





* The following episode is the second chapter of a three-parter. Since it’s been so long since the last episode, I strongly advise you to read/re-read: Episode #5.1 – Hatred before continuing. However, if unlike Widders, you still have a relatively functional long term memory, you may proceed *

–

… after the effects off the gas wore off, I awoke from a wet dream where a naked Ron Paul had burst from a ‘Republicake’ at my Menopause party wearing only a ‘White House’ cock pouch. Mmmm, talk about SMALL GOVERNMENT!

Wait, was this a dream or a memory??

‘If this was an animated Gif, you’d be traumatised by now’

–

On the traffic light scale, the color of the ‘wet’ in question was a ‘Pabst Blue Ribbon’ light golden hue, though it probably tasted better.

Thankfully it wasn’t red – perhaps that lost nail filer I snuck past the TSA – or GREEN! – you honestly don’t want to know what happens down there when you get old?

anyway, I cleaned myself, stepped outside and …

ARGH DEVIL NOOK!

. . . .

There he was, breathing the color of money, the faces of thousands of dead townspeople who couldn’t keep up with the mortgage repayments, pulsing from beneath his fur.

Much like the existence of multiple Gods, it just didn’t make sense. Why would an amoral, profit driven fat-cat like Nook want my soul?… and then IT spoke…

“… buy Gracies furniture series now for 1,542,000 bells”, buy the Blue Bookcase full of books you can’t read…. BUY IT”

I nodded awkwardly, made excuses and ran away like you do at a party when the strange man who habitually plays with his nipples through his shirt starts talking to you.



Consumed by the idea of sweet revenge, I set out to find Portia and punish her the way my dad punished me when I accepted a Hare Krishna flyer on the street…by smearing thick, hot butter in the form of a crucifix on a chunk of burnt toast and pressing it hard against my face.

Ahh! I remember it like it was Monday, April 3rd 1955 “TASTE THE SALVATION” he screamed. I still can, thanks Dad =)

Portia wasn’t home, but I tracked her scent to the Post Office and, wait, Nook’s here too! Just where the f*ck has Pelly gone to?

Yesterday Tortimer was working here, telling lewd stories about young girls he used to chase, “because you get older, the sort of girls you like to chase only seem to get younger” he croaked. Are you talking about the kids on your lawn I asked, no he said….and then he stared at me for an uncomfortably long time….

Nook eyeballed me as I looked over to see Portia’s bloody, inflated head on the counter, staked with a ground peg and chained to the Bell Machine. First Nook said it was because the machine was lonely “everybody needs a friend” he whispered gently, then he said it re-animates whenever somebody made a deposit into their account.

……..

……..

Again I backed away slowly. Oh! what I wouldn’t give to see the strange, nipple rubbing man right about now =(

I stumbled from the Post Office, bleary eyed and shaken, quietly singing Psalms in the voice of a Choir boy stricken with puberty, wondering what the Dickens was going on.

I hobble-ran across the bridge toward the Museum, hoping to find Blathers, the only admittedly sane, respectful and congenial person in Hamster Town. No doubt, he was a once an insipid, beastly individual like the rest of us, but boy does a good school year of vicious bullying mould one into a wonderful person.

NOOK AGAIN!!

First Pelly is missing and now Blathers, replaced by, by, by what exactly, NOOK CLONES?? They sure as hell don’t talk like Nook. What happened to the clever sales pitches that lead to financial ruin and the liquidation of your assets, or the funeral services paid for by Nook Burger, where it’s always closed casket and you only need a single Pall Bearer because the damn thing is so light .

Has money lost its allure!?



The Post Office, the Museum, it doesn’t matter!!

The whole freaking town is overrun with Nooks. The Able Sisters, Brewster, Doggie #1, Doggie #2, that hippy recluse from the Observatory. Everyone is missing!

During the scariest shopping experience i’ve ever had, one of the Able Sis— I mean Nook sisters boxed me into the corner where I swear the other one was stitching a garment made from the skin of one of the residents.

Actually, come to think of it, the worst shopping experience I ever had was when I wandered into an underground sex shop called ‘Fisters’ whilst overdosing on Dementia medication and saw this…

“Is this what Obama meant by a stimulus package?”

–

But that’s a whole other story…

Right now, I was terrified that without any residents, I’d have no-one to torture!

What’s more, even when he’s not trying to kill you, Nooks about as fun as that evil Obama dildo. The last time I invited him round, he forced us to watch a Bloomberg Channel marathon and kept rushing to the bathroom whenever the ticker on the bottom showed that ‘Nook Corp’ stock had gone up a quarter of a point. I could hear him moaning loudly through the door.

