Meet William Shitz (part xii)- conclusion

After I shot Archibald for his supposed “dereliction of duty”, he managed to survive.

“Maybe we’ll just call it even,” the old butler said as he held his hand over the gushing shotgun wound. He placed his arm around my shoulder and I carried him back to the estate.

Darla regained consciousness after being choked out by her dying, naked father. “Is he finally dead?” she asked.

I nodded.

“About fucking time,” she replied, “let’s leave that crazy old bastard’s body out in the woods.”

Everyone agreed.

We all returned to the estate and shared a bottle of brandy. Archibald was looking a little pale due to the massive blood loss. Darla was happy to be home. “What the fuck was up with that arctic fox?” she asked.

I swirled around my glass while I pondered. “I guess it symbolized Mr. Shitz’s soul,” I said. “At his moment of death, the fox took up his spirit. Now Mr. Shitz is truly free; free from man-made constraints, free to live the life he always wanted. And more importantly, he took up my spiritual burdens by becoming the Angel of Death, and bestowing up me full humanity; the greatest gift he ever gave anyone. Or some shit like that. I dunno.”

“Okay good. Glad I wasn’t the only one that saw it,” Darla replied. “Because I was REALLY tripping balls out there.”

We all had a good laugh, including Archibald who continued bleeding all over the couch. Then it occurred to me:

“Did we get Allen Funt out of that hole?”

THE END

*****

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Meet William Shitz (part xi): tears in rain

“Pull the trigger, Jim Grey,” William said as rain poured down his face. “That’s why you’re here, after all.”

I stood frozen in an awe-inspired fear. The nude figure that stood before me transfigured into a dark angel. He was still man, but appeared to possess the powers of hell.

I was unable to pull the trigger.

But before I could react, William grabbed the barrel and slammed the butt of the shotgun to my face. Still conscious, I fell backwards into the muddied forest floor. I could taste something from the corner of my mouth; it was blood, assisted by the rain, streaming down from the wound on my forehead.

I had never bled before.

William now held the shotgun but threw it aside as he stood over me. His cock was inches from my face. Finally, the rush of panic kicked in and I sprinted aimlessly through the woods.

But the newly minted demonic angel was never far behind.

Then I reached an obstacle: a gully nearly 100 feet deep but a little over 10 feet wide. I had no time to think. I leapt across the crevice but my feet missed the landing on the other side.

My life was hanging perilously over the side of a cliff, fingers barely maintaining a grip on a wet, slippery rock jutting over the edge.

William looked down upon me struggling like a helpless creature. For the first time in his 70 years, he felt something he previously thought impossible: sympathy…compassion. Mr. Shitz then entirely hurdled the 10 foot gap and kneeled down before me.

“It’s quite a thing to live in fear, isn’t it?” he asked. “But that’s what it means to feel alive.”

Right as my fingers slipped, William grabbed my wrist and single-handedly pulled me to safety. As he dropped me on land, I impulsively wiggled backwards up to a tree, not knowing what to expect.

The arctic fox wandered up and sat obediently next to Mr. Shitz. The old, dying man gazed upon the animal and sat down before me.

“I’ve seen things you people wouldn’t believe,” William told me, “I’ve had shits like fire from a baconator in Hoboken. I watched Harry Reems and Arthur C. Clarke cheer as they masturbate. Now all of those moments will be lost, in time, like the career of David Blaine.”

A look of sorrow fell over William Shitz’s rain-covered face. “Time to die,” he uttered. And with those words, the clouds departed, and the fox trotted off into the sunset.

I laid there for what seemed like hours, pondering Mr. Shitz’s last moments. And in his waning hours, he bestowed upon me the gift of humanity; his last, and perhaps only, act of benevolence.

Then I heard a voice from across the gully. “I guess he’s through, eh?” it asked. It was Archibald, holding the shotgun.

“Finished,” I said.

Archibald tossed the shotgun to my side and started to walk away.

Then he paused.

