When I met the Paesors, it was in the office of their club, which overlooks the dance floor. The noise was awful; it sounded like no music I'd ever heard before. The place was, however, packed, which puzzled me, as nobody seemed to really be having a good time.
I was ushered in and given a seat across a cluttered desk from Senor Paesor...Who was apparently doing lines through an eviction notice. Senora Paesor was leaning against the wall, looking down on the dance floor.
Senor Paesor seemed to notice my existence, and sat bolt upright, flashing me a greasy smile. "Ah, Padre, welcome to my humble club", he said through his Fu Manchu mustache, "Mi casa, su casa."
"What IS that DREADFUL noise?", I asked.
"Well, many months ago, we discovered that the kids, they will dance to ANYTHING. So, as a - how do you say - experiment, we are playing many different things. Last week it was air raid sirens. This week it is car alarms."
"But they aren't dancing."
"No? Well, we will fix that. DARLING?"
Senora Paesor looked at him. "What do you want, pig?"
"It is time for the kids to dance, my love."
"HA!", she shouted, and picked up what seemed to be a large air rifle. She braced herself against the wall, aimed, and fired down onto the dance floor. A twenty-something young man down there grabbed at his neck.
"What the hell was that?", I demanded.
"That", Senor Paesor said, "Was 10 CCs of bovine cortisol. When you mix it with loud, obnoxious noises..."
Down on the floor, the young man's eyes were bugging out of his head. He grabbed a bouncer in one hand and another kid in the other and started bashing them together like gongs, with superhuman strength. He was foaming at the mouth.
But the other kids seemed to love it. They all started dancing in time to the mayhem.
"This is horrible!", I said.
"No, Padre, this is just an expression of the free market system. These little shits, they PAY me for this service." Senor Paesor looked around. "What? My cocaine pile is empty! WORM!"
A very small, skinny man whom I hadn't notice said from the corner, "Senor?"
"How is my cocaine pile so empty? Why did you not bring me more cocaine?"
"But I cannot bring you more cocaine, jefe!"
Paesor launched himself out of his chair, and leered in the small man's face. "WHY CANNOT YOU BRING ME MORE COCAINE?"
"Because Senora has nailed my feet to the floor, jefe!"
We looked at his feet. Sure as hell, they were nailed down with 10 penny nails. We looked at Senora Paesor.
"What?", she asked, "Only YOU are allowed to have a good time, pig?"
"Now I have to go get my OWN cocaine."
She sneered at him. "The exercise will do you some good. Get me some more bourbon while you're at the store."
Senor Paesor stomped towards the door. Not wanting to be left alone with his obviously insane wife, I followed behind him. I HAVE to get an exit visa, I thought to myself, I can't live like this anymore.
(To Be Continued.)
Somehow, it seems DOUR found his way to Interzone.
Holy fuck! :mittens:
Quote from: LMNO, PhD (life continues) on October 24, 2013, 03:21:25 PM
Somehow, it seems DOUR found his way to Interzone.
What? Oh, shit, not again.
Every time I think I have something original, someone's already fucking done it.
Let me be more clear: I love the OP, and DOUR is not ripping anyone off.
Quote from: LMNO, PhD (life continues) on October 24, 2013, 03:33:50 PM
Let me be more clear: I love the OP, and DOUR is not ripping anyone off.
Okay. Thanks.
Anyway, part 2 later this morning.
Part 2
As we bumped along the dirt streets of Christchurch, Senor Paesor became more and more agitated. "It is simple. Worm gets me my cocaine, Worm does not get punished. Worm got me my cocaine, yet is he punished anyway. Now I must get my own WHOOPS!"
He had just run over a gaggle of street urchins. Overcoming his surprise, he hit the gas and laughed like a loon.
"Aren't you going to stop?" I asked.
"Por que?" He seemed genuinely puzzled. "Their friends will just steal my hubcaps."
"But you just ran over a bunch of children!"
