The massage chair of doom

It was 8:04 pm. I had been working at the bistro for 34 hours straight, after Pooba – our apprentice – and Pedro – our sous chef – both called in sick. I was the only employee at the bistro, and I was doing everything. Chopping and peeling vegetables. Seating customers at their tables. Pouring drinks at the bar. Preparing meals. Washing dishes. Jerking off blind men. It was killing me.

My back was very painful. I had hurt it the other day playing tennis with Pooba. Pooba used to play internationally, and had once beaten Lleyton Hewit after he fired a 190kph volley right into Hewit’s ball sack. His scrotum was found two days later in a neighbouring suburb. But I digress.

Pooba had lobbed a high ball at me, and I was twisting around to return with my back hand, when I fell down a deep pit on the tennis court. The court we were playing on had been abandoned since WWII, after it was bombed by Nazi fighter planes. There are still unexploded munitions covering the court, and you have to be careful to avoid them if you want to finish the match with two legs. Anyway, I fell down the bomb crater and felt a sharp pain down my spine.

‘Are you ok?’ called Pooba, standing over the hole.

‘Yes, can you help me out?’ I asked weakly.

Pooba bent down and lifted me out of the hole carefully. He gasped as he saw the state of my back. My entire spinal cord was gone, ripped out by a sharp jagged piece of nazi shrapnel embedded in the hole!

‘Holy shit!’ said Pooba! ‘You must get medical attention immediately!’

I tried walking around, and though it hurt a bit, decided I could avoid medical attention for some time.

‘I’ll be ok’ I said ‘Let’s just finish this game’.

That was two days ago. Now my back was very, very sore. I decided medical assistance was necessary, so i decided to close the store.

‘All right, it’s closing time. Last person out of the bistro gets to play with the testicle torture machine!’ I cried.

There was pandemonium as all the male customers converged on the exit at once. The female customers weren’t paying me much attention, so I took out the cunt torture machine. They too converged on the exit immediately. Lucky for the customers I was just joking about the torture, although I have been known to pop a few balls in my time.

I reached for the yellow pages under the bar and looked through the advertisements for back injuries. This one caught my eye:

Lost your spinal cord?

Feeling terrible back pain when performing everyday duties?

You need the Massage Chair 9000!

Just $5, plus delivery*

 

There was some small writing below the ad regarding the delivery fee but I couldn’t make it out. Still, I figured $5 for a massage chair was great value, so I called the number.

Moments later my chair arrived by parachute in the alley outside the bistro. It was black, and looked vaguely evil.

I decided that I ought to test it out, but I was reluctant to be the first person to do so. Normally the alley is full of blind men engaging in homosexual relations, but tonight it was nearly empty, with just two blind men.

‘Hey!’ I called out to the blind men. ‘This chair is a sight-restoring chair! It only works once, for the first person who sits in it. Give it a go!’

The blind men didn’t need to be asked twice. They both leapt up and ran for the chair. I couldn’t help but laugh! One of the men nearly got in the seat, then the other one punched him.

‘It’s my chair, I want my vision back!’ one of the cried.

‘No, you bastard, I lost my sight when I fell in a vat of acid! You became blind through excessive masturbation! I deserve my sight back!’ the other replied, punching the first man.

This struggle went on for some time. Finally, the masturbator kneed his opponent in the balls, temporarily stunning him. The masturbator leapt into the chair, applied the restraints, and pressed the ‘on’ button.

The machine started to make weird noises, and the masturbator started to vibrate. The chair clamped his feet down so they couldn’t move. The chair was quite loud, and it appeared to be performing a nice massage to the guys back. I was about to stop the demonstration when the other blind man got up off the ground and proceeded to start kicking the control panel at the back.

‘Stop you blind bastard! Stop!’ I cried, but the crazy blind man had gone troppo, taking off his shoe and pounding the console. Sparks began to fly and pieces of the control panel started to break off.

The chair began to make louder sounds, and the masturbator started to scream. I held my hand over my eyes, then realised I liked seeing this kind of thing and watched intently again.

All of a sudden, the noise changed to that of a chainsaw! I watched as a buzzing metal saw started to rise out of the middle of the chair and head towards the blind man’s balls! His screams became louder as the chainsaw edged closer towards his testicles.

The testicle torture machine paused right before his pants, and then made a tiny incision, just revealing the blind man’s scrotum. Then, with vicious accuracy, it began to randomly slash the poor guy’s balls! Pieces of ball meat flew everywhere. My face was covered with a yellow brown liquid, which could have been urine and poopy.

Then three more chainsaws sprung forth from the chair, and proceeded to hack of the limbs of the blind man. He died.

I was devastated. The chair would not help my back problems after all! I took out my .375 magnum and shot the other blind man dead. Then I went home.