Dark Delirium

The unholy apparition draws nearer to me and bodes never as a friend only a wicked presage of things to come. I fully know under the dim light of the crimson moon above that this dark host cloaked only in evil must come to me, is drawn to me most unforgiving, most unwarranted, and most disdainfully. Its ghastly manifestation is akin to a poisonous arrow striking deep into my own bosom drenching my soul in vehement contempt.

Still…

With his choking acrid and dreadful tidings of horrid promise, I know that the Harvest Moon’s power wanes and holds no sway over me. Thus, this malice fact of this ominous wretched specter is summons by a mysterious resolve far from my own as if what I see is a marionette whose strings are pulled by something far more insidious this night, and in turn, pulling mine.

Yet, this haunting spurning vision before me is of one being a cruel master is only a servant for something that fills my heart with dread, and that my mind cannot comprehend. Through this morbid phantasm playing out as it always does without relent. I will be driven to kill, driven to feed, and above all, driven in a rage that I cannot put into words.

Nonetheless, in this unrelenting fact, the circle of my supernatural life is complete least until the next visitation by this harbinger of ill will and foreboding terror. His hooded face is hidden from me with the exception of his skinless beam as the Sirens of Hell screams out their atrocious blasphemies through him in tongues long forgotten by mankind.

I have no resistance to these most wicked of commands. My strength quickly becomes not my own, my mind quickly becomes not my own, as with my will in not of my own. I have only to experience this vile and morbid curse too many times for me to count with these rancid demands that stain every fiber within me.

Yet, I am forced through this ancient ordeal and in this, I must obey.

I shall never know his name that lords over me. I only know of his loathsome purpose as my mind now begins to slips into an insanity I am all too familiar with as the change now takes over fully.

 

The All-American Nightmare Continues!

 

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Now playing at the Deadwood Theater; “Queen of the Dead” and it’s Hell to Pay!

The Devilman in Deadwood

WARNING: This story contains racially-charged words, racial slangs, and racial content. Viewer Discretion is advised!

“Hey Jackson, how much for the bitch in the short black skirt and high heels you got over there suckin’ dick professionally?” the man points to a bleach-blonde woman in fake tits, too much makeup while smoking on the street corner looking more like an adult cartoon character than someone in the business of being a porn queen on a dirty street on a seedy part of town.

The large black pimp looks at the white guy covered in tats and piercings standing all of a sudden in front of him. The man came out of nowhere, so it seems to the pimp who is working on a cocaine-fueled weekend. This man is carved out of granite and is strikingly intimidating as he is peering deep into the pimp’s soul with his own emerald eyes.

“Fo’ you bro, sixty-bucks a god damned hour, twelve bucks for the room above over there by the hour they charge, and anything else is just fucking extra. Will that do and, by the way, the bitch is good for it. The bitch goes by Helen by the way.” The pimp’s eyes widen as the very hairs on the back of his neck began to stand straight up like heckles on a black cowering dog as this guy just stares him down looking deep within the pimp as if the white guy is looking for something, something small or hard to find.

This of course, makes the pimp a bit more nervous than moments before.

In a flash, the man in the dark sleeveless vest and blue jeans smiles and grabs his wallet giving the pimp three twenty-dollar bills. The pimp notices the wallet is full of one-hundred dollar bills and not much else.

What the pimp doesn’t seem to take into account is the long military-style commando knife sheathed in black leather hanging off the belt and strapped to his leg by a black thin leather strap.

“So you say the bitch is good for it?” The man continues to smile at the pimp.

“Yeah, motherfucker and I have a couple of others to choose from too if she don’t fit your needs. I have some even young, real young. Boys too if need be?” The black pimp added nervously.

The white man looked across the busy street at the whore smoking and then back at the pimp, “Deadwood doesn’t have that many pimps in town. Let alone black motherfuckers like you and shit.” The man stated with a cold smile.

The black pimp remained silent as the white guy continued talking, “I suppose it’s time for some… How shall I say; some variety up in here…?” The man in the dark greasy long hair said now with a smirk.

“Yeah so what about it…?” The black man challenged.

“No… I don’t need some young boy that’s been sucking on some priest’s pecker or something. I mean right now at Saint Anne’s Cathedral here in town, Father Henry has his fat cock up some Alter Boy’s tight little asshole.  Of course, won’t be tight long, will it?” The man smiled once more as the pimp just stared at him without saying a word.

“Besides, little girls never have done a motherfucking thing for me.” The white man turned his attention back to the pimp as the black man noticed there is something strange happening with the man’s eyes but couldn’t really put a figure on this growling odd affair.

The man is still smirking “Yeah an hour ought to do with her just fuckin’ fine…” His voice seemed to fade off as he turned once more from the pimp to the whore across the street.

“So Holmes, what do you do for a fucking living?” The black man asked causing the man to turn his attention back to him from looking across an ever-growingly busy intersection of traffic and the sidewalks filled with hundreds of older senior citizens. They look more like several herds of cattle being driven in too much of a hurry to spend their family and grandchildren’s inheritance for their own greed.

“I’ve been called a lot of fucking names in the past, but, um… Holmes, is it? Well, I think that is a new one. And what I do? Well, you might say I am in the business to collect things, priceless, invaluable things you can’t buy on eBay or Amazon shall we say?” The man smiled at the black pimp in the full-length gray and white fur coat with matching hat.

“Is that so?” The pimp responded as his eyes widen a bit further.

“Besides, what’s a fucking pimp care what kind of business I am into anyways? I mean, cash is cash, and a motherfucking deal is a motherfucking deal, right? Am I right, nigger man?”

The man’s voice escalates and his dialect oddly changes only for a moment. A dialect that the pimp has no idea of what it could be.

