STAND BY ME-STEPHEN KING PARODY

AN INCREDIBLY FUCKED UP HORROR TALE

Here is part one of Stephen King's 'Stand By Me' parody. Every obscenity, racial slur and nasty word in this parody can be found in Mr. King's novels. Therefore, the fuck heads that have called me a racist, bigot and low-life can go fuck themselves. The only difference between my writing and Mr. King's is about $600 million in sales revenue! I marvel at the fact that this man can fire off at least three books a month, and they don't even have to be good or make sense. "Thank God, America has gone full-retard!" he was once quoted. I hope you enjoy this installment. If not, I don't give a shit! What is really weird though, is that I finished Part II first. I do apologize to Mr. King and I am pretty sure he wouldn't give a shit. I know I wouldn't if I was a multi-millionaire and semi-retarded. P.S. The clown pictured on the left? It has nothing to do with this story. Someone told me that without pictures, you don't have a hope in hell of finding readers.

STAND BY ME-A PARODY

Chapter 1 

The lightning flashed across the sky, illuminating Bartlett's bedroom in a fiery glow. The blinding flash, which was immediately followed by a tremendous clap of thunder, would have startled any kid! Not so with a weird and twisted little fucker like Bartlett. He was totally consumed by his nightly ritual-a penlight held between his teeth, a porno being held up in his left hand and his right hand furiously choking his chicken. An ominous thumping against the wall did get his attention though. His heart began to race and his breath caught in his throat. It slowed when he realized it was only his dad in the next room, fucking the shit out of his mother's dress-making mannequin. "What a fucking douche-bag", said Bartlett, returning to the frantic beating on his cock!

"Now what the fuck was that!" whispered Bartlett. He had heard something much more ominous, and this time it wasn't his dad. There were some scratching and moaning noises coming from somewhere inside his own bedroom. The hairs on the back of his neck stood on end. Dropping his cock and porno at the same time, he held his breath and listened intently, trying to ascertain the exact location of the source. Fuck me, he thought to himself, whatever it was, it's underneath my bed. He was nearly frozen in fear thinking about the only two options left to him. And both had dire consequences. Option one? He took a chance and looked under the bed. Given the fact that this was aStephen King parody, the chance of getting his head torn off were pretty good. The other option was pulling the covers over his head and waiting till morning. The fact that he hadn't bathed in a couple of months, his nut-sack was getting as ripe as a chunk of Limburger cheese left out in the sun for a week.

Pulling the covers over his head was certain death sentence so he opted for taking a look-see under the bed. Slowly peering over the side and giving the covers a gentle tug, he shone the flashlight under the bed. He nearly shit himself! In the glare of the flashlight were eyes filled with terror, staring back at him through sweat soaked hair!

"Fuck me", screamed Bartlett when realized it was his sister Beth. He had forgotten he had duct taped her legs, hands and mouth three days ago and shoved her under his bed as joke. Quickly removing the tape, he sat Beth on the side of his bed.

"Beth, please don't tell mom and dad," Bartlett begged. "I was only having a little fun! Look. I'll make it worth your while to keep quiet.!

Running over to his dresser, he opened the drawer and took out an old cigar box. Lifting the lid, he took out some of his most prized possessions and returned to Beth. 

Through tears of anger, Beth shouted at Bartlett, "How could you do this to me? And how come not one fucking person knew I was missing for three days?"

"Are you kidding", said Bartlett, "we are the most fucked-up family in Bangor. You realize that mom and dad need hangers to find their assholes! These are for you."

He was holding his two favorite marbles, an autographed Babe Ruth baseball card and an ear. He and his three buddies-Gnarly, Fungus and Dipshit-had removed it from this old wino that had passed out behind the 7-11.

"You've got to be shitting me!" said Beth, looking at the measly offerings in Bartlett's outstretched hand. "You gave me $10 not to squeal on you when I caught you corn-holing Cujo! This is going to cost you the hundred bucks I know you stole from the church poor box, asshole!"


Worry lines creased his forehead as he thought of his predicament. If his dad found out, he knew he would get a pretty good shit-kicking. On the other hand, was he willing to part with the money he had worked so hard to steal from the church?

Dejected, Bartlett came to a decision. "Okay, it's a deal. I'll give you the hundred bucks. I hid it in my toy trunk." He lifted the lid and began to rummage around looking for the money. "I know it's in here somewhere."

Getting impatient, Beth walked over and stood behind Bartlett and began to berate him. "Quit fuckin' around Bartlett and han.............."

It had all been a ruse so as to get Beth closer to him. What had only been a blur to Beth, was in actual fact a ball-peen hammer Bartlett had swung with Tiger Woods' like grace. Beth had barely glimpsed the glitter of the hammer in the soft glow of the moonlight as it arced through the air. It had caught her on the temple, crushing her skull like an egg shell. She was dead before her body hit the floor!

(Is this Stephen King or what? Some people say I'm disturbed! They say I write like a man who has some deep-seated mental illness! How wrong they are. My mental illness is out there for all to see. I don't try to hide it. Do they say Stephen is disturbed? No! On the contrary, the weirder he gets, the more they say he has Pulitzer Prize potential! The only difference between the delusional ramblings ofmental illness and Book Of The Month material is a million dollars in sales. I don't fucking understand that).

