.jpg)
Here is part one of my Stephen King parody. Even by my standards, it's extremely offensive and disturbing. I should make something clear to the readers of my blog. I was a huge fan of Mr. King's early works, especially 'The Shining'. But my enthusiasm faded with each new book he published. By the time his 600th book rolled of the presses, I was totally fed up!
If any of the readers are offended by the contents of this parody, who gives a shit! Every obscenity, racial slur and nasty word in the parodies can be found in Mr. King's novels. The only difference between my writing and Mr. King's is about $600 million in sales revenue! I do marvel at the fact that this man can fire off at least three books a month, and they don't even have make a bit of fucking sense.
"Thank God, America has gone full-retard!" he was once quoted as saying. So I hope you enjoy this installment. If not, I don't give a shit! The clown pictured above? It has nothing to do with this story.
STAND BY ME-A PARODY
Chapter 1
 |
| Bartlett |
In fact, he never lost a stroke as he furiously choked his chicken, which was a nightly ritual for him. With the sheets pulled over his head, he held a penlight firmly clenched in his teeth with a copy of Jugs and Pussy in his left hand while his right hand beat out a staccato on his cock.
Something did get his attention though. A furious pounding against the wall stopped him mid-stroke. His heart began to race and his breath caught in his throat. Fuck me, he thought, is that a monster coming through the wall? He then realized it was only his dad in the next room, fucking the shit out of his mother's dress-making mannequin. "What a fucking douche-bag", said Bartlett, returning to the frantic beating on his cock!
"Now what the fuck was that!" whispered Bartlett, spitting the penlight from his teeth while simultaneously dropping both his cock and magazine. Although the lightning, thunder and his father's sexual assault on the mannequin had hardly made an impression on him, some eerie noises coming from somewhere in his bedroom suddenly got his attention.
Holding his breath he listened intently. Wouldn't you fucking know it. Nothing but a deathly silence! Even the storm, that had raged outside just seconds ago, was finished. It seems his dad had finished with the mannequin and was probably working over his mom. Maybe it had just been my imagination. But then he heard it again! It was a horrific scratching like claws on a blackboard, followed by these gut-wrenching moans. These were moans even more terrible then the moans that came from his parents bedroom on the nights his dad got shit-faced and had non-consensual anal sex with his mother.
The hairs on the back of his neck stood on end. Fuck me, he thought to himself, whatever it was, it was underneath my bed. He was now frozen in fear. He had but two options. And both had dire consequences. Option one? He took a chance and looked under the bed. Given the fact that this was a Stephen King parody, the chance of getting his head torn off were pretty good. The other option was pulling the covers over his head and waiting till morning. This could be worse than option one. He hadn't bathed in a couple of months, as a consequence, his crotch was as ripe as month old Limburger cheese left in the hot sun! I could go blind, he thought to himself.
"Jesus Christ", screamed Bartlett when realized it was his sister Beth. This was a magic trick gone terribly wrong. He had seen that asshole Criss Angel on TV doing escape tricks. Bartlett was pretty sure that if that prick could do these tricks, surely he could. Not completely confident in his ability to do it, he talked his sister into trying it first. He had duct taped her legs, hands and mouth and shoved her under his bed. He told her he would come back in an hour. If she had escaped he would give her ten bucks then he would try it himself. That was three days ago! That's why there had been an empty chair at the dinner table.
Dragging her from under his bed he quickly removed the tape and sat her up on his bed. If his dad found out what he had done, he was sure to get a whipping. He had some fast talking to do.
"Beth, please don't tell mom and dad," Bartlett begged. "I was only having a little fun! Look. I'll make it worth your while to keep quiet!"
Running over to his dresser, he opened the drawer and took out an old cigar box. Lifting the lid, he took out some of his most prized possessions and returned to Beth.
Through tears of anger, Beth shouted at Bartlett, "How could you do this to me? And how come not one fucking person knew I was missing for three days?"
"Are you kidding", said Bartlett, "we are the most fucked-up family in Bangor. Mom and dad need coat hangers to find their assholes! If you promise not to tell all these are yours."
He was holding his two favorite marbles, an autographed Babe Ruth baseball card and a human ear. He and his three buddies-Gnarly, Fungus and Dipshit-had removed it from this old wino that had passed out behind the 7-11.
"You've got to be shitting me!" said Beth, looking at the measly offerings in Bartlett's outstretched hand. "You gave me $10 not to squeal on you when I caught you castrating Miss Smith's cat! This is going to cost you the hundred bucks I know you stole from the church poor box, asshole!"
Worry lines creased his forehead as he thought of his predicament. If his dad found out, he knew he would get a pretty good shit-kicking. On the other hand, was he willing to part with the money he had worked so hard to steal from the church?
Dejected, Bartlett came to a decision. "Okay, it's a deal. I'll give you the hundred bucks. I hid it in my toy trunk." Walking to the corner of his room, he lifted the lid and began to rummage around looking for the money. "I know it's in here somewhere."
Getting impatient, Beth walked over and stood behind Bartlett and began to berate him. "Quit fuckin' around Bartlett and han.............."
It had all been a ruse so as to get Beth closer to him. What had only been a blur to Beth, was in actual fact a ball-peen hammer Bartlett had swung with Tiger Woods' like grace. Beth had barely glimpsed the glitter of the hammer in the soft glow of the moonlight as it arced through the air. It had caught her on the temple, crushing her skull like an egg shell. She was dead before her body hit the floor!
