"The Hell Fire Club" by Neo Nazi, March 2012
Disclaimer: All characters presented here are product of fiction. Any resemblances to real characters are of a pure coincidence. No intention was made to insult anyone for any reason.
AN: This story is an act of fiction. No one should attempt to act in the same manner as described.
Summary: The sandwich, which is most popular with world-wide eaters, functions as a noun or a verb and usually prefers to have its name pronounced as SAND wich.
The Hell Fire Club
Pizza Leader and Sex Orphan were strolling leisurely along the foot path in Karst Farm Park, Bloomington, Indiana.
"The word sandwich that we use today was born in London during the very late hours one night in 1762 when an English nobleman …", some desperate man was calling for their help but they flatly ignored him, letting the evil squirrels do him in, "… John Montagu, the Fourth Earl of Sandwich …", they listened to the agonizing last moments of the jinxed mortal, "… was too busy gambling to stop for a meal even though he was hungry for some food." Two Police Officers riding on their studs smiled at them. They smiled back carefully, feeling suddenly guilty for not helping the pleading soul in distress. "The legend goes that he ordered a waiter to bring him roast-beef between two slices of bread." Mother was molesting her child, her dog biting her leg, trying to help the weak. "The Earl was able to continue his gambling while eating his snack. And …", suddenly a body of a suicidal genius dropped on the ground in their vicinity, his brains splattering all around, inviting various birds and insects to feast on his remains, "… from that incident, we have inherited that quick-food product that we now know as the sandwich." Orphan eyed Leader in significant way. "He apparently had the meat put on slices of bread so he wouldn't get his fingers greasy while he was playing cards." Some mean crows pooped on their tunics. It was evident that they did it on purpose. "It's strange that the name of this sex fiend should have gone down in history connected to such an innocent article of diet."
Soon they were driven by large swans over the violet lake of Forgiving.
"I realize that the Hereditary English titles can be confusing." Leader exhaled, his pink breath illuminating the spontaneous after-glow of the murky tunnel. "The family of the Earls of Sandwich has no real connection to the town itself, only the title."
Orphan blended for a moment into the surrounding area, leaving Leader pathetically lonely.
"John Montagu …", Leader stared in semi-darkness, trying to discern the contours of his mate, "Are you there?"
"Yes!" Came the echo from nowhere. "Please go on!" Leader clapped with his hands and the swans hurried out of the tunnel.
"It is said to have been immoral in both his private and public life, and gambling was just one of his lesser vices. He was the First Lord of the Admiralty, incompetent and very corrupt." Orphan became visible again and then smiled.
Later on they were whickering the spruce fence with some agitated hippos.
"Did you know that the magnetic sand is used to aid one in attracting money, love, luck, and … success?" A large toad croaked, making them wished they were somewhere else. Its sticky tongue removed beetles that fed on sweat. "It may be used alone, but is often used in conjunction with loadstones, oils, and/or herbs that relate to the magical goal."
In a swish of a moment they were transponded to a desert. Some camels offered lame condolence.
"I know that cinnamon is powerful and one of the most universal spell ingredients used in magic." Blue Spirit passed them by, checking their auras in secret.
"How do you use it though?" Orphan was intrigued, noticing some golden nymph in the distance.
"Hold the mix in your strongest hand and concentrate on your goal …"
"You mean … love, success, or … money?"
"That's right!" Came the ambiguous answer. "As if you already have it." Orphan hated iron on his hands and feet but continued to harvest the sun rays nevertheless. "Really try to feel what it will be like when you have achieved your goal. This empowered powder can now be sprinkled about the entrance to your work area, your place of business …" Suddenly they were walking in the middle of the busiest downtown area, cars honking all around them. Leader continued, his blue eyes, glowing with some luminescence.
"Or … placed in your purse … even wallet …", fat lady avoided them, extending her middle finger, "… depending on your personal goal."
They entered the subway area, noticing the refreshing coolness.
"A little magnetic sand in a red flannel bag is said to bring luck to anyone who carries it." Train came and they entered. Their surrounding changed once more into the New City on Mars. Leader continued, ignoring constant mood changes of his mate. "Keep it with you when playing games of chance or applying for that job."
Their appearance was now of two slugs of delicate violate and blue colors. As they continued to move slowly, Leader continued in the telepathic mode.
"The sand is actually a finely ground iron that looks and feels just like sand. Each bag of magnetic sand contains approximately 2 oz of loadstone food and comes in a 2 x 3 inch ziplock type bag." Orphan laughed since it sounded so impossible to grasp the meaning of it, being just worms. "Magnetic sand is heavy though."
As they touched the surface of the blue-green water, they were tall, thin men of the Vast Desert again. Leader exhaled, realizing that Orphan's mind sweep became worn out, after all.
"Sand makes stone. Stone angels." He pointed slowly towards some large statues made by dust winds. "Weeping angels."