Monday, March 14, 2016


by Bryan Singleton (written in 1996)

     "Ha, ha! I dun got a mo foing bastard shot on you sucker! Whuch you goan do bout dat?", bellowed Mohimba. Jurgensjacker didn't offer Mohimba the satisfaction of a reply to his aggravating taunt. A damned bastard shot, thought Jurgensjacker. He gets one godfursaken bastard shot and he's King Almighty Of All The God-Blasted Ping Pong Players. Humph, I goan show dat fool what I got hiding up my mo foing sleeve. Das right Mohimba-whutevar-da-hell-you-are. I goan show yoar stupid ass some right smart shit. Mohimba taunted again. "Come on fuul! You shoulda already had dat sumbitch picked up by now and dun served dat sumbitch!" Saying nothing, Jurgensjacker served a Mighty Fine Shot To The Left Corner. Mohimba grunted and returned the ball ever so lightly, causing Jurgensjacker to extend his arm across the Grand Canyon to return it. Mohimba promptly slammed the ball down on Jurgensjacker's side as it seemingly floated to him. "Das right, toilet water! I dun showed you how to play dis game!", roared Mohimba as Jurgensjacker was plotting against him already.
     Last summer, Jurgensjacker was walking to and fro in the Glades of Glandibula. He was seeking out the old man with the potions. He recalled the words of Old Granpappy: "Now when yewz goz walking down in dem Glades, young pipboy, yewz best be a watchin out for dem ga dam Skullclampers! Dem dings doan never let go when they be a bitin' on yoar little head! So here'z what yew gots ta do: Yew wrap yo ga dam head wit a towel that dun been soaked in ol cow piss. Dem Skullclampers are right smart re-pulsed by dat der smell." So here he is now, in the Glades of Glandibula, with a cow piss soaked towel wrapped around his head, seeking the old man. He never saw a Skullclamper on his way to the old man's abode, but he cast a weary eye past every tree. When he got there, the old man wasn't no man at all. He was a pile of bones. But no matter, he found what he was looking for.
     "Now for Mohimba to get what he's got a coming to his ol crusty ass." Jurgensjacker served the ball too hard and it sailed
past Mohimba's head. "What in all hell of Fat Man Jackson's Underwear is you a trying to do, you dum sumbitch? You damn there
near put a hole in my head, you fool!"
   "Don't worry bout dat der ball dat went past yo shit for a head on yo neck, I gots anoder ball in my pocket." Jurgensjacker reached in his pocket and pulled out The Cursed Ping-Pong Ball From Hell. He served the cursed ball and Mohimba put some wicked spin on it, but Jurgensjacker knew it would never reach his side. The ball stopped over the net and spun faster and faster until it let out a piercing noise that was painful. Smoke was coming out of the ball and it stank of rotting flesh. The ball shrank and enlarged, creating a hypnotic pulsing motion that seized the attention of Mohimba. Too bad Mohimba didn't know that a small amount of spin is all it takes for the ball to unleash a portion of Hell on whomever did so. Too late. Too bad. So sad.
   Jurgensjacker was enraptured with a deep, throaty laughter that impressed The Cursed Ping-Pong Ball From Hell. Mohimba was gazing into nothingness, yet a little bit of Hell was gazing at him. Once the cursed ball was satisfied that Mohimba was hypnotized, it cracked open and ushered forth a globlet of putrid, feckless, throbbing flesh. The flesh started creeping toward Mohimba. When it reached the end of the table, it fell with a squishing noise that could make tough men lose their dinner. The flesh reached Mohimba's foot and started consuming it. The searing pain snapped Mohimba out of hypnosis and his screams shattered the air. It consumed his foot quickly; effiency was the business of this globlet of flesh. Mohimba fell to the ground and grasped the stump that used to yield a foot, as if that would somehow stop the pain. The piece of flesh was now shaped like Mohimba's foot. It leapt into the air and kicked Mohimba in the face, knocking him flat on his back. Mohimba tried to get up, but the flesh had him pinned down. The flesh jumped in the air and slammed down on Mohimba's ribs, cracking several of them. On the next blow, it lodged itself in one of Mohimba's lungs and ate the lung. Through labored breathing, Mohimba let out a scream of terror and pain that would make a demon happy. The flesh dug deeper in Mohimba's body and ate the soft internal organs one at a time.
    Satisfied that Mohimba was dead, Jurgensjacker left and began to seek out a new ping-pong partner.

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