“Fuck you!”
I pressed the button on the top of the joystick to give him a courtesy squirt, then shoved the stick forward, causing the cart to move forward and engage the dildo actuating system. He wasn’t holding the joystick, so it sprung back into the center position and the cart stopped, but the dildo continued ramming him in the ass. He was talking shit as the electrodes raised up to his balls. I pointed to them. “You’re fixing to get…” Zap! The electrodes lit his ass up. He started screaming. I got close to his ear and shouted, “Drive the motherfucker you no-listening fuck!”
He grabbed the joystick and shoved it forward. He yelled out curse words as the cart took off out the overhead door. I could hear cursing and the squeaking of the cart echoing off buildings as he disappeared down the alleyway. A moment later I heard car horns and people shouting.
There was no reason to hang out in California, so I took off myself. As I headed down the freeway, I turned on my laptop to keep an eye out on Nate. About fifteen minutes later online news channels started broadcasting the incident. He was driving all over the city while the police detoured traffic—he must have yelled out to them that he couldn’t stop. Thousands of people were lined up and down the streets. I could see their facial expressions when the camera zoomed in; some were laughing, some were mad and some were disgusted. People were apparently being made aware through social media what was happening—they seemed to know where he was going before he got there. If he turned down another street, they would take off running through alleyways in an attempt to get ahead of him. Occasionally, a cameraperson was able to get a close up of Nate. I started laughing when I saw his facial expression as the doll flopped around behind him with the crooked cop sign. I could hear the cart squeaking and the ooga horn blowing as he yelled out for people to get out of his way. A hoard of people was following him and cops were running in front to clear a path. Every so often, a person would jump on the cart to stop it, or pose for a camera, but Nate would shout for them to get off. A few times he got shocked and had to jerk the cart around to get the people off. It was an absolute circus.”
Wyatt looked at the paused video of Nate on the ass jacker. “That’s some sick shit. So how long did he drive it?”
“About four hours.”
“Did the batteries go dead?”
Seth had a mischievous look. “No. The dumbass had a cop cut the padlock to the control panel. When the door was opened, the lubrication system started pumping Superglue onto the dildo. Within five minutes it became so sticky that it ripped his rectum loose, disemboweling him. His colon was stuck to the dildo, causing it to be rammed in and out of his ravaged cavity. Blood was being slung everywhere and he was screaming at the top of his lungs. The pain was so great that he had a difficult time driving the ass jacker. He started running into everything in sight. He wound up getting it jammed up between some cars.” Seth started another video. “Check this out. This is when he got stuck.”
Wyatt noticed some smoke coming from the cart as it was pinned. “Is that an electrical fire?”
“No, it’s Nate’s dick and balls burning. Before the cops could get him free the electrodes had burned him so severely that his junk had to be amputated.”
“Oh my God. That’s freakin’ sick.”
“He’s definitely the poster child for electrical castration.”
“What happened to him?”
“I read that his butthole couldn’t be repaired and he had to have a colostomy bag. The dickless bastard disappeared when he was released from the hospital. He was probably too humiliated to show his face in public again.”
Blackface Does Beat Whitey Night
Wyatt was still thinking about the other video. “What’s the deal with the punks that got messed up with a cleaver?”
“I went after them for playing the Knockout Game, also known as Polar Bear hunting. It’s where black thugs go around and see who can knock out a white person with a single sucker punch. They also have Beat Whitey Night, which is nothing more than an organized flash mob that beats any white person in sight. These thugs use Twitter to organize the assaults, and they record them for their entertainment.”
“I don’t understand why blacks have to act like that.”
“It’s not black people in general doing it. It’s thugs. There’s a difference. Every ethnic group has the same kind of assholes that cause problems. As a society, we must learn not to judge an entire race based on the actions of a few dumbasses. And that goes both ways, meaning I don’t want to be blamed for slavery and the segregation bullshit that I had nothing to do with.” Seth looked at Wyatt. “I don’t want you to think I have an issue with anyone because of their skin color. I only have an issue with scumbags: white, brown, yellow or black. I’m only mentioning this since this particular story could be misconceived into something racist just because these assholes were black. That’s why I wasn’t planning on telling you about it.”
