(It’s been quite a while since Grutus’ last update. My powers of persistence are minimal at the best of times, and I really couldn’t get my head around documenting the second half of Grutus’ adventure in the school. However, after seeing a particularly large dog shit in the middle of the sidewalk, I was again inspired to continue to write of Grutus’ mucid tramplings through Fallout.)

Grutus had become a giant fist. The world had only one purpose: to be punched. His muscles began to spasm, contracting and extending; automatically punching even when there was nothing to punch. The school was now nothing but a blur through which Grutus’ fist flew into the faces of those who inhabited it…

Be they human…


Canine…

Formicidae…

Of alternative lifestyle…


Or computerised.

Eventually Grutus had punched every creature in the school to death, unintentionally living out the fantasy of public school principals worldwide. The ‘roids were wearing off, and Grutus was bemused and irritated by the thing he had inadvertently put on his face while punching. He wandered outside and away from the school. Suddenly he felt a stab of pain in his gristly hide. Then another. He turned to see one last raider, revolver in hand, trying to avenge his fallen comrades. ¬†Grutus walked towards him, snorting, slobber dripping down from the inside of his mask as the man shot at Grutus four more times.

The man began to swear as he struggled to reload his pistol; as Grutus drew nearer and raised his fist…


A fist that never needs reloading.

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