— What the fuck, the guy managed to say, but it was too late for prayers … too late for tears …
Grandpa put his knee against the guy’s back and mechanically wrapped a pianowire noose around his throat. After ten seconds the guy was ripe … he choked … drummed his feet … his dick jerked and spurted cream onto the stomach of whatever was beneath him … he shuddered and went still … It turned out the survivor was a woman. During the fuck, she’d been looking back over her shoulder … she looked tired and annoyed … didn’t know shitwas going down … just thought he’d cum too soon again … Then she saw Grandpa … who’d dared to disturb the great sacrament … she drew a breath to spew a bunch of filth … Grandpa wasn’t fazed … he just knelt on her whalebelly … seized her dirtyblonde, cheapoperm curls and fastened the noose behind her head. She didn’t put up a fight … that was smart … she was a fat cow … rolypoly … pigglywiggly … Hissing, Grandpa tightened the noose and she strangled herself trying to ease the tension … She was married, had long nails, a short lifeline … Her eyes had seen their share … her tongue was unbelievably long … bluish red … in between her chalkwhite teeth and fuckmered lips … she tried to claw at Grandpa, but couldn’t do much … so she just struggled … Grandpa’s grip wasn’t that strong … he asked her if she’d read Bram Dijkstra’s Idols of Perversity … she shook her head … slowly suffocated … her eyelids fluttered … the pianowire cut through her flesh … sliced her larynx … she finally twitched and went limp … her last breath was a pussyfart … Grandpa climbed out, wiped the sweat from his forehead with a piece of rubberfoam, and then washed his hands in a puddle. He lit a Dunhill and took a few swigs from a half Ballantyne’s.
— Holy Sebastian’s martyrium, I hope you didn’t see too much of that, kid … What they were doing reeks in God’s hairy nostrils. It’s every macho/maso-man’s duty to slaughter every copulating-couple he comes across.
— I hardly saw anything, Grandpa.
— Then we’re sitting pretty! You know, Montaigne says that nature gave us pain to honor and serve pleasure … Someone who’s got three or more fuckable openings just isn’t human … Remember, we’re Norrländers, not fucking Westerners! Didn’t gaunt Tacitus say in his Germania that even back then blond beasts had a hard time tolerating impudent whores? — “The pale and darkly dressed Harierna force their immoral women to shove vipers, burningbranches, and mouldymazarines up their diseaseinfestedswamps. Then they hang them by the ankles from the stiff branches of deadtrees and militaryrecruits get to use them for punchingbags. Publicatae enim pudicitiae nulla venia” … Also keep in mind that in his festive History of the Franks, Gregory of Tours tells the story of a synod in Macon in 585, where the declaration that “mulierem hominem vocitari non posse”—that is, “cunts ain’t human”—was met by a deafening roar of applause. Furthermore, Friedrich the Great says at the end of Ecco Homo that “All creative Dionysians are tough and live for destruction.” Even Jesus Christ shouted out: “I’ve come to destroy the work of women … As long as they exist, conception rules deaths dominion …”
— Amen.
— Now, my little cuddlemuffin, let’s go find the Grail! or at least Sampo!
We dragged the pair out of the backseat … they’d both shit themselves … Grandpa took out half a dozen goldfillings with a pair of pliers … the man had bitten his tongue off … We climbed in, buckled up, and burned rubber. Before we came to Dalkarsliden and the outskirts of town, we’d already run a Volvo off the road and squashed a racoondog flat.
— This is called The Sinking Valley …
I understood why. Grandpa tossed an empty bottle out of the window at a hundred and ten MPH, and pinged a small child’sdad right in the head. A sign warned us to beware of “Living Dead Children.” Skellefteås a huge disappointment … All roads lead to black decay. Its not a real city by any means … just barracks and bivouacs … if you have too much zest for life, thats the place for you … People who stop in Skellefteå have nowhere else to go … the descendents of a worthless race … Suffering from the Skellefteå Blight … a deadly disease that saps the muscles, nerves, and will … the nasty Västerbotten Syndrome … a slight mentalretardation and skinrash … More people die in Skellefteå every year than in the rest of Sweden combined … The death struggle is longer and more painful … Skellefteårs are mean, when they get their courage up … sheltered … ingrown … Good at keeping things quiet … holding themselves aloof … making things easy for themselves … Pigs in men’s clothing … the legendary nineteenth century townies “B. C.,” “Lord Grogg,” and “Hin Håles Juvel” used to live here … Now the town is just a mishmash of debris … apemen … A Skellefteår knows everything in advance … understands how everything works … carries a big stick … is quick on the draw … He’s got conviction … everything he touches and sees shrivels and turns gray … one hand washes the other … industry and information … money and sex … pollution and trash … Skellefteårs are zombies in limbo … freezedried … frostbitten …
The biggest thing to happen in Skellefteå was when AIF won the hockeybockey gold in ’78 … They’re still high off it … going on and on about their smackdown … slapdown … uprising … Skellefteå is Sweden Sports Central … everything else is lower on the totempole, there … sometimes the Sunnanå tribaders even make it up here … there’s no baseball, because there’s no competition … Sports are useful and important … they don’t wear out your brain … Skellefteå has hatched two world-class balltalents … Jocko Nyström and Erika Norberg … that’s something to be proud of … not everyone has seen Wilander and Malmsteen dangle balls … People are shorter in Skellefteå than in Kågedalen … they’re quicker, even though they’re fatter … they’re good with the analphabet … In Skaeliptom, which was the old name for the place, most people are welfare cases and minimumwageworking socialautocrats … Though there are a few mongotheists who own their own shops and eat their meals with a knife and a fork … they’re considered highclass … They go to the theater … they’re experts in selfdeception … the hollow pillars of society … if you cover your eyes, you don’t have to see how things are … In Skellefteå, it always pays off to stay poor in spirit … people are mean and soulless … It’s always good to be around and about yourself alone … to gossip about others … People here have narrow eyes and forgettable faces that are hard to get used to …
“Furthermore, since they did not think it worthwhile to retain the knowledge of God, He gave them over to a depraved mind, to do what ought not to be done. They have become filled with every kind of wickedness, evil, greed and depravity. They are full of envy, murder, strife, deceit and malice. They are gossips, slanderers, God-haters, insolent, arrogant and boastful; they invent ways of doing evil; they disobey their parents; they are senseless, faithless, heartless, ruthless …”
— Time they realized Jarry and Vaché have come to town! Grandpa exclaimed and screeched to a halt before a climacteric-crossing.
— Molloy and Malone! Caiaphas and Judas! I shouted.
— Hooboy! Trying on Grandpas shoes, eh!
When the pedestrians thought they were safe, Grandpa did a burnout and hit two old women. They arced through the air, clutching their handbags … Then Grandpa drove up on the sidewalk and hit a carriage. Mother Cluck threw herself into the street. “Crazed Driver” is what the headline will say, but what’s wrong with having a little fun so long as you’re only hurting other people? We were doing ninety when we passed the Kaplan School and made our way down to Kyrkholmen.