Uncut

27 September 2001
George is pulling rank.

By the time that the second round of police enforcement, including Sgt. Wethers had entered the room, many of the first round had left it and were throwing up outside. The scene that confronted the Sergeant was not a pretty one, and the young officer felt a strip of bile rising up in his throat as he surveyed the chaos around him.

Sgt. Wethers's first thought was how much of the room was coated, sprayed with blood. But the gaudy rust-red splashes were a welcome distraction from the horrific tableaux that took up most of the outward facing side of the building. At first it was difficult to determine what was body and what was not, but moving closer the crude piles of flesh and gore separated into distinct body parts. The most distinct of all, of course, were the human heads of varying race, gender and age which were liberally scattered around the carnage. The smell of cooked flesh pervaded all.

Swallowing to control his nausea, Sgt. Wethers recorded what he saw into his microtape recorder. At closer inspection there were two distinct groups of corpses. The first appeared to be relatively intact - the reason for their initial appearance of dismemberment was that they had several of the heads laid about their persons. The second group all appeared to be female, but it was hard to tell as several parts of their anatomy were missing. Leaning in closer, Sgt. Wethers saw the teeth marks and realized that the missing body parts had been eaten. Unable to control his flipping diaphragm any further he ran out of the room and vomited copiously in the corridor.

"That help your stomach kid?". Sgt Wethers looked up to see his boss, Detective James leaning over him with an expression combining amusement, concern and anger. He nodded. The detective went on. "Learnt a few years back, not least being don't have breakfast if you're a-going to be investigating some punko alien gig first thing. Save it for tea, if you can manage anything then."

Sgt. Wethers stood up shakily. "Aliens? This don't seem their style of thing. And don't they have a duty to inform us if they're messin' in human affairs?". His boss nodded grimly. "Geneva Convention 2.1 kid, and yes they do. But I'm a-thinking that they might have been just a touch embarrassed about what they were trying to synthesise here. You ready to go back in there?".

The older man lead the younger by the arm back into the room, where the stench of blood and gore seemed to have intensified. "You see anything different about this gig, kid?". Shaking and visibly sweating, Sgt. Wethers forced himself to review the scene again. "The body count?" he said shakily. "It's high - much higher than I thought it would be for aliens. En't they meant to be peaceful sorts?"

"More bodies than you'd expect but, no, that's not what I was thinking. See those camaras?" the detective replied. For the first time since entering the gore-pit the sergeant saw a collection of large film cameras, tripods and clapperboards opposite the corpses, clearly hurridly abandoned. "They were filming? For their own kicks? Damn sicko aliens" spat the young man. His superior shook his head sadly.

"Not for theirs - for ours. As ever, kid, I think they were just trying to help us, and as ever, they screwed up. Just like that playground in Toxteth. And don't think the press will get hold of this - this en't the type of thing that young ladies will want to read about over breakfast. This looks worse for us than for them." Detective James led the young man away from the scene and back out into the corridor. "Get a look at this and you'll see what I mean. Found it by the cameras. Don't let that Marie of yours get a glimpse though, else she'll wonder what your game is. See you back at HQ."

As his boss wandered away Sgt. Wethers looked at the small box in his hand, gaudily decorated.

OFFICE PARTY VI! The hottest chicks, the wildest action! See secretary Debbie give boss Rick head like he's never known it! Marvel as saucy Sue and juicy Jessie eat each other out like they deserve! All sizzling-action guaranteed!

Current clown:

18 December 2003. George writes: This List

Most recent ten:

15 December 2003. Jamie writes: Seven Songs
11 December 2003. Dan writes: Spinning Jenny
8 December 2003. Victor writes: Rock Opera
4 December 2003. Matt writes: The Mirrored Spheres of Patagonia
1 December 2003. George writes: Charm
27 November 2003. James writes: On Boxing
24 November 2003. Jamie writes: El Matador del Amor; Or, the Man who Killed Love
20 November 2003. Dan writes: Rights Management
17 November 2003. Victor writes: Walking on Yellow
13 November 2003. Matt writes: Disintermediation
(And alas we lost Neil, who last wrote Cockfosters)

Also by this clown:

1 December 2003. George writes: Charm
10 November 2003. George writes: Dead beat
20 October 2003. George writes: Shortening
29 September 2003. George writes: Manhattanites are Cleavage-Starved
11 September 2003. George writes: How to Bring Us in Line With the Future
18 August 2003. George writes: Slashtastic
28 July 2003. George writes: Underground Independent Small Press Comic Fight Club
7 July 2003. George writes: Careering
16 June 2003. George writes: Choose your own adventure
26 May 2003. George writes: Revelations
8 May 2003. George writes: Picture Perfect
14 April 2003. George writes: MetaPirate
24 March 2003. George writes: Preparation X
3 March 2003. George writes: F of x
13 February 2003. George writes: Three is the magic number
23 January 2003. George writes: Recorded Delivery
30 December 2002. George writes: Meat Bingo or Death
12 December 2002. George writes: Royal Inquisitor
21 November 2002. George writes: This Clown is Cancelled
28 October 2002. George writes: Shopping with God
3 October 2002. George writes: SaferSpoony
16 September 2002. George writes: Supercalanthropomorphicexpealidocious
26 August 2002. George writes: The deformed animal menagerie
5 August 2002. George writes: Plaice that Funky Music, Whitebait
15 July 2002. George writes: Safe as Houses
24 June 2002. George writes: Two Lions (DB/DS)
30 May 2002. George writes: Series 8
9 May 2002. George writes: Market Stall
11 April 2002. George writes: I, the Enlargened, Crunchy Product
18 March 2002. George writes: Cakexterminator
21 February 2002. George writes: Fiction Suit
28 January 2002. George writes: Spunk Gunk
31 December 2001. George writes: Fairytale of New Pork
10 December 2001. George writes: Circular
15 November 2001. George writes: A Man With No Ass Is No Man At All
22 October 2001. George writes: One Night in Heaven
27 September 2001. George writes: Uncut
3 September 2001. George writes: Porn Pants
9 August 2001. George writes: Names of the Roses
19 July 2001. George writes: No Fun Here
21 June 2001. George writes: All Your Elections are Belong to Us
28 May 2001. George writes: Pierced as Fuck
3 May 2001. George writes: My Lovely Horse
9 April 2001. George writes: Eight Hundred and Forty-Three
12 March 2001. George writes: Kill 'Em All
19 February 2001. George writes: Formal
25 January 2001. George writes: Sticks and stones
11 January 2001. George writes: A Thought on Morality
11 December 2000. George writes: You can't put that into a soufflé
13 November 2000. George writes: Lyrical Genius
19 October 2000. George writes: Wet wet wet wet wet
25 September 2000. George writes: Built on an Indian burial ground
31 August 2000. George writes: This Way
31 July 2000. George writes: Runt of the Litter

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