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Jimi played the Bingo Hall
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The Fat Controller is hungry
The Fat Controller heard the knock at the door. ffice ffice" />
She removed the dead mans hand from her sweaty gusset, attempted to straighten her dishevelled parachute sized clothing.
She waddled her mass around the table and sunk her fat arse in to a battered leather chair which creaked and wobbled as she wedged her rump in. Folds of fat oozed over the sides of the arm rests. And the corpse of fat Rob, laid motionless on the floor, his pants still round his ankles.
The evil duo knocked again on the door and the Fat Controller bellowed for them to enter.
And as her cannibalistic henchmen walked in, the Fat Controller began to feel dizzy, spots flashed in front of her eyes, the walls seemed to close in, closer and closer and slowly, very very slowly, the colour drained from everything as a bright red enveloped everything in sight. The Fat Controller eyes rolled into the back of her head and as she blacked out memories of her youth floated into her unconscious mind
...
Sunday afternoons, 10 maybe 15 years? Rain softly landing on the windowpanes. The smell of cabbage and gravy danced through the hallway, like ballerinas in Doc Martins. The aroma of meat, that fetid smell would last a lifetime in the Fat Controllers nose and sub-conscious, clung to the air, suffocating the young Fat Controller, over powering all other smells, sticking to the walls, hiding it in the cracks, hanging heavy like a meat mushroom cloud.
Her mum was out of the house, off down the pub for a quick pint of vodka before dinner. Her dad (not her real dad, her real dad left to join a cruise as a tranny singer, this dad was some random man her mother meet at the DHSS) was stalking her round the house wearing a mask made of meat, wielding in his big hairy hands a teddy bear fashioned from seven kinds of sandwich ham. This was what he considered fun. Whenever the mum was out he would play hide and seek, making the Fat Controller hide whilst he tracked her down wearing his meat mask and dribbling like a Pavlov dog.
When the dad finally found her he would make her lick his meat mask and stroke his meat teddy bear. He derived immense sexual gratification from this but he never once touched the Fat Controller, it was the thrill of the search the loved. The Fat Controller would hide, shaking wherever solace could be found but he would always find her (after all it was a tiny two bedroom house).
Naturally, the caused the wiring in the Fat Controllers head to become somewhat crossed and slowly reality, fantasy and nightmare merged into one big lump of craziness right in the middle of her cerebral cortex.
This meat mask madness went on till one night her dad night in a bizarre accident. Police reports show that the dad managed to get out of bed and suffocate himself with a Tesco carrier bag while slashing his throat AND biting a large chunk of flesh from his overhanging gut.
After this the Fat Controller and her mum moved to a new area and soon cats and dogs where being found in the street with parts of their legs gnawed off.
and with the image of three legged cats and dog blood the Fat Controller wobbled back to consciousness and told Hale and Pace to remove fat Rob into the basement for that night they would feast on his fine fat flesh, and God damn it Im hungry the Fat Controller bellowed, and as if to back this statement up her belly rumbled like two WWF wrestlers.
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Introducing Hale and Pace
(if you don't know what's going on, I suggest you read the entries below)
Hale and Pace stood outside the Fat Controllers door, hands stuffed deep down into the pockets of their overalls. They were not the unfunny 80s comedians, oh no, they were two Scottish twins who left Scotland under a mysterious cloud in 1973, just after three and half eaten and mutilated bodies were found in a building site just north of Glasgow. fficeffice" />
They were called Hale and Pace due to their startling resemblance to the comedy duo, but they could of also been called Lenny and George from Of Mice and Men, as one was dominant and the other was the subservient silent partner, a bit like Siegfried and Roy but without the tigers and the homosexuality. I take it your getting the picture.
Anyway, after their departure from Scotland, the brothers, for thats what they were, roamed around Europe and by some strange coincidence, every time they left one town or city, mutilated bodies were discovered, in alley ways, floating on the surface in lakes, in burnt out cars. Decaying corpses with livers missing eyeballs not in their sockets, heads ten feet from where they should be, i.e. attached to a neck. A trail of blood and mild cannibalism trailed behind Hale and Pace as they drifted over the land with no destination in mind.
One day, they felt an overwhelming urge, a compulsion, a massive magnetic pull, to go to England. It seemed that behind the scenes, the boney hand of Satan was at work. Guiding them to the Fat Controller. And if by luck (or was it fate?) Hale and Pace got work as caretakers in the Fat Controllers office. Over time the three of them found they shared a love of human flesh, murder and the songs of Roger Whittaker. (it was something to do with his harmonic whistling). And soon a macabre Un Holy Trinity was born and soon Hale and Pace were constructing the abattoir in the basement. And now they found themselves at the Fat Controllers door ready to test out their abattoir.