“Sometimes you might say I might wants to know who’s fuckin’ my bitches and all.” The pimp quipped.

“The ages, I mean the fuckin’ times sure have changed some. I mean now a days a black man such as yourself can own white women or two using drugs, psychological metal abuse, and of course, all the physical abuse he wants to put down on anyone now. And who the fuck cares?”

The powerfully built white man continues, “ In fact, white people or for that fucking matter, any color of person these days so it seems can be fuckin’ owned all for the right price or shall I say, vice?” The reply sounded more of a mocking question than anything else set to provoke the black pimp.

“No, no motherfucking need to explain or anything. Rhetorical question with meaning of no harm intended. Besides, all in all, it was the black slave owners and chieftains in Africa which was the first to sell out their own kind to the Europeans truth be told.” The man concluded.

“You’re a real smart-ass, ain’t’cha, Cracker?” The black pimp replied.

“I was kind of expecting more of a ‘comeback’ from you than that, even from the likes of you. ‘Cracker’ is that the best that you groids can come up with?” The man paused only for a second before continuing.

“Would you like me to give you a moment to regroup and come up with something a little more hateful?” The white man paused again as two older couple arguing about how much money they have lost between the two of them already came in ear’s reach of the growing spirited discussion between the pimp and the man.

The man in the black leather vest watched the two safely pass out of hearing range while smiling at them both and back to the black man.

“Okay, let me be even more honest with you. Let me be real fucking clear for you, in fact. When I get done with your sweet little white whore over there sucking on that loaded cigarette you juiced up for her to keep her on her little white boney knees longer, she won’t be worth a Coon’s jungle-fuck afterwards — You got me, bro?” The white man said mocking the “bro” part on the end of the sentence causing panic in the pimp to begin to rise up and begin to escalate.

The pimp stunned in what the man just revealed about the drug the pimp is using on his whores through the use of their cigarettes.

“Smoking indeed does kill.” The man smirked in his greasy dirty hair, and prison-looking tattoos on his body and neck were intimidating enough. However, the white man is far more powerful and stronger than the black pimp he himself is on his best day.

There is something else; something far more nefarious about this man standing before the pimp and the black man can’t put a finger on it passed some sort of menacing evil as if this was an evil he had felt long ago in his past. 

Let me also tell you something, you black motherfucking asshole. The bitch’s name, her real name is known to her parents and family  who haven’t seen her in over two decades by her God-given name of Brenda Jameson. She has a cousin, a jack-off cousin that slings dope in this part of the hills too. But you all wouldn’t know that shit. Tragic really.”

The man grew quiet in reflection for only a moment longer, “Awe, I know all about him and his business. You might say that I will be looking in on him afterwards.”

“Fuck man, just don’t hurt her. On second thought, I don’t want any trouble. Here man, just take your shit back!” The pimp nearly panics as his voice escalates offering back the man’s money.

“What…?”

“Nigger, we just made a motherfucking deal? You don’t renege on a deal with anyone, and especially with me! Do you even fucking know what you are talking to?”

The black pimp’s forehead began to bead with sweat and he flashes his gold-plated semi-automatic under his fur coat in a leopard-skin shoulder holster as he can feel his own soul slipping away from him, from deep within him as the white man smirks seeing his weapon.

“Listen Holmes, whatta mean by ‘what’ you are? Don’t you fuckin’ mean ‘who’ you are?” The black man is still holding the money in a gesture of giving it back to the white man.

The other man, the white man now with his eyes darkening as he flashed a glimpse at the blonde whore across the street in which she is sublime to what is going on unfolding across the street and that her life, no matter how miserable she thinks it is right now, is going to get far worse.

Without looking at the pimp, the man smirks, “What are you nigger, a god damned grammar cop too?” The man chuckles at the thought and continues.

“Listen nigger man, you made a deal with me, and no one breaks a fucking deal with the fucking likes of me, especially me. And that motherfucking pistol has no use against something like myself – You’ll just have to trust me on that one.”

“Call me ‘Nigger’ one more time asshole, and we’ll test your theory about my fucking gack!” Yells as he, the black pimp with his free hand begins to make a move for his semi-automatic.

The white man not caring in the least is still looking on at the whore across the street. Nonetheless, he is very much aware of the black man making a move and struggling to free his weapon.

In that split-second of a moment, a deadly and lethal flash as the man directs his attention to the pimp drawing out his long fourteen-inch stainless serrated-edged blade and thrusts it into the heart of the black pimp.

The knife, true to its aim strikes the pimp fatally dead center through the thick coat is shown immediately through the dark pooling blood mixing with the barbecue and saliva now beginning to drip of the pimp’s bottom lip..

“Nigger… Nigger… Nigger…” The white man says still having a deadly grip on the knife in the black man’s chest.

“Dirty rotten little nigger from swamp-water Louisiana, where the great-grandchildren of slaves still act as ignorant as they ever was. As if those chains never left you all’s ankles and wrists in so many ways. Where little Toby Williams, and that’s you boy. Yeah, I know you nigger. I know you…” The white man twists the blade and the sound of the rib cage above and below the thrust, the wound crack, and causing the pimp to buckle under the fatal wound dropping his semi-automatic from his hand to his trembling feet below him.

The black man’s eyes fully widen in horror and pain as he realizes this man, this thing, knows him and something about his young life in Louisiana.

“Yeah, it’s true boy.You first caught my attention when your nappy ass was at the age of fifteen or so, boy. You had a thing for white women, especially those blonde-blue-eyed types. You and that filthy crack head of a Coon rat-fuck cousin of yours. What was that scumbag’s name again? Oh yeah, that Skeeter Gish was his name. You all remember how you both found that skinny little drunken white slut walking home all alone and late that night. She was heading back home, wasn’t she boy?” The man coldly smiled as Toby faltered.

