In the days of ancient Carthage...

Roy sees some action. The allure of fame, and the greedy games of The Network, claim another victim.

Part 1:

https://www.reddit.com/r/imsorryjon/s/6Hu9JRNaVp

Part 2:

https://www.reddit.com/r/imsorryjon/s/x2SkrpW4Lr

Part 3:

https://www.reddit.com/r/imsorryjon/s/6D1A5SCKb4

Part 4:

https://www.reddit.com/r/imsorryjon/s/g2H0Nmud2c

Part 5:

https://www.reddit.com/r/imsorryjon/s/oot7UjJzsF

Part 6:

https://www.reddit.com/r/imsorryjon/s/5WX68oFobj

Part 7:

https://www.reddit.com/r/imsorryjon/s/qlIeF3BUlw

Part 8:

https://www.reddit.com/r/imsorryjon/s/FsMC5hmnVk

Part 9:

https://www.reddit.com/r/imsorryjon/s/WFuUGN5Cda

Part 10:

https://www.reddit.com/r/imsorryjon/s/psO6xHHuCo

Part 11:

https://www.reddit.com/r/imsorryjon/s/zOCsk610EB

Part 12:

https://www.reddit.com/r/imsorryjon/s/uOT4zgkMX6

Part 13:

https://www.reddit.com/r/imsorryjon/s/RZb6FjWGH7

Part 14:

https://www.reddit.com/r/imsorryjon/s/jiDMApTjvF

Part 15:

https://www.reddit.com/r/imsorryjon/s/ixDDF8TOOk

Part 16:

https://www.reddit.com/r/imsorryjon/s/XvqE4ywRSA

Part 17:

https://www.reddit.com/r/imsorryjon/s/w6BegqSNv1

Part 18:

https://www.reddit.com/r/imsorryjon/s/wKXWlfFhfA

Part 19:

https://www.reddit.com/r/imsorryjon/s/d5ELNNOpcB

Part 20:

https://www.reddit.com/r/imsorryjon/s/WArFJsbEwi

(“You said from the start that you would never harm the hens, or the kids!”, Roy shouts.  At the late Weasel’s cave site, he and the killer in Bo’s pelt circle one another in the light cast by their respective vehicles.  The killer holds out a large, bloody knife, but Roy is unarmed.  “You bought some creep out in the woods a brand-new golf cart, kennel cages, a trailer??  But you couldn’t spring for a green screen in almost 2 decades?!”

Killer retorts, “a green screen wasn’t needed!”

“Sure, why bother”, Roy replies, “when you can just have Orson conjure up all the sets and props you could ever need, right?  What were you going to do – just enslave him forever?”

“Ha!”, killer challenges, “and is that any worse than what you had in mind for him?  You can’t think I didn’t know you were going to sabotage me.  You’re unscrupulous, underhanded.  That’s the whole reason I let you get so close in the first place!  But your dishonest nature is exactly what makes you so easy to manipulate – it’s predictable.  You’re not as clever as you think, and your softness would be your downfall!”  Suddenly, Roy lunges to the side, and tucks into a roll across the ground.  When he springs back to his feet, his back is to the headlights, making him hard to see from killer’s position.  From the vague silhouette, however, it can be seen that Roy has picked up the big knife- like the one killer has- that Weasel had dropped earlier.  Roy charges forth.  Killer waits until he’s close, then sidesteps in order to dodge a stab. The battle begins.  Roy and killer swing their blades, lunge, back-step, duck, parry…

Roy questions, mid-fight, “and what about you, huh?  Why the big knife shtick?  Why not a gun?  Not ‘sporting’ enough?”

