Joe Cannibal

By Teague Tysseling

This is the story of Herb Manson (a.k.a. Joe Cannibal the Wrestling star

of the Universal Wrestling Federation: second offence). A family man

with sinister eating habits.

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Herbert Manson was just getting home from his assembly line job at

the shoe factory. It got pretty monotonous at times, but it was good, honest

work and kept his family fed. The loud, sore Rambler, that could be

considered gold colored if it weren. t so rusted and soiled that it was the

opposite of what someone might think of when they hear the word "gold",

pulled into the oil stained driveway.

Herb walked in the door and was immediately tackled by his overly

affectionate 5-year-old daughter Missy. After hugging her father, little

Missy turned back and headed upstairs to return to her toys with the kind of

short attention span that only a kindergartner could muster. Herb looked

around the corner into the family room to find his wife, Gloria, on the

computer having forgotten to start dinner. Although she was a very smart

woman, people couldn. t help but notice how absent minded she could be

when she finds something, almost anything, to hook her curiosity. Gloria

wouldn. t notice a tank cannon pointed three feet from her face if she was

busy thinking about how much money supermarkets must make selling

impulse items to Transcendentalists. Of course, her obviousness to what. s

going on around her made it very convenient for Herb to perpetrate a few of

his more questionable hobbies.

Herb looked around to the other side of the room to see his son

camped out in front of the television cheering for one of the two steroid-

drunk, over-muscled thugs squeezed into spandex wrestling outfits. Herb

had no idea what his son saw in these million-dollar tough guy wannabes

that would make him ignore his own father.

"I. m heading out for a beer, I. ll be back in an hour or so." Herb

announced.

"Oh Honey, could you pick me up some canola oil and Lawry. s salt.

All my cooking supplies keep disappearing" Gloria called back. Herb was

surprised that not only was she listening to him, but that her response was

actually relative to what he said. She must not have found anything

interesting on the Internet tonight, herb figured.

Outside the bar herb strode, his brain wracked with questions about

how he could prove himself to his son and gain his respect. Herb. s thoughts

were interrupted by the yammering of some idiot in a Zorro costume at the

bus stop talking into his cell phone. The schmuck just kept complaining that

he wasn. t going to his mother. s funeral because he was busy getting ready to

audition for his new "career". He spewed a loud amalgam of swearing and

whining that made Herb. s skin crawl. This kind of shameless self-serving

disregard for his own family. s feelings painted Herb. s mind red with rage

and could not be allowed to go unpunished.

The sad man clad in black closed his phone and began scribbling on a

piece of paper, chuckling to himself every few minutes. His eyes and

thoughts were glued to the application form in his hands so that he didn. t see

Herb creep up behind him brandishing a half a brick.

It took him a while, but Herb silenced the unloving son and began to

drag his body into the alley. Dumping the corpse into a trash can, Herb

covered it in lighter fluid and tossed in a lit match (from the supplies that he

always carried for just such an opportunity). After the flames had fully

engulfed the blood form, Herb sprinkled on a bit of Lawry. s salt that he had

pocketed from Gloria. s kitchen a week earlier and covered the corpse with

A1 sauce with his basting brush.

Herb began to wonder if he should start cutting down on these kinds

of "midnight snacks" before his wife gets suspicious from him turning

down seconds at dinner too many times.

Lying on the ground by his feet was the blood-splattered application

form that Herb. s dinner had been filling out before. It was an application to

become a wrestler for the Universal Wrestling Federation. Herb

remembered that name; his son Marcus had posters about it plastered all

over his room. Herb got an idea. Herb began to fill out the form, crossing

out what was already written and filling in his own information. When he

got to the "name" section, Herb crossed out "El Tonto Grande" and filled in

"Joe Cannibal".

As he filled out the form and listened to his victim sizzle, Herb

reflected on how well his life was going. Herb thought of all he had going

for him: an intelligent, albeit clueless wife; children he couldn. t help but

love; a tasty dinner cooking; and soon he would be his son. s hero, whether

his son would know it or not.

 

 

 

 

Herb Manson stood deep in thought. "Is this wrestling thing really a good

idea? It would be great to have Marcus look up to me for a change. He

spends all his time in front of the TV watching that MTV show with the

guys who beat themselves up or lock themselves in port-a-johns. Nothing

good can come of that. I gotta do something! I ain. t in the best of shape,

but I wouldn. t be afraid to hold back in the ring because of some lawsuits or

stupid homicide charges. It can. t be too& ."

"Hey Herb, you gonna bowl or not?!?" Bill shouted from his seat.

Herb. s mind was dragged back to reality as stood on the hardwood floor

holding his maroon bowling ball as it glistened like the glitter finish oh the

bottom of a new fishing boat.

"Oh, yeah, sorry" herb muttered as he stepped forward and released the

spherical Goliath towards the ten cowering white-with-red-striped-neck

Davids at the end of the long platform.

The ball rolled and sank into the gutter, barely missing the left-most pin.

"Tough luck pal. Try to knock somethin. down on the spare. This ain. t golf

ya know!" Bill chided on.

Winning this game was the farthest thing from Herb. s mind. "Maybe I

should have gotten more of a costume than just that El Tonto Grande guy. s

black mask. Would anyone really be fooled if I just cover my eyes? Oh

well, it worked for Superman! I hope I don. t have to fight that Sister Rose

or whatever her name is. I can. t hit a nun; it just wouldn. t be Christian. I

wouldn. t have any problems with twisting the arm offa that Nicky Stronzo,

though. Those damn commercials of his, interuptin. my shows like that. I

didn. t mind the "Gilligan" one, and I didn. t care none about the "Friends"

one. BUT WHAT HE DID TO MR. RODGERS IS UNFORGIVABLE!

Defacing a family Icon like that. Tomorrow. s the big Wednesday Warfare.

I should probably go and take a look at the competition.

Herbs ball pops back out of the ball return.

Herb only knocks down seven pins on the spare and loses the game.

"You guys go ahead, I. m gonna hang back and get somethin. to eat before I

head home." Herb called out to his bowling buddies as he left for the snack

bar.

Herb packs up his things and made his way toward the deserted corner of

the bowling ally showcasing the remaining plywood letters from the "Café"

sign that hadn. t fallen off from disrepair yet. A young woman in a pink

waitress outfit smokes a Virginia Slims and contemplates making up some

sexual harassment charge against her boss to get out of this minimum-wage

hell, as Herb walks up and orders a hamburger. Without looking at him the

woman reaches tosses a frozen meat patty onto the grease slick stove.

Herb had lied about wanting the hamburger, and the waitress had almost

realized that something was wrong as Herb had made his way around to

behind the counter and proceeded to shove her head into the vat of nacho

cheese. Slowly her final breaths bubbled to the top of the thick yellow goo.

Herb pulled the girl. s lifeless face out of the molten dairy product and bit off

her nose.

Herb was disgusted to find such a cheap, low quality cheese substitute

grazing over his taste buds. "YUUGEEHH, this garbage tastes like it was

made from a powder or something." Laying the body out on the running

stove, Herb grumbles to himself "sometimes I hate eating out" and

frustratingly tries to empty the tiny packets of ketchup and mustard onto the

young woman. s abdomen.

 

 

 

 

Teetering impatiently on the heels of their shoes, two men in black suits and

sunglasses rang the door bell for the third time. Stepping over and around

the many stuffed animals left scattered around the living room floor by his

daughter, Missy, Herb made his way to answer the door. As he passed what

seemed like the Muppet rendition of the Jonestown Massacare, Herb opened

the door to find the two dark clothed men. At first Herb thought of how

lucky he was to be meeting the Blues Brothers in person and thought about

running to get his autograph book, but then he remembered that Elwood was

never so bald and Jake was never so African-American.

The first government agent proceeded in a chagrinned manner, masking

his words with a politically correct demenor that had been recently added

and emphisised in the FBI handbook. "Good morning sir, my fellow agent

and I have been investigating a series of recent, unexplained disappearances

in the immediate area and were wondering if you had any information we

might find useful in our efforts" were the words that came out of the Agent. s

mouth, but his eyes screamed "ALRIGHT YOU CRIMINAL SCUM!

ADMIT IT! ADMIT YOU MURDERED, KIDNAPPED, GRAFFITIED!

ADMIT YOU. RE NOT FIT TO WALK AMONG DECENT MEMBERS

OF SOCIETY SO I CAN SHOOT YOUR SICK, PSYCHOPATHIC HEAD

OFF RIGHT NOW!!!!"

"& & & & No" Herb replied.

A look of utter disappointment swept over the Agent. s face. The look of a

child who was told he was too short to ride the carnival ride, a look that had

been cast upon the Agent. s face several times today when he thought that he

had finally found the kind of wretch that he had specifically joined the FBI

for the specific reason of shooting. With his head hung in anguish, the agent

said "oh,& ..well, thank you for you. re cooperation" and kicked the dirt as

he and his partner resumed their door-to-door duties.

Herb closes the door relieved that it only took one word for him to resume

his eating habbits in peace, but was also disappointed and irked to find out

that was the kind of half-assed government services his tax dollars were

paying for.

Herb went into the garage and got out his old sidewheel lawnmower and

headed out to the backyard.

As he made his first lap toward the back fence his ears were assaulted by

the loud wrrrrring from over the fence of his neighbor, John Johnson,

driving his ridiing lawnmower around the little ceramic gnomes that infested

what would be a beautiful patch of earth.

"Oh, isn. t that a quaint little lawnmower, I. ll bet they were quite

interested in it at the antique road show!" scoffed Johnson.

Herb didn. t dignify Johnson. s backhanded compliment with any response

more than a grunt. Johnson didn. t even notice, satisfied with his well-

crafted (to him anyway) insult. Thoughts of frustration and jelousy flood

Herb. s mind. "Dat lousy shmuck! Always throwin. his money around, then

borrowing all my stuff and not return it. I. m sick an. tired of him. I got half

a mind to& "

" & and when is your kid gonna get out of the house, that Marcus looks

like a twig." Herbs eye began to twitch at the words. Sure he was mad

before, but nobody talked bad about his family! Herb picked up a large rock

and, when Johnson wasn. t paying attention, threw it under the front of

Johnson. s rider mower.

BRRKKKRRZZZWRRRRKCHCHK

"Huh, what the?" Johnson befuddledly got off his mower and knealed

down to investigate. Reaching under to remove the obstruction, Johnson

didn. t notice Herb make his way over the fence. Herb kicked the mower,

knocking loose the rock and catching Johnson. s fingers offguard as the large

blade resumed spinning. Johnson leaped back, clutching his bloody and

mangled appendage. He let out a scream that was cut off halfway through

by Herb swinging the buissness end of his old fashioned push mower across

his uppity neighbor. s face. The blade cylinder raked through the skin and

tore away to the bone. Johnson. s jaw hung open, without any muscle tissue

left to hold it up. Johnsons. s eyeballs were shredded and blood began to

seep in them, drowning Johnsons vision in a dark, murky maroon. Johnson

couldn. t see what was happening, but from the piercing pains in his chest, he

assumed he was being stabbed by some sort of small gardening tool. Weak

from bloodloss and in shock, Johnson was unable to resist as he felt himself

being carried by Herb somewhere and dumped on table covered with

sawdust and grime.

"Hrrmmmm, now where. s my Power saw?" Johnson heard Herb mutter

to himself. Johnson couldn. t help but ignore the pain and fright to

remember that he had borrowed Herb. s power saw last week and lied about

losing it so he wouldn. t have to return it. "Damn, I guess I. ll just have to

use the hacksaw& & .but it. s sure as hell a lot slower and messier."

