Hell City is our new weekly comic book type superhero detective story thing by our good friend in LA, Tim!
After the severe beating Ginocolli’s boys gave to my penis, I somehow managed to crawl my way to my pal Luke’s Veterinary Clinic. Luke’s always helped me out whenever I’m in a pickle and need some cheap under the table medical care.
I’m waiting in a room that smells like cat piss and speed-dating.
I try to keep my mind off the searing pain that was once my cock by focusing on a poster on the wall opposite of me. It’s a turtle and above the shelled asshole it says ‘Don’t Snap at Me.’ Heh. Don’t ever change, Luke. I feel like the start of a joke. How do you fix a Private Dick’s private dick? What’s the punchline? My fist to the back of the head of the living afterbirths that did this to me. Luke walks in and pretends that he’s not a piece of douche pizza for making me wait over twenty minutes.
His eyes are automatically drawn to the blue and purple mangled pound of flesh that I used to call my sperm gun. “Frank why’re you holding a dead octopus?”
“It ain’t an octopus you quack! It’s my carrot and tomatas!”
“Oh dear lord… I’ve never seen such an exquisite work of brutalized flesh.” Luke’s eyes opened wide and he smiled so big you’d swear his teeth were trying to break out of mouth jail.
“Well gee thanks bud, I’ll refer you to the artists that made it.”
“Now now Frank don’t get testy. I’m actually not sure if you’re able to get testy anymore.”
“You’re in luck old friend. I recently had to reconstruct a labradoodle’s penis after it got into a fight with an emu that killed it’s owner. It was a grueling procedure but by the time I was done… even God couldn’t have made a more perfect member. It was in Vet Monthly! Did you read it?”
“Nah. Sorry Luke, I’ve been a little too busy getting my ass kicked and my penis punched.”
“That’s all over friend. Now just sit back and relax and count backwards from seven. By the time you wake up your penis will be the bell of the ball and your balls will be the cock of the walk! And yes I can assure you… I am quite high!”
“Wait, what?” I muttered as I drifted away into slumbertown. The loony tune must’ve shot me up with something when I wasn’t even looking. No bother, he might be a bit eccentric but he’s still the best in the biz. I awoke up about two hours later just as my finicky physician was finishing up.
“So whadda think?” He asked before I could wipe the nightmares out of my eyes. I looked down to admire his craftsmanship.
“Hey not bad. I see you added some stuff.”
“I gave you what I call The Randy Quaid.”
“I like. I like. So doc, what do I owe you for the trouble.”
“Actually I was kind of hoping that I could keep this.” Luke held up the fleshy mound of testicle and prick that used to live across the street from my butt. It jiggled and wiggled like a jellyfish on a surfboard.
I had to think of my own whore parents having sex just to prevent myself from throwing up.
“Uh sure. Keep it.”
Luke just smiled like a piece of shit and put junk in a cabinet labeled, Little Miss Muffet. I walked out of there as fast as I can. Granted I could have gotten out faster if I ran instead of walked but heck, running just seemed rude. As I passed the receptionist on my way out I could help but overhear something more juicy than a steak from Ruby Tuesday.
“Here’s your cat, Booger, Mr. Ginocolli. Just to reiterate you are Mr. Ginocolli and you have a cat named Booger who I am giving back to you right now after she was treated her at this veterinary facility. Thank you and goodbye Mr. Ginocolli and Booger.” The receptionist expositioned.
Well, well, well. Looks like I found the man I’m looking for. Mr. Ginocolli looked like the type of Italian stereotype I thought he would. An extra right out of the second season of the Sopranos. Greasy, slicked back hair, Frank Sinatra eyes, beautiful pin-striped suit that went on for days. He took two puffs of the cigar in his mouth and blew it right back into the receptionist’s face. Wow what a goomba! I followed him out to his car and tried to seem as inconspicuous as possible by looking down at my phone.
Hey, a text from my friend Snowflake! We call him Snowflake because he’s really unique. No time to read the text now but I’m sure it’s hilarious.
Ginocolli hopped into a red car of some kind. I’m not good with cars but it looked expensive. It was long and only had two doors instead of four. That’s weird. Is that a thing now? He threw the cat in the backseat and it let out a guttural meow that shook me to my core. I’m wicked into animals so that shit ticks me off more than waiters who rub their beards in your food. I jumped into my 1996 Sazuki Swift and followed him. He drove straight for awhile then took a right turn then drove straight some more. After awhile he took another right turn then a left turn shortly after.
What game is this guy playing? All of the sudden he pulled into the old abandoned water park, Happy Rapids.
Okay Mr. Ginocolli, let’s get happy.