A Clown Explains A Corpse
"Ya know, it's hard being a mass murderer sometimes.
I don't mean the killing, no no no NO! Murder is fun! And pretty damn easy. But sometimes, when I'm fleein' the fuzz, I can't move. Not literally you dipstick. I can't switch location is all I mean. So I gotta sit around in the same old abandoned ware house or meat packaging plant( I prefer the simple and crude term: Slaughter house), and wait out the tide. The boys keep me company, drunk singin' and fights to the death and such, but occasionally they piss me off.
Then they find themselves experiencing a horribly painful death by fondue fork.
But see, since I can't move, I can't get rid of their decomposing bodies. Maybe a few blocks off the hideout but then it's easier to get caught if someone waddles along and happens to stumble upon the nasty sack of flesh. So I usually leave them where they die. Oh yeah its nice at first, thick red blood painting the floors and walls, not to mention the donor himself. The sweet smell of metal and copper in the stale air.
But then it gets nasty.
Of course anyone and everyone with a pie slice of a brain knows that the heart stops after you die, but then what? I know, I know. It's skin gets tight and turns a sickly grey while its muscles begin to relax(cause everyone gets real calm after they die right?). Then, ooooh THEN. They piss me off by shitting themselves. Bunch a' starfish fuckers. Then while their piss and shit stew in their five dollar oversized jeans, the sick fucks get a hard on! Holy soggy condom that's gross. Just imagine yourself in a room with twelve men and eight boners. And only three of them are dead! Scratch that, just remember collage.
After about a half an hour the dead guys flesh gets all purple and waxy and their lips, fingers, and toenails turn white. Like a plum with maggots. They'll get something like a bruise where ever their laying and somehow their hands and feet will turn blue. All these colors sometimes makes me feel like I'm on an acid trip. Then their eyes hide in their skull. Poor little things. Maybe if someone had fed them they wouldn't've ran away! FUCKING MUTT!
I'm off topic.
Four hours later, it gets fun. Rigor Mortis is my favorite stage of death. I once used this dead hobo as a coffee table. Unfortunately a day later he got soft again and spilled the Foldgers in my cup(the best part of waking up!).
Twelve hours. Still Riggory.
A day. In lay mans terms, if its cold around the body's cold. If its hot around the body's hot. I heard the guys dogs die. The stork gets shot? Santa runs out of Viagra? …No? HIS FUCKING SPERM DIES! Oh, then his head and neck turns a greeny bluey color. Smells like dead pig. Then you can't tell if it's Frank or Hernando.
Three days later the dead guys -heh heh- gas makes his skin blister like a rich whore's hands. That is not a pretty sight. The whole body begins to bloat and swell grotesquely. Like Oprah Winfrey. Faster if its in water or the Sahara. Like Oprah Winfrey. Aggh, then this uhh, 'fluid' gunk starts seeping from all his…what' the word? Offices? Orples? Orficays? Whatever.
Three weeks after death, I like to yank the nails off the corpse. Suddenly Frank explodes!(Or was it Josh?) Skin starts to de-com-pose. After a while there's only a skeleton. I once came back a few months later and found only the teeth and jaw intact. Then again I was in the park. Fucking squirrels. I read somewhere that centuries later only the teeth are left, because imammal or whatever is stronger than a horny Rhino. So remember, brush daily and floss only when your bored!"
A confused henchman hesitantly raised his hand. "But you don't brush, and why aren't their any dead guys in here?" He gestured around them. The rest of the henchmen gave him death glares at the stupid and potentially life threatening question. He slowly, shamefully lowered his hand.
The Joker smiled. "I know, and we're in a slaughter house."
Authors Notes
I have nothing against Oprah.
Love and Straightjackets,
Miz. Jynx