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Merlin’s Curse Part 1

August 2, 2012

Greetings and salutations.

Today marks the beginning of something magical on this here blog. An exclusive serial story of intrigue, cannibals and paint colour! Further installments will be posted on a wildly erratic basis so keep those love pumps primed!




Part 1: Flaps Makes His Vow.

The alarm clock blared and Flaps peeled back his eyes to see that the man was already in position outside his window. Briny in demeanour, his studded g-string glinting brightly beneath the first rays of morning, the cannibal gyrated lavisciously while he keened for Flap’s kidneys. Although a simultaneously hypnotic and revolting sight, Flaps had no time for the cannibal’s shenanigans this morning and he cared not a single jot that the cannibal’s breakfast haunch would go unadorned. No, I do not care at all, he told himself and made a special show of presenting his buttocks while he slammed down the snooze button and clambered out of bed. Then, with his usual rebel yell, Flaps commenced his morning callisthenics ritual, lunging with great vigour before the cupboard mirror’s bold reflection.

“I am a wonderful beast!” he declared as he penguin marched in miniature circles for the amusement of none but himself.

A half hour later the briny cannibal was still at it as Flaps finished up his morning exertions. A pox upon his ruddy haunch, he thought while he wiped the sweat from his brow with his wanking towel. Today was going to be a special day for Flaps. There was no way he’d let anything distract him. Today he’d take his long overdue revenge and all the cannibal tears in the world wouldn’t stop him. Which was quite fortunate as, at his rebuke, the man outside his window unleashed a torrent while he whipped off his g-string and bowler to perform an elaborate pantomime Flaps interpreted as, would you have me slice off my sac in order to flavour my haunch? Is that the level you’d reduce me to? Does the idea of bland food passing my lips sexually arouse you? Why must I suffer for your erections?

Although the emotive display really was quite heartbreaking, Flaps steeled himself and without a single look back strode from the room, attempting but failing miserably to convey, look I’m really quite sorry but I just don’t have time, with a jiggle of his buttocks.

He stepped into the hall, glimpsed the feature wall through the open door to the lounge room and the pain hit him like a blow to the stomach. It left him doubled up, gasping and wheezing like he’d just ran a marathon. You’d think time would build up a tolerance, he thought a little bitterly as he crab-walked to the toilet to relieve the rumble the revolting hue had unleashed in his bowels.

Atop the bowl, the dance began. His tumultuous stomach heaved and undulated. Noxious flatulence dovetailed from his rectum leaving weeping, odorous strings weaved from faecal spiders found only in nightmares.

To say the least it was a violent evacuation.

As he sat watching the hairline cracks form in the ceiling, Flaps couldn’t help but wonder if maybe Mrs Nub had been right all along. Three days had passed since he’d unleashed the horror of Merlin’s Curse upon his wall and the catastrophic side effects showed little sign of abating.

‘That said there are a couple of perks,’ he called loudly, hoping that perhaps Mrs Nub might overhear him. Before he yanked the reinforced chain and sent it spiralling away into the breach, Flaps stood and had a justifiably proud moment with the mess he’d made in the bowl.Never saw the likes of that before Merlin’s Curse,’ he opined even louder this time, even though he knew that Mrs Nub cared not one jot for his justifications anymore. In fact, when he walked out into the lounge room, vomiting violently at each glimpse of the feature wall, all she could mutter was her usual, ‘Me arse has fallen out,’ before she slumped back exhaustedly against the sofa she’d been trapped on since what Flaps referred to as the incident.

Guilt wracked Flap’s body when he studied her pale and sweaty face and saw she’d clearly weakened again overnight. When she feebly raised the fleshy tube that distended like a tail between her legs and waved it around to confirm her statement, tears rolled down his cheeks. Even his usual justification – well it’s not like she had to look at it – shredded like tissue paper before the pitiful sight and when he saw she’d carved Flaps loves Mrs Nub forever in the dried shit and blood caking her prolapse’s length, Flaps felt like he would just dissolve into one giant ball of weep.

He didn’t though. Instead the pitiful sight merely strengthened his resolve for revenge. It bloomed within him accompanied by an off key trumpet flourish that Flaps quite frankly thought spoiled the moment somewhat.

‘Indeed Flaps does love Mrs Nub forever!’ he boomed, raising his voice to drown out her reiterated, ‘Me arse has fallen out.’

