Tuesday, November 29, 2011

Interview With a Fukushima Mutant Freak

Interview With A
Fukushima Mutant Freak

Q: It’s been 20 years since the Fukushima tragedy. How are you doing, young man?

A: So, so. Most of the time I feel pretty shitty.

Q: Things have been rough for you Fukushima kids.

A: Lost my father during the tsunami. Mother coped.

Q: Any brothers or sisters?

A: I was the only one. One was enough.

Q: You grew up in Tokyo, after the earthquake-tsunami-nuke meltdown?

A: I stayed with mother till I was 15. Then she threw me out.

Q: You had problems at home and in school?

A: What school? I dropped out early. They hated me.

Q: Surely they didn’t hate you. What was the problem with your mother and teachers?

A: Well, don’t be a fuckin shit-head. Just look at me.

(The Interviewer looks the kid over. He’s obviously genetically deformed. Above the waist he’s your normal Japanese teenage boy. But below his waist something awful has happened. His right leg is simply huge and grotesque—ten times the size it should be. His foot is the size of an elephant, his black leather boots are gigantic. He doesn’t wear pants, but instead an oversized puce kimono with pink little mushroom clouds blooming here & there. It’s obvious the kid suffers from Genetic Elephantitus Fukushima Mutant Freak Syndrome (GEFMFS) like many of the TEMPCO Fuckushima atomic victims. The kid kept his left hand hidden in his knee-long kimono, constantly playing with himself.)

Q: What happened after you became a Freak?

A: I ended up in the Kabukichō (歌舞伎町) —entertainment and red-light district in Shinjuku, Tokyo. The Kabuki Yakuza Mob knew a good thing when they saw it — us Freaks were in demand. The tourist trade from Bangkok and Hong Kong were always looking for something new, kinky, abnormal. The bored American perverts were flocking back into town again — most of them size queens.

(The Interviewer raises his eyebrows. It’s obvious he’s an experienced pervert himself. He’s sizing the kid up, leaving his cell-phone video on, recording the interview, what the kid’s saying. The Interview reaches over and feels the kid up, cops a feel for the moody, sullen, freak rough-trade number.)

Q: What ya got hiding in the kimono, Big Boy?

A: Oh, all right. Here’s what turned the tourist perverts on, but like you may not like what you get…

(Standing up, slipping outta his kimono, letting the Interviewer ogle at what was waiting for him between the kid’s nefarious mutant freak legs…it was the last thing the Interviewer got to see before the End. The kid’s huge thick muscular leg was truly impressive, all veiny, distorted and lovely. But the kid’s mutant penis, what a freakish Piece of Meat it was! It was a Giant Writhing Cobra, coiling and uncoiling itself — just waiting for its next victim. The Thing flipped up against the kid’s hard stomach, up past his protruding bellybutton all the way to his tits, his erect nipples pulsating, hungry with little eyes on them. The kid was covered with exquisitely well-done professional tattoos, showing Nagasaki and Hiroshima going up with delicate pink mushroom clouds.)

Q: Oh, my gawd!!! What have I unleashed!?!

(The weirdest thing was that the kid’s Cobra Cock seemed to have a life of its own, rising up and stretching out like an evil, unsightly, shocking version of a huge horrible Sushi Octopus from Hell!!! It was several yards long and thick as the kid’s leg, writing and twisting, a vast Tentacle of Shame with rows of pulsating pink-sushi suckers, starved and famished for human blood! The Cobra Cock raised itself up totally Erect, like the King Cobra outta that infamous campy Hollywood horror flick “Cobra Island” (1943) with kitschy Maria Montez chewing up the scenery, doing an obscene hoochie-choochie dance in front of the hypnotized doomed worshippers writhing at her feet. Picking this one & that one to be sacrificed to King Cobra, to placate the moody, rumbling, erupting, ejaculating Volcano of Death haunting Cobra Island. The Interview stands up to flee, but the kid’s kinky King Cobra gets him first, wrapping its thick coils around the Interviewer’s skinny neck. Squeezing, squeezing and squeezing some more, sucking the life-juices outta the latest struggling, screamy victim of Mutant Hate and Twisted Deformed Desire!!!)

