A Swing Set Massacre!

Hey, Author’s Note: This is written poorly on purpose. Why? Because it’s the only way to suitably stylize a story like this. So excuse the writing. It’s of a poor quality because I say it is.

Professor Dick had long known of his child’s strange obsessions. Having raised the child alone since the boy was six, he knew the ins and outs of him fairly well. Professor Dick knew his favourite meal; spaghetti. He also knew his favourite hour of the day; 2 PM. The exact minute before Long Shot comes on, his son‘s favourite show. The boy liked blue, he wore shorts in the summer because shorts were just plain comfier, and his best friends were Matt and Sarah. Matt and Sarah called him Dick. His real name was Frank. Frank Dick, son of professor Orange Dick.

Professor Dick heard slamming on his front kitchen door. His automatic pill popper activated, shooting a rather large pill at him from the edge of a blade on the side of the machine, knocking it down his throat effortlessly.

“Thank you, Pill Popper.”

“It. Is. My. Duty. To. Medicate. You,” the machine slowly enunciated, a fast ticking operating like a mutter under its almost-breath. “We. Love. You.”

The man covered himself with a brown morning robe, patted his hair down, although it continued to stick straight up, and grabbed his half-full cold cup of coffee from the book case in the hallway. The book case full of books they’d probably never read, but they made the book case look nice and full. Professor Dick had often contemplated how well things really needed to be filled. If you needed to get into every crack and crevice, or if a conservative use of space would be nice as well. Not that anyone really gave a shit. The hallway was so skinny Professor Dick and his son could barely fit through it, and never at the same time. It was a virtual impossibility to even see the book case without bending over, turning to face it, and then looking at its many volumes and titles. Amongst them were shitty old classics mixed with paperback fiction that had seemed promising for thirty pages at a time. When it came to books, Professor Dick had dropped a lot of balls. Although one hard backed gold-trimmed novel stood out against the others, sometimes even gleaming under the hard glow of the florescent bulb.

The knock knock knocking at the kitchen door grew louder and more impatient, like a quickening heart beat.

“Fuck, I’m coming,” Professor Dick shouted, patting down his smooth black hair for a second time. A three day stubble had formed on his chin, wrapped around a constant grimace and tired eyes. Another knock. He felt a blood vessel burst in the corner of his eye. “I’M COMING.” Jesus Christ, fucking people.

No sooner had he turned the polished knob of his kitchen door, there were two children running about his kitchen ruining everything.

“Ugh, uh, Frank… wake up. Your friends are here.” Frank waited impatiently for his son, a keen ten year old boy, to hop down the staircase and into the kitchen. He could predict with near certainty the amount of banging footsteps he would hear. Six. Six because they had twelve steps, and children are always fucking skipping steps. Hauling ass up stairs, skipping steps. Hop bop popping down the steps, skipping fucking steps. Professor Dick wondered if his son’s footprints could at all be found on the second, fourth, sixth, eighth, tenth, or twelfth step of their staircase. If a team of forensic investigators came and they only searched those steps for evidence of Frank, they would conclude he had never been there.

“Nope,” they’d say. “I guess that little boy is lost.” Then they’d gather together in their crime unit van and drive off a fucking bridge onto a cliff, and then off that cliff into a ravine. Fucking crime scene investigators, man.

Professor Dick scratched himself. Thunk, thump, bump, bruise, hop, step, clammer, argh.

“Good morning,” Professor Dick spat through gritted teeth. “I hope you slept well, child of mine.”

“Eight hours, dad!” Frank said proudly, his hands at his hips. He was already dressed in his stupid ugly brown hoodie and his jeans and his ultra hip sneakers. The oven had something to say.

“Haaaaaaah,” it breathed, sending an out pouring of hot air into the room. Frank reacted like somebody had had a bad fart, covering his nose. “I hoooope yooouuu haaaaave aaaaa goooood daaaaayyyy, Frrraaaannnnkkkk…”

“Thank you, Oven,” Frank muttered. “I love you… Okay, bye dad!” And with that, Frank and two other ten year old tornados had gallivanted out the door to somewhere in some place. Professor Dick grimaced further, squinting at the daylight out through their kitchen window. The mosquito netting was broken again. Professor Dick squinted harder. He couldn’t really afford a break at the moment, even in something as insignificant as mosquito netting.

