This blog contains material I wrote and posted on between the years 2005 and 2011 only. It does not contain any new material. For newer writing, please check my main blog (Bill the Butcher).

Thursday, 11 October 2012


People sometimes ask me why I do the job I do.

I smile and turn the conversation to other matters. But some of them are persistent, and I thought I’d tell them and get it over with.

Here, then, is the truth.

That’s all?” I cried out in disbelief. “I asked for a superpower, and that’s all I get?”

“It’s all I can give,” she said, with a flip of her tail. “If you wanted something better, you should’ve gone and hunted for gnomes or elves or something like that, not a mermaid. Now let me go.”

“What if I don’t?” I asked.

She shrugged her naked shoulders and opened her mouth. For the first time I noticed her teeth. They were triangular and serrated, like a Great White Shark’s. She raised her arms too, and the talons at the ends of her fingers were hooked and curved. Her teeth and fingers ripped apart the net as though it were made of tissue paper, and if I hadn’t stepped back fast she’d have ripped me apart as well. With a further slap of her tail on the water she turned, and vanished into the depths.

I walked homewards from the docks with malevolent thoughts running through my brain. Near the bus station outside town, my thoughts were interrupted by some mofos who ran out of a bank, firing handguns into the air. I snapped my fingers at them and mouthed the magic word the mermaid had taught me – Bakwaas! – and as the mofos dropped their guns and began dancing around and screaming, I passed on, my thoughts blacker than ever (later I discovered those mofos weren’t robbers but actors; they were shooting a film). I’d planned and worked hard to trap my mermaid; I’d decided a superpower was what I needed, because that way I could depend on getting my hands on whatever I needed, whenever I needed it. And a superpower I’d got. But what, I thought while moodily kicking a stone along the ground, a superpower!

The wind in my face brought smells, tantalising smells, of gourmet food I couldn’t afford and perfumed women who wouldn’t look at me twice and expensive cars that I’d never get to touch, let alone drive. Hell was other peoples’ happiness, I decided, and kicked the stone savagely, harder and harder.

Then the stone I kicked went and hit a big man in the ankle. He yelped, turned to me and snarled, raising a huge fist. I didn’t even glance at him, just muttered Bakwaas! and walked on. He forgot about punching my lights out and did his own bit of screaming and dancing around. I scarcely noticed. I was in debt up to my ears, I couldn’t pay my rent and was about to be evicted, and I hadn’t even the faintest idea of where to find a job. I’d hoped and expected the mermaid was the way out of my troubles. So, now, what could I do?

Answer: nothing.

Night was about to fall and I was passing through one of the dingiest parts of town, where gangs of teenage muggers looked for victims to provide money to feed their drug habits. One such gang took one look at me and sauntered over, slapping their fists in their palms and hefting iron rods and bicycle chains. Bakwaas! I muttered, angrily, pointing at them. They dropped their chains and rods and brass knuckles and began the by now tiresome dance and scream routine as their pubes went up in pretty little puffs of orange and purple flame. My thoughts were so black that I stopped this time to enjoy their suffering. When they finally stopped their thrashing around, their pants had burned away at the crotch and their baked genitals hung in the breeze.

“Get lost,” I told the leader, who was looking down at himself with horrified eyes. “Or I’ll do it again.”

They all did, double-quick.

“What use is a superpower like that?” I muttered to myself, more angrily than ever. “If only I...” I saw one of the gang had dropped something as he fled. I picked it up, curious. It was a pornographic DVD, going by the image on the cover, and I put it in my pocket. Maybe if it were good I could sell it to someone or other.

Later, in my room, I watched the sucking and fucking onscreen. It was lousy, enough to put anyone off sex for life. But none of those happy twits had any hair down below, I noticed, so you could get a good look at their dingalings, which was the point of the whole exercise; and suddenly I got the idea – or, rather, I got the Idea. The next day I turned up at the porn studios and offered my services, and since then I’ve never looked back.

So now you know why I’m in this job. I only have to mutter Bakwaas and point, and I can burn away pubic hair, as much as you want, in seconds. I can calibrate my burning so the skin won’t be touched, and I can even burn designs in your bush if you so desire.

I don’t come cheap, of course. I know what I’m worth.

Copyright B Purkayastha 2009

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