Bad hair day
by Henrick Glutonlumps
forum: Bad hair day
speculative fiction for the internet generation.

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Bad hair day


        It was Sally, Mr. Hooper's wife who discovered his body, slumped over his cluttered desk. Sally had arrived home from work as usual at just after six in the evening. Normally her husband would have had a delicious and healthy dinner ready and was waiting with a bottle of wine- but not on this fateful Tuesday.

        Sally had walked in to find him lying in front of his beloved computer, surely half way through some spine tingling story. His hair stood on end and was almost comically frizzy, his once beautiful blue eyes now appearing as if they had been hard boiled in their sockets, and his face looked as if had been slow cooked like a barbequed pig at a Luau. The smell of the cooked flesh was both sweet and repulsive.

        After Sally finally came too, lying on the office floor, she once more examined her dead husband. Not quite knowing what to do she grabbed the old fashioned black telephone, and with a trembling, but perfectly manicured finger, dialed 999.

        The police obediently and promptly arrived and proceeded to perform the clichéd interviewing, snooping and picture taking that are the benchmarks of a decent and thorough English police investigation.

        It was the brilliant mind of Constable A. Hitchcock that seemed to shed some light on the method of death.

        "I reckon it's got something to do with that bloody computer sarge…" He proudly proclaimed in that delightful Liverpool accent of his. "Personally I hate the buggers."

        The two other officers nodded thoughtfully in apparent agreement.

        "We need to call in the computer specialist's," sergeant Carpenter responded, as his piercing deep set eyes, flickered awkwardly at the repugnant scene in front of him. "They will know what to do, those chaps are smart."

        Officer Romero shook his head looking decidedly pale.

        "The smell is making me sick," he blurted. Then he raced out of the room with a shaking hand helplessly covering his mouth as a steady, and particularly chunky yellow/orange stream was being quickly evacuated from his stomach.

        Within moments a speeding red Jaguar convertible pulled up and two surprisingly well dressed and tanned computer technicians hopped out.

        They quickly marched passed the still vomiting Romero and straight into the house.

        "Allow me to introduce my self " the first computer tech confidently exclaimed." My name is Mr. Barker and this is my assistant Mr. Cronenberg"

        The four men politely shook hands and discuss, while in the kitchen helping them selves to chocolate biscuits, the gruesome situation that had been uncovered; Barker and Cronenberg dutifully nod, and gasp in all the appropriate places in the conversation.

        "Leave it to us!" Mr. Barker proclaimed waving his middle index finger at the officers. Next he calmly walked into the office… He appeared completely unaffected by the sight of the body or its smell, and after sticking the last bit of biscuit into his mouth, he casually lifted the fried remains off the keyboard. Mr. Croneburg followed him, looked about the room quite satisfied, and unplugged the computer. Then the two of them, smiling broadly, proceeded to carry both the dead man and the computer to the boot of their car.

        With that they give a knowing nod to the officers, and once more jump into the Jaguar and speed off, leaving the police officers standing there looking on somewhat dazed and confused.

        "Another mission accomplished Mr. Cronenberg." Mr. Barker said. "Please Cross Mr. Tobe Hooper off the MI7 hit list!" A smile dampened the intense facial features.

        Mr. Cronenberg stared at Mr. Barker, as if not able to believe his ears.

        "Shit.' He said "It says here Mr. Tony Hooper sir…Not Mr. Tobe Hooper."

        Mr. Barker abruptly stopped the car and stared at his colleague, anger flaring up.

        "That's the second time this flippin' year alone you have bloody misread the name…You have got to be more careful or we will lose our Christmas bonus"


The end.





copyright 2006 Henrick Glutonlumps.

Henrick Glutonlumps is a nasty little ugly man. He is short of stature and usually smells worse than a bag of old socks on a blistering summer's day. He does however enjoy writing odd stories.