Beard Cop – Max – Medium
This is an unfinished body horror-comedy I was writing on a beard enthusiast facebook group to troll them. There’s some really rough spots (I didn’t know maroon was a slur, the conceit of the beating scene in Scene 4 is not done justice by the prose, I have no clue what I was planning to do with/about Samantha) but some stuff is good, and it’s nice to have it all in one place. Given that my loose plans for the future of the story was just an increasingly bizarre series of characters to introduce and that any serious publishing of this would require an entire rewrite I don’t think it will ever be finished, but when James Lebron, master of competitive depression shows up in something you can impress women by telling them you know he was going to be in Beard Cop originally
A bearded cop kicks down a door and shoots the (non-bearded) man inside dead. As he plants a gun on his corpse he mutters to himself: “should’ve grown a beard you idiot bitch. You stupid fucking maroon. It’s a beard cops world now dumbass.”
The Loch Ness monster rises from the lake. It’s diplodocean neck stretches 400 hands tall, bending towards the blood moon. She begins screaming “beeeeeeeards” repeatedly into the night, over and over and with increasing intensity.
Beard Cop is driving past me. I’m pulling into the Taco Bell closest to my home after work, and he is patronizing the adjacent Dunkin‘ Donuts. He’s had a rough day, and is going to get one or two (probably two) extra donuts over it. He pulls up, mutes his radio, and wonders what kind of beard the person taking his order will have. “Coffee and donuts man, classic cop lmao” he thinks to himself. I’m not using internet slang in this story, he literally thinks the phrase “lmao” to himself, he’s lame.
“Good evening” he says to the machine.
The machine, in a beautiful woman’s voice, says “well howdy, my name is Samantha and I’d love to take your order at this here Duncan’s donuts, whatchu gotta say about that?”
In a lab in Guadalupe, a scientist hands another scientist the data. Human hairs, short and thick, slowly pushing through the antarctic ice. Definitely real, as they’d always believed. The data proves it irrefutably.
“Yknow, technically, maybe the South Pole is the top of the earth, and it’s growing head hair. I mean, it’s all just balls in space, yknow?” Says the second scientist.
“That’s the dumbest thing I’ve ever heard. You say shit like that around here again I’ll fuckin kill you I’m not even joking. I will shove you down on the floor of this lab and kick your head until you die from it you mother fucker. Earth is growing a damn beard.”
Beard Cop is standing next to a newspaper stand. The headline reads “No Suspect In Gruesome Scalping” and he is throwing bricks at protesters. They’re holding signs that say “no beards” and “Beards rule” and “Euthanise feral cats en masse” and “Fuck Tom Brady” and “I’d Fuck Tom Brady” and he honestly can’t figure out the main thrust of the event. Maybe he’ll get up on a rooftop and start dropping bricks on them, he isn’t sure yet.
One of the protesters has gotten too close, and it’s time to act. He grabs the man and forces him to the ground, pulling him close and bringing their faces together. His beard has been heavily gelled, tactically, and pointed into a spike.
“What are you doing oh my god stop please oh my god oh my god stop stop stop” says the protester as it penetrates his ear canal
Beard Cop has a roommate named Cody. Cody has a dark and horrible secret he’s been keeping from Beard Cop. Two or three, to be honest, but one that will get him killed if it’s ever found out. Cody is on a date while Beard Cop is at that bizarre ambiguous protest, and it’s going pretty well honestly. She’s kind of mean, but she’s very pretty and clearly not looking for anything serious, and this Italian place she picked out is incredible. Their dinners have arrived, and as he watches her twirl spaghetti around a fork, he begins vomiting uncontrollably. His face hurts just looking at it. “I’m sorry, it’s a phobic thing,” he explains betwixt blurts of vomit. “I’m having a great time, really.”
His date stands up, puts a 50 on the table, picks up her service monitor lizard, and leaves. He hates it when this happens. Did she leave because of the puke, or could she tell?