“Tell me something, nigger. Wasn’t that cute little white bitch just a couple of miles from her parish that got her little ass dumped by a couple of her boys from school. What was the reason she was out there all alone in the first place, I wonder?” The man quickly smiled in his self-amusement bringing Toby’s long buried past alive.

“She didn’t put out for them or something like that, wasn’t it, boy? But, sure as I am standing here with a knife through your fucking heart this very moment, you two industrious opportune-coon-niggers took it upon yourselves to rape, mutilate, and put what was left of her when you finished with her in a culvert pipe where her body remained decomposing for some five fucking years.” The man shook his head slightly.

“How long did you keep those white and pink blood and shit-stained panties of her boy?” The man didn’t wait for an answer, he continued on.

“Yeah, all the way up until you two dog-fucks got shit-faced and raped that redheaded barmaid in Shreveport. Yeah, you took them out of your fucking coat pocket and shoved those old panties down the bitch’s throat to gag her so’s Skitter can run his straight-edge razor under her lily-white throat as you two proceeded to fuck her behind that bar like a couple of crazed apes.”

The white man’s eyes are as black as midnight as he spoke to the dying pimp as the pimp tries to yell or speak but the dark blood comes bubbling up upon his lips even more as the white man’s face blossoms an evil grin. The white man grip on the knife is so tight that he can feel the beating heart fading faster in the black man’s chest.

“Oh, and for that crack head nigger cousin of yours? They found his ass with three other nigger-raping motherfuckers swinging by their broken necks. I think…” The white man paused only for a moment while thinking, “Oh yeah, they call it an ‘Alabama Wind Chime.’ Those that caught them boys, tree’d them like the coons they were.” The white man smiled.

“You fucking Ga-boon, you still haven’t figured me out yet, have ya?” The money leaves the pimp’s clutching hand now losing the strength and blows away in the breeze as the black man falls to his knees as the knife leaves his chest looking up to his killer.

“Who the fuck is you… man?” Then the pimp falls over on his side as a pool of blood forms on the dirty sidewalk.

The white man bends down over the pimp and cleans the blood of the pimp off on the black man’s own coat. He then rises up to his feet as no one miraculously sees anything at all as if there is a cloak of invisibility around the two.

“Toby, Toby, Toby… Motherfucker, you’ll find out in a few minutes from now all that you need to know about me and what I am…”

“What I truly am.” The white man smiles over the dead man’s face as the life fades from the pimps dark brown eyes staring up into the blue skies above them.

“Now for the bitch…” The man arises and sheaths his knife, straightens himself out enough to look somewhat presentable. When the street clears enough in a break in traffic, he crosses the street and meets up with the prostitute.

She listens to the man, as he is very smooth and reassuring in his words to her. Besides, the traffic is now too thick for her to see her handler, her pimp.

The reassurance pays off for him. Moments later, the two of them are in a motel room that the man paid two-hours for and warned the idiot behind the desk as not to disturb them in the least. Besides, he would need the time what he wanted to do to her.

In the meantime, in a few minute from now, some other whore or old couple going from one casino to the next will see the dead pimp, scream, and call 9-11.

Of course, the police and ambulance will be called and by then all too late as will it be for the whore taking off her black outfit smiling back at him watching her undress while sitting on the bed.

She will soon be carved completely to the bone, decapitated, and her eyes sucked out of her skull as her gutted and dismembered body lies in a very bloody bathtub in a very dirty hotel room in a very dirty part of town.

The All-American Nightmare Continues!

Hell Confirms Windows 8.1

It has been confirmed by the demonic horde at Redmond, Washington that the not-so-classified code name of “Windows Blue” which is an update will be officially dubbed as Windows 8.1. Sources in Hell assures me that the new serious update will be available for those dark souls already on Windows 8 and Windows RT devices alike, and it will cost you the low, low price of your wretched soul!

No, I’m kidding…

Bill Gates and crew at the Redmond Campus whispers through tainted lips that it will be made free to all those who are already running the Windows 8 and RT devices.

So, if you’re still on Windows 7 or less, piss off!

Interestingly, the free Windows 8.1 update will be available through the Windows Store, not the usual Windows Update method.

Already through nefarious means into the darker realms of the Internet that early leaks of Windows 8.1 gave promise of some tantalizing gruesome glimpses into the brooding future.

A new half-screen Snap feature was just one of many helpful tweaks in the notorious and highly illegal leaked versions of Windows Blue. Let me go on to say, there are some added beneficial tweaks, enhancements, and some features for the desktop and laptop systems.

Windows 8.1 gives Microsoft an unprecedented crucial opportunity in quickly correcting some of the most glaring missteps present in its new-look operating system to date!

Comments from company representatives seems to suggest that Microsoft is truly paying attention to customer feedback and metrics as it develops Windows 8.1 at least with the corporate goons and various minions that the Redmond Campus deems necessary to listen to in the first place.

“These very fates of the PC and Microsoft’s mobile ambitions alike may be hinging on this most critical course recalculation that it just may restore order to the force!” Obi-Wan Kenobi reported saying for the Jedi Times earlier this week.

Also, what they’ll miss, they’ll get it one of the Service Packs and Updates anyways – Business as usual.

Will the gang at Microsoft get it fucking right?

Will even more heads roll, and if so, what about that fucking ass-clown pretending to be the CEO of the entire operation – Steve “Da’ Man” Ballmer?

“No, these are not the droids you’re looking for…” Obi-Wan Kenobi concluded in a warning when asked about the particular improvements of the new update.

