The Lutefisk (ba dum ching) raised her arm and began to strum, her lute singing in the ocean breeze, saccharine notes mixing with the salty sprays in a musical equivalent of sweet and sour sauce. My mouth and Trevor’s salivated at the music. And then the singing began:
O sing me a song
About a woman of men
The men in the woman
And her essence all spent.
A gleam in her eye
As the men sprayed her head!
The pretty little lady
Known as M’lady Me-gan!
I looked at Trevor, then at Abita, who had somehow managed to sleep through these innumerably non-prime days. God bless her, I love her so. I had a bad feeling about this song. Abita would not be too pleased with its direction either. Kaila continued:
She ran through the forests
And out into the mines
Searching all the land
(And behind it) for love
Until that fine day
When the Shaman approached
He seized up M’lady
And in her he broached!
The anger rose in me. This damn fish was mocking me, I knew it. How did she know my sister?
“Oh Shaman,” she pleaded
“Fill me with knowledge
Find me love today
And give me a lesson.”
I will do as you ask
With joy in my heart
Come into my tent
I’ll show you my art
I specialize in staffs
In wands and in branches
In spikes and in rods
In poles (if you snatch them).
I’ll show you my shafts
My bars and my sticks
My mace and my scepter
My flog, hard as a whip!
You’ll learn to love thickness
Girth a la mode
The durability of timber
Plastics and molds!
My things are most precious
Keep them deep inside
They’re here for your love
From love you cant’ hide.”
I looked around the dinghy for something to throw at that damned fish. Nothing. No harpoons, nothing sharp, nothing especially sturdy. I had no way of killing her. And then she continued:
“Shaman, your hand
Is most wonderfully large
I feel like a woman
Whilst near your midst
Canst love shine through
When the hand is enclosed
In a rounded out fist?”
“My lovely young lady,
The best parts come from there.
The fist can be used
To show peace or pull hair.
I don’t think you’re ready
For the power it holds
But close thine sweet eyes
And do as you’re told.”
Trevor clapped in rhythm to the hideous music, a stupid smirk on his face, his shirt off, and his body uncannily oiled in a light sheen. He was of no help to me. I grabbed the nearest thing I could, the rage in me building as I searched for ways of ending this disgusting ditty. I found a sturdy object, not knowing what it was due to the anger seething throughout me. The song continued:
“My dear, sweet M’lady
Stand right in this stride
Relax all your muscles
And open your legs wide—“
She could not finish her song. Kaila the Lutefisk (ba dum ching) fell into the depths, a hard object striking her head and breaking her lute. She sank into the murky depths in an unconscious stupor. I was victorious. The vile song had ceased! I looked around to celebrate. Trevor looked at me dumbstruck. I smiled proudly at him, jumping up and down. My smile slowly faded as I looked around the boat and realized something: Where was Abita?
Sunday, December 9, 2007
Wednesday, December 5, 2007
Chapter 6 - The Cruise of Destiny: Into the Arms of Death, Sex and Secretion in the Underbelly (Blood on the Alamo)
"Gentleman John has returned to his lair."
Lady Maurine swept out of the kitchen and wiped her hands on her velvet dress. The blood had still been on her fingers, but for naught consequence as her garment also ran dark as life.
"My seductress of the flesh, I'm home from school and I hunger."
Gentleman John tossed his heavy overcoat over the stone chair in the corner and embraced his pale partner.
"Come, let us drink from the Cup of Blood," she whispered. "It's in the kitchen."
"Perhaps my appetite is for the flesh, dark seductress."
Lady Maurine pulled down the high neck of her dress, exposing her neck.
"Then you may feast, lover."
Gentleman John let out a heavy laugh and pushed the neck of her dress up.
"Later, at the witching hour. I have a headache right now."
He walked past her into the living room and fell on the spider-skined couch.
"Were your pupils uncouth, my prince?" She asked as she followed him. She fell into his lap.
John sighed.
"Yes, they constructed a ball of spit and did project it into my head. Alas, I was the fool."
Lady Maurine drew her breath in.
"How dare those rapscalions, do they not know you feast of the flesh and, aye, they have flesh."
He shook his hand.
"No, we shall not speak of that. The Council of Judgement did not approve the last time." John said.
Maurine shook her hand in the air.
"Damn the PTA," she cried.
"No," John said as he grabbed her arm. "We shall not defy the elders that put blood on our table."
In a instant the candles around the room went out, and it went dark.
"Oh my Lucifer, a spirit has joined us," Maurine yelled.
Before them in front of couch apparated a man in red, white and blue.
"John, it is I, Evel Knievel."
Gentleman John dropped to his knees.
"What is your bidding, my master?" John said as he bowed.
The ghost began to speak.
"You must travel far to find your quest. A fair maiden lies of the beach of lost direction. I sent a guide, but they need protection."
He paused.
"You must bring them to the cruise."
Lady Maurine swept out of the kitchen and wiped her hands on her velvet dress. The blood had still been on her fingers, but for naught consequence as her garment also ran dark as life.
"My seductress of the flesh, I'm home from school and I hunger."
Gentleman John tossed his heavy overcoat over the stone chair in the corner and embraced his pale partner.
"Come, let us drink from the Cup of Blood," she whispered. "It's in the kitchen."
"Perhaps my appetite is for the flesh, dark seductress."
Lady Maurine pulled down the high neck of her dress, exposing her neck.
"Then you may feast, lover."
Gentleman John let out a heavy laugh and pushed the neck of her dress up.
"Later, at the witching hour. I have a headache right now."
He walked past her into the living room and fell on the spider-skined couch.
"Were your pupils uncouth, my prince?" She asked as she followed him. She fell into his lap.
John sighed.
"Yes, they constructed a ball of spit and did project it into my head. Alas, I was the fool."
Lady Maurine drew her breath in.
"How dare those rapscalions, do they not know you feast of the flesh and, aye, they have flesh."
He shook his hand.
"No, we shall not speak of that. The Council of Judgement did not approve the last time." John said.
Maurine shook her hand in the air.
"Damn the PTA," she cried.
"No," John said as he grabbed her arm. "We shall not defy the elders that put blood on our table."
In a instant the candles around the room went out, and it went dark.
"Oh my Lucifer, a spirit has joined us," Maurine yelled.
Before them in front of couch apparated a man in red, white and blue.
"John, it is I, Evel Knievel."
Gentleman John dropped to his knees.
"What is your bidding, my master?" John said as he bowed.
The ghost began to speak.
"You must travel far to find your quest. A fair maiden lies of the beach of lost direction. I sent a guide, but they need protection."
He paused.
"You must bring them to the cruise."
Tuesday, December 4, 2007
The Cruise of Destiny- Chapter 5: The Wonders of the Sea Shall Shine Wence Our Voyage is Underway and Monotony Rears Its Ugly Head of Doom
I puked over the side of the boat. I was not having a fun trip.
“Yar, looks like thine sea legs hath not sprouted as of yet,” Captain Trevor said to me in his grizzled drone. “More like you’re just getting your sea stomach remeasured!”
I would have laughed at this joke if it weren’t the thirtieth time he told it. Granted, I probably deserved the first twenty of those, what with the vomit exploding out of my mouth by the gross while stuck on the Sea of Madness. That’s the last time I drink my own urine when I’m caught in a dinghy.
We’ve been sailing for countless days, mostly because the sun never sets in this strange sea, thus making time immeasurable, but also because I have somehow lost my ability to count in anything but prime numbers. It started off fine: 1. 2, 3, but then I got lost. Until I reach my next primal numeric solar cycle anniversary event, I’m afraid I’m stuck with Captain Trevor’s calculations, which are unfortunately based on an obscure Atlantean calendar. “What day is it today?” I would ask, and he would peer at the sun through squinty eyes, counting silently in his head, and remark, “Today is the Day of the Lord, Bloomsday.” Granted, this has been his standard remark for the past three days.
Our voyage thus far has been boring and still. We have no oars, and thus cannot row. We have no sail, and thus cannot produce elaborate backdrops to our one man plays that Trevor and I concoct for entertainment. My one man version of “Chain of Command” went swimmingly, until the end when I really did see five lights. Trevor’s production of “The King and I” was a fine one, except for his deteriorating habit of slipping into pantomime and subtle racial stereotypes. I blame the source material. He makes a fine King of Siam, however.
