story by Norm and paul
music by Dave
see norm's page under the Youtube name nrm333
Harold "Hank" Steiner (a.k.a. "Santa Claus" a.k.a. "Papa Smurf"), a sixty-four- year old Hells Angel from Birmingham, Alabama, whod recently been busted out of federal prison by his "best buddy", one Mr Shit, or just "Shit" for short, a ratty-looking character from Texas with a, filthy, greasy beard completely obliterating his face from sight ... Upon these men and their army of ragged Hell's Angels the fate of humankind rested. "He's a bit insane" Black Elk warned me. We entered Hank's chambers after several pointless knocks -- The music -- a "dub -- down" 0f Hank and Mr Shits new "album" was blasting from twin Marshall stacks aimed from the corners into the center 0f the palatial master bedroom ... The crash cymbals and heavy multitracked distortion drenched guitars produced a deafening roar, amplified to nauseating extremes, making Black Elk sway dizzily as he crossed the room, surveying the scene ... The room was a complete mess -- Beer cans, empty bottles full of tobacco juice, dead pizza boxes rotting under every couch ... Cigarette butts everywhere, vomit, spilled whiskey, hypodermic syringes, broken booze bottles, burnt black spoons, roaches, overflowing ashtrays, beer puddles, stacks of crusty chili bowls, chip crumbs, matchsticks, crumpled baggies, seeds, stems, spent shell casings, assorted knives, guns, and other weapons lying around ... Hank strode forth out of the heroin smoke and introduced himself. "Nice meetin' you, Mr Vimps" -- I noticed the midgets had freakishly pointy long ears "Are those fuckin elves ?" I asked. Hank nodded. "Unfortunately -- The place is infested with 'em ... Take a fortune in goddamn ammo just to slaughter 'em all. They make good slaves, though -- Once I took out all the most vicious ones ... I heard you got a file on the aliens?" -- "Yeah,"I tapped my head -- "In here", I says. Hank nodded, pleased. "Hey, you! Elf! Could you get off your fat sorry ass and see if theres any Jim Beam whiskey left?" hank barked, hypnotically stroking his wiry white beard ... a heinously deformed midget ran to the intercom, cranked the volume to the max -- But Hank actually stopped the tape for this momentous query ... Myron Nerfburger answered, in the pantryroom -- He sounded peeved, hostile -- "Go fuck yourself! -- Im busy!" ... Nerfburger squawked the intercom box ... "Who was that?" asked Hank, calm, but beginning to show signs of homicidal glee -- A certain maniacal twinkle to the eyes-Ice blue, bloodshot, bulging a little bit out of his skull ... The swastika tattoo on his forehead and shaven scalp didnt make him look any less of a mean old bastard ... "That would be, um, Myron Nerfburger, I believe" -- Myron was no friend of Arlos-He was one of the taller elves -- not the tallest, by far -- and he lorded it over Puffenstuff, a three-foot pipsqueak ... Arlo actually felt a little half-guilty thrill at the thought of what Santa might do to him -- Yes, the poor fool's fate was likely sealed -- But Hank was loaded on H, the whiskey wasn't a pressing matter, and he seemed actually in a somewhat forgiving mood ... Hank (or "Santa" as he's begun fancifully to call himself) loved his drugs; but he also loved his power -- He loved to play judge, and especially to play executioner -- But the law was full of loop-holes here -- Finkwater, the chef, was always mouthing off, talking backsass, stepping clearly out of line -- But he made the best damn chili north of Chicago, and Hank wasnt about to throw that away over a little bit of lip ... But Nerfburger hadnt said anything clearly offensive toward Hank himself -- Hed merely been rude to Arlo ... "Mr Shit -- Take down that name" -- Shit looked puzzled -- "HUH? ... Take it down? -- Uh ... Take it where ?" Santa just sighed -- "Write it down, ass head! -- Shit looked embarrassed now -- "I dont read and write so good -- my pappy kept me locked in a shed most o' m'youth ... " Hank rolled his eyes, popped his bull neck-"Well fuckin' remember it then, in-fuckin'-case I forget!" ... This was likely ... An elf strode in beaming: "Great news sire!" Hank leveled his gaze on the severed head of Ed McMahon on a silver platter. Hank grinned. "Get me my meth and DMT" ...
Apache "Shaman"^Black Elk had some how tapped into another dimension that I had only seen a few dozen times while on astral travel vacations after consuming so much lsd or opiates so that my nod had become a funnel into the spirit world. Vimps, Norman, chuck, king plopo, nancy, Ryan Seacrest's dilapidated brain inside the freezer next to that thing that came out of chucks girlfriends anal cervix. That David Hasselhoff alien butt larvae thing. They all seemed to be telling me what to do. I was also getting information that Farrah Fawcets ghost had opened up a sex toy factory and was making a killing selling all sorts of lubed up plastic sexual toys to any of the crack heads left.
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Crack City (part 11)by redpaul79675 views
this is some real creepy shit
whatcunt 11 months ago
@whatcunt thank you
redpaul79 11 months ago
this is cracked out
dawson92 11 months ago
@dawson92 nrm333 genuinely wrote his parts on crack—i've never even seen the stuff...
redpaul79 11 months ago