Tuesday, February 01, 2005


He Knows Too Much

You were talking to him, weren’t you? Who was he?

Not really. I mean, he found me. That is, he talked to me. I didn’t talk to him exactly. I don’t know who he was, either. The room was dark. He had a deep voice, that’s all I can tell you.

But you know about the music?

He told me, yes. Suggested that I might use it to survive in the Ding an sich.

And of course he told you about the autofuckers and the devilshirts. So, you know too much.

Whoa, whoa. I didn’t hear anything about autofuckers and devilshirts. He never mentioned that.

Really? That seems unlikely. They’re in use at all of our facilities worldwide.

I really don’t want to know.

Oh, it doesn’t matter. I’ll have to put you in solitary confinement for the rest of your life, now, anyway. You’ll never be allowed to speak to anyone ever again.

B-but, I—

Look, Sanctiblogger, if that’s really your name, there’s really no question about it. You could compromise the entire operation. Now, hand me the mp3. Thank you. That’s good. Come along. Stop sighing. Really, you must learn to take these things like a man.

Well, at least tell me about the autofuckers and devilshirts, then.

Why do you need to know? You’ll never speak to anyone ever again. What’s the point?

I just want to know.

Very well, if you’ll just stop sniveling and buck up. Autofuckers are mechanical devices that we install in the chosen. They can only lie prone on a flat surface. As soon as they shift from that position, they get fucked.


In every possible orifice. Painfully.

My god!

And the devilshirt looks like a plain white undershirt. But it is used, also on the chosen, to keep them in a constant low-level state of painful itching. The more you scratch a devilshirt, the more it itches. And if you take it off, you stop breathing.

Holy Christ! You mean, you use this to torture people? Who are these “chosen”?

That, you don’t need to know. Now, into this cell.

It’s dark in there. And it stinks.

You really must be more manly about this. Stop whining, take off all of your clothes, and get inside.


Did I mention the autofucker and the devilshirt? Now, go.

Sanctiblogger stripped, went in, and sat on the floor. The door clanked shut. It was very hot inside the cell. Sanctiblogger began praying to Jesus and Allah to help him. He’d heard it said that they always answer prayers.

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