God Damn, the bitch had gone and done it. She lived off me for years, then came in while I was gone to work and cleaned out the house. Right, she stole everything of value that wasn't nailed down or was too much trouble to rip off. Some bitches are like that, you know. I'm not the first guy that those thieves have ripped off. Oh, they do it all the time. What's interesting was that all the neighbors just stood around and let that bitch and their hippie- looking friends do it. They all said that they didn't want to get involved. Hell, the least they could have done was call the cops and stop the loss. Is there some sort of conspiracy loose in the world or what?
Well, was I plenty pissed. There was nothing much I could do about it either as the cops just said it was too bad. They didn't want to get involved either. Well, that made me want to cuss God, man, the establishment, the cops, the neighbors and the whole damned bunch of them. I'd heard of this kind of happy horse-shit all of my life. You'd think that it was acceptible. There ought to be a law. Well, there is. It comes under the venue of domestic violence. All you gotta do is touch one of them bitches and they stuff you in jail for assault. It's the law. Of course, the law closes their eyes to the bitches thievery.
Well, I admit I got pretty depressed over the situation. Then when things looked blackest... Well, that's when I turned to Satan for solace and revenge. The Xtian God wasn't worth a damn and never was. Naw, the prick never did anything of value and neither did his bastard son, Jesus. "Vengeance is mine, sayeth the Lord." Well screw them in the ass, the no-good, dirty, son of a bitches! They never avenged anybody. I needed something tougher than that sorry rat pack to set things straight. You know, I'd been thinking for a long time that Satan could do better. If He could, then He'd be my Hero, for sure. Is He a God? Hell, I don't know, but He's sure got a bigger dick than most! Anyway, one night when I was really depressed, I came to that old Crossroads in life as so many do.
I looked back over the whole damned experience and realized that the bitches were taking over the world, and the chicken-shit church and the government was backing them up to boot. Doesn't anybody have any balls? What's it all coming too? Well, like I said, I came to the Crossroads and turned left. It was damn ripe timing too! Seeing as how calling on the bitches' Xtian God never did any good, this time I called on Satan instead.
I said something like, "Satan? Satan! Listen up Satan. I've had it with these surly bitches and their worthless gods! Do you hear me Satan? Listen here, I'll sell you my soul for a dollar if you'll turn my life around so that I can enjoy it and bring destruction on the dirty bitch that ripped me off! I'll stand up for you, fight for you, and not only here-- but when I die and crossover to the other side, I'll serve you there too! You help me, and I'll help you! Bring me REVENGE!"
Well, nothing happened. I was standing outside when all of this occurred. It was dark, and all was silent. The full moon grinned down and cast its silvery light on the neighborhood of sleeping houses. Not even the dogs and cats stirred. It was like a graveyard at midnight-- in fact, it was midnight. I said, "Satan? did you hear me?" Oh well, I smoked a butt and went inside to get a drink. Pouring a shot of Jack Daniels, I sat down on the couch and flipped on the TV to see what was up on the late news. The anchor-winch was yammering on about Clinton, while reading from que cards and fouling up every fourth word, but I got the gist that Clinton wanted revenge too!
Boy, oh, boy, there is another one who needed to be avenged! Had he ever been raked over the coals! Hell, he never did anything much different than the rest of those sanctimonious old farts did on a regular basis. His enemies simply capitalized on those old Xtian sex taboos. Hell, everybody likes sex, even if they won't admit it. Like it? Hell, they eat it up! Too bad that they had to drag the country through the mud with that old Xtian bullshit. What's worse, those fool Republicans didn't listen to the people. The people had made it pretty damn clear that they wanted those clowns to back off and drop it. But no, they had to keep on running off at the mouth about morals that they didn't have themselves.
Well, Clinton seems to have done all right. He won out over those self righteous fools. I gotta wonder if he didn't do a little business with Satan down at the Crossroads too? I'll bet He did. You know, the Devil has been running this old world for a long time, and anyone who doesn't make a deal with the Boss is gonna do some hurting. Well I made my deal with Satan, and figured that I'd have to wait and see what He did about it.
Well, only the next day, I was walking downtown. I had just turned left on Forth and Main, when there on the sidewalk before me, I spied a brand new, crisp, dollar bill. It was odd too, as the breeze was blowing, but the dollar bill didn't blow away or even flutter. It just laid there before me, waiting. Without thinking, I reached down and picked it up, stuffing it in my pocket. But before I took another step, the light of knowing went on in my head. I realized then, that the night before, I had sold my soul to Satan for a dollar and here it was. Well, what do you know! Old Ned had made good and answered me. He had left the money at the Crossroads, bigger than shit! I framed that dollar and hung it on the wall. It's my ticket to Hell!
Well, time passed and my luck turned. Now, I was making a ton of money. The stuff just kept on rolling in. I had a new house, a new car, fancy clothes and more women than I knew what to do with. I was feeling good. No, I was feeling great! I just got back from Las Vegas after winning a few good hands of poker, and I was wondering what to do next. For sure, I was in the driver's seat. That's when it happened.
