There is no reason why good cannot triumph as often as evil. The triumph of anything is a matter of organization. If there are such things as angels, I hope that they are organized along the lines of the Mafia. - Kurt Vonnegut
The fat man and his fat wife pull in across two disabled driver spaces, parking directly in-front of the mini-supermarket (which is steadily driving ‘Sids convenience store’, situated directly across the road, out of business. Only empty shelves live at Sids now, and the one or two sandwiches and tubs of butter that sit alone in a chiller packed with goods just a year ago). Horatio feels his heat rising in his chest and his head. The red-red blood making his head dizzy and his vision blurred. Two hippos loll out of car seats, choc-ice wrappers, crisp packets, and cigarette boxes emerge, tumbling from giant tyre-shaped rolls of fat and blubber. The female plucks a pink screaming new born from a passing Mothers cot and devours it whole, burping out the child’s yellow plastic dummy. Scenting the still warm baby dribble Its’ male behemoth counterpart falls to the floor gobbling dirt and dog shit into his mouth in furious attempts to eat this yellow morsel. The female monstrosity helps her obese partner up from the floor, and they stand leaning on each other gasping for breathe, sweat stinking and dripping from flabby foreheads and faces in massive globules to the ground. Able to stand it no longer Horatio reels about to fall, his rage seems to be spinning his head around like a carousel. 9 inches of flashing silver in hand he steps forward
Move your car
Horatio can’t see, all he makes out are two giant grey obelisks leaning together in front of him. Nothing but dumb silence meets his request and he shouts:
MOVE YOUR CAR.
No response and in the same breathe,
Move you car,
he steps forward, barely able to walk as his brain fires of sparklers and Catherine wheels, sticking the knife into the female at the sternum and ripping all the way down to her belly button. Intestines fall on the floor, and a gaping mouth opens in the woman’s face and begins to scream. The fat man lets out a moan and falls again to his knees, starts swallowing guts whole into his engorged stomach. He pulls them in by swallowing one end and like a string forces it down his throat, as if connected to the unwrapped woman by an umbilical cord leading from his open throat to her burst stomach. He makes a sound like vomiting but going the wrong way.
Horatio steps up behind the kneeling man and with one fell swoop decapitates his fat head and watches it roll into the gutter. A group of school kids steal it for a game of football, while several cats are already making a home in the still warm cavity of the fat woman’s stomach. A crowd applauds and Horatio bows once, twice, then three times, before thinking he should have got them to move their car first. Shrugging he gets on the bus
Fat bastards
The driver eyes have been sewn shut and he relies on the screams of the passengers to tell him when to turn stop or accelerate. Horatio joins in whole heartedly, looking disdainfully at those other passengers who are merely excess baggage. They stuff buzzing insects in their ears (pincers nipping and jiggling in black shiny fluorescence), and tipex in their eyes. This only serves to blot out the majesty of a thousand potentially fatal bus crashes on the journey. One nearly occurring outside the nurseries school having potential to be very spectacular. Everyone wants to get famous like this, get on the evening news as a heroic survivor. Congratulations, you didn’t die when thousands did. And if they do die (please) then their relatives get to put their best clothes on and appear on a two-minute segment of the local grief-porno-news showing of their anguish and their counterfeit Lois Vitton bags. Black sunglasses all. Like the film stars. Like blind people. Grief is big seller in New Birmingham especially for the TV news. All the deedee’s love a bit of grief.
He was a good man
Never hurt a fly (except for the crying wife, beaten for twenty years, who eventually took the bastards life ((poisoned over 8 months; eye drops in his porridge)), and that’s why his lying there grey in a coffin, the police suspect but don’t really care and are hoping they can have an aggressive gangbang with ‘grieving widow post-funeral anyway)
A family man, loved his kids (loved them with a broom handle to the face after another drunken rape of his wife)
A good friend. (always shared a line of coke)
Bye bye bad man