The mosquito netting slowly rolled off the exterior of his window and slid under a small crack at the base of the sill and into his house.

“I am the mosquito netting,” said the mosquito netting. “I am your newest and best great friend.”

“The fuck you are,” Professor Dick winced, grimacing again. “Get back on my fucking window.”

“I have a secret to tell you!” The Mosquito Netting rolled itself into a tight tube shape and hopped about the kitchen table. It knocked over a chair.

“Siiiiiiigh,” the oven sighed, leaking more hot air into the room. Professor Dick could feel a sweat forming between his angry, adult brow.

“There’s another friend I have, right outside this window. But he can’t move. He can’t get inside,” the mosquito netting moaned.

“Good,” Professor Dick squeezed the bridge of his nose and took in a deep breath. “Fucking good.”

“He is the crayon, and he has drawn the bad neighbour.” The mosquito netting began to slide up the wall, and it took rest in the corner where the ceiling met the kitchen cabinets. “Your neighbour is bad. You have got to kill him.”

“The fuck are you saying?”

“You have got to kill the bad neighbour. Your son made him. He is Longshot.”

“Longshot’s a fucking,” Professor Dick paused, “a fucking TV show.”

“Not since your wife died, Professor Dick,” the mosquito netting uttered.

“The fuck did you say about my wife?!”

“Oh come, we both know she’s dead. She died in that caaaar accident.” The automatic pill popper shot a pill straight across the room and into the back of Professor Dick’s head.

“Hell!” he shouted.

“We. Miscalculated. We. Are. Sorry.” The Pill Popper tried to excuse itself. “We. Love. You.”

“Yes, yes, Pill Popper. Out of my glorious sight!” Professor Dick felt like he was going to pop.

“When your wife died, so did Frank’s imagination. Longshot was in a car accident. He survived. Your son does not believe this is possible. He has since, using my friend the Crayon, drawn up an alternate world where the ghost of Longshot has continued on.”

“That sounds pretty fucking familiar,” Professor Dick said. “Ace, get me that crayon.”

“I cannot touch him. You must go get him.” Professor Dick left the mosquito netting to his business in the kitchen, and stepped out onto his side porch and into the yard. He hadn’t mowed the grass in two weeks, so any crayon that had been left out on the lawn wasn’t going to be immediately spotted.

If the mosquito netting talked to him, he must be near the window. Professor Dick, in his morning coat, got on his hands and knees and crawled through his yard, poking into the grass over and over.

“I’ve found you, you blue fucker,” Professor Dick whispered, eyeing the blue crayon. A spray of blood exploded from the side of the crayon and into Professor Dick’s eyes. “I see now. I must kill the bad neighbour. We’ll have a funeral for you later.” The mosquito netting came flitting out from under the crack in the window sill. Professor Dick assumed a horse stance.

“Come on Professor Dick, let’s cut this mother fucker up.”

“Yeah, fuck yeah,” shouted Professor Dick. “Let’s cut that mother fucker up.” The mosquito netting transformed into the biggest knife in the world, and Professor Dick used it to slice a huge hole in his forehead. “NOW I HAVE THREE EYES!” A third eye popped out from the hole in his forehead and looked straight up. “I can see the clouds. I can see the grass. When I see both at once, they merge together and become the green and the white in the blue and beyond. If I can get the sky and the Earth to merge, I can open a plateau across the Universe and summon the spirit of Fuck to murder my shitty son.”

Professor Dick hopped across his front yard and leapt through his neighbour’s window. A sleeping Mr. Long Shot was awoken from his Saturday’s slumber.

“Who dares disturb my Saturday’s slumber? I need my beauty sleep or else I won’t have enough energy for murder time!” He leapt out of bed and grabbed a knife… but it wasn’t big enough. Within seconds, the two grown men had engaged in a full on knife duel.

