Continued from Chapter 2Two weeks later, the entire village had been fully upgraded to cable television; each and every house was fitted with a widescreen plasma television connected to only one channel, the Harry MacMann Network.
The Harry MacMann Network, otherwise known as HMN, was a channel dedicated to the people of Nag Nog Creek. The strange inhabitants who would not be entertained unless it was by the young street performer Cranberry Richards. The feline eating kid had met up with Harry MacMann and signed a contract that made him the star of the new television channel.
Mary McJane Richardson sat slumped on her armchair, her breasts sagging dangerously low towards the cup of piping hot tea that sat on her lumpy thighs. She proceeded to shakily pick up the cup from the saucer, and wobbled it towards her lips, spilling it over her favourite black blouse which was printed with red floral designs; the kind of top that would make you puke if you were to stare at it on a long car journey. She stared google eyed at the widescreen television, a close-up of Cranberry's butt cheeks generously filled the screen. Her face cracked into a smile as her eyes glistened with delight. At that moment, her little toy chihuahua decided to go completely insane and leapt up from the floor to clamp it's teeth around Mary Richardson's throat, squeezing her windpipe shut and cutting off the supply of oxygen that kept Mary's brain paying the rent for the headspace.
Meanwhile, on the otherside of the village, Harry McMann was holding a board meeting at the newly acquired Nag Nog Creek offices. Barry Sifton fidgeted nervously with his pen as Harry looked through the network viewing statistics. Harry stared intently at the figures on the page, his eyes tearing through the airspace between the ends of his contact lenses and the material known as paper to the inhabitants of this world. He hummed through his nose; a bogey was trapped in one of his nostrils; if the obstruction had been still, his nose might have whistled instead, but in this case it was one of those bogeys that hung loosely; it fluttered as he breathed out, thus causing the humming sound. Barry kept his gaze fixed on the surface of the boardroom table, it was brand new, yet he decided that he would occupy himself by trying to find imperfections on it's shiny top while Harry looked through the printouts.
Meanwhile, back again to the Richardson house, Mary's dead body lay there, still slumped in the armchair as it was when she was alive. Her eyes were motionless and gazed into infinity, just as they were when she was alive; infact, she looked and acted no different than when she was living and breathing; God, that woman is annoying! - I think we better move on and spy on someone else...
Johnny Pietra was kneeling infront of his brand new widescreen television set. His eyes wide with excitement as the young Cranberry buttocks graced the screen like a swelling bread loaf in the oven. He took a deep breath. The shot changed to a front view of Cranberry; he was chewing and holding a sandwich in his hand. Johnny unbuttoned his BixBoy trousers, and slowly pulled down the zip to reveal his JamMaster Boxer shorts. He kept his eyes glued to the bright screen as Cranberry holding the last piece of a sandwich between thumb and forefinger, dangle it above his open mouth, his head tilted upwards, and dropped it in. Shot change: back to a closeup of his arse. Johnny licked his lips, stretched the elastic of his boxers out, and pulled them down, his erect penis springing out as if an olympic diver had just leapt from it. A few seconds later, some white goo streamed down the screen as the sound of Cranberry's first anal junk hits the metal bucket.
'These figures are just damn fucking disappointing Barry!', shout Harry to his first in command. The other members of the committee remained silent, apart from one man, Joe Fifa who was inspected the plate of biscuits on the table with his long sweaty fingers, poking the crunchy, sugary snacks around the plate. Barry looked at Harry to acknowledge the statement, then quickly pointed his stare somewhere else, accidently landing it on Miss Lewisham's breasts then quickly flopping to the floor.
'I-I-I'm sorry Harry, I don't know what we can do to improve the viewing figures, the channel only goes out to Nag Nog Creek, and most of the population don't know how to operate their visual cortex.' stuttered Barry, as his eyes scoured the grain of the woodwork that was the table.
'No excuse is good enough for me you fucker!' shouted Harry angrily, his fist coming down hard on the oak table and denting it.
'We can try to add some more programmes to the channel...' he paused as if steadying his fear, his shoulder rose defensively as his head shrunk into his neck, 'I think that it's kind of boring to show the same guy twenty-four-seven eating a sandwich and shitting at the same time - sir!'
Harry abruptly stood up, clenched his fist and raised it above his head; he held the quivering melee weapon as his knuckles turned white. He suddenly relaxed, his fist dropped down to his side, a smile returned to his face, 'That's a great idea Barry! - How do you think we should proceed?' Barry looked at Harry with almost puppy-like eyes, and drew his head out from his shoulders. Just as Barry was about to form a smile, Harry's fist appeared out of nowhere and hit Barry square in the jaw with a loud THWACK!
Johnny panted with his head bowed low, eyes closed, hands clasped together and knees still on the floor as if in silent prayer. The cum stain dribbled down the brand new plasma screen, it was so new it still smelt of the factory where it was made, the plastic, foam popcorn and cardboard box in which it was packaged. A final fur covered stool was shown crawling out of Cranberry's arse before the shot changed to it hitting a pile of similar others in a steel walled room. Johnny, rose up; he felt powerful, as if imbued with a renewed strength. He focused his brows tightly and walked towards an 8mm film camera that was perched on top of a tripod. He turned the machine off; it became silent as the cogs within it ground to a halt. He walked with a bounce in his step towards the kitchen, leaving a trail of cum drops on the floor, and poured himself a glass of milk. He guzzled the milk thirstily and slapped the empty glass on the counter top. 'Cranberry Richards, watchout! - You have competition my dear little friend.' he said under his breath, chuckling to himself.
to be continued...
