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Tribute to J:THM

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Johnny: The Homicidal Maniac; A Tribute to Jhonen Vasquez


“It all started one day…  A few days ago… Nailbunny stopped talking to me.  Mr. Eff and Psychodoughboy haven’t been here for days…  I am losing my grasp on who is and who isn’t there… I mean… I saw Elvis yesterday, I know he wasn’t there….  Or could he have been?  I know he is dead, and hallucination shows you random things, therefore I MUST have hallucinated Elvis!  But the others seemed so real… They were just speaking slightly in my ear, I was sure they were here…  But one can never know…  
I can’t believe I let the man in that car hit me with his Dr. Smekker…  I let him get away with it…  I would never let anyone do that… But I let him.  I don’t know what to do; I am starting to have a strange anguishing need for mundane appeal and life in clubs.  I do not wish to endure this, but here I am, feeling feelings not meant to
be felt by me, and I AM FEELING THEM!!!  Anyway, I am hungry.  Why am I still talking out loud?  Odd…”  

Johnny gets up and stalks over to his refrigerator, he opens it up.  It’s empty.  “The store then…?”  Johnny walks out of his house and walks towards the 11-seven and watches the cars go by in an unappealing drone of an engine roaring as it scoots along 8th St.  The pavement on which he walked was a drab grey, like the rest of the dull street on which he trekked his way to the 11-seven.  He arrives at the front doors.  
There is a man in front of him….  Staring at the sign, reading “Pull”.  The man was warring with the door with insane effort the man was pushing on the door.  Johnny shortly shot the man a look and went inside.  He grabbed ham and cheese, some May-go brand mayonnaise, and some cheap white bread, because he was not picky.  He walks slowly up the undersized isle that smelled of low quality corner store deli foods.  Once he reached the counter there was a short stubbly-looking teenager saying, “May I help you?”  On the word help his voice skipped tones as it cracked.  How annoying.  

Johnny didn’t even want to be here anyways.  After shrugging off the annoyance of the revolting chub-teen behind the cheap-looking counters made of plastic, and drywall he walks out of the building.  
The man is still pushing on the door, to Johnny’s great annoyance.  The next thing the man knows Johnny is dragging the man steadily down the street, and the man passes out again… Johnny reaches his doorstep, glances around at the shanty-looking home he is living in.  House labeled “777” he walks quickly through the squeaky old doors.  He continues dragging the man down the stairs, leaving his bread materials on the stairs somewhere.  Down into the darkness of one of his many levels of basement.  He drags the man, and the man begins waking up, until his head thumps against the wall, knocking his into another groggy half-sleep.  
When the man next wakes up, he is in chains on a wall.  Johnny sitting in front of him, a knife in one hand, and a sack labeled 11-seven in another hand…  Johnny begins his work.  He puts a bucket under the man, he then cuts into the stomach of the man and twists the blade, blood pours into the bucket, next moving to the man’s

feet, he states, quite wryly “Bottoms up, shall we?”  And he cuts the tendons…  He then, with great precision draws a picture of Happy Noodle Boy on the left leg of the man, with the knife.  Happy Noodle Boy was a comic he wrote, and distributed to bored-looking bums on the streets.  This Johnny pauses to contemplate for a moment and realizes that this man was boring him, there was minimal screams and a lack of overall suffering.  
He turns back to the man.  “I just remembered I am hungry….”  Johnny walks out of the room.   Time seemed to crawl on for the man like as if a snail had taken time and was trying to steal it, but not getting anywhere.  What seemed like days later, but was really only minutes, Johnny reappeared in the doorway to the room.  “Want a sandwich?”  The man gurgles out a response, and Johnny walks over and stuffs a sandwich into one of the man’s closed fists, which was chained to the wall and couldn’t reach his mouth…  “Oh, sorry about that.”  Came words from Johnny’s mouth that the man could barely hear.  Johnny then stuffs the sandwich into his own mouth and chews it up.  Once Johnny felt that he had chewed it up enough, he reached over and stuffed the un-chewed portion of the


sandwich into the man’s newly acquired stomach-hole.  Johnny then swallows his bite of sandwich.  “Now where were we?”  Johnny walks closer to the man and gets in real close with the knife.  Then with a sudden change of heart, he decides he isn’t even in the mood for torture…  So he converses with the man.  “So, why is it that you were reading the sign, which said “Pull” and you were pushing?”  The man choked out some unintelligible words and Johnny shrugged, “Really?  That is a wonderful reason!”  
Thump, was the next thing heard before the basement going silent.  Johnny drags the man to a crag of rock on a cliff near the house, and splashes water on the man’s face.  The man wakes up, “Why are you doing this to me, you freak!?!!?”  Johnny just shrugged in response.  And turned to the man, “I have heard that sky-diving is the most fun thing you can experience.  Want to try?  Of course you do.  The only small difference is this is called base-jumping, but you don’t get a parachute. Bye!”  Johnny pushes the man with his boot, and he falls off the jagged cliff.   The man choked out some



