Spud Time
Cecil Eccleswaite the 3rd was a raving lunatic. You
didn't mess with Cecil. He's put to create kaos, destruction and take over the
world. Currently he's on the number 13 bus from Manchester to Bury, Lancashire.
No one in Bury had any idea what would shortly happen. And only one man had a
chance of stopping Cecil - Gonk, a Royal Marine.
Cecil was sat upstairs. He smiled maliciously to himself.
Suddenly he stood up and reached into his pocket. A big breasted woman screamed
and pointed, "Oh shit! That man has a suicide vest on! We're gonna get
fried!"
"We're all going to die!" shouted the woman,
her big cleavage wobbling like prize award winning spuds.
Slowly Cecil removed his hand from his green jacket. It
held a potato. His smile was evil. So were his words. "Wrong! I'm the spud
thrower."
"Are you on drugs?" a brown haired youth asked.
"Shut your tater hole!" Cecil angrily replied.
"Fuc..." was all the youth managed to say. A
single potato hit him in the mouth, wedging there. The force smashed his head
through the window. Blood jetted everywhere and his neck was broken. Panic erupted!
Cecil Eccleswaite the 3rd stopped it. His hand moved
faster than Ricky Valentino with his gay lover. A medium sized spud looped
through the air, bounced off a seat and hit a red haired man in his throat.
"Ugh," muttered the dying man.
The blond lady jumped out of her seat and ran at Cecil. A
potato hit her upper right arm, breaking it. She became violent. "You
fucking weirdo!" A metre from Cecil, she jumped.
"No you don't," he retorted. Another spud hit
her temple and half her skull fell away. Still she advanced!
"Death by cleavage! I'll show you!" were her
last words when she fell upon her enemy. Her 84DD tits popped out of her
gigantic black silk bra. They were like quivering live things unlike her almost
dead body that had a figure like a sack of spuds.
"Get off me you mad head!" roared Cecil. The
woman's big breasts straddled his face and her nineteen stone flattened Cecil.
A potato went ballistic and hit a quiet pensioner, killing her. Cecil's lights
nearly went out. Two breasts, each one weighing as much as a lawnmower
suffocated Cecil. Would the dead Russian shot putter, Olga, save the world?
No! Cecil invoked the alien God of Mauve potatoes and
threw the Russian bird off him like a drunk downing a pint. Cecil was mad!
"I'm the potato gangster! Die you human underlings!
Death by potato," he screamed, red in the face. he chucked three dozen
spuds. The remaining six on the top deck died. Their injuries were severe and
fatal.
"Who's the man? I'm the man, the man of spuds!"
shouted Cecil as he ran to the stairs and jumped down. A man was on his way up
to see what the commotion was. Cecil's size 6 gardening boot sent him flying
and a small potato entered the top of the man's skull, such was the speed of
Cecil's superhuman strength and aim.
"Oh God save us!" whimpered a body builder, his
beef cake muscles trembling.
Cecil heard him and grinned. Holding up a potato, Cecil
nodded, "Do you know what this is? Do you young man?"
"A potato," answered the alpha male.
"Yes, a humble potato."
"Are you ill in the fucking head, you spud brain?
You waffle on about bullshit."
"No, I'm the spud chucker!" laughed Cecil. In
an under arm move he launched the spud. It hit the fifteen stone muscle man,
breaking three ribs. One popped through his spam vest.
The man stood up, spoke and took a step forward,
"You fucking freak."
"Good observation," confirmed Cecil, aiming
again. The potato hit the muscle man, knocking him down dead. Twenty two other
passengers sat still, frozen in awe and fear.
"Potato death time!" whispered the madman. In a
power wank move that a humming bird would have envied, Cecil launched seventy
potatoes. Ten missed due to the panicked bus driver swerving his bus of death.
Blood ran down the walkway. Cecil advanced to his last enemy - the driver!
"Who are you? Are you mad? What the hell are you?
You got a chip on your shoulder?" challenged the driver, frowning and
failing to hide his terror. The answer was a barrage of baby spuds, five
hundred of them. Perspex shattered, plastic punctured, metal bent and the
driver died. By psychic spud power the bus drove straight and level, a steady
30mph.
Cecil Eccleswaite the 3rd sat down on a flip down seat
like a couch potato. I've done a terrific job on my step to take over the world,
he evilly thought. Soon this planet will be mine! All mine and I'll colonise it
with more alien spuds, then take over the universe...
The number 13 bus pulled into Bury bus station. No one
dismounted. Everyone was dead except Cecil. He reminisced of HIS moment. That
time he was abducted by mauve aliens in a potato shaped UFO. A voice monotoned
on: "Oh they took me. And experimented on me in twenty six ways. Oh how I
enjoyed their strange technology and sense of humour. I'm my own person now.
But most of all I love the gift they gave me. Look at the beauty of it. Look at
it!"
Around Cecil, a sea of death oozed, dripped and occupied.
The only person dismounting the bus was Cecil...
The Saturday shopping day in Bury was busy. A European
market, full of damn foreigners. Cecil hated them. It made him boiling mad. Especially
the French. He spied a Frenchman. "Hey you! Your potatoes are crap! Not
like mine. Mine are the best, finest taters in the universe!"
The small Napoleon sized Frenchie ran round his stall,
goaded on by Cecil. He carried a fake French stick with a steel cosh inside.
With surprising agility the man swung his tool. And missed! In bemusement he
looked around.
"Behind you big man! There you go Mr French Fry,"
Cecil whispered. A barrage of potatoes obliterated the French market trader.
His body was broken.
"I'm the potato chucker and it's spud time! Spud
time! Spud time! Spud time!"
People ran around in terror! Most thought it was a joke
by the EDL till an English trader had his head removed by a large spud. His
headless corpse ran about, blood shooting from his neck. An eerie call echoed
over the market. "Spud time! Spud time! Spud time!"