Sources in Hell also confirmed through Twitter and Facebook statements that the IT Department there have already rolled out Windows 8.1 for their business machines. Early signs suggest that it’s a “…DarkWorks, lemme tell ya’, it’s a huge motherfucking improvement!” Lucifer assured.

The Windows Blue leaks also suggest Microsoft may be on the right track. Nonetheless, we’ll all know for fucking sure before long – A foregone conclusion, really.

I had a chance to recently speak with a couple of assholes at the infamous JP Morgan Technology; Media & Telecom Conference. I found out a couple of things straight away. One is which; there sure are a lot of assholes all clustered in one location. And secondly; I wouldn’t trust these fuckers with my dead dog, Petie’s old bones!

Then there is the official Windows co-honcho Tami Reller that got nailed down and may not be able to sit or walk quite right ever again!

Oh, and she also nailed down a fucking concrete shipping date for the Developer Preview.

Prepare to start feeling the “Windows 8.1 Blues” in just over a month, on June 26, 2013 if the sinister powers that be will allow it.

Reporters here at DarkWorks also reported that sources in Heaven are still running Windows 3.11 and have no plans of any immediate systems upgrades any time soon. “…due to budgetary and technology restrictions beyond God’s control.” Jesus the Christ said as he took a “time out” to attempt to re-learn piano lessons since his wounds obtained from his supposed crucifixion to talk to us.

 

The All-American Nightmare Continues!

 

Tales From Under the Concrete — Lethal

Take heed, for I unlike you who may have adapted to the dark, I was bred and born in the utter abyss in a world you will never come to comprehend. This darkness is in my DNA the fabric of my very being. Though my mind and soul is indeed fractured, I remain as still as the bitter night. Yet, there is an irrepressible rage that burns deep within me that is so intense I fear I can no longer contain it.

I have reached my precipice and therefore it is time for me to release the ominous tainted dominion I scarcely keep within me. I shall bring fulfillment to the malevolent prophecies foretold.

I will make the rivers run deep in the blood of all humanity. I will be the Device; the very Instrument unleashed metamorphically becoming a new creature of the most demonic imaginable as I bleed out an angel sent by a pathetic god this very night.

Already, this warrior of a meager deity draws too close to the absolution of truth dwelling in perfect darkness that chokes the children of the light that blinds them to the facts of my venomous presence.

Tonight I will make your weakening sick god bleed and with this, I shall draw the sharks into his troubling waters of heaven as his rotting kingdom is already trembling in cowardly trepidation. Shrouded in unadulterated malice I will make everything die around me. I shall restore the balance. I will force peace through the art of death and deception.

Terror shall be my only comfort as I shall reign from the Dais of Desolation. My crown upon my wicked brow will be the gilded supremacy of iniquity.

Already, my words are wrought with vile dominance over all those who oppose me as I whisper across my accursed blacken lips in the nearly incomprehensible hatred and condemnation. These prevailing utterances shall indeed become my very weapons that will unleash a thousand nightmares that will visit the faithful fruition of the revulsions realized to the minions of a flaccid deity.

I am not just a destroyer of gods and the enslaving faiths of mankind but I bring glad tidings of tyranny, destruction, and ruin upon all those who cry out for their fallen god with lips bleeding in lurid pandemonium. Their bones shall turn to dust long before their prayers are ever answered.

Their most holy and high places shall be brought down only crushed by my own dilution and in turn, the ruins shall fall upon the ones who call themselves, “righteous.”

Already, far below my feet that I have planted firmly in the murky bloody pools of the innocence of insanity one can hear closely enough the demon lords of the wretched sovereignty of Hell itself.

Oh, how they howl my blighted name in their hideous forgotten tongues speaking of their unfathomable pain and of a terror so pure, so divine I can almost taste it as if it were nectar upon my depraved lips.

Both Heaven and Hell shall fall and all shall be forever lost…

The All-American Nightmare Continues!

Now playing this week only at the Deadwood Theater – “Mannequin Of Terror” Don’t Miss This One by the Demonic Forces at DarkWorks!

Scarlet

“Doctor, it seems we found something more at the latest crime scene.” The looming detective carved from a solid chunk of granite handed the redheaded pretty woman behind her desk as she put on her glasses to read the document inside a clear plastic bag.

She noticed the blood on the document which is nothing more than an otherwise blank sheet of typing paper, “We didn’t get any DNA except for his latest victim’s blood and a print that he no doubt put there from the victim’s middle finger, telling us to ‘fuck off’ or something.”

She smirked slightly at the detective’s last statement. “He’s getting really bold in the things that he has been doing…” She looks up at his blue eyes and notices the Deadwood detective’s eyes are wondering down her supple breasts.

She leans back into her chair cutting off the feeding of his eyes upon her remarkable body and supple ivory cleavage. Her dark brown eyes seem to redden and for a fraction of a second, a supernatural maroon.

“Seems he’s a poet and artist…” She concludes as she closely examines the artwork of some sort of symbol.

“Is it some sort of demonic or some sort of satanic symbol?” The detective said realizing that he has been caught gawking at the beautiful woman, a twin, a psychiatrist. Her sister also a psychiatrist is working up at the Whispering Pines Sanitarium and is involved in the “Black Hills Cannibal” or what the world now knows as, Scott Solomon Dean.

As far as the psychiatrists sisters who are Identical twins that “…too many can’t tell the two apart…” some people say. One of the sisters is now a national celebrity and no doubt will write a book upon the subject of Dean when it is all said and done.

