Fat Boy

Fat Boy

The mean fighters were not fans of the casino of Death.  They thought his powers to limited, too mundane.  They wished to beat down Death’s security and fan out and find unsuspecting enablers out and about ready for maiming.

While I was getting mixed up in the coming wars Amy told me that I needed a long lost love. That I needed a soothing voice in the night.  A calm hand in mine.  I was just too damn much a worked over battler.  Too damn much a friendless sullen archetype.  I knew too much.

The Fat boy and the retrograde core of little worms looked upon the casino as a special spot from which to spring their ooze dripping jaunts.  The magic that the casino offered was the magic of a hereafter free from the threats of hell.  The casino offered a place where humanity was a tasty snack of useless vermin best to be slashed and drawn and quartered.  The Fat boy oozed rancid vegetable oil from his punk girth as he trailed his odor of decay.  The fat boy clogged the airways and carried putrid on his back.

Fat boy plied the love of pain and the spiritual sense of vacancy to shed droplets of sin as he made his way from florid self onanism to florid self fellatio.  Fat boy was a walking advertisement for inert sexuality masking as trips through the bowels of hell.  Fat boy was what was left over when the blighted demons failed in their experiments at assembling various parts of toxic waste into animate forms.

Fat boy just romped in the hay with his sheep and mules.  He smelled of them as well. Fat boy was a fine little bit of a diseased provocateur His flock were fine little bits of the diseased membranes of society. They were the grotesque primal larval ooze. Amy shed tears thinking of Fat boy. She would be put into states bordering on comatose with uncontrollable shakes. Death thought Fat boy too diseased and vile to have to think about ..a secret power afforded Fat boy by grace of his insufficient ability to exist in the fabric of time as other than a worm. He wished to rape Sloop.

Fat boy Prom was a never ending project of Fat boy.  He could be eternally vulgar and do his best to master a strip tease that would shame deplorable folk everywhere save for his merry bands of insidious hustlers and rank cowards, vacant brained, churlish, honorless fools.

Amy got her kicks there.  At times she wished to be prom queen.  She even put in a pitch for me the prom king.  Sloop and Pitch were waiting for better offers before they challenged Amy. Death demurred.

It was trial by grease and fire to have the strength to look at Fat boy.  He was like Medusa ..a visage that could turn the strong to stone.  He did make Death ill.

Death’s casino was there for timeless pleasure and pain.  Fat boy was a margarine swamp and the creatures of the netherworlds oozed their own bile when confronted with him.

Amy often whistled herself past the creatures of the netherworlds.  There were smarts there.  Fat boy needed them to stay fat.  He needed them to validate his ooze.  They needed emptiness.

There were long empty nights waiting in the casino.  Exploding days.  Sad used up boys and girls. Sad used up ferrets failing at their craft. Death and his magic mirage. Fat boy and his fevered swamp of consciousness.  The women he maligned feeling eternally dirty.