Sleaze Land – Chapter 8 (Loki’s Revenge) Part 2
“I swear, the reason for full moons is so the gods can more clearly see the mischief they create.” Michael J. Sullivan
Emma looked down, once again, on the aging man who looked and acted much-too-much like a High School drama student who always got the lead in the school play.
And then she looked over to the rather flabby naked man sitting atop a giant white horse, at his bulbous nose and floppy ears and sagging jowls, and sighed. If only I had better clay to work with…she thought, before she smiled into the nearest camera.
“I guess that leaves us with just handing out the sentences to our first round of offenders, our Internet offenders, and for that I’ll leave this to the experts,” she said as she waved a hand in the general direction of the husband-and-wife team, Adam and Sam Paquin.
“Thank you, Emma, for that wonderful intro,” Adam said, in her normally bright and cheerfully sarcastic tone, which always left everyone feeling like they couldn't really trust her.
Her husband, however, just gave a limp smile, because he’d always been cursed with an ample amount of common sense.
“As our audience can probably tell, we’ve taken the liberty of prepping a few of our punishments ahead of time, so that our audience can better understand the lengths to which we will go to, in order to restore balance within our society,” Adam said, as she slowly strode over to the still bound and gagged Edwin Norton.
And then she slowly and very deliberately raked her short, pale fingers through the man’s ever-thinning hair.
“But some… we’ll get to in a bit,” she said, smiling, just like she was trying to sell hundred-dollar blow jobs in the men’s toilet at Caesar’s.
“Take this fine gentleman, for example,” Sam piped in then, as he snarled at his wife’s lingering attentions on the celeb with the much higher-status than him.
“Jay Bateman, a man who thought he could snooze right through not only the black civil rights movement, and the female civil rights movement, and the LGBT civil rights movement, as well as two pandemics,” he said, as he waved a hand towards the man clad only in a very long blonde wig, who was sitting atop a very large white horse.
“But of course, he did speak up… when the agenda to do so suited him… with his High Horse application of social pressure, to focus only on the things he felt paramount,” Adam quickly said, smoothly taking back the lead from her always over-reaching husband.
“Of course, Jay did speak up, every now and again, to tell all us sheep how to think. But tell me… Jay, didn’t it ever bother you how all your money was coming from the same organizations that were making your standard of life impossible for everyone who didn’t look, or speak, or act just like you? Didn’t it bother you at all, Jay?” she asked, as the camera came in even closer, focusing hard on his sporadic chest hair and scrawny legs, which everyone could easily tell had never actually gripped a horse before. Especially not bareback.
But the terrified looking man, who strangely enough also closely resembled a boy that would never in his lifetime grow up, just smiled down on the feisty blond, who just smiled and smiled as if this had all been her idea.
“Tell me, Jay” her husband began then, almost pushing his wife out of the way, “why didn’t you ever bother to ‘like’ anything your fans posted on your social media? I mean, you never liked anything at all - except from that media-twisting platform designed to skew truth into useable soundbites for the elite? Why didn’t your fans ever rate a ‘like’? Are you some sort of Topher Evans, or something?” the man asked, in a voice that was growing more and more dictatorial by the syllable.
And at that there was robust round of laughter from the audience, as they had all for themselves witnessed Topher Evan's extreme fall from grace, when the extent of his collusion with political extremists had become known.
The tip-off, the informant for the Sunset Tribune had said, had been how terrified Topher Evans had become. So terrified in fact, he eventually couldn't do or say anything that wasn't scripted before-hand by his puppeteers; all high-powered men living in Austria.
But the man on top of the horse remained silent, just like his social media accounts, after he’d been tipped off that he’d been targeted for inspection.
Because the man was not an idiot. He knew that silence had kept him a millionaire during the worst financial times in history, and if anything could save him now, he figured, it would be more of the same.
But the crowd had come prepared, and so they all booed and jeered and held up their signs. All kinds of signs that ranged from general disapproval of the man and his lack of action, to signs that suggested some rather extreme forms of punishment.