“It’s too bad I won’t live,” he pondered aloud, “but then again, who does?”

TO BE CONTINUED…

Meet bill shits (part ix)

“He’s close,” Archibald said as he dug his fingers into the soil.

“How can you tell?” I asked.

“There’s a steaming pile of bloody shit right there,” he replied. I looked to the right and lo and behold, right there a reeking pile of human poop.

“It seems like you’ve done this many times before,” I said to him.

“Far too often.”

The four of us-Archibald, Darla, Allen Funt, and myself- trekked through the woods in search of a mentally deteriorating William Shitz. The sun was starting to set. A gentle gust was blowing in from the north; a storm was brewing. While we found hopeful signs that Mr. Shitz was still alive, we only covered a small portion of the 148,971 acres that he owned.

We decided to hunker down for the night. I put together a small fire in the middle of camp. As usual, Allen Funt couldn’t stop crying. “What are we gonna do when we find him?” he bawled.

“We’re gonna kill him,” Archibald replied as he gnawed on a piece of beef jerky.

“But why 😭😭😭😭?” Funt asked.

Archibald threw down his jerky and pulled out a small machete. He grabbed Allen and held him up to a tree with the blade up to his neck. “Because Mr. Shitz wishes it!” Archibald screamed.

“Gentlemen!” I interrupted. “We must maintain our composure! Let’s not make any decisions on Mr. Shitz until we find him!”

Archibald nodded and lowered the machete from Allen’s neck. “I know what I must do,” he said as he slid the blade back into its holster. Then he looked me in the eye. “Just don’t forget what YOU must do.”

Archie climbed back into his tent for the night. So did Allen Funt, as he soiled his pants for the second time that day. Darla and I sat by the fire.

“Why did your father love your mother?” I asked her.

“You really are some kind of fucking moron,” she said as she lowered the flask from her lips. “Why don’t you understand the simplest of human concepts? Are you some kind of alien?”

“In a way,” I replied as I took a swig from the same flask.

“What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

“You wouldn’t understand.”

“Probably not! But try me! Nobody, not even Archie, understands your sudden appearance in my father’s life.”

I took another big hit from the flask. “It is my duty,” I explained, “to guide your father into the next life. Or at least it was. You see, I was his guardian…but I fell out of heaven’s grace.”

“That’s the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard,” she replied. “So if you’re his disgraced guardian angel, then why are you bothering to fulfill your heavenly duties?”

“It’s a long story,” I said. “Redemption I suppose.”

“For what?”

“I…I guess I thought I could be human,” I stuttered. “But I never grasped human love. I was damned…damned to walk the earth; being neither human nor angel. I thought I could do one last thing…revealing to your father love and compassion in his final days; the kind he has never felt before. But then something strange happened.”

“What happened?” Darla asked longingly.

“I met you.”

Darla chuckled and shook her head. “You’re just another drunk weirdo that’s wandered into my life,” she said. Then she stood up and brushed the dirt and leaves from her jeans as the rain started sprinkling down. “But,” she continued, “you ain’t a bad fuck. So you’re welcome to join me in my tent. Just TRY to last longer than two minutes this time, mmk?”

TO BE CONTINUED…

Meet William shits (part vii)

“The arctic fox spends its days burrowing underground and avoiding contact with its own kind,” Mr. Shitz explained while staring down the sights of his shotgun. “It’s a solitary animal, much like myself. When it dies, it dies alone.”

Mr. Shitz pulled the trigger, unleashing the sound of hell. A helpless fox, only a few yards ahead, exploded into a million pieces, leaving only fur and guts strewn about.

After witnessing the appalling sight, Allen Funt started heaving at the foot of a tree. With a slight smile on his face, Mr. Shitz reloaded the shotgun. “Mr. Funt,” he said, “I do believe it’s your turn.”

“No thank you, sir,” Mr. Funt replied as tears streamed down his face, “I just don’t have it in me!”