"Yes. I can see this bothers you. You Americans are so sentimental. Look, it is like this: If we do not cull their numbers, they eat all the available food, and then ALL starve. It is like your great American Ted Nugent says. Nature relies on predators to balance things. Since we have few predators that eat humans in New Zealand, it is up to good people like me to fill the gap."
He slewed to a stop in front of a ramshackle building that was apparently the store. "Now, where is my list", he asked, "Ah, here."
We walked into the store. The proprietor jumped to his feet. "D-Don Paesor! I did not expect you. Usually Miguel comes in."
"Miguel's feet are, unfortunately, nailed to my office floor. It is very sad. Now, if you will attend to my list?"
"Of course, Don Paesor, of course."
"First, 6 pounds of cocaine."
"Right here", the man said, placing a pillow case loaded with powder on the counter.
"Next is the bourbon."
"Right here", heaving a crate up next to the pillowcase.
"The Lithuanian Tractor Porn."
The small man looked panicked. Signor Paesor narrowed his eyes and waited.
"Um, Don Paesor, it is most unfortunate, but that literature was siezed by customs."
"Really."
"Yes, the whole shipment."
Signor Paesor's hands began to shake. There was a tinkling noise as the small man pissed himself in terror.
"And just WHAT do I spank it to, with no tractor porn? Do you have answers for me? DO YOU NOT THINK THERE ARE MORE NAILS?", Signor Paesor said, pulling a hammer down off the wall where it had been on display.
I turned and left the store. I sat in the car, listening to the horrible sound of angry carpentry.
I wanted to go home. I wanted it so badly.
(To be continued.)
I am so loving this.
Quote from: LMNO, PhD (life continues) on October 24, 2013, 04:42:10 PM
I am so loving this.
It's only going to get worse. Those awful Carribbean nations are nothing but nightmares.
Part 3
As Signor Paesor drove the jeep back through the barrios of Christchurch, the ground began to rumble. Signor Paesor stopped the jeep and listened.
"It is not artillery, at least. It is only an earthquake."
"An earthquake? What?"
"Relax, Padre. It is only a baby. One day the big one will come, and we will all drown in the ocean...But tonight we drink, you and I."
Ahead of us, a church steeple collapsed onto a crowd. Signor Paesor brayed laughter, and drove around the carnage. We drove another couple of hundred yards before a police cruiser's lights came on behind us.
"Oh, shit", I said, thinking of the cocaine.
"Oh shit what?", Signor Paesor laughed, "It is only the police. They are rendered impotent with fear and rage by my very presence. Still..." He reached under the seat and pulled out an Uzi. "Here. Give them something to think about."
"Uh..."
"Oh, shit, yes...You are a man of the cloth. Here, YOU drive, and I will shoot at them." He climbed out of the driver's seat and into the back of the jeep. Shit. I grabbed the wheel and scooched over into the driver's seat, just in time to avoid driving through someone's shanty.
From the back came the deafening bark of the submachine guns, and Signor Paesor's laughter. "DO YOU LIKE THAT, PUTO? DO YOU? HAHAHAHAHA!"
In the rear view mirror, I saw the bullet-riddled police car veer off into the very shanty I had avoided. I tried not to listen to the screams, as Signor Paesor dropped into the passenger seat next to me.
"Next", he said, we shall go talk to that maricon landlord of mine. He sent me an eviction notice on my club. Can you BELIEVE that?"
Trying to distract him, I said "I thought we were going to drink tonight."
"Oh, yes. Instead, we drink right now." He opened the top of the crate and pulled out a bottle of bourbon. He opened it and took a long pull. "BWAHAHAHA! THAT will wake you from your siesta!"
He passed the bottle to me, and I took a swig. It burned as I expected, but there was a strange taste to it.
"What kind of bourbon IS this?", I asked.
"It is Signora Paesor's special blend. We have it made special in Caracas."
Oh, shit. The steering wheel had become strangely flexible in my hands, and my ears echoed with Signor Paesor's awful laughter. "I have hit rock bottom", I said - I think - to myself.