A: That’s the way, man. Dig it, it’s called FUCKUSHIMA LOVE!!!

(You’d be surprised by how many curious, jet-setting, bored NWO Elite mutant pervert aficionados end up in the clutches of the kid’s freaky revenge clutches, all grisly, drained-dry, discarded in some dumpy Red Light District Motel Room, that’s how the Fukushima Bad Boy Freaks do business. It’s how the Tokyo Yakuza Mob operates, getting even with the evil decadent TEMPCO TPTB perverts…)

Tuesday, November 22, 2011

The Lizard Boy

The Lizard Boy

“the delicate prey
is man himself”
—Paul Bowles
The Delicate Prey

It was like the Lizard Boy was living slo-mo from scene to scene—in some old skanky '50s Godzilla horror movie. It was like he was playing a role in some kind of strange Kabukichō (歌舞伎町) mutant kabuki-syndrome play.

His life had become a garish obscene Yaoi Manga snuff movie and it wasn’t pretty either. Maybe at first, but not later on after he somehow managed to survive his post-Fuckashima mutancy. He was supposed to die, wasn’t that how it worked? But what was this? This weird lizard storyline, this strange mutant monster skin-game? He didn’t die afterall—it just got worse. It was more Kafkaesque than a cockroach hiding in his room. It was more like a big snake shedding its skin. And becoming even worse...

Each time he engorged some living, breathing human prey from down there in the streets, it was like the lizard creature in him was extending its lifespan a little bit longer into something else. The mutant reptoid hunger ruled his every thought and action, there was no escape. It was all much more nightmarishly, terribly Kafkaesque—than just ending up some dirty, crummy bug. Since when were cockroaches supposed to get predatory? Awful lizardoid-like deformed man-eaters, deadly lizards that liked their human meat bloody, oozing and screamingly rare?

The delicate prey hid from him more and more. There weren’t that many straight humans left in downtown Tokyo anyway anymore. Even the red-light district was abandoned and haunted. He had to troll at night down in the dark subway tunnels and filthy gutters—for the young stuff that still hung around in the city. They tried to hide from him but it was useless. He could smell them out. He zeroed in on fear.

“Sayōnara,” he said to the dried-up, shriveled husk of another unfortunate human being he’d sucked dry from the night before. He gently gave it a push, shoving it out the broken window, then over the edge of the penthouse balcony, letting it sail down like a sack of useless garbage down into the street below.

Other lizards were immediately on it, scrambling for any tidbit or leftover piece of succulent humanoid meat that might have been missed. The gang of young lizards down below were quickly fighting each other over the bones and human remains, hissing and cursing each other. They were starving to death. And besides, lizards weren’t good losers anyway. They didn’t have good table manners that's for sure.

The Lizard Boy surprised himself. Suddenly a human thought hade sullenly managed to weasel its mongoloid way into his brain. It interrupted his usual louche lizardy cold-blooded attentions to what was directly in front of him. He was almost totally Lizard by now—reptoid consciousness had inched its way up the back of his neck, oozed it way up thru his reptilian brain and then took over his useless monkey cerebellum.

“Who is torturing us this way?” the teenage naked lizard boy suddenly asked himself out of the blue.

How sickening and totally disgusting the Lizard Boy said himself, hissing this way and that way, looking around the room. Who'd said it? Surely it wasn't himself. It wasn’t often he felt so revoltingly reflexive and horribly human or even remotely linguistic about anything anymore. The reptile brain down inside his phallocentrically male meaty medulla preferred the usual cold-blooded simple hunt for humans down in the sewer darkness, compared with hearing anything or worse yet understanding it? Such inner dialog was just stupid monkey masturbation as far as he was concerned.

Nasty monkey discourse and stream of consciousness just got in the way. Lizard carnality ruled the day, and especially the night when he was alone, sitting on the balcony looking out over the dark ruins of downtown Tokyo. Something was always gnawing in the back of his mind, and it wasn't just a bloody piece of humanoid meat.

