by Beau Johnson
Let’s get this right out of the way: I am not a good man. Not by any stretch of the imagination. Of questionable origins some might say. What? You don’t read comics? Too bad — your loss. But hold on. This big bloke here? The naked dude behind me? This is what things are really about. He look a bit familiar maybe? No? I’ll up and elaborate then.
He’s a pedophile, a facilitator, and all around nasty piece of cunt. We’ll get back to him in a bit, I think. First I need to explain what this all entails. Plain and simple, a cease and desist order is what this is. My employers proving themselves a different kind of breed, that’s for sure. Takes balls for someone of their standing to associate with someone of mine, let alone draw up a contract.
You see what I’m saying here?
That’s right, shitbirds: I am one of you. Not exactly like you, no, as that would put us in some kind of kettle calling itself black territory, but a dirtbag all the same.
Not anymore though. Nope. Now it’s the side of angels I’m on.
How does something like this happen you suppose? Bank. How the fuck else? My employers having almost as much as you I’d reckon. Difference being they have no qualms in spending every penny in an attempt to take you down. This brings us back to tape-boy here, your second in command. It may surprise you I know this. It may not. Either way I couldn’t give a shit. What it should suggest is that I have a particular set of skills. And yes. Yes. I know what you’re thinking. But before you get all up in my face let me just say that not only would I eat Liam Neeson for breakfast but I would reheat that motherhumper for lunch. Hyperbole you say? A man given to tooting his own horn?
No offence to Mr. Neeson, as I am shorter, thinner, and balder than he, but fine, we return to Marcus then. See how I’ve popped out his eyes? How I really tunneled my way through? Really changes the shape of a person’s face, doesn’t it? Might be why you failed to recognize him at first. But ho, look at this! Look how the flame begins to lick at the skin of his legs. You also might be wondering why I started at the bottom instead of coating the man from the top. Valid point. It’s because I’m far from done; why I have begun to put him out. And there’s really no easy way to say this so I’m just gonna go and say it as best I can: diesel fuel.
See how it flows into the parts of his thighs which have yet to harden and close? Some kind of pretty is what that is. And look! Look how everything runs like tallow now, like goddamn soft serve. Collecting into hunks on the floor.
Leads me to wonder if you realize where we’re headed.
S’okay. I’ll give you a hint.
It ends. All of it. Not tomorrow. Not later today. Right fucking now.
You do not touch nor film one more man, woman or child in the ways that you have. I have addresses, you see. I have appointment dates. I even have little Christopher’s ask to good ole St. Nick. And just so we’re clear: do not feel special. You want to know why? Of course you do. Because it’s not only Mr. Big-shot-I-can-do-anything-I-fucking-well-please I’m talking to here but all you pieces of shit.
My employers have the means, the money, but more importantly they have the wherewithal to see this through. Makes me wish I kinda met them sooner now I think about it. Since I didn’t, we’ll go this route: I dare all 6,526 of you to ignore this; to just scoff and delete the fuck away. Actually, I implore you. We found you once. We’ll find you again. And hey! Hey, would you look at that! As you’ve been listening to me explain the way things are the diesel fuel has gone and eaten right through the muscle of the man who helped bring us here today. And seriously, look at those femurs! I mean, Marcus, dude, you had to have worked out! Brings us to the last little bit of it, then. Now that you’ve seen what your futures may hold. Only going to say it once so be a bunch of dears and do keep up.
Try me, fuckers. I’m a goddamn angel now.
Beau Johnson has been published before, usually on the darker side of town. It’s on Tuesdays that he and his family travel back in time to correct that which once went wrong.