"Look what you made me do, cunt!" screamed Bartlett. "You should have thought this out a little bit more before you tried to fuck me over! Think about it! If mom and dad haven't noticed you missing yet, they never would have!" laughed Bartlett, rambling on to himself. He then began to stuff her body into the trunk, first re-arranging the bodies of the little Epstein twins who had mysteriously disappeared last Halloween. Whistling a happy tune, Bartlett returned to bed to finish jagging-off. If he was lucky, he might get a few winks in before his dad came in for his bi-weekly molestation of Bartlett.

 CHAPTER 2

Next morning, Bartlett entered the kitchen and sat down for breakfast with his parents.

"What was that strange noise coming from your bedroom last night?" asked his mom.

"Before or after dad molested me?" giggled Bartlett.

"Before, dear," sighed his mother.

"It was only a scary monster, but it ran out the window," smirked Bartlett.

"I was hoping it was your missing sister, what's-her-name," said mother.

"Her name was Beth, mom! But no such luck. I'm pretty sure she said she was going to run away join the Barnum & Bailey Circus. Just like the Epstein twins did last Halloween," chortled Bartlett.

"I must say, those Epstien twins were pretty adventurous and motivated for six year olds." said his mother in undisguised admiration, giving her husband a look of disdain. "Unlike some people I know!" 


"Good for them," said his dad as he put down his magazine, 'Pussies & Knockers'. "I wish I could find a fucking job!"


"Well dear, maybe if you spent as much time looking for work as you do having sex with my mannequin and molesting Bartlett, you'd find work too!" said his wife, with a sarcastic smirk on her face.


"Smart-ass mother fucker," he yelled as his right boot came up and caught square in the snatch. She crumpled to the floor as if she had been hit with a ball-peen hammer.

Casually stepping over his mother's crumpled heap, Bartlett went to the kitchen cupboard and pulled out a gun case. "Hey, dad, do you mind if I take your Smith-Wesson to school?" Bartlett asked as he began waving it in the air.

"Is it loaded, son?" queried his father.

Staring down the barrel and pulling the trigger several times, Bartlett replied, "Shit, I guess the fucking thing is empty!"

"The bullets are in the dresser drawer in me and your mom's bedroom, right next to the dildo. Do you know how to load it son?"

"Why, sure I do dad, who do you think shot those five homeless guys last week?" scoffed Bartlett.

"Why in Heaven's name do you want to take a gun to school for son?" asked his mother, as she valiantly pulled herself into her chair, just in time to catch a thundering left hook from her hubby, which sent her crashing back to the floor.

"Bitches only talk when they are told to!" screamed his pissed off father. "Why do you want to take a gun to school?"

"For 'Show and Tell' pops! First, I'm going to 'Show' it to the kids in the playground. Then I'm hoping they don't 'Tell' on me, when I waste that cock-sucking teacher, Mrs Ford. I want to teach her a lesson on who is a rotten kid and who isn't!" giggled Bartlett.

"That's a good one son. I betcha that fucking asshole Stephen King couldn't write anything this fucking good!" joked his dad as he rolled his wife over and delivered another vicious punch. "Wake up bitch, I need ya to run down to the liquor store and pick me up scotch. I have a busy day, watching TV."

Bartlett ran to the bedroom and rifled through the drawers, tossing out used condoms and a crusty dildo til he found the shells. He quickly loaded the gun and ran down the stairs. Reaching the kitchen, he stopped, not wanting to interrupt his father who had his mother bent over a stool and was just giving it to her.


Sticking the gun into his belt, Bartlett ran out the front door and headed down the street. Passing by the Epstein house he stopped and decided to stop by for a little chat with Mrs. Epstein who was out sweeping the front porch.

"How are you doing Mrs. Epstein?" asked a contrite Bartlett.

She had been devasted by the sudden disapppearance of her twin boys, Ike and Kike. "Well, Bartlett, I am just hanging in there. I sure wish I knew what happened to my boys," she said sadly as tears ran down here cheeks.

"I heard on the radio that two mutilated bodies were found just outside of Derry. Maybe you'll get lucky and it will turn out to be your faggot sons", smirked a loathesome Bartlett.

Mrs. Epstein let out a bone-chilling shriek and sank to her knees, sobbing uncontrollaby.

"Don't sweat it. It will take them months to figure out who they were. There heads were missing," said a suddenly concerned Bartlett.

Mrs. Epstein let out another shriek, jumped off the porch and ran hysterically onto the street. She then got crushed under the wheels of a school bus. It was the same bus that used to pick up her sons.

The irony of this was not lost on Bartlett. He couldn't contain himself and began to laugh until his buddies Gnarly. Fungus and Dipshit came and got him for school.

I gotta quit for now. My pit-bull just came in to tell me that he was watching the Eagles-Redskins game, and that dog murderer, Michael Vick just got creamed and may be seriously injured! This day just keeps getting better and better.

Stay tuned for part two. It's already finished.