The days dragged on as such for what seemed like prime +1. I was beginning to understand why it was called the Sea of Madness, although I dubbed it “The Sea of Stupid.” Trevor laughed every time I whipped that one out. God bless him.
We did pass a few distinguishable seamarks. The other day we saw the Rocks of Ages, a ring of stones jutting out of the water. They were too far out for us to reach them, but it was a pleasant sight as we passed. Trevor, upon first noticing the rocks, said, “Let’s take our shirts off and swim to them!” I was nonplussed at this. I didn’t want us to both lose sight of the boat. We just moved on past the Rocks of Ages.
Yesterday we glided past the Wreckage of the Ancients, a vast pirate ship cum petrified wood museum. Trevor was initially excited to see it, as he figured it would contain people that could help us. Alas, it was off for the season, this being Christmas (or Jerkfest, according to Trevor’s calendar). Nevertheless, he offered that we take our shirts off and swim to the petrified wood. Again I nixed this idea.
Today, after our daily play (an original I titled “Blasphemies of the Spider God”), long hours awaited us in silence. The only break in this monotony was Trevor suggesting we take our shirts off and wrestle. I declined.
He returned to his nap, grumbling about his boredom. He was asleep for only a few minutes when a voice crept up from the side of the boat.
“Hello travelers! Come hither to mine call!”
We scrambled to the side and gaped. A lady’s head stared back at us, her neck penetrating the water. Meh, I thought to myself, but gave my greetings back.
“Wherefore art thou in thine dinghy?” She pushed more of her body into the air. Her torso was that of a human females, and while she was visibly naked, a giant lute, held in her massive hands, covered her body from the front. “Shallst I singeth thee a song?”
“What are you?” I asked her. “Do you need help into our boat?”
“Nay, wary traveler. I canst swim on mine own!” With that she jumped into the air, performing a flip as her scaly fish tail glittered in the sun.
“By the Spider God, a mermaid!” exclaimed Trevor.
“Nay. I am Kaila, a Lutefisk (ba dum ching). And I shallst singeth thee mine song.”
And with that, she began to sing.
“Yar, looks like thine sea legs hath not sprouted as of yet,” Captain Trevor said to me in his grizzled drone. “More like you’re just getting your sea stomach remeasured!”
I would have laughed at this joke if it weren’t the thirtieth time he told it. Granted, I probably deserved the first twenty of those, what with the vomit exploding out of my mouth by the gross while stuck on the Sea of Madness. That’s the last time I drink my own urine when I’m caught in a dinghy.
We’ve been sailing for countless days, mostly because the sun never sets in this strange sea, thus making time immeasurable, but also because I have somehow lost my ability to count in anything but prime numbers. It started off fine: 1. 2, 3, but then I got lost. Until I reach my next primal numeric solar cycle anniversary event, I’m afraid I’m stuck with Captain Trevor’s calculations, which are unfortunately based on an obscure Atlantean calendar. “What day is it today?” I would ask, and he would peer at the sun through squinty eyes, counting silently in his head, and remark, “Today is the Day of the Lord, Bloomsday.” Granted, this has been his standard remark for the past three days.
Our voyage thus far has been boring and still. We have no oars, and thus cannot row. We have no sail, and thus cannot produce elaborate backdrops to our one man plays that Trevor and I concoct for entertainment. My one man version of “Chain of Command” went swimmingly, until the end when I really did see five lights. Trevor’s production of “The King and I” was a fine one, except for his deteriorating habit of slipping into pantomime and subtle racial stereotypes. I blame the source material. He makes a fine King of Siam, however.
The days dragged on as such for what seemed like prime +1. I was beginning to understand why it was called the Sea of Madness, although I dubbed it “The Sea of Stupid.” Trevor laughed every time I whipped that one out. God bless him.
We did pass a few distinguishable seamarks. The other day we saw the Rocks of Ages, a ring of stones jutting out of the water. They were too far out for us to reach them, but it was a pleasant sight as we passed. Trevor, upon first noticing the rocks, said, “Let’s take our shirts off and swim to them!” I was nonplussed at this. I didn’t want us to both lose sight of the boat. We just moved on past the Rocks of Ages.
Yesterday we glided past the Wreckage of the Ancients, a vast pirate ship cum petrified wood museum. Trevor was initially excited to see it, as he figured it would contain people that could help us. Alas, it was off for the season, this being Christmas (or Jerkfest, according to Trevor’s calendar). Nevertheless, he offered that we take our shirts off and swim to the petrified wood. Again I nixed this idea.
Today, after our daily play (an original I titled “Blasphemies of the Spider God”), long hours awaited us in silence. The only break in this monotony was Trevor suggesting we take our shirts off and wrestle. I declined.
He returned to his nap, grumbling about his boredom. He was asleep for only a few minutes when a voice crept up from the side of the boat.
“Hello travelers! Come hither to mine call!”
We scrambled to the side and gaped. A lady’s head stared back at us, her neck penetrating the water. Meh, I thought to myself, but gave my greetings back.
“Wherefore art thou in thine dinghy?” She pushed more of her body into the air. Her torso was that of a human females, and while she was visibly naked, a giant lute, held in her massive hands, covered her body from the front. “Shallst I singeth thee a song?”
“What are you?” I asked her. “Do you need help into our boat?”
“Nay, wary traveler. I canst swim on mine own!” With that she jumped into the air, performing a flip as her scaly fish tail glittered in the sun.
“By the Spider God, a mermaid!” exclaimed Trevor.
“Nay. I am Kaila, a Lutefisk (ba dum ching). And I shallst singeth thee mine song.”
And with that, she began to sing.
Friday, November 30, 2007
The Cruise of Destiny-Chapter 4: May the Captain Shine His Visage Upon Us As We Prepare for the Voyage Through the Sea of Madness
On the deck of the good ship Stevedore’ Delight, the crew buzzed with excitement. After months at sea, their captain would finally reveal himself! The elusive and illustrious Captain, master of the eighth sea, keeper of bounteous secrets, pillager of pillars! This was the day, exactly halfway through the voyage, when the good Captain would strut out from his quarters, the oaken doors sweeping gently over the floorboards with a gentle hum, the glow of red lanterns-the Captain’s own peculiar lighting necessity, rumored to remind him of his lost Love from long, long ago-filling the below decks with an ominous crimson hue, skittering about as the lights swayed with the sea’s ebb, casting shadows askew in direct contrast with the Captain’s steady footsteps, pounding hard and firm, reverberating the wood, almost mechanical in nature.
The crew was ordered to remain above decks while the solo procession began, instructions barked to the score of men by Samity, the portly First Mate of the ship, rumored to be the Captain himself since his was the face that dominated the command chain throughout most voyages. Samity sat by the stairs leading belowdecks in a steel rocking chair, his own heavy breathing and gentle swaying in step entirely with the tidal motions caressing the ship across the Sea of Madness. To the naked eye, it was almost as if the chair did not rock at all, only remaining in place as the world around it shifted, the sole clue to break this mystery being Samity’s belabored exhalations. Samity had this impression on people: as he doggedly stayed on top of the world, the processes and people around him could not deter him, bending to his will in an ubiquitous game of chicken.
Samity brought a whistle to lips, blowing mightily and releasing a shrill into the salted air. The buzzing on deck ceased briefly as all the men stared at him in curious excitement. “Captain on Deck!” yelled Samity, “line up!” A flurry of rustling legs and carefully dropped equipment preceded the lines of men in rapt salute, two columns facing each other across the deck, their eyes focused straight ahead, an occasional rapscallion glancing quickly towards the stairs.
Samity turned his body, the rhythm of his rocking disrupted as he peered down the short staircase. “Ready to meet your men, Cap’n?” he whispered. The Captain nodded his head. Samity turned to his crew. “Men, greet your Cap’n.”
A roar erupted on deck, cheers and clapping from the men, the sea below mimicking their motions as its waves increased their roll. The Captain slowly climbed the stairs, his tri corner hat, elaborately sequined in glittery silvers and reds, peeked above the railing. The cheering subsided slightly as the Captain continued his climb, the hat leading to a floral pattern bandana warpped around robotic fur and a long dog’s snout. The cheering stopped as the Captain’s deep red eyes, platinum teeth, and green coat became visible, his metallic paws emerging from overly ruffled sleeves. The crew and the sea became silent and still as the Captain took his first step on deck, the pleather pants and platform shoes planted firmly on the wood.
