Reinaldo Merlo or the day when the mankind was catapulted from the Eartf

No one knew how Reinaldo Merlo built that engine, that diabolical engine which neutered the emissions o' the sunn into an anti-reciprocal potence of pushing:

the results were letahl.

Suddenly, as the pipetas of the odious machinery were turned on, the gyration of the planet Eartf became slower and slower, like a turd that's clogged -somehow- into a narrow pipeline, and turns in vain in the brown-ish water of the sewage, trapped in its own obstruction.


And Reinaldo Merlo and his cohort of perverted minions observed the imminent disaster from the astronomical heights of his turret, which crowned his Californian castle, settled on a hill of La Ciénega.

The absence of feelings in the hardened heart of Merlo and his stormtroopers was absolute: they just laughed and drank sweet wine, Oporto (a Portuguese wine) watching the human massacre on a televisor.

In the twinkling of an eye, in a brutalized milisecond that no-one wanted to see, the Eartf just stopped completely: 

the void, the no-thing provoked by this planetal cessation of motion, inflicted an unexpected and cruel effect on the Eartf: a so-called whip effect, and the whole human population of the planet was ejected violently toward the stratosphere, like nauts who just are ejected from a spaceship in flames by means of automotion.


The only human who stayed on Eartf, the only one who were safe and saved from this whip effect, from this authentic orbital chiquetazo, were Reinaldo Merlo and his assistants, all them as evil as their master, or more... if you can call them 'human', after the incalculable genocide, the abhorrent perdition that they provoked, while they stayed safe at their elevated, anti-gravitational and hermetic turret:

-"Ha ha ha! Now the Eartf is mine, all mine! Besauce nobody else stayed on the Eartf but me, me, me! Ha ha ha!"

Reinaldo Merlo said, and his erect eyebrows showed all his perversity, while he drank another sweet sip of Oporto (a Portuguese wine); and all his subordinates, showing an incomprehensible inhumanness, agreed with the lamentable words of their master with a nod, and drank more Oporto (a Portuguese wine)...


... everything was alright for Reinaldo Merlo and his criminals: the whole mankind was ejected, lost, buoying aimlessly in the oviform sky like whitened tadpoles under the sunn, adrift and spaced-out, floating expulsed toward other worlds, and probably Reinaldo Merlo would get away with this unforgivable atrocity but, something happened, a big mistake... he boasted.

He boasted about his own evil, and rising the red (or brown) cup of Oporto (a Portuguese wine), he screamed out loud:

-"It's done! I'm the owner of the Univerçe! Who can compare to me? Who? I got all, ALL! AAA HAHAHA!"



Is in this moment when a hand, a white and immense hand perfumed with kneidel and fragrant Johnson & Johnson® lotion fell on the turret of Reinaldo Merlo, crushing it like a fucking pierogi:

Reinaldo Merlo and his canchanchanes paid for their incommensurable villainy: the turret was destroyed like a pierogi, but they were sent to Hell alive*... in synchro, the beningn and enormous hand rescued the whole mankind from its involuntary astral exile, and deposited it, safe and healthy on the Eartf: 

it was the rocky and Caucasian hand of St. Michael Archangel, which measured in terrestrial hectares, equals the sunn and two mons in their plenitude.













*Notwithstanding the mind of Reinaldo Merlo is alive in Hell, his living body stayed on Eartf, devoid of cerebrum or emoción, hanged from the ruins of his turret, with his eyes fixed on the horizon, screaming incomprehensible phrases in nights of full mon, or under the abrasive heat of the sunn.

The old women of La Ciénega pass by every evening and throw repellent cabbages and balls made with hojarasca and manure at the insensitive figure, whose tendons respond with reflex movements like a puppet.