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Merlin’s Curse Part 2

August 17, 2012

The second installment has arrived! To get up to speed, you can read the first here.

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Part 2: Events of the Week Prior

 

1)The PaCinhurtch

The moment he sighted the store’s name, Flaps knew that the whole expedition would end badly. The neon letters PaCinhurtch glared down in what he could only think of as the clumsiest attempt to meld two words he’d ever seen.

‘I hate this place and I hate you for bringing me here!’ he promptly turned and informed Mrs Nub who had her paring knife out and was mid-way through sawing off her little finger. When he saw the cannibal holding forth his haunch, irritation, empowered by the really quite disgraceful sign, spiked through him.

Flaps slapped away the knife in a brief geyser spray of red and puffed out his chest in what he hoped was an appropriate display of anger.

‘Are you listening to me Mrs Nub? I said I hate you.’

Mrs Nub wasn’t listening. Instead she occupied herself basting the cannibal’s haunch with blood while rolling her eyes in a manner that suggested, I’m sorry, I would give you more but someone’s being a tight-arse.

Clearly it was one of her spiteful mornings. Flaps’ irritation jumped another notch. He knew what this was all about. Jeez as a bit of a lark, you re-route someone’s urethra through their tear ducts while they sleep and suddenly you’re the bad guy.

With a cry of, ‘Don’t fall for their puppy-dog eyes!’ Flaps bodily lifted Mrs Nub and hurled her through the left window of the shop in a deafening tattoo of shattering glass. He then turned to the cannibal searching for an appropriate insult but the cannibal only had eyes for his newly marinated haunch and for some reason all that came to Flap’s mind was a yapping puppy running repeatedly into a lemon tree. After a moment of sputtering, Flaps slunk after Mrs Nub, sulking that the cannibal could so easily have gotten the upper hand.

As revenge he paused at each blood splatter Mrs Nub had left on her headlong flight and noisily voided his bowels. Let’s see you flavour your haunch with that, he thought triumphantly as he braced and dove through the unbroken window on the right.

The store’s mood lighting gave him an instant erection. He rose up, brushing away glass shards and suddenly Flaps found himself pondering whether he’d been wasting his time with Mrs Nub and her paltry vagina when the ten litre tin of undercoat winking at him looked so alluring. In fact as he scanned the shelves of paint and saw all those glittering tins, the most delicious scenes of orgy arose in his mind. He swore he’d never leave the store again. That he’d spend an eternity inside, frolicking. He didn’t care if it was wrong or that society’s judgement would be harsh. The sweet, steely congress would be worth it.

But then the first cock stub entered his fantasy. Then a second and he realised his penis would quickly be battered black and blue. His entire reality would become pain as he repeatedly rammed into the unyielding tins. Flaps found himself whimpering at the thought and looking around for distraction.

When he spotted Mrs Nub already in place over by the colour charts, Flaps scuttled across to her, thankful once more that she, at least, had the decency to possess yielding flesh. He ignored the feeling of betrayal that exuded from the paint tins and slotted in beside her. Then gave her a subtle grope to ensure he’d made the right decision.

‘Despite your delicate cleft, I am still enraged you brought me here!’ he loudly informed her but once more his complaint met deaf ears. Mrs Nub seemed too enthralled by the thin strip of cardboard she gripped in her fingers.

There was a faint pant about her lips that set alarm bells ringing. Is she considering an affair? The concept left him momentarily weak-kneed. Have to head this off at the pass, he thought as she turned and flashed the card at him.

Underneath the smeared blood from her wounded finger, Flaps saw that the sample card was a really quite delightful shade of puce. He thought it a beautiful colour and knew it would no doubt add a lot of warmth and harmony to the flat if selected for their feature wall. But even so Flaps couldn’t forgive its attempted seduction of his girlfriend and, dismissing his brief weighing up of a three-way, filled his lungs and let rip.

‘Ah it hurts, it hurts. I think you gave my eyeballs cancer. Shit that I’ve passed three times through my own body and twice through a baboon’s wouldn’t look that bad. I think you’ve selected a colour there that truly reflects AIDS. Do you want people to think our wall has AIDS? Is that it? We’d have to make them wear giant condoms just to enter the flat and you know how latex makes my grandmother flatulent. I can only assume that this is some hateful manoeuvre on your part because you find gassy, old women amusing…’

Flap’s rant petered into giggles as he pictured his grandmother encased in a giant condom, slowly inflating it as she fired off thunderous burst after thunderous burst until she was floating and bobbing across the ceiling. Although his unfortunate bout of giggles softened the impact of his outburst somewhat, Mrs Nub still burst into tears and Flaps was satisfied he’d put a stop to her flight of fancy.