Although he couldn't help but think about imbibing a nice piece of choice human loin-cut flesh or maybe some nice fat tourist T-bone steak. He kept checking the cesium clouds for another one of those lovely tourist copters that would sometimes go astray and end up crashed down below. There were still adventurous, curious Hong Kong S/M queens & foolish types out for a thrill, flying low into Tokyo and getting off on the Draco District. Sometimes they got more than they expected down in the red light district.

There were even a couple of Lizard nightclubs open late at night, surrounded by the usual machine-gun armed praetorian guards from the Forbidden City. Cheap futuristic thrills for bored decadent Singapore clientele, those with a taste for slithery snakeskin sex or maybe alligator boy disco. In chains of course. Nothing that could bite.

There were the ususal gossipy urban myths spreading throughout downtown Tokyo metropolitan ghettos, about some of the surviving, reverse genetic-engineering sicko scientists who'd developed and morphed young mutant expensive hustlers and expensive high-class prostitutes perfectly human & goodlooking like movie stars for jaded Hong Kong and Singapore millionaires bored with nothing to do and looking for some new thrills. These mutant male prostitutes were as human as you or me above their thin svelt waists… but down below the beltline, below the cute bellybutton, that's where the ugly sexy lizard-boy horror show hung out...

The Lizard Boy hissed and smirked to himself. He was one of them. But he could care less about his genetic origins or the easy money to be had or the sicko wealthy humanoids who wanted new thrills. Because now he was totally morphed into mutant snakeoid consciousness...in body & soul… He'd been completely redesigned, totally reverse-engineered back a million years into time. He was totally, completely Lizard First Class and down between his legs there was even a worse lizard-monster slithering around... that even he couldn't control.

Sunday, November 20, 2011

Lord of the Lizards III

Lizard Boy


“Over the island the build-up
of clouds continued.”
—William Golding

From a certain point onward, there is no longer any turning-back. There is this point of no return that must be reached. Surely Kafka didn’t mean to say what he said—about becoming a cockroach. Surely he didn't mean that poor guy woke up one morning and was a filthy dirty insect—that somehow he'd just simply passed some point of no human return?

The Lizard Boy hadn't turned into a lousy cockroach—he didn’t particularly want to turn into anything. The Fuckushima lizard virus had got him that's all, turning him into the mutant monster nightmare he’d become. Nobody chooses to be a cockroach or a snake or a lizard…or even just a plain vanilla human being. It just happens that way that’s all—that’s the way it is.

The Lizard Boy had passed the point of no return. He didn't have any choice. There wasn't any father, mother or sister to pity him—or to hide him away in some locked bedroom. He was on his own now—avoiding mirrors and not looking at himself. He was prowling the streets alone—not looking at his reflection in the cracked and broken picture windows.

He was an Iguana in Heat. He’d troll for meat—fresh meat. It didn’t make any difference whether it was radioactive poisoned or contaminated by mutant lizard slime. His iguana eyeballs adjusted to the night—his former gang member buddies stayed away from him.

Getting up to the penthouse was easy now—no crummy stairwell & 50 flights of filthy floors to bug him. His sucker fingertips & gooey palms made scaling the outside of the condo skyscraper easy, slithering up the glass & steel ruins. It actually felt good to crawl and weasel his way up & down at night on the outside walls. He'd get flashes of jungle cliff deja vu and Mexican beaches. He was good at it… being lizard.

The only thing he had to watch out for were the nefarious overhead flying drones of death. They were killer robot drone machines the military had pimped out to the cops, along with new long-distance Taser machineguns and virtual pilots always hunting for freaks like him. They patrolled the city and kept the population of mutant reptialian riff-raff down.

Back in his Tokyo Hilton penthouse, the Lizard Boy flopped down the cute hippie chick he’d absconded with. She tried screaming and crawling off and hiding under her bed in the Sony Building, but he pulled her out and soon she was paralyzed and speechless. His long nervous Rotor-Rooter lizard-tongue deep up inside her.

There was a storm coming in—radioactive clouds were drifting down from Fukushima. Soon radioactive rain would be falling over Tokyo the dead city.

“Let it rain,” the Lizard Boy said.

