Let me tell you a story about Heaven
and Hell.
There was once an old bastard called
Mr. Crocodile and he was this big movie exec. He towered over the
industry. Everyone ran from his shadow apart from a few pretty birds
he snapped up for starters.
For years the old meanie got away with
murder. Casting victims from his penthouse like shreds of waste
paper. Everyone knew of the evil that lay beyond the gold door, but
lips were sealed by fear.
Then, one day, the sun rose on a
changed society. It was no longer cool for dudes to rape whoever they
wanted, and old Crocodile found himself clapped behind bars.
But this Croc had ways you couldn't
believe. They weren't gonna take him down that easy. So, pacing his
cell, shaking his head at those bastards, he called up his lawyer,
Mr. Hyena, and told him about a little black book hidden in his office
in a safe behind a big painting of piglets.
Its tawdry pages held names, dates, and
black and white photographs of prominent people – CEOs, presidents,
royals, and celebrities – and they were all incriminating as fuck.
Mr. Hyena laughed and drooled and
talked too loud at the bar where he drank and an off-duty Rabbit
heard his laughter. Soon someone else knew and someone else until
finally someone very important, a Chief Justice Bison, in fact, the
most powerful judge in the nation. She was shaken awake by an urgent
phone call at 4 o'clock in the morning.
A hushed conversation took place. Chief
Justice Bison nodded and hung up. She rubbed her eyes with a hoof and
told Mr. Bison to go back to sleep then went down to the kitchen
where she took an old-fashioned cell phone out of a cereal box and
punched in some numbers from memory.
Back in jail, old bastard Crocodile was
brushing his teeth. He grinned a toothy grin at himself in the
scratched mirror. Behind him, his cell door clanked open.
'Who's there?' he said, tightening the
knot in his bathrobe's silk belt. He walked over to the bars of his
cell. He could see the guard's station was unoccupied. The two chairs
were empty. Then he heard a whirring sound and the security camera in
the ceiling swivelled away from him and pointed up at the ceiling.
There was another whir and the camera at the end of the hall pointed
straight down at the floor.
'Hey,' he said then stopped.
There was someone behind him.
'Destiny, sucka,' said a hissing voice
and King Cobra emerged from the shadows, all tattoos and muscle.
'What- whatever they're paying you,
I'll double it, triple it!' cried old Mr. Croc. 'A hundred million. A
billion. Name it.'
King Cobra smiled. 'Don't you see, you
arrogant prick, this is what I was designed to do.' And he showed his
fangs and lunged forwards.
No one was surprised to see the
headline: Suicide. A few quiet people asked a few quiet
questions about the fang holes in the old bastard's neck,
but they were swept under the rug with all the similar cases.
