Day 291 – Bad Day – The Russian – Part Five – Short Story

I guess the end of all this shit started with Galboldi sitting in a chair, stinking of piss and shit, his hands were both a mess of bones, flesh and blood, and his fingers, well six were wedged up his nostrils and the other two were sticking out of each ear, I won’t mention where his thumbs ended up, but they made sitting uncomfortable, although, I’d guess two thumbs shoved up his arsehole wouldn’t’ve been at the top of his shit list right then and there.

He gave up the upstart early on in the piece, but I was having so much fun I just kept on hammering the old fucker.

Punk kid by the name of Tommy West had moved in and wanted Killdone’s turf, but he went about it the wrong way, and Killdone sent some of his low par boys over to shake up his operation, they messed him up, but, let him live, a mistake I’d never make. The kid turned out to be the grandson of some Russian thug called Salvador The Cunt, cute name, it’s not exactly the correct translation, but it’s my interpretation of it. Regardless of what it’s supposed to say, Salvador earned his name on the bastard hills of his home land, slaughtering the peasants, and other such awesome shit I don’t want to mention here. Anyway, after the beat down Tommy contact his grandfather, and he sent over his prized pupil, the fucker who gave me the staples and the whistle while I say my s’s.

I passed on this info to Killdone and he shat bricks, he told me to clean the shit up, whatever the cost, including his low flyers.

I started there, sent them all to the bottom of Shallow Creek Bay, sorta like Dawson’s Creek, but without big head Dawson and Pacy trying to get Joey into a three way cum bath.

Tommy was a simple task, he was so full of himself, he never though anyone would try and touch him after his grandfather sent The Russian, the blood drained out of his face when he came home and saw my fucked up face sitting at his kitchen table, surrounded by the bodies of his boys, and Old Man Galboldi’s finger licking head waiting for him.

I didn’t waste too much time on the kid, I’d already wasted more time on this than I wanted, but sometimes, when you want to really screw the pooch, you’ve got to commit and follow thru with all the hard thrusts.

So, that’s pretty much how it ended, well, that part of my day, now I get to have some rest, the flight’s going to take a few hours, and I know by the time I get there, they’ll be waiting. But hey, like I said, when you commit, you really gotta commit, no condom, full bareback, balls deep, and not a fucking care in the world.

Russia, here I come.

Published by

Matthew Tonks

People are surprised when reading Matthew’s stories that he’s a sane forty something year old, happily married, father of one, employed full time and dream of dark disturbing things that any sane person would never even contemplate thinking of. But it's true, he’s toyed with writing for most of his adult life, but has always found the peg a writer must fit into is not the shape he wished to be. His writing can be described as lamenting, long, concussive (yes it smashes you in the head), compulsive, and stuffed with rhythmic communication and violence, let’s not forget the violence. His own opinion on his writing is this, “You see, I don't just want the words to seep into your mind, but into your soul, showing you images of blood and beauty through, volatile language, violence, sex, love and sin. My muse takes different shapes, and every now and then you can see her shining her wicked smile in some of my stories, tempting you with her promises, but ripping your heart out instead.” So have a look, and take a seat in my wayward ride, as you join me while I purge through, this twisted road of madness.

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