Johnson could feel a bead of liquid run down the small part of his cheek

that still had flesh on it. He wondered if it was a tear, or blood.

 

At this time another wrestler, Samayel, and his assistant, Rick, attempted

to send incriminating evidence of Joe. s cannibalism to herb. s wife.

 

As Herb was scooping out the last bits of brain matter from the

mailman's head into the yellow tupperware bowl to save for making

hamburgers, Herb couldn't help but allow the frustration to wash over him.

"Dammit, I had to go through 3 UPS guys and a pair of girlscouts before I

got rid of that damned letter from that Sayamen creep. Jeeze, doesn't he

have anything better to do than spy on people, do that crapy cable access

show, and jerkin' off thinkin' about that TheAngel guy? Doesn't he have a

real life outside of this wrestling junk?"

Herb finished putting away his leftovers into his "special" hidden freezer.

"Honey, don't forget to pick up the stuff I left on lay-away at Kmart today"

shouted Herb's wife Gloria, in no direction inparticular, knowing that

wherever he was in the house, he would hear it. Herb had almost forgotten

to finish getting the kid's Christmas gifts. He had already hidden most of the

presents buried under a stack of bodies from last month. Herb figured if

they find the evidence of his cannibalism, they might as well know what

they're getting for Christmas.

As Herb was driving to the shopping center, he pondered wether he should

get a guard dog in case that Rick guy came snooping around again, or if he

should just hunt down and kill Sayaman's and Rick's parents and then set fire

to their little TV studio. Deciding on getting all three of those done this

weekend after fixing that squeeky step in the basement, Herb pulled into the

parking lot and enjoyed the peaceful calm that would soon erupt into chaos

in a matter of weeks. Herb shuddered as he entered the store and

remembered last year's last-minute-Christmas-shopping catastrophe. As he

picked up the items at the back desk, memories flashed into Herb's mind of

the brutal, bloodthirsty mothers snarling and clawing at each other's faces.

Herb took a brief moment from wondering "what could turn a person into

such a murderous fiend" when he saw Gloria's yoga instructor in the

magazine isle and thought of how good she would taste with some tomato

sause and vinigar.

Carrying the heafty some-assembily-required mountain bike into the trunk

with the other gifts, Herb cringed as he straightened his middle-aged spine.

"Aww dangit, Here I thought I was just fine, but now that I think about it,

those guys are a lot bigger than me and I haven't worked out in....months"

herb reflected (even though it had actually been years since he last

exercised). "I should just try to make it through this wenesday's match and

pull out all the stops getting ready for next week's big PPV shebang."

Herb drove out of the parking lot looking back at the store and, thinking

of the inevitable bloodbath to storm through the bargain laced departement

store in only a few months, muttered under his breath "bloodthirsty

animals".

 

 

 

 

 

Inside his two level, pastel painted, suburban home, Herb Manson raised the

glimmering metal blade high and then plunged it into the round brown lump

he held to the kitchen counter, gouging out all it. s eyes. Lifting the blade

again, Herb scraped off the skin of the eyeless piece of dead matter. "Damn,

peeling potatoes is sooooo boring& but it. s worth it if Gloria. s gonna make

her scalloped potatoes tonight." Herb thought to himself as he tossed the

raw skinless vegetable into a bowl with several others.

Hours later Herb strained to shove every last bit of the red dripping pile

into the small door. Just when he had thought that he had gotten it all to

stay, half of it flopped out and splattered the carpet a crimson hue. Beads of

red liquid rolled down the pants leg and over the sock. After much effort

Herb had picked it all up and shoved it back into the washing machine. As

Herb started the contraption and left to get something to clean up the red

paint that the laundry had stained the floor with, Herb realized that it was

more work than he thought and decided to not paint the shed again for quite

some time.

"I didn. t know Gloria does so much in the day with all the chores, selling

that Avon make-up on the Internet, and all that reading and other stuff she

does. Even with all these chores I. m doin. for her while I stay home this

week, she still has to go grocery shopping, drop the kids off at school, go to

the bank, pick the kids up, take Missy to her ballet class& . With the extra

money I. m getting from wrestling, maybe I should get a maid or

something". Then after the thought of some woman in an apron in his house

accidentally coming across a BBQ sauce covered hand or a cheese stuffed

kidney, Herb decided he. d just cut back on his hours at the shoe factory and

stay home more.

As he continued with the housework, Herb couldn. t shake this restless

feeling he had had all morning. As he heard the doorbell ring, Herb

remembered just what it was that he felt like doing. Making a quick stop in

the kitchen, Herb made his way to the door. "Hello, have you accepted

Jesus Christ into your life" the neatly dressed man chirped as Herb opened

the door. The Jehovah. s Witness stretched out his hand to shake and

continued "You know, the kingdom of heaven awaits!"

"Good, than why don. t you go tell them I. ll be up in a couple decades"

Herb said as he grabbed the man. s hand and shoved a battery operated Hand

Mixer into the man. s mouth. The machine whirrred as the spinning wands

chewed up the man. s tongue. Soon the engine began to overheat with gray

smoke spewing out so as to compliment the red blood that ran out of the

cracks of the man. s mouth as he silently cried in pain. Herb dragged the

man into the kitchen and rummaged through the refrigerator until he pulled

out a cheap domestic beer. The plastic housing began to melt off the hand

mixer as Herb broke the bottle over the man. s head. Ignited by sparks from

the malfunctioning machinery mangling the man. s mouth, flaming alcohol

engulfed the man. s head. Dragging the flaming door-to-door evangelist out

to the back yard, Herb harnessed him upside down to the swing set in a way

to allow the flames to spread over the rest of his body. Going back into the

house for about two minutes, Herb returned with a bag of marshmallows and

several tent stakes. Herb began stabbing the tent stakes into the well-dressed

bonfire and sticking a marshmallow onto the end of each stake; Herb

couldn. t remember the last time he had a good "Smore" cookout.

 

 

During This time, Joe is going overseas to England for a match in a big Pay-

Per-View event by the UWF.

 

 

Lifting his duffel bag off the luggage carousel, Joe dragged the

polyester/canvas sack of worldly possessions toward the "Hurtz Car Rental"

office. After filling out countless forms and enduring countless insults from

the bucktoothed, frazzle-haired clerk about Joe. s "uncouth American

demeanor", Joe waited for the man to get his car keys while looking over the

papers he printed out at home before leaving. The papers were printouts of a

website called "Casebook: Jack the Ripper". Originally Joe thought about

taking one of the famous "Ripper walks", but after finding so many details

and facts about the real killings Joe decided he wanted to "experience

history" more than just follow a single-file line of camera faced tourists.

Joe got his rental car and drove away from the London International

Airport and things were going rather well until he reached one rather large

and oddly circular looking intersection. Pulling into the current of the river

of autos already embroiled in the merry-go-round street-like phenomenon,

Joe felt slightly confused but decided to just try to follow the other cars and

hope to exit as soon as possible.

Fourteen hours later Joe. s eye was twitching uncontrollably as he

continued turning, now having gravitated toward the inside lane of the

circular intersection.

Seven hours later Joe. s eyes rolled back and he started to foam at the

mouth as he began slipping into a catatonic state as he continued circling

with the other autos like a gaggle of lobotomized vultures.

Ten hours later Joe was nearly finished slipping into a living dead coma as

a small soda can rolled across the pavement and under the wheel of his

rental car. The small vibration of the aluminum flattening under the tire was

severely muffled by the shock absorbers, but a small fraction continued

through the frame, up the seat; finally jarring Joe. s brain away from the

mind-numbing hypnosis of the endless spiraling intersections, and toward

the mind-wrenching rage that laid dormant but slowly had been building up

since the rental clerks attitude.

Yanking the steering wheel into a hard left turn, Joe plowed through the

other motorists and made a beeline through several Chryslers and a Yugo,

before crushing an ice cream man against his own jolly white truck and

finally coming to rest leaving a trail from the front window all the way to the

back room of an unfortunately placed antiques shop. Stumbling from the

wreckage, Joe made his way outside and down several allies with his duffel

bag over his shoulder.

 

In England, Joe fought Steve McJeffries on a wooden plank over a giant

BBQ grill. During the match in England, Joe defeated his opponent

McJeffires (The Irish Terror) but not without being attacked by The Evil

Leaprecuan. Joe managed to knock McJeffires and the Leaprechan into the

fire, but the leaprecuan leaped out, on fire, and bit Joe. s leg. Joe beat the

leaprecaun and won the match.

 

The clock radio blazed a red "3:05am" on its face with all the glorious fury

it. s two AA batteries could muster. Gloria sat cross-legged in a blue

terrycloth robe on the bed reading "Cosmopolitan", "War and Peace", and

the World Encyclopedia Volume "E" all at the same time. Despite her

overwhelming self-imposed reading regiment, she couldn. t help but miss

Herb and wondering how much longer he was going to be at that

"International Shoe Convention" in England. Occasionally a fragment of a

thought about either "What could possibly happen in the shoe industry to

warrant a convention" or "Why would they send an assembly line worker

like my Herbie to a shoe convention? Don. t they have executives or

something for that?"

Gloria returned to her reading. Glancing at the "how do you rate your

lover" quiz in Cosmopolitan made her think of Herb even more, so Gloria

turned to the Encyclopedia. She was already on "Eucalyptus" and it. s ideal

agricultural environment.

Herb tipped the cab driver and began to limp toward his house. Locking

the door behind him, Herb made a brief detour to the garage carrying a large,

black trash bag. A small green pilgrim. s buckle-hat with red stains fell out

as Herb stuffed the large load into the dull blue Rubbermaid trash can.

Leaving the rest of his luggage in the living room, too exhausted to carry it

upstairs, Herb limped up toward his bedroom. Herb had trouble deciding

what seemed more like the most comfortable thing in the world to him at the

moment: the gentile loving arms of his wife; or the wonderfully lumpy bed

with the blue pinstripe, cotton/polyester blend sheets. Herb didn. t bother

deciding because as he opened his bedroom door, he knew he would have

both and he wouldn. t have to stand up for another 12 hours.

"HERBIEEEE!!!" Gloria bounced toward her husband as he was just

about to collapse. Luckily the little woman in the bathrobe was stronger

than she looked and managed to help Herb over to the bed. "Oh honey,

you. re back. What happened at the convention that took so long?" Gloria

said moving her books out of the way, completely understanding if Herb was

too tired to answer.

More grunting a reply than actually forming words, Herb used most of his

energy softly grazing his fingers across the back of Gloria. s neck in the way

he knew she loved.

"I missed you too Herbie. Here, let me get help you." Gloria said as she

began to help Herb change out of his clothes. She silently gasped when she

saw his bandaged leg. "What happened to you. re leg? Was there an accident

at the convention?"

"Uh& at the convention? & Uh, yeah& well one of the Japanese exhibitors

brought a robot shoe with an artificial intelligence chip in it...yeah, and it,

uh, broke and burst into flames and went nuts& I got out easy& you should

have seen the others." Herb was rather surprised he could manage talking

that much being so tired from the flight home, let alone come up with a far

out story like that.

"Oooh, my poor Herbie" Gloria oozed with sympathy, kissing Herb on the

forehead and drawing the blankets over him. Closing her arms around him,

Gloria continued baby-talking and consoling her husband who paid less and

less attention to her words of comfort as he laid his head against her

shoulder.

Without Herb noticing, Gloria wound up talking about the subject of the

robot shoe "Artificial Intelligent shoe, huh? Was it supposed to memorize

where the person had walked, or keep a digital schedule and function as a

pager or something?" The ever-curious Gloria queried her near-unconscious

lover, who replied with little more than a series of grunts and nuzzling

before falling asleep.

