Crystal Clear
Sometimes...a lot of times...Walt wasn't sure how to take everything at once. A longtime collaborator on the "blue field", as Skyler liked to call it, Walt knew how to tie 42 types of knots in a single second. And honestly, in his line of business, knot tying was an intrinsic value to be learned.
"Skyler I know you have been poking through my bedroom," growled a furious Walter H White. A golden tube of Burt's Bees chapstick was held in a shaking fist, while the other wiped fountains of pure white snot from his protesting nose.
"Walt, honey, the mastercard is the one we DON'T use, remember?" Replied a thing from the corner. Skyler Bitch White shriveled out from her crustacean shell, revealing a wrinkled complexion of dirty, dank, disgusting ragged paperwhite skin. Jagged, yellowing teeth jutted from a crooked eating hole, and stringent hair flitted from pores long since washed. She was blind.
"Skyler! You stupid….bitch!" Proclaimed Walt in a single motion. He lunged forward with the chapstick now fully unsheathed, and released the full fury of his golden heart. A scrabbling, purely disgusting noise permeated the thick atmosphere of tension and the crustacean squirmed, kicked, and writhed before taking the form of Walt's longtime collaborator, Jesse Pinkman.
"Mr Whiiiiitttteeeee" Let out a deflated Jesse. And when I say deflated, you must understand, dear reader, that I do mean literally deflated. Jesse Pinkman rested on the floor, flat on his, well...body. "Mind helping me out bitch?"
"No, Jesse!" replied Walt vehemently in a flurry of black spit.
"Please bitch?" asked Jesse again, unable to move because he was inflated.
"No, Jesse!" replied Walt vehemently in a flurry of black spit.
"Mr Whiiittteeee I'll pay you in kisses, bitch!" Jesse puckered his flappy lips.
"Jesse you've forced my hand!" Walt began to sing pure operatic soprano "Jesse, you are my BESSY! You are, undoubtedly, above all else, MESSY!"
On belting out the final word, Jesse was rewarded with a plateful of Mama Hank's spaghetti surprise. Not only this wonderful plateful of spaghetti, but as well, a vigorous rendition of the first night of Christmas. Walt's own flesh and blood, Walt Jr, AKA Albatross 3000 appeared adorned in purple tights.
"O-o-on the f-f-irs-s-t n-night of c-hristmas-s, m-my,"
"Son, your dialogue takes too long to type, go away." ordered Walter with a wave of his royal hand. His son, Walter White Jr was flung away with the force of a cocaine driven stampede, landing unceremoniously within Hell.
Soon, not before too long, a man appeared to Walt in a dream.
"Walt, you will save the Jewish people...from certain death!" spoke Yahweh productively.
"My Lord, what must I do?" knelt down Walt seductively.
"You must travel to Yemen...and banish the Jews once and for all!" replied the good lord inductively.
"My Lord let me fuck ya!" inquired Walt.
Cracked, rusty hands removed what little garments the good lord always wore. Then again, the good lord was called "good" for a reason. A hiss of moaning desire escaped Walt's nearly 90 year old lips, but that mattered not. Today, Walt was the dealer...the dealer of love.
"Slowly now baby," pleaded God enticingly with arms outstretched, revealing golden, shimmering, miraculous breasts that would make Mother Theresa herself release cummies everywhere.
"Tell me what I am, you slut!" Walt demanded, leading the Creator on with his nearly unsheathed drug sword.
"You are," began God, having to restart due to his heart racing at the tension. "You are," again God had to stop, gasping at the full sight of Walt's Pizza machine bouncing jauntily before him. Summoning the courage that all God's must have, God exclaimed "You ARE the DANGER!".
God lost control of his yearning, lust and desire, leading us to the path of no return!
"It is curious, Mr White, that the wand who chose you, it's brother..why, it's brother gave you that scar!" recounted Mr Ollivander in Diagon Alley. Outside, the enormously obese gamekeeper, Skagrid (a cross hybrid of species Skyler White and species Hagrid. This species, spliced in 1876 by famous zookeeper Don'tu'uch Mee Ba'als from Pakistan, made every single 12 year old girl's dreams come true. Skagrid could walk, talk, sometimes at the same time, could perform simple mathematics, and even had the capacity to shit. Sometimes, when little girls would take Skagrid out to play, perhaps to the park or a derelict execution chamber, Skagrid would accidentally mistaken the girls for Mel Gibson, which they are genetically engineered to attack on site, so thus came the 1912 lawsuit against Skagrid. Despite this banning in effect, many politicians still reserved the Skagrid for person uses).
"I'm sorry, I don't follow you Ollivander…"
"Cause it's me, bitch!" screamed Jesse White, throwing off the clever rubber ruse he had hidden his identity with. He did not waste any time in securing the jetpack from Walt and, with the combined force from Skagrid, rocketed across the stars.
"Jesse this...this weed is really...something else," finalized the newly formed pastor Tobey.
