It's been some weeks since the Kim Kardashian butt pic shocker was released. I think it might have been around Thanksgiving that we were bombarded with images of the glistening, naked flesh of her double-pumped butt. Now, almost Christmas, it's officially old news and the world has moved on.
But recently, the Kardashian publicity stunt was brought up during a discussion in which I happened to be nearby.
I added my two-cents. "I'm actually disappointed in the picture. I mean if Kim Kardashian is going to show off her prized naked butt, does she have to lather it up in (what appears to be) petroleum jelly?"
Actually, I've made this point in a few Kardashain discussions with people in recent weeks. And the response I get from people is confusing to me. You see; they don't get it! They don't understand my complaint. What could I possibly mean by being disappointed that she lathered her ass up in petroleum jelly?
Well, you see, I'm the sort of guy who enjoys the sight of a simple, naked ass. And I'm sure Kim Kardashian has a beautiful ass. But greasing it up (to me) defiles that Heavenly glory of a woman's ass. Check out the woman’s beautiful ass in this photo. See how plain and simple it is? You can see it for what it truly is. Gorgeous...
Today's featured writing is a brand new story. I never so much as hint to what the phantom children are. I don't think that even I do. What's your theory?
Dawn spoke with her senior citizen mother on the telephone, Friday afternoon, while listening to the whoas and silly problems that the elderly typically encounter.
“I turned my TV on and all I could see was static.” explained Mother. “There was no picture. So I called the TV people and they sent some guy out to look at it.”
Dawn interrupted, “The TV people? You mean the cable company, Mom?”
“Yeah, them.” she answered. “Anyway, there’s some box that sits on my TV. I guess it wasn’t on. He turned it on, and now my TV works.”
“That’s called a converter, Mom.” informed Dawn. “Yes, that needs to be on so your TV can receive cable.”
“Well what’s cable?”
Dawn sighed. “It’s the service that you pay for each month to get good reception on your TV.—remember?”
“Oh, yeah… right… So I need to keep that box on for it to work?”
“Yes Mother…” Dawn silently reminded herself of how thankful she was that her eighty-six-years-old mother could still live alone and get around. Having difficulty understanding modern-day technology wasn’t anything to get too concerned about. But then there were those other problems that Dawn couldn’t take so lightly. You see, Dawn’s mother was a victim of regular neighborhood harassment.
“And those darned kids kept bothering me last night. I could hardly sleep.” continued Mother.
“Oh no!” answered Dawn. “Why don’t you call the police?”
“Oh I have! It’s just that by the time the police get here, the kids are gone. The police say that they are going to watch my house at night, but they never see anything.”
“And you’re sure you are just not dreaming, Mom?”
Mother laughed, “No, they keep me awake. I hear them. They started last night by ringing the telephone. Of course I had to answer it. I mean what if it was you trying to get a hold of me? But as usual, they hung up once I answered. All I could hear was the dial tone. I lay down and slept for about an hour. Then all of the sudden someone was ringing and ringing the door. It scared the living daylights out of me. I was thinking, ‘What in the world is going on?’ And as usual, by the time I got to the door, they were gone—the ding dong ditch.”
Dawn suggested, “We should really get some security cameras installed for you, Mom. This has gone on far enough. I would really like to catch the little brats who are doing this.”
“Oh… I suppose…” commented Mother. “But it might be just something extra for me to worry about. I mean I can’t even work my TV these days.”
“You wouldn’t have to worry about the cameras, Mom. We would take care of that for you.”
“Really?” asked Mother with a note of surprise. “You mean I wouldn’t have to operate them.”
“Nope!” reassured Dawn.
“Well, maybe you and Dan could come over some time and set them up.” Then Mother continued with her relaying of last night’s events. “And you’re not going to believe what else they did!”
“What? What did they do?”
“I lay back down, and someone was suddenly knocking on my bedroom window.”
“I turned the bedroom light on and went over to the window and told them to go away.”
“Mom, I don’t like the sound of this. I mean that could be someone trying to break into your house and rob you. Are you sure you’re going to be okay by yourself?”
“Oh, I’ll be fine.” reassured Mother. “I really think it’s just a bunch of kids messing around with an old lady. It just bothers me. It interrupts my sleep at night.”
“Well, Mom, I think the time has come for us to put up some security cameras around the outside of your home. We can show the video footage to the police, and they will be able to identify who is causing you all that grief.”