“Goddamnit Allen!” Shitz yelled, “I will be dead in less than a year and you will be the CEO of a billion dollar company! Now if you want PTO, a livable wage, and health insurance, you will senselessly kill the last surviving member of this species into extinction!”

“I can’t!”

Shitz cocked the shotgun and directed towards Funt. “You will!” he declared.

“Oh god I’m gonna die!!!”

“Gentlemen,” I interrupted, “what’s the meaning of this? Mr. Shitz, please lower your weapon.”

Allen Funt pissed his pants as he had a stare down with Mr. Shitz. He also shit pants. After a few moments, William came to his senses and lowered the shotgun.

“My apologies, gentlemen,” Mr. Shitz said. “Mr. Funt, it was my hope that killing these animals would give you the courage to turn this shotgun on me. It was my dream to be executed by the man who would supplant me as CEO.”

William then looked out onto the field to admire the last surviving arctic fox. It was juxtaposed proudly against the endless horizon. “It’s just you and me!” William yelled to the animal, “we’re the last of our kind!”

He dropped the shotgun by his side then looked over to me. “Mr. Grey,” William said, “you are my protector; my guide across the river Styx. But I’m not ready to punch that ticket.”

Mr. Shitz started stripping off his clothes, down to his underwear. Finally his bare cock was flapping in the wind. It was cold that day.

“Jim Grey,” William continued, “if you want me dead, you’ll have to catch me first.”

Allen Funt and I then watched Mr. Shitz’s flabby asscheeks jiggle as he hopped like a jackrabbit into the tree line.

TO BE CONTINUED…

meet William Shitz (part vi)

“Don’t tell anyone that we fucked,” Darla said as she climbed naked out of bed. “I can’t think of anything more embarrassing than sleeping with the gardener.”

“I understand,” I replied.

“By the way,” she asked as she strapped on her brassiere, “how do you know my father has ass cancer?”

I began to stutter. “I, uh…it’s a long story.”

“Oh shit,” Darla said, “you’re not one of his long lost children are you?”

“Umm…no?”

“Oh thank god,” she exhaled, “I wouldn’t want THAT to happen again!”

“ANYWAYS…,” I replied, “Will you be returning to France anytime soon?”

“God no, I’d rather be the one that has ass cancer.”

“Then why’d you go there in the first place?”

Darla paused dressing for a moment. “I…I was dating Stromae.”

“But he’s Belgian.”

“Look, you’re not INTERPOL! I don’t have to tell you shit!” Darla exploded. She finished dressing and stormed out of the guest house.

I climbed out of bed when Archibald wondered in with breakfast on a tray. I was putting on my underwear.

“Exquisite dong, sir,” he said

“Thank you Archibald.”

“I trust you laid the pipe well last night.”

I tilted my head. “But Archibald, how did you know?”

“Now now,” he said, “Mr. Shitz pays me very well to know goings on within his estate. A flea can’t fart…as the expression goes…without me hearing it. So please, Mr. Grey, please handle Ms. Shitz delicately.”

“But Archie,” I replied, “it was just a one time thing. It…it won’t happen again.”

Archibald was skeptical. “Mr. Grey, what goes on between two adults is none of my business. But, I figured you to be of higher character.”

I nodded as I looked down to the floor.

“Now,” he continued, “when you finish breakfast, Mr. Shitz has requested that you join him on a hunting excursion. A rare breed of arctic fox has been brought to the estate, and Mr. Shitz would like to hunt it into extinction before cancer takes its toll. His associate, Mr. Allen Funt will be joining the party. Please be punctual.”

TO BE CONTINUED…

Meet Willem shits (part v?)

“Damn it Dad! When you spend six years in a French whorehouse as I have, you can smell shit from a mile away! And YOU, sir, are full of SHIT!” Darla yelled to her father.

“Darla, please,” Mr. Shitz responded, “I’m wearing adult diapers now. I assure you, there’s not an ounce of shit in me.”

“Well you can’t spend your remaining days toiling away in your study!”

