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I Had To Kill The Pig

Started by riff, October 17, 2003, 05:05:22 AM

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I had to kill the pig.

It was a GM Vietnamese potbellied pig that some freak had meatfitted with a voicebox and the frontal lobe of a grown-up crack baby.

It scuttled across the carpet on fat little legs, firing hideous acidic turds out of its fortified arse like it was Satan's vending machine. I loaded the harpoon gun I'd borrowed from Sunil. There are a few parts of the world where you can legally hunt humans who have gone aquatic, and Sunil owed sexual favours to all of them. The pig turned, rasping "Fuckpig! Fuckpig! Fuckpig!" I'd not yet worked out whether he was talking to me or telling me his name, but it seemed to be the only word he knew. I'd been listening to it for two weeks. Two. Weeks.

The harpoon locked down into the receiver chamber, and the air compressor hissed, charging the gun.

I hefted the gun and took aim as the bastard dropped another shit on the carpet, burning another hole in it. "This is it, you disgusting fucking object. Melissa left me with a disease so unusual and horrible it does not have a name, a weird Japanese doll that sucks out its own urine, and you. I've had my urethra irradiated, I listened to the doll scream as I shoved it into a wood chipper, and now there's only you left. The pet pig."


The compressor stopped hissing. The gun's chip crooned to me, for no good reason, in the synthesised voice of Peter O'Toole: "You may kill things now, young man." I threw the receiver lock to open the barrel and fired at the pig's smoking anus.

Of course I bloody missed.

The pig hurled itself to one side like it was an action movie hero, rolling and coming up poised and ready on its foul black trotters. The harpoon thudded into one of my speakers. I fumbled another one into the chamber and slammed down the receiver lock, hoping there was enough push left in the compressor for another shot at the little crapmachine. I waved the harpoon gun at it. You couldn't see its eyes; they were dark wet slits surrounded by great folds and swells of warty pigflab. But you knew it was scheming. I edged between it and the clear run through my long thin apartment to the front door. I had it pinned here in the back bedroom. Nowhere to run.

It feinted to my left like Ali, with a rasped "Fuckpig!" I pretended to follow the feint, and then snapped the gun back as it launched itself for the opening it expected between my right and the doorjamb.

It realised I had it and pissed itself in mid-air, an evil green sprinkler. Twisted its immense gut around to carom off the wall. I kept a bead on it as it bounced off my bed - realised too late that it was aimed for the window.

Fuckpig! and it hurled itself through the window. I ran to the sill, trying to keep my hands away from all the broken glass. The pig had launched itself with some force, I gave it that. There was a chance it could reach the shopfront awning on the other side of my narrow market street. The odds were better that it'd miss and splatter. But I don't like gambling, really, and this was a personal thing.

I put a harpoon through the bastard pig from arsehole to breakfast-time, skewering it in mid-air.

It dropped down into the market, landing on a fruit stand. Its guts let go and the awful flow dissolved all the apples. There was a storm of swearing in Croatian, and then the retching started.

And, you know, this is as good as the next month or so got.

(C) Warren Ellis 2003
Here's where I've been, and where I probably am:


Well........It's going to take a boat load of margaritas to keep me from dreaming about this tonight.

*Bella wanders off mumbling to herself....."No, not that!  Anything but a weird Japanese doll that sucks out it's own urine!!"*
just like in a dream
you'll open your mouth to scream
and you won't make a sound

you can't believe your eyes
you can't believe your ears
you can't believe your friends
you can't believe you're here

Irreverend Hugh, KSC

Quote from: SssBella, Oracle of DoomWell........It's going to take a boat load of margaritas to keep me from dreaming about this tonight.

*Bella wanders off mumbling to herself....."No, not that!  Anything but a weird Jananese doll that sucks out it's own urine!!"*

"Time for the tin-foil hats, girls and boys!"


Who is Warren Ellis and can I worship him.

As long as he doesn¥t touch my stuff.

The Commander

At first I thought you had written this Riff....if you had I was going to kick you for not helping me with the DIA script...but you didn¥t, so I¥m just going to kick you for no reason.


The Commander
The Commander
Discordian Intelligence Agency



Warren Ellis is a comics god.  Go read Transmetropolitan and see for yourself... I believe they're all out in trade paperback by now, or most of them anyway.  Even if you're not normally into comics, it's amazing stuff.
Here's where I've been, and where I probably am:


Another Warren Ellis short story, even more disturbing than the last:

ELLIE;   Hello. You're through to the Helping Hotline. My name's Ellie, what's yours?


ELLIE;   There seems to be some noise on your end of the line. What's your name again?

VOICE ON PHONE;   Doesn't matter.

ELLIE;   Everyone matters. Tell me your name. Let's talk a little bit.

VOICE ON PHONE;   You changed your tune.

ELLIE;   Excuse me?

VOICE ON PHONE;   The line's been busy for two hours.

ELLIE;   Well, sometimes a lot of people need time to talk.

VOICE ON PHONE;   You were having phone sex.

ELLIE;   I'm sorry?

VOICE ON PHONE;   You were having phone sex while working on a suicide hotline.

ELLIE;   Is this a joke?