“That sounds like a great idea. Maybe we can do that this weekend.”
Several hours later, Friday night, eighty-six-year-old, Bernice, nervously patrolled her house. She made sure all the windows were locked and that the garage door was shut. She really looked forward to Sunday when Dawn and her husband would come over to install those cameras. For now she would have to endure the shenanigans of the neighborhood kids. But tonight was different. Tonight was a night that she would finally take matters into her own hands and beat those pesky kids at their game.
Tonight, Bernice did the most unusual thing. Rather than lock her front door, she simply closed it without engaging the lock. Then she put a broomstick near the front door to be used as a weapon. Whoever kept coming to the door, night after night, to play ding dong ditch surely would not expect what the old lady had planned.
Bernice followed her usual ritual of turning off the lights and going to bed. Then she waited; waited for all those shenanigans from the neighborhood children to begin.
A half-hour passed: no harassment from the kids. An hour passed: Bernice fell asleep. Then, about half-past midnight the telephone rang.
Bernice rolled out of bed, staggered over to the telephone in the kitchen, and answered it. “Hello?”
There was only silence.
Bernice knew there was someone on the other end—probably the kids—and used the opportunity to issue her warning. “If you kids think this is going to be another night of the usual shenanigans, you’ve got another thing coming. You’re not going to like what’ll happen, tonight.”
Whoever was on the other end apparently hung up. The harsh dial tone could soon be heard.
“That’s right…” mumbled Bernice. “Keep playing around…” She staggered back into the bedroom and crawled into bed.
But no sooner had she done this, the doorbell rang which was followed by aggressive pounding at the door.
Bernice sighed. “I warned them…” she slowly got out of bed, and staggered through the darkened hallway until reaching the kitchen to the location of the back door. In nothing but pajamas and in her bare feet, Bernice quietly stepped out into the backyard, and cut around the side of the house until reaching the front. With the main entryway finally into view, she spotted a hoodlum, perhaps, no more than twelve-years-old on the porch. His back was turned to her, and he apparently learned that the door was unlocked. The boy actually had the door opened a crack!
Outraged, yet equally terrified, Bernice tiptoed up to the porch until reaching the boy. By now he managed to have the front door open just enough to slip through. He was about to quietly shut it, but Bernice pushed the door open and shoved him inside.
“Ah ha! I’ve got you, you little hoodlum!” She closed the door, backed him into a corner and seized him. “How dare you?” she shouted while shaking the living daylights out of the boy. “How dare you cause so much trouble like this? Back in my day, kids who got into mischief were severely dealt with. And seeing that your parents obviously don’t care what you do, I’m the one who’s going to deal with you.”
Bernice quickly reached for the broomstick that she had set in the corner before going to bed.
Backed into the wall, the boy had no choice but to turn and hide his face. He was trapped against a wall with a stark raving old lady who had every intention of using a broomstick as a deadly weapon.
The broom made a loud whooshing noise as is stuck the boy’s behind, which was followed by a painful “WHACK…! WHACK…! WHACK…!”
The angry blows shocked the boy with so much pain that it made it difficult to breathe. He gasped and struggled to suck in air while squirming and reacting to the beating.
“WHACK…! WHACK…! WHACK…!”
In a desperate attempt, the boy turned and held his hand out to defend against the strikes. It was his intention to try and grab the broomstick from the old lady. But she knew his plan, and quickly dodged the boy’s effort; then struck him low at the side of his knee. It must have been a serious blow, for he fell to the ground and buried his face under his arms.
“WHACK…! WHACK…! WHACK…!” The old lady continued to beat the boy with the fury of Hell.
“Take that! And that! And that! You rotten, little hoodlum; I’ll make so your friends have to carry you home!”
“WHACK…! WHACK…! WHACK…!” On the last blow, the broomstick broke in half. The old lady threw both ends on top of the boy who only lay there motionless.
“Now get up!” Bernice ordered.
The boy didn’t move a muscle.
“Get up!” she kicked him in the ribs.
The boy remained still, lifeless.
“Do you hear me?” Bernice bent down and pulled the boy’s hair at the back of his head to lift his face. Then she released and his face hit the floor. “Are you alive?” she asked. “You’re not dead, are you?” Bernice placed her finger under the boy’s nose and soon realized that he was not breathing. She wrapped her fingers and thumb around his neck to feel for the jugular vein, but there was no pulse.