Near the back of the column, the furthest crew member spoke out of the corner of his mouth, “The Captain looks pretty gay, even for a pirate.”
Captain Abito turned to the noise, his robotic ears picking up the slight frequency, and snarled. He strutted over to the group, his gait steady and hard, slightly feminine despite its mechanical nature. With a flourish he withdrew his pistols from their holsters at his belt, both guns painted with glitter and light pastel colors. He shot them both in the air and roared to his men, “Time to party.”
The crew was ordered to remain above decks while the solo procession began, instructions barked to the score of men by Samity, the portly First Mate of the ship, rumored to be the Captain himself since his was the face that dominated the command chain throughout most voyages. Samity sat by the stairs leading belowdecks in a steel rocking chair, his own heavy breathing and gentle swaying in step entirely with the tidal motions caressing the ship across the Sea of Madness. To the naked eye, it was almost as if the chair did not rock at all, only remaining in place as the world around it shifted, the sole clue to break this mystery being Samity’s belabored exhalations. Samity had this impression on people: as he doggedly stayed on top of the world, the processes and people around him could not deter him, bending to his will in an ubiquitous game of chicken.
Samity brought a whistle to lips, blowing mightily and releasing a shrill into the salted air. The buzzing on deck ceased briefly as all the men stared at him in curious excitement. “Captain on Deck!” yelled Samity, “line up!” A flurry of rustling legs and carefully dropped equipment preceded the lines of men in rapt salute, two columns facing each other across the deck, their eyes focused straight ahead, an occasional rapscallion glancing quickly towards the stairs.
Samity turned his body, the rhythm of his rocking disrupted as he peered down the short staircase. “Ready to meet your men, Cap’n?” he whispered. The Captain nodded his head. Samity turned to his crew. “Men, greet your Cap’n.”
A roar erupted on deck, cheers and clapping from the men, the sea below mimicking their motions as its waves increased their roll. The Captain slowly climbed the stairs, his tri corner hat, elaborately sequined in glittery silvers and reds, peeked above the railing. The cheering subsided slightly as the Captain continued his climb, the hat leading to a floral pattern bandana warpped around robotic fur and a long dog’s snout. The cheering stopped as the Captain’s deep red eyes, platinum teeth, and green coat became visible, his metallic paws emerging from overly ruffled sleeves. The crew and the sea became silent and still as the Captain took his first step on deck, the pleather pants and platform shoes planted firmly on the wood.
Near the back of the column, the furthest crew member spoke out of the corner of his mouth, “The Captain looks pretty gay, even for a pirate.”
Captain Abito turned to the noise, his robotic ears picking up the slight frequency, and snarled. He strutted over to the group, his gait steady and hard, slightly feminine despite its mechanical nature. With a flourish he withdrew his pistols from their holsters at his belt, both guns painted with glitter and light pastel colors. He shot them both in the air and roared to his men, “Time to party.”
Thursday, November 29, 2007
The Cruise of Destiny - Chapter 3: The Guide's Entry or Through the Darkness Into the Light, a Exploration of the Couch
The Guide sat patiently, perched on the edge of the couch, her back perfectly straight. The sun was falling through the window and long shadows stretched over the apartment, which was mostly bare floor. The Guide prided herself on eschewing material possessions, with the exceptions of a coffee table and what she was sitting on.
She reached her long hand out to the table in front of her and picked up a phone. Carefully she dialed. Someone picked up.
The Guide started speaking slowly.
"Do you know why men are like couches?"
The Guide told her story, a tale of cruel love, shattered dreams, and violence.
She finished.
"Ma'am, a patrol car is on its way over there right now. Is your ex-boyfriend still breathing?"
The Guide hung up and placed the phone back on the table. Breathing. She smiled.
She leaned over to his lips and kissed him one last time. When she had stretched his skin to make the couch, the lips ended up on the armrest.
She sat up and reached out to the table to get the gun. It was time to go and help the girl on the beach, the one with the silky legs.
She put the barrel in her mouth and pulled the trigger.
That won't come out, she regretted, a last thought of concern for her favorite piece of furniture.
She reached her long hand out to the table in front of her and picked up a phone. Carefully she dialed. Someone picked up.
The Guide started speaking slowly.
"Do you know why men are like couches?"
The Guide told her story, a tale of cruel love, shattered dreams, and violence.
She finished.
"Ma'am, a patrol car is on its way over there right now. Is your ex-boyfriend still breathing?"
The Guide hung up and placed the phone back on the table. Breathing. She smiled.
She leaned over to his lips and kissed him one last time. When she had stretched his skin to make the couch, the lips ended up on the armrest.
She sat up and reached out to the table to get the gun. It was time to go and help the girl on the beach, the one with the silky legs.
She put the barrel in her mouth and pulled the trigger.
That won't come out, she regretted, a last thought of concern for her favorite piece of furniture.
Wednesday, November 28, 2007
The Cruise of Destiny - Chapter 2: From, the thighs of the fair maiden; From, the finger of the ring portrayer (In Requiem)
where is this place
megan's mind raced as she shifted her long silky legs on the hot dry sand of a beach she did not remember much of the last few hours days months of her life and as a bitter reminder of the past her vagina started to ache from the child she birthed
he came from my vagina
slowly she started to rise as more memories washed up like the surf and she saw killing her grotesque offspring in a fiery barn in the snowy mountains of utah his charred tiny corpse falling into the pure pristine snow of dawn
but what happened to my companion
there was someone else who traveled with her on the journey however the name danced on the edge of her mind the seductive tentacles of recognition teasing her thoughts and if she just concentrated she thought she could remember but she needed to focus focus focus
kate
the name sent her synapses on fire and she once again knew everything about the loyal redhead who helped birth her dead son and laid in her arms on more than one evening hiding from the authorities chasing them for the crime of murder
what happened in the yukon
she saw her companion standing at the edge of the gulch and the mounties around her in a semi circle with their guns drawn and kate looked over at her and she said goodbye with her eyes and leapt into the gaping chasm
i wanted to follow her
the mounties held her back and her screams echoed through the night for her fallen friend and the image of the darkness down below seared itself in her mind and her eyes stung from looking hard for any signs of hope
she was gone
the mounties took her to jail for extradition to the united states but she never went she remembered the jail cell was far away from the guard and no one walked by so there was enough time to twist together the bed sheet and string it over the top bar and join her friend in sleep
am i dead
megan's mind raced as she shifted her long silky legs on the hot dry sand of a beach she did not remember much of the last few hours days months of her life and as a bitter reminder of the past her vagina started to ache from the child she birthed
he came from my vagina
slowly she started to rise as more memories washed up like the surf and she saw killing her grotesque offspring in a fiery barn in the snowy mountains of utah his charred tiny corpse falling into the pure pristine snow of dawn
but what happened to my companion
there was someone else who traveled with her on the journey however the name danced on the edge of her mind the seductive tentacles of recognition teasing her thoughts and if she just concentrated she thought she could remember but she needed to focus focus focus
kate
the name sent her synapses on fire and she once again knew everything about the loyal redhead who helped birth her dead son and laid in her arms on more than one evening hiding from the authorities chasing them for the crime of murder
what happened in the yukon
she saw her companion standing at the edge of the gulch and the mounties around her in a semi circle with their guns drawn and kate looked over at her and she said goodbye with her eyes and leapt into the gaping chasm
i wanted to follow her
the mounties held her back and her screams echoed through the night for her fallen friend and the image of the darkness down below seared itself in her mind and her eyes stung from looking hard for any signs of hope
she was gone
the mounties took her to jail for extradition to the united states but she never went she remembered the jail cell was far away from the guard and no one walked by so there was enough time to twist together the bed sheet and string it over the top bar and join her friend in sleep
am i dead
Tuesday, November 27, 2007
The Cruise of Destiny-Chapter 1: From Wence Doth Thy Come?
Sing to me, O KARLTOR, of the boy and his dog, the chosen Two,
“I grow tired of that old story. Tell me a new one!”
A tale of adventure, the wonder of Karl and the resolve of Abita,
“Put the dog and her brood on a boat. Karl’s boat. Lost at sea!”
