The Figs of May - Carpe Testicularum

The Figs of May - Carpe Testicularum

Chapter 2

     The Story The Authors
Then, he realized that instead of wanting to chop heads off, he was entranced at the idea of sewing them back on.... none
Jeremy had the idea of trying to put their heads back on to see if he could prolong the amount of time they appeared to be alive. Of couse he couldn't do it in the presence of his father. Occasionally his father would send him out alone to slaughter the chickens. That was Jermey's time experiment. At first he tried simply placing the heads back on and holding them with his hands. But that turned out to be terribly messy, and the chicken having a substrate to kick against while it was dying usually scrathed him up. In addition he found it hard to measure the time interval to death since he was so preoccupied with holding the chicken's head on. He began to try all the obvious things. Clothes pins - not strong enough. When the chickens fell over, the wooden clips would come off, and their heads would fall off. Small binder clips - pretty good, but hard to make an even seal. The period to inactivity appeared to increase, almost doubling in some cases. Duct Tape. Duct tape for chickens? Be serious. Yes Duct Tape. It actually worked pretty well but it was hard to get the tape around the feathers and make a good seal. However he found that if he shaved the chicken's neck, and then prewrapped the neck with duct tape prior to decapitation to provide a smooth binding surface for head replacement and subsequent sealing with more duct tape, he had a good, neat, quick system for studying the latency period for death's onset. In the end it wasn't any better than plain old binder clips. Phineus de Thornley Head

...back on the night-lit highway, Officer Hickey stood aghast, his dead mother at his feet, while Crink rattled on and on about these things, telling 36 versions of the same story until finally the whole thing broke down into a mad litany of "I did it, I did not do it, I did it, I did not do it, I did it, I did not do it,I did it, I did not do it..." as Jeremy whipped his head back and forth and a thin tendril of frothy drool began to run down his face...
Officer Hickey's thoughts and shock began to clear, and he tried to make sense of the torrent of words which had come from Crink. Hickey, however, had inherited neither his mother's nor his father's brains... if truth be told, he was a little dim, and the subtleties of Jeremy confessions were all but lost on him. Chickens? Paper clips? Heads? Cannibalism? Was this perhaps the guy the State police were looking for, the one who'd hacked up all those kids at the camp over on Lake Eenameenamina over in Kendricksburg, the one who'd raped and buthcered cub scout troop 19 in the basement of Grace Congregationalist Church, the one who drained the blood out of a whole herd of Ichabod Grisham's prize Guernseys? He took a closer look at Crink. Philip
Crink's breath stunk. He was unshaven. A thin line of spittle was slowly extending itself down from Crink's chin like some round and glassy spider. It seemed pretty obvious that Crink hadn't slept in a few days. ("Don't need it" Crink would always say, "I take naps in the ambulance in between highway fatalities")Hickey glanced at his fingernails. Dirty and crusted with what could appear to be dried blood.
"In the sun dappled apple orchard in back of the farm I'd make the chickens dance. It was like a dance marathon with Death. The heads taped on and I'd...."
Jeremy Crink prattered on.
He certainly looked nuts to Hickey. Talked crazy. Drooling. Spasmodic jerks and facial tics. He might be dangerous. A Killer even. This goofy guy that he'd known and disliked his entire life a bonafide multiple murderer. Hickey had to laugh a bit to himself.
"...and the I'd pull off the severed heads and pour the blood all over my..."
Weeell, thought Officer Matthew J Hickey to himself. If it walks like a duck and quacks like a duck...
"Ducks, no way dude those things were long dead by the time they were shot out of the sky and Homer brought 'em back to us. I kinda wondered why he never went off and ate 'em by himself. I mean he ate my aunt's pet duck once while she went shopping at the mall. If we were like out hunting or something he'd just bring 'em right back after we felled 'em, when he coulda just run off in the bushes and had himself a meal. Ducks, chickens, cows, sheep, goats, pigs they ain't no big deal. Dogs, cats, and those little birds that people in France eat, you know the ones that they cook whole like, and the people cover their heads with a napkin to keep the insides from spraying out, or to cover themselves in the face of god because it's considered an abomination to eat such little creatures...what the hell is the name of those things. I forget." Phineus de Thornley Head

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