Anonymo the mystery jerk. The schmuck in a corner no cunt would
peep twice. Hes a waste of time. A fucking nobody.
A real ghost of a prick.
Now hes got a ham sandwich at a funeral. A goddamn funeral--never
even met the stiff. Sandwich dry as an unsullied tampon.
Not a drop of mustard in sight.
Where the Hell did you get that ham sandwich?!? fumes
the priest. Hes seen some real bullshit in his time, but
All eyes on Anonymo. Old ladies see him for the first time,
pass out from shock. One lady dies of a heart attack: Tae
think he wis thir the whole time--aaack! Ma fackin hart! Thit
shitein puff burst ma poor auld hart! Ahm comin, Laird,
wi shite oan ma keks an pish in ma Scottish veins!
Anonymo chews and swallows a dry mouthful. He becomes painfully
conscious of the sandwich in his hand...
* * *
at a brothel outside Big City, trying to get a hooker for hours.
They dont so much as notice him. Eventually he follows a whore
and her John to a room. Two people making nasty love until:
OH MY GOD THERES SOMEBODY IN HERE!!! gasps the broad
in mid-fuck. You pervert, you sick-o! I never said
your friend could watch!
The John is flummoxed. He stops pumping. Lady, what
the hell are you talking about? I dont got a friend in
Get out of me! Get out! It cost you extra if your
pal wants to watch!
The John pulls out and looks around the room. Lots of tiger
print, pillows, and sex toys, and not much else. Will you just
calm down a minute? There aint nobody here. What
are you, one of those crack whores?
Hes right there. She points frantically.
There in the corner staring at us with his pervy little eyes.
She shudders instinctively.
The John gets out of bed and starts swinging in that direction.
He tosses left and right jabs, uppercuts, round houses. Hoooah!
Barge in on my piece of ass, will ya? Ill fucking
Anonymo catches a lucky punch in the mouth. His lip bloats out
like a fat pink tit.
You got him! shouts the prostitute. Now
kick his filthy ass. Break his legs for me and Ill suck
your balls off for free.
The John keeps punching air with gusto. Whatever makes the lady
* * *
likes to watch all right. Its what he do. Him and two
friends keep an eye on Big City. Call themselves Ménage
à Trois. Every good super groups gotta super name.
Torchy Pete is the man in charge. He apprenticed with a Tantric
master for years and now has absolute command over his bladder.
When theres trouble afoot Torchy Pete gets his cock out.
Dips the ample organ in gasoline. With unconscious ease he siphons
every drop of fuel into his body.
Torchy Pete could knock the ash off a cigarette at fifty yards with
a quick shot of piss. But when the big guns come out--when maximum
firepower is whats required--Pete becomes a human flamethrower.
Cuts loose with his bladder. Holds a lit match at cock level
and sprays the room. A squad of Nazis turn to pom frits--BAM!
Kicked up a notch.
* * *
Any Ménage à Trois worth a damn needs three: meet Two
Second Sam. Got his brains fucked inna war. Gets nostalgic
about something happened two seconds ago. Comes walking out a toilet
and bursts into tears: I was just thinking about the time--he
takes a deep breath, carries on--the time I took a shit so hairy
had to scrub my ass with steel bristles!
Sam, that was two seconds ago.
I know! Times were simpler then...
Or hes in the minivan with Anonymo and Torchy Pete: the van
turns left on Boulder Ave. Remember the time? he
weeps openly and unashamed. The time we took a left on
Boulder? That was back when people did things and went places.
Back when you made your gravy on a magazine. You had to hold
the magazine in one hand and your Will Rogers in the other.
Thats how you buttered your bread and you liked it! And
when you finished her off, you passed the book to your best buddy
so he could take a turn. Now its all done with computers.
Wheres the romance?
* * *
Torchy Pete calls the meeting to order. Ménage à
Trois needs to talk. Take a look at these numbers, men.
Were finished. He drops a phonebook stack of documents
on the table. Its all there in his report. Any damn fool
could see it.
Anonymo reads a page, reaches for his asthma inhaler. Blurts out a
Thats right, Torchy Pete confirms it. Mayor
Rupert is pulling our funding. Well have to get jobs and
work for a living like every Tom, Dick, and Harry. Well lose
our lease on this building. Live in apartments like shitheads.
But why? Two Second Sam grinds his teeth.
Its an election year. Our economy is in the crapper.
Thats why! A recent survey shows the average voter on
the street dont know Ménage à Trois from a hole
in his ass. They think were superfluous. They think Big
City is fine without us. Why? Because we havent made the
news in months. Thats why! Because we cleaned this
shithole up. Wheres all the scum we had around here ten
years ago? In jail where they belong! He punches
the table and turns to stare out the window. This is why democracy
dont work. Every shitting bastard got Alzheimers
come time to vote.
Anonymo makes a suggestion.
Yes, the ever patient Torchy agrees. We could
boost our popularity by recruiting a blonde with gargantuan tits,
and that might sway public opinion. But damn it! Wed have
to change our name to Fours Company or the Fournicators.
He spits on the floor, disgusted by the mere thought of it.
No, this outfit began as Ménage à Trois and by
God itll end that way!
Two Second Sam gets misty eyed. Think back, my friends.
Close your eyes and go to a special place with me. The time
we all thought it was over. Mayor Rupert cut our funding...Big
City turned its back on us...and I farted like a toxic bagpipe...
Shut up, Sam. Torchy Pete hands Anonymo a dossier.
