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Royer on the End Times

February 18, 2016 Leave a comment
By Ric Royer

By Ric Royer

ROYER’S MADCAP EXPERIENCES

News filters to the Home slowly. It was only yesterday at breakfast that Warden Jenness approached the lectern and asked for our attention. He then introduced Captain Greenscreams.

Captain Greenscreams placed both hands solidly down on the lectern. Indeed, the force nearly toppled the venerable wood structure but the Captain did not even blink. He surveyed us patients with a steely calm, turning his head only slightly as though blown by a gentle breeze. Then, he delivered the news of the approaching monstrous races. He took no questions.

Jenness, for some reason, began clapping. The Captain stopped him with an icy stare. Then, we watched him exit into the courtyard. We could see him light a cigarette through the high windows.

“Our thanks to Captain Greenscreams,” said the Warden, his command of the institution now shaken. “He took a moment from what is a busy time to come here and speak to us today.”

No further information was given and we were dismissed to our cells as normal.

I reflected upon the end times. My prevailing thought for many a year was that the world would cease its existence in a fiery shit-storm but I realize now how wrong I was. I realize now that the marching of the monstrous races, left undiscovered by man’s paltry efforts at exploration in the hills, provide a perfectly fitting terminus.

I would finish one final novel, I thought. I had thirty pages to go on Lum Csasa’s Fangs of Cement and then I would put down my reading, shed my clothing and contemplate in the buff how I would enter the afterlife. I would take no further sustenance, I would not permit the entrance to my cell of any religious figure, if offered.

I forgot about all this, of course, within a few hours time and I only remember it now upon waking in the morning. And now, it bores me, frankly.

Royer’s Madcap Experiences: The Christmas Snow Village Chalet

December 1, 2014 Leave a comment
By Ric Royer

By Ric Royer

I parked my car up on the grass and ran into town, shoving people out of the way. The store had a series of pinwheel displays out front (one ejaculated great bubbles into the air) and I knocked these into the street. I tore the door open with such force that the plate glass window shattered.

The clerk, a smallish thick-haired woman in a medieval-looking dress, came out from behind the counter.

“Oh my God! Look at that!” she exclaimed.
“Fuck it,” I said. “I got your missive. Where is the new Snow Village Fiber Optic Chalet?”
She seemed stunned. I could barely take it.
“SHOW ME RIGHT NOW YOU LOUSY LITTLE WHORE!”

She led me to an alcove cramped with snow village boxes. There was an illuminated display behind a great glass case.

“WHERE IS IT! HURRY!” I let out a baleful scream. She finally got to work.$(KGrHqR,!gwE5k8vM6zsBO)C6R7LUQ~~60_35

It required quite an intolerable amount of maneuvering– boxes had to be lifted from beneath a table and moved aside (several, I crushed with my boot instantly). “It’s here…somewhere,” she said, hardly able to contain her tears. “THERE IS NO TIME!” I shouted, as she bent over her work. “I just…I don’t see it here.” She was crying now, blubbering even.

It was then that I came up with the idea of lighting the large pile of looked-over boxes on fire. “I HAVE NO TIME FOR THESE. NO TIME!” I could feel a strange whooshing in my head. Mania was creeping in.

And then she found it. “Oh, oh, it was buried so…so deep,” she said. And she emerged from beneath the display case with the Snow Village Fiber Optic Chalet, shimmering in its plastic wrapping. “OH, GOD! OH JESUS,” I yelled, feeling an almost sexual release. And then I screamed again as the terrible interior conflagration erupted behind me. And then she collapsed in my arms.

We remained that way until the building burned completely to the ground.

Royer’s Madcap Experiences: The Green Cross

February 1, 2014 Leave a comment
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By Ric Royer

The Green Cross came to the home. Two men clad in white coats set up a blood station in the dining hall. Volunteers were requested and, bored, I elected to participate.

Ten of us patients filed in.

“ALRIGHT SHITS,” said one of the Green Cross Men. “Get your pants off and your milky white asses in the fucking air!”

I had never heard of blood being taken from the rear but I did as I was told and had a needle roughly jammed in, perilously close to the anus.

“Fuck. Sorry about that. Missed the cheek,” said the Green Cross Man. “Like a god damn can of corn,” he said mysteriously.