Still giggling slightly, he deliberately turned his back on her and stared over at the staff member gluing the shattered remnants of the window back together. The man was doing things right, taking his time, much to the irritation of the queue that was forming outside awaiting entrance. But clearly the man wasn’t going to let their intemperance mess with his perfection and Flaps admired his spunk – and also felt vaguely triumphant that several of the queued people were looking in consternation at the soles of their feet and opining loudly that footpaths were not toilets.

‘Now there is a man who would know a thing or two about paint selection!’ Flaps bellowed, slapping away the next sample card Mrs Nub tried to wave in front of his face. The determined length of his stride told any bystanders that he was a man on a mission as he made his way over to the window.

When he tapped the man on the shoulder, Flaps had his question all planned out. It would be phrased with eloquence and erudition. Warm, friendly, with just the hint of wit about it. The sort that would suggest: look I really need a bit of help but I am quite intelligent and actually know a lot of things. In fact, given time, I am certain I could sort this out too, I just thought I’d give a little purpose to your life.

But when the gent turned from his glue work, Flaps quailed, thrown completely off balance. both by the enormous size of the moustache the man sported and also the realism with which he’d sculpted the hairy bristles until it looked as though two giant yeti cocks sprang from either side of his lips.

‘FUCKING CUNT WHAT THE PAINT I USE!’ Flaps blurted, his mentally rehearsals crumbling away . The man had really gone all out with his design. He’d even, through the use of pipe cleaners, managed to secure a few extra tufts to give the added impression that the cocks were ejaculating little hair balls.

A state Flaps would later liken to Stendhal Syndrome overcame him while he stared at the masterful rendering. He would have happily stayed frozen before it for all eternity if it wasn’t for the man’s truly revolting voice as he replied, ‘I only do the windows, you’ll have to talk to him.’

The biting tone made Flaps’ eyes bleed and led to some confusion as he tried to follow the jut of the man’s penis-stache which indicated the direction he should pursue. No doubt the man had been full of good intentions but when he finally wiped away the last gout from his tear-ducts, Flaps instead found himself back beside Mrs Nub who had shed her clothes and was now modelling a cloak she’d fashioned from some of the sample cards.

‘I am the closest thing to a wall in this place,’ she informed him when he spluttered a demand of, ‘What do you think you’re playing at?’

‘What do you think?’ Mrs Nub gave the cloak a swish and winced as it riddled her breasts with paper cuts.

Flaps really wished he hadn’t left his your cunt smells like a summer ham T-shirt at home.

‘Well if you’re trying to make me nauseous with this vulgar display, you’ve certainly succeeded. My last bowel movement held more charm than this paltry selection. In fact I believe I’d derive more pleasure from the yeast-infected folds of my grandmother than these hideous choices you insist on making. At least I can spread that on toast. You can’t spread those colours on toast, can you? CAN YOU?!!’

But Mrs Nub was lost in a struggle to remove her cloak so Flaps was left to baste in his own irritation. He ignored her plaintive cries of, ‘Help, I’m stuck,’ and wiping away the blood spatters as her struggles became more violent, he turned to survey the wall of colour samples for himself.

It felt like a thousand suns burst into life, cooled and died before he found one he liked. It was a quick glimpse out of the corner of his eye. A brief hint of a deep, red burgundy that had him truly believing he was back in the womb. The kind of colour he’d barter his manhood for. The sort of hue nations would go to war over.

‘Mrs Nub!’ he screamed in excitement and grabbed her by a blood-slickened arm. His excitement only increased while he dragged her forward. The closer he got, the greater the colour’s beauty grew. If it came down to a choice between her and Helen of Troy then Flaps would be willing to embrace enemas. Anything so they could be together. Even Mrs Nub smiled through the blood that coated her cross-hatched face when he eagerly pointed it out to her.

A little breathless, he yanked the card down. Enamoured, he rubbed it across his crotch, brought it up to his nose, kissed it, held it tight. He was rolling it into a small tube for insertion between his buttocks when he saw the letters printed across the top of the card and everything burst like a bubble.

‘Draughtsman’s Folly!’ he yelled, enraged, hurling the card away. ‘What fucker… What harlot would name a paint such a thing. Gah, the sound of it has ruined everything. I could be sick, I feel soiled. Violated. I feel…’

Flaps suddenly doubled up and gagged, a thick rope of bile dribbling from his lips. Although he’d just been claiming illness, it wasn’t the horrible name of the paint that had led to his purging. As he’d hurled away the Draughtsman’s Folly sample card, his eyes had fallen on another, tucked right the way at the bottom of the rack. While its rancid tone had seared into his brain, the pain had punched into his stomach, unleashing a rumble in his bowels that made him wonder if he was going to have to call on Mrs Nub’s dual function as a Port-a-Potty again.