 

 

An old warehouse, which for several years now hasn. t seen more

action than the occasional two rats fighting over a dead cockroach, was now

filled to the brim with cheering yuppies. They were dressed in raggity T-

shirts and jeans as they were nearly hanging off of the railings of the

catwalks and falling off the crates they sat on. All the men huddled away

from the center of the makeshift arena, giving room to their leader in the

center as he laid down the ground rules "All right, the first rule about fight

club is& "

WHAM

"Less Yakkin. , more Smackin. !" shouted Joe Cannibal as he KO. ed the

leader with a hit to the back of the head. Joe was rather proud of that

opening line, even though it took him all afternoon to think of if as he

planned on crashing this little party. Herb had heard of this group at work.

Some of the middle management had seen the movie and wanted to get in

touch with the "He-Man" inside. Joe figured that they might be good for

some pre-fight practice to get ready to lock horns with Lawrence Stanley.

These guys were scrawny enough to be English and bitter enough to be

wrestlers. Joe couldn. t imagine a better batch of sparring partners.

At least that. s what he thought until they started fighting back: half of

them were practically slapping Joe, others were tripping over the ones that

Joe had already thrown down, and the rest were just swearing and calling

Joe names. After about five minutes Joe had given up hope of using this as

practice and was now just beating them up out of anger that they had wasted

his time.

CRASH

Splinters from busted crates flew out as a SWAT team tank burst through

the thin tin wall of the warehouse. "All right, EVERYBODY FREEZE!"

shouted the man in the black suit as he stepped out of the tank and was

joined shortly by many police officers swarming in from the newly torn hole

in the wall. This just made all the bad-boy-wannabe yuppies panic and run

even more. The police quickly began to subdue the swarm as the agent in

black with his partner stepped up to one of the handcuffed men taken down

by one of the officers. Holding the prisoner up by his slick hair. "You and

all your friends are under arrest for cannibalism!" the agent spoke.

"WHAT?!? What the hell are you talking about?" the man shot back.

"Well then what. s with all that blood on your mouth." The agent said.

"THAT. S MY BLOOD! Some psycho came in and beat the crap outta all

of us! NOW GET YOUR DAMNED HANDS OFF OF ME BEFORE I SUE

YOUR BALLS OFF!!!" the man screamed.

"Throw this punk in the van with his friends" the agent said, handing the

yuppie off to one of the officers.

"What the hell are we doing here any, Malchovich& first the lousy door-

to-door search, now some random raid." Said the agent to his young

African-American partner.

"Well Lich, you wanted to give up the door-to-door search and decided to

ask your magic 8-ball instead. You asked it where we could find that

Cannibal that. s been terrorizing the suburbs & personally I would have

preferred a Ouiji board" said Agent Malchovich.

"Oh yeah& kind of funny how it told us this exact address. Besides, why

should we go find some hippie shop to get a Ouigi board when I was

heading for the novelty shop anyway." Replied Agent Lich.

"Yeah, to get those musical condoms your wife likes." said Agent

Malchovich.

"& & & How did you know my wife likes those?" asked Agent Lich.

"& .Uh, I asked the magic 8-ball" Agent Malchovich said hastily.

"Well anyway, I don. t see any damned Cannib& ." Agent Lich began to

say before being knocked down as Joe Cannibal ran past them to escape.

Kicking down any officers in his way and biting any that actually grabbed

him; Joe made his way past the police and into the night.

"DAMMIT, THAT WAS HIM! HE HAD SOMEBODY. S FUCKING

ARM IN HIS TEETH!!" shouted Agent Lich as he pulled himself up.

"DAMMIT, THE 8-BALL WAS RIGHT& .oh and the cannibal got

away& darn. Hey, what's that?" said Agent Malchovich.

Agent Lich looked down and on his stomach was a laminated card. He

picked it up and looked at the picture and name on the ID. "Joe Cannibal of

the UWF& Finally, WE HAVE A CLUE!" Agent Lich looked up at his

partner.

"And we don. t have to rely on that damned magic 8-ball& wait, didn. t we

already have clues, like those fifty skeletons buried in the city park?" asked

Agent Malchovich.

"Obviously a red herring& now lets find this UWF and catch our

Cannibal!" said Agent Lich as the police finished rounding up the last of the

yuppies.

 

 

 

 

The farthest thing from little Missy Manson. s mind was the memory of

skipping happily to the school bus stop early this morning. As she trudged

home with skinned knees and an empty, torn shoebox formerly full of

Digimon cards, Missy hung her head down low, hoping to hide any tears that

might slip out. Mute with fear of being teased by the other kids for crying,

Missy barely managed to hold back the tears& even though any one of the

other kids would have cried too if the school bully, Arnie Gills, had chosen

them instead of Missy. Only looking about 4 feet in front of her, Missy

could still sense the other kids walking home around her: Betty and Chris

across the street; Mickey and Tad about 10 feet behind her; and Angela,

Tamkia, and Amy a whole block ahead of her. She didn. t see or hear them,

but felt their positions from memory. Missy never consciously realized it,

but she memorized how everyone always walked home at their own pace the

same every day& the same way she knew her way home without looking up

to show her face.

Missy had barely closed the door when she finally let loose all the tears

and anguish in one wailing plea for comfort "MAAAMAAAA". Even if it

had been a whisper, the cry from her little girl was enough to break Gloria. s

iron strong concentration. Leaping down every other stair, Gloria reached

the living room to find Missy huddled against the front door. Little Missy. s

body grasped for air in near futile efforts in between the scarce pauses

between heaving sobs.

Gloria picked Missy up, wrapping her arms around her sobbing child

holding her close as if trying to become a warm shell to protect her little one

from whatever fiend would attack her innocent happiness. "Mommy. s here

sweetheart" Gloria cradled Missy and adding a few more half sentences of

condolence like "there, there" and "OK, ok", finally getting around to asking

"What happened, baby?"

"Momma, (deep breath)& kid at& (sob)& Arnie pushed& (sob) (sob)& at

school..(choking sob) & wouldn. t let me& (sob) (deep breath)& my card

box& (sob) & couldn. t get up& (deep breath) & took and he& " like any

other child overcome by tears, Missy remained unable to formulate any

sentences for the next hour or so. After her breathing finally returned to

normal, Missy related how the school bully had threatened her and pushed

her down the small hill between the grass field and the fence in the

playground. Then running off with her Digimon cards. This all happened

immediately after school was let out, so of course Arnie had gotten away

with his ill-gotten cardboard treasure, leaving Missy to fend for herself.

Consoling her child until Herb got home from work (the shoe factory

having been repaired the day before) Gloria left Herb to listen to their

daughter. s story of the day. s events while she took a quick break to order

pizza. Rather than spending the evening preparing dinner, Gloria decided to

teach Missy some basic Judo to use against the bully if he came back the

next day. After teaching her some basic throws, Gloria began reading to

Missy about Ghandi and other pacifists, hoping to deter her child from using

her newfound knowledge against anyone in anger or malice.

Missy didn. t understand any of it, she was just glad that she knew how to

fight back and that she got pizza for dinner.

* * * * * * * *

 

It was the second recess in a row that Arnie didn. t show up. Before

school Missy had been showing off her new moves to some friends out in

front of the schoolyard. Missy attributed the absence of the standard issue

school bully to the thought that the gossip of her newfound fighting prowess

had left Arnie. s knees shaking with barely enough control over them to run

home crying. She stood proud in her pink CardCaptors T-shirt and white

overalls, Missy the "Defender of the Playground", before running off to join

her friends at the monkey bars for the last five minutes before class resumed.

As Missy ran past the chain link fence, across the street a figure stuffs a

bulky black trash bag into the trunk of his rusted-out, gold Nash Rambler. A

couple of Digimon cards scatter out as he slams down the door on his

"luggage" and drives off.

 

 

 

 

The small theater screening room quickly became empty as the end credits

rolled down. "Admit it dude, all Anime ain. t that Sailor Pokemon Moon

shit. That movie rocked, especially that werewolf guy with the bombs."

Marcus Manson said to his friend Ash and high fiving Patrick, his other

amigo.

"Yeah, I. m glad they had a new story and didn. t just make some fancy

remake of the first Vampire Hunter D movie& although that still would have

been cool with all those friggin. bloody fight scenes. Say are you guys

gonna watch that . Wolf Girl. movie on USA tonight?" Patrick queried.

"Dude, I saw the commercial for that, and Tim Curry sucks." Said Ash,

seemingly not content with any of his friend. s tastes.

"WHAT?!? Haven. t you seen . Rocky Horror Picture Show. ?" Patrick

shot back.

"Yeah I did& All the guys were in lingerie and none girls took their bras

off." Ash replied.

"But it. s a cult classic!" Patrick said defensively.

"It. s Gay& Literally!" Ash further criticized.

"CLASSIC!!!" Patrick practically screamed.

"Uh guys, this is my bus. See ya later." Marcus said leaving his bickering

friends behind who didn. t even notice his absence. During the whole ride

home there had not been a single seat open on the bus and as he stepped out

at his stop, Marcus. arm was aching at the shoulder and his elbow nearly

yanked loose from hanging onto the hand rail trying to remain vertical

during the sudden jarring stops.

* * * * * *

Herb was sitting in the living room eating a meatloaf and watching tapes

of Lawrence Stanley. s past couple matches. Herb inwardly wished that he

had tapes of some earlier matches before Joe joined the UWF, but Herb had

hardly even thought of "pro-wrestling" at all before that. It seemed to Herb

that Stanley. s done nothing but get his ass kicked for as long as Joe. s been in

the Federation; which made it very difficult for Herb to look for any

strengths of Lawrence. s to look out for in Herbs match as Joe Cannibal

against Lawrence Stanley tomorrow night.

Herb was so engrossed in the tapes that he didn. t even hear his son Marcus

shut the front door. Heading for his room, Marcus noticed, out of the corner

of his eye, his father watching Lawrence Stanley get beat down by

________. A wave of surprise washed over Marcus and left him soaked

with the realization that Dad. s into wrestling? I guess he. s slightly less lame

than I thought he was, before departing toward his room without a word.

Herb. s concentration on the videos, unbroken by his son. s passing

through, was however interrupted when he chipped his tooth on his next bite

of meatloaf. "A wedding ring? How did I miss something like that when I

was getting this ready for the oven" Herb thought as he tossed the offending

object into the wastebasket.

During a match against Lawrence Stanly "The English Gent", Joe was

winning, but became breifly distracted when Stanley. s butler, Alfred, threw

a platter of vegetables at Joe, giving Stanley enough of a chance to win the

match.

 

 

Two square illuminations glided in a leftward arch across the dark black

pavement, over the trimmed grass lawn, up the neatly trimmed bushes and

finally resting on the garage door of the Manson residence. The two

rectangular light phantoms disappeared as herb shut off the headlights to his

Rambler and walked toward his front door with a slight limp. Stopping only

to toss the remains of his liver and onions over the neighboring dark wood

fence as a treat to Mrs. O. Donnel. s collie. Herb still couldn. t believe that

Stanley won because of some damned distraction like a bunch of vegetables.

"Heh, the ruthless Joe Cannibal defeated by broccoli, the "kryptonite" of

carnivores& it. s actually pretty damned funny" Herb began to chuckle to

himself. The more he chuckled, the more his back hurt from that swing into

the guardrail. Luckily Herb was able to find the fact that he lost the match

not so funny as to cause him any more pain.