Sometimes, Satan works in strange ways. Recently, I had purchased a farm in an out-of-the-way part of the state where for the fun of it, I was raising some show dogs and other farm animals like pigs and chickens for my own enjoyment. I didn't need to work anymore, but I did need something to occupy my time between gambling and drinking bouts. I thought that country air and a little exercise would be good for me, so I bought the farm, so-to-speak. Funny, but it wasn't a month later that some oil company came beating on my door, announcing that oil had been discovered on my land, and that they wanted to buy the land from me. Well, I didn't want to sell just yet, so I put them off, telling them that maybe in a year or two I'd be interested. What the Hell, the oil wasn't going to dry up, now was it.
Anyway, one spring evening, I was sitting on my porch, rocking and watching my animals milling about, amusing themselves. Yep, it was nice. There I was a rockin' and a thinkin' when all of a sudden, a dark thought crossed my mind. I remembered that thievin' bitch who ripped me off before I took that left turn at the Crossroads and wondered if Satan had fulfilled the rest of my deal. Had He trashed her yet? Hummm, I'd have to check up and see. Old hatreds run deep, but that had been years previous. It wasn't really bothering me then, but I still wanted to be avenged or have vengeance or whatever. A man doesn't really forget a slap in the face like that. She shouldn't be allowed to get away with it.
Well, it was about then that a car crapped out and rolled off to the side of the main road out front. A woman got out, and even from a distance, I could hear her cussing. I said, "What the Hell", and got up, walked around the house and got the tractor out of the barn. I'll be dammed if I was going to walk clear out to the road a quarter mile away for some silly bitch. Anyway, I pulled out the choke, pumped the gas and turned the key. The tractor coughed and caught. I let it idle for a moment, then stepped on the clutch and put it into gear.
To the sound of a sweet running motor, I rolled out into the evening and turned left onto the access road that lead to the main highway. Tractors aren't too fast, but it was but the work of a few moments to reach the road and the stranded female. There was steam rising from the open hood, so I knew that the car had run out of water or some such thing. I'd have to tow it up to the barn to get it cooled off enough to put some water in it.
It was then that I noticed the car's driver. Wouldn't you know, it was that bitch that ripped me off so many years before. Satan be praised! Well, there she was, just as mean as ever, but now, at a disadvantage. She looked frightened at being in my presence, but I reassured her that bygones were bygones, and that I wasn't mad at her.
"I'll have to tow your car up to the barn to fix it. You get in and steer it while I pull it with the tractor. Just make sure that it's in neutral and that the emergency brake is off." She climbed into the driver's seat as I finished hooking a tow cable to the front sub- frame of her car. I took up the slack and made a wide turn back onto my access road, making sure not to pull her car into the bar- ditch by accident. Then clearing the corner, I let the tractor slowly pull the vehicle up into my drive-through barn.
Setting an electric fan on the fender, I directed it to blow on the engine compartment so as to cool off the motor. Adding water to a hot engine could crack the block, you know. "We'll have to wait a spell for her to cool off before adding water, so we might as well go into the house and wait there where it's more comfortable. It looks like you could use a drink too." "Yes I could," she said, as she got out of her car and dusted off the seat of her pants. "Are you sure that you're still not mad at me?" "Naw," I said. "It was no big deal." I lead her into the house.
In the kitchen, I poured her a drink, a Margarita. She always liked those, and I kept the makings on hand, as It was pretty much a common women's drink. I made it by the book too, except for the few drops of Chloral Hydrate that I snuck into it. That changed to character of her drink to that of a "Mickey-Fynn." Oh, one of the uses for Chloral Hydrate is for knock-out drops, in case you didn't know... Magic is great, but chemicals never fail. I handed her the drink and picked up my Jack, raising my glass in a toast to Satan.
She must have been thirsty as she gulped hers right down. I thought, great! She didn't have a clue as to my intentions. The stupid bitch still thought that I wouldn't have the guts to pay her back for her slap in the face against me. She was dead wrong.
Yep, Satan works in devious ways. Sure, He could have trashed her anytime, just like He made me rich, but that wouldn't have given me any real satisfaction. Instead, he saved her up for me, letting time pass and a few other lovers float under her bridge before finally delivering her unto mine hand. Now, no one would connect her with me-- ever.
She fell off her chair onto the floor in a pool of her own piss. Maybe, in my exuberance, I gave her a bit too much? Well, in any case, the Chloral Hydrate had done its job nicely, and she was down for the count. I mopped up her piss, and drug her sleeping body into the back room. There, I tied her up good, gagged her, and left her on the floor to sleep off my potion. Then, locking the door, I stepped out into the kitchen, checking for any tale-tale signs of her ever having been there. I washed her glass and wiped it well. Her purse, I had already stashed our of sight.
Then quickly, I went out and closed the barn doors so as to prevent any passersby from noticing her car parked in there. The keys were in it. Well, it would be hours before she came to back to consciousness, so I decided to tinker with her Chevy a bit to see what was the matter with it. Steam had ceased to escape from the engine, so I hung a trouble light from a handy brace and looked for the problem. Ah, there it was. The lower radiator hose had ruptured. Seeing as how those hoses are more or less out of sight, they are often neglected, and this one flat-out popped.
