Dearest Grueheads, welcome back to the Savage Vaults. It has been some time but we have decided to purge forth with Season One of our ramblings to coincide with the arrival of a motherfucker of a consignment.; Only one soul was twisted enough to dare entry into these sacred Catacombs of Grue. It needed to be one extra-sick little puppy, somebody with a gut of wrought-iron and the tenacity of a Jehovah’s Witness. There was only one soul contorted enough to make that pilgrimage and fortunately we had just the sicko at hand…chained up in our Dungeons of Disparagement. A man to make Sherman Klump look like Richard Pryor. Tortured Soul.
That’s right kiddos; we sent in the tank!!! he gathered as many as he could encumber himself with, made a B-Line for Horror naturally and carried them out like wounded Vietnam soldiers, against a backdrop of bombastic explosions and the screams of those left behind. Unlike Elias, he faced no adversity on his return journey, bother kind of sidesteps Tortured Soul. Let me give you a little perspective, further nuggets of truth about this fearsome manmoth. Keeper has known this gentle-ish giant all his natural life, we’ve watched over 1000 horror films in each others company, I’ve injected his meds into his abdomen, we’ve seen one anothers junk, hell we even took a dump in the woods in unison once after a very freakish incident. Read Crash Course for more on that ill-fated excursion.
When this dude was around ten years old he impaled himself on some gnarly cemetery gates near our local recreational park. Entering at the top of his ankle, the iron spike made its way right up the inside of his leg, eventually reemerging at his upper thigh. Bloodbath; absolute carnage. The unwitting hero of the piece was half his body mass, at best. This likeable douche was built like a cotton bud, not an ounce of muscle to be found. Poor lad hadn’t even hit puberty, a growth spurt may made his task easier as he held Tortured Soul upright for a full ten minutes before help arrived to spew their intestines up at the ghastly sight.
The kicker is that he seems not to have a pain threshold. Nothing perturbs him. Case in point; earlier this year he was admitted into l’hopital for a bleed on the brain. Not ideal, this faced him with his own mortality at the tender years of 40. No fuss at all…I’m not saying he didn’t have his down days but, for the most part, it was water off a swan’s spine. All in his stride, he’s virtually unflappable. But when he flaps, he fucking goes. Brrr! Just had a chill. I remember only once witnessing the aftermath of a bunch of fives from this fella. The poor recipient traveled straight through a bush, and then kept on traveling.
Thank you Tortured Soul; firstly for never giving me a knuckle sandwich and secondly for ensuring the safe passage of my ‘pretties’. I’ve waffled on enough, here’s the crux. There are a multitude of stacked boxes filled to the teeth with these pleasures of the Grue. Whereas ordinarily we’d wax about two in particular, here it’s a free for all. We’re on form, like a pair of life’s great Lotto winners, like pigs in the swill, turds in a bowl, you choose. Enjoy this extra special episode of our guerrilla-style ramblings. It’s such a beast, we had to spread it over two links. Oh the links? Yeah, there she blows.
Truly, Really, Clearly, Sincerely,