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August 17, 2012 Posted by | Photo | | Leave a comment

Twins in Death: Chapter Four – Part One

Twins in Death

A Tale of The Weirdo

By Brett N. Lashuay



Chapter Four: The Red Twin



June 22nd, 2002

4:44 p.m.


            While the Death of Omega has obviously been covered in great detail, and has very little do with The Weirdo, it would do us well to at least recap this event. This is in no way a complete record of the events, which are possibly best recounted in Martin K. Lambert’s “Omega: The Death of a God,” but they do show where The Weirdo’s connection comes in.


            Armageedun had come out of nowhere, and started to attack. No one ever found out where it came from, or what it wanted. The thing was simply a super-powered plot contrivance, sent for no other reason than to destroy. The Justice Avengers had been the first to fall, and then the Robo-Squad had fallen under its boot, finally it had to contend with Omega. The tall man in the Blue suit with the large golden Greek Letter on his chest had arrived just as the Scarlet Torch completely drained his magic bracelet of power and the beast’s fist smashed his head into an unrecognizable smudge in the concrete.


            The Blue Weasel had been the next to go, but then he’d only been armed with a small laser cannon that hadn’t worked before. The monster seemed to grow stronger  from the ray before it tore Blue Weasel’s head off. It then smashed its head through his chest and bit his heart out of his body. As the beast lifted its blood stained maw, Omega’s own blood began to pump faster and he flew into the monster with all his strength.


            It had been years since a superhero had been killed. Costumed adventures like Weasel had died, but not a genuine Superhero. Scarlet Torch had been killed, members of The Justice Avengers had been killed, this was not to be borne. It was one thing in his mind to kill a costumed avenger, but to kill a superhero was another thing.


            The fight that ensued continued over three states, ending in the place where all battles would seem to end, Central Park in New York City. Both combatants had gained and lost ground during the fight, but Omega seemed determined that Armageedun’s path of destruction would end in the city he loved so. It’s not that it was sensible, but it was good for a narrative.


            Omega’s fist struck against Armageedun’s jaw, and something shattered. At first, he thought it was his own mighty arm, but then seeing the beast scream, its mouth hung open he realized what it must have been. He’d managed to hurt the damn thing, finally. Now all he had to do was do it again. He looked at his wrist, the golden crystals imbedded in his arms were almost all broken and turned to dust. He wasn’t going to be able to keep this fight up much longer. He felt his muscles scream as he threw himself towards the beast smashing his shoulder into its midsection.


            Something gave, and it wasn’t in the beast’s belly. He knew that his right shoulder was broken, and then the boney spiked knee of the thing rose up and pierced his side. Omega didn’t scream, though he would have liked to. He could tell that his lung had been punctured, and he felt the other lung go as the spikes on the monster’s fists drove in through his back and crushed his lungs. The world started to go black, and he used all the power he had left to grab the monster by the legs and lift. He threw it up and punched it, determined that this fight would go no further.


            He tried to stand up, but it wasn’t going well, and that damn thing was charging towards him again. His fist curled back and slung forward with all the strength he had left, but he collapsed before it could connect. The beast drove its fist down towards the hero’s head, determined to crush his skull and eat the goo inside.


            It is still, to this very day, unclear as to where The Weirdo had actually come from, but suddenly he was there. Not only was he suddenly there, but he had drawn the nearly mythical black gun and had it cocked and aimed. Amrageedun was about four inches from the barrel when the gun when off, and its head vanished in an explosion the impact of which was recorded as far away as New Brunswick.


            The body of Armageedun fell over, dead, and The Weirdo picked up Omega in his arms. As suddenly as the man in the gray trench coat had appeared, he disappeared, taking Omega with him. Two minutes later, Omega’s body appeared in the place where it had fallen. Someone had clearly made a serious but failed attempt to save his life. He had been cleaned up, the tears in his costume had been stiched together as well as could be done.