21 Years Later
A quiet rap on the door was all that was needed to make Wallace's heart soar with unrivaled joy. A knock meant that someone was there to visit Wallace, and Wallace loved some good company above all else.
Wallace took to the window and, peering out playfully, saw that today's guest was none other than Mrs. Harshire from two blocks down. Finally, someone I can have some intelligent conversation with thought Wallace to himself. Not that he hated the company of his dog, Gromit. But Gromit was a dog, thus preventing any speech. Nonetheless, Wallace found himself positively bouncing with anticipating as he professionally opened the door.
"Why, Mrs. Harshire, how very good to see you on such a fine day such as this!" proclaimed Wallace truthfully. Indeed, it was a truly fine day, with vibrant blue skies stretching over lush green fields as far as the eye could see.
"Wallace, likewise, likewise. I was driving around in the area and noticed that your car was parked in the driveway. Still seeing the doctor, I presume?" asked Harshire respectively. As of late, Wallace had been having some minor heart pains, but the good doctor Henderson had assured him that it was nothing to be worked up about.
"Oh certainly, certainly. But, still, can't not expect it when you reach my age!" Wallace let out a deafening laugh. He had everything he could want in life. A quiet, modest home, a faithful companion, and visitors all around.
"Well, I'm glad to hear it. Listen, Wallace, some friends of mine were thinking of travelling down to the shops later today for some drinks and perhaps a bit of shopping. Would you care to join?" Inquired Harshire furtively. Indeed, this woman truly knew how to brighten Wallace's day immensely. Heaving with emotion, Wallace replied "Of course, Arlie, dear, I'll be right there!"
Wallace turned round to fetch his trousers and perhaps a shirt to go with it, having been in the nude since nearly 5am. He made to his room, choosing a bright orange pair of corduroy laced rubber britches and a modest polo shirt gifted to him from his mother.
Wallace made his way down the stairs when he thought it would truly be an excellent idea to perhaps pour himself and Harshire a cold glass of moonshine before driving out. No better way to get the party started, thought Wallace happily.
Just as he reached a pudgy hand towards his padlocked cupboard, a darkness began to descend on Wallace's vision. Massive strokes of pain etched their way into Wallace's chest, and his mind was doing somersaults. A final stroke of breath threw Wallace into the unknown.
Sometime quite later, Wallace woke up in a trance-like state. People in pale blue scrubs graced their way around Wallace while Wallace remained weighed down on a table.
"Wh-what's-" began Wallace before one of the doctors swarming him plunged a needle of what looked like common cow pee into his left testicle. Instantly, coloured mirages of Michelangelo's The Creation appeared before his very eyes, and small, McDeli the elves danced merrily in the room.
"I d-d-don't…" Wallace tried to speak, but was too intoxicated by this mysterious drug to utter a word. The doctors buzzed around him in a flurry of motion
"Code 419, repeat, blast code 419, we've got a case of extreme heart failure, do you copy?"
"419 I read you, looks like, uhhh…"
"Stage 11 left ventricular tumour blockage chief."
"Size of a dinner plate if I ever saw one."
Wallace had no words. From what he understood, he was going to die soon. Slit his throat now and let it be done, his mother would always say when Wallace would come home high as a kite.
"He's waking, chief!" one of the female doctors suddenly exclaimed, pointing a frantic hand to the struggling Wallace. Dr Henderson glanced around and, without hesitation, side hooked Wallace's head three times until he was out cold.
"Nice one chief." congratulated associate doctor, scrunching his testicles furiously in support.
"Now, now, you all know what to do now." said Dr Henderson. Silence. Then:
Orgy.
Two days later, Wallace found himself being discharged from the Seattle Grace Hospital in Detroit, escorted out by a grim Dr Henderson and company.
"You do understand what I've told you, Wallace?" asked Henderson concernedly. His eyes puckered down to regard the now horribly deformed chest cavity that was once a perfectly healthy human heart.
"Heart cancer. Stage 11. Inoperable." Wallace had come to terms. Harsh, perhaps, but terms nonetheless. "It's just that...you've got some cum on your shirt." Wallace sighed, and waited as Gromit pulled round the corner in his own pick me up rusty bangalahm truck. Gromit's eyes filled with tears before Wallace had even hoisted himself into the truck. Both were at a loss.
"Well, thank you doctor," spoke Wallace to Henderson, turning round. "I don't suppose I can ever repay you for what you've done for me here." Wallace held out a now shaking hand due to his now unstable condition. Henderson took it briefly, but retracted as much as possible, wiping his hand clean with sanitizer for fear of catching heart cancer.
"Well Gromit...off we go."
The truck turned round and disappeared round the corner, a now broken soul and his one true friend in tow.
Wallace knew not where to turn. His garden, his money, his earnings...Wallace knew not how to handle everything. And poor, poor Gromit. Gromit wasn't one to handle this sort of information well. Ever since his own pup mother had succumbed to the deadly mange, Gromit had lost his sociability skills. However…
The morning after Wallace's return from Seattle Grace in Detroit, him and Gromit sat at the breakfast table, nibbling on dull pieces of buttered toast and carefully averting each other's gaze that was sure to bring more tears. Finally, Wallace cleared his throat and began to speak.
