Another Portion of the Parts

The Sword—“Age of Winters”


As I ran downstairs to find my father, Geoff, my brother, handed me a
wad of toilet paper. “The bitch is mine,” he whispered as he continued
toward the kitchen.

FIguring he meant one of the hookers I thought nothing about it and went
outside where I found dad working on the underground bunker.

“Dinner is ready,” I said as I squeezed the toilet paper, finding a hard
lump buried inside it.

He climbed out of the bunker. “That’s good. Nothing better than a hot
meal after working all day. I know you’re hungry, after all the work
you’ve been through today.

“Now you’re a real man,” he continued as he winked at me. “Just don’t
tell your mom, she’ll probably wonder where I managed to pick up all
those people and some things are just better left unknown, know what I

“Gee dad, that was real swell what you did,” I said.

He lit his favorite pipe and sat down in his favorite chair as the dog
fetched him his favorite slippers and the maid handed him the evening
edition of the paper.

“My boy,” he said as the aroma of the tobacco swirled around the

I headed back inside shaking my head since what just happened didn’t
seem to make too much sense.
When I sat down at the dinner table I noticed I still held the wadded
toilet paper in my hand. I squeezed it and again felt something hard
buried in it’s depths so I decided to check it out since the worse it
could be was a hardened booger, which would be a typical “gift” from my

I looked over at my brother who was smiling at me and, after making sure
nobody else was looking, mouthed “Fuck you, you motherfucking
cocksmoking douchebagged burnt toast piece of shit” at him and then
unwrapped the paper wad.

I was getting ready to chuckle at a piece of dried booger but
immediately changed that to a gasp of horror when I found myself looking
at a teeny-tiny finger.

A teeny-tiny monkey finger.

I threw down the toilet paper and finger and lunged across the table
towards my brother.

But it wasn’t a particularly good lunge since my arms became entangled
with the pig head vat and I found myself, the vat and all the fine
dinnerware crashing to the floor.

“Well, that’s to be expected from a boy I suppose,” mom said as she
picked up the overturned vat and jammed the blood slicked pig head back
into it as Geoff laughed and laughed.

“Not true,” dad said as he entered the kitchen, pulling the pipe from
his mouth and pointing its stem at me. “That’s what a MAN would do!”

COMING NEXT: A critical junction

Stephen Johnson

The idea of building a website with Bob came from Stephen in the days of message boards and chat rooms. We settled on the name and the rest is history. Retired since he hit the ripe age of 25, he spends most his time doing odd-jobs around the house and digging thru trash bins for "stuff that's still good." Stephen has contributed several short stories and hosted the "Lunatic Ravings" column since the beginning (1999). The idea of writing weekly columns came from Stephen before blogs or blog sites ever existed. So, I guess that makes him THE FIRST BLOGGER IN THE WORLD!!!

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