Bring their exploits to light, of their quest for redemption, seeking the glory in your name,
“With pirates and robots and talking sharks! With danger and mayhem, anarchy and singing!”
Sing of your people, the discovery of your land, and the Saviors of the Great Spider!
“My Will shall prevail! Let the story begin….”
Now
Karl awoke with a breeze in his hair and a dog’s tail in his face. His lips smacked in the salted air, the dog’s pungent fragrance filling his nostrils. It was bright outside, and warm, a glorious afternoon by most accounts. But he was much too confused to enjoy the moment. He sat up and scratched his head. “Abita, old girl, where in the bloody blazes are we?”
Abita barked, moving her body to face Karl. Sitting on the wooden planks beneath her. Her lips twisting slightly upwards, the faintest trace of a canine grin. She bakred again, a short, sarcastic noise, alluding to the obvious.
“Oh yeah, now I see. We’re on my boat. Brett Favre’s Buoy. I missed you, buddy. How did we get out of the Tucson harbor? Weren’t we in Utah?”
“That you were. But some evil force hath brought thine folk to the sea,” a voice boomed from behind Karl. Karl spun around, leaning on his hands, and peered into the sunlight, slowly processing the face before him.
A calm face stared back, one eye glaring through a coif monocle at him, the other lost behind an eye patch. Stubble in dark patches huddled across his face, tan lines of skin weaving trails between the blotchy clans. In his hand was a long cutlass, rusty to the hilt, curving slightly towards the tip, wavering slightly from a shaking hand, white knuckles protruding from tattered gloves.
“Trevor?” gasped Karl.
“That’s Captain Trevor, to you. And you better mind the helm before we crash into that cruise ship ahead.”
“I grow tired of that old story. Tell me a new one!”
A tale of adventure, the wonder of Karl and the resolve of Abita,
“Put the dog and her brood on a boat. Karl’s boat. Lost at sea!”
Bring their exploits to light, of their quest for redemption, seeking the glory in your name,
“With pirates and robots and talking sharks! With danger and mayhem, anarchy and singing!”
Sing of your people, the discovery of your land, and the Saviors of the Great Spider!
“My Will shall prevail! Let the story begin….”
Now
Karl awoke with a breeze in his hair and a dog’s tail in his face. His lips smacked in the salted air, the dog’s pungent fragrance filling his nostrils. It was bright outside, and warm, a glorious afternoon by most accounts. But he was much too confused to enjoy the moment. He sat up and scratched his head. “Abita, old girl, where in the bloody blazes are we?”
Abita barked, moving her body to face Karl. Sitting on the wooden planks beneath her. Her lips twisting slightly upwards, the faintest trace of a canine grin. She bakred again, a short, sarcastic noise, alluding to the obvious.
“Oh yeah, now I see. We’re on my boat. Brett Favre’s Buoy. I missed you, buddy. How did we get out of the Tucson harbor? Weren’t we in Utah?”
“That you were. But some evil force hath brought thine folk to the sea,” a voice boomed from behind Karl. Karl spun around, leaning on his hands, and peered into the sunlight, slowly processing the face before him.
A calm face stared back, one eye glaring through a coif monocle at him, the other lost behind an eye patch. Stubble in dark patches huddled across his face, tan lines of skin weaving trails between the blotchy clans. In his hand was a long cutlass, rusty to the hilt, curving slightly towards the tip, wavering slightly from a shaking hand, white knuckles protruding from tattered gloves.
“Trevor?” gasped Karl.
“That’s Captain Trevor, to you. And you better mind the helm before we crash into that cruise ship ahead.”
Friday, August 24, 2007
The Dinner Guest - Chapter 34: Disco Latinum
The zoo was almost closed when I pedaled up to the gates, holding the still unconscious Chick Sanders over my shoulder. It was getting late and the High Council had made it clear that this could not wait till tomorrow.
“ERECTIUM!” My incantation instantly woke Chick Sanders.
“Where are we?” he asked, still a bit groggy form my earlier incantation. Perhaps I had should have used something less powerful.
“We’re at the elephant cage at the zoo. Here, take the Relic. Come on, let’s get those superpowers.” The light was fading – this had to happen soon.
“Did the Yukon Brushmasters take Olaf Oleson in the fifth round of the draft?”
“They’ll be plenty of time for all that, let’s just do this now. Come on, throw that Relic.”
Chick cocked his arm, planted his foot like a mighty redwood, and hurled the Relic into the elephant cage. The smallest elephant trudged over and picked up the Relic with his trunk. Without further examination, the little giant popped it into his mouth and chewed slowly.
I steeled myself for what was to happen! Lightning! Columns of fire! Choirs of demons! Oh what the prophecy foretold would happen when the Relic was used! Meteors! Dancing she-beasts ten feet tall springing from the earth!
But nothing happened. The smallest of the giants just swallowed and walked back to his mother. Chick was not the totally worthless one! I had mistranslated the Prophecy!
“Was that it?” Chick seemed puzzled.
I had to think fast. The High Council would surely at least banish me from the Society of Dead Tongues at least, but mistranslation carried death as the maximum penalty. Right then, I remembered something my Mentor had taught me: there is no word for failure in Latin. Chick would have to fulfill the Prophecy one way or another.
“Yes! It has come to pass!” I yelled.
“Really? It kind of seems like nothing happened,” Chick said, “I mean, I don’t really feel, like, you know, different or, like, super.”
“I know! That’s part of the Prophecy! You won’t feel your powers until you truly need them.” Would Chick buy this load of crap?
“Oh, I get it.”
“Yeah … so don’t try to test your powers, okay? Because if you try to use them when you don’t need to … they’ll disappear.”
“Oh! Okay. What to we do now?”
Oh, Jupiter! I was counting on Chick’s powers of flight to move us on our journey. This was going to be harder than I thought.
“Well, we’ll have to keep a low profile. So we can’t just fly around, you know, we’ll be spotted.”
“Yeah! And I bet that’ll mess with my superpowers!”
“That’s right! So let’s just call some friends and see if we can get a ride.”
“Well I can’t help because I take the bus. I used to have this car that was ugly, unreliable, and really old. I like to tell people how it was one of the many humorous reasons my romantic life never took off in my adolescence.”
“Your romantic life never took off because you come off as a spineless whiner that would rather blame bad luck than do something with your life,” I muttered.
“What?”
“I said let’s make some calls then.”
“I don’t have a cell phone. You see this one time, I got a bad deal on a cell phone because I just took the first offer I saw so now I just assume they’re too expensive.”
“Okay, fine. Use my phone, who should we call?”
Chick started dialing. Instantly, I regretted my decision. I knew he was calling his old journalism buddies, a deplorable hive-mind of insides jokes, narrow viewpoints, and frowning judgmentalism. He stepped away and mumbled into the phone. Oh Zeus, would I be trapped with this tap dancing pack of jackasses for the whole journey?
“Chick, are you asking for help from more than one person?” I asked.
“Well, I called Kathy, but Jules and Leslie and Devon are demanding to come along. Maybe something funny will happen and we all want to be here so we can joke about it for the next seven years,” Chick responded with a shrug.
I sighed deeply and steeled myself again. This time not for wondrous terrors and sights not yet seen by man, but for endless hours of quotes from The Onion and holier-than-thou scorn. As I exhaled, a burgundy minivan pulled up in front of the zoo.
“Hey, Chick,” called Kathy from the driver’s seat, “I guess you can’t stand on the litter box without proper attire!”
Chick, Jules, Leslie, Kathy, and Devon burst into laughter. After a few minutes Jules looked at me and smirked. “You wouldn’t get it. Last year, we were having a party and Chick was trying to put on a jacket, but a cat scared him.”
I didn’t think that was funny. “And then what happened?” I asked.
“He finished putting on his jacket.”
I briefly thought of using a silence spell, but decided against it. No need showing them my mystical powers.
“Well, we’d better get going,” I said after a long pause.
Chick and I piled and in and told Kathy to head northwest, towards the desolate waste of Forth Worth. I tried to think of something to say to stave off the banter that was sure to come. But I was clearly too late:
“Chick,” Jules said, “has anything FUNNY happened to you recently?”
“The other day, I was in a mildly awkward situation. Nothing really happened and the awkwardness passed when the other party didn’t make a big deal out the things, but I put it in my blog anyway.”
“Chick, you should write for Saturday Night Live!”