Like a clumsy ninja, Herb managed to open and close the front door with

little noise. Walking up the staircase, Herb. s anxieties began to mount as he

remembered a rumor he heard earlier at the arena that he was going to be

fighting Dark Fang next week. Herb thought that what little he saw of Dark

Fang didn. t really make him seem like the freakish beast everyone made him

out to be& especially wolf-boy. s fans. Out of all the UWF stars, Dark Fang

seemed like the only other guy to have a decent respect for family. Even if

his "family" walked on all fours and has to deal with shedding problems, the

lupinian champion still loved . em.

Walking past Marcus. room, Joe looked in to see the posters that adorned

his son. s walls. Although there were a couple Johnny Knoxville and Korn

Posters, for the most part Marcus surrounded himself in a cocoon including

the visages of Nicky Stronzo, TheAngel, Jack Pithon, & a little postcard of

Joe Cannibal half covered by the center piece, a full sized Dark Fang banner

that nearly reached from the ceiling to the carpet. "& yup, that bastard. s

goin. down!" thought Herb as he turned away to the master bedroom.

Although suddenly overwhelmed by the politics involved in the UWF,

Herb decided to fight fair. No distracing the ref, no surprise ambush or traps

in the ring, no one in his corner interfering& even though he didn. t actually

have anyone in his corner. For some reason all the other wrestlers avoided

Joe backstage. Herb thought about maybe getting some breathmints for next

time.

Taking a quick shower and changing into a pair of navy blue and white

striped boxer shorts, Herb slid into bed bedside Gloria. After 18 years of

marriage, Herb was still amazed at the sight of his lovely wife sleeping

peacefully as the moonlight caressed her hair and skin. The fair skinned

woman with dark auburn hair laid before him in a white Nightshirt and the

blankets halfway up her torso. Gloria had stopped waiting up for Herb since

he told made some story up to her about the shoe factory changing his hours

so he would be working late on Wednesdays, but would allow him to be

home much more the rest of the week. He didn. t want to tell her that when

the factory was repaired after his little sabotage, most of the assembly line

was replaced with automated machinery and now Herb was demoted to

loading the forklifts. Herb didn. t mind, it meant less time at work, more

exersize for wrestling, and with the money from his UWF contract they still

came out quite a bit ahead financially.

Leaning closer, Herb began to kiss his wife down the back of her neck.

Encouraged by her soft purring, Herb continued down her spine, across to

her stomach, and finally dipping his head beneath the covers.

"Oh Herbie& .more" cooed Gloria, halfway between awake arousal and

an euphoric dreamland.

 

 

A faint memory of the adults on the old "Charlie Brown and Snoopy Show"

passed through Agent Malchovich. s head as he sat in the passenger side seat

of the Agent. s black sedan and listened to the Agent. s orders being recited

back to them through the loud speaker at Burger King. "NO ONIONS, I

SAID NO ONIONS! ONIONS BAD! ONIONS BAAAAAD!!!& .ah screw

it" said Agent Lich, giving up on communicating his specialty order through

the outdated walkie talkie the restaurant must have had duct taped to the

inside of the little metal speaker box for god knows how many decades. He

lifted his foot, aching from it. s numbingly long held position on the break,

lifted up for a brief release allowing the car to roll forward several feet so

that whatever poor soul in the car behind the agents might take their turn

arguing with the garbled noise Agent Lich assumed belonged to some

pimply faced kid crammed against the little flip-out window around the

corner of the somewhat reputable eating establishment.

Malchovich: "You know, they don. t put onions on their cheeseburgers in the

first place"

Lich: "Oh yeah,& I forgot"

Malchovich: "You haven. t been thinking straight since we started on the

cannibal case."

Lich: "Hey, what agency are we working for again? I mean, who. s in charge

of capturing cannibals"

Malchovich: "Well, about four months ago we were working in the ATF"

Lich: "Yeah, and we got to shoot drug dealers"

Malchovich: "And before that we were working for the Department of Fish

and Game"

Lich: "And we got to shoot poachers"

Malchovich: "And before that we were in the Department of Native

American Affairs"

Lich: "And we got to shoot Indians"

Malchovich: "Uh& .we were never supposed to shoot any Native

Americans, especially not then!"

Lich: "Oh,& woops"

& Long pause

Malchovich: "hey, do you know what they call a cheeseburger in Fra.."

Lich: "Shut up!"

& Another long pause and the car above them moves forward. After

several more useless discussions between the two (and a couple more

embarrassing movie quotes from Agent Malchovich) the Agents got their

order and drove off down State Street.

Malchovich (changing the radio station to light rock music): "Well, the

UWF. s next show is supposed to be in Cleveland, Ohio& right where all this

Joe Cannibal case started. I. d say there. s a pretty damn good chance he. s

gonna be there.

Lich (changing the radio to barber shop quartet station): "Of course, and

were going to corner him before he can even get into the ring. If it weren. t

for that damned crowd in our way, we could have gotten him before he

finished getting the tar beaten out of him by the British guy."

Malchovich (changing the radio back to light rock): " That Ellis Jackson

wasn. t any help either, he didn. t even talk to us in person..Just sent his

damned lawyers" (mocking impersonation "Oh, it. s just a show& we didn. t

see anyone actually getting eaten& just a side of beef& only a gimmick"

Lich (trying to change the radio back to the barber shop quartet station, but

ends up breaking it and getting it stuck on N. synch): "Heh, we. ll just have to

try more& Dammit, lousy boy-bands& well, you know what we have to do

now."

Malchovich sighs and takes a small police siren out of the glove

compartment and placing it on the top of their black sedan.

WOOOO WOOO WOO WOOOO WOOO WOO WOOOO

In a couple minutes the Agents had followed and pulled over a random

driver. Walking up to the side of the silver Ford Crown Victoria, Agent

Malchovich presents his badge to the driver.

Malchovich: "Sir, we need to confiscate your vehicle"

Driver: "Huh? But you. re works just fine. I didn. t see any problems with it

when you pulled me over& hey, why did you pull me over? I wasn. t

speeding."

Lich (next to his partner and presenting the business end of his pistol to the

driver): "Government business, Get out!"

The motorist made more feeble protests as he was heaved from the

towncar by the two Agents as they got in and drove off. After traveling

down the road a few blocks, Agent Malchovich pulled out a small black

remote control with one red button. Pressing the button, Agent Malchovich

and his partner remained nonchalant as an explosion erupted several hundred

feet behind them and charred remains of a black sedan began to rain down

around them. After the falling shrapnel had stopped, Agent Malchovich

looked out the window at the side of their new silver towncar and muttered

"Were gonna have to get this thing a paint-job before Wednesday."

 

 

It was a common partially sunny day like any other as the titanic U-Haul

truck pulled up in front of the quaint two-story pastel yellow house that used

to belong to a recently "misplaced" John Johnson. Herb had just finished

watering his front lawn and was about to sit for a few hours trying to come

up with an excuse to put off repairing the squeaky plank on the backyard

porch for another week, when he saw his neighbor-to-be trying to unload the

entire U-Haul by himself& .starting with the couch. "Hi, I. m Herb, you. re

new neighbor& you need any help with that?" Herb offered.

"Sure,& my name. s Jack Jackson. Nice to meet you." Replied Jack.

With a few sporadic bits of what would be slightly less than full

conversations, the two managed to unload about half of the van when they

decided to take a break. As they sat on the bumper of the moving van, they

drank a couple beers and continued their quasi-conversations as Gloria

pulled her white Ford SE Wagon back from the supermarket. As she walked

into the house carrying the brown grocery bags, Jacks eyes followed her

swaying hips. "Say, are you and you. re wife into "sharing"?" asked Jack

slyly, just before he turned to see Herb glaring with a hateful bloodlust not

seen since the Catholic holy wars. Overcome with instant fear, Jack would

have wet his pants had Herb not knocked Jack upside the head with Herb. s

beer bottle before Jack had the chance.

Stuffing Jacks half-empty beer bottle into Jack. s mouth to muffle his

screams, Herb dragged the now muffled Jack Jackson into the moving van

and closed the door. The cold darkness of the closed U-Haul was quickly

dispensed with as Herb lit a match and tossed it on Jack. s beer-soaked scalp.

The light from the flames licked across the stainless steel hull of the moving

van as Herb held down the burning bastard. Grabbing a fairly well-made

tennis trophy from one of the boxes composing of Jack Jackson. s worldly

possessions, Herb proceeded to hammer down on Jack. s chest until his

sternum caved and Herb pried open Jack. s ribcage with the head of the little

gold figurine in his hand. Reaching into the open torso, Herb grabbed the

bottom of Jack. s left lung and began to stuff it into itself until it was turned

inside-out and shoved completely up Jacks esophagus. Then, wrapping his

hand in a towel, Herb took the beer bottle, now boiling hot from Jack. s

flaming hair, and poured the liquid into Jack. s open chest cavity. Using the

neck of the bottle, Herb swished the scalding liquid around to cover any

exposed nerves before it cooled down too much.

Unable to scream due to the pesky lungs pressing against his vocal chords,

Jack watched with his now crispy-dry eyes as Herb, with considerable effort,

snapped Jack Jackson. s shin bones, femurs, forearms, and humerus. one

after another. After "folding" and stuffing each of the broken limbs into the

open torso, Herb began to use tent stakes, also found in the numerous boxes,

to pin each appendage in place. Satisfied that Jack had gone through enough

pain, Herb put out the flames and . folded" Jack. s head, taking care to adjust

Jack. s spine so he wouldn. t get a quick death, and wedged his head into his

chest, allowing Jack to drown in his own blood and warm alcohol.

Herb was about to prepare to dispose of the body when he heard an engine

roar and was thrown back with a sudden jolt. Then Herb realized someone

was stealing the moving van.

 

 

Hours had passed before the truck had finally stopped. Mostly spending his

time feeding off his beer-basted ex-neighbor, Herb wondered "who was

stealing the truck? Did they know he was inside? Was it just some friend of

Jack. s pulling a prank, or someone that wanted to get back at him?"

The door rolled up and light poured into the small metal mobile confines.

Herb stepped out to the back bumper, ready to strike anyone down with the

tennis trophy in his hand. He had no way of preparing for what he saw.

Herb gasped in surprise as he found himself surrounded in a warehouse

full of gangly teenagers with shaved heads and bloody aprons. A silence

rested over them, only brushed upon by murmurs of "it. s him& it. s really

him". The crowd seemed to part as one particularly gangly youth in the

same outfit, but with a black bandanna strode forward. "Surprised, aren. t

you." The youth said through his grin.

The youth spread his arms, gesturing to the cavalcade of cultists and

continued "Once we were all lost souls, thought to have been put upon this

earth to do nothing but get sand kicked in our face and stuffed into

lockers& but then we saw you on television& and we were inspired. We

followed you, much better than those loser Secret Agents I might add, and

saw you exact unique, exquisite revenge upon all those who disrespected

you. We have done the same, sawing up the jocks that taunted us and

baking the parents that oppressed us. We want to be like you Joe; we want

to be lead by you. So please& BE OUR CANNIBAL KING!" The last

words resulted in a wave of cheers from almost the entire warehouse,

leaving only Herb, being distraught with shock, silent.

The cheering began to die down as the cannibal cultists waited for Herb. s

response. They were a little put off by the fearful glaze over Herb. s eyes

and even more surprised when he began to tear through several cultists with

the tennis trophy as he made a bee-line for the warehouse door screaming

"YOU. RE ALL NUTS!!!"

