Once upon a time, in the magical land of Fake Place, there was a mystical palace called the Sunset Village
Retirement Castle. This was where the wizened, aged, and overall useless denizens of Fake Place were sent to wither and die. The name notwithstanding, the Sunset Village Retirement Castle was a beautiful complex, comprised of many buildings that were each several times as old as the residents who ate, slept, and died inside them. There were hardly any broken windows, because there were hardly any residents strong enough to break windows. There were very few broken floorboards, because there were very few residents who were virile enough to make any use of the floors. There were hardly any escapees, by virtue of the crackerjack security team that protected the unsuspecting, frail folks from the outside world.
One thing that the Retirement Castle had in abundance was bedsores, by virtue of the crackerjack nursing team that protected the unsuspecting, frail folks from themselves and from their looming deaths. The nurses were known from time to time to completely forget an entire floor of one of the buildings, forcing the residents to resort to their only form of defense: kicking the bucket. The befuddled crones and incoherent World War I veterans wandered around the forgotten floors for a day or so, some falling down, others playing cheerily with their own feces, until eventually a fight would break out over some highly valuable object, such as the last roll of toilet paper, or a box of Depends adult diapers. The violence would escalate until many of the warring residents would fall asleep from exhaustion. It was really a wonder that the strain of all that feeble cane-swinging, crap-slinging, and walker-smashing didn't break a few dusty bones. The bones weren't broken, though, until the residents became hungry or thirsty or crap-covered enough to attempt to wander down some stairs to find help. This was, in fact, the chief method of making new room in the Retirement Castle. The life expectancy of a Sunset Village Retirement Castle resident on a set of stairs was about seventeen seconds. The only reason it was so long was that the residents generally didn't weigh enough to fall any faster to their death.
At one point in the Retirement Castle's history, it was forbidden for residents to be in possession of belts, electrical cords, shoelaces, ropes, sharp objects, plastic bags, or hard candy. The purpose for these prohibitions was, of course, to keep the elderly from harming themselves through hanging, slicing, suffocating, or otherwise damaging themselves in their incomprehensible rush to leave the paradise they lived in. There had never been a suicide in the Sunset Village Retirement Castle. There was, however, an ambitious young administrator who wanted desperately to make a name for himself. He understood that, due to fiscal restraints and the board of directors' annual vacation to the Bahamas, there was very little he could do to improve conditions in the Retirement Castle. The young administrator took it upon himself to do two very beneficial things for the Retirement Castle. First, the young administrator increased the rates charged to the families of the residents. He, of course, did this without troubling the board of directors, and he ensured the safety of the new excess monies by depositing them in his personal bank account, where he could keep a very close eye on them. Second, he implemented his anti-suicide plan.
The first thing was beneficial because it caused some of the residents to be removed from the Retirement Castle by their families, who could not afford the higher fees charged by the benevolent administrator. These fees, incidentally and ostensibly, were for the suicide reduction program. On the bills that the families of the patients received, the fee was called ‘Life Preservation Fund Fee’. The second thing was beneficial in that it really did help the administrator make a name for himself. He was able to go before the board of directors and tell them that the suicide rate among the residents had dropped to zero. He neglected to mention that the suicide rate was already zero, and therefore did not have far to drop at all. With such a successful program to his name, the board of directors gladly, if reluctantly, gave a glowing recommendation to the Sunset Valley Retirement Villa when the administrator applied for an administrative position there. The Sunset Valley Retirement Villa had dental insurance, while the Sunset Village Retirement Castle did not.
