The Scull and Bones Society

The dirty little Victorian pedo wedo’s had invaded Balranald, NSW, intent on destroying his life once again, their depredations obvious to even the most untrained eye. An invasive species, their malicious actions so blatantly obvious that they barely surpassed that of a ninth grader, who had lost his mind sucking down his father’s Meth that he had stolen the night before. Fat fuck face blabbed constantly, admitting to everything that was suggested through the walls. Each time he arrived back at his new unit, the food and drink tasted lacklustre, like it had in Donald, Victoria, the walls stated that it had been replaced by cheap Black and Gold products, while the shitty little pedo wedo’s sat back and enjoyed their stolen goods, remarking to themselves and others of their ilk that it was much better having a nicer coffee to drink than usual, their cheap product that they had bought inveigled into their targets unit, tasting like some vile poison that they loved to lavish upon every one else that got in the way of their child pornography making business, their drug dealing and vicious rounds of sexual assault upon unsuspecting young women, most favoured being the young teenage girls that were found at times in and around the various localities of the state.

Their stories reeked of vicious, Nazi like overtones, young women broom handled, that being a length of broom handle wrapped with barbed wire and shoved vicariously up their anal hole, pulled out, then raped up the anus by 75 men, whilst being screamed at by filthy rapist thugs, who screamed at women in pain, such things as, “Are you smiling now, little miss smiley, rape her hard boys”, and then being raped hard and each time having a bone broken in her face and then being beer bottled with a broken beer bottle up the vagina and screwed around, all the while, the poor wretched victim hallucinating after being shot up with a mixture of LSD, Meth Amphetimine and Mandrake root, mixed with Rohypnol. Those were the sort of stories that they ladled out to him during the night, sitting above his bed in his unit in the roof cavity, an appropriate place for them to say the least.

He had been in Scullin, ACT, Canberra, had a coffee served to him by a lovely young lass, her smile lighting up his day, the first real smile he had seen in 30 years or more. Soon after, as the days passed, her demeanour was replaced by a dour and sour expression, something had happened to her, he didn’t know what but he had placed a report with the police in Canberra enquiring as to her safety. He returned the next week after the endless stories of horrific brutality against her and walked into the coffee shop in Scullin, he did not see her there and noticed the look of guilt upon the shaved head of one of the regular workers in the shop, he did not see the mopey dopey looking Meth addict that had screamed at her that she was now going to be working for The Firm, working as a prostitute for him so he and his brain dead mates had money to buy for their Meth, or Ice. He stood in the doorway of the shop, looking for the girl with the smile, saw no one of that description, thought the worst and vowed to return soon, so as to be sure that she was either safe or now lay behind a sign marked Parilai, a shattered bag of bones rotting in the sun.