Both the twins drive matching black and red 2013 Shelby Mustangs with the eight-hundred horsepower engines. Some say other than the fact they are both psychiatrists, both born and raised in the prairie of South Dakota. However, one has a taste for good old fashion rock and roll, and the other, the one now busy looking at the symbol, that is pleasantly listening to her iPod in the small docking station with beige Bose speakers lowly of Ugly Kid Joe’s latest album playing as a backdrop before the police arrived.

There are other similarities with the twin sisters; both have an I.Q. over 190. However, one is left-handed, and the other, is right-handed.

Scarlet, the one reading the document and feeling the detective’s eyes feeding on her body again flashed a quick smile. “I think demonic and satanic are pretty much the same, least to me anyways. That would be something for a priest or some minister to discern as for its meaning is concerned. Not someone in my profession, not someone who doesn’t believe in such things.” She added, as her words seemed rather bitter towards the end of her remark.

She lays the document down, “It is detective Dick Johnson, right?” She flashes a quick look up through the glasses.

“Yes?” He replied as she kept from smirking as she thought that man’s parents who named him played a vicious to say nothing of a cruel joke on him through his naming.

“Dick Johnson, the third actually…” He added with a casual smile as his smaller darker partner sat down quietly in a chair up against the further wall from her and Dick remaining quiet with his notepad and pen writing as the two others talked.

Must have been one fucked up family then… She thought to herself nearly breaking into a beautifully beaming smile in the process.

The whole family must be some sort of redneck-inbred fucks or something. She thought again to herself now paying more attention to the symbol, the blood, and of course the writing.

“Interesting to say the least, isn’t it detective?” She rose up slightly over her desk in spite of Johnson’s roaming eyes.

She points down with her porcelain left index finger with a blood-red French manicure at the writing and then down at the symbol. “I’m no writing-expert analyst or something, but it is clear to me that both are done by the same person. However, notice the writing, and then notice the symbol?”

By the way, Scarlet is the left-handed one of the identical twins.

The detective leans over, “Yeah, the writing looks like our killer is left-handed. Just like all the other notes he left behind.”

She looks up at him sharply, “Yes, but the symbol is clearly drawn with the right hand suggesting that this person, this man, is ambidextrous. You see, when you first came to me via the FBI as in needing my help as a local criminal forensic pathologist. You have shown me crime scene photos and other elements of the killings…”

Without waiting for the slower-minded in the room, “He cuts using both hands in his work post-mortem. However, he is predominately the left-handed for his killing or death-blow striking. Just like with the woman he killed down at the Spearfish Wal-Mart. You know, the one they found in the meat-locker all carved up and looking like the rest of the ‘beef’ on the hooks, if you know what I mean.” She added.

“How could I forget?” The detective leaned back on his heels standing in front dark oak desk smirking, “That was gruesome. Then some Asian woman found the victim’s head in the cabbage. Damn!” The detective reflects.

“Right, and the cut, or the decapitation rather was made from left to right showing he killed her with his right hand.” She made the gesture across her own neck in doing so.

“So it looks like we got a real Rembrandt here with the artwork.” the detective is sarcastically referring to the writing and the new artwork on the document.

“Yes, this person, well, with the former evidence shows that he is a man through the sparse DNA and of course the physical strength shown, that he works mostly from his right mind, or the right side of the brain. You see, he sees his killings, his sees all of this in his mind’s eye. He plans this entire act, this ritual of his out in great detail from selecting his victims, his choice, or method in the killing – There is nothing random about it. Then of course, the creativity in the gory tasks at hand, and what he does with their remains afterwards. All premeditated and played out long before he delivers his first fatal blow. It’s all worked out before he actually commits the crime. Not some simpleton, I assure you. He leaves nothing to chance.”

She stopped talking only for a moment.

“Unlike many things Scott Solomon Dean may or may not be, this one here is a clever one and much more intelligent. He’s growing both in the creative morbidity if you would as well as in his artistic, and literary talents.” She pauses once more looking up at the detective.

“You did check to see if this is unpublished, the writing. You know, to see if it is genuine, and not quoting from some poem or book?” She asked pointing with her beautiful left index finger.

Dick Johnson turned to his partner with a like-minded blank look before turning back to the doctor now opening up her powerful Alienware Laptop that the keys began turning red as the detective took notice.

“No, nothing like that? We haven’t had much of a chance into yet. Besides, the feds will be brought into this bullshit sometime next week or so.”

“The FBI?” Scarlet quips.

“Yeah, orders by the police chief with all the other bullshit going on with our workload and pressure from the public or what’s left of it here. Really, we need all the help we can get right now. So, it’s not like a jurisdiction pride thing going on or something.” He added.

“Damn, Doc, is that some kind of gaming laptop or something?” He smirked.

“It’s an Alienware Mx18 R2 actually. Yeah, a gaming rig, but I use it for the brutal power. I can’t stand ‘slow’. I am all about performance.” She smirked as the large screen of over eighteen inches lit up instantly.

“Yeah, like your car.” He looked out the window to see the menacing dark black tinted windows and the sunlight glaring off the black and red paint.

Looking back at her as she was typing away at what was written on the bloody note into Google’s search engine, the detective asked, “So what does a laptop, you know, something like this cost a guy?”

Without looking up at the detective as she spoke, “More than a month of your salary…” Dick’s silent partner giggled as Johnson turned around glaring at him and then back to the doctor.

“There are several references, but I am afraid all in all, it is his work, or at least, unpublished by anyone else out here in the world so far. You see the tone, with the blood, and the fingerprint of the victim, and I suspect a woman’s middle finger by the way?” She asked the detective.

“Yeah, a positive match belonging to Tonya Parsons. You may know her, doctor?” The detective can see a puzzling look on Scarlet’s face and then he can see she realized the name.