Warden Jenness sauntered in. He gave a short speech, as is his wont.

“It is important what you men are doing. I congratulate you heartily on your extraordinary efforts. From the buried veins of the ass grows mighty trees.”

He slapped me viciously before I could hoist my pants. The sound resonated throughout the nearly-empty dining hall.

We were given heavy cookies and punch by a fat nurse who appeared from somewhere. The Green Cross Men packed up the blood station quickly, hauling the entire thing out in two medium-sized suitcases.

Then, we were led back to our cells.

Royer’s Madcap Experiences: The Speaker at the Home

January 19, 2014 Leave a comment

By Ric Royer
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Recently, we patients were ushered into a large basement auditorium. Folding chairs had been placed in rows along the floor and a lectern had been arranged in the front. Beside it was a large wooden crate of unimaginable purpose.

We were settled into our chairs when Warden Jenness announced a special speaker. There was light clapping as the man, an ugly man, approached the platform.

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The Foontz-Flonnaise Home of Abundant Senselessness.

Immediately, it was apparent that his voice belied his appearance. It was fluid and booming, filling the room approvingly. The lunatics all leaned forward with interest though the speech itself was somewhat vague and mysterious.

Upon conclusion, Warden Jenness approached the wooden crate with a crowbar. The top was pried off and the speaker stared into the breach. After some time, he nodded to Jenness and a table was produced with a series of small white cards.

“I will read your name and when I do,” said the speaker, “I want you to come to the front of the room here where I will personally hand you your doll.” A murmur went up about the room, some of it senseless.

I did as everyone else. My name was called (it was pronounced Roy-sticks) and I sauntered towards the speaker at which time I was handed a doll in a box. “Your doll’s name is Geraldo,” noted Jenness, who was standing by with a clipboard. “He is from Spain. You will find the necessary information inside.”

Back in my room, I removed the doll from its package. Its arms sprung straight out and it had a thick crop of yarny hair and was clad in a bullfighting outfit. The card fell into my lap.

This is Geraldo. He is the son of a bullfighter from Spain. He likes hot milk.

I was puzzled. I put the doll on a chair and commenced with my reading of some Snow Island vampire novels.

I suppose that I fell asleep for a short time for when I awoke, I noticed immediately that Geraldo and his chair had been moved below the window. There was a thick strand of rope next to him and a rudimentary knot of some sort had been tied. I called for the guard.

It was Boggs who answered my call, a giant halfwit from the Islands. I showed him the scene below my window. He expressed some doubt, moved the chair back to its original position and confiscated the strand of rope. That night, I was removed to a basement cell and placed under constant watch for 24 hours.

When I was returned to my cell the next day, I received a visit from Doctor Shovels. He sat down on Geraldo’s chair and moved it towards me.

“I understand Mr. Roysticks (it seemed it could not be corrected throughout the institution) that you did not take care of Geraldo. For example, it is noted here that you did not ask for any warm milk.”

I was befuddled and could not answer.

“If you do not take care of Geraldo within the first hour of his birth, he leaves,” explained Doctor Shovels. “Unfortunately, here you seemed to have failed.”

I became deeply confused by the events of the previous day.

“Well, something will have to be done. I cannot recommend you for another doll.” He made a note on the clipboard. “Also, you will have a terrible, uncooked dinner tonight as punishment.” He left the cell.

I never found out where Geraldo went.

Royer’s Madcap Experiences: What Be This Madness?

September 25, 2013 Leave a comment

By Ric Royer
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You purchase a tent for camping.  Perhaps you add accessories– a lantern, a portable cook-stove, a reinforced, inflatable side-hut.  That is not the issue here.

You drive to an area where there are trees, dirt, brush and perhaps a nearby stream.  The stream is filled with the piss of industry, so it is merely for show.  You rip the tent from its box.

It’s beyond complicated.  There are too many poles, too many little fabric loops that must be delicately threaded and it is getting darker by the minute.  The people you have brought– they may be family, they may be hookers– are standing by impatiently.  It’s ALL on you, my friend.

The instructions are suddenly taken up by a fervent wind.  They are gone forever.

You try to use your intuition but there is now no hope.  The construction will lead to a deepening confusion, increasing levels of consternation and then, ultimately, madness.

And that’s where we are now.