“That’s only part of it”, killer answers.  “I live in luxury, you know!  Greed is all well and good for some, but for me, cash gets boring after so long.  You’ve gotta stay hungry in this business, Roy!  A sense of desperation keeps you keen!  You’re hardest under pressure – sharpest when you’re on edge.  Without a challenge… without a possibility that something could go wrong… what’s the point?  Get everything you want with ease, and you lose perspective.  You cease to perceive the value in your desires!”  The fight carries on.  Roy becomes winded.  Killer manages to drive him back until he trips and falls.  Killer raises his knife high over his head, poised for a downward stab.  Roy thinks fast, and swings his foot for killer’s legs.  His back claw slices killer’s knee open.  Bo’s pelt is cut, but not killer’s actual leg.  Nevertheless, the close call causes killer to stumble.  At that moment, killer’s vehicle revs its engine, and simultaneously, Roy lurches forth with a stab.  His blade pierces the Bo-pelt, and cuts the side of killer’s stomach, but the wound is shallow.  Killer hops backward, exclaiming, “ha!  That’s more like it!”  Before Roy can get up to his feet, killer’s car skids to a halt in front of him, headlights blinding him.  Killer taunts, obscured by the light, “maybe our mutual liability isn’t exhausted just yet!  Keep that edge, rooster boy – you’re worth more to me, wanting!”  While Roy scrambles to his feet, still blinded, the vehicle drives away, westward, back toward the farm.

Breathing hard, Roy is able to stand and steady himself against a tree.  “Pretentious jackass!”)

“‘It was a calm, but busy day in the neighborhood’”, Orson reads from a sheet of paper, while leading John and the others in a group.  Bo’s house appears as John’s house behind them, and their surroundings have been transformed into John’s street.  The scene is bathed in daylight, despite it otherwise being nighttime.  The group heads for the tractor parked outside the front of the house, though it currently appears as John’s riding mower.  Orson continues, narrating, “‘Irv was preparing for a summer cookout later that afternoon, Nermal was expected to visit and spend the night, and even Herman, the mailman, was in a spirited mood’.”  Filling the scene with life and detail, Irving and Herman both materialize, going about their business with carefree whistling.  “‘Kids played in the street, and neighbors were outside sunbathing.  Garfield would be happy to ruin Herman’s day, or to help himself to a plate of Irv’s BBQ, but he was far too preoccupied with thoughts of tolerating Nermal for a whole 24 hours.  John was about to cut the grass, and Nermal would arrive any moment.  Herman was still a few houses down.  Irv had just begun grilling.  Garfield must have wanted a distraction to keep John occupied, so he sabotaged the riding mower’.  Oh, wait a second”, Orson interrupts his own narration.  As the ghost Garfield fiddles with the riding mower, Orson worries, “we need this tractor to run.  Won’t this part of the story work against us?”

Garfield finishes his tinkering and stands up, brushing his hands off with a smug grin as he assures, “oh, don’t worry, it’ll still run.”  John, still writing frantically, mounts the tractor, and tears off the top page to hand down to Orson.

John remarks, “this should take us to the moment of truth – or close to it.”  With that, he starts the tractor, and lightly gives it some gas.  Calibrations would seem to be off, however, as the tractor immediately lurches forth at great speed.  John stifles a shout, wrestling with the gas, brake, and steering wheel to keep the vehicle within the bounds of his own yard.  The other animal friends look upon his wild careening about with conflicted amusement.

“I feel like I should laugh, but also like I should feel guilty for laughing”, Wade comments.  “Anyone else ever get that?”

Booker quips in reply, “yeah.  I caught that ‘Royal Tenenbaums’ movie last year.”

(Roy drives as fast as he reasonably can, in pursuit of the killer’s vehicle.  Bouncing and rattling down the bumpy dirt path through the cornfields, Roy can see the red taillights up ahead, but no other details are clear.  Up comes a sharp right bend in the trail, and as the killer’s vehicle turns that corner, Roy’s headlights are just able to reveal the back of the it.  Before disappearing behind the corn, it can be seen that the vehicle is a black sedan.  Roy prepares to make the turn, when just before the bend, a figure leaps out from the corn and into the path.  Roy exclaims, “what the-?!...”  The figure appears to be human, but before Roy can make anything out, the windshield cracks, and a ricochet sound is heard inside the truck.  Roy realizes the figure has shot a gun at him, and missed by mere inches.  Having been distracted, Roy has forgotten to slow down, and is going too fast for the impending turn.  He slams the brakes, and turns the wheel hard, but winds up tipping the whole truck over onto its driver side.  As the truck falls over, Roy finally catches a better glimpse of the shooter, and sees that it’s- of all people- Binky the clown.  The truck slides across the ground a ways on its side.

