The Ant - Chapter 14 - A Game of Bridge (Warrning - This chapter features death by feces.) (755 hits)
Category: NoneLabels: The_Ant
Rating: 2 on 13 reviews (Rate this item) (V)
Submitted by Jack McCallum (View user info) at 2005-01-25 12:22:04 EST
(Chapter 1 http://www.ubersite.com/m/56777)
(Chapter 2 http://www.ubersite.com/m/56855)
(Chapters 3-5 http://www.ubersite.com/m/56884)
(Chapter 6 http://www.ubersite.com/m/56930)
(Chapter 7 http://www.ubersite.com/m/57042)
(Chapter 8 http://www.ubersite.com/m/57139)
(Chapter 9 http://www.ubersite.com/m/57238)
(Chapter 10 http://www.ubersite.com/m/57350)
(Chapter 11 http://www.ubersite.com/m/57411)
(Chapter 12 http://www.ubersite.com/m/57474)
(Chapter 13 http://www.ubersite.com/m/57561)
CHAPTER 14 - A Game of Bridge
Nancy Mar was having a wonderful Christmas Eve. She pulled her Mercedes onto the Golden Gate Bridge, heading for Marin and a cozy condo where Rod, a twenty year-old handyman, was going to trim her hedges and clean out her gutters.
She had just left behind the last of the seven buildings she owned in San Francisco, after having turned down the settings on the boiler thermostats in each one, and applying brand new locks to the boiler room doors. Who gave two shits if her tenants were cold? She was going to be nice and warm, and she was going to make sure that Rod and his versatile tools attended to every inch of her in front of the blazing fireplace.
Maybe some day she'd even let him work on one of her building, not that she was in any hurry to carry out any of the repairs demanded by her whining tenants.
She was halfway across the bridge when traffic slowed to a stop. She saw people leaning out their rolled-down windows and looking up, so she looked up.
There was something in the sky, dropping, settling on the bridge, beside the median. It looked sort of like a big sleek van with no wheels. It had flown and landed like a spaceship on TV. A side door opened and a number of very odd looking people in strange clothing got out.
They spread across the bridge, blocking off all the lanes, and started shouting, telling people not to try turning around and going back the way they had come. The bridge was theirs, they said (referring to themselves as The Apostles of Doom), and they said all of the people in all of the cars were their hostages.
An enraged man on the other side of the median honked his horn and called them 'stupid goddamn fucking sumbitches,' demanding to be let off the bridge. One of the Apostles of Doom, a young woman wearing white cowboy boots, an obscenely short skirt, a tube top and a jean jacket -utter trash, Nancy thought- leaped over the median.
"Hey big boy," the girl almost sang, as she skipped over to his car.
"Hey there darlin'," Enraged Man said, speaking to her bouncing tits. "You goin' help get me off this bridge?"
"Why sure," the girl said. Then her face darkened and she snarled, "You want off the bridge? My pleasure, motherfucker."
Then she reached down and grabbed the car, her hands sinking into the rocker panels as if they were made of paper, her fingers gripping the frame. She raised the car over her head and paused, looking for all the world like she were creating a tableau - Action Comics #1. Then she tossed the car into the air with a little jump. It sailed over the edge of the bridge and out of sight.
A Latina wearing a bodysuit of black vinyl straps which barely covered what the law required they should cover shouted, "Right on, PMSG!"
Nancy began to worry that she might not make the condo on time. She opened the glove compartment and grabbed a few of the pill bottles that spilled out. She had been worried about the fact that her valium and prozac might be messing her up when taken together along with her daily dose of vitamins and herbs from an apothecary in Chinatown, and in a moment she had convinced herself that it was simply the drugs making her see things that weren't there. More likely some hitchhiker had given somebody the bird and her mind had created the rest.
She started honking her horn and shouting, "Move aside! Coming through!"
*
Rob was taking a crap and leafing through a Popular Mechanics when Schroedecker threw open the door and came into the bathroom, carrying a Sony Watchman (which he always carried now, TV's, radios and police scanners adorning every room so he could keep tabs on the AoD.)
