Gunther Takes A Nap MW2017

A warm, gentle zephyr blew across the desert floor despite the late hour, a testament to the blistering temperature earlier in the day. The stars blazed above in a jeweled canopy, their luminescence barely challenged by the soft glow of the Vegas strip miles in the distance. Somewhere in the middle distance a coyote cried out and was answered by another.

Beneath the starry sky three men, each holding a shovel, stood facing a tarp-draped object. The one on the right was a balding, burly chain smoker who wore a mustard-stained t-shirt, beige cargo shorts and scuffed, rose-colored patent leather Louboutins with kitten heels. The second, on the left, was tall and gaunt. He wore a cheap dark suit that could have been taken from an undertaker and may or may not still have smelled of formaldehyde. His bowler hat shadowed his face but even without it his features always seemed hazy and indistinct, if anything he was the Slender Man made real. The third wore a loud, wide-lapeled silk shirt that would have been in style 40 years ago, but only if he wore it in the land of the blind. His fedora was pulled down tightly to cover his shifty and lascivious eyes, he looked like a real creeper who would probably violate his parole if he went anywhere near an elementary school.

A dust streaked, white, window-less van was parked behind them, the side panel door open, drag marks leading to where they stood. ‘Pokémons inside!’ it shouted in hot red spray paint across the side. The van, just like its owners, had seen better days. The wind kicked up suddenly and peeled back the tarp in front of them exposing the corpse of a leather-clad male, his head a bloody, beaten pulp.

“How does this keep happening?” asked the Creeper incredulously.

“How does what keep happening?” replied Heels testily.

“You know what he’s talking about, idiot…” said Slender Man as he pointed a pencil-like finger at the dead guy laying before them, “that!”

“It was an accident!” squealed Heels, “I didn’t mean to do it!”

Slender and Creeper exchanged glances and then both turned to Heels. “You bashed his head in with a hammer!” exclaimed Slender, “That wasn’t exactly ‘accidental’.”

“You can’t keep braining the interns,” admonished Creeper, “you tore into him harder than that bag of In and Out Animal Style burgers you snarfed down on the way out here.”

“He had it coming,” Heels said as he flicked his cigarette butt at the body with great disdain and immediately lit another.

“How did he ‘have it coming’?” asked Creeper.

“He bought me Parliaments…” he replied, holding up the box for proof. Both Slender and Creeper nodded in semi-agreement while Heels puffed away methodically on his ever-present cigarette, “…and he put ice in my bourbon.”

“What!?” cried Slender in Creeper in unified horror.

“Yeah, I kinda lost it at that point.”

“That dirty son-of-a-bitch…” snarled Creeper who then wound up his shovel and delivered a viscious double overhand strike to the lifeless corpse’s already mashed noggin while Slender kicked the remains solidly in the ass with his fiendishly-pointed boots.

“Somethings are not forgivable, bub,” stated Slender rhetorically to the corpse and then turned to Heels, “But you can’t just go to town with a framing hammer every time an intern screws up. Maybe use the hose or the pliers next time, let them learn from their mistakes. They’re getting harder to find these days, damn H-1B visa limitations.”

“This isn’t the first time we had to dig a hole out here,” said Heels to Slender accusatorily, “I distinctly recall tossing a showgirl in the ground last weekend.”

Slender wheeled on Heels and hissed, “She put the tomato under the lettuce.”

“Makes for a soggy sammy,” Creeper said matter-of-factly.

Heels balled his fists and stomped one of his Louboutins petulantly, “You always take his side!”

“Well, most of the time he is right.”

“Oh, yeah, well we’d be able to afford better interns if we don’t blow a chunk of our cash on your dopey business ideas, ‘Kill Room Pizza’. Brilliant idea.”

“Who knew people wouldn’t want to Saran wrap their kids while eating pizza?” said Creeper, “It worked for that character in DC.”

“We took a bath on that one,” said Heels and tossed another cigarette on their former intern.

“If we took a bath with you we’d only need a glass of water to fill up the tub,” snarked Slender to Heels.