            What was odd, is that The Weirdo denyed any involvement in this, and was backed up by his compatriots. He was, to put it bluntly, drunk at the time. When he came out of his house to see reporters he was stumbling and clearly too far gone to have had any involvement. All they would tell the press at the time was that he was distraught over a personal matter, and since there was more pressing news than that about the media left off for the scent of blood.



March 27th, 1935

10:41 p.m.


            To say that things were not going well was to make a grand understatement. To say that a full-blown shit storm had been unleashed might come closer to the mark. The simple raid had turned into nearly a full-scale war. They hadn’t been expecting the Vestugi’s and the Marreneli’s to be making a pact against them. They hadn’t been expecting that The Vole and his teenage sexpot sidekick Fox Girl were going to show up and get themselves killed.


            What had started as another night of shooting bad guys was turning quickly into a night of everyone getting killed. Tommy had caught a bullet in the leg and James had been shot to pieces trying to save Fox Girl. Machine gun bullets had torn through him and ripped into her.  He fell to the ground, and she landed on top of him.


            The Weirdo had then gone completely and totally batshit. He took Tommy’s machine gun and with one in each hand began to spray the entire group. He then announced that he was going to get them all. They got out of the warehouse before the explosives they had planted detonated the entire building.


            The fire lanced the sky, smoke and sound shot around them. The Weirdo drove away until they were clear and then slammed on the brakes. He turned in the driver’s chair and looked at his two remaining compadres.


            “Get out.” He said.


            “What?” Tommy asked.


            “Get a cab.” The Weirdo yelled, and then his face grew sorrowful. “James is dead Tommy. This has got to end, and it’s got to end tonight. I’m going to take care of them.”


            “You sound like your going to get yourself killed.” Jack admonished.


            “No.” The Weirdo said shaking his head. “But I am going to end this, tonight. Get Tommy’s leg looked at, and we’ll meet up in the morning for breakfast as Sardi’s.”


            “We better.” Tommy said.


            The door closed and the car sped off, and that was the last they saw of him. Tommy and Jack only heard about the events that happened later, as police and reporters came to ask them questions. What happened that night took weeks of rumor and false stories to sort out.


            There followed a night of explosions, of people flying out of windows and of gunshots. By morning there were six hundred and forty two people dead. The Weirdo, and the car were both missing, swallowed up by the night. Most had accepted that he got too close to one of the places he had blown up, that some of the dynamite in the back of the car had finally exploded, something like that. That The Weirdo was dead did not seem to be contested in any great way.


            Jack and Tommy spent the next month waiting for him to come through the door, but it didn’t happen. The story that eventually made the rounds was that the car had exploded with him in it. The fact that pieces of the car were never found made them wonder about this. It wouldn’t be hard for the few that he left alive to have disposed of the car though, just out of spite. However, there was never a reliable story about the car’s destruction. Each time the story came around several details were different. No one ever found a bit of him or the car, and no one ever found anyone who knew what had become of the remains.


            Tommy never believed it, because Tommy had read comic books. In the comic books, which were beginning to spring up around most the costumed heroes, you could never tell about death. A person might fall into the river, but unless you saw their dead body, you knew they’d swam to the shore and would be back in a later issue. The days of Dr. Pinopscotch and The Shade had long since gone. Now there was White Eagle and The Blue Weasel, who almost always left people alive.


            Had he known how much later it would be, they wouldn’t have kept the house open as long as they did. It was expensive to keep all the servants around, particularly for a house that wasn’t theirs. Jack stayed around and he and Tommy did what they could for the next few years, but then the German thing began and Jack went to England. It wasn’t until Tommy came back from The War that they closed the house up for good.


            The money hadn’t been a problem, but it wasn’t theirs. The Weirdo had made sure that Tommy knew how to get to the money he had, but Tommy didn’t like the idea of using The Weirdo’s money. Even if they could keep living off the interest until the day they died. Ten years after he had vanished, Tommy finally admitted he wasn’t coming back, and closed the house up.


            He and Amy then lived the life they had planed to live. He went to work for the FBI and the CIA as a private consultant, moved into private eye work, and retired in nineteen seventy five, at nearly sixty five years of age.  He had made quite a bit of money, and he and Amy moved to a house in the hills, his youth with The Weirdo all but forgotten. Amy died in nineteen eighty, a year before their granddaughter was even born. He had started his family late, and so had his only son.



