The Story of Rufus 'Hornswagle' Capon...

Chapter 1: Origins

Part 3: The Love of His Life

The subject of love has always been one that Rufus has been loathe to discuss. The romances he has had in the past read like a laundry list of the who's who of international society. His love affair with Moamar Gaddafi, his trysts with Greta Van Susteren, the sex tape that surfaced of him and Michael Moore, and the torrid love triangle (more like parallelogram) between him, the Arch Diocese of Canterbury, and the Mormon Tabernacle Choir are all well documented but painful for him to discuss, as he enjoys his privacy in matters of love as much as we all do. However, what is the root of his love? Who does he pine for? Can we find out more about the man by the people he loved?

"I'll tell you one thing," he said to us on the second day of our interviews. "I have loved many in my life, and have the scars to prove it." He then proceeded to pull of his pants and thong and show us the actual scars on his genitalia. "This one here," he said, his voice dripping with perversion and wistfulness and pointing to a triangular shaped scar at the tip of his taint, "I got when that shark got a little carried away. This one (a long, jagged scar along the side of the shaft) was when I pulled out of that combine harvester." He then went on for an hour, pointing to the scars (both physical and emotional) that he could remember. But one scar, around the base of the shaft, he carefully avoided talking about. When asked, his eyes teared up and he smiled... "That... that's my biggest regret..."

"His name was Troy..."

We were able to find a Troy McMacintosh in his files, but only in the form of obscure references to some form of medical procedure and the bill sent to Rufus's father. We tracked down, with some difficulty, Mr. McMacintosh and sent him an email, as he didn't seem to have an address on file. What follows is the entirety of the email conversation between the author and Mr. McMacintosh...
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To: troy.mcmac@necro.gov
From: fiendly.grimmish@perker.com
Subject: Interview request...

Mr. McMacintosh:
We are writing a book about Rufus Capon and wish to interview you about him. Our files indicate that you knew Mr. Capon years ago, and we are trying to find the people from his past to give us a deeper look at a complicated man. Any assistance would be appreciated!

Thank you in advance,
Fiendly Grimmish.
-----------------------------------------
To: fiendly.grimmish@perker.com
From: troy.mcmac@necro.gov
Subject: Re: Interview request...

Fuck off.

Troy
------------------------------------------

To: troy.mcmac@necro.gov
From: fiendly.grimmish@perker.com
Subject: Re: Re: Interview request...

Mr. McMacintosh...

We would greatly appreciate your reconsidering your answer. We are willing to compensate.

F.G.
------------------------------------------------
To: fiendly.grimmish@perker.com
From: troy.mcmac@necro.gov
Subject: Re: Re: Re: Interview request...

Money first, bitches. I swear, I'll unleash my second personality on you if you push me.

Troy
------------------------------------------------
(Here followed intense negotiations regarding his fee over google chat. We settled on a fee, which Mr. Capon agreed to pay under the pretense that it was for our publisher's habit of injecting zombies (a mixture of heroin, cocaine, and Pepto Bismol) into the area between his toes.)
-----------------------------------------------
To: troy.mcmac@necro.gov
From: fiendly.grimmish@perker.com
Subject: Re: Re: Re: Re: Interview request...

Our payment went through paypal. We have a few specific questions that we'd like to ask: 1. What was Rufus like when you knew him? 2. What is the story about your love affair? 3. What is the scar around the base of his penis? 4. Where do you live right now and what are you doing?

Further questions will be asked with your cooperation.

Thank you!
Fiendly Grimmish
------------------------------------------------
To: fiendly.grimmish@perker.com
From: troy.mcmac@necro.gov
Subject: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Interview request...

Fiendly:

1. Rufus was insane. I've never met a man more devoted to the practice of madness and the black arts as him. I remember one time, when we were 15, of him saying he wanted to play 'doctor.' I, being a gay man, thought he was just being flirty... playing doctor was so childish! But he was insistent and, despite his acute bleeding problems and constant tooth replacement, I thought he was cute. I agreed, and he told me to meet him at his house the next day. When I got there, the entire bottom floor was white, sterile, and had medical instruments all around. I thought he was just some sort of weird medical fetishist, but I was horny and just wanted to get my end away. I laid down on the operating table. He gave me brain surgery! Without anesthesia! When I left he had drilled holes in my head because he was looking for where the thoughts lived. I have had multiple personalities ever since. My second personality is named Arthur Meatmaggot, and he scares me...

