les trois pervers

Once there were three degenerates who lived together in a comfy but grungy, little two bedroom apartment somewhere in your choice conurbation.

One of them, a skinny little weakling of a human being, was a Ursusagalmatophiliac, whose sexual organ would not achieve its most orgasmic potential without the immediate and intimate presence of a teddy bear. This little skinny weakling would often wait until the others had left the dwelling and stab a hole in said gratifying part of the bear of the day---then looking to the left and right for any others that might pop in. After doing so, this first debauchee would jab its diminutive capon deep down into the terrified & plush Ursus americanus repeatedly with gaining speed and trajectory until it gets what it wants.

One of them, a bit more of a pudgy buttery ball of a human, held a fixation in the idea of being eaten or in the eating of another human being. This slathering crisco-kid spent much of his Vorarephiliac time scurrying through websites like Muki’s Kitchen, seething with increasing anticipation of that day that he would somehow just happen to stumble randomly upon some fresh corpse---or the day that he crossed beyond the pale into that place where he might just take a bite out of a living person, then continuing to MUNCH MUNCH MUNCH, in every attempt to finish the meal.

The other, a grotesquely large and sweaty fellow, spent most of his time outside of the comfy grungy dwelling, walking through what he believed to be the most dangerous areas of the city, trying his hardest to get robbed by someone or a group of someones. Our fat & sweating, same-shirt-wearing-every-single-day-of-the-365-day-year Harpaxophiliac wanted so badly to be stripped of his possessions in a robbery attack, that he posted a picture of his apartment building, the number of his flat, as well as the hours of the days of the week that he would be home alone (with the door unlocked and the windows wide open). The last time he had been ravished he had been taken to the hospital where it would found that three of his ribs were broken. He’d had the greatest orgasmic experience of his adult life, he felt. Still reverberating from that warm Stockholm Syndrome buzz, he is now trying to find the folks that did this to him, to see if he can get lucky again.

And each of the trois pervers had their own separate place to pleasure themselves. For our first skinny teddy-bear fucker, we have a room with a large bed, surrounded by perfect plush soon-to-be-victims of having their stuffing stuffed. There was a dark room with all black walls and a good sound system for the fat puff of a cannibal boy who would stroke his funky-monkey like crazy while dreaming of digesting an unlucky individual. Finally, mostly outside the apartment, our rolly polly sweating butter-barrel, he strolled the streets counting his money outright in his hands, asking directions from the most seedy individuals that he could find...hoping and wishing…hoping and wishing.

One day, the three of them got up and had their routine breakfast: Methamphetamine-Horny Goat Weed Shakes & Special K cereal. After finishing their meal, they all went for a walk in the park, as they were bouncing off the walls and had raging erections.
While they were out, a decrepit grisette waddled through the hallway and passed their door. We don’t know exactly how she got into the building, as she didn’t live there, but we know that she might have seen a poster that the third fat slob with a robbery fetish had placed on nearly every telephone pole on the street.

She opened the door, as it wasn’t locked, and walked into the first room nearest to the door. It was glowing because the second pudgy boy had left his computer on with the dead corpse porn screaming out from the screen and touching all the walls in beams of macabre. She sat down in the chair opposite the computer and with eyes wide open, she watched the footage of a man consuming the body of a freshly killed woman. Her mind began to echo bloody howls, making her ancient body shake. Her hands thrusted down, holding the arms of the chair as if her own life counted on it, she closed her eyes and started to mutter her inane blatherings, those babel babblings to her dead god. And it wasn’t too long after that the footage ended. The ancient grisette opened her left eye slowly (making sure the coast was clear), then her right, and pried her own sweating wrinkly hands from the chair. After it all, she held her hands outstretched towards the ceiling happy that she had been saved by a miracle of biblical proportion.

Leaving the dead porn room, she walked across the middle living area, pausing for a moment to take note of the leftover Meth paraphernalia & Special K in the prospective bowls that bore the irrelevant names of the two lards and one waif. She made her way to the skinny teddy-bear fucker’s room. Upon entering, she couldn’t help but gasp at the smell that startled her senses. There was a basic fog of aged semen to be found in all the bears lying all over the place. Apparently the teddy-bear fucker didn’t do anything when it came to cleaning up his scene, either that or he kept his little buddies as tokens of the romance that they had shared together.

We can imagine that it was a lot for the decrepit grisette to witness the dead porn bombardment and then stumble upon the teddy-bear fucker’s kingdom, all within a half hour. We can also imagine that since she had no real motive for entering the flat, that is, outside common thievery, that she had no real motive for leaving. With this in mind, we understand that she was following her own steps. Each next move had absolutely no prior motivation. She was answering to no one. In doing so, disgusted by the very existence of the teddy-bear fucker’s room, she turned out and walked into the kitchen.

Once in the kitchen, the old grisette was opening all the cabinets, both those above and below the sink area. She was looking for something specific. Firstly, there was a box of large matches that she found in a drawer. She placed them up on the top of the counter. Following this, she placed a few cans of aerosol-based cleansers & potpourri next to the matches, and after closing all the cabinets that she had opened, she made her way to the middle living area. There she sat down on the futon that was place in front of the coffee table where all the Meth paraphernalia and Special K bowls resided. She opened the box of matches and struck one in the left hand while holding an aerosol can of flammable cleaner in the other. She got up and walked into the teddy-bear fucker’s room first.

What followed was the mass incineration brought on by the old grisette’s mad running amok throughout the flat o’ les trois pervers---and how quickly everything began to burn. How quickly all the evidence would go away, and yet the perpetrators would remain---as they walked more rapidly with every step in the park that overcast day. Amongst there raging hard-ons, they raised their noses like trained dogs waiting for dinner---almost recognizing the smell of their roasting kingdom.

The ancient grisette made her way out of the building and crossed the street watching the chaos that would ensue. She wondered to herself what the cretins really looked like, leaning her head to the side and breathing in the autumn air with her eyes closed. She envisioned them doing the things that disgusted and terrified her. She wondered what they would do when they came back to their home and found it to be destroyed, scampering around in a desperate need for something as simple as a roof over their head, maybe even wondering to themselves where their next meal would come from. She started to giggle, thinking that at least one of them would have something to eat.

With her arms crossed after closing her shawl she just sat there smiling, watching the building burn, and finally, two men came running from the direction of the park showing all kinds of emotion. One was a pudgy butterball and the other a skinny waif wretch. They were loud and shouting, trying to get a story from the firefighters and policemen at the scene. They were having the worst day of their lives, it turned out. Their friend and roommate had just been mugged and murdered in the park, and now their building was on fire.

Across the way the old grisette sighed in contentment, got up from the bench she’d been sitting on, and began to walk down the sidewalk with a newfound spring in her step.