"Jesus doc! I'm taking a shit!"
Schroedecker appeared not to have heard. He thrust the Watchman into Rob's hands, said, "Get into the costume, The Ant is needed," and left the room.
Rob finished his crap, watching Channel 4 news coverage of the apparent takeover of the Golden Gate Bridge.
*
Nancy was getting very annoyed. She hit her horn until she got the attention of the costumed gang blocking the bridge.
Two young men walked over to her car, a gangly Hispanic wearing nothing but black rubber underwear, and a pale-faced, acne-scarred man wearing a brown bodysuit with an emblem that looked like a toilet bowl.
"You gotta problem, lady?" the gangly man asked, standing by her door. He sounded like he had a mouthful of mush. "We don't want any of you saying or doing anything. Got it?"
"I have to leave. I have an appointment." She glanced into the sky. Above the bridge was a helicopter with the Channel 4 logo painted on its side. Leaning out into the night was a man wearing a goosedown jacket and holding a video camera.
"What do you think, El?" the other asked.
El Hombre Mucho Mas Elastico scratched his head, his fingers suddenly becoming long and slim. "I think we better shut her up, Senor Mierda," he said.
Nancy looked up, and saw that the fingers of his right hand, as they raked his scalp, had grown to eight or nine inches long and were wiggling like a spider's legs.
She knew now that there was something seriously wrong, either with her, or with these men. She hit the button to close and lock the power windows. She didn't notice until too late that El Hombre had jammed both of his hands into the inch-wide crack at the top of the driver's side window.
His right hand stretched, long spidery fingers plucking the keys from the ignition and switching off the motor. He tossed the keys onto the bridge. His left hand began to shift and change shape, becoming a tube, then an elongated funnel like something out a Dr. Seuss story. The small end was inside the car, aimed at Nancy. The larger end hung closer to the ground.
The brown-suited man turned and wedged his buttocks against the wide part of the funnel.
"Geez. Fuckin' cold hands, man," he muttered. He grunted, and a moment later filth began spewing out of the small end of the funnel, into the car.
Nancy yelped as the watery, foul-smelling broth sprayed into her beautiful Mercedes, splattering onto her silver fox coat and soaking into it in clots and runnels.
She slid over to the passenger door, but it was locked. And with the keys gone, she couldn't work the power switches. She heard a vulgar noise, the sound of large globs of cake batter being dropped onto a floor. The funnel was now disgorging thick, dark feces.
Nancy smelled it and her stomach heaved. She was puking even as she crawled into the back seat.
As thick pools of shit oozed across the floor and began climbing past her ankles, the car filling slowly, Nancy pounded against the rear windshield and called for help.
The startled passengers in the cars behind her just goggled, transfixed by what they saw.
El Hombre and Shitman laughed when the shit quickly rose past Nancy's chin. They heard her sputter and scream when she tasted the foul sludge, which tasted far worse than it smelled, although Nancy didn't know how that could be possible.
She foundered in the shit, slipping on the now slick leather seats, her head going under, her eyes burning in the suffocating foulness.
Too late did she remember that the Mercedes had a sunroof, which could be manually unlocked and removed.
Completely submerged, her fingers scratched at the car's interior as she held her breath and closed her mouth, but her oxygen-starved body acted on reflex, opening her mouth, making her inhale, and she died, drowning in the taste, smell and feel of human shit.
Shivering in their rapidly cooling apartments, many of her tenants* watched the spectacle on TV, quite sure that they recognized the shit-filled Mercedes.
Doctor Pfaltzer smiled behind the windshield of the aircar which had landed on the bridge.
He was sitting at the wheel, and beside him was Braino, the young man with the hideously swollen cranium and overdeveloped brain who created the aircar and a number of other gadgets now utilized by the Apostles of Doom.