Samantha Coleman’s Corpse is awake and conscious inside her coffin. She has been scalped, and her scalp has been sewn to her chin. She wishes they’d reattached it for the funeral, but understands how it is these days with beard culture and everything. She’ll be a skeleton in 9 years anyway. She idly scratches at her casket. It’s some kind of cheap but solid metal, with several hundred pounds of dirt on top. “I couldn’t get out of here if I wanted to” she thinks to her herself. It’s kind of a relief.
Driving home from the protest, Beard Cop’s beard curls up his face and into his mouth. The hairs of his beard press against his tongue and gums, wrapping around his teeth and waving gently side to side. They stretch down his esophagus, lightly squirming against the walls of his throat. The beard spends the entire 45 minute commute like this, exploring and probing every crevice and detail of his oral cavity. Beard Cop is terrified and disgusted the entire time. but what’s he going to do, cut off his beard about it?
Cody’s date’s service monitor lizard, after making sure she is asleep, unscrews it’s false right eye. He crawls into his enclosure, where unbeknownst to the date he keeps a tiny, lizard-sized laptop. He hooks the eye up and begins moving video files from it onto his laptop.
Beard Cop is patrolling the North side, and his beard is looking real good, not gonna lie. The coast brings a big wind through the buildings, whipping his beard around him like a cloud of bats. Peppered throughout were zebra mussels, giving him a badass powerful bearded sailor vibe, and he’s really feeling himself. Everyone is noticing him, and he’s noticing everyone noticing him, it’s really nice. He smashes a window, and everyone cheers. He runs up to a mini-van sized cluster of zebra mussels and begins bashing at it with his club. People are going absolutely wild. He’s getting chunks of zebra mussel in his beard, and as the wind whips it around it flings into the air, raining on the shrieking mob as a small group of men, dressed in rags and playing zebra mussel shell castanets, form a circle around him. He draws his gun, and the crowd goes wilder.
“He’s gonna shoot it!” A man begins screaming, and continues to do so until he shoots it.
A jet of water bursts from the core of the pile, flinging zebra mussels up into the clotheslines above, ruining entire loads of laundry for dozens of family units.
Samantha is still alive in the coffin, and she’s worried about the North side. It had become completely covered in a strange, land-based edible zebra mussel offshoot in just two years, and she lived pretty close to the North side. She wondered if Brett would be able to afford to make it out before the mussels covered their home, before the cultists and hedonists that reject work and society to live off these strange edible zebra mussels and screw and do drugs started hanging around, disregarding any and all rules of common decency. She wondered if she could stay with Brett in that environment. She also wondered if they were able to save the baby.
Cody is buying drugs on the North side. He feels kind of bad, because the zebra mussel drug industry is the primary funding source for the Brothers of the Zebra, a premiere paramilitary group dedicated to the propagation of the zebra mussels and the military arm of the dreaded Zebra Cult. His dealer lets him in and hands him several vials of an opioid analog made from zebra mussels. “Thanks for the drugs,” he says as he hands the dealer money, “I need them to cope with my horrible beard secret.”
Beard Cop is just beating the hell out of some mussel swilling degenerate without a beard. He says “this beating I’m giving you is going to stick with you for the rest of your life. You’re gonna dream about it. You’re gonna feel a little queasy every time you see a cop car, every time you see a beard, every time you grow a beard. You’re gonna be on the couch with your friends and someone’s gonna grab your shoulders when you aren’t looking and yell, and you’re gonna remember my fist in your kidney and scream like a little girl.”
Beard cop shoves them to the ground. Beardless fucker is handcuffed and down for the count.
“This next thing I’m going to do to you is one of my favorites. It’s a hit specifically designed to traumatize you in such a way that if a lover ever attempts to surprise you by waking you up with oral sex you will attack them before you realize what’s going on. You will need to warn every single potential lover about this for the rest of your life after I do it to you, or you might get an assault charge. If you get an assault charge, I come back.”
He does it.
“To round it off, I’m going to waterboard you with my beard. I’m going to do it until you love me with every breathe of air you take, every breath of air I give you. You will breath, thank me, remember what I’ve done tonight, feel sick, and inhale again until you die. This usually takes about four hours, but I’m off in three. My beard looks really good though, I bet you could love me in three.”