They stood at the door, the thoughts of blood and flesh strolled through their minds and as if they were connected by wires, they both got erections at the same time and a smirk opend up across their faces.
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the basement and broken fingers
As Rob laid there, unconscious, with his trouser round his ankles, his shrunken member shriveled and tiny, like the head of a baby tortoise, to shy to pop his head out of his shell, the Fat Controller looked at him and made mental notes of the where she would make her incisions, what cuts of meat she would be taking from the soon to be dead body.fficeffice" />
In the basement the Fat Controller had set up, with the help of her two co-horts, the incredibly backwards deaf and dumb twin caretakers, Hale and Pace (more of them later) a make shift abattoir / restaurant where she intended to carry out her dastardly deed. She picked up the phone and dialed the caretakers, telling them to be at her office when the last employee had left.
The basement was soundproofed with a pit in the floor; jut like at your local mechanics, where the corpse would be cooked. In the corner stood two industrial fridges, which were to house the bagged up meat cuts which the Fat Controller would either eat at a later date, sell to unscrupulous, no-question asked, out of the back of the van, nudge nudge wink wink business men or send up to the canteen to be used in chillis, lasange and other meat based products.
Nestled next to the fridges was a 10ft by 4ft chopping board and above that, hanging from the wall, shining bright in the basement lights, were Sabatier knives of every conceivable shape and size.
But back up stair, before fat Rob could be removed from the office, the Fat Controller had to wait till the office shut and the coast was clear.
Her stomach rumbled.
Unable to resist the site of fat Rob the Fat Controller bent down, grabbed his hand and began nibbling on his fingers, tearing at the skin. This would be her aperitif, her taster. She looked at the clock, only 2 hours to go. Whilst eating on the hand she gnawed through one of his fingers, she then held this finger in her hands, pushed her hand down her knickers and began to rub herself furiously with the dead mans digit. The thought of death and meat acted as an aphrodisiac and soon she was coming whilst chopping down hard on Robs other podgy, cocktail sausage like fingers,the sound of Robs bones breaking under the force of her teeth seemd to turn her on even more.
And before the Fat Controller knew where she was, what time it was or who was Prime Minister she was bolted back to life by a knock at the door. It was the Hale and Pace, the caretakers, ready to do the Fat Controllers evil bidding.
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just before the main course.............
fficeffice" />
So fat lardy Rob made his way up the stairs to the Fat Controllers office, his mind awash with thoughts of a pay rise. And while Robs mind was full of greed; so too was the Fat Controllers, however her greed was not monetary, it was flesh and sinew and meat, and the man making his way to her office was in her mind a soon not to be walking menu offering her the finest cuts of meat.
Rob got to the door, straitened his tie, spat on his hand and brushed his hair into a presentable cow lick. He breathed in his hand to make sure the aroma of bacon from his two butties had dissipated but a faint waft lingered. Rob had no mints so there was fuck all he could do so he knocked on the Fat Controllers door and waited for a response.
While fat Rob was making him self presentable, the Fat Controllers stomach was a ru ru rubbling. No food had passed her dry cracked lips for 15 minutes and withdrawal was setting in. Soon she would be clucking like a Pete Doherty on a dessert island. Like Rod on the other side of the door, the Fat Controller brushed the crumbs from her Mu Mu and straightened her greasy mangled hair.
She always liked to dress for dinner.
Come in Rob, shouted the Fat Controller.
The door slowly opened and as Rob drifted into the office the Fat Controller swore that in the dappled light of the office he looked like a cartoon slab of meat, red, succulent and ready to munch on.
But before food, the Fat Controller offered Rob a drink, the special brew she had just mixed up of coke, Rohypnol and sleeping pills, in order that she may have some fun.
Rob threw back the drink and as the Fat Controller tossed about idle nuggets of chit chat Rob became drowsy and found himself slipping to the bones and carcasses encrusted floor.
With Rob sparko, prone, unable to fight back, the Fat Controller loomed large over him and leant down (with great difficulty it must be said, as if you recall she is a rather large lady) and rip open his flies.