Making his way out the door and down the street, Herb, despite being

weighed down by his beer gut, managed to outrun the scrawny youths

chasing after him. Behind him he could hear them screaming their mixed

reactions, such as "Wait, We Need You", "Traitor! We Are Your People",

and a young female cultist ripping off her shirt screaming "Make Me A

Woman, Joe!" The slowing down of most of Herb. s pursuers may have

been partially attributed to that last plea. Herb didn. t care. Herb ran. Herb

ran all the way home.

 

 

"Damn it"

"Dammit! Dammit! Dammit!" Herb Manson thought as he dug through

the pipes below the bathroom sink. Sitting on the mix and matched white

and navy blue tiles, Herb. s determination to find his wife. s wedding ring

conflicted with the frustration of having to look for it.

It was earlier that day when he heard Gloria wailing from the upstairs

bathroom. "Oh,& Oh no. Herb& Herb, can you come up here honey? And

bring your tools." Herb felt a pang of annoyance after finding out that she

had dropped her wedding ring down the drain when she took it off to take a

shower (she hated the thought of water getting underneath her ring and

giving her "athlete. s finger" or some other skin irritation). Herb didn. t want

to spend the day digging through the greasy pipes when he should be getting

ready for the match on Wednesday. Herb had half a mind to just call a

plumber. But then the other half remembered last Thursday.

Herb remembered the obnoxious 30-year-old punk-wannabe that took

forever at the register at Walgreens.

Herb remembered how the jerk took an hour having the cashier void 90% of

his groceries after his credit card was declined.

Herb remembered following the man out to his car and bludgeoning him

with the one can of Pork & Beans that was the only thing the inconsiderate

bastard decided to keep.

Herb remembered finding a leftover finger in his shirt pocket later that night

getting ready for bed.

Herb remembered how he was too tired to try to sneak it downstairs to one

of his hiding places and figured he could just dump it down the drain.

Then Herb finished remembering and started imagining. Herb imagined

how much he would have to explain if a plumber took apart the sink and

found a human finger.

* * * * * *

It was hours later and Herb sat with the plumbing in pieces. He still

hadn. t found the ring or the finger. Herb sulked, knowing that he was

finished. Gloria would have the plumber tear down the wall and half the

street dug up before she gave up on that ring. And when the find the ring,

they. ll find the finger. Those damned paranoid Agents would connect Herb

with all the local murders. Herb could have kicked himself as he wished he

had gone farther from home for his "snacks". It would be a quick trial.

Herb fought back tears as he thought about the authorities taking him away

from his family. Even worse, what would Gloria think of him when she

heard? Herb was depressed and desperate. He picked up a pipe with

thoughts of clubbing himself to death& . hoping to spare himself the pain of

losing his loved ones, when he dropped the pipe in pain as the sharp edge cut

his palm. "Dammit again!" Herb thought& then he got an idea.

Taking a deep breath, Herb extended the pinkie finger of his left hand, the

most useless of all fingers, and bit down hard. Her would have screamed in

pain if his mouth weren. t full. Swallowing the finger whole, making sure it

was slick with enough saliva to not catch in his throught, Herb took another

deep breath& and screamed.

* * * * * *

"I. m sorry Mr. Manson, but the finger, oddly enough, was too far gone to

re-attach." Said Doctor Schlomo. Gloria held onto Herb to console him, her

wedding ring glimmering in the exam room light.

"Oh,& .all right" Herb replied as he masterfully hid his proud smile

behind a face of agony and sadness& He should have gone into acting.

 

 

A cacophony of superficial concerns and hormonal anxieties flooded

through the halls as the lunch bell rang at John F. Kennedy High School.

Navigating her way through the different groups of students, passing

between the status quo and avoiding the status clueless, as well as physically

navigating around the

awkward bodies, Marsha Manson passed out flyers to her upcoming

Halloween party. Just then she literally bumped into her little brother,

Marcus. "Hey, Drama queen."

Wanting to get him away from her before her mere association with a

freshman, let alone being related to one, interferes with the momentum of

interest in her party among her peers, as well as cramping her over-all

standing with the popular kids, Marsha hissed under her breath "What do

you want, Twerp?"

"Hey, calm down. I just wanted to tell you that you don. t need to give me

and my friends a ride to the UWF show. Ash. s dad is giving us a ride."

Marcus replied.

"Fine, less time to spend with you. Speaking of which& " Marsha said as

she forcefully brushed past her sibling to continue her quest of spreading the

word about her Fright Night Fiesta.

Marsha felt rather proud of her party planning. The flyer bragged about

an open bar, that Marsha had managed after paying off a couple of the older,

less academic students to obtain the liquid lure that would entrap the

interests of any of Marsha. s schoolmates& at least all except the geeks who

she really didn. t give a damn about anyway. It would start right after all her

parents and siblings have left the house for their own holiday plans. It

would unfortunately have to end before her parents got back, but she

managed to put a good spin on it by renting a limo to shuttle people to the

party being thrown by Claire Christianson. s, one of the crème-de-la-crème

of the popular kids, who would be renting out an entire Hotel.

Marsha always lamented about how she couldn. t compete with the other

popular kids with the more conventional "rich parents" or "bulimic-good

looks", but she managed very well relying on her ability to dissect and take

advantage of "High School Politics" that others didn. t really give a

conscious thought to. Marsha plotted her next move for days.

Stepping up to the "untouchables" of JFK High, Marsha managed the

perfect combination of the proper respect for the most popular kids in school

and a lack of interest to give off a sense of her own self-importance.

"Hey,& see if you can make it" Marsha said, handing the flyer to Claire

Christianson without acknowledging any one of them in particular.

"Hmmm,..sounds cool" replied Claire nonchalantly. Marsha knew Claire

would come. Claire wouldn. t have been able to resist the opportunity to,

taking advantage of Marsha. s wallet, arrive in a limo fashionably late to her

own party.

Marsha was spending a lot of her saved up money for this party, but she

knew it would pay off big-time. It was going to be perfect.

 

 

Wrapping around the corners of the building, the line for tickets to the UWF

HOLLOWEEN SPOOK-TACULAR BLOW-OUT showed off a selection of

social sideshows ranging from gangly geeks to testosterone-saturated goons

as well as plenty of ferverous fans of the female persuasion. As the

particularly rotund individual in a sadly small GATCHAMAN T-shirt left

the front of the line cherishing his freshly printed ticket, the familiar trio of

Marcus Manson, Ash Grabbem and Patrick Christoph, step up to acquire

their own passports to patronize the particular yin & yang of pain and

pleasure known as Pro Wrestling.

"Three tickets to UWF please" asked Marcus.

"Here you go& .thank you" said the teller, trading the tickets for Marcus.

cash.

Marcus walked away, relieved that he wouldn. t have to auction any of his

internal organs to obtain these hallowed stubs of paper. "Well, it looks like

our Halloween is set!" said Marcus to his two comrades.

"Yeah, it. s a good thing they pushed back the show& otherwise we

wouldn. t have been able to get tickets in time. Hey, maybe we can go Trick-

Or-Treating before the show" said Ash.

"The Hell, what are you& .four years old?!?" replied Patrick.

"Hey, I just thought it would be cool to have some candy to eat during the

show!" Ash shot back.

"Do you know how stupid we. ll look trick or treating? What if someone

we know sees us?" Patrick queried.

"We. ll be wearing costumes of course" stated Ash in a matter-of-fact

tone.

"COSTUMES?!?!" cried Patrick.

Marcus. mind began to wander as the noise of his friends. bickering faded

into the background. "This is gonna be soooo friggin. cool." Thought

Marcus.

 

 

October 31, 2001 & & & & Halloween

As the sun descended behind the horizon and the golden sky became

saturated with a deep, inky blue, hundreds of half-pint pixies and midget

monsters flooded out to infest the streets. Pilgramaging door-to-door, the

little vampires and power-rangers rang door bells and threatened the elderly

with acts of petty vandalism unless they pay a certain "protection"

fee& usually a quite surgar rich one. A grand tradition had begun again.

Inside a holiday decoration adorned pastel blue 2-level house with white

trim, the entire Manson household were getting ready for their own holiday

plans. "Goodbye Honey, see you tonight" Herb Manson said kissing his

wife goodbye.

"I still don. t understand why they would have you work late at the shoe

factory on Halloween." Replied Gloria.

"Uh,& counter industrial espionage and stuff& bye" Herb hastily tried to

make up a story to cover his tracks as he hustled out the door.

Gloria turned back to helping Missy on with her costume.

"CANDYCANDYCANDYCANDY" chanted little Missy inside her head.

Finally getting the little witch outfit on, little Missy Manson grabbed her

little plastic broom and jumped about the room gleefully, until she ran into

and knocked over her older brother Marcus. "Whoa there shorty, watch

where you. re flying" Marcus said helping his little sister up.

HONK HONK

"Sounds like my ride. s here, bye mom!" Marcus said without giving a

second look to his mother.

"Oh, be careful dear& there are a lot of crazies out tonight" Gloria called

out to her son, not knowing if he heard her or not. . Oh, Herb forgot his

wallet& well, I suppose he. ll come back for it later. Thought Gloria.

"Mom, are you gonna go or not?" pleaded Marsha who handed off her

youngest sibling, the infant Max Manson, to her mother.

"Wha..whats the rush?" Gloria replied perplexed, accepting child.

"Uh& there. s a movie I wanna watch and& It..uh ..might scare Missy" said

Marsha.

"NUH-UH!!" shot back little Missy defensively.

"Oh, well, are you sure you. re gonna be OK here by yourself? You. ve got

plenty of candy for the trick-or-treaters? You have you father. s cell phone

number? Asked the worrisome mother.

"Yes Yes Yes! Everything. s going to be fine!" reassured Marsha.

"Come on Momma! I wanna go trick-or-treating Now!" cried Missy,

pulling on her mother. s arm with one had and grasping tightly onto a yet-to-

be-filled plastic Jack-O-Lantern bucket.

"oh, well, goodbye Marsha." Said Gloria, following Missy out the front

door.

As she was lead out into the ocean of otherworldly imitators by her

energetic daughter, Gloria couldn. t help but wonder where Herb had

managed to dig up all those skeleton decorations on such short notice.

 

It was an hour into the party and Marsha couldn. t be prouder. Discreetly

lugging the bag full of empty beer cans past the drunken teenagers, and the

fewer, but just as significant demi-drunks, out to the garage. The Music was

deafening half of her schoolmates beyond modern medicine. s ability to

repair. The cheerleaders were so drunk they were making out with the AV

nerds on the couch. Marsha knew this party would score points for her at

school. Although they would be leaving early to other parties, Marsha made

sure there was enough alcohol around that her party would be the only part

of the night any of the kids would remember. As she opened the door to the

garage, Marsha did start to worry that it was getting late and the limo she

rented to shuttle these kids out should have arrived already.

Several blocks away the driver-side door of a parked, white limo swung

open and out fell a limp arm. Seconds later a trickle of blood meandered

down the wrist, across the palm, and dripped off the forefinger onto the

pavement below.

Marsha heaved the bag through the doorway to the garage and flicked on

the light switch.

Marsha was speechless as she gazed upon the crimson scene before her.

The walls were painted with blood and chunky bits of what she recognized

as what used to be the school glee club.

Deafened by her own silent screaming, Marsha did not notice the sounds

of carnage that unfolded right behind her. When she turned around to call

for help, or at least ask for a mop, she was witness to the aftermath of even

more brutality. Barely capable of rational thought, Marsha waded through

the mess and masochism to the telephone.

To say the phone was dead would be a lame pun and a cliché cop-

out& .but it. s a cliché for a reason.