“Oh god no…!” Scarlet exclaimed looking seriously into the eyes of the gloating detective. She could see that detective Dick Johnson relishes in one’s misfortune, a sign of being pathological to some degrees not to mention a sadomasochistic leading up to the divorce of his wife who fucked nearly half the town of Deadwood before she left him as she thought to herself.

“Yeah, I know, I mean, knew her. Parsons worked here in the hospital. She was an LPN or something.” Scarlet added now with somewhat of a blank look of shock.

“That’s right. We found her body, well, pieces of her scattered all over the fucking woods behind Stewart Street right here in town. I real goddamned mess of it all. I’m sorry about it all doctor, I mean, we get rid of one fucking wingnut and it seems three more come out of the damned woodwork.” It is Johnson’s shallow way of references to both Scott Solomon Dean and the questionable suicide of Raven Blackstone found face down and rotting in a stainless-steel tank of his own bleach.

She quickly overcomes the look of shock as another picture in her mind shows her the picture of Blackstone’s naked bloated body bobbing up and down ever so slightly oddly caused the slightest of a smile like a whisper of a ghost crossing over one’s own tombstone.

“Listen, ‘Dick’, if you’re gonna say ‘I’m sorry’ and be in the least bit genuine about the whole affair, I suggest you quit your fucking gloating and wipe that shit-eating smile off your fucking inbred face!” Scarlet begins lashing out to the Neanderthal standing before her.

“And while we’re at it, detective Dick, why don’t you keep your fucking eyes up here with mine.” She leans back in the chair.

Johnson is quite taken by the sudden change and tone to say nothing of her near-predatory attack.

“Is that’s why you’re bitch-wife fucked every stiff dick in town, Dick?”

Okay, it is obvious to a deaf man that the conversation is now a predatory attack as the shocked detective as the other one sitting back behind them began a burst of laughter. His laughing partner attempts to catch himself as best as he could as Detective Johnson turned once more a heated glare at this man and then turns his direction right back to the doctor still sitting in her chair.

“Yeah, I am sorry about what happened to little Tonya Parsons. I really am, Doctor Jennings. However, let’s just try to keep my personal life out of things. Can we do that? Can we do that, doctor?”

Doctor Jennings fully realized she is out of hand but the vision in her mind is like a redheaded tiger she lashed out with her claws slashing his throat and cutting both jugulars not to mention, the fresh arterial spray jetting all over her. The mere vivid thought made her a bit excited as she would then watch him struggle and die as she would be standing over him with a bit of his neck, flesh, and windpipe in her clutching left hand.

Instead, “I’m dreadfully sorry. You’re right of course, Detective Johnson. I had no right whatsoever to lash out like that.” She paused only to see that her verbal strike hit deep within him and in this fact alone, excited the doctor as her nipples began to harden slightly.

Realizing this, she swivels around in her chair out of the view of Johnson and his partner as she gleams a cold smile and fondles with her ipod in the docking station. She selects, “When The Planes Fall From The Sky” by Monster Magnet and as it begins, she adjusts the volume where it is comfortably and the conversation would not be overcome.

“Okay, let’s make this quick, the killer likes big breasted women, these women, all of them have augmented breast operations, all of these women are between thirty-two and forty-two. The women are all white; they are all naturally dark brunettes or raven-haired. We can also deduce that these women are in some profession that requires something much more than a high-school degree. So, you’re police women should be safe?” She smirked.

The detective took the last as an insult and the doctor could see this and of course, pleased her as she went right on talking.

“He likes to draw, something like a tattoo type of art, but I am certain you have already looked into the tattoo shops in the area.” She can see that is some sort of revelation to him as well as to his partner sitting in the chair.

“Really…?” She asked sarcastically, “You’re kidding?”

She pauses, “Alright then, we know he’s white, serial killers choose their victims within their race. The next sample of DNA will show this if Deadwood’s finest doesn’t fuck that up too. We also know he can write, and his penmanship shows to me at least he is educated and takes pride in it – Just a reaching guess at the very last on my part, I’m afraid.”

She hands Detective Johnson the protected document, “There is something else as well. It’s what and how he says what he says…” She pauses as the detective takes the document from her.

“When Night comes, no one comes out into the Dark. No one likes the Night and despises the Dark. You will find no one among the Dark. You will find no one lurking in the Night. Death is only what you will find in the hearts of these and the Promise. I am the child of the Night and know only of the Dark. I am the Promise that they created.” The doctor read from memory as the detective followed along with the writing on the document.

“So, what is this lunatic trying to tell us?” He asked as his partner rose up from the chair.

“Notice the grammar. Some may think the usage of the words, ‘Night’, ‘Dark’, and ‘Promise’ are miss-capitalized or something. It’s not. I mean, I don’t think it is a mistake in the least. I believe these are capitalized because these are proper nouns; at least, he is using them as proper nouns in his mind. More of like people’s names rather. I believe, I mean to say, the killer believes he is the ‘Promise.’” She pauses as her eyes dart back and forth on the surface of the table.

“Sure, we know all the killings and mutilations have happen during the night, some right after sundown.” Johnson added.

“Yeah…” Scarlet is deep in thought and on the verge of some personal revelation on this case.

“He’s killed five women, all at night. Four from Deadwood, one from Spearfish, and of course, all from the Black Hills…”

“Doc, we checked and tried to connect the dots as far as what these women have in common other than the fact they are all brunettes, the age proximity, and all have breast augmentation surgery.”

Scarlet looked sharply up at the detective as she was going to blurt out what she just figured out. The killer couldn’t know about the breast augmentation surgeries unless he had access to all these women’s medical records. These were all local killings, and the killer has to be local not to mention, the facility is as well.

