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January 2006

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01/18/2006: "Madness"

music: Three Little Words
mood: indeterminate

I didn't realize how long I laid in bed after Alanidondra left. It could have been three hours, or even three days. Something told me to just stay in bed, but hunger combined with curiousity to stir me, and I
roused myself with great effort. Standing up made me feel positively Herculean, and my momentum got my feet moving, first one, then the other, until I opened the door. It was dark in the outer room: I felt that someone was there; my flesh tingled. With growing dread, I reached for the light switch.
"Don't do it," David Lynch's head yelled, startling me. I stepped back, then my contempt for Mulholland
Drive made me flick the switch. What I saw destroyed me, but it was too late to turn back.
In the room, three heads were now impaled: David Lynch, the Frenchman, and the newest, my sweet Alanidondra. I screamed in horror, not knowing who or how or why this horrible sight was now tormenting me. As I trembled, two cops came towards me from opposite directions.
"Is this the sick fuck, Joe?" one cop asked the other.
"Sure is, Al," replied the other.
I wanted to speak, but no words were forthcoming. The cops circled me, occasionally shoving me, but staring at me. Finally, it was Al who got to the point. "I could see why you snuffed the two men, but what did that girl ever do to you?"
"She loved him," Joe said, grabbing some hair at the base of my skull and pulling my head back.
Al shook his head. "Is that it, punk? Did Love drive you mad?"
I tried to respond, but still could not speak. Somehow my failure angered Joe, who punched me in the stomach so hard I fell to my knees. My mouth was open, but no words came out still.
"He wants to suck your cock, Al."
Al laughed. "I'm sure he does. He loves sucking cock."
"I get kind of hard thinking about it."
"Me too, Joe, me too. Are you hard Tommy? Put your hands down your briefs, and get hard, you sick, little murdering bastard."
I found myself doing as the cop commanded, then they both attacked me. Punches and kicks came so fast I lost track of who did what, but I did not defend myself; I just kept a hold of my throbbing penis.
Finally, I collapsed to the floor, drooling as my face rubbed against the carpet.
"This is going to be a tough interrogation, Joe."
"I'll brew some coffee, Al."

Joe gave me another kick in the ribs on his way to the kitchen. Al knelt down behind me, then grabbed me by the hair and slammed my head to the floor.
"Come on, killer. Confession's good for the soul."
I tried as hard as I could to speak, but murmurs were the best I could do, and soon all I could manage was a dog-like whine. Joe laughed when he came back, then he put his knee in the middle of my back.
"Bad doggie," Joe said, and he repeatedly kicked me in the side.
"I don't think he's going to talk," Al opined.
Joe kept kicking, and shrugged. "Does it matter?"
Al pulled down my pants, and said, "Get that butt up in the air, and spread those legs."
I did as I was told, unable to offer any resistance. Joe rubbed my cock as I did. "Damn perv got a hard-on."
"He'll never get to use it," Al said. I heard his zipper being opened, and I gulped. Sweat poured down my face as I saw Joe pull out his cock.
"Since you won't talk, you can use your mouth for something," Joe said. As he slid his penis into my mouth, I could feel Al enter me from behind.
They fucked me hard, as if I was relief from every bad lead and dirty deal they had gone through during their time on the force. "Do you think he feels?" Joe asked. "Does his brain know pleasure?"
I wanted to say I did, but it wasn't just the cock in my mouth that stopped me from talking. "He can,
but that's all he's good for any more," Al explained. "His fine mind has been destroyed."
They came at the same time, and I swallowed Joe's load at his insistence. As they cleaned up, I tried to stand, but could only get to my knees. "He's making a break for it," Joe said, and then they both attacked me, punching and kicking me all over my body. I slumped to the floor, then they kicked me in the head, stopping only when my blood was spilled on the floor, and I passed out.
Their laughter echoed inside my skull, and in the blackness enveloping my brain, it took on a myriad of hues.

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