Because the truth is, they’d all seen enough silence from men just like Jay, men who’d spent the past forty years benefitting from a form of mental manipulation that placed immoral men (just like Jay Bateman) into gold castles, and then left almost everyone else without their basic health needs met.
“So, as you can see,” Adam piped in then, once again displacing her very average looking husband.
“Jay here, has been sentenced for his indifference and elitism, with every day having to ride naked through the streets of Sleaze Land, warning any and all, of the perils of silence, and of unreasonable taxes… which he himself avoided all these long years by playing ball with... the right men,” the small-breasted woman with the enormous dick-energy said, as she swatted the large horse on the rump, causing it to stride out across the enormous stage.
The man’s flab jiggled in-step with the horse's cantor.
Which caused uproarious laughter from a crowd that had literally grown up on the man’s smugness, and had grown well-accustomed to his ridiculous antics.
But this was no antic he’d ever planned, or wished for, nor wanted in any way. But the truth was… they were hanging media people almost daily now, as the imminent death toll of the second pandemic was slowly being understood.
And so, Jay Bateman knew… he’d made this bed, and if riding through a made-up prison island for a week or two naked on a horse meant he could keep his money and his life, well… the man decided right then and there, he was probably one of the luckier ones.
No doubt because I kept silent, he thought acerbically, as he made his way across the stage.
“Next, we have our Internet lovers. Our suave Casanova’s, who targeted their fans like prey,” Adam said, suddenly taking back control, as she’d specifically worked extra hard practicing this next bit.
“Here now, we have the former hero from the ‘Expansive Verse’, and the lead actor from ‘Raised on Wolves’, and the director from ‘Hear our Young Men’,” she said, as she waved her arm across an entire row of men who’d been changed together.
“These fine men will be every day rowing the circumference of the island, clockwise until noon, and then counter-clockwise until sunset,” she said, with a flip of her greasy blonde hair.
“Cuz, quite honestly, we couldn’t think of a better application of their tireless efforts to get laid, than by putting them in a boat that simply goes nowhere. Which is what they should have considered before texting seventeen-year-olds about their periods.” Sam said, this time with a degree of remorse for some of the men who’d been selected for this particular punishment. Especially since he’d worked with half of them.
“And here, we have our heroes, like Mack Ruffalo who literally tried to convince the world he was attempting to save its sorry ass, all while taking money from the very same people who were ruining it. Just as so many of our perpetrators today have done,” he went on, as his wife circled the large group of men clad only in daisy dukes, flip-flops, and an over-abundance of hair gel, much of which had been used quite liberally on their chests.
“Don’t forget to mention our dick pic senders, AKA our Internet Flashers,” Adam said, as she joyfully skipped back over to where her husband was standing next to the seated and still bound-and-gagged Edwin Norton.
With a bounce, she plopped her tiny but firm ass down on the man’s boney lap, and then immediately winced at its sharpness.
“Ohhhh,” she said, cooing into her mouthpiece, “what are we going to do to them?”
“Oh, you’re gonna love this, darling,” Sam told his wife, as he looked down on her shining eyes and wondered how he could just keep her there for good, a good foot beneath him, always gazing up to him with those adoring eyes.
But, then he sighed, because if Sam knew anything it was that his materialistic wife was fickle, and loved to be absolutely nothing to nobody – lest anyone ever come to expect anything from her – ever again.
So, he just smiled at the woman and played along, which basically summed up their entire marriage in one go.
“We’re going to tie them in the center of Sleaze Land for two hours a day, to the Posts of Shame, where their genitalia will be slathered with peanut butter and left exposed to the wildlife of the island.
“Oooohhh,” his wife squealed. I love it! And it reminds me… I absolutely can’t wait to see what they do with that Senator from Florida. Woot! Woot!”
© Raena Exe 2021
*Inspired by life.
*All characters, places, and events are completely fictional.
*All rights reserved.
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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