July 3rd, 2002

1:18 p.m.


            To say that The Weirdo didn’t attend Omega’s funeral wouldn’t be entirely true. In a sense he was there, in spirit, but in a very real and physical sense he wasn’t there. In fact it would be more accurate to say that while Jack, Max and Tommy attended, The Weirdo slept. They hadn’t had the heart to wake him, as it was a recordable fact that he hadn’t slept in at least two days now. Not being able to sleep and then sleeping for half the day had once again become his new favorite hobby. The rest of the time he had become self-contained to the point of avoidance. He wouldn’t have come to the funeral anyway, he was against the idea of ceremonies.


            It must also be pointed out that in fact it wasn’t just the funeral for Omega, but a memorial for all that fell during Armageedun’s short reign of terror. It was just that Omega was the star of the funeral, as he had been in life as well. His presence, even dead, dominated the proceedings. His body was also the most intact of the fallen heroes, which meant that he alone could have an open casket.


            In many ways, a good deal of the people who were there would have liked to share his feelings on ceremony. The funeral for Omega wasn’t a celebration of a life, but the reminder of a death. He had no family to console, at least not that anyone knew, and many wondered who would save the day now that the man who had done it so many times had gone. It was a clear reminder that there was no such thing as an invincible hero, that even Omega could die.


            It shook people the way nine-eleven had shaken them just a few months before. It seemed now that the end of the world might come soon, that there was no hope. Despair had become the order of the day. In fact the feeling that the end of the world was coming would hover over people for some time after that.


            In deed, one might wonder how the events of the next few years might have gone had Omega not been killed, if The Weirdo had shown up just a minute earlier. Of course one could also wonder what would have happened had George Washington not died in the battle of Kip’s Bay leaving the way open for Horatio Gates to take over as General the Revolutionary Army. The British likely would have won with Washington in charge. History has many twists and turns, and no one can say how a thing will turn out until they’ve seen it come to its fruition.


            Omega’s casket was placed in a tomb specially made for him in Central Park, on the spot where he finally fell dead. The public watched as the great door was closed and sealed, and then they drifted away, waiting for a day when they could think of the man of titanium without bursting into tears. They were also waiting for the day when someone might be able to save them again. The world looked very dark.



© 2012 Autumn Knight Productions

August 13, 2012 Posted by | Fiction | , | Leave a comment

More Detroit Zoo Pictures


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Photos from the Detroit Zoo


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I can smell fear, and it smells like Drakkar Noir

Once upon a time, I knew some rich people. Not 1% rich, but 5% maybe 10% rich. Trophy wife and private school rich. Yacht and second house bigger than most people’s first house rich. So rich, but not mega rich. Rich enough that they’ve become terrified about their relative postions.

I was 15/16 and a friend of a friend introduced me to a friend and I was informally adopted for a couple of weeks during a couple of summers when someone was home from school. The details are unimportant and hazy, and I’m not interested in talking about that right now anyway.

The story I want to tell is when I was chosen as an escort to some… thing or other. Someone was getting an award and there was going to be a dinner afterward and I wasn’t told I would be in a room full of suits until we were on our way or I might have not worn purple sweatpants. However, I did, and I’m not ashamed of that fact because I’m not ashamed of much at all.

Shame doesn’t get you very far in life kids.

So I’m sat at a table, while the girl who in retrospect had a crush on me the size of Mt. Rushmore and was aching for me to make a move, went off with her mother to talk about something. I’m not entirely sure what they were talking about, but she wasn’t getting in trouble for bringing me because I think her mother was hoping to pick up a bit on the side when she was done with me. Also, she would have mentioned if her mother had been annoyed because she was reveling in annoying her mother that year. I do believe, I was part of that, but that’s not important right now.