Inside her head thought of survival were battling for priority against

thoughts of how her efforts toward social dominance had been literally cut to

threads, as Marsha dove for the Hall closet. Shutting the door behind her,

Marsha grabbed Marcus. hockey stick and briefly pondered why the hell a

stringy little dork like him would even own something that suggested and

interest in athletics. Time meant nothing to Marsha as her thoughts washed

back and forth, breaking waves against the sides of her skull. "Oh Crap My

Party. s ruined& Oh Crap Everyone. s Dead& Oh Crap how am I going to

clean the house before Mom and Dad get back& Oh Crap I. M GONNA DIE

I. M GONNA DIE I. M GONNA DIE& CRAPCRAPCRAP".

As the closet door flung open, light flooded in and Marsha burst fourth in

a fear driven fury. Managing to knock out the first couple state troupers,

Marsha aimed her weapon for the third& State Troupers?&

After calming her down, the police told Marsha that they had found an

escaped mental patient, that had been locked up for previous homicidal

killing sprees, not far from her house& chopped to bits. Marsha, sitting on

the couch wearing a blanket that the police had provided her for some

reason, had no idea what to make of this& and decided not to bother. She

rested her head against the back of the couch and fell asleep.

 

The killer stood in the Manson family garage, heaving deeply over the

plethora of fresh, young teen corpses. He was rather proud of

himself& mother would be pleased. He made his way around through the

side door leading to the back yard as he heard the door to the kitchen open

and the loud, obnoxious music spill inward.

He couldn. t believe his luck as he easily dismembered the entire group of

party go-ers in mere minutes& and that stupid blonde bitch with the black

trash bag just stood there facing the other direction. He was going to enjoy

this& and mother loved when her little boy was happy& The killer pulled

out his mother. s eyeball from his coat pocket. Dry and kept whole with a lot

of glue, the killer began to suck on the eye like a jawbreaker as he stepped

out the backyard to hide and slowly hunt down the blonde like in the movies.

He closed the door and was about to go around back to one of the bedroom

windows, when the killer backed into a large shadowy figure. "Get out of

my house!" stated the figure in an intimidating tone, before flinging the

killer halfway over the fence. Halfway because he smacked face first into

the fence.

"MOMMY HELP!!!" cried the killer as he shambled through the gate and

tried to escape the shadowy figure. s rage.

He ran for what seemed like an exhaustingly long time for him, until the

killer tripped and fell onto someone. s front lawn. The killer turned around

and looked up to see the figure in white polyester jump-suit covered with

red, blue, and gold sequence. The killer squeaked out one word before being

diced to bits by the strangely dressed stranger. "ELVIS?!?!!?"

During the Halloween match, Joe shows up in a bloody Elvis costume and

defeats the wrestler Dark Fang, as well as ending Dark Fangs 3 month

winning streak and taking the UWF Extreme Title belt, by throwing Dark

Fang off the top of a building and then jumping down on top of him.

A dull pain. The cold kiss of blood from his own cuts and bruises.

Slowly and achingly achingly opening his eyes to see several EMTs securing

bandages onto his body. Joe realized what time it was and sat up with a jolt.

Swinging his feet around to the side of the canvas cot he occupied, Joe stood

up, shook off the pain, and walked out of the makeshift EMT tent outside the

Bloodview Haunted House. His injuries might have been something to keep

him down, if the wolf-man hadn. t broken his fall.

Limping slightly, Joe continued his internal mantra that had been beaten

into him by his high school football coach all those years ago. "Shake it off,

Wussie! Shake it off, Wussie! Shake it off, Wussie!"

Heading in no direction inparticular until he remembered where he parked,

Joe hobbled past the roaring crowd made up of cheering Joe Cannibal fans,

Booing Dark Fang fans, and several cultists bickering amongst themselves.

Surrounded by waves of stragglers either wanting his blood or his

autograph. or both. Joe looked up just in time to see a familiar figure push

his way past the security guards.

"YO, Cannibal (huff) wait up (wheeze)" cried Marcus Manson, short of

breath. "I just got over here on the bus from the Gund Arena (wheeze) I

know its (cough, cough) not much, but here." Marcus said handing Joe one

of the dime-a-dozen Intercontinental Championship belts with the

"Intercontinental" crossed out and "Extreme" written over in red marker.

With a trembling hand, Joe accepted the offering and looked up with a

grateful smile to the lad, who was now being dragged away by the security

guards he had squirmed past earlier.

"THANK YOU!" Joe cried toward Marcus, waving the belt high above

his head.

 

* * * * * * *

Herb had managed to cover up almost all of his injuries. His head wounds

from the stone tablets were blatantly obvious, but Herb planned to just say

he fell down the stairs at work and that. s why he was home later than

expected. Herb realized that would work just as good as any factory

sabotage or robotic shoe excuse he would have thought up. Driving up to

the crowded scene, Herb remembered the whole party slaughter thing from

earlier. Putting on a shocked expression, Herb parked around the corner and

walked past the curious spectators toward the crime scene.

Not really listening to what the officers said, Herb explained that he lived

there and pushed his way toward Gloria and the kids. "Gloria, they told me

what happened. Is Marsha OK? Where. s Max and Missy?" said Herb as he

strode forward to console his sobbing wife.

"T& The kids are (sniff) over at one of Missy. s friends house (sob) You

know, the Robinson girl& they said they would take care of them for the

night& Marcus isn. t back yet and (sob) and the police are talking to Marsha.

Oh Herb" Gloria wailed burying her face into Herb. s chest.

Wrapping his arm around her and petting the back of her head for a few

moments to comfort her, Herb then held her head up and looked into her

eyes. "OK, honey, you go with Marsha down to the police station. They. re

gonna want her to make a statement and a bunch of other stuff and I want

you down there to look after her. I. m gonna stay here to keep an eye on

things and wait for Marcus to come home." Said Herb in a commanding but

gentile tone.

Gloria nodded and kissed him softly before heading off to accompany

Marsha. Herb turned around to face the police infested house and headed

inside, determined to make sure the police didn. t find too much evidence.

These next two parts were co-written with the handler for Dark Fang and

Tabitha Graves (Dark Fangs Girlfriend)

 

JOE CANNIBAL

 

It had been an hour or so since the police finished taking their pictures,

rummaging through Gloria. s underwear drawer, and finally cleaned up and

left. Herb had managed to steer them clear of most of his hiding places, and

the ones that were found were attributed to the escaped killer before Herb

could even open his mouth.

Marcus had arrived and was dumbstruck by what he found. With a lot of

convincing, a little threatening, and a bit of bribing, Herb had managed to

send his curious son home with his friend Patrick to stay the night. Herb

made sure to call Gloria down at

the station so she wouldn. t worry about him or Marcus and had told her that

he needed to rest and would bedown in a couple hours.

Now Herb was relaxing in the back yard with nothing more than a sloppy-

joe burger, a beer, and his thoughts. "Damn, what a night. First I had to take

care of that amateur nutcase hacking up Marsha. s friends, then the match

and that Stallion jerk clubbing me with his rock slabs. And what was Marsha

thinking having a party behind our backs? I swear, if she hadn. t been so

traumatized by nearly being the victim of a psychopathic lunatic. s bloodlust,

she would be sooooooo grounded! No Phone! No Television!

"Oh well, the important thing is that I won." Herb thought clutching the

mock championship belt he wore under his shirt. "And a better belt than any

that Ellis Jackson could spend a hundred thousand getting made! You would

think with all that money he could take care of the Stallion. Him and that

Case guy sure are a couple of dangerous crybabies. I probably could have

done better if I had someone watching my back. Of course it. d be nice if any

of the other wrestlers would even talk to me instead of backing away or

getting restraining orders& "

CREEAK

Recognizing that as the sound of the bending of old wood, Herb looked up to

see two shimmering yellow disks with black diamond centers, gazing down

at him from atop his back fence. Squinting and adjusting his eyes as he

peered into the shadows in front of him, Herb managed to see the silent

figure before him. No more than a few feet from him, Herb noticed the small

bits of caked blood (his own, no doubt) clumping together on several strands

of hair, that hung over the face of Dark Fang, the UWF Extreme

Cham& FORMER Extreme Champion, current UWF World Champion, and

Joe Cannibal. s own personal landing cushion.

Poised on top of the fence and silhouetted by the icy white yet mellow light

of the full moon, the figure swung his muscular arm forward, his sharp

fingernails slicing through the crisp night air like a hot knife through Jell-O.

Cutting the distance between them, aiming straight at Herb. s heart, the hand

stopped just a foot from Herb. s chest and then, turned open-palmed and

inviting. The primal gladiator. s yellow eyes widened and a grin crept across

his hairy jaw.

"Congratulations" said the He-beast.

 

DARK FANG

 

"Uh, thanks" said Joe hesitantly, accepting my hand.

"I have come to say well done to the first and last man good enough to beat

me in the UWF." I said, my left fang glinting in the moonlight.

Joe balled up his right fist, his heart pounding in my ears. "Uhhhm... listen,

bro... uhmm.. sorry about throwing you off that Belltower and splashing you

like that."

"Sure. And I am sure you are sorry for trying to cave in my skull with that

faux bone." I said, my eyes narrowing.

"Heh... yeah..." Joe chuckled nervously.

I got in his face and looked into his eyes with intensity. I could hear Joe's

heart pounding faster now. The man did not back down. Even after we did

combat and I stood there gazing straight into his eyes, challanging him, he

did not yeild. I admired him for that. I cracked a toothy grin and smacked

him on the shoulder. "COMRADE!" I chuckled.

Unleashing an explosive sigh and taking another sip from his beer, Joe

chuckled and finally asked, "So how did you find me anyway? And how did

you know who I was?"

"How could I not find you? You lay down a thick, odorous trail of

doughnuts and human suffering wherever you go!" I replied, grinning. "And

your identity leaks out of every pore of your body!"

Joe's pulse began to slow and his muscles visably relaxed.

I had to see this man. After all this I had gone through, after all the torment

Jonahs Finkle had put me through, after all the glory other men tried to steal

from me, I always came through. I always destoryed my oppressors against

all odds. Except this time. Joe Cannibal was good enough to beat me. And I

was on a good day. This man has somthing, somthing intense, inside of him.

Somthing none of the others have. Somthing that I carried within as well.

"Well, you wanna come in for a snack? There. s plenty more." Joe said

holding up the remains of the his loose meat sandwich "The police missed a

couple pieces."

I felt my stomach and suddenly became ravonous. "Yes, please."

"Alright. Right this way." Joe smirked.

I followed him into the garage were a wave of death washed over me and

raped my olfactory sences. "AGH!!" I staggard back. "The smell!"

Joe sniffed the air. "What? I don't smell nuthin. I made sure this place

smelled like a rose."

"You do not smell that?!" I asked, incredulously. "This place smells like a

slaughter house!"

"Nope." Joe said as he opened a mini-freezer.

Frosty blood floated up to my nose and I must admit, the smell was not

entirely unpleasant.

"Just give me a sec." Joe said as he started up a small kerosene heater. He

put a large strip of meat of some kind on a metal pan and set it over the

flame.

Joe got out two folding lawn chairs and gestured towards one of them. I sat

down and studied Joe in his natural habitat.

"So... uhhmmm... whats up?" Joe asked awkwardly.

I recognized this as some of the old expressions people at the orphanage

used to use. I thought back to those days and tried to respond accordingly.

"Nuthin. Just illin, chillin. Ya know, hittin' up the honeys and layin' down

the flow." I said slyly.

Joes eyes widened and he coughed uncomfortably. "Yeah. Uhmm, me too."