The young administrator's suicide program lasted for decades after his departure. It was finally unofficially ended when the head nurse was sneaking out of a broom closet after having had several ounces of expensive whiskey and slightly fewer ounces of cheap security guard. The nurse stumbled across the hall from the broom closet and came to rest upon a resident's door. She came to rest so hard that the door latch split under her ample weight, and she went tumbling inside to find a horrible sight. There was a bald, elderly man hanging from a rope that appeared to be made from gray human hair. The gentleman in question had been incarcerated in the Retirement Castle for over twenty years, and had constructed the rope he now dangled from out of hair from his head, and when that ran out, hair from various other areas of his body, which he carefully cultivated for length and strength. The elderly man had a very resigned expression on his face, with a little anger and chocolate pudding mixed in. The pudding and some mashed potatoes had comprised what he had intended to be his last meal. The man had tied his pubic rope over a defunct heating pipe, and tied the other end around his nearly defunct neck pipe. He then jumped off his bed, and swung lazily back and forth for about an hour or so, angry that his neck pipe was not completely defunct, and just as angry that he could not reach the bed for another try. Just as he was hoping that maybe he would be able to starve to death while he was up there, the nurse busted in.
The nurse stared in drunken shock at the human pendulum before her, and then called for the security guard she had just partaken of. The guard stumbled into the room, knocking over the nurse in the process, and came to rest horizontally, just below the jumble of flesh that swung not-so-perilously from the heating pipe. The guard stared up the old fellow's baggy shorts for a while, made a comment about the distance his testicles hung from their point of origin, and stood up to cut him down. After a fashion, some slightly less inebriated nurses were called on to help the man, who did not need any help with anything other than mending his rope. The nurses determined that the withered body the man was in possession of was not of enough mass to fracture his neck, or even to cut off his air supply by pulling down on a noose attached to his much-maligned neck pipe. (The nurses told the man this, mostly to discourage further attempts that would waste the nurses’ valuable time. For the man’s next birthday, he requested a weight set from his family.)
All of this put an end to the constant flapping of bathrobes and falling-off of laceless shoes as the suicide program was dropped. At least, it put an end to these phenomena in Building Three, where the attempted suicide took place, and where the nurses were informed verbally of the change in policy. In the rest of the Retirement Castle, a memo was circulated regarding the inability of the elderly to dispose even of themselves, and instructing the nurses to return all confiscated hard candies and sewing kits. However, none of the nurses read the memo, as most of the nurses did not speak English, and those few who did (as well as those who didn’t) were not interested in reading memos.
This was how it came about that the residents of Building One, the oldest and most decrepit building of the Retirement Castle, were without shoelaces and robe ties. The fact that the residents lacked certain clothing and bodily tethers would not have been a problem had the residents been about twenty years younger. At their age, however, it did not occur to many of them to hold their robes closed with their hands. Others refused to wear any footwear other than their own, which required laces. The result of all of this was many bared bodies, especially when the weather turned breezy, and many lost shoes. The lost shoes were not much of a problem, only because the residents could not go far enough to lose their shoes very badly, nor could the sudden loss of a shoe cause them to suddenly fall, as the word 'sudden' hardly applies to anything a ninety-year old does while walking; not to mention the fact that the feet of the elderly seldom seek altitudes greater than those achievable by, say, the wax on the floor.
There were a couple of men who, on occasion, would look down to be confronted with their penis, which they had forgotten they were in possession of. The shock of seeing their long-disused friends was sometimes enough to resuscitate them (the friends, not the men, who were not yet in need of resuscitation). This led to the problem of public masturbation in the Sunset Village Retirement Castle, and the accompanying heart attacks suffered by the masturbating party's female counterparts. Far rarer was the problem of broken hips and various other fractured and dislocated bones and joints due to what the nurses called 'elderly coupling' in mixed company, and 'dust fucking' among their coworkers.
One of the victims of the public masturbators was a man named Harvey. Harvey had spent his entire life, none of which he now recalled, turning Screw Number 21A to complete the Swing Arm Assembly. Screw Number 21A was a very tricky screw indeed. If this particular Screw (as opposed to 'screw') was turned too far, it would nick Shaft B, causing Shaft B to wear inordinately quickly. If Screw 21A was turned not enough, then Sprocket B would not sit firmly on Shaft B, and could slip, causing untold calamities. Due to the finicky nature of Screw21A, the decision was made to devote an entire work station to the proper securing of said screw. Every day, good old Harvey would spend the day Screwing, getting the Shaft, and never knowing what it was that he was building. His goal was to complete one Assembly every thirty seconds. Harvey was very good at completing one Assembly every thirty seconds, and in fact maintained exactly that average his entire career at Fake Place Latex, where he was employed. This commendable feat of mediocrity was Harvey's life work, and he was a proud man. The pension he earned at Fake Place Latex was now financing his internment at Sunny Valley Retirement Castle, and the payments for his son's new Cadillac. Harvey may not have been so proud had he known what it was that he was assembling. The particular Assembly that Harvey had devoted his life to was a vital component of any of a number of 'love accessories' that Fake Place Latex produced. One such accessory was known to the homosexuals of Fake Place as the 'Prostate Scrambler,' which boasted a vibration speed double that of the competition. Other popular products which utilized Harvey’s handiwork included the ‘X-TendaDick,’ the ‘Vaginal Invader,’ and one just for the gentlemen, the ‘Pussy De-Lite with Vibrating Labia.’