"Gromit...chap, buddy...I know things have been hard but, I would say that it'd be in our best interests to get some affairs in order, you know?" When Gromit did not respond, Wallace ploughed on "And, honestly, the doctor gave me a day and a half, so really, it's not even that bad, is it? We could spend it parking cars in obscure places, or pretending to be zebras, anything you like Gromit. Anything at all."
Gromit shook his furry head slowly, small, precious gems of tears cascading down his face onto the heavy floor.
"Gromit...please…"
Gromit leapt down from the chair and moved quickly out of the room, but not before Wallace heard one great sob before the door slammed shut.
Two days passed and Wallace found that every minute, every second, the stairs got a little steeper, the doors got a little heavier, and the emotion got a little more bitter.
Wallace found himself washing the dishes early in the morning on Sunday, having been woken by wretched heart pains. The Lord's day, his mother would always say. And where's my Lord now asked Wallace to himself. Plate after plate he scrubbed. His mind slipping into a downward spiral towards the terror he had been living with for the past week.
Wallace reached for a fragile plate, but, fingers slippery from the soap, slipped and cracked within the sink. Wallace stood stationary for one second, Two seconds. A whole minute passed before Wallace remembered what he was doing, and where he stood. Suddenly, he let out a heartfelt and shrieking scream of anger and desperation. Enduring for ten seconds, Wallace stopped abruptly. He regarded the broken shards of porcelain inside the sink. His mind was numb. His emotions blurred.
A thin, shaking hand reach forth into the watery depths of the sink. Wallace quickly found the most jagged, wicked looking shard he could find, just like his now jagged, wicked soul, full of torment. He brought the blade high and hesitated, hovering the shard above his pulsing wrist. Before he could convince himself otherwise, Wallace plunged the plate deep, as deep as one could go. Blood poured forth, spurting uncontrollably and filling the sink with crimson colour. Wallace's vision began to go slack, and for the second time in a week, he fell down, down, down.
"Incredible he didn't die, you know."
"An absolutely miracle I would say. Oh thank heavens for this."
"Poor lad's been through a rough patch lately, got that tricky bout of heart cancer that's been going round."
Wallace opened one heavy eye groggily, trying to comprehend all that had come to pass. He remembered the broken plate...the shriek of desperation...the stab…
He tried to lift his arms up to rub his aching head, but found only pain in exerting his arm muscles. Both wrists were wrapped thickly with bandages, and showed a heavy flow of leaking blood. Early morning sunlight poured through the open window in which Wallace could hear the simple chirp and twitter of birds.
He began to hoist himself upright into a more dignified sitting position. Looking round the room, he saw the very same host of doctors, including Dr Henderson, who had responded to his first cancer attack. All were absorbed in conversation and did not seem to notice Wallace's return to consciousness. Remembering how Dr Henderson had responded to Wallace waking up the last time, Wallace made sure to remain as quiet as he could lest he receive a broken nose in addition to his shattered heart.
Suddenly, Wallace let out the most dastardly fart imaginable. He could not help it; the drugs they gave him must have been laced with some sort of bean strain. Eyes wide in instant fear, Wallace attempted to feign sleep, but it was no use; the surrounding doctors turned round, each beginning to yell obscenities the moment they realised Wallace was awake.
"Fucking pig, just run back to the sty why don't you-"
"Absolutely fucking unhuman Wallace, it really is-"
"Shame on you, you waste of human flesh-"
"Hang on lads. Let me deal with him."
Doctor Henderson strode towards the bed with a hot sausage poker in one hand, eyes glinting ferociously at Wallace beneath the facemask. Without any thought of remorse, Henderson plunged the sausage poker deep into Wallace's freshly cut wrist. The sharp, twisted hiss of the poker filled the room among the throng of cheers and hollers coming from the observing crowd of doctors.
"And let that be a fucking lesson Wallace!" Bellowed Henderson into Wallace's ear. Wallace whimpered and curled his body as much as he could, cradling his even more mangled hunk of arm, tears falling onto the grey bed sheets.
"That was brilliant, Chief!" Congratulated a brilliantly red-haired female nurse standing next to Wallace's bed. The rest of the doctors nodded in agreement. Each took turns coming to bite a bit of ear off of Wallace before spitting it back onto his putrid face. Wallace wailed and pleaded and begged, but this only seem to excite his adversaries even further. In a desperate attempt to escape this torturous cycle of samsara, Wallace heaved himself from the bed. He fell with a harsh crash and began to roll his pudgy body towards the ajar door. He could hear the doctors laughing maniacally behind him.
He edged closer to the freedom that teased him just a few metres away. One more great roll and he should have it! He should have known the sweetness that freedom could offer him was only too good to be true.
A foot slammed forth onto Wallace's outstretched fingers, before looking up to see a black shoe descending on his face.