Bring Me the Meta-Head of F.W. Murnau’s Meta-Head
Anton Shreck was tired, so tired, tired of listening to gossip.
And complaints.
He peered through the sliding glass door that led to the patio and the outdoor heated pool, checking on the girls to see if they were well-cooked yet.
They were for sure well-secured, and muffled protest pleased him. He supposed on reflection that their frogties, pimp goggles and baroque bit-gags that winked with telepathic mutations were a bit over the top, but the visual gave him a hard-on and focused his powers of chaos magick.
Soon their juices would be streaming, blue soup, Goth girls tumbling into the mix, a fleshy fireworks display of sizzle, crackle and pop. And then…
He smiled, and the universe looked like a big titty Goth girl from where he sat batin’ it to the pages of Horror Sleaze Trash.
Then it frowned.
Fuck.
“Why you frown, dawgz? Shit ain’t right!” He did some quick calculations and smiled again. Meanwhile the black acid had begun to kick, with the moons of Tartarus dripping gore candy over their full, round titties, sliding down the stripper pole matrix surrounding crimson fingers of iodine and sulphuric acid.
Lines of transgression cross-checked their agonies into the motherfucker of all sigils. Juice from the girls powered the ceremony about to begin.
“Let’s get this bish on the road before the whole shithouse goes up, cities on flame with rock and roll!”
He now had to face what was left of the head of German Expressionist filmmaker F.W. Murnau after first the Zeena Shreck treatment and then Alex S. Johnson arriving a few years later with “Bring Me the Shrunken Head of Some Motherfucker,” not published in Horror Sleaze Trash due to prior copyright claim.
After removal from the family plot in Stahnsdorf, the hot headlight’s bump n’ grindcore ride to a mansion in the Hollywood Hills drove splatter-driven screwball comedy like the liquid expanding phallus of the Mistress of Graves into Kandy Fontaine’s eager, receptive greased and yet simultaneously nameless asshole.
Sometime actress, full-time vampussy Missy Crampton had smuggled the head inches from her Wicked Candy, passing off the odd crotch-gremlin to TSA agents as a tumid growth. “I don’t really like to talk about Catfish McDaris or his contribution to the Junk Merchants 2” she said later in a press conference. “I actually prefer real catfish. So tasty, and good with salt, lime and butter, y’know?”
Crampton’s flatter-than-fuck bellygutz suffered no metastatic foolish Kierkegaardian of the Gates of Urizen fools gladly, the withering glare she gave the TSA agents focused media attention on the treatment they’d accorded the waif-like starlet, famed for her roles in such films as Ivanna Focker Grrrrlz that systematically interrogated the bioethics of sleaze.
The actress had “soaked up death jizz,” according to Shreck’s narcissistic cabal.
Butt first fist fuck, PKD grafting.
There was a long story there as well, but Shreck had no time for such nightmare shrapnel, a wench squealing on the roof, in a Brundeflied homage to Rabid and Suspiria. A black leather bondage harness held the moldering head in place as it descended, raining its confetti of glowicky flakes to the floor, a ramp down which slid esoteric skater-bois who had wandered in at the last possible second.
“Attention, ahem.” Shreck spat a fat wad of jisssom onto his henchbeast Wendy McBurgler. “On my instructions, the pool girls will be rendered, their good juices squeezed like Bowie’s hot wad into Mick Jagger’s poutilips ™, and the Murnau-Dickbot graft shall commence.”
“But what if there are complications?” mewled McTurdler, in a voice that closely resembled a butt-hurt Isaac “Dreamboat” Assimov. “Remember the last time we tried suchlike shenans. It really hurt muh belliguts.”
“Silence, slut!”
“I love your dominance,” simpered Wanderlustburger, crawling off to its corner to watch and Norman McBate itself into a puddle of ambiguous fluids.
Shreck blew Dicks. Multiple. He wiped the slime off his lips and continued to take the whole shafts. Quickly running out of orificial ports he…
The body of the Philip K. Dick robot was lashed to my antique electric chair. It just might be the lunatic and drinks YOU were looking for in your pile of old Bauhaus 12 inchers.
“And a one and a two…”
Murnau’s head continued its journey from the skylight until it sat squarely on the shoulders of Robo-Dicktator Tots.
Outside, Missy “Supersztar” Crumptown was the first to hit the water.
Her flesh bubbled, blackened and popped harder than her tender pushay.
“I’ll get you, Mister Shreck,” she screamed, “And your cybernegative jolenes too!”
A surge of electricity spiked, and the mansion was plunged into hot vats of your hawt big tittay Goth girlfriend.
But something had gone horribly, terribly wrong/right.
No sooner had the knit taken, cubic inches of synthetic cunt fury nerve got jiggy wit dead organic matter and the F.W. Murnau skull, vitally reanimated and flowing wit da nuflesh, tore from Robo-Dick’s body and flew through the air.
Sigil curse Crampton secreted within Murnau’s head—her terrible revenge against Shreck’s duplicity.
A bolt of blue flame, fire of unknown orgies, blasted forth from Murnau’s mouth and played a dab-fire along Shreck’s body- thrashed features. A junk heap of bone and metal, Cyclatron shit, Shreck crumpled to the ground and lay there,
Shreck’s cabal, composed mainly of bored necrophiles, dabblers in the occult arts, dropouts from UCLA film school and Ole Zombie Zoetrope regarded the scene with a level of detachment that buggered belief.
“Shit is weak ginger bear” said one of the dropouts. “I liked it better when it was Andy Warhol’s head and Burroughs’ body. Andy Warhole, rather. As in holes. Andy Warhole.”
“That was pretty kewl,” said a skater-bot.
“Hey, look, what’s that sound, everybody look at what the cat drugged him with…”
“What happened?”
A fractal battery of pixel-fucked actresses charred out of the pool. Their eyes blank raylike discs, their intention Al Khemical.
“Time for some hipsters to die like bitches!” roared Krouton. “Let’s get ‘em, girlz!”
THEES EEZ THEE ENT???
Horror Sleaze Trash 