“Oh no…” Bernice cried out. Only moments ago, Bernice was a stark raving lunatic with the fury of Hell. Now she was regretful and deeply saddened. “He’s dead… I killed him… Oh no… Oh no… Oh, dear, what am I going to do…?” She paced the floors back and forth with hands folded near the chest. “What am I going to do? I can’t call the police or the paramedics. They’ll lock me up. I’m too old to go to jail… Oh, why didn’t I just let them have one more night and let Dawn and Dan set up those cameras?”
Then, an elaborate and gruesome plan was quickly hatched that would make it possible for Bernice to cover the horrible crime she had committed. It happened all so quickly. Maybe it was leftover from the rage that now combined with dreadful worry; but she suddenly had the ability to lift the boy’s legs in the air and drag him across the tiled floor, into the bathroom. She wrestled, lifted, and flung the boy’s lifeless body until it was completely in the bathtub. Then the old lady dashed out into the garage for the hand tree saw that hung on the wall near the landscaping equipment. Moments later, she leaned over the bathtub and sawed the boy’s arm from his shoulder.
She sawed and sawed, likened the act to cutting the leg from a Thanksgiving turkey. And when the arm was completely severed from the shoulder—puddles of blood running down the drain—she moved over to the other.
Blood continued to run down the drain. I dare not describe the horrific and gory mess that lay in that bathtub. But at some point while the old lady hacked away at the boy’s leg, he actually came back to life!
The boy cried; tried to scream but was so weak from the incredible amount of blood loss. His arms were both severed from his shoulders. He kicked with his legs… barely.
“Now, now…” began Bernice. “I’m really sorry for doing this. But you leave me with no choice. Night-after-night you kids tormented me and wouldn’t leave me alone. I really didn’t expect to beat you to death… Well at least I thought I did, but I was apparently mistaken. I’m too old to go to jail. And really you kids weren’t being very nice. If you ask me, you get what you deserve. Now it’s time to accept your punishment.”
Bernice continued to lecture the boy as she hacked away at his legs. At some point he lost consciousness—probably died.
Oh… what is that you (the reader) ask? What was Bernice planning to do?
Well, after she had all the boy’s limbs severed from his body and further cut in half, she went out into the garage for a couple of storage bins. She padded the bottoms of the bins with newspaper, and then wrapped the remains of the boy’s limbs in paper towels. These were placed in the storage bin—lid closed—and then carried down to a closet in the basement. Afterwards, she struggled with the boy’s upper torso and dropped it into the second storage bin. It was slid across the tiled floor, to the stairwell and then dragged down where it was stored with the other bin. The closet in the old lady’s basement was now the burial of a twelve-year-old hoodlum who once enjoyed tormenting her.
“Hopefully those kids will take this as a warning…” said Bernice before turning off the lights. She staggered back upstairs and finally went to bed at around 3:30 in the morning.
It was Sunday mid-morning, over twenty-four hours since Bernice murdered the boy and stored him in the basement. At around 11:00; her daughter, Dawn, and her husband entered the house.
“Good morning!” the cheerfully greeted.
But Bernice stood there with a deranged look on her face and appeared terribly distraught.
“Oh, Mom!” cried out Dawn. “You look awful! Did those kids keep you awake last night?”
“Listen…” began Bernice. “I need to tell you something, and I need your help.”
“Sure what is it?” asked her son-in-law.
“Okay… On Friday night, those kids were pestering me again. One of them managed to get in the house. I used a broomstick and beat him. I beat him so hard that I killed him.”
Both Dawn and her husband gasped. “Oh my gosh! Did you call the police? What happened?”
“No, I wouldn’t call the police!” snapped Bernice. “Instead, I dragged his body into the bathtub. I cut his legs and arms off with a tree saw. At one point I found out that he was still alive because he came back to life. But I kept sawing him apart until he was finally dead. Then I laid his parts in storage bins and put them in the closet downstairs.”
Down broke down and cried, “Oh, Mom! Why did you do that? Why didn’t you call us for help?”
“But it’s gotten even worse!” continued Bernice. “Last night I could hear him moving around down there. I think he’s come back to life… I KNOW he’s come back to life! And all of his friends were knocking on the windows; trying to break in and rescue him. I went down in the basement this morning, and could see that he was no longer in the bins. There’s no blood or trace of anything ever being in there.”
Poor, old Bernice broke down and knelt on the floor while sobbing. “You have to help me! I don’t know what to do! I don’t know what they’re going to do to me when they come back!”