efore a few rogue cells in her brain decided to commit suicide, Maude Lynne was the news anchor for CNN nightly news. She was young and beautiful. Her hair was a solid shade of crimson that looked like burning blood from afar and her matching cherry red lipstick sandwiched a nitrogen blue eye shadow which inspired a lust so savage it made beasts of men. She always looked like she was crying which made her even more sexy. Maude Lynne's looks were legendary in the field of broadcast journalism. So was her profound hatred of obscenity, Godlessness, sex, homosexuality, and the culture surrounding her that was seemingly disintegrating into an anarchic playground for indecency and libertinism. Maude Lynne saw this implacable demonism as a horrifying disease that would eventually contaminate the entire human race unless something was done about it. Maude Lynne, although she was only one woman, vowed at an early age to inoculate humanity from its affliction for the sake of herself and her brethren. She didn't have much time left. The cancer in her brain was spreading and soon she would be as nonexistent as the hymen of a hooker. The brutal sense of urgency was giving her bloody noses that ran rivers of red.

 

aude Lynne was in the basement workshop of her Hampton home polishing up her latest invention, the Barbiejack. The Barbiejack was an anti-pedophile device fashioned out of an anatomically correct Barbie Doll with a fully functioning latex lined vagina gaping between the doll's shiny plastic thighs. At first glance to the average run-of-the-mill pedophile the doll seems to be a wonderful way to get-off when in between rape victims. Not quite as good as the real thing but a good substitute nevertheless. What the lowly pedophile doesn't know, however, is that buried inside the plastic uterus of the doll is an intricate system of levers and diodes all controlling a stainless steel scissor mechanism. In the event of penetration the latex lining of the vagina quickly seals an airtight restraint around the offender's precious member. When the alarmed pedophile attempts to pull himself out the scissor mechanism engages and completely severs off the pedophile's instrument of torment. The Barbiejack, assuming no hitches during production, will be ready and shipped to over a million pornographic outlets nationwide right in time for the summer season which, according to her research, is the peak season for pedophilic activities.

 

aude Lynne had no medical proof but adamantly believed that the cancer in her brain was a direct byproduct of certain lusts she had been beginning to feel. She was infected with the disease. It was a couple of months before she was diagnosed that she began feeling these urges. Her loins were burning with an unspeakably horrible fire that, no matter how hard she tried to extinguish, raged on without sense of common decency. The smell of women's perfume in the office was sending electric shivers down her spine and spasms in her naughty area. She tried fighting it for days but to no avail. She knew how insidious the disease was and once a person was infected there was no way to return back to a wholesome life.

Her first sexual experience in all her life came right when the Columbine story broke. She was awake for 2 days straight covering the story and was finally sent home after an argument with one of CNN's producers over airing a short segment she had produced about the influence of popular music and Hollywood movies on the incident. The producer refused to air it when the segment culminated in directly asking the President of the U.S.A. to summarily execute with extreme prejudice the likes of Marilyn Manson and Jerry Bruckheimer.

Angry voices were yelling at each other through some clandestine chemical vernacular in her brain, she thought for a moment that she might be going crazy. She pulled her car over to a slummy side street to regain her concentration before she began driving again. Just as she was turning her car back on after a short rest a hooker in a miniskirt with blue sequins and a green neon wig knocked on her window.

HOOKER: Hey there beautiful. You lost?

Maude Lynne was shocked by the untidy appearance of the hooker. The green wig certainly did no wonders for her already bad complexion. Her blue lipstick was smeared a little bit across her face over moldy pockmarks and there were runs in her stockings. Maude Lynne felt her nipples harden.

MAUDE LYNNE (flabbergasted): Um… No. I just…

HOOKER: That's alright sweetie. It's no problem. For 50 dollars I'll eat your pussy and for a 100 we can go all the way. Now if you want me for the whole night that's gonna cost ya'. It's 500 for the whole night and I have a place right around the block that's very private.

Maude Lynne was so shocked she almost bled from the ears. She wanted to stab the hooker in the throat then drive off knowing she had done society a world of good but couldn't. The disease was blooming inside her. The leather seat of her brand new Lexus was stained with an assortment of candy colored vaginal secretions. She licked some of the lipstick off her lips then told the hooker coldly: "Get in."

