Stories From The Head

The Masterplan Tummo had only one concern in his life...”THE MASTERPLAN”. The other members of the Kasin-club considered him “a fine fellow”, but in his heart he knew he was the nastiest gentleman on the planet. His motives were purely sexual, and the female members of the Kasin-club knew this. He had slept with most of them, and was starting to consider the male members. To Tummo, other people were merely a “refreshment”. One day, Alkin, a young waiter sat down at Tummo’s table and blurted out: “Tummo...what is “the masterplan”? The entire club fell silent. Tummo looked up from his erotic magazine. “Young man, what is your name?” he asked the young waiter, who, incidentally, worked part-time as a midget at a nearby health-farm. “Alkin” he replied. “Well, Alkin” Tummo started. “Do you REALY want to know what “the masterplan” is?” The crowd was closing in on Alkin and Tummo now. “Oh yes, Mr. Tummo. I REALLY do! I REALLY want to know what “the masterplan” is”. Tummo was hovering slightly below the ceiling now, but Alkin paid it no mind. Tummo instructed Alkin to lie down on a passing operating-table, and started removing “medical instruments” from his sleeve. “Lay PERFECTLY still now, young Alkin” he whispered as he started slicing open the unknowing waiter’s stomach. Alkin was too shocked to speak. “THIS IS “THE MASTERPLAN”, YOU LITTLE SHIT! I AM MORE POWERFUL THAN YOU, AND YOU KNOW IT, YOU SON OF A SEXUALLY INADEQUATE WHORE! I AM ALMIGHTY! THIS IS “THE MASTERPLAN”, FEEL ITS POWER!” Tummo was glowing with power and rage. “Oh...” said Alkin, as he felt his liver being crushed, removed, and fed to the rodents which inhabited the Kasin-club at al times. “...is this...”the masterplan”...I thought it would be a lot...more exiting”. Tummo stopped molesting his young protégé. “WHAT” he screamed. Alkin smiled. “I’m sorry...but it doesn’t REALLY seem that big...a deal...” And with that he died. Tummo looked at the spectators. “Well...at least I HAD a “masterplan” he said in his typically arrogant manner. But on the inside, he was a beaten man. He knew it, the crowd knew it, even the rodents knew it. But they didn’t mind. They had been properly fed. Now all they had to do was wait for the next fellow with a “masterplan” to arrive. This, my friend, was the rodents’ “masterplan”...

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