William stood up from behind his desk and shoveled ice into a glass. He poured himself a tall drink of Jack Daniel’s whiskey. “Are you sure that’s a good idea in your condition?” Darla asked.

“Goddamnit Darla, can you stop pestering this dying man?!” he snapped.

This was the first time Darla heard her father drop his high-class pretensions. “So there’s a man underneath that mustache and ascot after all,” she said.

“Fuck you,” William replied as he pounded the whiskey. “I have nothing to be ashamed of. I raised you and I built a billion dollar company. Now leave me be.”

Darla laughed and stood up. “I’m home now,” she said, “you’re gonna have to face me eventually. Or else I will haunt you till your dying day.”

She stormed out of the study. Moments later, I walked in to find Mr. Shitz blind drunk. “Damn it, Jim, I can’t handle this right now,” he said to me.

“Yes sir, I understand,” I said. “Mind if I have a drink?”

He nodded.

I took a sip of the stout liquid and wondered how humans could stomach the stuff. “Sir,” I wondered aloud, “can you tell me about your wife?”

William swiveled his chair, back facing me. “What can I tell you about her that you don’t already know?” he asked.

“Well,” I continued, “I know that you loved her. Doesn’t that extend to your offspring as well? Especially since she’s a continuation of you and your wife?”

William swiveled back around. “Are you some kind of fucking moron?” he asked.

“In your ways, yes,” I said as I downed the whiskey.

William laughed. “Darla and me have an understanding,” he said, “care for another drink?”

“Please.”

The conversation trailed off after that. William eventually passed out on his leather-bound sofa in the study. But being new to this intoxicating experience, I ventured out to the garden, carrying the bottle with me.

The pond was the most beautiful spot. As dusk started to settle, katydids and frogs began their nightly symphonies. Across the way, I saw Darla lighting a cigarette.

I turned my head when she looked my way. I focused on the bottle as I pretended not to notice her. Then moments passed and she was out of sight.

The sun finally sunk below the horizon and the moonlight peered through the clouds. I thought I was alone.

“Mind if I have a swig?” a voice from behind me asked.

TO BE CONTINUED…

meet William shits (part iii)

“I don’t know sir,” Allen Funt said while bawling his eyes out. “I’m already stressed out enough. I don’t know if I can handle running this company while you tend to personal matters.”

“Damn it, Allen,” William retorted, “you’re a workhorse! The best one I’ve got! You should consider it an honor that I’ve selected you to run this factory!”

Allen buried his head in his hands. “I haven’t seen my kids in two years, sir,” he said. “Please, Mr. Shitz! Please loosen my load!”

William got up from behind his desk and plopped down next to Allen. “I’ll tell you what,” Mr. Shitz said as he patted him on the knee, “if you do a good job, I’ll give you a 1.5% raise on top of your $24,000 yearly salary. So please, Allen, find the strength to carry on.”

Allen nodded, blew his nose, and wiped away the tears. “Yes sir,” he said. Then got up and returned to work.

William sat back down behind his desk. I entered his office carrying a bouquet of lilies. “Good morning, Mr. Shitz,” I said, “I just cut these and figured you’d enjoy some.”

“Lilies?” William inquired. “Who the hell are you?”

“I’m your new gardener, Jim Grey,” I said, “If you recall, your wife wanted these planted at your estate before she passed. These were her favorite flowers. She wanted you to think of her every time you looked at them.”

William was dumbfounded. “How-how do you know this?”

I found a vase and placed the flowers inside of it. “Mr. Shitz, I know that you’re dying,” I said as I sat the vase on his desk. “Yet you feel that there’s too much to be done. And you’re right. You’ve always been a hard worker. But this might be the hardest thing you’ve had to face.”

“But…how do you know so much about me?”

I sat down in front of his desk. “Do you believe in the afterlife, Mr. Shitz?”

“I’ve- I’ve honestly never considered it.”

“Well I’ll just say that I’ve watched you your entire life,” I said, then smiled. “I guess you could call me your protector.”