strangled screams as he fell, but Johnny was already sitting back at his home in his desk area.  
He sits at his desk conversing with himself, “It didn’t feel like it used to, the feeling wasn’t right, I am unsure of what exactly to do, the man died like all the rest, but I couldn’t get any enjoyment from it.  Normally ridding the world of stupidity feels great!  You know, just
hang festoons of intestinal quality from the ceiling.  This man felt like I was just doing an overhaul of make-work.  When I could be out watching for psychedels to try something stupid, or maybe I could just weave some bones into a net or use a fat man and some lye from fire ash to make some soap.  But all these unkempt cynical people who think they are “normal” and the only way that society should be, they are almost as bad as those who try to be diverse, but only end up different from most, but an exact copy of others.  Sometimes I wish I had someone else to help me, to rid the world of these imbeciles.”  
Then Nailbunny begins speaking, “But, remember Johnny, you don’t have to do all this, just give it all up and live like a normal


teenager.”  Johnny replies in anger, “You don’t understand the things I have done, I could never be normal, it isn’t possible, you just don’t know do you?”  Nailbunny chuckles at this idea.  “Yes, I do Johnny, remember you got me about a year ago, and nailed me to this wall and just left me here.”  Johnny stops a moment to think.  “Oh, yeah, I guess you may be right… You do know, don’t you?  But you still don’t understand!  I am going to leave, Nailbunny, the wall is getting thin again.”  
Johnny goes down the stairs to a reddish colored wall, and has the bucket from earlier that day in his hand, and grabs a paintbrush.  He begins painting the wall with the blood.  “I hate this wall, I like the blood-red color, but when blood dries the color changes and becomes a brown color, and I have to KEEP REPAINTING IT!!!”  Johnny could feel a rumbling on the other side of the wall.  “I wonder what is over there, on the other side, It tries repeatedly to break through.  And I have to keep repainting to keep it there, continually repainting, with the blood-paint.  Will the painting ever end, or should I just stop and let it out?”  


Johnny notices that for some time he had been out of paint, and was just running the brush along the wall.  “Maybe I need some fresh air.”  Johnny leaves the blood-stench basement and goes outside his house.  He crosses the street, as cars all around him honk at him, and he walks again along 8th toward 11-seven, but takes a right at the corner and goes towards the Burger Spling.  
There were a group of men standing around the entrance.  One of them decided he was going to be a big shot and started pushing Johnny around.  One of the others said, “If this is your idea of fun, it isn’t quite mine!”  The others agreed and left.  The jock, left pushing him around was unsure how it happened, but he woke up on the wall, chained sideways, screaming to himself, “Why am I HERE!?!?!”  Johnny walks into the room with the bucket.  “Well, the answer is simple.”  The jock didn’t wait for Johnny to answer him, “YOU, Why am I here? And just who are you???” Johnny smiled, “I am Johnny, but call me Nny for short!  Well, let’s get started.”  Johnny walks foreword and begins working with the knife, cutting and hacking, with precision to miss all bodily vital points.  So as to get

the most blood for the wall.  Nny decides to leave, and just leave the jock to his misery.  
Nny is sitting in his desk area again.  “You know, Nailbunny, I feel good again!  That felt like it used to, and I feel good again.”  Nailbunny responds in a heartbroken tone, “Well, it’s good that you feel better, but I wish you would just leave this life and try and life somewhat a more normal life.”  Johnny curls up and continues conversing with Nailbunny, “Normal, normal, you want me to be normal?!!?!?  Have you gone mad Nailbunny?  Speaking of going mad, have I gone mad, I am talking to a dead rabbit…. I wonder, do psychotic people wonder if they are psychotic…….”  His voice trails off.  The jock in the basement is dying, dripping warm blood into the blood-paint bucket, and talking to himself…  “And he …sc…res….” He begins to mumble..  “Thr…ee…  Poi..nt…..s fff…r….  J..ky…. man……”  And he dies…





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I, "Edward" would like to add this disclaimer.
The original idea and comic of this character was written By Jhonen Vasquez and was his idea, I am only making an offshoot for entertainment value with the equivalent of a Fan Fic.  All credit for themes used from the original (small parts were borrowed) goes to Jhonen Vasquez.  

YAY JHONEN!!!!!
-----------------------Edward
Loved the comic, and needed to do a final for Comm. Arts, hope you enjoy it!
© 2007 - 2024 Dementia-FallenAngel
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Cerberus777's avatar
I hope your A+ was worth the brain tumor...PUNK!!! *hug*