Thursday, August 4, 2016

STORY #25 OLIVE OYL DIES AT THE END

This prompt was to pick a cartoon character and torture them. Pretty brutal... Yes... But tons of fun. I chose Olive Oyl for this one. She always did get on my nerves.


 OLIVE OYL DIES AT THE END



“I swear. I can't understand for the life of me why Popeye and Bluto fight over you like they do. It ain't like your the hottest cartoon character going.”
“Don't have to hurt me. Please.”
I hate it when they wine like that. All the time pleading for me to let them go.. Like they deserve it or something. “I do. You make me sick.”
Ever since I was a kid I'd dreamed of what it would be like to torture Olive Oyl.
I had Olive Oyl was strapped to a table by these thick leather straps. I had to make sure I strapped her down good'n tight cause she so wiry and all. She's so thin she could probably slide under a door if she wanted to.
I captured her cause I was sick of watching Popeye and Bluto fighting over her like they do and thought I was finally going to put an end to this cartoon rivalry once and for all. So while Popeye and Bluto were away I snuck into her house late at night, tossed a pillow case over her head. I cut a small hole in the front so she could breath.
I don't know why I did that. Then the more I thought about I thought, daaa, cartoon people aren't real humans and can accomplish the most amazing tasks.
I don't know what I was thinking.
Still, I didn't want to hurt her too so soon. Not until I got to torture her first.
There's a ton of things that bother me about her.
One is her squeaky voice. Just the sound of it creates this pain in my eardrums that hurts like a surgeon just cut an artery in my neck.
Second, that pencil shaped neck of hers just gives me the creeps. I mean who's got a neck that thin? Really. And the way her golf ball size head fits on it like a tee. Just makes me wanna smash her head with a one of those thick golf club Galloway drivers. You know those big fat dudes. Really splatter her brains all over the place.
The other thing is she's really not that hot. She has no body, no shape and doesn't even have any breasts.
Yeah,not attractive at all. Definitely no Francine Smith from American Dad.
At least her creator could've given her better knockers. You know like Wilma there on the Flintstones. Now, that's one hot looking chick. Or that Betty ain't so bad herself.
Then there's Joan on the Jetsons. Now, she's pertty cartoon chick but Joan sounds a bit old fashioned.
So, her she lies all tied up nice and tight on my table.
“The world is going to hate you for this,” she said.
“Why?”
“Cause I'm a famous cartoon character. I've been around for centuries and once the world find out what you are planning to do.”
“The world ain't gonna care. Well, maybe the older generation. Not the younger, definitely. They don't have a clue who you are.”
“That's not true. Everybody knows about Popeye.”
“Everybody knows Popeye. They don't know Olive Ole Besides, I just asked my son if he knows who Olive Oyl is and he just said he never heard of you. Face it. You're a dying tune.”
“I'm not dying. Now, you let me out of here.”
“First off we have some things to take care of.”
I revved up the chainsaw doing the Texas Chainsaw intimidation thing. It was really working too.
I screamed and yelled, waving the chainsaw around. It was the first time I saw a cartoon character take a dump in their short. And by the look on her face I could tell she was just as surprised.
Now, my chopping room smelt like I had five dogs living with me.
“Bluto is going to get you for this.”
“I've had enough of him too. By the time I get done with him he's gonna be pork chops.”
“And when my other ex finds out his pot is gonna boil over.”
The Ex she was referring to was non other than Ham Gravy and I'm gonna pepper him all up and spread him over toast. That's if he even shows up.
“Ham Gravy. Now, there's not many who've heard of him. That's going back. Like way way back. Like back to my great grandmother days.”
“He's still around and he loves me.”
Taking one look at her I made my ugggggg face. And then the eeeeeeck face
“I was just kidding about the chainsaw thing.” I put the saw down.
“Ohhh. Thank God.”
“I'm gonna use this.” I pulled out my hammer.
“What? No.”
“Yes.” I give her one of my psycho laughs. It's soft, deep and sounds demonic. I do it in front of my kids all the time and they love it. They especially love it when I do it in front of their mother cause they know how it makes her squirm. My wife says that my laugh sounds like I'm a child molester.
He begs and pleads but that's never worked for me before. I can't stand it when they get all cry babyish,
I whacked her in the hand with the hammer. And I was instantly rewarded with the result I was looking for.
Her hand turned red and swelled getting all puffy and pussy.
The next blow I hit her in the knee. Good n' hard. I heard a crack as if I'd just split open a walnut.
I hit again and again and she's screaming like a banshee.
“Honey. What's going on down there?” It was my wife.
“Nothing, Honey. Just in the middle of a project.”
“Need any help?”
“No. I'm find.”
If there's one thing a man doesn't need is his wife assisting him with a home project. The ole husband and wife team never works very well.
Ever hear of IKEA? You know that furniture that comes in a kzillion pieces?
Yeah, well, they call IKEA the divorce maker.
There's nothing worse than having your wife hover over your back while your trying to work on something wondering why there's an extra screw and why isn't there a hole there and let me see those Japanese directions.
Yeah, that'll help. A lot.
I turn back to Olive Oyl. “Okay. Where were we?”
Blood dripped from my raised hammer.
“Wait a second. Let me fix something first.”
I grabbed an eraser from the bench drawer and erased her mouth. Now, she can't say nothing but she did try to wiggle and squirm her way out of it.
I grabbed my blood dripping hammer and smashed her foot.
Her scream sounded all muffled but it wasn't loud.
I whacked her again and again.
I know that again and again thing may sound a bit repetitive but I have to do these things in threes. Everything has to be in threes or it doesn't feel right.
And it has to be rhythmic too or I have to start over and keep doing it till I get it right. Which is very hard for me to do.
By the time I was done I had smashed Olive Oyl like a bunch of fat Italian women smashing grapes for wine in Italy.
I scooped up what was left of her and flushed it down the toilet.
The clean up wasn't bad. Not all blood and guts as you would suspect. But that's cause it's cartoon blood and cartoon blood is easy to mop up once it dries. It's just colored ink really. And the best thing is nobody will ever know.
But to satisfy my curiosity I asked my seven year old if he knew who Popeye was and he said no. And I asked him if he'd ever heard of Olive Oyl and he asked you mean what mommy cooks with all the time.
So, that just proved my point. As I was right, she was soon to be long forgotten.
Maybe if I wait a few years I can go attack that Family Guy or maybe Bart Simpson would be fun. I could have a good time with that one.

Hmmmm. Wonder where I can find him?

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