“Har, har,” Heels then dug around in his short pockets and extracted a semi-crushed Butterfinger Bar which he tore open with his nicotine-stained teeth and inhaled in two ravenous bites. “You make it sound like I’m the only one with ‘unusual habits’. Oh, and that stupid Pokémon thing. We haven’t sold one pack of those cards we got on close out, another pile of cash down the drain,” and then gestured to the van for emphasis, “maybe we need better marketing.”

“Free puppies?” said Slender, his voice raising in what passed for hope amongst the three degenerates.

“That could work,” said Creeper, “we have some extra spray paint left to add this to the van.”

“People like puppies,” Heels said almost excitedly.

“Kids like puppies,” added Creeper a bit too over enthusiastically.

“Right,” agreed the other two.

A dream like look came over their faces where each imagined the easy cash they would haul in with their latest scheme. Slender pictured himself buying a new suit, maybe Armani, and it certainly wouldn’t bear the lingering aroma of embalming fluid. Creeper would use his cash to get his record expunged and hopefully off that registry. Heels was the easiest, he dreamt of wrecking the buffet at the Crazy Horse II and then making it rain in the champagne room. Vegas was supposed to be where all of their inner most desires were met but it was turning out to be more of a challenge then they expected. Situations like the present one were all-to-frequent hurdles they had to surmount. The coyotes howled again which drew them out of their respective contemplative states and back to the present. As if rising from a stupor they surveyed Heel’s earlier carnage when Slender said they should start digging.

“This sad German bastard isn’t going to plant himself.”

“’Sad German Bastard’ is kinda triple redundant,” stated Creeper and they all agreed.

“The do make the best interns though,” volunteered Heels, “they’re sooo subservient.”

They silently set to digging, the dessert sand piling up next to them as the hole grew. As the makeshift grave neared completion Creeper felt they should come up with some sort of alibi.

“What if we tell people we were never in Vegas and don’t ever stay at the Bellagio?” Heels offered.

Slender nodded his head in agreement and then affirmed that the logic was unassailable.

“I’d buy that,” added Creeper.

They flopped the corpse in and began to refill the hole. The sand covering up another of their catastrophic blunders. How many were out here? All three were secretly surprised they didn’t accidentally dig up one of their previous ‘mistakes’.

“You know who’s gonna be pissed about this, right?” Slender queried the other two.

“Dammit,” said Creeper, “we’re already on her bad side.”

“She has a good side?” said Heels and they all got a good laugh from that.

“We’ll have to go and tell her in person,” Slender advised, “she absolutely hates getting bad news on the phone. She was the one that signed off on the visa so our soon-to-be-interred friend here could come over and intern.”

“Fine,” said Heels and looked wistfully down at his shoes, which, in reality, weren’t his shoes, “maybe I’ll grab a new pair of kicks while I’m there, these have seen better days.”

“Dude,” said Slender, “stay out of her closet, she’s going to be mad enough as it is, rumor has it she has an unflattering nickname for us already, ‘The Three Morons’ or something like that.”

“How unappealing,” opined Heels and tossed a mound of sand into the nearly filled hole.

Creeper smiled his most depraved of smiles. “I have some of that California plonk she likes to swill, I’ll give her a bottle or two before we tell her.”

“’Mommy’s Special Grape Juice’,” Slender smirked and nodded his head.

“You want to get her drunk?” Heels inquired disbelievingly, “I can barely understand that accent when she’s sober, which isn’t often anyway.”

“I’m a little less scared of her when she’s drunk,” remarked Slender and they all agreed, the Queen of Vegas was certainly less frightening when she was deep in her cups.

“Hold up!” exclaimed Creeper and ran off towards the van. He rummaged around and then returned with a plastic supermarket bag from which he fished three pig masks that he held up and coached, “We never wore these,” then tossed them into the hole.

“Right,” said the other two and topped off the rest of the grave.

“Done,” said Slender, “let’s go do what we gotta do.”

“Can we stop and grab a snack on the way back?” asked a famished Heels.

