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Book: The Face of Satan's Bog
Chapter 7: Teenage Females

Lawrence sat at the desk of Mister Blister and chuckled with glee as he studied the company accounts on the data screen in front of him. It had been exactly two days since he’d given the order to sell almost all of the company’s assets and that order had been carried out flawlessly. The fear of face-pulping was a supreme motivator!

Using the fat and decomposing hands of Mister Blister, Lawrence called up the grand total on to the screen. Six-thousand-trillion credits! More than he’d hoped for. This was going to be cool!

A clatter from the far side of the expansive office brought Lawrence’s attention back to the here and now. He looked up, irritated. “Silence, woman!”

The old cleaning lady looked towards him. “Sorry, Mister Blister, sir.” she said, a look of embarrassment spreading across her prune-like face. She picked up her dustpan and brush. “These ‘ands are not as strong as they used to be!”

“Then workout, bitch!”

The old lady tutted and hobbled slowly over to the desk. She looked annoyed. “I’ve been cleanin’ this office for nigh on two centuries and I’ve never ‘ad to put up with language like that!”

Lawrence hauled the rotting corpse of Mister Blister to its feet and slammed both its fists onto the desk. The pale skin on the hands split. Festering fluids leaked out. “Shut it, you crumbly harridan! Show me some respect, or feel the sting of flatulent torture!”

The old lady straightened her crooked back as best she could and stood relatively tall and proud. She was far too old to be frightened by her boss. “You shouldn’t be talkin’ to your elders like that! You deserve a good spankin’, my lad!”

Lawrence laughed. “By you?!” He leaned forwards and tried to make Mister Blister’s expression change to disbelief. Some of the putrefying flesh on the side of the head began to slide off the skull. “You’re a weak hag!”

The old lady developed a look of shocked motherly concern. “Oh my! You’re in a bad way, Mister Blister, sir. You’re pale and blotchy. You’re skin is crackin’ up. And you stink like a bowl of worm-ridden diarrhoea! I’ll call a doctor.”

Lawrence screamed. “You’ll call no one, you patriarchal hussy!”

“I only want to…”

“Get out, or feel pain upon pain!”

The old lady shook her head in disgust and wandered uneasily towards the office’s exit, mumbling to herself as she did so.

Lawrence watched her leave. She had shown very little fear of him and that was extremely annoying. But she was a wizened hag of no significance and probably not worth the effort of butchering furiously. Lawrence suddenly realised what he was thinking. Not worth butchering! Am I becoming as soft as a pancake?! The prehistoric bitch must suffer now!

Lawrence heaved the disintegrating bulk of Mister Blister to its feet and grabbed the gutting knife that lay on the desk. With sub-human power he hurled the bloodied blade towards the old cleaner. Too late - the office’s door clicked shut behind her. The knife thumped into the door’s thick hardwood surface and stuck there. Lawrence slammed Mister Blister’s right fist hard onto the desk. “Damn mother shit!” he exclaimed. He looked down. The rotten fist had splattered completely. The dark lord’s thin and bony hand could clearly be seen jutting out from the stubby wrist end. Insect larvae wriggled among the shreds of decaying flesh. “Bastard decaying corpse! My cover won’t last much longer.”

The communicator on the desk bleeped. Lawrence seethed with rage. He punched the answer button and screamed. “Who dares disturb the leader of sinister inbreeding?”

A small screen on the desk flickered to life. The face of an almost skeletal old woman appeared. “It’s me, sir, Maureen Crevassé.

Lawrence went ape-shit. I can’t believe it, he thought. I’m surrounded by the most ancient women of all time. He’d never seen this one before. “Who in Lucifer’s sauna are you?”

Maureen Crevassé replied in a very dignified manner. “I’m your secretary, sir.

“Why haven’t I seen you over the last two days?”

I’ve had a couple of days off, sir. You advised me to.

“Liar! I would never advise such a thing!”

But you did, sir. I have written authorisation from…

“Cease ranting like a turnip and tell me what you want?”

Mister Blister’s secretary cleared her throat. “Your top executives are here to see you.


Should I send them straight in?

“Of course, crone!”

Maureen Crevassé’s face took on a look of concern. “Are you OK, sir?


You look extremely unhealthy. I think you’ve come down with something. Let me bring you in an aspirin before your meeting.

Lawrence started to kick the desk and slap the communicator’s screen. “I had a nose bleed, you crumpled paper bag! That’s all! Mention my health again and I’ll strap you naked to the outside of this building and thrash you to the bone!”

Maureen Crevassé looked shocked.

“Understand?!” Lawrence yelled.

Mister Blister’s secretary nodded.

“Good. Now send in my executives!”