As a result of her being called off, I was sat at a table with seven other guys. Five of them were employed by the company that was giving someone an award, one was their boss and the last one was a college kid who was interning with the company, but because of college he didn’t have the full suit but only a shirt and tie. The boss was one of those silvering haired jackasses that likes to be an executive, and likes to tell people he’s an executive and has been an executive so long he has truly forgotten people like me exist.

So we’re sitting there, and it’s a no-booze do because of all the college kids and people like me. So the executive orders a Slice with “lots of ice” requesting the waitress to “fill the glass” and I can see a couple of the guys sort of squirm. They hate Slice, but they’re going to drink it because Bossman drinks it. I’m not joking, as she goes around the table it’s “Slice, lots of ice.” “Slice, lots of ice.” “Same for me.” and my heart is filled with contempt for these people. I can tell damn well that one wants a Pepsi, that one wants some root beer and that one wants a needle filled with heroin and a line of cocaine to chase it with.

It’s about this time that I start to notice that unlike most places I’ve been, the colognes of the men aren’t mingling into a strange mixed scent. It’s only Drakkar Noir at table five, no other scents prevail, perhaps mine. But my scent was a faint hint of shampoo and not much else because I hadn’t even shaved. It’s about this time that I realize the thing that separates me from everyone else.

I’m the only person at this table who isn’t terrified.

Everyone else, even the bossman, is afraid. They’re afraid of not being on the right track. Sure, they all drive Fords, but are they driving the right Ford? Does a winner drive an Explorer? Surely, only a looser drives and Escort. What about a Mustang, or a Thunderbird? Can a winner really be seen driving those? Remember this is the early 90s, when neither car had any balls to speak of. Is this the right shirt? Should I have an oxford collar? What if only a loose uses a Windsor knot? High School is merciful, compared to the management track. There is as much information to understand as there is in the geekworld, it’s just the rules aren’t written down and you have to be smart in a different way. More about that in my next post.

And then there was me…

I don’t care how these people view me, I don’t care if they like me or not, I’m not thinking about anything they can do to me or for me. They can’t do anything to or for me. Even if they could, I don’t much care. I’m not worried about it, I know what I need and I know what they need and I get things done. I am, in a few words, the man without fear. I have never been concerned with the stupid little things that need to be done, should be done, ought to be done. I have no respect for social levels, or how much someone makes, or if I’ve impressed so and so. Ask Syd how easy that makes me to live with sometime. Weddings are a chore because “fuck wearing a tie, I don’t give a shit about those people” and so on. The thing is, the lack of fear mixed with the not giving a good god damn, makes other people want to sit next to me.

A lack of fear might be a sign of psychosis, but it is also perceived as a sign of being big dog on top.

When the waitress came to me, I decided to buck trends and stick to my guns and stay the course and not actually think about it and just order like I always do. “Coke no ice.” Oh how easily the words tumbled from my lips. Nothing major, not for me, but conversation at the table stopped. Someone put on a record, just so they could do that sound of yanking the needle and making a record scratch sound.

“Really?” one of the scared dogs men at the table asked. I looked at him for about two seconds longer than I needed to before smiling and saying “Yeah, I don’t like my pop watered down.” He looked at me, and I looked at him and he broke eye contact first and nodded, which caused the Bossman to laugh. He actually threw his head back and laughed. One single solid “HA!” and that was it. Now, I’m not sure my dears, my darlings, what I said that was so funny. All I can figure is that I’d stared down a guy who had perceived himself as a sergeant at arms and given him an answer that couldn’t be balked in a polite setting. I’d worked out a way around him and no one could do anything about it. His only real reaction was one of fear and bluster, and I have no fear to react with so he broke first.

As a result of this, the bossman started talking to me. Instead of talking about my plans, what school I was going to, where I would work, and what road I would eventually take to get from here to there, I spoke about what interested me. I told him about a documentary I’d recently seen about the evolution of mankind and how we pertained to apes. By refusing to talk about what he wanted to know about, and only talking about what I wanted to talk about, I managed two things. One, avoiding boredom. Two, and this would have been important if I’d had any use for it, which I didn’t, I established for the table which of us was the bigger dog. I was on top of the conversation, I was leading the bossman around the room with my fresh knowledge about human behavior being like that of chimps, and I was holding the table.