Theres only one crime boss left in town. I want
you to infiltrate his headquarters. Scope his next move. Get
us a lead on some juicy shit. We need a major bust and soon
or we dont stand a chance with Rupert.
* * *
Anonymo infiltrates the underworld by walking in its front door.
No one notices him. He makes camp in a corner of Logans
home office--the last crime lord in Big City. Sometimes a henchman
becomes aware of Anonymo (as happens from time to time for reasons
beyond his control), but writes off the puny creep in a sleeping bag
as one of Logans numerous children.
Anonymo camps out for five days straight, but doesnt hear any
news. He visits the toilet when he needs to, and takes food
from the kitchen when hes hungry. No one gets suspicious.
But after ten days Anonymo still hasnt learned anything.
He goes downstairs to do his laundry and sees the butler. He
overhears the man talking to himself as he folds Logans underwear:
Don Logan always tells me not to open my mouth upstairs, because
of FBI informants and listening devices and such. I dont
know about that. I dont know much about anything if it
dont involve ironing, sweeping, or scrubbing shit stains from
a pair of crusty old boxers. But I know one thing: I feel like
running off at the mouth for no good reason at all. I just want
to talk about something out loud. ANYTHING. So maybe Ill
ramble on at great length about Logans plan to heist that bank
on Tower Street. Ill go into amazing detail about the
biggest theft in Big City history. Im going to stand right
here, fold this laundry, and muse over every little aspect of the
job as if my life depended on it. I dont want to leave
nothing out. I just wont shut up about it! Now lets
see. As I recall, the boss said...
* * *
The Big City Bank on Tower Street. Its quiet. Too
Inside, Ménage à Trois is ready. Anonymo stakes
out in the vault with a loaded six-shooter. Two Second Sam positions
himself by the rear entrance. Torchy Pete takes cover behind
a large plant by the front door. His bladder fit to burst on
a new type of rocket fuel.
Bang on time the gang arrives. Logan packing a Desert Eagle;
five of his best men with shotguns. They come in through the
back door in masks.
Remember when? blubbers Sam uncontrollably. When
Don Logan and his cronies came right through the back door?
Sam, get down! yells Torchy. He drops his trousers.
Took me by surprise! Couldnt even draw my gun,
They open up on Sam, empty round after round in him until his insides
are all over the bank. Everyone is on the floor with their hands
over their eyes, praying to God. Customers and bank tellers
Bastards! howls Torchy Pete and lights a match.
He jumps out from his hiding place, opens the tap, and hoses Logans
gang. Rocket piss in their eyes, soaking their clothes.
Two go down overcome by fumes.
Its payback, you God damn cowards! Torchy
puts lit match to urine and--!!!WHooooooooooSH!!!--Armageddon from
But the blast is unanticipated. Torchy Pete never used this
fuel before. CUNTY BALLS! he thinks when hes knocked off
his feet. Flames of wrath fan out, torch the walls. The
heat is unbearable. A deafening roar as fire devours everything,
even the oxygen. Geysering out of his own body, a brilliant fountain
of light crashes down and incinerates Torchy Pete entirely.
Don Logan scopes the situation. Hes got three men dead,
fried to a fucking crisp. Hes got a heist gone bad.
Hes got customers and employees in a panic running all over
the goddamn place. Hes got the whole east side of the
building burning to Hell in a hurry.
Move your ass! Logan rallies his last two men. Lets
grab the money and split.
Three men enter the vault. Six shots from a single gun.
There is no return fire.
* * *
BIG CITY HERALD
Nov. 1, 1997
HERO IS NO-SHOW AT OWN AWARD CEREMONY!
CITY INSULTED!! MAYOR OUTRAGED!!!
BIG CITY--The last surviving member of super group Ménage à
Trois failed to show for his own award ceremony at Mayor Ruperts
mansion today. Anonymo, former member of the now defunct Ménage
à Trois, was being honored for his role in preventing a robbery
of Big City Bank. Though the bank was consumed by fire amidst
a pitched gun battle, millions of dollars were saved when Anonymo
sealed the fireproof vault before evacuating the building.
All six bank robbers were killed in the heist, including crime boss
Lazy Chins Logan, terror of Big City for decades. Also killed
were Ménage à Trois heroes Torchy Pete and Two Second
Sam. The only other casualty was a bank manager who, as a result
of shock, is in critical condition with what doctors can only describe
as terminal shits. The man is not expected to live.
For his courage and civic duty, Anonymo was set to receive a certificate
of appreciation from Mayor Rupert on the lawn of his elegant mansion.
Rupert was expected to announce the approval of new funds for Ménage
à Trois, and a commitment to finance the replacement of lost
members. Twenty thousand residents of Big City turned out for
the affair. The guest of honor, however, did not.
This is disgraceful, said Rupert of the incident. Its
disgusting. Anonymo has insulted Big City, and frankly, embarrassed
In light of the event, Rupert has rescinded all support for the super
group. In a fiery speech, he promised to enact legislation which
would make Ménage à Trois illegal within city limits.
Furthermore, Rupert called on law enforcement authorities to do everything
in their power to arrest Anonymo on charges of suspicious activities.
Well work out the details of his crime after we get this
joker in custody, said the Mayor.
Numerous eyewitnesses claim to have seen Anonymo at the ceremony,
but their statements could not be independently verified. One
witness told reporters she saw Anonymo right beside the Mayor.
Rupert dismissed this claim as pure horseshit.
The current whereabouts of Anonymo are unknown. Police agencies have
offered a reward for any information leading to his arrest.