 

y the time the door to the hooker's apartment was closed she had her clothes off. Maude Lynne was shocked to find underneath all those sequins was a monstrous purple tidal wave of pubic hair that seemed so big it might suffocate her if she got too close.

HOOKER: Why don't you lie down on that bed there sweetie and I'll eat your pussy for a while.

Maude Lynne was shocked by the nonchalant vulgarity of this bizarre woman. Everything decent about her wanted to run out of the apartment screaming. She felt trapped and confused and aroused. She lied down on the bed behind her.

HOOKER: You look so uptight sweetie. That's alright though. I know just the thing to get you relaxed. Just slip that suit and those panties off and I'll take care of ya'.

Maude Lynne did as she was told. She was sweating a little bit and felt her heart racing so fast she thought for a moment that it might explode out of her chest and all over the industrial carpet. She noticed that the walls around her were hurricanes of color, turbulently spraying a neon palette across an otherwise bland apartment that threatened to tear it to shreds. And then she noticed the scalps. Laying on the floor propped against the wall was a row of human scalps fashioned onto the decapitated heads of mannequins. The hair of the scalps were all painted strange shades of green, indigo, violet, blue, and lavender.

HOOKER (seeing that Maude Lynne was staring at her scalps): Oh don't mind those, they're just heirlooms or whatever. I'm part Sioux and they have been passed down from my grandfathers' grandfathers down to me. I dyed the hair just to match the apartment because they were all black and boring ya' know… Alright sweetie, spread'em!

Maude Lynne spread her legs wide and the hooker dove right in face first. She began tickling Maude Lynne's clitoris with her tongue and forefinger. Maude Lynne closed her eyes trying not to look. And then something horrible happened. As the hooker was tickling Maude Lynne's clitoris her vagina began to open. It opened wider and wider till it was one gaping vacuum. A monstrous noise of metal and pressure gauges began to reverberate throughout the room in a gruesome industrial squeal. Before Maude Lynne could react her vagina began to eat the hooker. She opened her eyes to the muffled screams as her vagina began to wrap around and engulf the hooker's head, spraying blood and tissue across the neon walls and a little bit in her eye. She could hear a horrible crunching sound in her uterus like a gas-powered turbine chewing on waste iron. Maude Lynne was horrified. The hooker's legs were still kicking as she was slowly being processed by Maude Lynne's vagina into the uterus, making it look like the hooker's body was a warped piece of lumber being fed into a wood chipper. Maude Lynne was helpless to stop her hungry vagina and just closed her eyes hoping that when she opened them she would wake up to find it was all just some terrible nightmare. When she opened her eyes the hooker was completely gone and the turbine in her uterus delicately slowed down until there was silence. Maude Lynne lied on the bed in the silence, unable to move or speak. Suddenly she felt her vagina contracting again as it spit out the broken and crunched bones of the hooker and some scraps of lacerated tissue that looked like regurgitated human soup. And then it burped.

 

aude Lynne thought her night with the hooker was an isolated incident until one day Bill Press, the liberal co-host of CNN's Crossfire, disappeared. He had missed 3 shows and the show's producers as well as several network exec's were starting to get worried. An investigation was launched into the matter by the authorities but nothing could be found except a mutilated DNC Membership card and a discolored photograph of a farmer's daughter sucking off a Chihuahua that was found in the bottom drawer of a cabinet in his dressing room. Eventually the authorities were able to locate Bill Press. Some of him at least. The remains were discovered off the Long Island Expressway by a suicidal investment banker named Tiberius Grizm. Mr. Grizm was suffering from severe clinical depression and had driven his brand new 7-series BMW (color blue) off the expressway with the intention of turning his head inside out with a Civil War issue Colt .45 revolver. The revolver was a wedding present from his father, a wealthy real estate developer from the west coast. The weight displacement of his feet and his right thumb as he was cocking the hammer had set off a series of snaps and crackles underneath his sharkskin shoes. When Tiberius Grizm saw the gruesome sight he vomited. When the authorities came they were perplexed. Not so much because of the grizzly sight but for the fact that they couldn't tell the difference between Mr. Grizm's vomit and the remains of the man formerly known as Bill Press.

