Wife Killer

There was only me, that is John, left in the Cantora, trying to make up my rassoodock with what to do to the old zheena once I returned to my humble abode. I used to sneety what it would be like to give her a malenky bit of the old ultraviolence, yeah, to slooshy that, it’s to be in heaven, with Bog and his Holy Angels. I needed to finish it, this eve, by my oddy-knocky self.

So there I was, O my brothers, goolying down the street, dressed in the height of fashion. Which, in those days, was a bright blue wig on my gulliver, tight white tights, and a black waisty jacket with pletchoes. Giving the impression of one’s henchness, I reckon.

But what I needed now was an Auto, and as I came out the alley, I knew I was in the Plaza, ‘cause of that gloopy statue of some hero to the plebs. Stood there, with his ugly old rot and clown’s litso, I would have liked to have given him a bit of the old ultraviolence, but alas, not real was he, and more pressing matters troubled my rassoodock.

When I could viddy the Auto, a lush Mercedes, a malenky group of malchicks were already starting to get on board. Seeing as my needs were greater, I went over and offered my bit of soviet, and these dirty malchicks decided to smeck in my face and give off a load of slovos. Being offended by all this, I tolchocked what seemed to be their leader nice and quick in the gulliwuts, and he let out a 'wah wah wah' as he went tottering off. His droogs had seen all this sloochat and left him to it, rather than getting a good tolchock in the glazzies. Seeing that young malchick leave a trail of the glorious red on the ground behind him was a splendid sight, O my brothers, and I marvelled at my work for a minoota or dva.

Putting the klootch in the ignition, the lush Mercedes starting purring real horrorshow, and to yeckate and sloosh it down the starry street made the old tick-tocker quicken. I took the eastern road, toward that place we call home, and the Auto whizzed through the traffic like air.

As I zoomed on, my friends and passengers, the shine of the city soon dimmed and was replaced by the night sky and bright luna. The odd squealing thing happened to fall under the wheel, but that was by the by, all in the night's fun I like to say. I arrived at 25 Sanhole Way just as the lush Auto starting huff huff huffing, timely to say the least, my brothers. I got out and goolying down the path I could viddy a light flicker from behind the pane of glass, and I figured I must have gotten the silly baboochka out of her terrible slumber. I giggled like bezoomny at that thought, as the old zheena was going to be in a real spatchka soon enough.

The klootch was put into the lock real skorry as I wanted to skvat the baboochka's attention.
"Miriam, my lovely, why is thou up at such an hour? Shouldn't such a wonderful person be catching up on some much needed beauty sleep?"
My zheena was stood there, wearing the height of bedwear fashion, which was a dark red robe, and this reminded me of krovvy. How I love the glorious red, O my brothers.
"What do you want, John? There shall be no fun tonight, as you very well know, so stop trying it on."
Now you see, my brothers, this was going to be her saving grace, yet the dim old ptitsa never wants any of the old in-out in-out, our humble narrator is only lucky enough to get it if she is too pyahnitsa to notice.

"The time to say goodbye is finally upon us, my dear wife. This life has become too monotonous for me and I believe you are the root of my troubles. See you in another life."

With that, my brothers, I pulled out my britva and threw myself at the cheena in front of me. She had a real spoogy look on her face now, her rookers all trembling and that, real horrorshow. I grabbed a rooker and cut my britva deep into her main canals, and Miriam started to crark out 'waahhh'. A few tolchocks in the rot seemed to do it, but I danced on her with my boots for a while after, until the krovvy began to flow from the baboochka's burst canals. After a final 'ooohhh', Miriam fell into a kind like sleep, out out out for the count.

I looked down at the bloody and bruised body on the floor and smecked a bit after thinking about what I just did. Moving on was the best idea now, O my brothers and only witnesses, so I lit a cancer and left the place I once called domy.