“Jesus Christ on his cross, you’re always hungry,” said Creeper.

“This wore me out, I think I have low blood sugar.” Which caused Slender to throw him a quixotic glance.

“Fine,” continued Creeper, “but only if I pick.”

“Works for me,” said Slender, “watcha in the mood for?”

“Pizza.”

“Of course,” replied the other two.

They tossed their shovels into the van and then climbed aboard, the vehicle creaking as they piled into the dilapidated hulk. It coughed to life with a blast of smoke and then lurched forward with a sputter as the headlights came on to illuminate their return to their adopted home town, it’s famous slogan once again becoming reality for our three ne’er-do-wells.

THE END (Maybe)

a reply to: AugustusMasonicus

A dramatic piece of FICTION, isn't it.

FICTIONAL work is so much fun to read since IT ISN'T REAL.


(Heels silently sweated as he wrote that)






Well done!

a reply to: DBCowboy


This thread never happened, not even today about 10 minutes ago.

originally posted by: AugustusMasonicus
a reply to: DBCowboy


This thread never happened, not even today about 10 minutes ago.

I never even read it when I was sitting in a hotel room.

that was bad ass man
creeper and slender.....perfect
parliaments and kill room pizza.....perfect

dont end it there
give us more creeper



pig masks

a reply to: AugustusMasonicus

A TRIUMPH of literary fiction!
So realistic, I almost felt I was actually there.

...which I wasn't.

originally posted by: DBCowboy
I never even read it when I was sitting in a hotel room.

Good, because I didn't see you in the Bellagio on the way to your hotel room.

originally posted by: IAMTAT
A TRIUMPH of literary fiction!
So realistic, I almost felt I was actually there.

...which I wasn't.

Of course you weren't, and we no longer have the pig masks that proved you were.

originally posted by: TinySickTears
that was bad ass man
creeper and slender.....perfect
parliaments and kill room pizza.....perfect

dont end it there
give us more creeper

pig masks

Glad you liked it. Someone had to tell those guy's stories, but it wasn't me.

"you bashed his head with a hammer"

That made me Laugh out loud..

originally posted by: notsure1

"you bashed his head with a hammer"

That made me Laugh out loud..

As it should.

If DB was ever handed a bourbon with ice, which he wasn't, not even last week, on Tuesday, inside the Venetian, he would have smashed that person's coconut in with a 32oz hammer.

The evil Aussie lush 'Queen of Vegas' character was particularly realistic.
It's almost as if you were describing an actual person.

Is it bad (or, more importantly, does it make me in any way complicit) if I laugh while and after reading this?

LOL. Well done. Creeper.

originally posted by: IAMTAT

The evil Aussie lush 'Queen of Vegas' character was particularly realistic.
It's almost as if you were describing an actual person.

Right? But I'm not.

Seriously. Don't tell her.

originally posted by: zosimov

Is it bad (or, more importantly, does it make me in any way complicit) if I laugh while and after reading this?

No, of course not, because the people, places and actions described are all not real.

originally posted by: AugustusMasonicus

originally posted by: zosimov

Is it bad (or, more importantly, does it make me in any way complicit) if I laugh while and after reading this?

No, of course not, because the people, places and actions described are all not real.

'Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental'

...especially the "Slender" character.



...and the pig masks.

originally posted by: IAMTAT
...and the pig masks.

Who would ever wear pig masks? Especially in Vegas. Hell, I don't even think it's a real, just like the people in the story.

originally posted by: AugustusMasonicus

originally posted by: notsure1

"you bashed his head with a hammer"

That made me Laugh out loud..

As it should.

If DB was ever handed a bourbon with ice, which he wasn't, not even last week, on Tuesday, inside the Venetian, he would have smashed that person's coconut in with a 32oz hammer.

If that had ever happened, I'd swing the hammer so hard, my pig mask would fly off.

But it didn't because I was at the dentist. She'd even say so. If she could be found.

God damn, now I'm hungry.

Better jump in my van and go get food. Gotta go grab my face from my kid tho first.