 

or some reason or another, Maude Lynne's vagina had developed a taste for liberal guests of CNN's Crossfire. About every other week or so some Democratic spin-master or advisor would turn up missing only to be found several days later in a sticky and viscous puddle of bone and marrow just off the Long Island Expressway. At first, Maude Lynne was guilt stricken and prone to paroxysms of severe depression and suicide. She attempted suicide several times but was never successful. One time in a hysterical fit of melancholy she tried to slit her wrists with a plastic butter knife. It broke before she could draw blood. Eventually though, she became tolerant of her carnivorous vagina and accepted it as a fact of nature. She embraced it as an extension of her spiritual being, a comrade in arms in her grand struggle against decadence and libertinism. She even named it. Its name was Barbara.

And then there was the "Seratone Velvet Incident." Seratone Velvet was the chief political strategist for the Democratic National Committee. He was a man who at his best could spin the most horrid political blunder into the greatest proactive decision made in the entire history of American politics. He once turned one President's accidental nuclear bombing of a small town in southern Iowa into what the media had called "a decisive strike against a seemingly insurmountable socialist insurgence the likes of which southern Iowa has never seen." Seratone Velvet was good at what he did and was generally an okay character, however, he wasn't a man without idiosyncrasies. Seratone Velvet had a fetish for fetal pineal glands, an obsession that had metastasized from the afterbirth of an intense self-loathing. Every Sunday night, just before bed and People Magazine, Seratone Velvet would place 1 fetal pineal gland upon his tongue and let it dissolve into the cells. The ideology that drove this curious behavior was the belief that the pineal gland was the kingdom of the human soul. By ingesting the pineal gland Seratone Velvet would assimilate the soul of another, more innocent being for a period of 5 business days in the hope that his own uranium soul might be cleansed and born anew. His method of collecting them was this: Every Saturday night he would break into an abortion clinic just down the block from his home in Georgetown. Once inside, Seratone Velvet would scavenge through the biological waste buckets in the hope that he would find a relatively intact fetal skull. On a good night there would be 4 or 5. Most nights, however, there were only a couple. Extraction was a complicated matter which involved poking a hole through the fleshy skull and meticulously peeling it off layer by layer until the little brain was all that was left. With the calm and delicate touch of a surgeon Seratone Velvet would remove the pineal with long iron tweezers that stunk of undifferentiated tissue and orange peels. By the burnt neon twinkle in his right eye and the sweet amber glow of his feces every Friday night he believed it was working.

Seratone Velvet was the first liberal to agree to appear on the show in weeks. He was escorted to the studio by several heavily armed FBI agents who were individually selected by the Deputy Director of the Agency himself, all picked for 1 reason: a passionate moral disgust for physical violence. It may sound strange that an FBI agent or bodyguard be specifically selected because of an aversion to violence, especially for a volatile assignment such as this one. However, these were not normal agents. The FBI agents' disgust for violence was so powerful that their manifest passion drove them to unspeakable acts of butchery and slaughter in order to avoid it. One of them once cut the jaw out of a seizuring epileptic child out of the fear that he was going to bite him to death.

The show went off without incidence. A party was thrown by the show's producers at The Satin Lounge in celebration of both Seratone Velvet's bravery and the flawless execution of its deliverance by everyone involved. It was there that Seratone Velvet met Maude Lynne. She was as beautiful as ever, her puckered red lips and pouting breasts transmitted an almost visible frequency of electric orgasm to every man that looked in her direction. Buried underneath this was a brutal fluorescence that fluctuated between erection and a chainsaw to the thorax, men and women were all over her. For unknown reasons, the large crowd that had originally gathered in The Satin Lounge had begun to thin out. Nobody who was left had seen anybody leave yet they could clearly see that their numbers were quickly diminishing. Nobody paid it any mind and just kept sipping at their cosmopolitans and vodka martinis. Eventually there were only 2 people left, Seratone Velvet and Maude Lynne. Maude Lynne felt her bloated uterus beginning to churn and writhe like an ulcerous pig stomach just as Seratone Velvet was approaching with a wide serpentine smile and a vodka cranberry in each hand.

SERATONE VELVET: Looks like we're the only ones left. Care for a drink?

Maude Lynne was disgusted by the obscenity of Seratone Velvet's stride towards her and the prurient way in which he held the drinks in his hands like hooker's breasts. She had to remain receptive and courteous though. Barbara was almost full but still wanted dessert.

MAUDE LYNNE: No thank you. I'm afraid I don't drink.

SERATONE VELVET: That's alright, neither do I. Only when the Sun is irradiating the other side of the planet.

He snorted a hideous cackle that electrified her vagina's craving for human essence. Maude Lynne laughed artificially.

