Post by Michi on May 26, 2006 20:53:12 GMT -8
This is an excerpt from the novel I wrote last november. odd, yes, freaky, yes, well-written, no.
~~
The Dark Lord Belmont was, once again, soaking in his bubble filled bathtub. He was having a surprisingly hard time coping with the immense evil that he had created (or rather, ordered to be created). He was actually beginning to wish that he had just settled for the pinkish bunny things instead of making Raoul create something more sinister and dark.
What was even more horrible was that Raoul (That fat mogul) seemed to be having no moral issues whatsoever with the creation of the Shadow Terrors. Perhaps his morals had got buried in his fat somewhere and only liposuction of the most extreme variety could dig them out again. Belmont frowned in thought as he added more bubble bath to the water; that was a distinct possibility.
He searched in the bubbles for a while before he found his rubber ducky. Mr. Quackums, actually. Rubber duckies were so babyish, but Mr. Quackums wasn’t a rubber ducky. He was an artificial avian. Who happened to be made of some sort of rubber material, but Belmont could see past that, to the duck within. The noble duck within, Belmont thought as he placed Mr. Quackums on the side of the tub.
“What do you think, Mr. Quackums?” Belmont asked the unrealistic duck. “Am I right to worry about this? Or should I brush it off and be more evil?”
Mr. Quackums didn’t reply to this, but simply stared. As he was made out of rubber. And therefore his beak was stuck together, and so he couldn’t open it even if he’d cared to comment on this. Belmont removed his hand from the bath and picked up the duck very slightly, and proceeded to talk in a high squeaky voice.
“Of course you did the right thing, Belmont,” Said Belmont pretending to be Mr. Quackums, “You did what any true villain would have done. You shouldn’t feel bad about any of it. After all, it was really the doing of that fat slob Raoul.”
“Yes,” Said Belmont, in his normal voice, “But I commanded Raoul to do it. He could not resist the evil compelling powers of my malevolent immorality.” Belmont had been using a thesaurus recently – he had many interesting new synonyms for the word ‘evil’.
“That’s irrelevant,” said Mr. Quackums, “After all, you do my bidding, but I still let you think it was all your idea.” This piece of information was quite new to Belmont. His mouth was open and agape in indignation.
“What on earth do you mean?” Belmont said loudly, “It was I who made you what you are today! If it weren’t for me, you’d still be sitting on the shelf of that extremely cheap chain drugstore! You don’t tell me what to do!”
“You can just keep on thinking that if you’d like,” Said Mr. Quackums, “but I thought that it was time you knew the truth of how this operation really is run.” His tiny painted on eyes twinkled maliciously as Belmont hallucinated that he said this. “All of the brilliant schemes are really mine. You are really nothing more than a puppet!”
“No!” Belmont said, “It can’t be!” But as he looked in the mirror he knew it was. Mr. Quackums had guidingly whispered advice in his ear this whole time, and Belmont had taken it, never truly knowing what it meant or where it might lead. Mr. Quackums had tricked him.
“You see?” The duck whispered to him viciously, “Now you know the truth! I have always ruled over you!” Belmont knew now what he had to do to be forever free of the duck. He opened the window conveniently placed in the wall of his bathroom within reach of the bathtub.
“You used to.” Belmont said, feeling suddenly emancipated, “But not anymore. I can think up my own evil schemes! I don’t need you to do it for me!”
“The hell you don’t!” Mr. Quackums said, catching on to what Belmont was about to do, “You would be useless without me! I’m the core of your dark and cunning plots! Without me all you would be able to do is sit in the fetal position and rock all day! You need me!” He sounded almost insane as he said this. Belmont gripped him by his small, plastic, duckish neck.
“Not anymore!” He said, and with one final burst of energy, flung the unfortunate plastic toy out of the window.
“You foooooooooooooooooool!” Mr. Quackums shouted, as he was flung out the window. Belmont smiled in satisfaction when he heard a slight squeaky noise as Mr. Quackums hit the ground. Then he lay back in his bath tub to re-evaluate his life.
