Posted by NL on August 03, 2007 at 10:53:06:
Sam oh sam, you've gotta archive these things!
The Flying Saucer Menace-- Part 2
When Mr. Oscar Schmittly got his head ripped off by a flying disk in 1952, he became a believer. And life was not easy for him after that. Some people laughed at him because he had become one of those flying saucer kooks. Others laughed at him because he had no head on his shoulders. Man, they said, you are one stupid-looking dude. Ha ha.
It is not clear what happened to Mr. Schmittly after that. He may have joined a cult and if he did he must have been ruthlessly exploited, because, lacking a head, how could he have been expected to defend himself from those ruthless and sophisticated cult types? He was ripe for a fleecing, sad to say.
In 1953 a Mr. Bloatin Boot hid in the woods behind his house. He planned to grab the first pretty girl who passed by on the little trail that traversed the woods in a ragged semi-circle, and rape her and kill her. He planned to strangle her with a length of hemp rope he had carried with him for the purpose. Long had he planned to do the deed. It seemed to him sometimes that the Lord had created him to kill and rape, rape and kill, such had been his fantasies from even his earliest days. And he opted to become and to be the monster he had been created to be. Why fight it? True, he was a handsome fella and had had more than his share of girl friends and had been a great seducer of women in the city of Blumpville, picking them up in coin op laundries, drive-ins, movie theaters, dance halls, and even in his workplace. He did maintenace in a commercial laundry. But always he had desired to consumate the act by strangling his partner of the night, and then he very much wanted the dead body with him, for hours, to fondle and suck and fuck while the flesh cooled and stiffened and discolored. He wouldn't load the body in the trunk of his Pontiac until it had definitely become overripe and smelly. And even then he was sure he would not want to part with it, but it would be hard to collect a lot of female corpses. He owned his modest home but there weren't enough places to bury all the women he planned to kill, and besides, once the decks were cleared, he could kill again and enjoy the thrill all over.
He had no idea whether he had picked the right spot. He'd never really been in the woods before. He just felt drawn to that spot. Passing by, and also when he mowed his lawn, he would look to the woods and think that that would sure be a great place to launch his career. Surely, there would be pretty girls walking in there! Surely, as soon as he began to explore and found that path, surely, he thought, there would be pretty half-naked girls strolling slowly along the path, girls with a death wish, perhaps from the high school, girls imagining themselves stripped naked, dead, raped, with a rope wound tightly around their pretty necks, boobs bared to the sun and the flys, mouths open and ready to feed maggots. He imagined girls with maggots churning in their various exciting and erotic orifices. YUM!
Mr. Boot crouched in the woods by the path, behind a tree, and sweated profusely. He patted his "bombage" haircut, the only pure and perfect "bombage" in town, and it drove the women wild, that mass of dark hair, so sinister, so imposing! He thought he heard a sort of electrical hum behind him and wondered whether there were power lines strung through the woods, not that it mattered. But he was impatient and nervous so he glanced behind him and observed an aluminum sphere perhaps fifteen feet in diameter in the middle of a small clearing not fifty feet away from him. It hovered a few feet above the ground, bobbing gently like a balloon. That was the source of the electrical hum, as well as a strong scent of pungent ozone, of which he became aware only at that precise moment. The short hairs at the back of Mr. Boot's burly neck rose. He had only enough time to utter the words: what the FUCK! before he was enveloped in a red mist that poured out of what appeared to be a ventilation grate near the middle of the hovering disk. Much later a beautiful half-naked girl with a death wish, imaging how it would be to be fucked by force and stabbed repeatedly in and around her navel, found Mr. Boot's decomposing body. She thought it was the coolest thing she'd ever seen! Amazing how active the maggots were! And the smell! She got wet and felt herself through her tight shorts. That's what I'd look like, she thought. I'd get like that. She couldn't tell very well whether it was a man or a woman. Judging by the scraps of clothing, it was a man's dead body. She actually thought about checking to see what the penis might look like, if it was still there, before she got squeamish and hurried away, out of the woods. But later she told some of her friends, high school classmates, and a group of them examined the body but only from a distance. Then they decided they had better not go back there, and they didn't. Later somebody else found the body and reported to the local police.
Nobody ever noticed a patch of scorched and barren ground in the center of the clearing, not far from where the body was found (identified at last as that of Mr. Boot) where nothing would grow.
In 1954 an aluminum disk the size of a peanut bounced off the head of a man mowing his lawn somewhere in the United States. That man said ouch and rubbed his head and managed to see a flash of silver streaking away from him. He made a UFO report but it went straight into the circular file at UFO Headquarters.