The guilty walked slowly as their heads were covered in white
linen, they could only see their feet as they awkwardly stumble walked to their
hanging fate. Their motorization
restricted by tightly bound ropes which twist in the dirt and rake the skin red
on their bare legs, goose pimpled from their short but cold journey. They are covered by dirt smudged sheets, like
pretend ghosts; some rank drunk offering foul repentance for any approaching
onlookers, others chillingly quiet and resolved as they make their death march.
The warden leads them one by one into a cart,
led by pike and sword to be dragged behind a horse’s ass and displayed to the
carnival that waits. More indignation
before the end; the town is crossed, a half mile march to the gibbet. They can smell the thunderous aroma of horse shit;
hear the gaffs of the quant village folk further condemning them, mind split
between the spectacle passing by in the street and their morning choirs. A chaplain sings verses and offers
final salvation expertly ignoring the bellow of the buzzing crowd assaulting
the cart from all sides, natives now thirsty to see the final act of the bloody
ritual. As the fevered pitch of slurs
peaks the chaplain hits an even higher octave, until at last all singing is
done, and there are no more psalms to offer.
The noose is placed, the cart is pulled, and all hang as
one. The friends and relatives of the
damned pull at their feet to ease their way to death’s embrace. After a few moments the sky dance ends, and
it is over.
But the hangman’s job is never done, he strips the clothes
from the bodies of a few, sells their final fur to relatives, and the rest of
the mess goes to surgeons. Teeth are
pulled by pliers and placed in decorative baubles to be used later as
dentures. The truly damned are left to
hang, covered in fat and tallow, bound by heavy chains; there they rot in
public until they are reclaimed by dust.
I WILL HAVE MY REVENGE! Stirring under the dark earth of Camp Blackfoot in upstate NY, Cropsy sits in his crypt watching hours upon pain staking hours of wretched B-rated filth and reading tomes of unholy pulp comics, swearing revenge on all those who've wronged him. His brain melts, slowly absolving his sanity. It spills forth on the inter-webs, contaminating the digital frontier like a burrowing parasite. Fans of flicks and funnybooks that defy common sense and moral decency welcome. Bring your own beer.... and body-bags!