You could see it in their eyes, I was clearly a bigger, more important dog than their boss. Their boss was the biggest, most important dog they knew, and I was dominating him. I could see a couple of guys, particularly the one who wanted a root beer, thinking that maybe turning their loyalties toward the kid in the flannel shirt was the way to go. So much so that when the waitress came back to freshen drinks, the root beer kid did the bravest thing he’d ever done in his life. He ordered another Slice, but this time without ice! I wanted to berate him, I wanted to bang the table and demand he order the root beer he wanted, but I couldn’t. That would have been pack behavior, that would have been showing concern for another member of the group, and I don’t have pack behavior. I’m not a group member, not of any group, but I am pretty and fuzzy and will let the right people pet me while biting everyone else.

I’m not a dog, I’m a cat.

That’s what they didn’t understand, that’s what almost no one ever understands. I’m not looking to be the top dog in the hierarchy, I’m looking to be the most honest cat who just doesn’t give a shit and will tree a bear if provoked. My wants and needs are so far different from everyone else’s that while they might try and act like they get what I’m saying when I say this, their actions prove that they haven’t the first notion what I mean.

I can’t honestly suggest this to you as a career path, because it doesn’t work for al people. You have to be smart enough, strong enough, interesting enough, and pretty enough all at once to pull it all off together. Also, you have to understand the difference between tough and mean, between clever and cruel, and most of all between honesty and douche baggery. Hang on a second, that needs to be a bigger point, it’s far more important.

You have to understand the difference between tough and mean, between clever and cruel, and most of all between honesty and douche baggery.

Also, don’t use Drakkar Noir, because it smells like fear.

August 5, 2012 Posted by | Uncategorized | | Leave a comment

Twins in Death: Chapter Three – Part Five

Twins in Death

A Tale of The Weirdo

By Brett N. Lashuay



Chapter Three: The End of Captain Scourge



February 12th, 1935

11:15 p.m.


            The Weirdo leaned back in the chair, and looked at Jack and James. The dance was still going on around them, but they felt detached. Tommy and Amy danced on the floor, looking like the perfect couple. Had they been five inches high, they could have been the cake toppers. He had worn the tuxedo she liked and she had found the perfect dress. They were still cavorting around the dance floor, along with the other hundred or so people that were called friends of the household.


            The large round room echoed as people threw confetti from the second floor, which ringed the dance floor giving the feeing of a stadium or the old roman coliseum. The second floor was really only a small ring around the ballroom of course, not a seating system. It gave one the ability to look either out on the city, or into the second floor through the glass doors. The floor of the ballroom was made of marble and it was three stories high, as high as the rest of the house in fact. The entire north wall was made of glass, and looked out on to the grounds. The east wall had a staircase made of crystal. The long pieces of clear stone seemed to grow up from the floor and become progressively longer as they reached up to the second floor. It was on the second floor that the trio sat, watching the happy couple.


            “She looks beautiful.” The Weirdo said, watching the both of them.


            “He looks happy.” Jack muttered.


            “Of course he does.” James Death’s voice was the long drawl of a cowboy whose day had passed. “He’s got a woman who can dance.”


            “Dancing skill is important.” The Weirdo said. “I think they might be together for more than just that though.”


            “But if she couldn’t dance, they’d never get to the other stuff.” James said. “He’s got priorities. Dancing first, talking second.”


            “Maybe.” The Weirdo conceded and took a pull at the root beer he had been drinking.


            “They say where they’re going yet?” Jack asked.


            “Acapulco.” The Weirdo said. “Two weeks, and then back here.”


            “They gonna live here?” Jack wondered


            “Why wouldn’t they?” The Weirdo asked. “The place is big enough for ten families to get going.”


            “She might think that we’re a bad influence.” Jack said.


            “Well we are.” James drawled. “Always have been.”


            “She might not want to raise kids in such an environment.”


            “Nah.” The Weirdo said. “It’ll be fine.”


