Father Darwin doesn't *always* kill...

From The Checkered Demon

Tue, 7 Nov 1995

I wrote this right before I went on vacation, and it bounced. So, screw me and blow me if it has the wrong friggin' dates, ok?

I'm sitting on the loading dock of the building where I work, on a sunny October day. It's warm, and I'm watching the co-eds strut their stuff, and stretch their long legs in the sun as they walk past my perch.

But, even as I stare at the shapely asses and thighs, I can't seem to bring myself to think of anything sexual. Not one thought about fucking pops into my deviate little mind. Why? Well, it's because of my image of Father Darwin, and the myriad ways that he corrects his children.

I used to be a world-class phone whore. Not a week would pass that I wasn't to be found scanning the personal ads in the paper, marking which were likely to be easy to boink. As I recall, when I left the game, I had a call-to-fornicate ratio of about 3:1, which I personally felt was something of an indication of just how seductive my voice really is. If you don't agree, try it, and see if you can top my numbers. Anyway, I was scanning the papers one fine sunday, and found an ad from my hometown. I got curious, and called and spoke to Norma. She said she remembered me from high school, and I couldn't quite place her, so I made a date, and went to her house the following Sunday.

I can't really begin to describe the house. It must have been a new house in the last twenty years, but it was so seriously run-down and shabby-looking that you'd have guessed that it might even have been abandondd for a decade or so. I walked up, knocked, was greeted by
Norma's sister, and came in.

Toys were strewn from one end of the living room to the other. Unpainted drywall was the decor of choice, along with other 'dumpster decor' furnishings. No curtains, just venetian blinds hung so poorly that they couldn't be taken up. And children, poorly dressed, and unwashed, sat in the kitchen eating take-out pizza as I looked on.

Norma finally stepped out of the bedroom, wearing a loose sweatshirt that also happened to be form-fitting, and sat across from me on the couch. As we chatted, she produced a yearbook that she had, and pointed out our pictures, proving I had indeed gone to school with her.

I had to leave, so I excused myself, and on the way home, I thought about the fun I'd had remembering high school, so I called and made a second date with Norma.

On the second date, I found out that she'd never been married, but wanted to get married right away, and that her two children were by two different men. Also, that she thought that Lorena Bobbit was right, and that they shouldn't have prosecuted her at all for what she did. While I waited for her to get ready, I watched as the children tortured a puppy out of their ignorance, by swinging it around by one hind leg.

As you might have gathered, big-ass warning signs in the Checkered Demon Dating Self-Preservation module were going off, and I wasn't about to date, or fuck this woman. I wasn't even going to take a chance and kiss her goodnight. At the end of the evening, I excused myself, thanked her for an enlightening evening, (ha!) and tore out of the parking lot so fast I left a trail of fire. I could feel her eyes still devouring me and my paycheck as I pressed for even more speed out of my car, rounding corners homeward at well over any legal speed limit. For me, this was the final warning of Father Darwin, "Stop phone-whoring, or else!" I liken this to a gentle pat on the back, for a child gone slightly astray.

Later that winter, my mother called a man for a load of firewood, who turned out to be Norma's father. Norma showed up with him, to help unload (she was a very brawny woman, as well as chunky), and scope out Mom's house to see if I was there. I wasn't, and that would normally be the end of this story, but...

Mom called for a load of firewood for this winter, and when the old man came to unload it on his own, she asked where Norma was. The old man paused, and said "I'd guess you haven't heard. She found a rusted exercise bicycle in the dump, and took it home. She got on it, but it was rusty and weak, and she's a big girl, so the seat support punched a hole right through the seat and into her, through her feminine organs and into her bowels. She had to have a lot of reconstructive surgery, and she's not healing up too well. There's likely no chance she'll ever have children again."

I'm sitting here, thinking about what it must have felt like to have a rusty pipe rammed into your crotch so hard that it punches a hole through to your intestines, and then, the feeling of having a pipe filled with a core of your flesh yanked back out of your body, trailing blood, mucous, and shit onto the floor. So, as I'm looking at a cute girl walk past in cutoff shorts torn 'just so', and I can see her delicate red satin underthings, but I'm not thinking about sex. I'm thinking about the feel of pulling those underthings out of a fresh wound, and the sucking sound her body cavity would make. And the shitty blood that would cover her, the bike, and the floor.

So, dear friends and gentle perverts, on this loading dock, on a fine, warm, October day, I stare at shapely asses, and think that Father Darwin does not always kill to educate. Sometimes, he shows a cruel and vicious side that I respect more than I want to admit. Either that, or he's still pissed about the two previous kids she had.

Hail Father Darwin, may his justice be swift and sure.