Fun was to be the agenda for the rest of this eve, and I figured the best way to start it was a trip down to the dear old Korova Milkbar, as a bit of Moloko Plus always gave your narrator and friend a bolshy sobirat. Goolying down the street once again, I could viddy a rozzer walking toward where I had just been, but I'm not poogly of the Staja, John the groody is not gloopy enough for the millicents to catch.

The Korova Milkbar was a real bezoomy place, and it brought me much radosty, so I entered the building and went to kupet myself a lomtick of Moloko Plus with all my cutter. This eve it was Moloko plus Vellocet, a new veshch yet to be banned, and it could give you a good hour or so of zammechat dook spotting or to see any merzky messel you have in rassoodock.

It was around 11 by the time I had left the Korova, O my brothers and only compatriots, and I knew just what choodessny place to go next. There were no Autos on the street, taken for I spin I reckon, by a banda of malchickiwicks. So off I was again, but this time I knew I had to gooly South, so South I went. Soon enough the bright lights of the city were back, and I saw my destination in the horizon. Redrow House. Redrow House was an old municipal flatblock, inner city and that, so all the walls were dunged up by the chellovecks, full of dirty slovos and the lark.

Thankful I was, my brothers, that this devotchka did live in number 6C, as the lift had been really tolchocked sometime recent, a fine piece of work by whomever carried it out. I really wanted some pol tonight, and here was the place for it. The dark shaded green door of 6C had seen a better day, a dedoochka had probably fisted it when refused entry, the shoot would have then gone domy 'boohoohooing'.

A cheena came to the door before I clopped, and unshered me into the malenky room of your narrator's messel. This buttocky devotchka had everything, O my brothers, a beautiful litso, luscious black glory, and well developed groodys. There was no talking, there never was, I was too oomny for a chitty-chat with her. Lubbilubbing was my only interessovat, and it didn't feel baddiwad anymore as the zheena was out out out. While I got untrussed and ready for the plunge, the devotchka's koshtoom were already on the floor, and she was on my pan-handle saying dirty slovos.

All night I enjoyed the buttocky beauty, real horrorshow it was, and I only stopped when my yarbles could take no more, O my brothers. Zasnoot was what I desired most now, and so I buried my gulliver into the podooshka, and closed my glazzies. I dreamt of jeezny where Moloko Plus was always the drink of the day, and where young ptitsas and devotchas where lying down, and I was tolchocking and fisting them, as well as dancing on them with my heavy boots. Hohoho, how I would fall in love as the glorious red began to flow and flow, my brothers.

As I woke, the sleepglue kept my eyes shut, until they opened and I saw it was 6 oh oh hours. I still felt shagged and fagged, but it was time for your narrator to move on; the buttocky beauty was starting to von beside me, and the hum of the Cantora was calling. I got up and put my platties on, and reached into my pocket to prod a nice amount of pretty-polly, a thanks, my brothers, for the night's fun.

Huf huf huf, my kashl was beginning to flare up again, so out came another cancer and I puffed away as I took the plebwagon, or bus, to the Cantora. I got to my nogas and left the bus in order to quell my hunger, as I realised I had not eaten at all last night. My rot ached as my mounch was vareeted, and I chomp chomp chomped it until it was finished. I was hungrier than I first thought, so I had another helping, and then was back goolying down to the Cantora, and reality, my brothers.

For this is where the story ends for you, my friends and companions. You have been by your droog John's side now, through the most horrorshow nochy of his life, and what a raskazz you should make of it. Now though, I must go on by my oddy-knocky self, it is not safe to stay with your narrator; my face will be all over the gazetta when they find my dear old zheena, who is now safe with Bog. Oh how your good friend misses her, I will boohoohoo myself to zasnoot from now hither.

Where my path privodeets, I do not know, the millicents will never catch John the groody though, to snuff it would happen first, being a prestoopnik is too low of me. So go now, and remember to not platch when you hear of my fate, but rejoice, and tell your own droogs of that one horrorshow night you spent with your friend and companion. That is my only soviet, my brothers.