I was wrong.
(To be continued.)
:lol:
Just expressing appreciation as to your diligent efforts to explain what New Zealand is REALLY like.
Quote from: LMNO, PhD (life continues) on October 24, 2013, 05:18:24 PM
Just expressing appreciation as to your diligent efforts to explain what New Zealand is REALLY like.
Someone has to. Anyway, more story.
Part 4
Subsequent events are hazy. I remember a few things, but they are distorted and possibly just hallucinations. I remember Signora Paesor extracting the nails from Miguel's feet.
"Do my dance", she told him, "Do my favorite."
Miguel looked at her. He whimpered. Then he leapt out the window to his death.
"Shit", Signora Paesor said, "It is SO hard to find good help, these days."
shuffleThrowing up out the window. Senor Paesor drives up in the jeep below. A chain is dragging from the rear end of the vehicle. Attached to the chain is a human leg, badly abraded.
"See, Padre? I have renegotiated my lease for the club! BAHAHAHAHA!"
Uncontrollable vomiting.
shuffleSignora Paesor is singing Abba's
Does Your Mother Know, while a large crowd of terrified club-goers try to dance like the kids in the video for that song. Some can't do it right. There is gunfire.
shuffleI am lying on the floor, laughing. Signor Paesor is going through my wallet. "What is this? A request for an exit visa? No, no, Padre, you must stay and be our friend. Our special friend." His wife is laughing, a rising laugh that sounds like bats and forgotten attic spaces. Signor Paesor tears up my passport. I laugh, for some odd reason thinking that I should be screaming in horror. I laugh some more.
shuffleI wake up late in the morning. Everything hurts. My head feels like someone's been using it for a bass drum. My clothes are spattered in blood...But I am not wounded. What the hell happened? What's going on?
I look around, and I am the only person in the office. Well, the only living person. Someone has dragged Miguel up from the street and nailed him back to the floor.
I go to get up, to flee.
The door is locked.
(To be continued.)
Insert my usual comment about what it must be like in your brain.
Quote from: LMNO, PhD (life continues) on October 24, 2013, 05:40:35 PM
Insert my usual comment about what it must be like in your brain.
Check out the last entry in Who's Who if you need a better description. :lulz:
Holy crap, man. You weren't kidding about "malice aforethought". :eek:
Quote from: Kai on October 24, 2013, 06:11:44 PM
Holy crap, man. You weren't kidding about "malice aforethought". :eek:
See thread with similar name discussing Queen Gogira.
All that "New Zealand is where Xena: Warrior Princess and the Hobbits live!" is pure bullshit. BULLSHIT. *sobbing* Mommy, I want to go home!
Sweet merciful fuck. :eek: This makes my nightmares look like fucking daydreams.
Quote from: Mrs. Nigelson on October 25, 2013, 12:08:24 AM
Sweet merciful fuck. :eek: This makes my nightmares look like fucking daydreams.
Things are getting a little disconnected around here. :lulz:
Part 5
Days went by. Weeks. Every night was a horrible train wreck of drugs and violence. I began to wonder when the supply of clubbers would begin to run out...And where all the corpses went. All through it, I heard Senor Paesor laughing that braying laugh of his. Senora Paesor would alternately hang on his arm or call him a pig and throw knives at him.
I wanted to run, but where would I go? The American embassy was a long-abandoned shell, the police were in fact terrified of the Paesors, and I couldn't even get on a ship without an exit visa. For God's sake, I couldn't even remember why I went to New Zealand in the first place...
...I had been invited. Something about a meet up for a joke religion I belonged to. A website that I spent a lot of time at. I was told of the fun club scene in Christchurch, of the beautiful scenery. I had some money and time on my hands, so why not? I was a fool. Even the briefest google search of New Zealand would have made me stay away. It was a 3rd world horrorshow, a cross between the worst parts of Jamaica and the movie
Road Warrior. Even the cars, the few that ran, were
armored.