He didn’t know if he would ever be able to trust a rubber bath toy the same way again.
~~
The Dark Lord Belmont was, once again, soaking in his bubble filled bathtub. He was having a surprisingly hard time coping with the immense evil that he had created (or rather, ordered to be created). He was actually beginning to wish that he had just settled for the pinkish bunny things instead of making Raoul create something more sinister and dark.
What was even more horrible was that Raoul (That fat mogul) seemed to be having no moral issues whatsoever with the creation of the Shadow Terrors. Perhaps his morals had got buried in his fat somewhere and only liposuction of the most extreme variety could dig them out again. Belmont frowned in thought as he added more bubble bath to the water; that was a distinct possibility.
He searched in the bubbles for a while before he found his rubber ducky. Mr. Quackums, actually. Rubber duckies were so babyish, but Mr. Quackums wasn’t a rubber ducky. He was an artificial avian. Who happened to be made of some sort of rubber material, but Belmont could see past that, to the duck within. The noble duck within, Belmont thought as he placed Mr. Quackums on the side of the tub.
“What do you think, Mr. Quackums?” Belmont asked the unrealistic duck. “Am I right to worry about this? Or should I brush it off and be more evil?”
Mr. Quackums didn’t reply to this, but simply stared. As he was made out of rubber. And therefore his beak was stuck together, and so he couldn’t open it even if he’d cared to comment on this. Belmont removed his hand from the bath and picked up the duck very slightly, and proceeded to talk in a high squeaky voice.
“Of course you did the right thing, Belmont,” Said Belmont pretending to be Mr. Quackums, “You did what any true villain would have done. You shouldn’t feel bad about any of it. After all, it was really the doing of that fat slob Raoul.”
“Yes,” Said Belmont, in his normal voice, “But I commanded Raoul to do it. He could not resist the evil compelling powers of my malevolent immorality.” Belmont had been using a thesaurus recently – he had many interesting new synonyms for the word ‘evil’.
“That’s irrelevant,” said Mr. Quackums, “After all, you do my bidding, but I still let you think it was all your idea.” This piece of information was quite new to Belmont. His mouth was open and agape in indignation.
“What on earth do you mean?” Belmont said loudly, “It was I who made you what you are today! If it weren’t for me, you’d still be sitting on the shelf of that extremely cheap chain drugstore! You don’t tell me what to do!”
“You can just keep on thinking that if you’d like,” Said Mr. Quackums, “but I thought that it was time you knew the truth of how this operation really is run.” His tiny painted on eyes twinkled maliciously as Belmont hallucinated that he said this. “All of the brilliant schemes are really mine. You are really nothing more than a puppet!”
“No!” Belmont said, “It can’t be!” But as he looked in the mirror he knew it was. Mr. Quackums had guidingly whispered advice in his ear this whole time, and Belmont had taken it, never truly knowing what it meant or where it might lead. Mr. Quackums had tricked him.
“You see?” The duck whispered to him viciously, “Now you know the truth! I have always ruled over you!” Belmont knew now what he had to do to be forever free of the duck. He opened the window conveniently placed in the wall of his bathroom within reach of the bathtub.
“You used to.” Belmont said, feeling suddenly emancipated, “But not anymore. I can think up my own evil schemes! I don’t need you to do it for me!”
“The hell you don’t!” Mr. Quackums said, catching on to what Belmont was about to do, “You would be useless without me! I’m the core of your dark and cunning plots! Without me all you would be able to do is sit in the fetal position and rock all day! You need me!” He sounded almost insane as he said this. Belmont gripped him by his small, plastic, duckish neck.
“Not anymore!” He said, and with one final burst of energy, flung the unfortunate plastic toy out of the window.
“You foooooooooooooooooool!” Mr. Quackums shouted, as he was flung out the window. Belmont smiled in satisfaction when he heard a slight squeaky noise as Mr. Quackums hit the ground. Then he lay back in his bath tub to re-evaluate his life.
He didn’t know if he would ever be able to trust a rubber bath toy the same way again.