“I know my son created you,” shouted Professor Dick, “But I created him! So I reserve the rights to edit all future fan fiction! And you’re nothing but a fan fiction! A creature from his perverted ten year old mind! I’ll fuck you a new butt!”

The Bad Neighbour, Mr. Long Shot, jumped back and looked Professor Dick directly in the eyes. He couldn’t see into all three of them, so he looked into them one by one, in a triangle pattern. Professor Dick smirked. “You know,” Long Shot breathed, “I have no butt.”

Professor Dick side stepped a knife sweep. The mosquito netting knife spoke up, looking Orange Dick straight in his third eye. “Go for the throat, now! It’s a Long Shot, but it just. Might. Work!’

Professor Dick put all his weight on his forward foot and catapulted himself through the air. He threw his body forward, plunging the knife directly into Mr. Long Shot’s neck. A thin spray of black blood began to coat the room. Professor Dick shut his two God-given eyes, leaving only his third eye to view the damage. He was a one eyed monster.

“Heh, Mr. Long Shot. Heh. You were the Bad Neighbour, but now you have a butt.” Covered in blood, huffing, panting, Professor Dick stepped out the window from whence he had come. His feet were stuck with shards of glass, trails of blood footprints followed him up the road. “If I’m right, and I am, my son must be at Jupiter by now. I can walk there in ten minutes if I really try.”

And so he did.

At the park on Jupiter, the biggest park on campus, Professor Dick used his magical third eye to spot his son. Crayon drawing lines echoed around his vision, pointing him to his son’s location. Professor Dick wanted, with every bone in his body, to kill his son that instant. He used his mosquito netting knife to slit a crack down the center of a wooden swing. The second his son sat on it, it would break. Then he would die.

“Son!” Professor Dick shouted. “I need you to ride this swing!”

Frank Dick saw his father, covered in blood and with a gaping, strange third eye. He stared down at the knife in his father’s hands, and then at his father’s exposed ball sack and erect penis. “Sure!” Frank got on the swing. It didn’t break. Within moments, he was swinging through the air, forwards motion, backwards motion. Matt and Sarah had died somewhere after falling off a bridge and then a cliff. The oven had eaten their bodies and then driven to Saturn which had five moons.

Suddenly, the swing broke. Frank was in a forwards motion.

“Professor Dick, this is no good!” the mosquito netting shouted.

“I know, my beautiful knife! I know!” Flying through the air ass first, Frank landed directly on his tail bone. The trajectory and speed combined with the exact point of where Frank landed (on Jupiter) proceeded to open a massive, gaping wormhole. Satan appeared, and the Pill Popper machine too.

“Professor Dick, I am here to take your son to hell forever because you killed him wrong. Are you ready to deal with the consequences!” Satan laughed, and then he laughed again. This time heartier than the first.

“I am,” Professor Dick said. He fell to his knees in tears and watched Satan eat his son. Matt and Sarah were there, already burning in Hell. The five moons of Saturn had betrayed them. It was hot like in the oven.

“Balls!” Professor Dick shouted. “Balls!” His erection floundered.

“I. Love. You,” the Pill Popper shouted, and sprayed a sea of pills in Professor Dick’s general direction.

“It’s no use, Pill Popper. Nothing can bring my son back from Satan now that he’s dead and so are his friends. Not even my third eye which turned the universe into a single plateau. We’re all fucked now. We’re all so really fucked.”

“I. Love. You. The. Power…” the machine huffed and puffed, “Of. Love. Will. Save. You.” The Pill Popper cried.

“No, the power of love is dead.” Professor Dick stabbed his third eye with the knife, the plateau disintegrating underneath him. And there he was, alone, trapped outside Jupiter. It was so big. It was so very, very big. And the mosquito netting was so black that Professor Dick couldn’t see it any more. It was lost in the vastness of space.

“Balls,” Professor Dick shouted, but no one could hear him. He was in space. He saw a book case. It was so beautiful. Across from him, the book case was visible, every book obvious and ready to be read. Professor Dick tried to reach it. There was no possible way.