Saturday, November 12, 2011

Lord of the Lizards

Lord of the Lizards

“The boy with fair hair”
—William Golding, Lord of the Flies

The boy with black hair raised his school sweater and lowered his shorts for them to see. He showed the other boys what was happening to him. The effects of the Fukushima blast and deadly radiation. He was a mutant boy now.

The lizard disease had finally got to him. The mutant lizard lord was part of him now, crawling down the side of his leg. It was black and blue and slithery. It was primitive and obscene looking. It was a mutant monster taking over his lanky adolescent anatomy.

A drone robot plane flew overhead, flashing by with a witchy cry. It was echoed by the other boys, crying out in disgust and fear. They knew they were all doomed to the same thing. It was just a matter of time before the lizard lord got them too.

The boy with the black hair tried to act offhand and not too obviously interested. But he couldn’t help looking down and staring at it too. He stared at it solemnly, but the disgust of it suddenly overcame them

“Cover it up, quick!” one of the other boys said.

There were six of them, dressed in rags, boys of the radiation death. They all knew they were doomed, but they didn’t know how long it would take. The adults were all dead, Tokyo just another ghost town. The once huge modern city was now just a Japanese radioactive tomb like all the other cities.

At first, things were the same. The empty streets, the stores they raided for food, the swank luxurious skyscrapers and condo dives they slept in. The stink of death wasn’t so bad way up in the sky, but the stairs were awfully bothersome without any elevators anymore.

It was a mutant virus of some kind, perhaps some form of germ warfare that had got loose. The Fukushima fuck-job was just the beginning. Nobody knew what really happened, all the adults were gone or dead.

There was nothing to do, no TV, no Internet, no nothing. No news about Japan or the rest of the Pacific. The only thing left was their gang, who’d survived somehow. They’d been hiding down in the sewers, but when they came up everything was changed.

The boy with the black hair didn’t say anything. He knew the other boys would find another leader, not that it made any difference anymore. They’d all be dead pretty soon like all the others, and it wouldn’t be pretty either.

He could already feel it, the lizard lord taking over his body. Radioactive malignancy was really quick these days, germ warfare was different now. The doomsday machine had gone viral now, the implanted chips were monitoring everything.

But what good was it when everybody was dead. Even the people that be down in their underground tunnels and bunkers. They were the first to go, betrayed by their own praetorian robots & guards. Down it all came, and it didn’t take long.

The boy with the hair knew what to do. He gave the rest of the gang a smirk and toughie sneer. Pulling up his shorts, tightening up his gun belt. He’d crawl upstairs and blow his brains out, the Tokyo Hilton would do.

They followed him though, his gang of fellow teen mutants. They wanted to see how he’d take it, whether he’d go out screaming like a pig or brave like a fool. They all climbed up the stairs, silent and sullen, just looking for an excuse to jump out the windows.

He didn’t make it, they had to carry him up to the top floor. The mutant lizard curse was already getting out of control, slowly sucking all the life-juices out of the kid.

It was a lush penthouse that once belonged to a rich diva, the favorite of one of the local yakuza warlords. It had a huge sumptuous water-bed that seemed to cool and comfort their young impromptu leader.

The boy with dark hair had no name, he was just another orphan of the times. Another Fukushima freak, resigned to youthful diaspora. But there was no place to go, no safe haven to flee to. How does one escape one’s own mutant body?

The water-bed was warm and wavy. He had his earphones on. He’d gulped down some Quaaludes, shot himself up with the usual drugs. Even so, the lizard god wasn’t going to let him off easy.

The others stuck around. The Tokyo night descended on the city, not many people were left to enjoy the endgame. It wasn’t going to be pretty, it never was.

For some reason, the lord of the lizards went for a guy’s prick right away. Pretty soon the victim’s body became simply a morphed mutant of the guy’s schwanz. It wasn’t natural, the whole genetic metamorphosis was out of somebody’s nightmare.

Soon enough the boy with the dark hair was no longer a boy, no longer the young teenage juvenile delinquent leader that he was for awhile. He turned into a dick with a pair of legs & some arms.

