’Every normal man must be tempted at times to spit on his hands, hoist the black flag, and begin slitting throats.’ – H.L. Mencken.

Black insect eyes grinning over the desks, another day walking the corridors of reduced power, working on back up generators. Horatio the hero of the piece grabs a lithe indian girl and throws her over the desk jumping on her and fucking on the way down. She gives him a waste-invoice and he takes it to the post room, waits for the receipt. Returning, she files it sexily for him showing of her good-for-jumping hind legs as she bends over. Cigarettes taste good after white bread sandwiches and sex, savouring each draw, blowing out plumes of secondary death.

Lunch is a different matter, stalking college girls around the elderly town centre, watching the young cunt lolling around in groups waiting for the benefit militia to kidnap and pillage them, selling them back to their families shamed and at half the price. Machine Guns for sale at the farmers market, not too good for butchering pigs or castrating bulls but you can pop a full grown man at thirty paces and leave him screaming on the ground as an example for his colleagues. Don't be late again or you'll deal in lead and not junk bonds.
Horatio buys a young suckling lamb and he and the indian admin-assistant sacrifice it with a kitchen knife and wash their hands in the blood. He paints her upper body in the red stuff smearing her breasts first and then his face pushed into them coming out grinning and bloody. 'Thats the stuff' 'ratio exclaimed as he plunged back in again sighing in contentment. India's hands hold his head there smiling, leaving blood in his thinning hair.

The days moves slow when you're taking regaine, stopping to check follicular unit transference every ten or so minutes in the company bathroom. Wolf man at the end of the day spends his evenings shaving his back hair and eyebrows. He heard that strong curry will do the job, vindaloo shampoo, threatening those dying strands, telling them to stand up like men, helping them grow in to big boys. Rice in your hair looks like lice. Pilau rice looks like lice at carnival time.
Horatio liked to shower hot for ten minutes every morning then freezing for as long as he could stand it. He stands there shivering running his sopping hands over his wet body feeling himself get hard. If only India could come in and shiver a bit with him. Then he smokes a cigarette while taking a prodigious shit, fixes his comb-over in place with copious hairspray, styles his two cats after himself by shaving off the hair just between their ears. He leaves all the doors in his house open and hangs his washing out cause it looks like rain.
Horatio prefers hatch-backs but car jacks a brand new mini that waits at the red lights. Throwing the young female driver out on the side-walk with a split lip and a dirty mouth she is immediately scooped up by a passing rape gang; she whoops with delight. He makes it to work in record time scoring 25 points after hitting a pregnant doberman, but lost out on the bonus as her owner was too quick out the road, left with nothing but a leather dog lead still in hand, red at one end.

A man sits on the fence when he arrives outside work shouting at the shoppers about iGod and fornication, devil-sex and beasts with two backs, waving a red book about in hand. Horatio can see its the latest edition of 'The Joy of Sex'. Required reading.

He starts the day by ejaculating all over his keyboard and having his secretary lick it off. He absently watches her pink tongue flit back and forth while rubbing regaine into his scalp, his hands are getting furry again and he bites at the tufts with yellow teeth he took from the mouth of a homeless WW3 veteran back in '85. He'll need a new set soon, but there's always been homeless people who don't need their teeth to shoot up on junk.

Later. Man on man action in a dark seedy bar, while our hero Horatio looks on in pouty mouthed disgust.
Call yourself a friend then take your hand from his knee and pick up that beer.
Standing up drinks fly and spill against his legs, he is blocked by. A friend.
Get the fuck out of the way
No
I’m leaving

Returning home he watches dead soldiers flown back from the desert while his girlfriend laughs with a friend on her phone. He vomits into his hand and slowly feeds it her. Yellow brown vom’ drips down her chin.
You shouldn’t talk with your mouthful, ‘ratio says, but she grabs a last wet handful from him and turns round resuming her conversation.
Bitch.
Horatio starts masturbating himself hoping she’ll take notice but she just pulls a face of disgust and gets the bus home.
Bitch
If only India was here, she must like to watch a man wank. But she’s not so he watches himself in the mirror, so he doesn’t feel so alone.