Police scanners informed him that the law had sealed off access to the bridge from both sides. There were an estimated fifty to sixty cars on the Golden Gate at the moment, and all of their passengers were his hostages. The California Highway Patrol, the Golden Gate Bridge Police and the SFPD were unable to make a move until they had more information to work with.
Of course, there was no way the billion in cash ransom could be met, so all of these people were going to die. Pfaltzer smiled, sighed with contentment and watched his creations in action.
Shitman and El Hombre Mucho Mas Elastico were checking cars in the Marin-bound lanes.
Richard Large, a mutant whose cock and balls and bladder were deadly weapons, and Senorita X, a dark-eyed beauty who through pheromones, hormones and body language could release an incapacitating sledgehammer of raw sexual suggestion, were checking the city-bound lanes.
Flying Dude was above the bridge somewhere, radio in hand, keeping an eye on things and reporting back to Braino, while taking the occasional pot-shot at a seagull.
Blackout and PMS Girl were ready for any trouble, having already taken care of the few members of the CHP on the bridge, and Invulnerable Boy had just stepped out of the back of the air car, strapped on his rocketpack and shouldering his laser rifle.
It wasn't long before they received the word from Flying Dude: Someone was coming.
*Can you tell I once had an evil landlord named Nancy Mar?
User Reviews
Submitted by Jack_McCallum (user info) at 2005-08-03 11:42:41 EDT (#)
Ranking: 0
Supreme Overlord damage control...
Submitted by Supreme_Overlord (user info) at 2005-07-21 22:22:27 EDT (#)
Ranking: -2
shite
Submitted by munkeypants (user info) at 2005-02-08 13:45:18 EST (#)
Ranking: 2
Richard Large, a mutant whose cock and balls and bladder were deadly weapons, and Senorita X, a dark-eyed beauty who through pheromones, hormones and body language could release an incapacitating sledgehammer of raw sexual suggestion, were checking the city-bound lanes.
HAHAHAHAHAHA
Submitted by munkeypants (user info) at 2005-02-08 13:44:29 EST (#)
Ranking: 2
Shivering in their rapidly cooling apartments, many of her tenants* watched the spectacle on TV, quite sure that they recognized the shit-filled Mercedes.
she had it comin'
Submitted by Brdn_Nkd (user info) at 2005-01-26 08:29:54 EST (#)
Ranking: 2
No Comment
Submitted by Remission (user info) at 2005-01-26 00:40:32 EST (#)
Ranking: 2
Fuck me now... I want your seed
Submitted by JonnyX (user info) at 2005-01-25 18:19:26 EST (#)
Ranking: 2
No Comment
Submitted by Falconer (user info) at 2005-01-25 17:53:45 EST (#)
Ranking: 2
Best. Warning. Ever.
Submitted by FuckTheArmy (user info) at 2005-01-25 17:15:30 EST (#)
Ranking: 2
Ew. Yay.
What the hell am I supposed to make of this?
Submitted by Jack_McCallum (user info) at 2005-01-25 13:36:21 EST (#)
Ranking: 0
I think there actually IS a guy using that name in Mexico... stretchy face skin or some damn thing.
Submitted by thecaes (user info) at 2005-01-25 13:33:38 EST (#)
Ranking: 2
"El Hombre Mucho Mas Elastico". I think I will have to +2 any post of yours that contains this name. That is sheer genius. SHEER GENIUS.
The fecal drowning was pretty funny and disgusting (especially the clots and runnels part...ick), but I was surprised a man with the stature of El Hombre Mucho Mas Elastico would tolerate someone shitting in his hands.
Seriously, that's the best name ever.
Submitted by TigerLilly (user info) at 2005-01-25 12:59:15 EST (#)
Ranking: 2
"Rod, a twenty year-old handyman, was going to trim her hedges and clean out her gutters"
Send "Rod" to my bed, I mean house next.
Submitted by AshK (user info) at 2005-01-25 12:46:38 EST (#)
Ranking: 2
glug, glug.
a shit drowning.
who woulda thunk it?