After palpitating her body with his shoehorn he masturbated himself to sleep.
Wilga Rivers was sitting at the desk in his den finishing his final report. A mature age student, Wilga was thirty-nine years old and this was his final piece of work to be submitted before his final exam and ultimately receiving his year twelve diploma.
"Wilga? Honey, can I get a glass of milk dear?" asked his seventy-three year old mother, Doloris, as she poked her head around the door. Wilga stopped typing and moved his head to the side as he quietly reached under the desk and slowly but eloquently he picked up a crowbar, his mother shied back in trepidation. That was Doloris' last day on earth.
Bill Grindrod turned the pages of the phone book slowly, his eyes busily scanning the page. He was flanked by three other men, peering curiously over his shoulders and head.
"Goh," he said softly to no one in particular.
"What are you doing son?" said his mother from her room, where she had been confined for the past three weeks with a serious head injury. Bill sighed, and said,
"Excuse me fellows, I have to take care of something." They all nodded in mute understanding.
With that, Bill suddenly jumped out of his chair and dived for his battle hammer. He ran to his mother's room and stood it the doorway, breathing heavily, his body a black silhouette against the light outside.
"What the fuck did you say!?" screamed Bill at his elderly mother who had shrunk back under her covers.
"I said don't talk to me when I have people over!" raged Bill.
He walked over to the quivering bed and slammed his battle hammer down randomly and rapidly in quick sudden bursts. After a while the waterbed burst and twin streams of blood flew up and fell about Bill as though he had struck oil of the gravest kind. Still hammering down at his mother, Bill heard a crack and a gurgling sound.
A few minutes later Bill returned to the lounge room, blood pervading his clothes like purity pervades an angel with scabbed wings.
"Sorry about that guys," he said.
The all nodded and murmured that they too had all had similar experiences with their mothers.
One man, called Neil McKay by some said,
"I was disciplining my eighty-three year old mother-in-law the other day, and do you know what happened?"
"No," said Bill, motioning with his blood stained hand, "Please continue."
"What happened? What happened?" urged a young man called Mendoza.
"Well, I was soundly whipping her with a sanding belt, when just like that," Neil clicked his fingers, "she died on me." Mendoza nodded then said,
"You know, the same thing happened to me two weeks ago. I wasn't going to say anything but seeing as you brought it up..."
Mendoza continued to narrate his narrative as Bill left the room to get more coffee. His footsteps being traced in his mother's sticky crimson blood.
"Anyone what a re-fill? My mother makes a devil of a cuppa..." he said.
He took two more steps and then stopped.
"Mother, can you come here please? Oh mother?" No response was heard so Bill made his way to his mother's room.
"OH MY GOD!..."
As Ryan the dyslexic fish lay on its side it knew the apocalypse designed in the Old Testament of very large copyright disclaimers was soon to abstain...
WHAT DOES THAT MEAN?