The public masturbator that Harvey fell victim to, coincidentally, was an avid user of Fake Place Latex products, and in his personal collection were more than 13 Swing Arm Assemblies produced by none other than Harvey himself. This particular public masturbator was an intermittently catatonic man who enjoyed wandering one stretch of hallway near his room. There was a picture the man liked hanging on the wall. It was a picture of a sailboat, and some of the clouds in the background resembled, in the dysfunctional mind of the elderly man, pairs of breasts. Every time the man wandered into the hallway, it was as his first. This is because no matter how many times the man wandered anywhere, he didn’t remember. The name on the man’s charts and other assorted paperwork was Richard Droopy. This was not the man’s name. This is the name that the nurses gave him after they lost all of the man’s charts, and neglected to remember that he existed until one of them found him wandering in the hallway, clothing AWOL, studying the ceiling tiles. Upon investigation, it was discovered that there was an unaccounted for patient, but whose name was not to be found. The only way that they knew there was a patient to be unaccounted for was that there was a recurring deposit into the Retirement Castle’s accounts from a numbered Swiss account in the appropriate amount. Mr. Droopy, whose real name was actually Mr. Drapey, had been a peddler of smut, snuff films, and assorted illegal powders and plants. The Swiss bank account was where Mr. Droopy had stored his life savings, which amounted to more than twelve million dollars. With such vast resources at his command, one would think that Mr. Droopy would be ensconced in his own personal Retirement Cottage, as opposed to being imprisoned in the Retirement Castle. Sadly, his son, Mr. Drapey Jr., had deposited him in the Castle upon learning that Mr. Droopy had willed his estate to a 14 year old Venezuelan whore and proceeded to go senile. It was the desire of the younger Mr. Drapey to make the remainder of Mr. Droopy’s life as miserable and shit-caked as humanly possible. Had Mr. Drapey/Droopy been capable of coherent thought, Mr. Drapey Jr. would have succeeded nicely. As it was, Mr. Droopy’s life was not miserable, but only shit-caked.
So it happened that Mr. Droopy had wandered from his palatial suite in the Sunset Village Retirement Castle, and found himself facing several airborne puffy pairs of breasts. He had gaped in awe, drooled in fascination, and dribbled in incontinence. Eventually, he stiffened in confusion. The drool from his fascination dripped constantly to his lower lip, from where it fell, sparkling, to his confusion-induced stiffness. The sensation from the man’s penis shocked him into semi-consciousness, and he wrapped his papery old hand around his love log and commenced stimulation. One of the benefits of trembling, shaking hands is that masturbation is much easier.
On this same fateful day, Harvey was out for a stroll in the same fateful hallway. Harvey was in the more advanced stages of life, and also enjoyed the sailboat picture. He failed to notice the breast-clouds, but enjoyed the sailboat regardless. Harvey, however, had a bad habit of requiring a cane to walk. This was a bad habit because some of the orderlies and nurses, upon finding a resident of the Retirement Castle encased in a hardening pair of shit-shorts, would often be enraged. Having a likely weapon, such as a cane, nearby was a very bad idea. Especially if one valued one’s skeletal integrity. Harvey had suffered from four broken bones caused by the orderlies, who had mistaken him for a pińata after finding his brightly colored diarrhea coating his lower extremities. Lucky for Harvey, he never knew the difference. Harvey was what the orderlies called a ‘space cadet.’ Harvey was almost completely out of radio contact.