She keeps this to herself. However more importantly, she realizes who the killer is as the symbol on the paper is indeed tattoo art and seen on the shoulder of a man, a man she most definitely knows.

It isn’t a coincidence; the man works at a plastic surgery clinic, a private firm in Spearfish, South Dakota as a X-Ray technician.

Keeping her composure, she looks back up at the detective as he is expecting something more of her to say.

“Wow, I just forgot what it was. I don’t know what I was going to say?” She’s obviously lying but the tall detective can’t tell.

“We’ll you have my card if it comes to you, right?”

“Of course, I have it in my drawer.” Her mind is pre-occupied as she shows the men to the door leading back into the small beautiful waiting room.

“Let me know as soon as you come up with anything else, Detective Johnson.” She forces as smile as she turns her back from him. She can feel his eyes on her perky ass as she closes the door.

Immediately she goes to her computer and through the heavily encrypted database of her patients, she finds a name, picture, and a number along with some of her clinical notes.

“God damn it to hell. It’s you isn’t it, fucker?”

She opens the top drawer of her desk and grabs the card of Detective Johnson and from in her purse she pulls out a little bag and her cell phone removing a chip and replacing one from her black bag and dials a number.

“Hey it’s Scarlet…” She pauses as a man’s deep gravel voice is heard, “Good afternoon, doctor. What in the hell can I do for you, today?”

“I need for you to kill me two motherfuckers right away.”

“Yeah and who might these two unfortunate fucks may be?” The man half-heartedly asked.

“That god damn Dick Johnson…” She is cut off by the man’s voice.

“The fucking Deadwood cop…?” The voice asked sharply.

“Yeah, that motherfucker…!”

“Okay, not much of a problem, doc leastwise for me, and about the other one?”

She looks at the large brilliant screen on her laptop monitor, “The second is the one doing all the killing with the women as of late. A real sick motherfucker that I would do personally but I’m his doctor.”

“Doctor? Oh shit… Okay, what’s his name?”

“I’m sending all the info your way now.” Scarlet says pressing a few keys.

“Someone attempting to follow that data being sent will think I am all over Europe and North Africa.” The man’s voice then laughed a bit.

“Got it…” The man’s voice said.

“Good. Do you need Johnson’s information?” She added.

“Fuck no. He’s easy enough to find. He kind of stands out like a motherfucking dick, a limp dick at it too?” He said.

The doctor smiles, “After all this bullshit is over; it’s all fucking even, Scarlet. Or I mean, unless you want me to fully come out of retirement completely.”

“Sounds good to me and I will be seeing you very soon, Raven.” She adds warmly.

“Good enough, Baby.” The call ends and she once again changes the chips out in the phone and puts it all carefully back in her purse next to the desk as her office phone’s intercom buzzes.

“Yes, Laura?” Scarlet answers professionally.

The clinic’s receptionist answers right back, “Your 1:30 PM is here. Would you like me to send Dougie in now?” the appointment immediately causing a smile to beam across Scarlet’s face.

“You bet, Laura. Show the man in.”

 

The All-American Horror Continues!

New June, 2013 Official Magazine Cover is now Released!

After a couple of super-heavy reads like “The Nation Around Me” which is released today, May 1, 2013 and already causing quite the ruckus with the fans of this auspiciously dark horror publication as outlined in my earlier super-charged post, “Dine in the Shadows of My Turbulence.” I feel it’s time to return to almost normal and what better way to do it than with our illustrious “Award-Winning” graphics and Magazine Covers as we also mentioned earlier.

Yes, and hating our gifted talents will get you nowhere, but unadulterated flattery will get you a front row seat at the next Doyle Concert in Hell’s main auditorium!

Though, this month as you can clearly see, we haven’t mentioned any bands of the month as we sometimes do. However, we did mention our fantabulous soundtrack to  “DarkWorks The Motion Picture.”

As Samuel L. Jackson emailed me the other day while talking about the script to my next dark project of, “The Devil in Harlem” with co-stars Danzel Washington, and the remarkable Idris Elba of “The Wire.” Sammy was a little excited about listening to the OST if you would. Samuel voiced his concerns about the upcoming “The Devil in Harlem” and who might be on that soundtrack.

His concerns are warranted. There is so much talent out there to choose from, it’s a shame in my opinion, most of it is pure horseshit though. That of course brings us up to speed with the email and later video conferencing conducted here at our office.

You see, I hate… Hate is such a strong word, allow me to refrain, I dislike Rap and Hip-Hop not to mention 98.975% of the “soul” music out there in the corporate scene. I am tired about hearing a couple of “wanna-be baby-dick rap artists holding their tiny cocks in their gold-clustered rings, necklaces, and fucking gold teeth who insist on not paying a dime to Child Support in whatever ghetto they fucking breed from.

You see, I had to “word” it a little different, something more palatable for Mr. Jackson before he would call me some sort of racist or a “mothafucka” or some near ethnic-Ebonics bullshit like that.

I simply said, “Yo, Slick. Lemme break it down this way to you, for you, so you may understand. The movie is going to be filmed in Harlem in present day but the soundtrack is not going to be so ethnic that white people won’t or can’t understand it. And as you know with the latest statistics I just sent to you from LionsGate, Honky motherfuckers such as myself buy tickets. White motherfuckers buy theater tickets. Do you feel me?”

He was a little reluctant and looking over the statistics, he conceded. He also wanted to know what the other stars thought, his two co-stars. I told him the truth, they’re all-fucking-right with some non-ethnic black metal, death metal, and some Goth not to mention some heavy industrial dark wave. And yeah, there’s gonna be some rap, trip-hop, and psycho-tribal post grunge but not much.

