Posted by NL on April 28, 2009 at 14:13:16:
Strange Detective Stories #1
Some say you do not have to be all that strange, yourself, in order to be or to like or merely to appreciate the work of a Strange Detective. Morbid, maybe, unnatural, maybe, or downright perverted, yeah, that all helps a lot, especially when you realize that the strange detective is in it for the kicks-- not to SOLVE a crime, and certainly not, God forbid, to PREVENT a crime, but to GROOVE on the crime, especially when the victim is some pretty gal or hot broad who comes to grief by the agency of a knife, a bullet, or two or three or more, or a garrot, and then reposes scantily clad or nude for the strange detective to enjoy. As long as flesh adheres to bone, never you mind the botfly, the beetle, the maggot, the strange detective will find something to appreciate. As for myself, I have no sense of smell, no, nor sense of time, and would fuck something female morphed into a veritable bug condo, as well as the fresh and supple body of one newly fallen, with equal vigor. And I am not unusual in that regard, although I have not yet graduated from Strange Detective Academy. But I hope to have my degree soon.
There are yet degrees of strangeness. Some set out to create the scene. They pack a shiv, a knife in square parlance, or a mighty gun, and kill and make their own story. Others merely pack big gums, and a magazine all tightly rolled and bunched at their crotch, hee heee, and chew their gum while jacking off at the magazine rack. Here, here, none of that Mr. Smithers sez, not in my goddamned drug store, you damned pervert. Fuck Mr. Smithers.
They called him Strange Dick. He was a dog, they said, of no moral quality. He roamed the hills and valleys, the dry washes and arroyoes of Onlyville, a good place to raise up your kids up in, looking for a dead body, a dead female body, searching the places where it would be good to dump a dead woman's murdered body. Just the other day some dumbass farmer found a dead lady draped over his Ford tractor, and she wore only a bra and panties and she had been shot in the back of her head with a .22. The farmer swore he thought it was a fancy doll somebody abused and dumped, as a joke. That was the only reason he fucked it. It he had only known! He'd have called the cops right away. Damn it, you stupid hick! Call a Strange Detective! Call ME! And why do you have all the luck? That's what he asked, because he'd been getting sunburned, looking for precisely such a treasure. All he found was a mattress with the rotting carcass of a pig under it. He'd been tempted. But no, accept no imitations!
This story came in, under the wire, only the other day. It was about a fellow who turned into a moth, a great, big, death's head moth. He went to shave and as soon as he looked in the mirror (he pronounced it "mirry") over his lavatory, he know it at once. Those feathery antennae! Those odd mouth parts! He left grayish dust on everything he touched and when he talked he made no sense. Why hadn't his girl notced? But, then, she was still asleep. He was so disgusted he dug his old claw hammer, an orange on, out of his old tool box, a red one. Fortunately, he still had arms, and hands, like the man he had been only hours earlier. He cracked his sweetheart's skull with the hammer as she slept. She slept nude. Blood gushed out! A flashbulb went off! Later, when his picture appeared on the cover of Strange Detective, his Death's Head moth's head had been blurred out, but the body of his dead girl was clear enough, her form under the bloody sheets, with her bare legs sticking out, was stark! Even though they had his picture they never caught him. Who gave a shit about him anyway? We had the body! Or, somebody had the body. Let's hope they had fun with it. We had the picture. I know I had fun with it, and I hope you did too. Strange Detective sold out that month. Mr. Smithers was really pleased. For one thing, when the magazine racks cleared like that, he didn't have so many goofballs standing around and jacking off over the covers.
Here is a typical story from a rival publishing group, called VERY Strange Detective: Edlow Frack strangled thirty-two Oklahoma nudes. The girls had traveled, nude, from Oklahoma to Dallas, Texas, hoping to become rich "Dallas Ho's". That was quite a damn feat, so many nude women, some very, very, busty all traveling together like that. Well, they were walking down the streets of Dallas, not too far from Dealy Plaza, and it was a hot day. Even though they were all naked, they were sweating and bunched up together lest they get lost in the big city. All of a sudden a man, a big hairy man-- the witnesses all agreed on that one point, jumped out of an alley and began shooting at the girls with a Thompson submachine gun, one of those Eliot Ness jobs with the big drum magazine! And then another man joined the first, and they both began riddling those poor Oklahoma nudes with .45 caliber slugs! The girls twitched, and bucked, and jerked, and blood spurted out of soft and sexy bare flesh: bellies, buttocks, thighs, boobs, and the boobs bounced and flopped and bodies began to tumble onto asphalt and concrete and some where headshot and their brains flew out, like two crows, some said. Flashbulbs were going off everywhere! Some said there were a lot more nudes and said that some guys made off with several dead girls but that couldn't be proven. It was all too confusing. When it was all over, thirty two bodies were counted and these were taken to a nearby skating rink which was pressed into service as a morgue. The ice would help keep the bodies fresh, you see. Well, while those dead women were laid out on the ice, cooling and stiffening, one Mr. Edlow Frack snuck in and strangled each one. Each neck had a deep ligature mark, in the morning. That seemed very strange to the cops, since all reports were, the Oklahoma Nudes had been shot to death, in a very violent and sexy fashion. Later Mr. Edlow Frack confessed because he was really eager to get his name in the paper. A whole shitload of Strange Detectives showed up, hoping to get some dead pussy, but they were turned away. That might have been newsworthy, but Mr. Frack got all the publicity, because what he did was so weird. The guys with the machine guns were never caught. Their identity is a mystery to this day. Actually, no one gave a shit about any of that stuff, not with so many beautiful female corpses, all bullet-ridden and nude, to think about. Relations between Texas and Oklahoma were very strained for a while, and some feared a war, but nothing happened. Nude women from Texas were cautioned not to travel to Oklahoma. Some did, and they never returned. One hopes somebody in Oklahoma had some fun. The bodies of those Texas Nudes were never found. To this very day, and it has been years and years and years, Strange Detectives comb the red earth, the dry washes and hills and back alleys and dumpsters of Oklahoma, searching for that elusive treasure.