“I see,” William replied as a growing look of concern fell over his face. “Then I suppose heaven’s been displeased with my performance.”

“Not entirely,” I said. “But there is an opportunity here to right the wrongs. It’s not too late, Mr. Shitz.”

“If you are who you say you are, Mr. Grey,” William said, “then what do you know about living as a mortal; to face the temptations of flesh and blood?”

“This is not just a chance at redemption for yourself, William,” I replied. “If we work together, we will both be back in heaven’s good graces.”

TO BE CONTINUED…

Meat william Shitz (part II)

“You got ass cancer, Bill,” the big, burly doctor said to Mr. Shitz. “It’s inoperable and you likely have a year to live.”

“My God,” William responded, “how is that possible?”

“Well, since your factory manufactures uranium weapons, a piece of radioactive material probably snuck up your asshole…I won’t ask how that happened…where it metastasized into terminal cancer. So I recommend you get your affairs in order. Now kindly get the fuck out of my office because I’ve got more patients coming in.”

Mr. Shitz returned to the front desk and paid the $450,000 doctor’s bill. “Would you like to schedule your next appointment?” the receptionist asked.

William thought for a moment. “No, I don’t think that will be necessary,” he said.

He wandered back out to the Rolls-Royce where Archibald was waiting on him with the door open. “I trust your appointment went well, sir,” the butler inquired.

“I’m afraid not Archibald,” William replied. “I have cancer of the asshole.”

The news hit Archibald like a ton of bricks. “Is that so, sir?” the butler asked as he tried to maintain his composure. “Can it be removed?”

“I’m afraid not. It appears that I have only a year to live!”

Mr. Shitz’s longtime butler was shattered inside. He had a million things to say but there was not enough time to say it; Archibald wasn’t ready to tear down the façade of professionalism that held his world together.

“Will…,” the butler began to ask as his voice cracked. “Will you be informing Darla of this news?”

“In time, Archibald,” William replied. “Right now, there’s too much to be done. I must get back to work.”

Mr. Shitz and the butler returned to Shitz Estate. William immediately departed to his study while Archibald remained outside on the brick-paved driveway. The butler sat down behind the wheel of the Rolls-Royce and began to cry.

That’s when he noticed me. I was trimming the hedges along the driveway.

“Who are you?” Archibald asked me as he wiped away tears.

“I’m the new gardener, sir,” I responded. “I started yesterday. Is everything alright?”

“Yes yes,” the butler said, “I have terrible allergies this time of year.”

“I see,” I said, “I’m Jim Grey. You must be Archibald Duke, Mr. Schitz’s longtime butler.”

“Yes I am,” he replied.

“I’ve heard a lot about you,” I told him. “Mr. Shitz thinks very highly of you. In fact, I’d say that he regards you as his closest friend. You’re probably the only person, besides me of course, that truly understands him.”

A bewildered look fell over Archibald’s face. “How would you know anything about Mr. Shitz?” he asked.

I smiled. “I’ll just say that he and I have been inseparable for a very, very long time.”

TO BE CONTINUED…

turning over a new leaf

For the month of September, I want to write something nice for a short story. I’m always writing about shitty people doing shitty things. How about this time, I write about good people trying to make the world a nicer place?

OR, How about I try to write an actual goddamn story and not shit post the entire thing?

Ya know, I enjoy fine art. In fact, I wish that I could’ve been a painter. Seriously.

I love Claude Monet. Impression, Sunrise might be the most profound thing I’ve ever seen. It really stirs the poetry in my heart. That being said, I just wish the fisherman was pissing over the edge of the boat. 🤷‍♂️

Or consider the serene scene in Georges Seurat’s A Sunday Afternoon on the Island of La Grande Jatte. Would it have killed Seurat to have added a dude taking a shit in the water?

C’mon!

Unfortunately, God didn’t bless me with the skill of the brush. Instead, he made me barely literate enough to string together sentences that are adequately coherent. But words are to a writer what color is the painter.