The mutant monster turned everything into a nefarious creature of the Id, the soon-insignificant limbs shrinking like the rest of the body down into this horrible snake-like phallus of death.

Why was death this way—so cold-blooded, hissing like a cobra, squeezing the victim to death like a ruthless boa constrictor? Going for the young studs first, some kind of desperate diva famished for rough trade?

It was horrible, their leader the boy with the black hair. How he turned into a lizard the hard way, becoming a cobra and rearing its ugly head. Not even Maria Montez could have worshipped it, the huge King Cobra of technicolor Cobra Island.

It wasn’t campy, it was cruel. Like the living dead of old horror movies, Night of the Living Dead and I Walked With a Zombie. The boy with black hair was no longer human—he was a killer cobra with a pair of dead legs. His gang ran away, but not fast enough.

It grabbed one of the fleeing boys, the fat one who had lots of meat. The monster that was once a boy, sucked the other kid completely dry with one snort. Then like a petulant penis—it went pouty and limp.

The Lizard looked around, getting a sense for its new succulent body. The Lizard Boy was no longer simply just human, no longer the truant teenage troublemaker he’d been before. He was now the new Lord of the Lizards—at least for a little bit anyway…

Lord of the Lizards II

Lord of the Lizards

“There isn’t anyone to help you.
Only me. And I’m the Beast.”
—William Golding, Lord of the Flies

He had a long pink lizard tongue—perfect for cutey-pie cunninglingus. The screamy ones especially—they loved his slithery evil serpentine tongue. At first, anyway—before things got nasty.

There had to be something wrong—with a guy like that. With a tongue a foot long—a forked tongue French tickler that wouldn’t quit. They loved it at first—but then later on they always turned into screamers. When the lights came on…

The Lizard Boy could hold it back for awhile—like a mulatto guy faking it, passing for white. But whores knew the difference—they were paid to be that way. Lots of white guyz were pretty dark down there—prostitutes knew the difference.

But Lizard Boyz were different—they could pass too. But once the lights went out and they got down to having sex—that’s when the Lizard came out & all hell broke loose.

The tongue a sure giveaway, once it got up there inside—or down their throats then there was no stopping it. A lizard has a one-track mind & it isn’t very pretty. Before you know it, you’ve been reamed inside out…

The Lizard Boy got into it—he didn’t have a choice. He wasn’t human anymore, he was a lizard with legs. The Lord of the Lizards spoke thru him, the kid could feel his swollen tongue but it said nothing.

“You’re just a fuck-up piece of shit,” the Lizard Lord said to him. “Just an ignorant Yakuza jerk-off.”

The kid agreed with the Lizard Lord, answering him in the same silent voice. "Well, then,” said the Lord of the Lizards, “you’d better run off and get something to eat. You liked Piggy didn’t you?”

The Lizard Boy tilted his head slightly, his eyes couldn’t break away and the Lord of the Lizards hung in space before him.

“What are you doing out here all alone? Aren’t you the fuck afraid of me?”

The kid shook his head.

“There’s nobody to help you. Only me. And I’m the Lizard Lord.”

The kid’s tongue froze, then he said it.

“Fukushima freak—you created me.”

“What a stupid fuckin thing to say,” the Lord of the Lizards said. “I didn’t create you, you created me!!!” For a moment or two the ruined skyscrapers of Tokyo echoed with the parody of laughter. “You knew that, surely, didn’t you? You’re a part of me and I’m a part of you. The DNA mad scientists did us both in, you child-idiot. I’m the reason why it’s no go. And you’re the reason why things are what they are…”

The skyscrapers shivered again. The ghosts of dead scientists were laughing. It was all so sick.

“Go on, get back with the rest.”

The kid’s head wobbled & weaved. His eyes were half closed, knowing the obscene thing he was. The pig on the stick in Lord of the Flies—was now the pig between his legs in Lord of the Lizards.

“You poor thing. Do you really think you know better than I do? Go ahead and be who you are, misguided spawn of monkey-brained child idiots!”

The kid was falling—down inside a mouth. A slithery serpent tongue was wrapped around his ankle, pulling him down into darkness. He lost consciousness…