So what does this shit have to do with this magazine cover?

Fuck if I know, man…

Let me get back with you all on that one!

The All –American Nightmare Continues!

 

The Nation Around Me

We all over-medicate ourselves so we all can be someone else.
We strip our daughters down and smother their naked bodies with oil in front of the cameras so we can pay for all the bills.

Meanwhile we blow all of our grandchildren’s wealth and inheritance selling our wretched souls on the cheap.

In America, we all are downloading content that will guarantee you a fucking prison sentence. But, you can download all the kiddy-porn on your filthy hard-drive can stand while sharing old criminal acts against the innocence of all humanity in the digital age.

Meanwhile illegal prescriptions and weed are free in the Hollywood Hills if you’re knowing the right people and sucking the right cock. You can plead with a judge, bat an eye, volunteer for rehab, never show, and still be above the law. By the end of “Happy Hour” you are passed out in the Men’s Room at some nightclub with your tiny skirt over your head sleeping it off only to make a mockery of the Justice System again.

If you’re the right star, if you’re the right athlete, you can get away with premeditated murder. If you do it good, if you do it well, you can do it twice, and the local police will take the fall all for the sake of racial hatred.

Looking back from where I started and up until now, I fully realize that I am living in one big nightmare where the ugly truth is told by a Model’s face in a mutilated plastic body people call “beautiful.”

Meanwhile we make saints out of useless porn to include the loathsome junkyard talented pop stars that are remarkably void of any human intelligence and depth that goes well beyond the broadest imaginable term of “absurd.”

Only here in America where inbred idiots shout, “Don’t like it? Leave, fucker!”clutching their cans of Budweiser in their “wife-beater” t-shirts beating on their white-trash chests like the ignorant apes they truly are.

Yeah America; home of the deceived, the delusional, and the fucking deprived where the very same of the white-trash shake their wretched fists in the air believing in the morbid government-approved fairytales about some vague  Middle Eastern Boogiemen hiding out in caves in some distant land armed with only with a laptop, satellite phone, and while ordering “Chinese” Takeout  that are indeed the monsters pinned for the responsibly for the systematic destruction of  the Trade Centers, the Pentagon,  and striking pandemonium in the hearts of idiot-sensations like “Joe Six-Pack”  who has more than enough trouble figuring out basic algebra let alone taxing his faculties on an elaborate scheme known simply to the rest of the world as nothing less than a “False Flag.”

Meanwhile most of the nation believes in these sinister lies spun by the most craftiest of the most insidious data-manipulating spiders all in the sake of “National Security!”

The Corporate Media plays the harlot as oil prices are becoming so high we blame the goons of government but it’s the greed of the corporations that always runs the fucking show since the days of Woodrow Wilson sold all of us out at bargain basement prices to the motherfucking Fed.

And you’re looking at me, fucker?

Meanwhile, we can’t feed ourselves so we buy into the fast food and live in the disposable landscape occupying the grand will of the soulless overlords drunk with corruption and power flying their drones over all of our shameless ignorantly complacent heads.

We upload our status and beg for attention in some fucking narcissistic drug-induced hallucination only showing glimpses of the true horror of our own faults and deprivation known as the “Social Network” with nasty little pictures performing rotten little deeds all to often and your freedoms being cautiously collected on large government database farms nation-wide.

Meanwhile the Corporations are feeding cake up on Capitol Hill and collaborating with their henchmen-whores we all come to know as “Lobbyists.” Then without fanfare as all too often as before, the jackals are unleashed, and go to distant lands to turn good men in other country into soulless creatures with the corporate plan brazened into their darkening hearts. If they refuse and side for the welfare of their countrymen they’re fucking “suicided” in some tragic accident all framed in HD CGI for not “Playing Ball.”

Let us, the police-state, the world’s authority driven by the holy sacraments of  avarice and power exploit your country’s natural and human resources in turning your rainforest into heaps of dust, your children into ignorant starve-driven slaves, and your mothers into nothing less than the two-bit whores we intended them all to be in the name of our “Theocracy” while we are bleeding your country dry all in the preview of our nation’s mass indifference drowned in tranquilizers, vats of Scotch, and the fucking mind-numbing corporate-controlled sitcoms.

We are all living in one big nightmare where the corporate media pretends to save the human race while those who work in God’s name viciously and most unrelentingly fuck and sodomize our tender little children while ruling over the foolish. Thanks be to the dull-witted ignorance in the dire believers of some wretched Stone or Iron Age superstition who allows these felons, these seedy soulless wretches who dare calls themselves, “Men of God” to get away with it all. These very same grotesquerie who dare call themselves, “Priests” who are nothing more than cold comfort in a power-fueled rage of merciless religious bigotry bewitching the public while cloaked in glorified robes of intolerance, injustice, murderous hatred, contemptuous schemes of betrayal, and not to mention in the least, shackling the newly converted into gold-plated iron tyranny in a tax-free fleecing of the entire general public for generations to come with no end in sight. Yeah, and all the while, turning the other cheek to even more vile injustices throughout the world. All done in the wretched and cursed name of faith and the disdain spineless excuse of the statement of indifference “It’s God’s Will.”

And you’re still looking at people like me, fucker?

Meanwhile someone is writing bad checks only to survive and is hauled off to prison while those who murder and bankrupt entire nations goes undaunted and unchallenged by the sea of the simple-minded who shops at Wal-Mart buying useless inferior shit off the backs of Third-World slaves as good ole’ Mom and Pop from down the way are forced to close their doors and file for bankruptcy losing their family business in the fucking loathsome American Way!

The All-American Nightmare Continues!