“I’ve listened to your stories enough to know how you operate. I want to hear about it.”
“Okay. It happened in Detroit about five years ago. I was there on other business when I stumbled across one of these Whitey Beat Down festivities. In was in the late evening and I was heading to fuck someone up when these two punks started following me. It caught me off guard because I was dressed like a thug.”
“And how does a thug dress?”
“I was wearing baggy pants, a Detroit Lion’s jacket, Nike Mags and sported a big-ass fro with a large red comb sticking out of it.”
“That’s stupid.”
Seth looked at Wyatt. “Hold up, slick. That’s a common look.”
“I’m talking about the comb. It’s kind of racist.”
“Don’t start that shit. I’m not a fucking racist.”
“And how do you figure you blended in looking like a wannabe white gangster.”
“I didn’t look white. I had colored my skin black with dye and makeup.”
Wyatt laughed. “That’s the same stunt you pulled on Jim.”
“Sure was. So, what I was getting at, it caught me off guard because I was trying to blend in and not draw attention to myself. This is one of those times that doing things right in the open back fired on me. I didn’t want to have a confrontation in the street, so I went down an alleyway to see if they followed, and sure enough, they did. They walked up to me as I was pretending to take a piss beside a dumpster. The shorter of the two punks was dressed like I was, but the other one looked as if he had just crawled out from under a rock. They were standing behind me as I looked back at the shorter one. “What’s up, dog?”
He grinned. “Nice kicks, nigga.”
I zipped up, then looked at my shoes. “Fo’ shizzle my nizzle.”
The taller punk laughed. “Those look to be my size, homeboy.” He nodded at his buddy. “Whatcha think, Skin, gonna get me sum new kicks?”
Skin smiled. “Yeah, Tink, those are da bomb.”
Tink pulled out a switchblade. “I be taken’ those, nigga. And that jacket too.”
Skin motioned with his fingers. “Give me yo’ backpack.”
I handed it to him. “Come on, man. Let’s go rob some white muthafuckas.”
Skin laughed. “Fuck you. We’ll rob who the fuck we want.”
“Yo, nigga, don’t be like that.”
Tink nodded at my comb. “This is what you get fo’ lookin’ like a fool with that dumbass comb stickin’ out yo’ head.” He smiled. “You can give me that, too.”
Skin slung my backpack over his shoulder. “Gimme your jewelry and wallet and anything else you have.”
I noticed Skin had his hand resting on a pistol that was in his waistband. With both of them being armed at a close-range I was in a predicament, knowing I couldn’t take them on with nonlethal means in my current position. I could tell Skin’s revolver was a single action Ruger Blackhawk. This gave me an advantage since the hammer had to be cocked before it would fire. I needed to distract them, so I did as they asked. I
tossed my necklace, wallet and a wad of cash at Skin’s feet. My plan was working as Skin got on one knee and began picking up his treasures, not paying attention to me any more. I nodded at Tink to get his attention, then slowly pulled the comb out of my hair. He stood in amazement, admiring its large size as its metallic red paint glimmered. Unknowing to him, the comb was actually a weapon. It was made of aluminum and the forks were long and pointed. I gave it to him by jamming the forks into his face. Before Tink could let out a scream, I pulled out my tranquilizer gun and aimed for his neck, but wound up shooting him in his left eye. Then I pushed Skin backwards as he was still on one knee, knocking him to the ground. Before he had a chance to go for his gun, I shot him in the chest with a dart. I looked around to make sure no one was watching, then dragged them behind the dumpster. I didn’t have shocking belts with me like I had used on Spitter, but I did have some shocking jock straps.”
Wyatt interrupted. “Why would you be carrying those?”
“I was heading to fuck up two child molesters before Tink and Skin tried to rob me.” Seth pointed to his bag. “I have one if you want to look at it.”