She grabbed his baby maker and tugged it until it was firm. With one hand on fat Robs not so fat throbbing cock she carefully, and with a lot skill lowered herself on to his poor unsuspecting weapon. As she lowered herself further she gave out a little yelp, like a small dog having his tail slammed repeatedly in a car door, whilst being set on fire by a gang of ASBO boys, until her dry hairy minge had engulfed Robs manhood.
She rocked back and forth until she came and she then collapsed in a fat, sweaty, spent heap next to fat Rob, whos cocked glistened in the light with sex juice.
Now fulfilled, all that was left for the Fat Contorller was to finish Rob off, skin him, carve him up and feast on his flesh.
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Fat Rob
Roly poly Rob finished his call, put his phone on mute and left his desk, ready to begin his first, and what would ultimately be his last ever break at the office. fficeffice" />
He made a bee-line to the canteen and bang on 10am he was buying his first bacon sandwich of the day. Smothering the greasy dead pig in tommy sauce, vinegar and pepper, he began to salivate and his mouth began to fill up wit excess gob. He rammed the sandwich into his gluttoness cakehole and with yellow teeth he masticated and tore apart the sarnie. Two mouthfuls and it was gone, sliding down into his interior, mingling with the other flotsam and jetsam that swam around his gut. The bacon and bread rushed through his internals and came to rest just above his colon, ready and waiting to be expelled at a time yet to be decided.
Two minutes of Robs break had passsed by and Rob still felt hungry. Fumbling in his trousers pockets, amongst the crumbs, he fondled some coins and head over to the vending machine to purchase a chocolate bar and some crisps and a can of coke and a pack of three bourbon biscuits and another bacon sandwich. As he moved his body wobbled from side to side. It was like tiny little earthquakes were erupting within his fat, large pasty white carcass. In the 8minutes of Robs break his teeth and jaws had not stopped moving, eagerly tearing apart and gulping down food. He was about to return to his desk when the tannoy cackled and fizzed into life.
The Fat Controllers voice echoed around the call centre, Would Rob Smith please report to the managers office. Thank you. Rob looked up at the speaker hanging from the wall and thought why does the manger want to see me? What have I done? Then he remembered he had recently sought a payrise and he believed he was about to be told that indeed his pay would rise.
Little did Rob know the fate that awaited him and his lardy arse. And as he climbed the stairs, the Fat Controller could hardly control her excitement. And as she mixed together a cocktail of ruthies and sleeping pills her fat stomach rumbled at the prospect of the feast she was bout to consume.
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The Fat Controller sat in her office. Between her fat hot dog fingers she held a chicken leg, her grip so tight that flavored grease oozed out and dripped down her wobbly fleshy arm. The smell of flesh and carrion filled up the office and scattered across the floor laid discarded bones and carrion. Tiny insect feed of the floor. The office was a tiny, self-contained eco-system of its own, everything feeding off each other. The air was thick and oppressive with dead flesh. And from underneath her fat droopy eye lids the Fat Controller looked out onto the call centre workforce, slaving away at their desks, headphones stapled into their scalps. The constant sound of talking voices, repeatedly repeating scripts down phone lines was almost hypnotic. Each worker sat there, still, motionless except for an opening and closing of the mouth, human venus fly traps watching the clock, waiting for the end of the shift or death, which ever came first would be a blessed relief.fficeffice" />
And as the Fat Controller gazed at the workers she envisioned them turning slowly on roasted spits, their bodies glazed in a honey sauce, their skin slowly browning as they turned another revolution on the spinning spit, a green apple wedged firmly between broken teeth. Human meat, thought the Fat Controller, is far more delicate and softer then other meat and as these cannibalistic thoughts stirred in her meat mind, a small ball of spittle dropped from her lip and slowly, like a raindrop form the heavens, fell on to her brightly colored Mu-Mu.
And up in her office the Fat Controller continued to expand. Continued to feast on the burnt flesh and crispy skin of another dead carcass and continued to think about how she could eat her employees without no one noticing they had gone /disappeared. The Fat Controller believed that by eating her employees she would save the company money as they wouldnt have to pay out on their pensions as they would be reported missing and in return for this money saving scheme she would get to feast on the flesh. Everyone was a winner, except the dead workers whos bits of flesh would be stuck between the Fat Controllers sharp incisors, but hey, fuck it, they were just workers, they could be replaced, replaced by more succulent and expendable walking kebabs.
Now all the Fat Controller had to do was select the first prole for her stomach and she had her beady eye one particular person. 17st Rob sat at his desk, totally oblivious to the fate that would soon await him.
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And so it's said a picture speaks a 1,000 words:
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