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Tuesday, October 10, 2017

Vile Enos - Chapter 2 by Azriel Johnson

            Hey grl gt @ me l8r, k? lol
            Goddamn “lol”.  I realize that language is fluid and it will always change and it will not always change for the better, but it shouldn’t change in such a way to dumb you all down to the point that you can’t even use complete sentences.  You have celebrities declaring themselves proud non-readers of books.  You are all doomed.
            I could go on.  At length.  But I see my first target.

            What?  You thought this was an accident.  This was the perfect plan so I shouldn’t have been caught huh?  Why don’t you go listen to another album of drivel by your proud non-reading celebritard.
            His glasses have thick brown frames.  He’s not a small man.  In fact, he’s actually rather large.  He’s been in this prison for 10 years or so and has beefed up.  Naturally produced testosterone keeps the brain sharp.  I wouldn’t doubt if he’s earned another Doctorate in his time incarcerated.
            I head straight toward him, but someone stops me.
            “Hey fish.”  Fish is a reference to new prisoners.  I’m no fish.
            He’s a head and a half taller than me and at least two of me wide.  I look up to his face and study it.  He is the Brobdingnagian.  His boss is a fan of Gulliver’s Travels.  I’m not even sure this guy can say that word.  Super strength.  Average durability.  Below average intelligence.
            “I’m going to make you my bitch.”  His voice is deep with pituitary malfunction.  It carries and no doubt would chill my soul.  If I had one.
            “Do you prefer Brobby?  Naggy?  Or Dingy?”
            The giant swings his right hand at me.  I crouch down and punch him as hard as I can in the inquinal area, the inner thigh halfway down to the knee.
            “Ow shit!”  The behemoth reaches down to rub the area.
            I rise and deliver a jumping knee strike to the solar plexus area – hard enough to knock the wind out of him, soft enough not to break the bone off and kill him.  I might need him later.
            As I land I dig my left middle and index fingers into the “V” of his collar bone.  He crumples down in pain.  The crowd of inmates that surrounded us were split.  The ones who could pronounce it were flabbergasted.  The rest were dumbfounded.
            When I realized I wouldn’t die, I took about 100 years and traveled around the world learning every possible fighting technique I could discover.  I found pressure point arts to be the most efficient and effective and spent 50 years studying them exclusively.  The Brobdingnagian didn’t stand a chance.
            My defeated opponent tried to save face by rising quickly, but he only stumbled.  I held my hand on his shoulder and whispered, “Wait.  We’re all getting out of here in about an hour.  You be good and I’ve got a place for you in my plan.  Pass the word around quietly.  Everyone is to meet at my lair.”

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