We 'chilled' a little bit longer in silence and I realized my mouth was

watering from the scent coming from the cooking meat. I glanced over at Joe

and he was drooling too.

"Well, its about done." Joe grunted. He chopped the huge peice of mean in

half with a plastic knife and handed me a slice.

I opened my mouth and was just about to take an eager bite when I caught a

hint of somthing. Somthing not right.

Sniff, sniff.

"This..." Sniff, sniff. "THIS IS HUMAN MEAT!!!! This is human meat,

Joe!!"

Joe just looked at me like I was a complete fool. "No shit."

I looked down at the human slab of meat and waged a war in my head. I

looked up at the smiling Joe and he mouthed 'do it' to me. I looked back

down at the meat. Then back to Joe. Then to the meat. "Aww, what the

hell?" I shrugged and ripped the peice of human flesh apart with my bare

hands, leaving a sloppy red trail on my mouth. It taisted like chicken.

"Oh, and Fang? You can call me Herb." Herb said as he looked down on me

approvingly.

 

 

TABITHA GRAVES

 

"Pushaw!" I yelled at Fangy over the Nine Inch Nails blasting out over the

huge speakers within the Blood Mobile. "I am not eating there!"

"Tabitha, please be reasonable. It is nothing but a nice, family get-to-gether.

Nothing odd." Fangy reassured. Or tried to. It didn't work.

"NO FRICKIN' WAY!" I said, determined not to set foot into that

household. "Not after that little tail you told me! God damn, you actually

ATE a human liver with that guy! You ATE a HUMAN liver! A HUMAN

liver!!! HELLOOOOOO?!?!?! Were do you think he got it?! From the

goddamned 7-11?!"

Fangy sighed. "You do not understand. He is... different."

"YOUR GOD DAMNED RIGHT HES FUCKING DIFFERENT!!!" I

screamed at him over the hypnotic bass of NIN.

"TABITHA!" Fangy raised his voice at me. "PLEASE! The very fact that

you are different was what attracted me to you in the first place!"

"Really? I thought it was my girlish good looks." I said hotly.

"It was because you were and are beautiful inside. Your soul is clean."

Fangy said, turning down the industrial rock and speaking softly. Peering

into my eyes he said, "You are pure. You are exquisate and you are

beautiful."

What was I supposed to say to that? Damn. I hated when he spoke like that

to me. I didn't know wether to kiss him or kick him in the sac. "Fangy, just

please, lets not go. I don't trust them."

"Their cooking scalloped potatos and lasagna. Nothing human, I sware it."

"UGH! NO!" There was NO WAY I was eating anything off the plate of Joe

Cannibal! There was NOTHING Fangy could say to change my mind!

"Tabitha. I have the chance to eat with a family. A family. A normal human

family. Ever since Mommy and Daddy died and the fucking orphanage, I..."

Fangy's voice cracked. "I had never had a normal dinner with a loving

family. I never passed the mashed potatos to my loved ones since I was

NINE! Living at Avon Lakes all my teen life was hell for me, Tabitha. You

just do not understand. You have a family at home watching you on TV.

You have kin. You have..." Fangy clenched his eyes shut and growled.

"I... Your right, Fangy. Your right. I'm sorry." Tears were smearing my

eyeliner. I leaned over and kissed him lovingly. "I'm sorry." Oh, that voodoo

he do.

"I love you, Tabitha." Fangy's voice cracked.

"I love you too, Fangy. I love you too." I said. Then I turned up the music as

Hurt cued up.

 

JOE CANNIBAL

 

Inside the Manson household, Gloria feverishly checks and rechecks the

night. s meals as they endured the harsh of the Manson. s "General Electric"

oven. "Everything. s going to go just fine" Herb reassured his wife.

"But it. s been so long since we. ve entertained company. And how come

you. ve never told me about this friend from the shoe factory." Gloria asked

as she checked the timer for the fourth time.

"Well, We. ve just met recently and really hit it off. I..." Herb said, just as he

noticed his baby, Max, climbing up the bookcase. "Whoa there, kid. What

have we told you about climbing?" Herb said as he picked the child off the

furniture.

Herb waved his finger disapprovingly at the little infant who just watched

oblivious to the meaning of the words or thegesture.

DING DONG

"I. ll be right there" Herb said as he handed the child off to Marsha as she

made her way to the diningroom.

Herb opens the door to reveal a large, feral man dressed in a smart business

suit. His long black hair is tied back in a pony tail and his chin is freshly

shaved. The man shoots a sharp, white, toothy grin at Herb. "Glad you could

make it. Here, let me take your coats." Herb said and took the over garments

to the hall closet.

"Hello, I. m Gloria. It. s nice to meet you, Mr...?" Gloria greeted.

"Uh.." Dark Fang searched his mind for an answer.

"DuFaung" stated Tabitha. "David DuFaung, It. s French!"

"Oh, Vous aux Etats - Unis long? Qui est cette dame charmante avec vous?"

said Gloria with little difficulty.

"Uh, pêcher le& . goût de teets & uh,& squishheureux" Dark Fang gibbered.

"...uh, right?" Gloria said with a quizzical expression.

"Hello, my name. s Tabitha, I. m David. s date." said Tabitha extending her

hand to Gloria.

"Well, dinner. s just about ready. Why don. t you two have a seat at the table

and help yourselves to some salad?" Said Gloria directing them to the

dinning room.

"Herb" Gloria whispered to Herb as he returned from the hallway. "Doesn. t

that Tabitha girl seem a little young for Mr. DuFaung? She doesn. t look like

she. seven out of high school."

"Hush Gloria" said Herb as he followed his guests into the dining room.

Herb sat down next to Dark Fang at the head of the oval wooden table,

joining Missy, Max (secured in his high chair), Dark Fang staring oddly at

the bowl of salad, and Tabitha and Marsha already embroiled in a

conversation.

"So what. s with all that Goth stuff?" Marsha asked

"Oh, you mean the seductive pleasure of partaking in the essence of Earth

and Darkness? To feel the soft silky veil of wrapping yourself in the

intangible fabric of people. s fears and desires? Knowing that you. re giving

yourself body and soul unto the cold and sensuous embrace of the shadows?

" Said Tabitha with eyes blazing.

"uh, yeah?" said Marsha both scared and intrigued.

"Oh Pushaw, I just like the color black" Tabitha said grinning.

"What. s Goth?" asked Missy innocently tilting herhead to the left.

"Vampires and Punk Rock" said Marsha.

"Oh..." said Missy, still not quite understanding. Then, turning her attention

to Dark Fang "Something wrong with the salad, Mr. hairy-man?"

"Missy." Marsha said repremandingly.

"Uh, no, I was just expecting something more... uh, meaty" said Dark Fang

as he scooped a small bit of salad onto his plate and began eating.

"So, how. s everyone doing?" Gloria said cheerfully as she brought out the

potatoes and Lasagna.

"Mmmm smells great" commented Tabitha.

"Delicious!" Dark Fang grinned, white salad dressing dripping from his

chin. Then he turned to Herb and whispered, "What happened to your son?

You know, the one who you were afraid might recognize me?" Dark Fang

whispered to Herb.

"Oh, don. t worry." Herb whispered back. "He. s busy."

Outside the huge Tower City Shopping Mall in Cleveland, Ohio, sat Marcus

Manson. Sitting on the curb outside, drenched in rain, Marcus. head was

sunk in frustration and embarrassment. Outside of several feelings of cold

and wetness, Marcus. mind centered around one thought "Dammit, I really

hope that rumor about Dark Fang making an appearance here wasn. t just a

bunch of BullShit."

_____________________________________________________________

_________________________

The next match was going to be in Philidelphia and Herb decided, what with

all the historic value of the place, that the entire Manson family should go on

a family trip to the "City Of Brotherly Love"

_____________________________________________________________

_________________________

"Are we there yet?"

"I. m hungry."

"Turn down you. re music, Twerp!"

"At least my music. s good."

"My legs are falling asleep"

"Stay on your own side."

"Don. t kick me."

The gentle roll of ocean waves breaking across a rocky shore did little to

drown out the bickering. Herb shifted his back slightly as he sat in the

passenger side seat of Gloria. s white Ford SE Wagon listening to a

"soothing nature tape" to ease his nerves. Herb always got rather stressful

on long car trips, and Gloria suggested he listen to the tape and try to relax.

It was just as well, because Herb wouldn. t drive anything other than his old

rambler, and Gloria herself couldn. t stand the thought of sitting in that thing

all the way to Philadelphia.

 

"I. m really hungry."

"Can we stop for some French fries?"

"Shut up, we just ate an hour ago."

"Hey, don. t talk to her like that."

"Oooooh, little Twerps gotta stick together."

"Mommeeeeeeeeeeeee"

Herb had thought it seemed like a good idea at the time. Taking the

whole family on a vacation to a city full of patriotic landmarks. After all, he

could just write all the gas, hotel rooms, and other bills off as business

expenses for the UWF. It almost occurred to Herb how odd it was that he

felt a small tinge of guilt whenever he snuck out of the arenas with a couple

rolls of toilet paper or make off with some of the small radishes from Ellis

Jackson. s deli tray whenever he called in Herb to his office for a chat, but

Herb felt not a bit of regret about dipping into the company funds for this

frivolous excursion. Maybe Herb was just tired. In the past few months he

did just make a major career change, took on a secret identity, escape

government agents, unintentionally start his own cult, and ended the three

month winning streak of a professional athlete by throwing him off a

building just to turn around an ally himself with him a few hours later. Oh,

and killed and devoured a couple people.

"I. m reeeeeeeeeeeeally hungry"

"Back Off!"

"Kids, please quiet down."

"She started it!"

"Shut up, Twerp!"

"Kids, please& "

Herb was just about to tear off the headphones and tell his kids to just shut

their mouths and listen to their mother when&

THUMP

The entire Manson family went silent and Gloria pulled over to the side of

the road. First Gloria and Herb looked at Missy sitting in between them,

then they looked back at Marcus, Marsha, and Max in the back seat, to make

sure everyone was OK. Then the two looked at each other and, without

saying a word, Herb got out and walked back down the road to see what they

hit.

After a while Herb came back and asked Gloria to get out and help him.

Gloria unfastened her seat belt and told Marsha to look after Marcus, Missy,

and Max. A couple minutes after Herb and Gloria had gone, Marsha

unfastened her seat belt and told Marcus "Twerp, look after the smaller

Twerps. I. m going to see what. s going on."

Marsha had left the car for a couple minutes when Missy and Marcus

could hear her exclaiming "Ewwww. That. s Disgusting".

"Missy, you look after Max. I. m gonna go check this out." Marcus said

as he left the car, having not worn his seat belt in the first place.

Missy sat back in the front seat. Too short to look back at what was

happening and too scared to take off her seat belt because of either being

scolded by her mother or of what she might actually see back there, Missy

just listened.

"Oh, the poor thing."

"Eww, what. s a beaver doing in the middle of the road anyway. Is there

like a river nearby or something?"

"Should we clean it up or something, Herbie?"

"& is it really dead."

"Well yeah! It. s flatter than a postcard, Sis."

"hrmmm& "

"Should we bury it?"

"What if it. s someone. s pet?"

"It. s a beaver, who would have a beaver as a pet?"

"Ewwww, don. t touch it! It. s got germs and blood and stuff."

"Son, get me a stick from the side of the road to scoop it up with."

"Well, lets just take it over to the side of the road so no one else runs over

it."