I had to escape, but I was afraid that if I tried, the Paesor's horrible camraderie would turn into something else entirely, and I would become just another stack of bones in whatever charnel heap people wound up in here.
So I lost myself in drink. Specifically, Senora Paesor's hallucinagenic-laced bourbon. Three more "Miguels" came and...went. At least three. I dimly remember at one point, at lunch time, Senor Paesor asking me if I liked my pork sandwich. I said that I did. He said Miguel would be grateful. I threw up for three hours, the Paesor's laughter ringing in my ears every time I heaved.
But the next time it happened, I just shrugged and kept eating. I was tired. So tired. I hadn't had any real sleep in weeks, and nothing seemed to matter, nothing could break through the fog of exhaustion and self-disgust that I felt. Or so I thought.
That was damned optimistic of me, in hindsight.
Because the next week was the Christchurch "Applaud" Arts Festival.
And that's when I learned what horror really was.
(to be continued)
Oh god this is my favourite thread. I will go and drink my bourbon and when I find a laptop instead of my phone I will return.
Quote from: Pæs on October 25, 2013, 02:17:49 AM
Oh god this is my favourite thread. I will go and drink my bourbon and when I find a laptop instead of my phone I will return.
I thought of the ending, and took the day off from it because I gave myself the crawlies.
DAMN. :lulz:
"Lithuanian TRactor pron"? Holy hell, why did I not spout that!
Quote from: Richter on October 25, 2013, 02:23:04 AM
DAMN. :lulz:
"Lithuanian TRactor pron"? Holy hell, why did I not spout that!
You'll think of something even weirder. I know you.
I read this at work.
"It can't be that bad," I thought.
"Roger wouldn't do that to us," I thought.
PD, I thought wrong. And I am ashamed.
And a little aroused.
I can't seem to stop shuddering.
Part 6
So, we were going to the "art festival". Well, with any luck at all, there'd be enough of a crowd that perhaps I could escape. But in the meantime, Senor Paesor was loading backpacks on the back of his jeep. I glanced inside one, and my blood ran cold...It was a large nail bomb. I looked at Senor Paesor.
"What? Party favors", he said, and laughed.
I got in the back seat, and the Paesors got in front. I had to do something. I felt along under the front seat with my foot...AHA! There it was. The Uzi. I hooked it with my foot, and started dragging it towards me. It was just in my grasp when the world ended.
When the crashing stopped, I was laying in the street. The police car that had rammed the jeep was still entangled with it. Three masked policemen where holding shotguns to my face.
"Thank God", I managed, then I guess I passed out again.
So I'm not sure why you're holding me, officers. I was a prisoner with those maniacs. I just want to go home to America.
The preceding is the sworn statement of accused mass murderer "Padre Roger". The following testimony is that of Sr and Sra Paesor, two of his victims."We knew this guy Roger on the boards for years. So he starts saying he'll be down our way, and could we show him the town? We agree. It was the worst mistake of our lives. He held us prisoner for 5 weeks, and he killed all of our friends. He ate Micheal."
Sra Paesor breaks down at this point. Conversation suspended for 10 minutes."He shot at the police at least once, and he stacked up the bodies of our friends in the basement. It was horrible. I want to go home now...No, I'm going to my parent's house. I can never go back to my house again."
The Paesors were released with a witness summons. The facts bear out their story; they were prisoners the entire time, and took no part in any illegal activity, but rather seem to have been at the mercy of a madman. The "Padre" is being held in a padded cell, and is still raving about an "exit visa", even though New Zealand does not and has never required an exit visa to leave the country. We have informed the American consulate. Matter referred to the solicitor general for dispostion.Senora Paesor climbed into the car on the passenger side. Senor Paesor looked across at her, and said, "We'll get through this, babe."
She leered at him. "Shut up, pig."
"BAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!"
They drove off back into the flip side of Christchurch, that Christchurch that can only be seen out of the corner of your eye, and only for a moment. Thank God.
