Sleaze Land – Chapter 11 (Humpty’s Fall) Part 1
“Be bad, but at least don't be a liar, a deceiver!” Leo Tolstoy
“Could somebody please get this man a tissue. Please,” the large burly man in the teeny tiny lederhosen begged, as he made a herculean attempt at not barfing.
“You couldn’t wait, man?” another one of the passengers asked of the tall, dark-haired former A-lister.
But the former A-lister just stood there, waiting for his turn to disembark the large pontoon boat, staring blankly at the wad of cum on his fingers.
“Dude, don’t you even dare think about wiping that on someone else,” the lederhosen wearing man said in a huff, after he noticed the bulky man with the awkward back tattoo looking around, as if for a place to disembark his wad.
“Oh my god,” the man who was dressed as Dorothy from the Wizard of Oz said, with such amusement everyone else within earshot smiled too. For such was his infectious nature.
“You just had to live up to your nickname before we even made landfall, didn’t you, you sick fucking bastard? Oh my god. Is it the drugs? The years and years of hard drugs? Or was it the repeated withdrawals from alcohol? Cuz damn, you’re one seriously fucked up dude. You know that?” the boyish man who looked an awful lot like Harry Styles’ long-lost half-brother said, as he dropped a rag into the man’s calloused hands.
But the man just wiped his fingers, as if he’d just been offered a hot towel at the Ritz, and then tried to hand it back to the boatman.
“Oh, fuck no!” the boyish man with the teeny tiny muscles said, as be bashed the much larger man’s hand away, which caused the tainted rag to fall overboard.
“Keep it moving, folks,” Tiny said then, in his thick South African accent, as he pushed a taller blonde man out of his way.
“Keep it moving, we don’t have all day. Not much light here on this island and you don’t want to be caught outside after dark,” he bellowed, as he grabbed some of the larger pieces of luggage and tossed them ashore as if they were no heavier than a feather.
“Keep it moving, folks. We didn’t script any death scenes for this evening, and I’m too fucking tired to clean up after any of you lot,” he went on loudly, so that the two dozen men who were slowly shuffling off of the craft could hear.
“Hey!” the dark-haired man everyone called Squeege hollered then, as he watched the burly man toss his Gucci bag ashore, as if it hadn’t cost him a whole week’s worth of mailbox money.
“Hay is for horses. And dirty little boys,” the man chuckled under his breath, as he helped the rather portly Squeege off of the boat with a booted foot to his back.
“Hey!” Squeege yelped, as he did a belly-flop onto the wooden dock.
“Neener neener neener neener neener neener, I’m Batman!” the large burly man in the teeny tiny lederhosen hollered loudly, for all, and any, to hear.
Which of course made the hackles on Ackles rise, to an alarming degree. Still… he had seen the large man toss those bags ashore as if they had weighed almost nothing, and so the former MC decided holding his tongue would probably be for the best.
At least until he could find whomever was really running this island.
But he’d no more gotten ashore before the next bit of devastation hit.
“What the fuck, man! My phone doesn’t work,” Squeege cried into Dorothy’s face, just as the man was passing him by, on the narrow walk-way that led up to the boathouse.
But the small man who looked like a male pop-singer wearing lipstick, just turned and smiled, and then backhanded the whiny bitch, just like he’d always wanted to do.
“Hey,” a chubby blonde with a rich Australian accent said, as he scratched mindlessly at this recently waxed chest, “my phone don’t work neither. And I know I charged it before I left.”
“Mine doesn’t work either.”
“What the fuck, man. My tablet doesn’t work. How am I supposed to keep in contact with my bookie? I mean, my wife. My... ex-wife, about her kids…” Squeege demanded, all in a quick succession of laundry-list lies.
But the Harry Styles look-a-like just groaned, and then grabbed the small electronic device from the large A-lister’s hand, and then he chucked it into the nearest bin.
“Look, you fucking idiots. You’ve all been infected with Quad 9, a neurovirus… or some-such-thing, that makes you all kill any and all electronic device that you touch. Be it cell-phone, tablet, tv, remote control, automobile, or coffee maker… if it has a capacitor of any kind whatsoever, you will blow it and kill the device. Is this understood?”
A dark cloud suddenly formed around the mulling crowd of about twenty-five new islanders. But neither Tiny nor his teeny partner seemed the slightest bit concerned.
“Now… we have gone ahead and populated this island with dozens of genetically modified Komodo dragons. Please understand, these are a smaller, faster, nocturnal version of the creature... that hunts via scent alone. So, you should all be aware, anyone remaining outside of their cabins at night will most likely get bitten, by at least one of these highly venomous critters. And even the smallest bite is what you call… lethal. Therefore, y’all should probably note that you have exactly six minutes before sunset, and also… please note, there is no outdoor lighting anywhere on this island. Therefore, I suggest you all get moving NOW!.”
“But, where are we going?” the slow-witted, but heavily instinctual Clide asked. As living had always been one of his top priorities.
“Your cabin number is tattooed on your ass,” the smiling Tiny bellowed loudly and proudly, as if he’d been the one to come up with the idea.
“So, you gotta find yourself a buddy, one that you can trust to read you your actual cabin number. And now, you all have less than five minutes.”
Tiny’s face was a bright orb of happiness, as he had wagered a large sum of money that the dragons would claim at least one victim their very first night on the island.
“Come along, Tiny. We can watch from our tower,” the young man with the bright but lethal looking eyes told his much larger partner, who always seemed to keep the young man within his admiring gaze.
“What’s with those two?” Squeege asked a man standing next to him, as he watched the odd pair climb a wooden ladder to what appeared to be the only guard tower on the small island.
“Shit, you really are as dumb as you look, ain’t you?” the irritated Jane asked, before he dropped his pants and asked the man to read him his cabin number.
With a smile, the big burly man with the horrendous breath and the super sticky fingers simply replied, “number forty-two”.
“Thanks, now, drop yours. I only got a second before I’m running for my cabin.”
And a moment later everyone on the island was running for their cabins.
Or, at least towards what they hoped like hell was their cabin.
“There's a lot of crazy, weird people out there. It's an ugly world.” Ben Affleck
© Raena Exe 2021
*Inspired by life.
*All characters, places, and events are completely fictional.
*All rights reserved.
Enter a story title, chapter number, or even a keyword to search my entire library.
The year is 2024, and after two pandemics and a flood, the Moral Majority has decided to hold a trial. A trial to demonstrate to the world the corrosive nature of unregulated capitalism. Only this trial is being run by those who simply cannot see past the ways of their patriarchal