Bang, DinoHajiyorgi, Bang!

[Naurgul]

Όνομα Συγγραφέα: Νικόλας Τ.

Είδος: παρωδία τρόμου, βασισμένη σε αληθινά γεγονότα! (βασικά ίσως δεν ταιριάζει με αυτή τη βιβλιοθήκη, αν κάποιος ξέρει κάποιο καλύτερο μέρος ας την μετακινήσει)

Σεξ, Βία, Αναρχία: Hell yeah!

Αριθμός Λέξεων: 1163

Αυτοτελής: Ναι

Σχόλια: 1. Η ιστορία είναι ειδικά αφιερωμένη στον κύριο στη μέση των λέξεων του τίτλου. 2. Η ιστορία είναι στα αγγλικά. 3. Δεύτερη απόπειρα διακωμώδησης καταστάσεων στο φόρουμ. Αν έχετε πρόβλημα με τα περιεχόμενα αυτής της ιστορίας, πατήστε το κουμπί Report (στην κάτω αριστερά γωνία του μηνύματος, αυτό με το θαυμαστικό) and everything will be alright.

Άδεια Χρήσης:

 

Bang, DinoHajiyorgi, Bang!

 

 

You see, when I was a kid, I figured: Everybody's got to have a special talent. You know, like a superpower, only a bit less supernatural; like knowing the monster's weak spot, or living in two worlds at once or being able to read lips. And when the time was right, your talent would come into use and you'd be the hero. Imagine this: You and a chick, in a luxury restaurant, having a romantic dinner. So, as you pretend to listen to her ranting, your eye catches something strange, there at the corner table. Mr. Suspricious-looking Thug-like dude number one whispering something to his associate, Mr. Suspicious-looking Thug-like dude number two. You nudge the chick softly in order to get her to shut up and speak to her quietly and smoothly, pointing with your finger: “Dear, see those suspicious-looking thug-like dudes over there? - Now, don't look like that, dear, do it a bit more discreetly”. Then, you'd lean towards her, over the table, and whisper in her ear: “See, they are planning to sell stolen goods”. She'd make a small scream you'd quickly suppress by putting your palm over her mouth and shushing her with your finger. You get the point, huh? Call the cops, get the dudes to the big house and act smug when the cops inevitably ask you how you'd known.

 

Anyway, as you can tell already, that's the special talent I wanted to go for. So, what I did was, I watched lotsa movies. Now, you know that little button on the remote nobody ever seems to use, the one with the crossed speaker beside it? Well, you press that, the movie goes mute. So, when you watch the same movie twice, thrice and so on, if you know what the people are supposed to say, then you get some good practice reading lips, you do. So, here I am, years and years after I started doing that; cinematography department, being bored out of my mind enough to wander back in time and remember all that. Truth of the matter is, of course, you never get to use your special talent 'cause nothing amazing ever happens here, and looks that may imply otherwise can be very deceiving.

 

When you see a prof that has an Indiana Jones hat on his head 24/7, a crazy Salvador Dalí mustache and an (obviously fake) Australian accent, what do you do? Register for all his classes, that's what you do, even if they have names like “Trope Management IV” because the guy is bound to say and do some amazing things, right? He gives the impression that he was tamed just enough to be able to deliver semi-coherent lectures somewhere between his trips fighting crocs and his expeditions to the far-reaches of space. But no, he's as interesting as those annoying stories he tells are true.

 

So, yeah, one of those days. You know, the ones nobody does you any favors. The prof was telling that fucking story with the crocs and Star Trek for the umpteenth time and everybody was either asleep or half-asleep. Everybody, really? Not quite. There's this crazy Greek student, sitting in the row right in front of me. Good kid, the list of things I hated about him only had one entry: Grumbling. And it wasn't just a whine thing, he was mumbling and muttering and murmuring no matter what he was doing. Right now, he was writing down whatever the prof was saying, and he was mumbling. For a moment I thought it might be Greek but then I realized; he was mumbling the words as he wrote them, like a hideously annoying echo. What the hell was he writing the story down for anyway? It was the same fucking story the prof had already told us a million times.

 

And there was something else too. I had to add another entry to my list about him: He smelled. Bad. Stinking like a rotting corpse he was, honest. Never done this before, though. So, there I was, contemplating whether I should tell him something about the smell and the moaning (I probably would too!), but he goes and puts down his pen and stands up just like that, in the middle of the lecture. Moves to the right and starts going down towards the prof; and all that time he doesn't stop mumbling the lecture's words for a moment.

 

I take a look at his notebook and what do I see? It's empty, he was doing the motions and mumbling the words but didn't write a thing! There was something wrong about his walking too. He was stumbling and dragging his feet, looked like he was about to fall at every step, he did. But he didn't and he moved on. The prof seemed oblivious to all that, but there must have been something about the Greek student's face too, because when someone looked back and saw him he started to scream and ran outside. Panic brew, chaos ensued, but there I was, not moving a bit, staring in morbid fascination while every other student in the room was fleeing the scene like a madman. That leaves just me in the back rows, the Greek student zombie dude and the crazy prof, still continuing with his story, not paying one bit of attention to the chaos around him.

 

So, as the Greek student zombie dude reaches the front row, the prof reaches the conclusion of his story. Only then does he seem to take notice of him for the first time. “What do we have here?”, says he, thoughtfully. “Now, if I recall correctly from my youth, when I read fantasy novels...”, he stops and sighs letting nostalgia take over. Then, he adds “It was illegal too at the time, if I may add...”, stops again. Bites his lips, looks towards the ceiling, then as the zombie dude was only a couple of feet away from him, he snaps back: “Oh, yes! Silver for werewolves, holy water for vampires and a shot in the head for zombies!” he says all at once, as if reciting a long-forgotten poem. He takes a few steps back, just as the zombie dude was about to grab him, then walks coolly towards his desk, opens a drawer and gets a freaking double-barreled shotgun out.

 

A freaking. Double-barreled. Shotgun. He shoots right at the zombie's chest, the thrust shoving it back. Now, as the Greek student zombie dude resumes his march towards him, the crazy prof aims, only for a moment, then whispers something to himself, like a small prayer. Takes the shot. Head explodes to a rain that paints everything red and makes everything sticky. As we were still being showered by these bloody bits, there could only be one thought in my mind: Had I read his lips right?

 

I thought he'd said “Bang, DinoHajiyorgi, bang!”.

 

THE END

 

 

 

 

 

 

Στιγμιότυπο από το συμβάν:

Edited July 22, 2009 by Naurgul

[Nova]

Nice!

[month]

Ο μαϊ Γκοντ, γιου κιλντ Ντινο! Γιου μπασταρντ!

[Dark desire]

Παρήγγειλα πλερέζα και πένθιμα ενδύματα (κάτι μεταξύ Druuna και Vampirella)

[Naurgul]

Ευχαριστώ για τα σχόλια παιδιά.

[Electroscribe]

Εγώ θα σε κάνω report, που δε γράφεις συχνότερα μ' αυτόν τον τρόπο, πιο ελεύθερα και πιο στρωτά.

 

Κοινώς, μου άρεσε πολύ η γραφή.