Maureen Crevassé‘s face faded from the screen. After a few seconds, the heavy wooden door to the office opened and the five executives entered. They each stared anxiously at the gutting knife as they passed. After walking the thirty metres across the office they stopped in front of Mister Blister’s desk. One of them spoke. “We are here as ordered, Mister Blister.”

“I’m happy to hear it.” Lawrence said, hiding the arm with the missing hand behind his back. He only showed the side of Mister Blister’s face that had the most skin. “I would have hunted you all down and fried your necks if you had failed to show up!”

The executives shuddered.

Lawrence smiled an unseen smile. They squirm like sperm, he thought gleefully. I am their master! After a few seconds of planned uneasy silence, Lawrence spoke. “You have all performed satisfactorily in the sale of this company’s assets.”

A sigh of relief was heard from each executive.

Lawrence continued. “The target I set for you was exceeded comfortably. It appears that almost everything that you could sell, you sold.”

One of the pastry-faced executives smiled, happy that he’d received some praise at last. “We followed your orders to the letter, sir! I myself was responsible for…”

“Shut up, bum lover!” Lawrence swung the left arm of Mister Blister forwards and smacked the executive hard across the face. The executive staggered back. “Speak again and you’ll die like a frog!”

The executives were shuddering again.

Lawrence continued. “Now, with all this cash, my devious master plan can be executed.”

One of the other executives spoke. “If it pleases you, Mister Blister, sir, can you tell us all what that plan is?”

“I can and will.” Lawrence said with devilish excitement. “I intend to construct a monolithic star ship of devastating power, filled with catacombs of mechanised zombies and crewed with thousands of slaves connected up as a collective of minds to run the ship as a mass of biological processors. I will be their lord and master! Ha harr!”

The executives looked at each other with bewilderment. “Why?” one of them asked.

Lawrence leapt up and down. The bulbous and decaying mass of Mister Blister wobbled erratically and began to tear. “To wreak vengeance on the bounty nation, of course! Ha harr!!!” Without an astonishing amount of style and grace, Lawrence pranced around the office. The executives watched in horror and disgust as bits of Mister Blister’s body scattered across the room. The stench was thick and rancid. Realising what was happening to Mister Blister’s rotting carcass, Lawrence ceased dancing. He didn’t want to blow his cover just yet.

One of the executives dared to speak. “Sir? Now that we no longer sell plastic cups, what is going to be our line of business?”

Lawrence shrieked. “Imbecile!” He strode over to the executive, stood right next to him, and peered disturbingly into his eyes. “Vengeance!” he screamed. “Vengeance will be our business!”

The executive vomited profusely as the smell of the corpse saturated his nasal passageways. “How can vengeance be profitable?” he asked, gargling sick.

Lawrence head-butted the executive. He dropped to his knees, his hands cupped over his bloodied face. The executive sobbed like a girl.

Forcing calm upon himself, the dark lord of flagitious intent took a step back and spoke. “Construction of my monstrous vessel of retribution must start immediately.” Lawrence pointed at each one of the executives in turn. “You will hire all the best construction companies in the galaxy. You will scour this sector for the most savage weapons experts. Only the most evil will be able to build my new terror weapon. You will enslave five-thousand pre-pubescent teenage females for integration into the ship’s neural net. You will find a cold, isolated world upon which to build my doom ship.”

The four executives that were standing nodded.

Lawrence pointed to the puke-coated one still kneeling on the floor. “Ha harr!!” he bellowed, laughing. “And you will exhume ten thousand decomposing corpses for mechanisation.”

The executive looked up. “Why?”

Lawrence kicked him hard on the chin. The executive tumbled backwards. “Because I want you to, you puss basket!” The doom lord yelled at the top of his voice. “Now go and do my bidding! You have two months to get my colossal behemoth of obliteration operational!”

The five executives scurried out of the office.

“Don’t dare fail me!!!” Lawrence shrieked.

After they left, Lawrence chuckled to himself. Everything was falling into place. Power, glory, and intestinal delight would soon be his again. The Bounty Hunters of the Palace of Amino would be crushed like grapes and all that they stood for would be crushed with them. Ha harr!

There was one problem though. Mister Blister’s body. It was decaying rapidly and would provide cover for only a few more hours. Something had to be done, and fast. Lawrence activated the desk top communicator.

After a brief period of time, Maureen Crevassé appeared on the screen. “What can I do for you, sir?

“I need some embalming fluid, now!”

Why on a monk’s pudding would you need that, sir?

“I have a fetish for it, that’s why!”

I never knew that you…

“Enough! Get it for me, you wizened bitch mother of a goose colon, or I’ll shred your butt-cheeks!”

Maureen Crevassé nodded and the screen went blank.

Lawrence could not believe the level of his own ingenuity! He decided to celebrate. With difficulty, he squatted the carcass of Mister Blister down and began a heavy and uncoordinated bout of Cossack dancing.

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