Leslie perked up. “Did you see the one where they made fun of George Bush!”
The van laughed in unison.
I groaned and rolled my eyes. Bad move. Kathy jammed on the brakes and the entire van turned to stare and me.
“Oh my God, if you don’t agree with our politics, you’re stupid,” Leslie shrieked.
“Yeah,” they all said in unison.
“’Cuz global warming is the biggest threat we face today,” she said.
“Did you get that from a peer-reviewed scientific study or the Daily Show with Jon Stewart?” I asked.
“Jon Stewart isn’t a scientist?”
“No, he’s a comedian on a basic cable channel.”
“But we should still stop using oil.”
“Why? So every other nation on earth could buy it more cheaply and use it less efficiently? It’s the greatest resource humanity has ever had; we can use petroleum to wipe diseases off of the face of the earth and make hunger and poverty things of the past.”
“But Bono says –”
“Bono is a rock star that flies from fund raiser to fund raiser in a private jet. Why are you listening to him?”
“God, you are just so ignorant. You should watch more Daily Show,” Leslie said.
I choked back the silence spell once more. Kathy eased the van forward and we passed a mileage sign. It read DALLAS 512 mi. If only I had learned a suicide spell.
“ERECTIUM!” My incantation instantly woke Chick Sanders.
“Where are we?” he asked, still a bit groggy form my earlier incantation. Perhaps I had should have used something less powerful.
“We’re at the elephant cage at the zoo. Here, take the Relic. Come on, let’s get those superpowers.” The light was fading – this had to happen soon.
“Did the Yukon Brushmasters take Olaf Oleson in the fifth round of the draft?”
“They’ll be plenty of time for all that, let’s just do this now. Come on, throw that Relic.”
Chick cocked his arm, planted his foot like a mighty redwood, and hurled the Relic into the elephant cage. The smallest elephant trudged over and picked up the Relic with his trunk. Without further examination, the little giant popped it into his mouth and chewed slowly.
I steeled myself for what was to happen! Lightning! Columns of fire! Choirs of demons! Oh what the prophecy foretold would happen when the Relic was used! Meteors! Dancing she-beasts ten feet tall springing from the earth!
But nothing happened. The smallest of the giants just swallowed and walked back to his mother. Chick was not the totally worthless one! I had mistranslated the Prophecy!
“Was that it?” Chick seemed puzzled.
I had to think fast. The High Council would surely at least banish me from the Society of Dead Tongues at least, but mistranslation carried death as the maximum penalty. Right then, I remembered something my Mentor had taught me: there is no word for failure in Latin. Chick would have to fulfill the Prophecy one way or another.
“Yes! It has come to pass!” I yelled.
“Really? It kind of seems like nothing happened,” Chick said, “I mean, I don’t really feel, like, you know, different or, like, super.”
“I know! That’s part of the Prophecy! You won’t feel your powers until you truly need them.” Would Chick buy this load of crap?
“Oh, I get it.”
“Yeah … so don’t try to test your powers, okay? Because if you try to use them when you don’t need to … they’ll disappear.”
“Oh! Okay. What to we do now?”
Oh, Jupiter! I was counting on Chick’s powers of flight to move us on our journey. This was going to be harder than I thought.
“Well, we’ll have to keep a low profile. So we can’t just fly around, you know, we’ll be spotted.”
“Yeah! And I bet that’ll mess with my superpowers!”
“That’s right! So let’s just call some friends and see if we can get a ride.”
“Well I can’t help because I take the bus. I used to have this car that was ugly, unreliable, and really old. I like to tell people how it was one of the many humorous reasons my romantic life never took off in my adolescence.”
“Your romantic life never took off because you come off as a spineless whiner that would rather blame bad luck than do something with your life,” I muttered.
“What?”
“I said let’s make some calls then.”
“I don’t have a cell phone. You see this one time, I got a bad deal on a cell phone because I just took the first offer I saw so now I just assume they’re too expensive.”
“Okay, fine. Use my phone, who should we call?”
Chick started dialing. Instantly, I regretted my decision. I knew he was calling his old journalism buddies, a deplorable hive-mind of insides jokes, narrow viewpoints, and frowning judgmentalism. He stepped away and mumbled into the phone. Oh Zeus, would I be trapped with this tap dancing pack of jackasses for the whole journey?
“Chick, are you asking for help from more than one person?” I asked.
“Well, I called Kathy, but Jules and Leslie and Devon are demanding to come along. Maybe something funny will happen and we all want to be here so we can joke about it for the next seven years,” Chick responded with a shrug.
I sighed deeply and steeled myself again. This time not for wondrous terrors and sights not yet seen by man, but for endless hours of quotes from The Onion and holier-than-thou scorn. As I exhaled, a burgundy minivan pulled up in front of the zoo.
“Hey, Chick,” called Kathy from the driver’s seat, “I guess you can’t stand on the litter box without proper attire!”
Chick, Jules, Leslie, Kathy, and Devon burst into laughter. After a few minutes Jules looked at me and smirked. “You wouldn’t get it. Last year, we were having a party and Chick was trying to put on a jacket, but a cat scared him.”
I didn’t think that was funny. “And then what happened?” I asked.
“He finished putting on his jacket.”
I briefly thought of using a silence spell, but decided against it. No need showing them my mystical powers.
“Well, we’d better get going,” I said after a long pause.
Chick and I piled and in and told Kathy to head northwest, towards the desolate waste of Forth Worth. I tried to think of something to say to stave off the banter that was sure to come. But I was clearly too late:
“Chick,” Jules said, “has anything FUNNY happened to you recently?”
“The other day, I was in a mildly awkward situation. Nothing really happened and the awkwardness passed when the other party didn’t make a big deal out the things, but I put it in my blog anyway.”
“Chick, you should write for Saturday Night Live!”
Leslie perked up. “Did you see the one where they made fun of George Bush!”
The van laughed in unison.
I groaned and rolled my eyes. Bad move. Kathy jammed on the brakes and the entire van turned to stare and me.
“Oh my God, if you don’t agree with our politics, you’re stupid,” Leslie shrieked.
“Yeah,” they all said in unison.
“’Cuz global warming is the biggest threat we face today,” she said.
“Did you get that from a peer-reviewed scientific study or the Daily Show with Jon Stewart?” I asked.
“Jon Stewart isn’t a scientist?”
“No, he’s a comedian on a basic cable channel.”
“But we should still stop using oil.”
“Why? So every other nation on earth could buy it more cheaply and use it less efficiently? It’s the greatest resource humanity has ever had; we can use petroleum to wipe diseases off of the face of the earth and make hunger and poverty things of the past.”
“But Bono says –”
“Bono is a rock star that flies from fund raiser to fund raiser in a private jet. Why are you listening to him?”
“God, you are just so ignorant. You should watch more Daily Show,” Leslie said.
I choked back the silence spell once more. Kathy eased the van forward and we passed a mileage sign. It read DALLAS 512 mi. If only I had learned a suicide spell.
Tuesday, July 31, 2007
The Dinner Guest- Chapter 33: In the Hall of the Salt Lake King
I’ve been to many seedy underbellies in my time, from the slug fighting bouts in the sewers of Shreveport, to the mummified cat brothel in the hill of Missouri. You might even say that I’m a creature of the dark underground, a street urchin of grime, filth, disease, and disorder.
My name is Karl, and sin is in my nature. But I have never experienced the gutter like the Mormonia Temple.
Seated underneath the Great Salt Lake, this labyrinth of tubes, canals, chambers, valves, corridors, and ranges takes the proverbial cake in terms of debauchery, violence, menace, chaos, and depravity.
Why has it taken me so long to visit?
Despite popular perception, Mormonia has no relation to the Church of Latter Day Saints. The name is pure coincidence. While the Mormons might be from Missouri, Mormonians hail from a more normal place: the center of the Earth. When the last Ice Age in 1913 turned their cavernous home near the Earth’s core into a glacial mess, their king, Alda XIII, annexed the soil in Utah for his new kingdom. It was a proper fit, as the salt deposits made for excellent cooking (Mormonians have an average life span of 33 years, most dying of a heart attack) and the climate matched that of the core. This might be the only civilization to thrive due to global warming. Thanks Republicans.