MAUDE LYNNE: No, but thanks anyway.

She could tell by the vulgar dilation of his pupils that he wanted to jump her flesh right then and there. Under normal circumstances she would remain calm and collected, smoothly delaying the segue to "vaginal processing" in fine, calculated lingual expressions and physical gestures. But the feeling in her uterus like a pinioned seagull pecking its way through her uterine wall prevented her from such a course and unleashed a level of urgency and vulgarity that disgusted her. She had to make this quick.

MAUDE LYNNE: Spare me the pleasantries sweetie. There's a backdoor to an empty alley around back. If we're quick enough we can make it before I ovulate.

Seratone Velvet was without hesitation.

SERATONE VELVET: Let's go.

 

aude Lynne was spread eagle on top of 2 black garbage bags that reeked of festering meat (it was later discovered that inside these 2 garbage bags were the chopped up remains of the notorious and greatly feared hitman Clyde The Butcher of the Brooklyn Mafia. He had been there for several days by then so the smell must have been hideous). She could feel her uterus swelling like a carnival balloon and was beginning to sense that maybe her greedy orifice was biting on to more than it could chew. Seratone Velvet greased up his forefinger with some saliva and poked it into Maude Lynne, dismissing the hideous mechanical squeal buzzing around him as an alcohol induced hallucination. A fierce and swift pain shot up his arm as blood smacked into his left eyeball. When he yanked his arm away from Maude Lynne he found that his entire hand and most of his wrist had been chewed off. He was too shocked to scream and instead just looked with a horrified face into Maude Lynne's vagina that was spasmodically contracting and dilating like a sphincter muscle being electrocuted. And then something horrible happened. Seratone Velvet was paralyzed by horror disgust and confusion. He couldn't move. Maude Lynne meanwhile knew that something was horribly wrong. A shock wave of electric fear shot up her spine and fired all the brain's action potentials simultaneously, leaving her a helpless invalid for several minutes. Her uterus had swelled until it reached a critical mass and then, with a sonic boom that was reportedly heard for several miles, her vagina vomited everything it had eaten over the course of the night in 1 gruesome explosion of semi digested flesh and tissue. When Maude Lynne had regained her senses she found that Seratone Velvet was buried underneath several hundred pounds of mutilated flesh and muscle in a pile that was nearly 7 feet high. His snakeskin shoes stuck out from the pile like the wicked witch of the east.

 

he story of Maude Lynne ends like this…

Shortly after the debacle with Seratone Velvet she made an appointment with her physician to check on the frequent migraines she had been getting. A number of tests were performed but nothing came of them except a couple of prescriptions and a letter of referral. 3 days later she was diagnosed with brain cancer. Apparently, a tumor the size of a martini glass had lodged itself inside the cerebrum somewhere on the frays of her frontal lobe. The prognosis was terminal. Death would be quick and fierce and would occur sometime in the next few months. That very same day Maude Lynne would learn that her father had died. He was found with a mechanically altered Barbie Doll sitting in a pool of blood in between his legs, his penis gone. He passed out cold with shock and never woke up. Death was the result of severe blood loss. When Maude Lynne heard the news she casually opened the drawer of her bedside cabinet and pulled out a 9mm Glock automatic that she had bought used off of a representative of the National Rifle Association who had recently been a guest on CNN's Crossfire. She placed the barrel against her temporal lobe, cocked the hammer, and turned her head inside out. The moment before death she thought she heard the bells of heaven.

As for the murder of Seratone Velvet, nothing came of it. The police were baffled at first but when they found the remains of Clyde The Butcher they immediately drew a connection. It was clearly a cold and calculated mob hit, however, no suspects could be drawn up. The detective in charge was under heavy pressure from the department to solve the murder so it was all pinned on some blind homeless man on Franklin street who had once been a medical student interning at an abortion clinic over in Greenwich. The clinic was bombed by some radical Church organization and he was rendered permanently blind when a piece of shrapnel hit him right in between the eyes, tearing the optical nerve to shreds. The jury brought in the guilty verdict in less than 20 minutes.

 

nd one more thing about Maude Lynne. What she thought were the bells of heaven was actually the reverb of a metal bullet exploding from an iron shell casing. The noise created a ringing in her ears that could easily be interpreted as bells ringing. What a world.

[END]

© Karl E. Birmelin 2001

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