(Is this Stephen King or what? This is great shit! Some people say I'm disturbed! They say I write like a man who has some deep-seated mental illness! How wrong they are. My mental illness is out there for all to see. I don't try to hide it. Do they say Stephen is disturbed? No! On the contrary, the weirder he gets, the more they say he has Pulitzer Prize potential! The only difference between the delusional ramblings of mental illness and Book Of The Month material is a million dollars in sales. I don't fucking understand that).
"Look what you made me do, cunt!" screamed Bartlett. "You should have thought this out a little bit more before you tried to fuck me over! Think about it! If mom and dad haven't noticed you missing yet, they never would have!" laughed Bartlett, rambling on to himself. He then began to stuff her body into the trunk, first re-arranging the bodies of the little Epstein twins who had mysteriously disappeared last Halloween. Whistling a happy tune, Bartlett returned to bed to finish jagging-off. If he was lucky, he might get a few winks in before his dad came in for his bi-weekly molestation of Bartlett.
Next morning, Bartlett entered the kitchen and sat down for breakfast with his parents.
"What was that strange noise coming from your bedroom last night?" asked his mom.
"Before or after dad molested me?" giggled Bartlett.
"Before, dear," sighed his mother.
"It was only a scary monster, but it ran out the window," smirked Bartlett.
"I was hoping it was your missing sister, what's-her-name," said mother.
"Her name was Beth, mom! But no such luck. I'm pretty sure she said she was going to run away join the Barnum & Bailey Circus. Just like the Epstein twins did last Halloween," chortled Bartlett.
"I must say, those Epstein twins were pretty adventurous and motivated for six year olds." said his mother in undisguised admiration, giving her husband a look of disdain. "Unlike some people I know!"
"Good for them," said his dad as he put down his magazine, 'Pussies & Knockers'. "I wish I could find a fucking job!"
"Well dear, maybe if you spent as much time looking for work as you do having sex with my mannequin and molesting Bartlett, you'd find work too!" said his wife, with a sarcastic grin on her face.
"Smart-ass mother fucker," he yelled as his right boot came up and catching her square in the snatch. She crumpled to the floor.
Casually stepping over his mother, Bartlett opened the fridge and took out an ice pack. "here mom. Snug this up to your snatch and it will take down the swelling."
"What a sweet dear," she grunted from her clenched jaw.
Bartlett then went to the kitchen cupboard and pulled out a huge hand gun. "Hey, dad, do you mind if I take your Smith-Wesson to school?" Bartlett asked, waving it in the air.
"Is it loaded, son?" queried his father.
Staring down the barrel and pulling the trigger several times, Bartlett replied, "Shit, I the fucking thing is empty!"
"The bullets are in my dresser drawer, right next to my anal intruder, said his father. "By the way son, do you know how to load it?"
"Sure I do dad, who do you think been shooting all those homeless people?" scoffed Bartlett.
"I told you about gun safety haven't I son?, son," said his dad.
"Only about a thousand times!" replied Bartlett.
"Are you sure?" he asked.
"Yes, dad!" said Bartlett, getting a little annoyed. "Guns don't kill people! Niggers with guns kill people!"
"That's right, boy.That's why we shoot first and ask questions later whenever one of them darkies try to wander into our part of town," explained his father.
"Why in Heaven's name do you want to take a gun to school?" asked his mother, as she valiantly pulled herself into her chair, just in time to catch a thundering left hook from her hubby, which sent her crashing back to the floor.
"Bitches only talk when they are told to!" screamed his pissed off father. "Why do you want to take a gun to school?"
"For 'Show and Tell' pops! First, I'm going to show it to the kids in the playground. Then I'm hoping they won't tell on me when I waste that cock-sucking teacher, Mrs Ford. I want to teach her a lesson on how to tell a bad apple from a good apple!" giggled Bartlett.
"That's a good one son. I betcha that fucking asshole Stephen King couldn't write anything this fucking good!" joked his dad as he rolled his wife over and delivered another vicious punch. "Wake up bitch, I need ya to run down to the liquor store and pick me up scotch. I have a busy day watching TV."
(Here is another gratuitous picture of Paris Hilton I stole from her soon to be released biography-"She's Phat and She Likes To Phuck". I don't care what they say about her lack of intellectual ability, she sure knows how to suck cock!!!)
Sticking the gun into his belt, Bartlett ran out the front door and headed down the street. Passing by the Epstein house he stopped and decided to stop by for a little chat with Mrs. Epstein who was out sweeping the front porch.
"How are you doing Mrs. Epstein?" asked a contrite Bartlett.
She had been devastated by the sudden disappearance of her twin boys, Ike and Kike. "Well, Bartlett, I am just hanging in there. I sure wish I knew what happened to my boys," she said sadly as tears ran down here cheeks.
"I heard on the radio that two mutilated bodies were found just outside of Derry. Maybe you'll get lucky and it will turn out to be your dipshit sons", smirked a loathsome Bartlett.
Mrs. Epstein let out a bone-chilling shriek and sank to her knees, sobbing uncontrollaby.
"Don't sweat it. It will take them months to figure out who they were. There heads were missing," said a suddenly concerned Bartlett.
Mrs. Epstein let out another shriek, jumped off the porch and ran hysterically onto the street. She then got crushed under the wheels of a school bus. It was the same bus that used to pick up her sons.
The irony of this was not lost on Bartlett. He couldn't contain himself and began to laugh until his buddies Gnarly. Fungus and Dipshit came and got him for school.
I gotta quit for now. My pit-bull just came in to tell me that he was watching the Eagles-Redskins game, and that dog murderer, Michael Vick just got creamed and may be seriously injured! This day just keeps getting better and better.
Stay tuned for part two. It's already finished.
No comments:
Post a Comment