Monday, June 7, 2010
The Story of Rufus 'Hornswagle' Capon
Chapter 1: Origins
Part 1: Those who knew him when... The Nanny.
Smiling to the root of his vas deferens and improperly placed intrauterine devices, Rufus “Hornswagle” Capon laughed that tinny laugh that drove Margot Kidder around the bend all those years ago. “My childhood? You'd have to ask the woman that I called Nanny. I'm sure she'd give you a much better and more accurate portrayal of OH JESUS WHY DID I DO THAT?!?!,” he said as he stubbed his cigar out on the head of his penis. It's true, of course. His childhood, shrouded in secrecy mostly by the federal government of Paraguay, is a subject of extreme debate among modern historians, as ancient historians would never have known about him.
Acting upon his suggestion, we did locate his nanny, now living in a leper colony in Cornwall, England. Her lips smiled, fell off, and were stapled back on as she described his true origins. Here now, unedited, is her entire story.
“Ah, Rufus! Is he still around? Still putting cigarettes out on his penis?”
“He's moved on to cigars now.”
“Hah! He's been doing that since he was six months old, bless him.”
“Could you tell us a bit about yourself, miss...”
“Oh, please, call me William. I was born into a coffee bean roaster on the south side of France. After rescuing me once I reached a light city roast, I was put in an orphanage at my parent's request. There I learned the skills I needed to be a nanny for such a wonderful little lama beast such as Rufus. Skills like tattooing, savage beating with a monk fish, large vegetable insertions into the... uh...”
“Oh yes, that too. Anyway, such a lovely boy he was. Eyes were never his strong suit, but who needs eyes, I told him, when you've got your wealth. And he lorded that over all others! Oh boy, was he a dick. He used to take his pocket money and pay best friends to fight to the death. He'd import croutons from the tropics and use them as urinal cakes. But he was a kind boy occasionally. I remember one day I was enjoying a cup of meat tea in the sitting room which doubled as the feces storage facility when he walks up to me, completely straight faced, and said “Nanny, why do people fight? Why are there wars? Can't we all just be friends?” Seeing a budding glimmer of compassion and empathy in this wide eyed little boy who so recently had been terrorizing his friends with whips made of poison oak bark, I smiled at him, patted him on his tiny little toes, and said “Shut your fucking mouth, little shit drawer, or I'll smack you so hard you'll get pregnant.” I booted him in the teeth just to make sure he got the message, and he ran off screaming, later to attack me properly with a machete. Such a lovely boy he was.”
“What's your most vivid memory of Rufus's childhood?”
“Oh lord, that's a butt plug of a question. I'd have to say it was the time we got him back from Magic Space Camp Camp.”
“It's a summer camp where all the children dress up as the members of ABBA and are led by the headmaster, who's dressed as Oscar Wilde, to recreate the musical “Phantom of the Opera” on the moon while sawing ladies in half. It's a bit of a specialist camp, of course, but it was either that or juvenile hall for that murder charge, and his father was rich. Anyway, he got off the shuttle and ran up to his father's servant's mistress's chauffeur's father's mistress's servant and leaped into his arms, sobbing. I asked him why he was crying, and he said that during the finale he stumbled over his lyrics and shat in someone else's pants. He was just about to explain how he got his poo into some other person's underwear, and just stopped stubbing that smoke out on his tadger, when the Russian ICBMs started screaming overhead, and the bombs started falling. When Hitler's tank rolled up to our limousine, Goering got out and started having sex with (large section removed due to CIA request). That's how he got that scar underneath his skull.”
“Just a couple more questions, William. What was the best thing about your time with him?”
“Oh that would be the day that I left his sorry ass and never looked back. I shot him in the face with a large flaming potato gun...”
“The potatoes were on fire?”
“No, the gun was. Anyway, after I shot him in the face, I turned in my notice and hung him by his toes as a parting gift. I never saw him again, but then that's a good thing. I'm still receiving money from his family as a settlement out of court, and the doctor says that if I ever get over this leprosy, I may regain the use of my extremities and bodily sphincters. I have to hand it to him though, that specifically engineered virus was very clever.”
“And lastly, William, what does 'Hornswagle' mean?”
(long pause) “You get the hell out of here right now. Get out and I never want to see you again!”
The authors would like to thank William for her kind interview.
Next time, Part 2: Those who knew him when... The Principal.