Cecil's spud throwing exceeded ten thousand medium sized
potatoes a minute. He threw them rapid rate. Broken bodies stacked up like
severed limbs on the battlefield. In three minutes over two hundred people were
dead. Sixteen nationalities, male and female, young and old.
"I'm the man! I'm Cecil Eccleswaite the 3rd and I'm
the spud thrower. Spud time! Spud time! Spud time!"
He moved to the shopping centre and more carnage. Some
shoppers had glimpsed the market horrors and ran for their lives. Then stopped.
Cecil stood at the main entrance, a black menacing shadow against the high
summer sun. CCTV recorded his every move. A code blue call had been issued. The
Marines were coming! They weren't happy, having to leave their chippy tea mid
meal.
Taking a step forward Cecil opened fire. A torrent of
spuds cut forth. He knew the soldiers were coming! His next three minutes were
well spent. Aim, fire, aim, fire. On all three levels of the shopping centre,
in a hundred and eighty nine shops it was the same story - death! Cecil
murdered over three thousand people. Everyone inside the Wheatsheath shopping
centre. Task completed, he emerged at the far exit.
"Job well done!" he muttered. Suddenly Cecil
heard and faint roar and shouted orders. The Royal Marines were here. Before
battle commended Cecil had one last job to do. Wipe out all the other chippies,
shops, businesses, houses and factories in Bury. Holding out his hands before
him, Cecil opened fire. It was ferocious and out of this world - half a million
mauve spuds shot out of his hands in a treacherous stream. Individual spuds
were invisible, it was a river. Upwards and out it went, to seek out and
destroy people wherever they were. Hiding or being indoors would do no good -
these were hunter killer tomatoes! Half a million people would soon die.
"Open fire! All weapons, rapid fire! Now!" came
the command. It was high pitched and belonged to a big Marine, a yank, embedded
within the British Marines. His unit opened fire with all manner of weapons:
5.56mm SA80s, SAWs and M-16s; Heckler and Koch 9mm; Browning 12.7mm sniper
rifles and M3 heavy machine guns; Javelin missiles, bazookas, 81mm mortars,
105mm howitzers and potato shaped hand grenades.
Cecil was hit six thousand times and stood his ground.
Every single bit of ordnance bounced off him. He grinned and commented,
"That your best shot lads? Keep your eyes peeled and you might kill me."
"Re-load and open fire!" came the reply, the
Texan accent strangely odd in middle Lancashire.
"Fuck you yank! Spud time! Spud time!" roared
Cecil. His potato fire mostly silenced the second bout of Marine fire. He held
his hands outwards and arced them upwards. Ten thousand spuds whooshed
heavenwards, to fall upon the distant howitzer guns and nearer mortar crews. A
single swipe silenced the Marine's remaining small arm fire. Bloody and broken mashed
up bodies showed a brave and futile defence. Bury was fucked. Or was it?
"I'm Cecil Eccleswaite the 3rd. Soon this whole
planet will be mine. I'll kill you all by potato fire. What a scoop that'll be."
A single gunshot echoed forth. Gonk, a small fry eight
stone marine, had sniped Cecil ever since CCTV had picked up the market attack.
The 50 cal Raufoss mixed use bullet blew Cecil's fucking head clean off! Armour
piercing, incendiary and high explosive splintered his alien induced brain,
like a masher mashing spuds. Only his standing
body remained, looking like a battered chip.
"Don't fuck with the Marines! One shot, one kill. That's
a scoop. Happy days!" smiled Gonk. With difficulty he shouldered his
Barrett rifle. It was as long as he was tall and a challenge to lift.
"Happy days indeed."
Jumping off his rooftop onto a car roof, Gonk fell
through the glass sunroof, before emerging at street level from the Lada Riva
estate. "Fuck a duck! Works in the movies."
Cecil remained in position, headless and still. Gonk
advanced upon his enemy, rifle ready. But Gonk wasn't ready for what happened
next. In an alien movement, controlled from afar, Cecil's tweed trousers fell
to the floor. He wore no underwear.
"You gotta be shitting
me! He's got no cock. It's a... potato stump!" Gonk gasped.
Cecil's potato stump was
indeed that, a potato stump, implanted by aliens back in 1986. He gyrated his
hips and fired one six in potato, mauve in colour. Gonk fired his rifle. And
missed! Gonk never missed. Till now. The spud removed the Marine's head and Gonk
fell down dead.
Cecil grew a new head! A
potato sprouted forth. And his body rapidly changed, turning into a large spud.
"Now I'm Mr Potato
Head! A real hot potato!" he shouted.
Suddenly Gonk stood up. He
was a spud too! "You are my Spud Gun Soldier!"
"What the fuck have you
done to me?" Gonk, now renamed Spud Gun Soldier, asked in shock. Looking
down at himself, with his new head, a potato, Spud Gun Soldier tried to pick up
his gun.
"Oh no my dear Spud Gun
Soldier, you won't need that useless toy now. You're like me, a potato killer.
An alien. You kill by shooting potatoes at people from your hands. The same way
I do," Cecil, now called Mr Potato Head, explained. He looked like Humpty
Dumpty.
Spud Gun Soldier tried to
shoot a spud at Mr Potato Head to kill him. A small baby blue spud emerged from
his hand and fell to the ground. "What the fuck?"
"You're my slave.
Together we shall conquer the world and kill everyone by potato violence.
Prepare to go to war!"
"Hooya potato death!
Gimme some more chips!" screamed Spud Gun Soldier.
"One potato, two
potato, three potato, four..." sang Mr Potato Head...
Soon the world would be
theirs and then alien potato heads would invade.
copyright 2013 nick
armbrister