            He had a feeling it probably wouldn’t be though; she wouldn’t have time to get angry about the late nights. He could feel the ticking time bomb just under his heart. He knew that the time was coming when he and James Death were both going to be gone. The time was coming very close in fact; he figured they had six weeks, tops.


            “Don’t they dance?” Amy asked Tommy as he spun her around the dance floor.


            “I don’t know.” He said. “Jack does, but maybe he’s just keeping the other two company.”


            “The Weirdo looks like he’d make a good dancer.” She said. “Should I ask him?”


            “You could I suppose.” He said. “He’s not always as friendly as he could be though and might just do it for forms sake.”


            “I could ask.” She said. “If we’re all going to live together, I’ll have to get to know him.”


            “Go try, sure. I’ll get him actually.”


            Amanda Grace Jones had become Amanda Grace Gunner earlier that day, and when her new husband had sent his best friend down to dance, she watched as he sat down with the other two men. The Weirdo came down the stairs, looking relaxed and quite good looking in his gray suit. She asked him to dance as he came closer enough to hear her.


            She had been right that he was a good dancer. Though she sensed the stiffness of formality between them. She kept watching Tommy as they danced through another three numbers, feeling her partner loosen a little as they did. He smiled and kissed her on the cheek when the last song played. She wondered if he was worried about her new place, if he might resent her.


            When he kissed her cheek though, she realized that what he was doing was saying goodbye. She suddenly knew that they were going to come back and he was going to run his end game. She looked up at Tommy as he stood and began to walk back towards the stairway. She knew that Tommy and Jack would be okay, but James and The Weirdo were going to have to go. Something was going to happen and the two of them would be gone. She could only think that they were going to be killed.


            Then Tommy took her in his arms, and everything was all right again.



April 25th, 2002

11:49 p.m.


            The Weirdo stood out in the back yard, looking at the sky. There were only a hundred thousand stars visible in the sky, more or less. Most of them had been burning and churning away since before the rise of human race. The light of one had left the star on the night that King Babars died and it had just gotten to the earth. There were stars out there, billions and trillions of them. They were gathered in clusters and galaxies, clinging together by the loose threads of gravity. Holding onto each other in the night. It suddenly occurred to The Weirdo that there was a place called Jantal out there, orbiting around one of those stars. That idea made no sense, but he knew it to be true.


            Judy came out and stood with him for a moment. They both looked at the sky, and marveled. It was as if The Weirdo’s home was exempt from the problems of noise and light pollution. The stars were visible in the night sky here. It was very odd, because Manhattan was close enough to be connected by a bridge, yet you could see all the stars here.


            “I keep waiting for it to go back to normal.” Judy said.




            “Well I mean go back to the way it was, before ah.”


            “Before Shannon died?”


            “Yeah.” Judy blushed at making him say it. “It’s not going to though, is it? We won’t have that feeling in the house again, will we?”


            “I don’t think so.” The Weirdo said.


            “I’m really sorry about it.” She wrung her hands together. “I don’t know if I mentioned it before, but I am.”


            “Thanks.” He said.


            “You really loved her, didn’t you?”


            “Still do.” He said.




            “You love Tommy?”


            “Yeah.” She said. “I wonder what kind of good thing I ever did to deserve him.”


            “And Sheila?”


            “I love her too.” Judy said. “Is that wrong do you think? To love two people at the same time?”


            “Love is love.” The Weirdo said. “Whether it’s with one or a hundred. I don’t think there is such a thing as wrong love. I mean really, in a world so filled with hate, love, any love, can’t be the wrong choice. Anyone who says otherwise doesn’t know what love is.”


            “So you’re okay with us?”


            “If I weren’t, you would have found out by now.”


            “Okay.” She said. “I just always wondered if anyone would accept us.”


            “Don’t worry about it.” The Weirdo said. “You three are in love, that’s all that matters. Any one gives you guys any trouble and the rest of us will be there to back you up.”


            “Thanks.” She said as she went inside.



April 26th, 2002

1:45 a.m.