End
HAH!
Nice ending! I was wondering how that was going to pan out.
Whoa :lulz:
If the Paesors have no objection, I'd like to repost this at Scrubgenius.
That was a fucking great read, Roger. I'll never look at a pork sandwich the same way again. :eek:
Quote from: Aucoq on October 25, 2013, 08:36:52 PM
That was a fucking great read, Roger. I'll never look at a pork sandwich the same way again. :eek:
Thanks. I can't seem to get LDW back in gear, but I want to write. So everyone's getting one of these. Eventually.
This needs to be shared everywhere. I should submit it to Tourism New Zealand.
Quote from: Pæs on October 25, 2013, 10:00:49 PM
This needs to be shared everywhere. I should submit it to Tourism New Zealand.
:lulz:
I need to clean up some SPAG and a spoonerism, but definitely going to Scrubgenius with this.
Quote from: Signora Pæsior on October 25, 2013, 05:57:01 AM
I read this at work.
"It can't be that bad," I thought.
"Roger wouldn't do that to us," I thought.
:lulz:
Roger would do that sort of crap to his own aging & infirm mother if it cranked out a story.
:lulz:
Quote from: Pæs on October 25, 2013, 10:00:49 PM
This needs to be shared everywhere. I should submit it to Tourism New Zealand.
100% PURE.
Next one is Pixie and Payne, I think.
This will surely be lovely!
What could possibly go wrong?
This went over pretty well at Scrubgenius.
They called me a freak, which is a very high compliment, indeed. :lulz:
Quote from: Dirty Old Uncle Roger on October 28, 2013, 08:43:09 PM
This went over pretty well at Scrubgenius.
They called me a freak, which is a very high compliment, indeed. :lulz:
Nice! :lulz:
That was awesome...and you're a bad, bad man.
Quote from: Sister_Gothique on November 12, 2013, 08:01:47 PM
That was awesome...and you're a bad, bad man.
I am a Holy Man™. Your moral standards DON'T APPLY TO ME.
And thanks. I'm rather proud of this one. I was inspired by the lovely Signora Paesor and that guy she hangs out with.
Quote from: Dirty Old Uncle Roger on November 12, 2013, 10:25:32 PM
I was inspired by the lovely Signora Paesor and that guy she hangs out with.
SHUT IT PIGFILTH, OKAY? I KNEW I SHOULD HAVE INTERRUPT SHEEPS STEADY DIET OF CRYSTAL METH AND FEED YOU TO THEM. AFTER ALL WHAT IS POINT OF DAYS SPENT SHARPENING SHEEP TEETH OTHERWISE? NO POINT. EXACTLY. BUT NO. SIGNORA SAYS "NO IDIOT, SLIP HIM SOME SYRUP AND WE'LL SEND HIM INTO FOREST TO HUNT KIWI. OTHERWISE WHAT IS POINT OF DAYS SPENT SHARPENING KIWI BEAK?". BUT THEN HE DOESN'T FIND ANY KIWI BEAK AND GETS HIM STUPID SELF ARRESTED. WASTE OF BEST SYRUP. VERY MESSY.
:lulz:
:lulz:
Holy shit!
Wow, I just read all of this.
:lulz:
Fantastic.
Quote from: Eater of Clowns on November 13, 2013, 09:13:18 PM
Wow, I just read all of this.
:lulz:
Fantastic.
All of you should live in my head.
Quote from: Dirty Old Uncle Roger on November 13, 2013, 09:15:18 PM
Quote from: Eater of Clowns on November 13, 2013, 09:13:18 PM
Wow, I just read all of this.
:lulz:
Fantastic.
All of you should live in my head.
A more disquieting thought than what if we did is the possibility that
we might already.
Quote from: Eater of Clowns on November 13, 2013, 09:17:01 PM
Quote from: Dirty Old Uncle Roger on November 13, 2013, 09:15:18 PM
Quote from: Eater of Clowns on November 13, 2013, 09:13:18 PM
Wow, I just read all of this.
