Posted: November 6th, 2004 | Author: Lisa Sinclair | Filed under: Colonel Panix, Donnie, Elvis, Harem Scare 'em | Tags: castration, Elvis Presley, goth, Harem Scare'em, party, President Kennedy, Violent assault | 1 Comment »
image by FroggyFrog
He woke with a killer headache and instinctively felt between his legs. He found something familiar, but something was missing …
His eyes flew open and he quickly sat up, ignoring the painful drumming in his head.
He was totally naked and sitting on an opulent four-poster bed in an equally opulent room. But his surroundings were of secondary importance right now.
With a grim sense of irony, he glared at his mutilated crotch and ran his fingers through his hair. His thick, luxurious hair …
“Oh bugger”, he piped, in a soprano that brought tears to his eyes.
This could cause problems …
He reached across the bed for the robe that lay on its edge and draped it over his shoulders. Then he stood up and looked around.
The room would not have been out of place in the court of King Louis. Opulent had been his first impression, and it remained accurate.
Maybe he’d turned up in Graceland? He’d always wanted to meet The King.
Donnie wandered around the room, picking things up and putting them down. He stopped at the dresser and examined the photographs. They featured Donnie in various poses with another man. He peered closer, trying to make out the face.
Colonel Panix.
Posted: November 5th, 2004 | Author: Lisa Sinclair | Filed under: Colonel Panix, Confinement, Donnie, Marcus | Tags: Confinement | 1 Comment »
image by FroggyFrog
She woke with a killer headache and instinctively felt between her legs. She didn’t find what she was looking for, which meant that she could slouch again and perform minor comfort adjustments in public.
Donnie Penfolde opened his eyes.
The room was plain white. There were no doors.
That’s odd, he thought. How did I get in here?
Pushing himself to his feet, Donnie Penfolde fought against a blood rush and the fading memories of an explosion. What he needed now was a smoke.
His hands instinctively flew to his chest and hips and came up empty. Looking down, he saw that he was dressed in a nondescript pair of pyjamas, in a colour that matched the room. A room, he noticed, that was depressingly empty of anything but a stainless-steel urinal and a mattress that had seen better days.
Bloody brilliant, he groaned. Another loony bin.
He shoved a hand through his hair and was moderately relieved to find that his thatch, at least, was intact. He couldn’t abide the thought of being bald. Women had it all wrong. Even castratos could go a long way with a fine head of hair.
Apart from the painful throbbing in his head, Donnie could hear little else. The room must be soundproof, he mused. He wandered over to the nearest wall and ran a hand over its surface.
Nice paint job.
Using the flat of his hand, he smacked at the wall a few times. ‘Hey!’ he yelled. ‘Anyone there?’
He didn’t really expect a response, and was therefore mildly surprised when a narrow, rectangular slot appeared in the wall next to his groin.
Hello, hello, he thought. Is that the postman?
Dropping to a crouch, he peered through the slot and found himself eye-to-eye with a pair of beady, bloodshot orbs.
‘Hullo there!’ he chirped. ‘If its a bill, I don’t want it.’