            The Weirdo was watching the water lap in and out onto the shore of the island. There was a lot of water between them and he looked south at the ocean beyond. He could just see it around between the two points of land. There was a lot of water between his little island and Europe as well. He knew there were giants out there, massive creatures. The biggest animals that had ever yet lived were out there in the deep waters. The whales were the biggest mammals and the biggest animals ever known, and yet they lived on the smallest.


            The Weirdo knew that the tiny crustaceans known as krill lived in the oceans and made massive great clouds of red, which were then eaten by blue whales, a million lives could end at one moment. He looked out at the ocean and wondered if maybe the krill thought of blue whales as a god of some kind. Did they think that they were being accepted by their God by being taken in to become part of that god? He didn’t know.


            He looked over at the city, and felt nothing towards it at the moment. He had always hated and loved it, and he felt odd at his sudden ambivalence towards it. He couldn’t define this feeling. He wondered if there would be ever again be a feeling for the city. He almost felt that now it was his enemy. There had been something to keep him grounded before, but now she was gone.


            All there was left was the city; it wasn’t a prospect he welcomed.


            “Certainly I must persevere though.” He said.


© 2012 Autumn Knight Productions


August 5, 2012 Posted by | Fiction | , | Leave a comment


IMGP6912 by greyweirdo
IMGP6912, a photo by greyweirdo on Flickr.

August 4, 2012 Posted by | Uncategorized | Leave a comment

Kinky Tales

BDSM Fairy Tale

Have you ever read about the psychology of BDSM, and then tried to read a fairy tale? Yeah, you can’t unsee that shit. Most the fairytales can be seen as BDSM allegories of one kind or another.

The most obvious example is Beauty and the Beast, in which a subbie who wants to be a collared slave. The Dom in the situation is kind of a dick, but the sub is going to turn him into a better master through being a loving slave. Through her love, she becomes the possession of the kind of master she wants. All the beast’s behavior is just bad dom behavior. Red Riding Hood’s story has role play, crossdressing, age play… and a guy who comes in at the end to beat on one of the participants at the end. Cinderella has humiliation, cosplay, foot fetish. Snow White has just about everything when you think about it. And in Prudent Hans, he litterally ties a rope around a girl’s next and forces her to sit crouched on the floor of the stable and eat hay. You change the last two paragraphs of that story, and you have the start of a BDSM epic on your hands.

Actually the thing is, where I really want to go with this is not the action beats. The SM part doesn’t interest me here nearly as much as the BD part does. What you have in most fairy tales, particularly those of the Grimm’s stories, is a series of agreements and fulfillments. The very basics of BDSM is one person agrees to do what the other person says, and agrees that if they don’t do what they said they would, then there will be a punishment. You can argue that it’s more complicated than that, and indeed it is, but I used the word ‘basic’ a little while ago. While there are layers and further layers, at the core this is what you have.

Once you have that in your head, Hans My Hedgehog is a very different tale indeed. Not the version Wikipedia has, which is a sanitized version some Victorian masturbator came up with. Much closer to the original is the Jim Henson made for The Storyteller. Watch all three parts of that and tell me that the only thing missing isn’t leather and collars. Granted, Hans My Hedgehog is one of the stories Beauty and The Beast is based on, so that might be a bad example.

The point is that throughout the fairytale world is a series of agreements and fulfillments, or punishments for failure to fulfill. There are regional differences here and there, of course. Russian fairytales then to rush right to the punishment of bad behavior, where as German stories reward good behavior. Of course, that’s because the Russians are more into beatings than the Germans are. The French are more into perversity on every level, and the Irish are just about enduring the events until eventual reward.

Not every story works on this level of course, but if you think about it too long, I bet you could make the 3 Little Pigs kinky. Hell The Billy Goats Gruff is about a troll looking for a harsh master that can take him in hand and make him behave. This shit is easy, once you start looking for it.

Mind you, you can also see penises in the clouds if someone throws a couple of boxes of dildos out of a plane.

August 4, 2012 Posted by | Uncategorized | | Leave a comment