A tear formed on Missy. s temple as she began to understand what had

happened. Hearing the doors open, Missy wiped away the tear and tried to

pretend she didn. t hear anything. There wasn. t any more bickering on the

rest of the drive to Philadelphia.

_____________________________________________________________

_____________________________________________________________

__________________________________________________

Night descends upon the Cleveland Harbor as voices and murmurs can be

heard within the warehouse next door to the warehouse previously inhabited

by the wannabe fight club and previously raided by the government agents.

Inside, bald headed teenagers clad in blood stained aprons line either side of

the building, each side cheering for one of the two arguing cultists around a

picnic table in the middle of the room.

"JOE HATH BETRAYED US!" cried the cultist leader in the black

bandanna.

"NO, he just doesn. t understand yet!" replied the young girl cultist who,

now no longer shirtless.

"FOOL, He hath turned away from us as it has all been prophesied in the

Book of Joe!" said the leader, slamming down a stack of papers on the table

between them.

"Prophesies?!? You just typed this stuff up!" rebuked the girl.

"Nay, . tis copied from the INTERNET!!" replied the leader.

"And were supposed to trust the Internet?" queried the girl.

"& & THE ANCIENT INTERNET!!! WRITTEN IN STONE AND

TRANSCRIBED TO PARCHMENT!!!" cried the leader, picking up the

papers and slamming them down again for emphasis.

"He hath been lured to the dark side& BY THE DARK ONE!" yelled the

leader.

"You mean Dark Fang? No, they. re buddies!" said the female

argumentative opponent.

"SILENCE WOMAN!! It has been prophesied!" said the leader.

"Look, giving you the benefit of the doubt that these . prophesies. that you

downloaded from& .www.glandulardisorders.com/~wolfinator?& I still

don. t see anything about a . Dark One. ." Said the girl.

"& & ...uh& .well& LOOK OVER THERE, IT. S A FLYING DUCK!"

cried the leader pointing toward a window.

As everyone but the leader looked skyward for a fabricated water foul, the

cult leader quickly scribbled in a half-hazard scripture reading: Doggie Man

Bad.

"Wait, ducks are supposed to fly, why should I be interested in seeing

that?" said the girl as everyone turned way from the window. The crowd of

dejected youths on either side began their shouting again, half of the room

Pro-Joe and half Anti-Joe.

"Idiotic serf, if thou doth wish to side with the man-eating Judas, than go

right ahead and start thine own pathetic gathering. But be warned, we, the

true believers, shall consider thee a traitor along with the Joe." Said the

leader as he clutched the . prophesies. and glared a glare of pure non-

niceness.

"Fine, if just to get away from you and that damned renaissance accent

you. ve had since last week!" said the girl, turning around and followed by

her supporting cultists.

_____________________________________________________________

_____________________________________________________________

__________________________________________________

"(Cough, hhhkk, cough)"

It was like a red-hot needle in Herb. s heart every time he heard that noise.

I deeply pained him to hear his beloved Gloria to be in such discomfort. It

was Wednesday night and the somewhat pale form of Gloria Manson lain

draped across the stiff hotel bed racked with a hacking cough. The poor

mother had contracted both a soar throat and stomach flu. She had seemed

just fine earlier.

Herb. s mind trailed back to earlier when he took the Manson from place

to place, sight seeing the great city of Philadelphia: The Liberty Bell in

Independence Park, Valley Forge, and the reenactment of colonial life at

Historical Philadelphia. Although Marcus had tried to disrupt the

proceedings insisting that prostitution be added to the bill of rights during

the debate of the constitution. And also Herb had to "dispose" of a young

punk tour guide that had tried to get fresh with Marsha. Other than that, All

had been going rather well, especially visiting all those gift shops on Ellis

Jackson. s dime. Then this happened.

 

"Herbie (cough) could you please take Max out of the room, I don. t want

my baby catching what I. ve got (hwkkk)." Said Gloria between

convulsions.

"What about.." Herb said, about to try to pass the responsibility onto one

of his children.

"Marcus is at that UWF thing he. s so excited about (cough), and Marsha. s

taking care of me. (hrkkk cough cough) I need you to go take Max and get

another room to be safe from the germs." Said Gloria, almost psychically

knowing just what Herb was about to say.

"Well,& ok& where is Max?" Herb said conceding. He hoped that Max

might be able to stay in Joe. s dressing room during the match or something.

Just then, Herb heard a rumbling and turned to find Max having climbed up

onto the hotel room table and was just about to knock over the lamp. The

little tike was after the Benjamin Franklin balloon floating away that he got

earlier at one of the many patriotic tourist traps visited earlier. The table

wobbled, and fell. Herb quickly reached out and chose saving the baby over

saving the lamp.

CRASH

"Oh (cough) my goodness" said Gloria.

"hrmmph& business expense" muttered Herb.

During the Philadelphia show, Joe had to take his youngest child, Max, to

the arena with him. During Joe. s match with Pitbull Pete Hardy, Max

managed to climb into the rafters of the arena and fell. Joe ran out of the

Ring and barely managed to catch Max and return to win the match.

_____________________________________________________________

_________________________

The small yellow globes of the streetlights roll past as Marcus Manson sits

back deep in thought. All his other family members were asleep; with the

exception of his mother, who stayed just conscious enough to drive the car.

. What was that whole deal with Max at the arena?" Marcus pondered.

Max got all the way over to the CORE STATES ARENA

Joe cannibal caught him in time

Whoever was taking care of him wasn. t watching

"How did Max get all the way over the Core States Arena. And who got

Max back to the Hotel before I got there. Sure I had been waiting a while

afterward for autographs, but it should have taken a while to find out where

we were staying for whoever took the baby back." Marcus pondered. "Was

Max kidnapped? Why would anyone want to kidnap Max? And why

weren. t they watching Max close enough so that the rafter thing wouldn. t

have happened. Luckily Joe Cannibal caught Max in time, but why did the

kidnapper or whoever had Max not do anything to stop Max from being

returned."

Marcus was beginning to give himself a headache dwelling on such things.

He turned to the window and tried to lose himself in the scenery. Well, what

scenery he could see this late at night. He could make out a few clouds in

the dark sky before he turned his sights back earthward. "Road

Construction. Passing lane closed" Marcus muttered to himself reading the

road sign as it passed by.

"Huh? Honey, what are you doing still awake? It. s almost midnight and

you have school tomorrow." Scolded Gloria quietly so as not to wake any of

her slumbering passengers.

"& Mom, you were sick Wednesday night right?" queried Marcus.

"Yes, I didn. t get better until Friday. Your father had do take care of Max

so the baby wouldn. t get sick." Said Gloria.

Marcus sank back into his seat trying to cope with what seemed to strike

him rather hard for a seemingly unimportant revelation "& Dad was taking

care of Max?"

 

 

Herb. s forehead grew cold as it rested against the window on the third rate

cross-country bus heading down the Georgia. His legs had fallen asleep

hours ago, under the pressure of the half-full duffel bag that Herb would

rather keep on his lap than trust to stay safe in the overhead bin or stay clean

under the seat in front of him. The middle-aged flesh eater racked his brain

for a reason why he was even heading down to that god forsaken school gym

to wrestle& no, to "wrassle". The only reason he had joined was to impress

his son, and now the damned show wasn. t going to be broadcast even close

to home.

A soft but annoying pain ached on Herbs temple, like a toothless

rotwieler gnawing on his skull. The paycheck was a real kick in the sack too.

It seemed so good to be getting that extra $40,000 a year. It allowed him to

spend fewer hours at the shoe factory and stay home more with his family.

But now it would barely pay for a plane ticket and cab ride to the show, let

alone all the other trouble with training and everything. It didn. t look too

much like Joe could keep wrestling if the shows weren. t nationally broadcast

again. Herbs mind swung among his different worries like a pendulum:

"What. s the point of wrestling if Marcus doesn. t see him?" "What were

those damned Government Agents up to now?" "Was that Cult still

following him?" "What if someone finds him out because of Max being at

the last show?" "Why did this damn paycut have to happen so close to

Christmas. Sure, Herb had gotten all the gifts in advance, but he was still

making payments on it all. Wouldn. t that make the perfect Christmas, Repo

agents storming through the house on Christmas morning, shoveling all the

gifts under the tree into their trucks? Little Missy crying as they pry her new

stuffed aardvark from her little arms."

After several hours more of migraine inducing worrying, Herb managed

to rest his mind on the pleasant memory of a large family thanksgiving.

It was late afternoon on thanksgiving day, Gloria was in the kitchen

cooking the turkey, baking the yams, stirring a kettle of Borsch, and putting

the finishing touches on an experimental stuffing with eastern spices. The

house was full with relatives from both sides of the family. Marsha was

whining about having to stay at home with her family for once rather than go

out with her friends to the mall for the 237th time, even though it was closed

anyway. The rest of the kids were playing with their cousins. Gloria. s

parents were complaining like always. Herb thought it was a pretty damn

good holiday.

"Where. s Dinner?!!" cried Grandpa George Gilward.

"It. s not going to be for a couple hours dad." Said Gloria.

"And Gertrude, where have you been. I haven. t seen you at home in

months" Grandpa George asked Grandma Gertrude Gilward.

"George, we. re divorced& we have been for three years now." Said

Grandma Gertrude.

"WHAT?!? We wouldn. t divorce! It ain. t Catholic!" cried Grandpa

George.

"George, you AREN. T Catholic." Said Gertrude.

"Damn straight I ain. t Catholic! Why in my day, we didn. t even have

God& we all had to pray to each other. One of us would try to start a church

to ourselves and no one would come. Damned atheists went around

bumping in to people because they refused to believe they existed."

Grandpa George ranted.

Herb and his side of the family got dressed for their private family

tradition. Grandma Myrtle Manson, Uncle Martin Manson, and Aunt Misha

"Moon Child" Manson pulled on their coats and shuffled out the door.

"Come to mommy honey, were going out for the family tradition." Misha

called her son Milo. Milo said bye to his cousins Missy, and Marcus, and

his Gilward cousins Gina, Gregory and Gigi. As Milo was picked up by his

mother, Uncle Martin whispered to Herb "say, aren. t you gonna bring

Marcus?" motioning to the teenager trying to herd together his pint-sized

cousins and sister.

"No, he. s not ready yet," said Herb disappointing himself. "Honey,

we. ll be back in a couple hours, in time for dinner." Herb called to Gloria.

Half an hour later Herb and his relatives were downtown. The group

walked up to a quaint little restaurant in Cleveland Heights with a big sign

reading "Tommy. s". A nice, kid friendly, semi-vegetarian place to eat with

good prices. The entire troupe walked right past the front door and around

the corner of the building. As they walked past the trashcans, they spotted a

young waitress leaning against the wall taking a smoking break. Herb

picked up one of the trash can lids and hurled it like a Frisbee straight at her.

The curiosity arising in her form hearing the mysterious whrrring noise

getting louder forced her to turn her head and catch the trash can lid using

nothing but her forehead.

The Mansons descended like a pack of starving jungle chimpanzees.

The crowd huddled around the fallen girl until nothing could be seen but the

backsides of the Mansons circling their prey. Bloody pieces of polyester

apron flew into the air as arms were raised and swung holding lug wrenches,

meat hooks, and fondue forks. Only little Milo Manson waited by the side,

waiting for his mother to hand him bits and pieces. She always took all the

bones out and peeled off the skin for him, like any good mother.

"Alright, now remember. Don. t fill up here. My Gloria. s making a

great dinner back home, so just snack a little and put the rest into the extra

large Tupperware containers in the trunk of my car." Herb announced to the

feasting flesh eaters.

 

To Be continued when I. m asked to enough& .