VOICE ON PHONE;   Wasn't to me. I needed help. I was going to kill myself if I didn't get these thoughts out of my head, and I just needed someone to talk to.

ELLIE;   Well, we're talking now, aren't we?

VOICE ON PHONE;   I committed suicide a hour ago, bitchface.

ELLIE;   ...this is a joke, right? It's one of you guys...


ELLIE;   Shit.

VOICE ON PHONE;   I threw a grenade in the toilet and then put my head down it. It's probably on the news by now.

ELLIE;   This is a really sick joke.

VOICE ON PHONE;   All because you were on the line having amputee-fetish phone sex.

ELLIE;   Who is this?

VOICE ON PHONE;   "Are you fingering your stump now, Gerald? Imagine me touching it, wearing the peach-colored rubber dishwashing gloves soaked in detergent..."

ELLIE;   Oh my God.

VOICE ON PHONE;   How many people do you think killed themselves tonight because you were having fun, Ellie?

VOICE ON PHONE;   I'm sorry for the noise in the background, by the way. I can't turn it down. Too many people here.

ELLIE;   Where are you?

VOICE ON PHONE;   Let me give you a clue. Your father would like to say hello.

ELLIE;   My father...

VOICE ON PHONE;   Your father, yes. Your dead father.


VOICE ON PHONE;   Your father the killer.


VOICE ON PHONE;   He'd like to say hello.

(long pause)

VOICE ON PHONE;   Hello, Ellie. It's Big Daddy. Anything you have to say for yourself?

ELLIE;   I hate you, Daddy.


ELLIE;   I hate you because all the girls you kept under the floorboards always had prettier dresses than I did. You bought them perfume, but you never bought me anything.

VOICE ON PHONE;   Ellie? I had to spray them with something, they were stinking the place up...

ELLIE;   I don't care. You always had excuses. "I couldn't afford a birthday present for you, I had to buy the hydrochloric acid." "Your mother never understood me and that's why I became a necrophile." "I can't take you to the party because I have to go trolling for college girls in pink sweaters tonight." Always another fucking excuse, Daddy.

VOICE ON PHONE;   ...I'm sorry. I'll make it up to you, sweetheart.

ELLIE;   How? You're dead. Never call me again, especially not at work.

VOICE ON PHONE;   I'm sorry. I won't, I promise. Can I send you a present on your birthday?

ELLIE;   That'd be a fucking first. Get off the line.

VOICE ON PHONE;   Okay. I love you.

ELLIE;   Don't. Just don't, okay? I'm hanging up now.

VOICE ON PHONE;   Please --

ELLIE;   I'm hanging up.


(long pause)

ELLIE;   You're through to the Helping Hotline. I'm Ellie. What's your name?


ELLIE;   Yes, I'm still wearing the anti-bacterial suit, and it's got the algae from your infections smeared all over it, you naughty boy...

(c) Warren Ellis 2003
Here's where I've been, and where I probably am:


And another:

She used to have eyes I could lose myself in, and then she had them replaced with laser pointers. Little red dots jumping up and down on the bedroom wall as I took her from behind. I could live with that until she had the animal voice import. The cheetah purring was okay, but the dingo noises just killed the mood. The combination of the red eyes and the gorilla sounds when she jerked off was horrible. A few weeks later, things were moving down there that shouldn't have. Don't be scared, she said, as stuff pumped like organ stops under her skin. Something extended itself and waved at me.

I threw up between her legs and she didn't talk to me for a week. Which I suppose you can't really blame her for, but still.

I knew it was over when she cut her legs off.

Had them hacked off at the knee and came home with a suitcase full of modular replacements. The stumps had little Firewire ports that plugged into the new lower leg units. She fitted what she called her Sex Legs and flexed artificial toes, feet fixed in a perfect arch to accomodate the welded-on six-inch heels. Apparently there were Segway gyroscopes in the calves to keep her upright when she walked.

I came home one night to find her in a red latex minidress and sixteen legs. Spider things were sprouted from her knees, eight legs each. She paraded on the plastic kitchen floor for me, swinging her hips. Clackclackclackclack on the floor. Clackclackclackclack.

She stuck her tongue out at me when I started retching. There was what looked like a DC power inlet on the tip.

After that, it just got ugly. I had to go. I saw her again a couple of weeks ago. She introduced her new boyfriend as Spin. His skin was cold and shiny, like white plastic coating over steel. He had a revolving drum in his stomach. She leant against him and grinned.

I'm living in my car now. My car loves me. I mean, it wouldn't have grown a real vagina for me otherwise, would it?

(c) Warren Ellis 2003
Here's where I've been, and where I probably am:

Irreverend Hugh, KSC

"Time for the tin-foil hats, girls and boys!"


In Regards to REDEYES
I read a simaler story like that
except instead of mechanical appendages she rew more vaginas
so she could please her husband and guest from work

Very weird stuff Riffy
Coito ergo sum
O! Plus! Perge! Aio! Hui! Hem!
"You know the world is going crazy when the best rapper is a white guy, the best golfer is a black guy,the tallest guy in the NBA is Chinese, the Swiss hold the America's Cup, France is accusing the U.S. of arrogance, Germany doesn't want to go to war, and the three most powerful men in America are named Bush, Dick, and Colon.  --Comedian Chris Rock