The Incestual Burial Ground
May 9, 2008 by Julius Serpentine

A Monster... with HILARIOUS eyebrows!

Few stories are horrific enough that even the staff at Slantmouth is left with little to say. Unfortunately, after Austrian Josef Friztl imprisoned and raped his own daughter in a soundproof dungeon built in his basement for over twenty-four years, fathering seven of his own grandchildren, well, the permanent taste of vomit in our mouths won’t allow much clear thought. So, instead of the usual commentary and in-depth coverage you have come to expect, the festivities are going to be turned over to Investigator Magstanik, one of the Austrian police assigned to examine the scene of the crime: the handcrafted, underground prison bunker. We present to you his extensive notes from the scene.

Unable to actually read whatever language the notes were in, we temporarily brought aboard an ex-Nazi scientist living in America and on Medicaid. Unable to afford his much needed prescription medication, we threw him a few pills and he was practically willing to do anything, even translate the meticulous notes of Investigator Magstanik or some other things that we wouldn’t have wanted to do even if we felt that way. We present the notes unedited.

I can’t believe they put me on this case. What did I ever do to deserve this? Whose baby did I kick? I could deal with a case of cannibalism, possibly where one man eats another man’s boiled manhood, served with a side of mashed potatoes. I could deal with a double-murder where the victims are killed by a cantaloupe scoop in the rectum, but this? This is sick!

I can already smell the stale air rising out of the dungeon as I stand in front of it. In twenty-four years the door barely opened. I should say doors, actually. Doors. There are eight of them. You can’t be too careful in a place like Austria. Apparently, there are all kinds of freaks everywhere. You wouldn’t want one of them slipping through those first seven doors and finding your dark little secret. Thankfully, Mr. Fritzl had the foresight to put in that eighth door. The police may have caught him much sooner—probably around the sixteenth or seventh year of captivity—if not for that eighth and final door. It was a real lifesaver.

Fritzl drugged his daughter and dragged her down here when she was eighteen. As I walk in I think about that. He drugged her, raped her, and held her in this little family carnival of horrors with a dog leash, at least for the first year. Drugged, raped, and a dog collar? He’s either kinky or a college frat boy. The prostitutes at a brothel he frequented certainly seemed to think he was a kinky sort of monster, as he utterly terrified them. They’ll find no such report on me. I kill all my hookers when I’m done with them. Ha! Just kidding! I love hookers!

Right. Back to the job at hand. Fritzl apparently had his daughter, Elisabeth, expand the initial small room of her prison with her bare hands, digging away. Though, I must admit, considering the circumstances, this is some nice craftsmanship. It’s this kind of hard work in the face of depravity that makes Austria great.

As I get further into the tomb the air becomes stifling. There are no windows or any openings. We’ve drilled some holes to let more air in, but it’s not helping as much as I would like. It reminds me of my childhood when my older brother, who was honestly quite a fatty, would sit on my face with his fat ass; completely stifling and ghastly smelling. Needless to say, it was terrible and so is this. I can’t begin to imagine what it must have been like for the victims to live with my brother’s ass on their face for so many years. It’s very saddening.

It breaks my heart to consider the children who had to live their entire lives down here, having never seen the outside world or the sun. Another officer told me that when the children were taken from here, they looked like Powder from that terrible American movie. I hope it works out better for the kids than Powder. He was a bit of a freak. I hope the kids at least get superpowers out of the deal.

There are many rooms here, including what appears to be a… bathroom? Oh dear. A bucket? Seriously? I can see a television down the hall and doors with electronic locks, but all he could figure for the bathroom was a bucket? This is very much like the Bizzaro World version of Snoopy’s house. When Snoopy went into his tiny dog house he’d suddenly be in a wonderful mansion. In this place you go into the dog house and someone punches you in the stomach and craps in your pants for you.

Well, I believe I’ve had enough. I’ll have to wash the scene of this crime from my mind with a few drinks and a hooker. I’ll do pretty much anything to stop thinking about my brother’s ass.

In Austria it seems the maximum sentence for nearly any crime, including a double murder by Professor Plum in the library with a cantaloupe scoop, is fifteen years (ten with good behavior). It hardly seems enough, but Josef Fritzl is already seventy-three. His days of raping and stealing childhoods is nearly over. In ten years time he’ll be lucky if he can terrify prostitutes with something other than the number of wrinkles on his genitals. We’re already pretty terrified, even though we’ve heard that some of them are supposed to be there.

Slantmouth sincerely wishes the best for the victims of this tragedy. If all of you say you hate your father/grandfather in therapy, we’ll understand, no questions asked. The only question we will ask is: what’s it like to now live in a world where Carrot Top exists? Kind of sucks, right?

~Julius Serpentine