Wyatt started to reach in the bag, then stopped. “Wait a second. Was it strapped to someone’s crotch?”
Seth shook his head. He reached over and pulled out the jock strap, then tossed it in Wyatt’s lap. “There.”
Wyatt held his hands up as he looked down at it. “I’m not fucking touching it.”
“Stop acting like a little girl. It hasn’t been used.”
“Whatever.” He picked it up and noticed it was made of strong material. “It feels heavy duty.”
“It’s made of thin Kevlar so it can’t be cut or torn easily.” Seth pointed out some electrodes. “Those encircle the balls.”
Wyatt cringed. “Ouch.”
“More than ouch. The electrodes put out so much current that they will cause the sperm to boil if I leave it on for too long.”
Wyatt shook his head. “The shit you come up with never ceases to amaze me.”
“Thanks.” Seth pointed to a small metal box that was mounted on the side of the jock strap. “This is where the battery pack, circuit board and wireless receiver are housed.” He pointed to some belt loops that went around the top. “It’s held in place by running a heavy-duty zip-tie through these loops, then I tighten it down around the waist.”
Wyatt tossed it in the bag. “Did you strap one of these on them?”
“Yes. After I took their personal shit, I dropped their pants, slapped them on, then pulled their pants back up. I didn’t have time to wait for them to come around on their own, so I injected them with an adrenaline shot. Five minutes later they were staring up at me from the ground. I was leaning against a brick wall next to them smoking a cigarette. “Sup, fools.”
Skin glared at me. “What the fuck, man.” He looked at his chest and rubbed where the dart had struck him. “What the fuck did you shoot me with?”
I opened the left side of my jacket brandishing an assortment of weapons. “This one hanging from my shoulder holster.”
“Do I have a bullet in me?”
“No, but I will give you one if you get stupid.”
Tink’s face was covered in blood from puncture holes that ran from the upper part of his right cheek to the left side of his mouth. The dart was still sticking out of his left eye and it was oozing intraocular fluid. He pulled out the syringe and tossed it at my feet, then he started to stand up. “I’m going to kill your ass, you sorry motherfu…”
I energized his ball zapper. Skin was staring in horror as his buddy flopped around on the ground moaning out muffled screams. When I shut it off Tink curled up in the fetal position while gripping his balls. “Oh my God! What have you done to me?”
“I put a microwave oven in yo’ draws.”
He looked up at me with confusion. “You did what?”
Skin jumped up to his feet, and before he had a chance to run or attack me, I lit him up. He fell to the ground and spun around like Curly from the Three Stooges. Tink was contemplating running, so I lit him up as well. I let them cook for around fifteen seconds to ensure they understood the pain that would come along with doing something stupid. “Now listen here, do what I say or I’ll cook your balls until they pop.”
Skin held his hands up. “I got it, I got it. Don’t do that any more.”
Suddenly Tink took off running, so I energized his ball zapper. His body instantly went limp and he did a nosedive on the asphalt. I locked the remote in the on position, then lit a cigarette. Skin was staring in horror as Tink flopped around on the ground. The pain was so intense that he was twisting his body in an unnatural way as he desperately fought to get his pants off. His mouth was wide open as if he was screaming, but no sound was coming out because his vocal cords were paralyzed from the current.
Skin was panicking. “Stop doing that! You’re goin’ to kill him.”
“I told him not to try anything.”
“Please turn it off.”
“If you don’t want him to die, then get over there and help him.”
Skin ran over to Tink and pulled his pants down. He tried to get the jock strap off but he was getting zapped in the process. Suddenly the Kevlar began smoking, then fluids came gushing out from around the section that housed the electrodes. Skin stood in horror as his buddy arched his back moaning out his last breath of air. I could hear the arcing of the electrodes as I walked up and stood next to Skin. “Can you smell that? Smells like burnt jiz.”
He had a grimace of terror as he looked at me. “What did you do to him?”
