Sleaze Land – Chapter 16 (London Bridges Falling Down) Part 2
“The mob is the most deadly of all critics in that it thinks critically only towards critical thinkers.” Criss Jami
Tiny stared down at the smaller form of the former Superman, and giggled.
You see, Tiny had played quite a lot of practical jokes in his time (technically speakin' that’s what had gotten him this particular gig), so he’d set for himself a rather high bar.
But looking down on the once powerful man, at what the large alien in the tiny lederhosen had turned him into, well… all Tiny could do, was giggle.
“He’s not gonna make it long in the arena in that contraption,” Tiny’s sorta-boss told him, in a very matter-of-fact kinda way.
“Him? You should see what I done to that Reynolds fella,” Tiny said, and then he giggled once again.
“Buttistah ain’t much better, neither. That poor man… hating on them kids after teaching nothing but violence his whole entire career… what did he expect?” Tiny asked, not really listening for an answer, as he was much too preoccupied with gluing tiny little mirrors to the former Superman’s bare skin.
“Think it’ll act as armor?” the boy-man asked, as he paced the small barn they were holed up in.
“Nah, too many gaps. But he sure will shine brighter than any star ever has,” the giant man with the terrible breath told his most loved and treasured friend. His only friend… really.
“I don’t expect any of them to last past their first round, to be fair, but I suppose we should start laying down odds with the contestants… you know… give ‘em some hope, and all… that there’s an actual chance they’re gonna make it.”
Tiny knew that’s exactly what all of these male celebrities had done to their female and darker-skinned contemporaries.
They’d pretended (their entire careers) to give them hope, with a glimmer of change here… and a glimmer of change there…
But it had always been just smoke and mirrors.
Especially with men like this here phony Superman, who had used his rays of hope and sunshine to sell child slave labor chocolate (laced with damagin’ chemicals no-less) to all the children he pretended to… you know... hero for.
It was a damn shame, really. Superman having taken such a dark and seedy turn right in front of everyone’s eyes, and yet so very few even knew it. Knew the depths of the man’s depravity.
“What’s with his nipples?” the man still dressed in the kerchief dress asked, as he pointed to the man’s elongated and very sore looking nipples.
“Oh… you’ll see,” Tiny said, with a tiny little giggle.
“But right now we gotta go burn them bitches.”
“Bitches? What bitches?” the Harry Styles look-alike asked, as there weren’t a lot of women on this particular island.
“Them Burning Witches bitches,” Tiny told him, as he picked up a rather large vat of kerosene.
“Headquarters gave me the okay to begin the ceremony with them fellas which thought the genocide of millions of women and girls by truly terrible means was a good name fer their record label.”
The harry man in the tiny dress (and no undies), just nodded his head. As he too had been called a witch, and a bitch a time or two… and his mama for sure had been a spell caster.
So… the Dorothy-dress-alike... well, he knew.
Ten minutes later and the duo stood looking up at a super-large bonfire that had yet to be lit.
In the center stood two spindly and insignificant males, who were tied naked to the central pillar.
“What happened to their faces?” the boyish-man with the manish-sense-of-humor asked of his only friend and cohort.
Again, Tiny giggled, and then he simply said, “Oh… I changed the name on all of their stuff to ‘Gassing Jews’ a few nights back. Guess the residents of their mostly Jewish neighborhood didn’t see it as… as entertaining.”
“Oooo that’s good!”
“That one there, got his whole body tattooed with pig shit,” Tiny said, pointing to the man the daintily-dressed-man had thought was covered in body hair.
“And that one... has a snake up his arse. See him squirm?”
Both men stood and stared up at the miserable duo.
“That Fire Witch is gonna fry em tonight on live TV, sos the rest of the world will know… witches are no longer the acceptable victims. Witches… matter too.”
The boy in the dress looked up at the alien who only looked like a man and raised a single eyebrow.
“Well… they do!”
© Raena Exe 2022
*Inspired by life.
*All characters, places, and events are completely fictional.
*All rights reserved
“No matter what era we're in, we need hope.”
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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