So where does Abita fit in? How is she their Queen? Hell if I know. Shriss, Bill, and I have been stuck in an antechamber for days. The only entertainment we have is the solemn house music that blares through speakers on a constant basis. After three days, the beats blend together and your heart’s rhythm matches the sonic throbbing. Mormonia is a constant rave, and is lieu of cocaine fueled frenzies, this shift in heart murmurs acts as a natural stimulant. It’s like Wall Street in the ‘80s. I feel like I’m six again, although now I’m doing a lot less blow.
The only contact we had with the Mormonians was a brief glimpse of a Royal Soldier three times a day as he shoved a tube through a hole in the wall and sprayed us down with creamed corn. Breakfast, lunch, and dinner all rolled up in creamy goodness. Normally I would have objected to this diet of starch and more starch, but I was so high all the time that the only thing I wanted to do was talk really fast about changing the world through capitalism.
Our only entertainment was conversation, and we were not very good at it. Sir Bill, who talks tremendous amounts to begin with, didn’t even bother with forming real words anymore, proclaiming statements like “Tan bechem shoe Mrs. Starburst? HAHAHAHA!” Shriss, who had probably done more cocaine than a crack whore, remained excited but unfocused, telling us stories she’s heard of Mormonia, filling us in on the detail of this society. Unfortunately, she told three stories at once with no sense of order or plot and never really finished any of them.
When we got a chance to sleep, 15 minutes everyday, the conversations never stopped, only simmering to quiet murmurs. Shriss, her stripper abilities kicking in, started dancing and stripping with her eyes closed. The house music does that to exotic dancers, it seems.
One day, the music stopped. We stood and looked at each other in confusion. Then we collapsed. We slept for three days.
We awoke with a man peering over us, two Royal Guards standing on either side of him. The man was dressed in glitter and bedazzled clothing, sequined jumpsuit, cape, even a sparkly pair of sneakers. His hands moved in continual motion, the fingers vibrating, pulsing, and shifting in magical ways. He had fingers like a Broadway star.
“Tiiiiiiiiime tooooo waaaaaaakkkkkkeeeee uppppppp.” He trilled each word, his voice lilting atonally. “Theeee Queeeen wiiillllll meeettttt yoooooou noooowwwww.”
The Guards pointed their sharp spears at us as we gathered our thoughts and rose. Satisfied that we were cooperating, the man nodded and twirled around, his cape flowing around him. He snapped his fingers. The house music started again. The Man clicked his heels together and boogied into an open doorway, shaking his hips and dipping low every few steps. The Guards motioned for us to follow, and we did, dancing along, unable to shake the funky rhythms.
The man led us through blood-lined corridors, deep canals of green gunk, and rooms filled with tables and chairs, slumped bodies of drunken louts resting their heads on mighty tables throughout the hall. We had missed a party, it seemed.
After an hour of seemingly aimless travel, the man stopped in front of a giant door. He twirled around, nodding his head to the guards. We stopped. The man clapped his hands and danced, shaking his legs and thrusting his hips, looking down at the ground or closing his eyes, lost in the rhythm in his head. I looked around at the Guards. The peered straight ahead, as if this were a normal thing to do.
The man spun in place, twirling numerous times, before halting suddenly and looking at us, his fingers still in constant movement. “My name is Juuuuuuuniooooooor. But yooo-oo-ooooou can call meeeeeeee Sliiiiiiiiiiiiimmmmmmmm.” (He was fat). “We are abooooooooooout to enterrrrrrrrr the haaaaaaalllll of King Aldaaaaaaaaaaaa.” He began his dance again.
I leaned over to Shriss, whispering, “What’s with this guy? Does he have Parkinson’s or something?”
She replied out of the corner of her mouth, “No, I think he’s just a douchebag.”
I nodded in agreement, his medical condition making his erratic behavior seem more clear.
He twirled again in place, spinning faster and more vigorously than before. I looked at the Guards. They held the same gaze, although hints of boredom appeared in their eyes.
Slim stopped, thrust his hands in front of him, wiggled his fingers, turned around, and opened the doors.
My name is Karl, and sin is in my nature. But I have never experienced the gutter like the Mormonia Temple.
Seated underneath the Great Salt Lake, this labyrinth of tubes, canals, chambers, valves, corridors, and ranges takes the proverbial cake in terms of debauchery, violence, menace, chaos, and depravity.
Why has it taken me so long to visit?
Despite popular perception, Mormonia has no relation to the Church of Latter Day Saints. The name is pure coincidence. While the Mormons might be from Missouri, Mormonians hail from a more normal place: the center of the Earth. When the last Ice Age in 1913 turned their cavernous home near the Earth’s core into a glacial mess, their king, Alda XIII, annexed the soil in Utah for his new kingdom. It was a proper fit, as the salt deposits made for excellent cooking (Mormonians have an average life span of 33 years, most dying of a heart attack) and the climate matched that of the core. This might be the only civilization to thrive due to global warming. Thanks Republicans.
So where does Abita fit in? How is she their Queen? Hell if I know. Shriss, Bill, and I have been stuck in an antechamber for days. The only entertainment we have is the solemn house music that blares through speakers on a constant basis. After three days, the beats blend together and your heart’s rhythm matches the sonic throbbing. Mormonia is a constant rave, and is lieu of cocaine fueled frenzies, this shift in heart murmurs acts as a natural stimulant. It’s like Wall Street in the ‘80s. I feel like I’m six again, although now I’m doing a lot less blow.
The only contact we had with the Mormonians was a brief glimpse of a Royal Soldier three times a day as he shoved a tube through a hole in the wall and sprayed us down with creamed corn. Breakfast, lunch, and dinner all rolled up in creamy goodness. Normally I would have objected to this diet of starch and more starch, but I was so high all the time that the only thing I wanted to do was talk really fast about changing the world through capitalism.
Our only entertainment was conversation, and we were not very good at it. Sir Bill, who talks tremendous amounts to begin with, didn’t even bother with forming real words anymore, proclaiming statements like “Tan bechem shoe Mrs. Starburst? HAHAHAHA!” Shriss, who had probably done more cocaine than a crack whore, remained excited but unfocused, telling us stories she’s heard of Mormonia, filling us in on the detail of this society. Unfortunately, she told three stories at once with no sense of order or plot and never really finished any of them.
When we got a chance to sleep, 15 minutes everyday, the conversations never stopped, only simmering to quiet murmurs. Shriss, her stripper abilities kicking in, started dancing and stripping with her eyes closed. The house music does that to exotic dancers, it seems.
One day, the music stopped. We stood and looked at each other in confusion. Then we collapsed. We slept for three days.
We awoke with a man peering over us, two Royal Guards standing on either side of him. The man was dressed in glitter and bedazzled clothing, sequined jumpsuit, cape, even a sparkly pair of sneakers. His hands moved in continual motion, the fingers vibrating, pulsing, and shifting in magical ways. He had fingers like a Broadway star.
“Tiiiiiiiiime tooooo waaaaaaakkkkkkeeeee uppppppp.” He trilled each word, his voice lilting atonally. “Theeee Queeeen wiiillllll meeettttt yoooooou noooowwwww.”
The Guards pointed their sharp spears at us as we gathered our thoughts and rose. Satisfied that we were cooperating, the man nodded and twirled around, his cape flowing around him. He snapped his fingers. The house music started again. The Man clicked his heels together and boogied into an open doorway, shaking his hips and dipping low every few steps. The Guards motioned for us to follow, and we did, dancing along, unable to shake the funky rhythms.
The man led us through blood-lined corridors, deep canals of green gunk, and rooms filled with tables and chairs, slumped bodies of drunken louts resting their heads on mighty tables throughout the hall. We had missed a party, it seemed.
After an hour of seemingly aimless travel, the man stopped in front of a giant door. He twirled around, nodding his head to the guards. We stopped. The man clapped his hands and danced, shaking his legs and thrusting his hips, looking down at the ground or closing his eyes, lost in the rhythm in his head. I looked around at the Guards. The peered straight ahead, as if this were a normal thing to do.
The man spun in place, twirling numerous times, before halting suddenly and looking at us, his fingers still in constant movement. “My name is Juuuuuuuniooooooor. But yooo-oo-ooooou can call meeeeeeee Sliiiiiiiiiiiiimmmmmmmm.” (He was fat). “We are abooooooooooout to enterrrrrrrrr the haaaaaaalllll of King Aldaaaaaaaaaaaa.” He began his dance again.
