The Gransolator

The Gransolator lurked in the semi-darkness, between the small table and the sofa bed, just behind the tripod holding Ernie’s latest “work”, which was still breathing its last ounces of life. If Ernie had been there finishing off his treasure this afternoon rather than going for a shake round the corner, he would be now paralysed by fear, or likely already dead.

The Gransolator’s clicking noise was eerily light, but enough to scare away the cockroaches, which would usually congregate by the leg of the coffee table, nibbling at the filth. Instead they stayed hidden, feeling, rather than seeing, the abyss of evilness of the dark, hunched creature that was licking the fluids seeping slowly down the tripod’s leg.

Approaching steps from the outside world brought a halt to the Gransolator’s rhythmic movement. The key turned in the lock. Yet another easy meal.

Giangi e Titta

Giangi was bald, and he took life the way he took everything else: he blinked and immediately thought about something else. To say that he had the attention span of a retarded monocellular organism was pushing it a little, but not so much.

Thanks to Titta, he didn't need to do much. Titta had the capacity to concentrate maniacally until all the stimuli of the external world, indeed all the stimuli altogheter, ceased to exist. Titta had a lot of hair, but he was an albino. From 1987 he was concentrated on solving the toothpaste dilemma.

They were both useless individuals, so the state condemned them to death in 2005, since they could not meet the minimum standard of utilization, as defined in the bill known as "meatmincer", passed in 2003.

Silverback

Jonah Silverback was a sedated kind of fella. He would sit all day long on the short end of a bench on his porch making argilla porcupines. His conversation was so scarce that his own family never noticed he couldn't speak English. In fact he spoke perfect Aramaic, if only asked to. How he'd learnt such an improbable language and why did he hold it in such perfect a shape was a mystery. Unfortunately, from his birth in 1913 to his death of malignant hiccuping in 1982, nobody ever cared to know, and this will remain an infinitely unknown, infinitely interesting, infinitely bizarre mystery.

Scoperchiato!

Le aragoste cominciarono francamente a dargli un po' di fastidio. Da un po' di tempo avevano imparato a unire le forze ed arrampicarsi, non si sa come, fino alla rotella del termostato. Jim amava i suoi 20-22 gradi. I crostacei erano più inclini a orbitare nella zona attorno ai 4-5 gradi, specialmente un'aragosta grossa, nera e con il naso aquilino. Dopo una notte infreddolita, Jim preparò una mayonese di 6 uova e la lasciò bene in vista vicino al pentolone. Non ebbe più problemi.

Mustacchioni

Detective Mustacchioni was not famous for his patience. He said nonchalantly: "I'll ask you one more time..." and the air in the interrogation room froze. Jim Baldaccini felt a surge of pure compassion for the little man sitting under the harsh light. He knew Mustacchioni would start dismembering any minute now.

Dobro dobro

We agreed it had to be at least 15 metres long. Its voice wasn't particularly articulate, in fact it was more like a lament: "dobro dobro". But 150 decibel strong. Joe whispered between his teeth, not sure what he was mumbling about, but then he farted, and everything went dark...

Denaturato

"I will be back", she said. I told her to go to the moon and back. Only then she realized she was naked.

Can I remove this?

Is that what one's told it was?