:lulz:
Fantastic.
All of you should live in my head.
A more disquieting thought than what if we did is the possibility that we might already.
Well, there's one way to find out.
How many neighbors have you lost to the fetal zombies in the sewers in the last week?
Because you know, there's nothing saying that aborted fetuses won't get frisky during a zombiepocalypse.
Quote from: Dirty Old Uncle Roger on November 13, 2013, 09:18:45 PM
Quote from: Eater of Clowns on November 13, 2013, 09:17:01 PM
Quote from: Dirty Old Uncle Roger on November 13, 2013, 09:15:18 PM
Quote from: Eater of Clowns on November 13, 2013, 09:13:18 PM
Wow, I just read all of this.
:lulz:
Fantastic.
All of you should live in my head.
A more disquieting thought than what if we did is the possibility that we might already.
Well, there's one way to find out.
How many neighbors have you lost to the fetal zombies in the sewers in the last week?
Neighbors? I don't have neighbors I have peering things. Vague and menacing silhouettes in the windows, street lights reflecting on glassy eyes between the slits of the blinds. I have people I see raking leaves, shoveling snow and scraping...something, something scraping that I see from my window. Then when I go down to see them the street is deserted.
The cars move. At night there are more of them and during the day there are less. They are the same cars and they are in different places, but nobody ever drives them. People pass through the street, by the cars, but nobody stops and nobody gets out. One of the cars was in the same spot for two and half years and then it just wasn't.
An old woman downstairs from me sometimes asks me to bring in her mail while she's "away." But when she's there I never see her anyway. All the lights are off in my building when I get home from work. The man in the adjacent apartment has a television on all the time and I can hear it in my bathroom. I don't see them. Any of them. Just peering things.
Moving vans come and go, always to the same house. All the rest of the houses must have permanent residents because otherwise it wouldn't just be that one house that has the moving van. I mean the peering things have got to be people, right?
Right?
Quote from: Eater of Clowns on November 13, 2013, 09:28:58 PM
Neighbors? I don't have neighbors I have peering things. Vague and menacing silhouettes in the windows, street lights reflecting on glassy eyes between the slits of the blinds. I have people I see raking leaves, shoveling snow and scraping...something, something scraping that I see from my window. Then when I go down to see them the street is deserted.
The cars move. At night there are more of them and during the day there are less. They are the same cars and they are in different places, but nobody ever drives them. People pass through the street, by the cars, but nobody stops and nobody gets out. One of the cars was in the same spot for two and half years and then it just wasn't.
An old woman downstairs from me sometimes asks me to bring in her mail while she's "away." But when she's there I never see her anyway. All the lights are off in my building when I get home from work. The man in the adjacent apartment has a television on all the time and I can hear it in my bathroom. I don't see them. Any of them. Just peering things.
Moving vans come and go, always to the same house. All the rest of the houses must have permanent residents because otherwise it wouldn't just be that one house that has the moving van. I mean the peering things have got to be people, right?
Right?
Welcome aboard. Stay out of my frontal lobes, they get kinda irritable when they're into the booze.
The other night I took my walk a bit later than normal. Got my memory card's worth of crappy pics I'll never look at again and came back to the house. I tripped, as I do fairly often, and caught myself. But I ended up half bent over and staring into a sewer. Something glowed, briefly, and then the whole thing went black like there was a light down there someone turned off, but more subtle than that. And I heard something wail. And then splash.
It wasn't an animal because I know all the animal noises. It wasn't people because the homeless in our area live down by the creek. And there's no way to get in that part of the sewer, all the accesses are too tiny.
I'm now convinced it was aborted fetus zombies.
Quote from: Signora Pæsior on October 25, 2013, 05:57:01 AM
I read this at work.
"It can't be that bad," I thought.
"Roger wouldn't do that to us," I thought.
PD, I thought wrong. And I am ashamed.
And a little aroused.
This still kills me. :lulz: