Grizzworst

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Sick of the castle keep, Grizzworst decided to work out in the open today. He’d forgotten though, how hideous he appeared to mere mortals, so much so that in the last few minutes he’d had two screamers, an attempted assault and a suspected self-fouling.

He remembered why he’d remained hidden for the last 50 odd years now.

Still, it was a bit of a laugh, he had to admit, a bit distracting from his real work, magic and associated potions and lotions, but he figured he deserved a bit of a break.

He wondered if he could actually kill  anyone simply by being hideously ugly. He hid behind a tree and decided to try it out on passers-by for the next hour or so  before resuming his work.

Debunk that

How exactly do you do that?

It was a question he was asked a lot but he never answered it.

He would distract them, or move on to the next person, or leave in a rush, with a swish of his cape and a raised eyebrow.

This was the norm in his profession- keep it in house, maintain the mystique. They don’t quite believe it’s really magic, but maybe, just maybe…

It was a pact between magician and thrill seeker – don’t look too close, don’to probe too much – they get the thrill, the magician maintains his semi-authentic status; everyone’s happy.

That wasn’t his reason though. He had no idea how he did it. With his colleagues, of course, it was all an elaborate hoax, sleight of hand, tricking the eye with diversions and suggestions. He was impressed with their skills, but it had nothing to do with his act.

He just found he could do things like this, one morning. It was after the storm six months ago. He’d been out in the garden trying desperately to get his washing off the line before it was soaked. He was running from the back of the garden to the house, when the lighting bolt struck him in the back of the head. He woke up face down in the mud with a slight headache and an enormous singe mark down the middle of his thick hair.

Since that day he’d been able to perform real magic. He could make things disappear, he could transport things and people over quite considerable distances and he could make something become another thing (hadn’t tried that with people yet, felt a bit risky, but he turned water into wine quite frequently rather than drive down to the off-licence.)

He only started the shows two months ago. It wasn’t the money so much; he could create that out of thin air whenever he wanted to, for him it was the thrill of confounding the sceptics, especially the smart-arsed ones who thought they knew how it was all done, and who delighted in telling the world.

He recognised this little know-it-all in front of him now, for instance. He had his own TV programme , based on debunking and humiliating what he called con-artists.  A lot of the magicians that he’d loved to watch as a child had been publicly humiliated by this smug-faced little shit.

So, he’d taken his cheap watch and turned it into a Rolex. No big deal. Obviously he didn’t believe it and was expecting some kind of switch to take place. Actually it was now a genuine Rolex. It seemed fair enough to give him a small gift to help him cope with the trauma which was just around the corner.

He had a much bigger surprise waiting for him when he went to the toilet.  In place of the traditional male genitalia he now had two chestnuts and a small cocktail sausage between his legs.

Debunk that Weiner boy!