It was of standard size, so I rummaged around on the work bench and found a suitable replacement. The water was already mostly drained, so I undid the clamps and inserted the new hose. After tightening down the clamps, I refilled the engine with water and replaced the cap. The engine started up after a few turns of the starter and seemed to run all right. I let it run for a half hour to see if it would overheat, but it didn't. The car was now fine. It's driver was not.
The bitch came to as the morning sun rose over the low hills, and she started to grunt. The gag kept her from screaming. You see, after fixing her car, I stuffed her into one of those long, old canvas cotton sacks that the pickers once used. The bag came almost up to her chin. Of course, I left her tied up and the gag in place. The interesting part was that I hung her from a rafter and let her dangle there like a side of meat, which was exactly what she was.
Now, stupid is one thing that I'm not. I figured that she was just passing through, and from the direction she had came, there wasn't a town for about 32 miles. There really wasn't any reason why anyone should connect me with her, especially as long ago as I knew her, so I wasn't too worried. However, I figured that I'd let her stew in her own juices for a while to see what happened. I waited until after dark and moved her to an old, unused shed out back and locked her in with the rats.
I surmised that if anybody came snooping around, I could play dumb until the heat was off. As it was, there wasn't any heat at all as one day when I fed her, she told me that she was fleeing another lover that she had jilted. She had stolen all of his ready cash and that it was in the trunk of her car. She said that if I'd let her go, I could have it. I thanked her and informed her that I already had it and had also destroyed all of her personal effects and driven her car clear to Las Vegas. There, I had parked it on a back street, so that anyone asking questions about her would find a cold trail, ending in sin city, way out there on the desert. Like I said, I'm not stupid, and I didn't fly out of Vegas either. I simply walked into a roadside diner and offered to pay for gas to Los Angels if somebody would take me there as a passenger. Lots of folks do that after losing all or most of their money at the tables. I had a nice ride to L. A. with a family in a conversion van, reading a book in one of their plush captain's chairs. Of course, from L. A. I hooked a couple of rides back this way. I'd be hard to back track. The whole trip only took a day and a half, including detours. I had put my bitch to sleep just before I left, and she was out most of the time I was gone. She never knew.
Three weeks had passed, and she was looking pretty bad by now. I only fed and watered her once a day, just like all of the other farm animals. Having amused myself with her until I grew bored, I finally decided to put her to an end. The party had been a gas. She was hung by her ropes, so I could pull off the cotton picker's bag whenever I wanted. I did keep her clean, hosing her off every day until lately when I just didn't give a shit. Now, enough was enough. I had screwed her, front and back until I grew bored. I had beat and whipped her until she passed out, and vented any and all emotion I ever had ever known upon her sorry carcass. "Fuck you and die, bitch," I had yelled until my throat hurt, and there was no interest left. I didn't hate her anymore, having worked all of that out on her bruised hide. You know, after a while, the whole damned excursion becomes rather tedious and a moot point. I didn't give a shit and she didn't either. The only thing you can do then is end it. Well, it was a leaning experience.
Finally, I got a wash tub, placed it under her and cut the big artery that runs up the inside of her thigh. Yes, I simply bled her out like I would an elk or a deer that I had bagged during hunting season. She kept complaining as to how cold she felt toward the end. However, her eyes fluttered closed in the long sleep before the wine of her life ebbed away, and finally, she dripped dry. It was done. Vengeance was mine!
Then, of course, came the grizzly task of disposing of her remains. Well, that wasn't too hard as like I said, I'm a farmer these days. I mixed that tub of her blood with the dog's food and fed it to them. Her meat and organs, I ran through the electric meat grinder. The dogs and pigs ate some of it, before I had my great idea! Ho, ho, the rest, I made into smoked sausages. Then later, after they had sufficiently dried, I donated the whole lot to the homeless center. What? Oh yes, her bones, I ground into bone meal and fed it to the chickens. They loved it. It's so good to be environmentally conscious-- and such strong egg shells, too!
Well, here I am, setting here on the porch again, rocking and thinking. He, he, he, Satan sure is something else. When I look back on that midnight at the crossroads, I'm glad that I did make that left-hand turn. I should have done it years before. Yup, Satan is one Hell of a good choice. Since then, I've learned a lot, and Hell ain't a bad place for those who choose to go there. Smokin' Brimstone! There is lots of good eating, drinking, gambling and screwing going on all hours, and nobody to look down their nose at you. Satan wants His people to be happy. He's a good sport too. The other day, in the form of a man, He dropped by for a visit. He said that He'd be expecting me soon as near 40 years had passed since our little business deal. I said that I'd be looking foreword to it. He said that I had served him well, and for a brief time he showed me a vision of where I would be going once I crossed over. It was nice, real nice. Oh, Satan had a job for me too. It seams that everybody in Hell sure liked my smoked sausage!
