Dr Guillotine

Part 2

By DX

Copyright Dec 1999, 12/2025, all rights reserved

“Thou Shalt Not Kill.” 

 There's a reason for that.

 I felt empowered, enlivened, a walking feel good movie, rewarded for my years of being the world's doormat. I saw everything through new eyes. Every neck I envisioned clamped tight in my guillotine's yoke, from the holier than thou computer repair minion to the aristocratic sneer of the lady at the college loan office. Watching their faces of fear and helplessness as I stood above them, throwing the switch. The whistling snap, the searing cut, the rolling head in the basket played in my mind as I rode the bus each day as I stared at the zombie faces of my fellow passengers, looking for signs of life. 

 I would provide a service to humanity, and scrape the layer of pond scum from the surface of the earth!

 I am not, was not, will not be a serial killer.  Serial killers had a ‘cooldown’ period.  For me, there was no cool down period, but an inflammation. There was no guilt but an euphoric cleansing. My only restraint was fear of capture.

 I disassembled the machine, piece by regrettable piece. I had come too close to getting caught and I had no intention of going to jail. I agonized every waking hour to develop a foolproof plan, but fools are so ingenious. 

 The perfect plan eluded me.

 I had gotten lucky the first time.  I would not try my luck again.

 It seemed that my guillotine would never again see action and that thrilling, intoxicating drug of power would be lost to me forever.  I would return to the dark endless mine, digging deeper into the jet of oblivion.

 Until my uncle died.

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The B-Guill 2000

Breast reduction surgery at its fastest!
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Copyrighted 7/2000, 5/2025
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Justice

By DX

Copyright, 2/27/2025, all rights reserved.

 The prosecutor had given us a sweetheart deal.  My client, born Amelia Carpenter, Fugsbitch, as she preferred to be called, was an accessory to a string of homicides, but I had argued in preliminary that she was just a victim, forced through the brutal tactics of her gang to be complicit with their rampage of terror.

 No one believed that.

 But prosecution had eighteen other defendants and not enough resources to handle it all.  Any other day, Fugsbitch would not see the light of day for at least thirty years, but the deal they gave us was zero jail time, ten years supervised probation, and mandatory anger therapy.  To sweeten the deal, the State would pay for the laser removal of Fugsbitch’s tattoo, “Cum Dump”, from her face.

 All she had to do, was when the judge asked: “Do you agree to the terms and conditions of your release?” she reply, “Yes, your honor.”

 I coached her on it.  “Just say those words, and I’ll drive you home.”  I told her.  “No jail time, no tracking bracelet.”

 She gave a non-comital tilt of her head.

 “All rise!”  The bailiff called and the judge swept in.  

 Words were spoken, papers were shuffled, someone cleared their throat, and the deal was read into the record.

 We stood, and I held my breath.

 When the judge asked if she agreed to the conditions of release, Amelia “Fugsbitch” Carpenter went off script.

 “You mother fucking white piece of shit.  Fuck you and your fucking robe, I’mma gonna go to your house and take your daughter to my man so he can impregnate her with his man seed, then I will cut off her hands and feet and lead her around like a bitch dog, pooping out babies for my crew, and living off the cream she can suck from my pussy, your honor.”

 The silence in the court was horrifying.

 Judge Victor James Junior blanched, but didn’t change his expression.  “The court will accept the defendant’s comments as her acceptance to the pre-stated conditions of release.  Court adjourned.”

 The gavel sounded like a gunshot.

 “What just happened?”  Fugsbitch asked, looking around confusedly.  “Ain’t I goin’ to jail to be with my man?”

 “One, that’s not how jail works,”  I said quickly, grabbing up my papers and stuffing them into my case.  “and two, we’re leaving.  I’m taking you to your mother’s house.”

 “Fuck you, you ain’t.”  She protested.  “I wanna see my man.  Bitch, don’t you get it!  I will be ten times more powerful with my crew in jail!  I will own that mother fucker!  Take me to my man!”

 “Amelia, he’s in jail without the possibility of parole.”  I took her arm.  “I don’t believe what just happened, but they’re going to let you walk out of here, so we’re going.  Once I drop you off at your mother’s, you can do whatever the fuck you please.  Just meet with your probation officer on Tuesday.”

 “No I ain’t.”  She folded her arms across her chest.

 “Then do as you please!”  I barked.  “I’m in no obligation to do you any favors.  I’ve put up with your shit for months and I’m done with it.  I’m leaving.”  I turned and walked towards the parking lot.

 She ran to catch up.  “Wait!”

 I didn’t wait.  I wanted to be as far away from court as possible.  Judge James Senior would have had Amelia in contempt so fast it would have made her head spin.  Judge James Junior had a different way of doing things and I didn’t want to press my luck, nor remind him what I looked like.  My client humiliated him in his court room and I didn’t need him associating me with a memory that would not soon be forgotten.  A good lawyer knows the law, and great lawyer knows the judge, and Fugsbitch just made a new enemy.

 I did ask her if she wanted to change out of her prison jumpsuit and she declined, thinking them a badge of honor.

 I my car, Fugsbitch cranked my radio.  I turned it off.  She cranked it again.

 As I switched it off, a car slammed into us from behind, and with squealing tires and busting glass, pushed us forward into a van.

 The airbags exploded in our faces.

 Stunned, smoke everywhere, I remember something hit my car door and it wretched open with a hollow crumple of metal.  I turned to respond to the emergency service, ready to quip about how fast they had arrived, but I looked up into a face of terror.

 Worse, he had a knife.

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