……

Shrieking Psalm 137, 9 at the two Nooks guarding the town gate, I turned and galloped madly into the night, like a horse, a beautiful elderly horse, with good old fashioned morals and powdered skin, who lives in a house with it’s own torture chamber.

After retrieving the key embedded in a cake of soap by the kitchen sink, I arrived at Portia’s house, hastily unlocked the door and hid in the darkness.

They’d never think to look for me here….

Suddenly, there was the sound of a switch being flicked, light flooded the four corners of the room…

ARGH! DEMON WHORE!

Portia was alive! “I thought you were out playing with your new best friend, the Bell machine from the Post Office” I barked accusingly.

Before I could quickly mine her for further information and start the delightful business of making toast and heating up some butter, Portia started scraping the bottom of the innuendo barrel and talking like we’d glimpsed each others unmentionables.

As the air turned blue and the filth continued to spew from her hairy chops, like all good Catholics, I felt that familiar hot swell of embarrassing shame rise up inside me….

The sound of her voice grew ever more distorted and my mind tried to grasp the idea of lesbian sex, it didn’t make sense, the parts don’t fit….how would I..*urgh* my mind thought back to ‘Obama’s Stimulus Package’ but, but I just saw it, I couldn’t have bought it…I, I

“NOOOOOOOO!!!!”

I screamed until I was hoarse and dizzy. Then slowly, Portia’s image ebbed away and the light began to fade until I was blind.

As I turned to flee, I was confronted by a chorus of disembodied Nook heads, all chanting in unison, their calls growing ever louder…



. . . .

. . . .



AWW! BLOODY BUGGERING HELL!!

Another dream!?

This is starting to feel like that movie ‘Inception.’ Only, instead of Cobb playing dream thief and stealing the business secrets of the rich and powerful, he expels green slime from his private ‘axe wound’ after being mind-raped by a home-owning, bi-pedal cartoon dog with a flair for subtle rudeness.

Fearing senility, I tore myself from my soiled underwear, which now resembled a prop from Ghostbusters and hastily wrote a letter and pinned it to the front door –

“If this is reality and I have failed in my life goal of torturing you all to death, please promise me that if I start falling asleep at the Bingo table or begin to think that every person I come across is my grandson, you’ll do the right thing”







Rummaging in my mailbox, I came across this astonishing letter from Nook…

Anarchy! Protest! LIBERALS!! Sweet Churchill this is worse than the last dream.

I’d have to play it cool if I was going to get out of here alive, put on my Gaddafi hat, lead the revolution and then up the crazy by banning the consumption of water and creating a personality cult around the belief that I am an all powerful crab like being…Scorponok perhaps??

After emerging from a smashed side window with some valuable loot to trade with later, I headed toward the center of town. Everyone I passed was chanting slogans and holding aloft homemade signs.

For a second, I thought the 80’s had returned and a Zombiefied Scargill had risen from the ground like the Miners Jesus, leading a revolt against poor Maggie, I mean Nook.

My conservative brain told me to be very scared of this ’99 percent’ but when I asked Rowan whether Portia was a member he said that she was more like the ‘53%’. Overjoyed, I picked up his sign and stomped around yelling anti-capitalist rhetoric and complaining about ration books.

Rowan looked pleased.

With winter fast approaching, the trees bore less and less fruit. Fishing rods became scarce and frozen ground made it harder to find grubs for bait.

I feel like i’m reliving my childhood.

Villagers are now swapping survival tips and sharing food….all except Portia that is. She hordes food everywhere! I swear there was so much Carp in her sock draw that the older ones were rotting; their liquified flesh running down into the draws below, oozing between the gaps and ruining the carpet.

It occurred to me that the crazy mutt wasn’t even eating any of it. When I pressed her, she went on the defensive, stammering “Without food i’ll be extra-thin and look fabulous at the same time, and when the archeologists find us in a million years, i’ll be the most beautiful skeleton in the Village, THE MOST BEAUTIFUL”

I half-expected her to have a meltdown like Jesse from ‘Saved By The Bell’ (see here) and I’d have to play Zack and physically touch her. *Shudders*



With starvation reaching levels not seen since my father combined an ancient form of Lent with Groundhog Day, I’ve decided to set up a field hospital.

Seeing as we’ve only got two beds, emergency cases will be duct-taped to the roof and covered with a cheap tarpaulin for now.

It may appear to some that i’ve undergone a positive change, but do not worry, ‘Widders Hospital’ doesn’t exist to make you better…as Portia will soon discover.

~*The End *~