I leaned over to Shriss, whispering, “What’s with this guy? Does he have Parkinson’s or something?”
She replied out of the corner of her mouth, “No, I think he’s just a douchebag.”
I nodded in agreement, his medical condition making his erratic behavior seem more clear.
He twirled again in place, spinning faster and more vigorously than before. I looked at the Guards. They held the same gaze, although hints of boredom appeared in their eyes.
Slim stopped, thrust his hands in front of him, wiggled his fingers, turned around, and opened the doors.
Sunday, July 22, 2007
The Dinner Guest - Chapter 32: With the Help of Ancients
“Nothing goes as planned, even if the plans are those of a god.” The Great Spider said that to the High Priest of Compassion towards the end of the Crimean War. And, as always, the Great Spider is right.
The Great Spider’s plan to grant lasting peace and endless joy to Earth was in shambles. Odin, that second-rate deity, was meddling in affairs of mankind, the Hound of Salvation was seconds from slipping into the hands of the Mormons, and the Comely Lass of Virtue True had some sort of time travel-induced bastard midget thing. Things looked bleak.
But, as the Great Spider also said no plan is beyond hope and, sometimes, help comes from the one who seems worthless.
That’s where I come in. From age to age, those of us trained in the dead tongues have served the Great Spider by guarding the Relic, a mysterious piece of stone said by some to be the rock that David used to slay Goliath, said by others to a petrified turd of Tiamat, the many headed she-beast defeated by the Great Spider in 1434 AD.
None of that matters, thought. What matters is that the one who hands the Relic to the largest beast with in fifty leagues of a mighty river will given powers beyond any human –greater than those of most gods. But the one who handles the Relic must seem worthless; otherwise the animal will simply eat the Relic, a tragic loss for the allies of the Great Spider.
The Great Spider had called to my people and I was chosen to take the Relic and find the worthless one. When the order came, I knew exactly who I was looking for - Chick Sanders.
First, I had to shave my head, in accordance with the prophecy, and call my beloved, Muriel.
“Hey baby, I have to carry out the wishes of the High Council and save humanity,” I said.
“You have to go right now?” she replied.
Oh no, she was doing it again. I couldn’t tell if she was asking if I had to go right now or if she already understood the importance of my mission.
“Honey, you know I can’t tell when you’re asking a question and when you’re making a statement. Can’t we do this on instant messenger or something like that?”
“That would be easier?”
“Uh, I have to go.”
I jumped on my bike and rode from the Latindrome to a New Orleans office building. I ran in and looked around. Then I spotted Chick.
I approached him and said, “I’ve been reading your blog it’s pretty clear that you’re nearly worthless.”
“But I talk about myself in a self-depreciating manner. That’s funny, right?” he said, shrugging.
“Yeah, it’s my light in the darkness of modern life. Anyway, forces larger than you and I are aligning and they need your help. Take this stone and give it to the largest animal you can find.”
“Ok, I’ll see what I can do,” he said. “I mean, I have like … a lot going on right now so I really can’t just drop everything and, you know, do that …”
“No, this is great. You’ll get superpowers – you’ll have superstrength and immortality, you’ll shoot lasers from your fingers and fly over mountains. And these powers will bring about an age of peace for humanity. I’ll make this easy, elephants are the biggest animals around here and you can find those at the zoo.”
“That sounds okay. I’ll do that later.”
“You mean you aren’t going to return the Relic to the elephants right now? Audubon Zoo is really close to your office. You could walk there right now, or like, at lunch if you’re worried about getting fired from your job. No, you know what? Fuck your job, you won’t need a ‘day job’ as an immortal.”
“Yeah, I know, but I’m right in the middle of reading ESPN’s draft predictions for the Northwest Territories Minor League Curling League.”
“Really? I’m offering you immortality and the power to manipulate the very forces that control human life – powers the gods envy! Look, go throw this in the elephant cage. I’ll come with you, it’ll be easy.”
“I guess. Can I do it latter? I’ve had a really hard day.”
“It’s not even ten am yet, what’s been so hard?”
“Well, the bus was a little late and one of my coworkers isn’t as friendly as I’d like her to be. And it turns out when you just skip work for lots of days in a row you don’t get a bad grade, you get fired”
“Well …”
“Man, it just seems like everything is going against me all the time.”
“I’m offering you godlike powers, what’s going against you?”
“I don’t know, it’s just, like, you know, not my fault.”
I could see this was going nowhere. Time for plan B. “SOMOVUS!” I yelled, casting a powerful sleeping spell. Most people can’t use it because they pronounce the word using “Church Latin” phonics, not the methods and tones of the true ancients.
I looked down at the slumped body. By the time I got him to the zoo and revived him, it would be dark. I called my beloved to tell I’d have to miss our date. “Baby, this is going to take a lot longer than I thought. I have to carry a fully grown man for a few city blocks and recite some incantations.”
“You can do that by yourself?” she chirped back.
“Are you offering me help or telling me to do this without your help?” I yelled.
“You’re angry?”
“Goddamnit, Muriel.”
The Great Spider’s plan to grant lasting peace and endless joy to Earth was in shambles. Odin, that second-rate deity, was meddling in affairs of mankind, the Hound of Salvation was seconds from slipping into the hands of the Mormons, and the Comely Lass of Virtue True had some sort of time travel-induced bastard midget thing. Things looked bleak.
But, as the Great Spider also said no plan is beyond hope and, sometimes, help comes from the one who seems worthless.
That’s where I come in. From age to age, those of us trained in the dead tongues have served the Great Spider by guarding the Relic, a mysterious piece of stone said by some to be the rock that David used to slay Goliath, said by others to a petrified turd of Tiamat, the many headed she-beast defeated by the Great Spider in 1434 AD.
None of that matters, thought. What matters is that the one who hands the Relic to the largest beast with in fifty leagues of a mighty river will given powers beyond any human –greater than those of most gods. But the one who handles the Relic must seem worthless; otherwise the animal will simply eat the Relic, a tragic loss for the allies of the Great Spider.
The Great Spider had called to my people and I was chosen to take the Relic and find the worthless one. When the order came, I knew exactly who I was looking for - Chick Sanders.
First, I had to shave my head, in accordance with the prophecy, and call my beloved, Muriel.
“Hey baby, I have to carry out the wishes of the High Council and save humanity,” I said.
“You have to go right now?” she replied.
Oh no, she was doing it again. I couldn’t tell if she was asking if I had to go right now or if she already understood the importance of my mission.
“Honey, you know I can’t tell when you’re asking a question and when you’re making a statement. Can’t we do this on instant messenger or something like that?”
“That would be easier?”
“Uh, I have to go.”
I jumped on my bike and rode from the Latindrome to a New Orleans office building. I ran in and looked around. Then I spotted Chick.
I approached him and said, “I’ve been reading your blog it’s pretty clear that you’re nearly worthless.”
“But I talk about myself in a self-depreciating manner. That’s funny, right?” he said, shrugging.
“Yeah, it’s my light in the darkness of modern life. Anyway, forces larger than you and I are aligning and they need your help. Take this stone and give it to the largest animal you can find.”
“Ok, I’ll see what I can do,” he said. “I mean, I have like … a lot going on right now so I really can’t just drop everything and, you know, do that …”
“No, this is great. You’ll get superpowers – you’ll have superstrength and immortality, you’ll shoot lasers from your fingers and fly over mountains. And these powers will bring about an age of peace for humanity. I’ll make this easy, elephants are the biggest animals around here and you can find those at the zoo.”
“That sounds okay. I’ll do that later.”
“You mean you aren’t going to return the Relic to the elephants right now? Audubon Zoo is really close to your office. You could walk there right now, or like, at lunch if you’re worried about getting fired from your job. No, you know what? Fuck your job, you won’t need a ‘day job’ as an immortal.”
“Yeah, I know, but I’m right in the middle of reading ESPN’s draft predictions for the Northwest Territories Minor League Curling League.”
“Really? I’m offering you immortality and the power to manipulate the very forces that control human life – powers the gods envy! Look, go throw this in the elephant cage. I’ll come with you, it’ll be easy.”
“I guess. Can I do it latter? I’ve had a really hard day.”
“It’s not even ten am yet, what’s been so hard?”