On this fateful day in the fateful hallway, there was a puddle of fateful drool. The fateful end of Harvey’s cane came to rest in this pool as he was approaching Mr. Droopy and the fateful picture of the sailboat and very fateful breast-clouds. Harvey stopped and spread his gums for Mr. Droopy in an attempt to show that he was a friendly invalid and not one of the violent invalids known to mug unsuspecting octogenarians in the hallways. The end of Harvey’s cane began to slide through the considerable puddle of thickened saliva, while at the same time Mr. Droopy stared in amazement at his splooge-pump (for so he had called it in his younger days) which had not seen such hot action in many, many years. Harvey’s vertical posture was by now in severe jeopardy due to the cane slippage. Harvey, gums still parted, mind still departed, became increasingly angular. Slowly, in a way that only a 90 year old can, Harvey came to be parallel with the floor, staring up at Mr. Droopy’s splooge-pump and dangling scrotum. As far as Harvey knew, he was still perpendicular to the floor. Completely unaware that his geometric situation has so dramatically changed, Harvey continued to grin wide-eyed at nothing. Harvey’s greatest mistake was having his eyes wide.
Mr. Droopy, just at the moment of maximum wideness in Harvey’s eyes, had a small seizure. His left arm, the one pumping his money maker, shuddered violently, stimulating him in a whole new way. Mr. Droopy’s left eye widened, his right eye squinted, his buttocks clenched, and his heart stopped as his organ oozed a lumpy yellow concoction, which ran slowly down little Droopy, across his neighbors, and then succumbed to gravity, falling directly into the eyes of unsuspecting Harvey.
Now, it must be said that Mr. Droopy’s putrid splooge was, as a result of his many, many STDs and the large amount of foreign chemicals in Mr. Droopy’s blood, a very nasty substance. On contact with Harvey’s unsuspecting ocular globe, a quiet hissing sound was emitted. This slight sound was quickly smothered by the jagged screams ejaculated from Harvey’s throat. Mr. Droopy shuddered his last shudder, and became very quickly coplanar with Harvey. Harvey’s shrieks of agony formed gradually into words. “Shizm! Aargh! That’s thing went up are! Eyes! Who done this? Who strike me blind? Gooba stiff jangles!” The semi-cognizant Harvey continued in this vein for a short while until his peals of agony gained the attention of a rather large nurse.
The nurse in question, Greta Q. Thenurse, a transfer from the city hospital/processed food plant across town, came thundering up the stairs, jiggling and swaying all the way. As Greta was a woman of considerable girth, her momentum was similarly considerable. As Greta neared the top of the stairs, Mr. Droopy vomited his last vomit, making his final contribution to society. The vomit resembled vanilla pudding with toenail clippings and small bits of dirt, and that is what it was. Greta topped the stairs, and commenced to erupt into the hallway in her undulating way, giving little notice to the pool of sludge spreading on the floor. Greta then became the unwitting agent of Harvey’s release from the Sunset Village Retirement Castle. Her crepe soled shoes hydroplaned on contact with Mr. Droopy’s vomit, rending from her all control. Greta sailed forward on a sea of puke, her feet collided with Mr. Droopy’s skull, and her top arced over Mr. Droopy to land upon the still-shrieking Harvey.
The last thing Harvey saw, other than a yellow-orange haze produced by splooge-filtered light, was a large pulsating stomach, uncovered by any clothing, shifting in waves, coated in hair, and landing on Harvey’s cranium. The wall of flesh that enveloped Harvey’s head had been uncovered by Greta’s sudden flight, and inflated by years of deep-fried meat and bacon. The cacophony that ensued was almost as imposing as Greta, but Harvey missed it all as he was in a state of Greta-induced sleep.
When the ambulance arrived, Greta was eating, Mr. Droopy was dead and smiling, and Harvey was twitching. Harvey was loaded halfway into the ambulance, dropped on the ground, and loaded back into the ambulance, this time all the way. This was to be Harvey’s last day as a resident of Sunset Village Retirement Castle.