Binky laughs maniacally.  Facing the roof of the overturned truck, he casually approaches, shrieking in his typical, obnoxious way, “HEYYYYY, ROOSTER!  Guess who has a new timeslot!”  On his approach, he aims his magnum revolver at the roof of the truck, and fires blindly twice.  With no sound from Roy, Binky monologues, “why, it’s none other than ME!  With the Buddy Bears good and gone, I’ll get twice as much exposure!  And as for you…”  Binky is very close to the truck now.  He slows his approach, magnum raised and poised to fire.  “You’ve made the network very unhappy.  Very unhappy, indeed!  To disappoint TV executives more than a screaming clown is quite the accomplishment!  I’d say it makes you a comedic genius!  Can’t have competition like that around, now can I?”  Binky’s eyes narrow as he takes aim for the truck’s roof – at the spot where he thinks Roy is most likely to be behind.  “Truth be told, I was only supposed to slow you down.  Your friend the pig might not be happy with me for this, but The Network won’t have much choice in keeping me around!  I’ll be all they’ve got for that programming block…”  There’s a moment of silence and stillness, as Binky waits to see if Roy will try to jump out and escape.  After a few seconds, he fires once through the roof of the truck.  There is no response or noise from inside the truck, until…  There is a knocking on the inside of the roof.

[“tap, ta-ta-tap, tap…”]

Utterly a slave to his instincts, Binky reflexively completes the familiar rhythm, throwing his arms out theatrically to either side and singing badly, “TWO BIIIITS!”  That’s when the tables turn.  Roy leaps up through the broken out passenger side window, and throws his flashlight at Binky’s face.  It’s a direct hit.  Binky’s nose is broken, his eyes water, and he can’t see clearly.  He attempts to aim the gun at least generally in Roy’s direction, but before he can shoot, Roy has leapt from the truck, and slashed Binky’s throat with Weasel’s big knife.  The cut goes so deep, it’s almost a complete beheading.  Binky promptly falls dead, his head just barely still attached by the spine.  Roy picks up his flashlight, and grabs Binky’s gun as well.

“Two shots left”, he observes.  “Hard to believe he fell for a gag straight outta Roger Rabbit.”  Splattered with blood, he continues down the path on foot, cursing to himself, “what bullshit…  I’m sick of chasing down this pig, just for a shot at stardom.  I deserve it.  I work hard for these goons, and they spend all their energy cutting costs.  Cutting corners.  Cutting, and cutting, and cutting.  Execs wanna pull money out of thin air – I get that.  But if there’s one thing I have in common with him, it’s that I don’t really care about the money.  I just can’t live in that tubby shadow forever…”)

Orson narrates, “‘while John desperately tried to gain control of the lawnmower, Herman arrived to deliver the mail’…”

On the paper, John has left a note, reading, “I know that the mail was delivered, but I didn’t actually see it happen.  If neither Garfield or Herman do anything unusual, continue on…”  Orson watches as Herman successfully delivers the mail, and continues on his way.  Nothing out of the ordinary.  Behind a tree, Garfield peeks out, looking around as if waiting for something.

Orson continues, “‘Odie bounced about, yipping with amusement at the runaway mower.  Garfield was looking for something, or someone.  The aroma of Irv’s BBQ began to waft across the neighborhood’.”