2. Our love affair was torrid and it was all give from my end. Literally. He said he loved me, but also said that the other people he had sex with were just mistakes because he had a 'wide stance' when he went to the bathroom. I had no idea what he meant by this, but he just kept singing this silly song like 'Larry Craig, Larry Craig, tap tap tap-ee!' and he would dance around and smack his penis against musical instruments, calling it 'playing geetar with a mushroom stamp'. We had sexual relations several times, and each time was more humiliating than the last for both of us. I'll never forget the time when my second personality showed up (this happens when I'm angry or terrified, which happened often with Rufus...) and when I came to, we were both in the vegetable section of the local supermarket dressed as Jesus with radishes in very difficult to reach areas. We finally broke up when I moved, with my family, to Omaha. He said he couldn't visit me there because of 'the crickets'. I still don't know what that means.

3. That scar is from my last visit to see Rufus. He wanted to play doctor again, and my second personality came to almost immediately. When I woke up, he had switched penises with me. Which was disappointing, because I was fairly well endowed and had no venereal diseases, and now I can't get rid of this case of genital warts which make my penis look like a porcupine. I've since learned that he got that case of warts from an actual porcupine. I'll never forgive him for that, but I must admit, having the money his family sends me to keep me from suing is a small comfort.

4. I live in Turkmenistan and am the senior Grand High Executioner of rodentia. Please don't try to find me.

I hope this helps. Now go away.

Troy.
-----------------------------------------
To: troy.mcmac@necro.gov
From: fiendly.grimmish@perker.com
Subject: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Interview request...

Mr. McMacintosh:

We cannot thank you enough for your information. Just as a matter of legal concern, can you prove the allegation that Rufus removed your penis?
------------------------------------------
To: fiendly.grimmish@perker.com
From: troy.mcmac@necro.gov
Subject: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Interview request...

I am black. Rufus is white. How the fuck can you explain a white man with a black man's penis other than that? Dumbass.

Troy.

P.S. Please, let's make this end soon...
-------------------------------------------
To: troy.mcmac@neco.gov
From: fiendly.grimmish@perker.com
Subject: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Interview request...

Thank you for your patience, Mr, McMacintosh. Just one more question. What does 'hornswagle' mean?

Thank you again,

F.G.
-------------------------------------------
To: fiendly.grimmish@perker.com
From: troy.mcmac@necro.gov
Subject: gUMMi sAwMILL... nECro lOVE fOr THEeR eSHT of US!

BORKBORKBORK i am THE SWedisH cHEf! cOOkIN' uP dem HAWT POTABOS IN TEH CRAWLSPACE! (watched the ramen bleed to death... Sawmill?) cheCK oUt mah SECKs tAEp!!! I SWEAR I THOUGHT SHE WAS DEAD!?!?!? nEcRO LOve FOR tHE rEST of uS! UZBEKISTANI HAT DANCE!!!! FEEL DAT MEATHAMMER GROOVE!!!!! PUDDIN STRIP PUDDIN STRIP PUDDIN STRIP PUDDIN STRIP PUDDIN STRIP PUDDIN STRIP PUDDIN STRIP PUDDIN STRIP PUDDIN STRIP SAWMILLSAWMILLSAWMILL!! YoUeR gEttIN ThA hANg OF tHE PAYpeR wAitS! bOObIES hOLdING yER tAXes bACk! Have fun at the SAWMILLSAWMILLSAWMILL

ThAt THInG On DA TeRKeE'sS NeKK... I'Ts DELICIOUS RAW AND COVERED IN WHARGARBLE! WhATS A WhaRgArBLE? ItS' FouND iNa SAWMILL

VANUATU!!! ESCAPE!!! THEY'VE FOUND US!!! ALL IS LOST!!! RUN TO VANUATU!!! IMPLEMENT EVACUATION PROCEDURES NOW!!!!! VANUATU!! ALL IS LOST!!!! ThIS VeHICLe Has BeEN ChECkEd For SlEEEping ChildRENs. PlEase ReFillL ImmeDiATElY. GoinG OFF on THA DIVING BORED! Let THE JAWS COME OFF!!! nO BodY wILL bE lEFT aLIVE!!!666 666 SAWMILL SAWMILL SAWMILL!

lOVE eND sLOppy kISSES

ARTHru mEATMaggoT
-------------------------------------------

Since the last message, we only got word of Mr. McMacintosh by way of a Turkmenistani newspaper editorial that simply said "Mr. Meatmaggot (speaking for the Grand High Executioner of rodentia) says that the squirrel of Louton is now entering the dark phase and may be seen as far as the pale horse of Owensboro. We are not aware of Mr. Meatmaggot's meaning."