“What the hell are you talking about?” you might ask.

I’m trying to explain how I view the world. I always try to find the absurd and the vulgar, even where most find profundity.

It’s like that time when I got REALLY high and started thinking about 90s/00s Oscar-bait films. Specifically the westerns: Dances With Wolves, The Horse Whisperer, Legends of the Fall, Brokeback Mountain, etc. And then I created a trailer in my head: Brokeback Wolf Whisperer, which was directed by Ang Lee, written by Paul Haggis, and starring Kevin Coster, Robert Redford, Morgan Freeman, Jodie Foster, Brad Pitt, Richard Gere, George Clooney, Nicole Kidman, and Paul Reubens.

I don’t remember what it was about, but I think it was mostly Morgan Freeman talking sense into a wheelchair-bound Richard Gere:

“Why are you always whispering to wolves, Silas? They don’t understand a damn word you saying!”

“Because of my broken back, Ennis!!!”

So I want to do a story like that: something sappy, something heartwarming, something that’s barely above the quality of a Hallmark movie. That’s my challenge for the month of September.

And don’t do drugs 👍

****

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Jack hardcock: Christian detective (part viii?)

Sally’s trail went cold. But somewhere beneath that shit-crusted anus that is the Cleveland underworld, she was waiting on us, plotting her trap.

The FBI was generous enough to fish out Gregg’s Buick from the bottom of the Cuyahoga River. Despite being busted up on the side and immersed in water for hours, it started up like a charm.

“A Buick will never let you down, my daddy always told me,” Gregg said.

“Ain’t that the truth.”

We were passing back and forth a bottle of brandy while on stakeout outside of Progressive Field. Peter Tucker sent us there. He had his suspicions that Sally would strike there next.

“What kind of idiot would send us here?” I asked Gregg. “It’s not even baseball season!”

“That ain’t true boss,” he replied. “There’s a celebrity baseball game here tomorrow.”

The blood drained from my face. “Oh fuck!” I said. “Gregg, get to the nearest pay phone and page Pete’s beeper. We’re gonna need backup.”

I knew what Sally was thinking. Celebrities would be there. That means pedos, druggies, rapists, all-around scum of the earth. She would have all of her eggs in one basket.

So I readied my .38 and scaled the fence into the stadium. It was night. The security guards were sleeping.

Sally was there. I knew it with all my instinct. I kicked open doors and trashed the stadium but found no one.

Then I entered the equipment room.

Inside were countless bald eagles locked up in cages. Strapped to them were contraptions that, when activated, would release live hand grenades onto unsuspecting people below.

“What are you doing in here?!” a man shouted. It was the bird keeper.

I lifted the .38. “Where’s Sally?” I said.

The man raised his hands in the air. “Hey man! I know nothing about that. I was just paid to do a job!”

I clicked the gun. “I’ll give you three seconds to answer before I blow your brains out,” I replied.

The man pissed his pants and continued to cry that he knew nothin. I pulled the trigger and his brains splattered all over the wall. In hindsight, that was a bad decision because I should have took him in for questioning.

C’est la vie.

I walked back out to the Buick and looked for Gregg. Off in the distance, underneath a pay phone, I saw Gregg laying on the ground holding his guts in.

I ran up and tried to stop the bleeding.

“She got me good, Jack,” Gregg said.

“Shut the fuck up you stupid bastard,” I replied. “You’re not gonna die.”

With his last bit of strength, Gregg grabbed me by the back of the neck. “Jack, I want you to know,” he uttered, “I regret every moment.”

There I held Gregg Poppovich, local Cleveland gangster, dead in my arms.

Then the pay phone rang. “Jack! This is Pete Tucker,” the voice said, “I received an urgent page from Gregg!”

“Gregg’s dead,” I said to Pete. “Sally killed my boss and now she’s killed my best friend. But I have her right where I want her. She’s here, Pete. Vengeance is mine.”

TO BE CONTINUED…