As
the rest of the world celebrated the fall of the Berlin Wall,
Ten-Toed Bob took to his nuclear bunker in the depths of
Buttfuck, Arkansas. Just like the elite of the Stasi, KGB and the
Bulgarian ones, Ten-Toed Bob went underground. Ten-Toed Bob
didn't later on join the rapidly expanding Evil Nasty Fucks
Department of the CIA, but like a female stripy feline with a
speech impediment, I digress. (Sorry). Bob drew all his curtains,
cancelled the milk, papers and his subscription to 'We Gonna
Shoot Yo' Ass Bitch', the official magazine of the NRA. He set
his lights on timers (they would all come on at 5:14pm) and sent
letters to everyone in Buttfuck and the surrounding villages of
Spunkmouth, Goatblow and Lincoln, letting them know he was going
to be a reclusive writer and not to bother him.
A
direct descendant of Joe McCarthy (Miss February), Ten-Toed Bob
had racism and Commie bastard hatred forged into his very liver
from the beginning of time. He only started to pay attention to
it after he was born, but had he chosen to pay attention in the
days of dinosaurs and killer mutant squirrels, it would have been
there. That's what from the beginning of time means; it means
that from... 'the beginning of time', ...it had been there. You
got that? His nuclear bunker had been ready for years in
preparation for, well, nuclear attack. After a quick visit to
Miss Talullah's General Store And Whorehouse to restock his salad
draw (matron), which had gone a little gunky since 1968, the
bunker was hermetically sealed and the timer set for his future
release. He wasn't quite sure when he set the timer for: the
instruction manual was in Chinese. He wasn't really too worried.
With two years' food if he ate on alternate days, or a year's
supply if he just ate normally, he'd be fine as long as the timer
wasn't set for eighty years or something like that.
The
nuclear bunker was basically a large room fifteen metres below
his house, with its now-sealed entrance hidden beneath a hollowed
out washing machine in the cellar. The walls were lined with some
anti-nuclear type stuff and were armour- (sorry, armor-) plated
to defend against regular bombs, desperate people with hideously
disfiguring radiation poisoning searching for a safe place to
hide from the invading Commie bastards, and rabbits and other
burrowing animals like a horse with a spade. He was in for a long
sentence. (Sorry. So very sorry). Having surfed da net in search
of a way to adapt a generator to run on an exercise bike and
human waste, Bob had a generator that ran on an exercise bike and
human waste. He had a fuckload of oxygen and water tanks out back
to do their duty for the Good Ol' USA of America. See a problem
with breathing compressed air in a hermetically sealed
environment? After a while, death by asphyxiation or poppage of
the bunker. Not so for Ten-Toed Bob. Bob got his idea when
watching a porno film set in the world of scuba divers. During a
regrouping moment, he had seen a device called a rebreather which
enabled making use of all the oxygen in a tank, rather than just
breathing it normally and wasting a large proportion of it. An
intricate set-up of pulleys and rope woven from the hair of
ex-girlfriends and sheep would recompress the air into the tanks
for later use; the useless carbon dioxide would also be
compressed into the empty tanks, so as not to kill him - Bob was
clever like that. Using his rebreather he would only begin to
start having trouble breathing after about 22 months, with the
air running out six weeks later. If he had just imagined the
rebreather in his weakened state, he would be dead within an
hour.
All
across America people like Ten-Toed Bob were beginning to die.
Having never dabbled in scuba porn, it never occurred to them
that their breathed air would have to go somewhere. To this day
America bears the hidden shame of thousands of dead, stupid
people buried beneath the ground. (What? All that just for an
'Americans are dum' bit? Sorry for the lack of closure on the
anecdote, but I can't really concentrate: I'm listening to The
Only Living Boy In New York and it always makes me cry).