Next time: His First Business Partner...

The Story of Rufus 'Hornswagle' Capon

Chapter 1: Origins



Part 2: The Headmaster

When we asked about Rufus's school days, he got a wistful, contemplative look coming from the area around his rectum. Fortunately he was sitting down, so we didn't get to see it, and the look on his face was far more appropriate for the circumstances.

"My school? My school!? I've never forgiven those syphilis riddled rat finks for the torture and humiliation they put me through!" His eyes burned with an angry fire and his hand, which had found its way to his genitals, was flicking his right testicle repeatedly. "Those people, if you can call them that, I prefer to call them scum breathing, shit stained, ass widening, thigh sucking, wart fondling, Twilight reading, low lives who masturbate into hand lotion and play 'who's in my mouth' with doberman pinschers that- Deborah! Saliva vacuum!"

With that Rufus was escorted out into the waiting room, injected with Pepto Bismol and heroin, and wiped. Fortunately for us, we have entered the time of his life when actual records have been kept, and we can now do independent research regardless of his personal feelings. We dug a bit, and found his headmaster, Heinrich Aribertheim, was still alive and living in Swaziland.

When we found him, he kindly invited us in and had us sit down on some quite comfortable, if oddly leathered, recliners. He fetched us tea, gave us some cookie dough, and showed us the school uniforms he designed for his students. They were a lovely shade of tan, with red arm bands, a white patch, and a window made of mostly black stitching, but with what looked like permanent marker connecting the arms. "Bloody patch makers forgot to stitch the arms of the swast... er... window together. The window stands for the window to the soul that we open in educating the youth. That and glass." He then went into his desk, past crunchy copies of "Chunky Druids Fucking Cookie Jars" magazine, and pulled out a picture of his best friend from his school days, whom he only referred to as "Dolphy."



He finally sat down and removed his eye, placing it in our journalist's cup of tea, which was oddly salty and smelled vaguely of ammonia, but we didn't want to insult him. He sighed and recounted his time with Rufus...

"Ah, Rufus. He was a very special boy. Sure he did well in all his classes, Zyclon-B, advanced ditch digging, walrus kissing, ob cetera, ob cetera, but where he really shined was the specialist classes, such as Plumbing and Germ warfare... I mean mineralogy.

"I remember when he came to me and forced me down onto the floor, saying what he wanted to do was give me some tea, or a tea bag, or whatever. He then pulled down his pants and put his scrotum on my head. I had expected this, of course, so I started thumping his testicle with my right hand while I punched his nose with my other fist. He tried to get up and that's when I stapled his scrotum to my forehead. I can still see the scars when I look at his patented 24 hour scrotum cam. Wait, that wasn't me..."

Aribertheim then passed out, mumbling something about the master race. When aroused, he continued his recollection...

"Mr. Aribertheim..."

"Mein Gott! How did you know my name?!?"

"You told us your name was Heinrich Aribertheim."

"Oh! Yes, of course, I'm sorry. I forgot that my name was Heinrich. I am not a criminal. I am normal."

"Of course. Mr. Aribertheim, when we told Rufus that we would be contacting you, he panicked and started foaming at the mouth and his teeth moved about and he got very moist. Why was that?"

"Ach, that must be because of the pants."

"Pants?"

"Ja. He once made a special pair of pants for me. I was his underwater firestarting professor one year, and I was paid handsomely for this privilege by his father, who expected Rufus to get a good grade. I was sitting in my fourth period class, threatening my students when Rufus came in, carrying a pair of pants. He presented them to me and I put them on, briefly exposing my hairy buttocks. When I put them on, I felt giddy, joyous, like I had never been exposed to pleasure before. What I didn't know was that he had laced the pants with some type of drug. I don't know the correct term, but the slang for it was 'cat pee.' So there I was, feeling gemuchlichkeit, and the next thing I remember I was standing on a field, ordering the marching of the students into battle. We then invaded Poland. He was reprimanded and a mark was made on his permanent record."

"... that's it?"

"Ja. He was pissed!"

"We'll check with him on that. And finally, headmaster, what does Hornswagle mean?"

"...Verlassen sie hier, sie jüdischer rohrmonteur!"

Epilogue: Upon further interview, we have turned Heinrich Aribertheim over to the authorities. Apparently, his real name was Kennith Grunderson, wanted for artificial lubricant fraud.

Epilogue 2: It turns out that the testicle thumping anger was brought about by his having a permanent mark on his record. We still don't know why.

Next time, Part 3: The Love of his Life...

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...”

“The nostril?”

“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.”

“What's that?”

“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.