‘Wait in your current location Mrs Nub and I will endeavour to cheer you.’ Flaps strode to the ukulele cupboard and with a well-intentioned hand grasped the first instrument he came across. Striding back to Mrs Nub he began an emotive and tremulous rendition of “You Are My Sunshine”.

He finished, to a disappointing lack of enthusiasm from Mrs Nub, and decided to change tack. After a careful moment of considering his options, he finally settled on what he hoped was a particularly heroic stance. Although halfway in he began to have grave doubts about his choice, he kept going strong. He assumed that in her current condition hateful jeers were as beyond Mrs Nub’s power as well deserved applause.

“I declare to you Mrs Nub that on this day your maudlin disposition will meet its end. Your unwavering pain is my unwavering pain! Your grisly prolapse is my fleshy bulb of vulgar inspiration. My reservoirs of courage have never felt as alive and complete. With a satchel of sun-kissed raisins and a pout the size of the Venice canals I will avenge you. It is my earnest promise! The man responsible, the inflicter of our woe, I admit it has taken time but I have tracked him down. I know where the dandy of perversion resides and in meeting me he will petticoat his last junction. Of that you can be sure! On days such as these we are forced to reveal to the world our true colours. I am here to tell you Mrs Nub that my true colours are vivid and strong! Bless me in your foetid hour for I must depart post haste. The day is young but my mission will soon grow old.”

Flap’s heroic stance came to an end and with a wriggle of his buttocks he made for the front door, the non-committal gurgle Mrs Nub released at the finish of his speech still ringing in his ears. He ran. Nay, he dashed as he crossed the threshold and stormed toward the front gate…

… but stopped abruptly when chill spikes stabbed at his regions unmentionable. In a mighty flush of embarrassment he noticed that, save his raisin satchel, he remained completely nude. I must venture back, away from the steely eyes of wretched scrutiny, he thought, his cheeks aflame even though this was not even close to the first time he’d forgotten garb due to haste. He felt his earlier verve and desire for revenge leaking rapidly. It formed a puddle he realised moments later was, in fact, urine. On the verge of retreat, Flaps stood paralysed until he heard a polite cough from off to one side.

From his perch on the sill, the briny cannibal stared hard at Flaps’ tubular genitals, his rheumy eyes leaking with untold respect. When the cannibal raised a proud, utterly agreeable thumb, Flaps felt infused with a new resolve the size of several smaller resolves. His momentary doubts vanished and a stance that to his dying day Flaps would term his finest, contorted his frame.

This immature display of embarrassment simply will not do! I have a duty! I have a destiny! Mrs Nub must be avenged. And if not by me then by whom? No, this is not the time for hesitation. I must be off and my current state of undress must remain!

The cannibal watched with child-like awe as Flaps gallantly made pace down the road.

Good luck you tufty man of great worth. My haunch will remain flavoured by your courage for many years to come. Good luck Flaps – good luck.


As Flaps ran, his head lolling and arms flailing wildly, the growing crowd of cannibals struggled to keep pace. Grunting and groaning, weighed down by the plasma screens they lugged that replayed a loop of the fateful events of only a week ago, they bounded along in relay fashion beside him. The occasional plea to slow down escaped them but generally they just focused on the task at hand.

How can so much happen in but a week? he mused as he ran, managing only the occasional side-long peek at the screens, severely hampered by his poor running stride that converted every glimpse into a near death experience.

There were other difficulties too. The screens were clearly not designed for the use the cannibals put them to. Each glimpse revealed naught but shaking frames and blurred images. Also due to the high proportion that were dropping and shattering because of the Cannibal’s poorly executed baton-changes, the memories had become all fragmented and out of order. Flaps felt certain watching them would only lead to spiralling mental illness and that was something he could not afford if he was to avenge Mrs Nub. The whole exercise seemed rather pointless anyway. He clearly remembered what had transpired over the past week. Still, he admired the cannibals pluck and couldn’t bring himself to ask that they desist. Instead he admonished himself to stop risking life and limb with his peeks and focus instead on his stride which had begun to veer wildly out of control once more.

‘Just wait a moment!’ the cannibals pleaded as Flap’s newly reined-in stride rapidly outpaced them but Flaps ignored their tears and ran and ran, leaving them to sort out the mess of cords scattered across the footpath.

Next time: PART TWO: Events of a week prior

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