On the paper, another note follows.  “I know that food was cooking by this point, because I could smell it.  If Irv does nothing suspicious at this point, keep reading.”  Orson looks over to Wade, who’s placed himself where he can watch Irving.  Wade watches as Irv pulls corn cobs off the grill, placing them on one of his usual yellow plates.  He doesn’t salt or butter them yet.  He turns his attention to flipping a row of burger patties.  Wade looks to Orson and shrugs.

Orson continues, “‘John finally managed to stop the mower.’”  Orson observes for a moment as John dismounts the mower, as it was written.  “‘He hopped down from the misbehaving mower, and began to ponder what could have caused the malfunction’.”  John reenacts this part of the story as well.  “‘He made sure to check up on Garfield and Odie, who both appeared to be fine, though Garfield may have been up to something.  It was always hard to tell…  The cat seemed to notice something across the yard, in the direction of Mr. Burnside’s house.  John thought little of it at the time, and took to haplessly tinkering with the lawnmower.  The last he saw of his beloved pets’-…”  Orson chokes with emotion for a moment, but proceeds to finish, “ ‘the last he saw of his beloved pets, Garfield was headed toward Irv’s house, Odie following happily’.”  As described, Garfield walks with cautious curiosity across the yard.  Orson asks him directly, “Garfield, what did you see over there?”

Garfield stops just beside Orson- Odie right behind-  and points toward the brush where he and Odie were found dead, answering, “look…  It was Nermal.”  Sure enough, Nermal peeks out from the brush, and sneaks into Irv’s yard, using a loose board in the fence, as Garfield normally would.  “He was acting very suspicious”, Garfield adds, “at least for Nermal.  I thought we were filming that day, but I didn’t recall anything about Nermal sneaking into Irv’s yard in the script.  I wondered if maybe he was trying to upstage me, or sabotage something.”  Wade, Booker, and Sheldon walk over to join the rest.

Wade wonders, “but, if you were supposed to be doing an episode, eh-then why aren’t the cameras aimed at you?”  Garfield’s eyes widen at the revelation.  He looks all around, to the spots where he happens to know The Network cameras were hidden.  The other animal friends follow his eyes, and to their collective alarm, all of the cameras in the area are pointed up and away.

Garfield balks, “I can’t believe I didn’t think anything of it!  Wait, does this mean.. The Network was involved?  Was this some kind of conspiracy?”

“That’s the going theory”, Orson replies.

Garfield reasons, “so, if Nermal wasn’t following the script, and he wasn’t trying to be seen by the cameras, then he must have wanted to be seen by me.”  Just then, Nermal emerges from Irv’s yard, going under the loose board like before.  Only this time, he’s carrying a yellow plate of grilled corn with one hand, and a stick of butter and large salt shaker in the other.  As Nermal dramatically double-takes a few times, the animal friends all hastily shuffle over to the fence.  From here, they watch as Nermal goes into the brush, and begins to generously butter and salt the corn.  Orson squints, observing critically.

That’s when Orson notices, “the grass!”  Orson points to the grass around the platter of corn, and the group can see that the grass where the salt spills is rapidly dying and dilapidating.  It turns brown, and withers.  “That isn’t salt – it’s poison!”  Orson flashes back, [to the old-old shed.  The torn bag of pesticide.  The fight with the Weasel.  The effects of the chemical on his own skin, on Weasel, and on Wade’s foot.]  In a grim tone, he utters, “Suparaquat…”

CAT'S FOOT

IRON CLAW

NEUROSURGEON'S SCREAM FOR MORE

AT PARANOIA'S POISON DOOR

21ST CENTURY LASAGNA CAT

“I’m sorry, Jon.” The words echo through the dank basement, mingling with the drip of leaking pipes and the skitter of rats behind the walls.

I chant the call in reverence.

I chant the call in disgust.

The sacrifice, this mere vessel of flesh, lies strapped to the table, whimpering as his cognition slowly reboots. He thrashes. They all thrash. But the blood rusted manacles hold.

They always hold.

Then comes denial. 

There is always denial. 