He averted his eyes and approached in a series of clumsy cartwheels, still feeling nauseous but his curiousity piqued by the hideous colour. His mind tried to process it but failed, only providing him with a mental conga-line of turds in top hats and tails, clearly miming the words to a hideous song.

...chunky semi-churned baby seals vomited through a child molester’s anus onto the fetid jism of Satan…

Even the backing track sounded like squelching farts wet with follow through that gave the impression that the rectums producing them were riddled with pus-filled haemorrhoids.

‘What possible name could this ghastly hue possess?’ he mused as he took a quick peek and snatched up one of the sample cards. Even the brief look had him gagging and imagining licking the skid-marks off an over-weight trucker’s underpants while mentally-retarded children surrounded him, felching each other and spitting the shit-streaked jism into his face.

Panting and gagging, Flaps could taste blood at the back of his throat as he struggled to wade through the filth to the letters printed on the card.

Merlin’s Curse, he read and despite the fact his mother was scooping rancid placenta directly from her yeast-infected vagina and feeding it into his mouth while he sliced away at his cock and dumped it in vinegar, Flaps was impressed.

Merlin’s Curse…

There was absolutely no doubt in his mind that it was the most horrible, vile and disgusting colour he’d ever seen… but the name… It was the sort of name people would travel miles just to pay homage to.

Merlin’s Curse… He rolled it over his mental tongue again even though his mind was firmly made up that it was the coolest name for paint ever.

‘What about this Mrs Nub?’ He held up the card for her perusal and her mealy vomit hit him like an unleashed fire-hose. By the time he’d wiped his face clean, she was on the ground, twitching fitfully in a growing puddle of her own excrement.

‘So do you like it?’ Patiently, Flaps held the card over her prostrate body. Mrs Nub farted like a car back-firing and a geyser spray of diarrhoea splattered two metres across the floor behind her.

‘Well?’ Flaps prodded her with a toe.

‘Get that fucking thing away from me!’ Mrs Nub shrieked, flecks of vomit foaming at the corner of her mouth.

Feeling slightly hurt, Flaps straightened and glanced down at the card. His cheeks chip-monked as the vomit flooded his mouth but he quickly swallowed it back down and tucked the card away in his pocket. On the ground Mrs Nub hyperventilated, a dazed look of I’ve just seen untold horrors in her eyes.

‘Guess what it’s called.’ He prodded her with his toe again and she convulsed like he’d hit her with a stun gun.

After a pause it became apparent Mrs Nub didn’t want to guess.

‘Merlin’s Curse.’ He chose the most dramatic stance in his repertoire for the revelation but even so Mrs Nub seemed unimpressed.

‘That is the most thoroughly repulsive, disgusting colour I have ever seen. I think I actually died for a moment. There is no way I can have that in the flat,’ she gasped between gags, slowly easing herself to her feet.

‘But the name Mrs Nub. The name. It has to be the coolest name for a paint ever. What a boon it would be to that most tiresome of questions: what colour are you using? Imagine the awe that would be writ large on their faces when you dropped those three syllables. Merlin’s Curse… Even saying it gives me an erection.’ Flaps pointed meaningfully to the giant bulge in the front of his pants.

Mrs Nub looked horrified. Clearly words were not enough for her to express her hatred as instead she began a violent interpretive dance. Not to be outdone Flaps followed suit, his wounded pride dropping the backbeat to which he writhed his discontent.

The battle was fierce and intense but about an hour into it, it became patently obvious to Flaps that Mrs Nub was gaining the upper hand. Despite the lithe fluidity of his movements and the subtle shades of tone they allowed him to put forth, it was very difficult to work his way around the fact that Merlin’s Curse really was a truly revolting colour.

But Flaps’ mind had been made up. He was so enamoured with the name that he’d already mentally convinced himself not choosing it would be a betrayal tantamount to transposing his testicles and eyeballs. He waited patiently until Mrs Nub slipped into a particularly complex set of manoeuvres and then whipped out the sample card again.

When she was safely twitching on the ground, he triumphantly tucked it back into his pocket and, after setting up a perimeter of orange witch’s hats to ensure no one tripped, trudged off to find the store keep…

To be continued.

NEXT TIME: The Rectal Vault

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