“I cooked his balls until they popped.”
“You’re a sorry motherfucker.”
“I will do the same thing to you if you get stupid.”
He grabbed his crotch. “Okay, okay. But why you did this? We ain’t did nuthin to you.”
“You fucking idiot, you were gonna rob my ass.”
He seemed angry. “You did this shit to Tink over some fuckin’ clothes?”
“He also wanted my comb.”
He looked at my comb as it stuck out of my head. “Comb? Are you fuckin’ crazy? You motherfucker! You will pay for this.”
“Call Obama. I don’t give a shit.” I noticed there were some punks staring from the end of the alleyway. “Get movin’, and if you try something you know what you will get.” He did the unexpected and grabbed me, causing me to drop the remote. I wound up putting a round through his skull. The punks at the other end of the alleyway ran when they saw brains being splattered all over the place.”
Wyatt looked disturbed. “You killed them for trying to rob you.”
“And?”
“That was a little extreme, don’t you think?”
“What if it was your daughter that they were trying to rob? Maybe they wouldn’t have been satisfied with just her belongings.”
Wyatt took a deep breath. “I know what you mean, but it’s still harsh. It just caught me off guard—they didn’t sound as bad as the ones you usually go after.”
“Sure, they weren’t. That’s why they carry guns and switch blades.”
Wyatt reclined his seat back to get comfortable. “You’re right. I am starting to understand your reasoning for what you do. Of course, I wouldn’t do it, but I do understand. You also have to remember that I was born and raised in North Dakota. I was pretty much sheltered from the kinds of scumbags and lowlifes that you have dealt with.”
Seth shrugged his shoulders. “But you’re a reporter. You must have been around at least one or two.”
“I reported the local news; bake sales and sporting events. Shit like that.”
“Is there no crime there?”
“Sure, there is. Nothing extreme like the shit you tell me about.”
“No one gets killed, raped or molested there?”
“It’s uncommon, but it does happen. It’s a small town made up of hardworking families with very little cultural diversity.”
Seth la
ughed. “What do you mean by cultural diversity?”
“There are no gangbangers, thugs or troublemakers running around causing problems.”
“What about gays?”
“Probably, but they keep it to themselves.”
Seth could tell Wyatt had lived a sheltered life. He thought about making fun of who was really the bigot, but decided to leave that alone for now. He looked at his watch. “We’re about an hour away from the hotel. We’re out of sandwiches that Missy gave us. Do you wanna stop and get something to eat?”
“Let’s go to a drive through. I don’t want a repeat of what happened at the last diner.”
“Will do.”
Wyatt looked at his notebook. “In the meantime, finish your story about how you used a meat cleaver on some punks that were doing that whitey beat down thing.”
“It was by mistake. I was going through Skin’s phone messages in my car when he got a text. It said there was going to be a beat down at a carnival that was set up at the State Fair Grounds just north of Detroit at 10 PM. I only had thirty minutes to get there. This was a spur of the moment thing and I wasn’t sure exactly what I was going to do if it happened. I also didn’t like the thug disguise that I had on, but I didn’t have time to change it.
I was running about five minutes late when I arrived, but didn’t notice anything happening. I didn’t want to use any kind of firearm with so many people around, so I grabbed a meat cleaver and a ball-peen hammer, then went into the fairgrounds. Right off I noticed there were a few cops walking around. If I would have had a chance to plan it out, I would have brought something that would have created a distraction. I knew it was going to be risky and figured I would just wing it if something happened. The park was full of mixed races but I didn’t see any large groups of thugs. It was a summer evening and I was getting hot, especially from the large fro. After making a few rounds through the park I was covered in sweat, so I went to get something to drink at a vending booth and to cool off.
While I waited in line, I noticed something strange happening. People were staring at me. The blacks were actually giving me death stares and talking about me. I wasn’t sure why.”
The complete “A Glimpse into Hell” series - 5 books, 195 chapters, 1700 pages, 600K words of pure gore Page 83