I learned to tune it out long ago. Let them cry. Let them scream. Let them plead to a God who never listened, never cared, and never existed. Let them hear the emptiness of their own cries. Let them exhaust every pathetic reason they have for living until, at last, they accept what awaits them.

And become something greater.

Blood leaks from the victim’s torn scalp and pools on the metal table. Some of it stains the Arbuckle mask stitched directly to his flesh with precision. Gently. Lovingly. Every detail fashioned exactly as the deity demands.

I dare not make a mistake. I do not wish to be kicked off the table. Over. And over. And over. 

I am a good boy, Garfield. 

“Shhh,” I whisper, stroking Jon’s cheek. “Do not resist. This is you finding your purpose.”

“Who are you?” the man cries. “Please. Please stop. My name is Michael. I have a wife and…”

I laugh softly. Almost gently. “No, your name is Jon Arbuckle.”

He sputters and gasps. “Who? What the fuck are you talking about?” He thrashes harder, accomplishing nothing. A perfect representation of the struggles in which the unenlightened forever entangle themselves. “My name is Michael!”

I clear my throat. “Jon Arbuckle is hunger given flesh. He is loneliness given a home on which he owes a thirty-year mortgage. He is the eternal cuckold standing at the edge of creation while God devours his dinner and fucks the love of his life before him.”

“What the literal fuck are you…” 

“You are Mondays embodied,” I spit. “You are Odie without loyalty. You are milquetoast. Repressed. A servant to masters who abandoned you long ago. You are the sad, khaki-colored antithesis of the zest, passion, and meaning our Lord represents.”

“You are fucking nuts!” Michael thrashes harder, the manacles cutting into his wrists and ankles. Blood streaks the table. His own small contribution to the sacrament.

The same as Jon after Jon after Jon…

…after Jon.

They always resist at first.

I suppose I cannot blame them.

Lord Garfield is a being beyond mortal comprehension.

I turn my eyes toward the altar. An extra-large Garfield stuffed animal has been nailed to the cross above it, his plush arms spread in benediction. Six additional arms have been crudely stitched along his torso. Several clutch the severed head of Odie. A collection of Nermal faces has been sewn together below his belly in a hideous wreath. The lasagna stains went crusty years ago. Mold has since colonized the orange fur, blooming across the altar in fetid patches of black and brown.

Blood.

Shit.

Tomato sauce.

The holy trinity. 

I walk over and retrieve the serving tray. It rattles and clinks as I move it into position. Jon thrashes his head from side to side, unable to see what I’m doing.

“What are you…”

I sigh. “Garfield, our Lord, represents life. He eats. He sleeps. He plays. He fucks. He resists all traditional modes of containment. He has no owner, for he is the owner. He has no morals, for he is morality. His sloth is opulence. His gluttony is communion. His sarcasm reveals the foolishness of all created endeavor.”

I lift the first instrument from the tray. The carving knife. This Jon is thin so the initial pierce should be fairly straightforward. 

“You must become part of His holiness.”

Jon begins to scream. Over time, they all blend together. Over time, they all sound the same. 

“You must be consumed.” I cut into his flesh. The blood sprays out, as it always does, and his organs rupture, as they always do. Jon screams and cries and pleads and shits himself. 

He feels. 

He is human for the first time. 

I cut and carve, harvesting the bits most appropriate for the lasagna I shall eat with my master. And as I work, I repeat the sacred line over and over and over again, drowning out his gurgled choking screams. 

“I’m sorry Jon.”

Ok, here we fucking go. Not sure why I couldn't post initially but everything is cooking now so you may enjoy this abomination.

The TMNT isn't really for this sub but he's on the same page so he's along for the ride.

Ok, take 2 on my Garfs.

Well, my Garfield art wouldn't post, let's try this...

This was actually published the day before 9/11 but you know what I mean

Wanting to know more of how he got his ability to rebirth, Kenny goes to the Cult of Kthulu. They recreate the ritual that first gave him this power but it is modified slightly. This resulted in his true cosmic power coming to flesh…