“Well, the bus was a little late and one of my coworkers isn’t as friendly as I’d like her to be. And it turns out when you just skip work for lots of days in a row you don’t get a bad grade, you get fired”
“Well …”
“Man, it just seems like everything is going against me all the time.”
“I’m offering you godlike powers, what’s going against you?”
“I don’t know, it’s just, like, you know, not my fault.”
I could see this was going nowhere. Time for plan B. “SOMOVUS!” I yelled, casting a powerful sleeping spell. Most people can’t use it because they pronounce the word using “Church Latin” phonics, not the methods and tones of the true ancients.
I looked down at the slumped body. By the time I got him to the zoo and revived him, it would be dark. I called my beloved to tell I’d have to miss our date. “Baby, this is going to take a lot longer than I thought. I have to carry a fully grown man for a few city blocks and recite some incantations.”
“You can do that by yourself?” she chirped back.
“Are you offering me help or telling me to do this without your help?” I yelled.
“You’re angry?”
“Goddamnit, Muriel.”
Metapost 2: Untangling the Web of Story Threads
After the last Metapost, Shriss Babler related her story to Karl about how she went from a peaceful Christlike Viking, journeying to Hell to complete Havockon, but instead being cursed to live a life as a transexual stripper. Karl, Shriss, and Abita decide to head to Pueblo, Colorado to hide out with her allies Captain Rage and Robert Strange. While these plans were made, Abita stumbles upon Sir Bill, a chupacabra held prisoner by Shriss in her basement. After Abita attempts to attack Shriss, the stripper puts everyone to sleep and hits the road with them in tow. Karl, Abita, and Sir Bill cause Shriss to miss her exit, and she gets pulled over by the police in Utah. After a tremendous laughing attack by Sir Bill, the cops recognize Abita as the long lost Queen of Mormonia, and they lead the group to the Grand Temple in Salt Lake City.
Meanwhile, Hoagie, Scott's frat brother, kidnaps Kate and attempts to torture her with gay porn, until Megan comes to the rescue. She and Kate go on the lam in search for Karl, stopping in seedy motels and exploring each other's body and sexuality. Hoagie discovers Scott, now a zombie lord, and together they embark on a path of revenge, seeking out Karl, Kate, Megan, and Abita, equipped with acidic semen and other sordid weaponry to enact vengeance upon the family. Kate and Megan nearly reach Las Vegas before Megan, pregnant with Napoleon's child, goes into labor by the side of the road. After the unnatural birth of a deformed midget child, a flock of evil birds comes and sweeps the group away into the desert sun.
On the other side of the country, Abito has caught up with Lola in New Orleans. After defeating Will and slaughtering a group of children in Miami, the robot dog cop is not keeping a low profile. As Lola and her sister Camille research a powerful love potion to be used on Karl, Abito is reassigned to a new case involving diamond smuggling. Abito follows the sinister assassin Agent N across the public transit system of New Orleans to a house party, hoping to catch up and eliminate the thug before the illicit deal commences. But just as Abito springs into action, he runs into Will, who is bent on taking Abito out once and for all.
Who will win in the epic battle of robot dog cop vs. space warlock? What sinister force has kidnapped Megan and Kate? When will Lola and Camille finish their black magic potions? Where will Scott and Hoagie turn up next? Why is Abita the Queen of Mormonia? How will it all turn out?
Tune in every day for the continuing saga of Everybody Loves Abita.
Meanwhile, Hoagie, Scott's frat brother, kidnaps Kate and attempts to torture her with gay porn, until Megan comes to the rescue. She and Kate go on the lam in search for Karl, stopping in seedy motels and exploring each other's body and sexuality. Hoagie discovers Scott, now a zombie lord, and together they embark on a path of revenge, seeking out Karl, Kate, Megan, and Abita, equipped with acidic semen and other sordid weaponry to enact vengeance upon the family. Kate and Megan nearly reach Las Vegas before Megan, pregnant with Napoleon's child, goes into labor by the side of the road. After the unnatural birth of a deformed midget child, a flock of evil birds comes and sweeps the group away into the desert sun.
On the other side of the country, Abito has caught up with Lola in New Orleans. After defeating Will and slaughtering a group of children in Miami, the robot dog cop is not keeping a low profile. As Lola and her sister Camille research a powerful love potion to be used on Karl, Abito is reassigned to a new case involving diamond smuggling. Abito follows the sinister assassin Agent N across the public transit system of New Orleans to a house party, hoping to catch up and eliminate the thug before the illicit deal commences. But just as Abito springs into action, he runs into Will, who is bent on taking Abito out once and for all.
Who will win in the epic battle of robot dog cop vs. space warlock? What sinister force has kidnapped Megan and Kate? When will Lola and Camille finish their black magic potions? Where will Scott and Hoagie turn up next? Why is Abita the Queen of Mormonia? How will it all turn out?
Tune in every day for the continuing saga of Everybody Loves Abita.
Thursday, July 19, 2007
The Dinner Guest: Chapter 31: Abito and the House Show
I had been camped out across the street watching the jewelry shop for longer than I could remember. I found cover in an abandoned car and blended in with all the other forgotten cars along Airline Drive, a place that reminded me of the wreckage yards of Xanthar. The only difference was all life on Xanthar had been eliminated in the Seventh Great Neutron War and I was still bumming smokes to members of Rebirth Brass Band. This Earth music group must be larger than the Zanthian Orchestra, as incredible as that might sound.
I saw the chocolate faced man walk in the shop after smoking many cigarettes and drinking many beers on the side of the building. He looked out of place, even given the surroundings. When he walked out about ten minutes later with a briefcase, I knew he was the connection. If I followed this poor bastard and find the diamonds I could nail his Jew boss for dealing in the rocks. If this guy was selling conflict diamonds as The Lieutenant suspected, I wanted to take him down. When I was a green rookie on the force, they sent me out to a standard recon of Slagar. Turns out the planet had a lot more going on then anyone guessed. There were large diamond deposits underneath the surface and the Jews were mining it out with a vengeance. After I'd rescued that first tiny robot dog pup from the mine, I swore it was personal.
I guess everything's personal these days.
The man in the paint stained clothes began to take a baffling connection of bus routes and I tried to keep up, but he was more proficient at this game than I. He moved from ease stretching his single dollar farther than transportation should physically allow. I kept a distance back on my hoverbike and I don't think he saw me. Finally, he got off in what my maps labeled as the city's Uptown sector.
The mule moved down the street in a jagged pattern, perhaps trying to throw anyone tracking his movements. Or perhaps he was just really wasted. Either way, he turned a corner and vanished. I glanced around, but the only activity I could see was a house with a man standing out front. This could be the market for unloading the diamonds, I couldn't be sure. I would try to get in, hopefully I could talk my way past this guard at the front.
"It's five dollars, man," he told me as I got closer.
I took him in. His earth pants were very tight and made of a fabric I recognized as denim. They were "jeans" I surmised. His vision must be impaired because he wore glasses, although not the most aerodynamic I'd seen, as they were large and black rimmed.
"What's five dollars?" I asked him. I had to feel this out and play it cool. If he was the bouncer to an illicit diamond trading market, I would have to bring my A-game.
He made an exasperated sound.
"It's a show, man. Pay to see the band plus you can eat all the tofu you want."
I took it all in, but it really didn't help.
"Hey, did you see a black guy come in here a little while ago?"
He turned his nose up, literally.
"Black? What are you? Some kind of racist? Maybe you should go somewhere else, I bet there's a NASCAR race or something on TV," he said chuckling.
I put my hand on my blaster, but kept it holstered. I really wanted to blow his head off right there, but I refrained. Maybe I could find his weakness. My matrix did a quick assessment of his attire and identified him as an Earth sub-species known as "Hipster." I found the approach to exploit him.
"Listen, tell me what I want to know or I'll tell all your friends I saw you at Hot Topic last weekend," I threatened.
He broke. He looked at the door and then back again.
"Ok, I know the guy, he had a briefcase. I was afraid he'd steal something. I let him in a couple minutes ago," he said.
I looked at him. "That wasn't too tough, now was it?" I paused and glanced through the window on the side of the doorway. "Just what kind of show is this?"
The hipster seemed to regain his composure despite the threat. "You've probably never heard of them," he sniffed. "They're called Farewells in Brazil. It’s made up of a sitar, a trombone, an upright bass and a tin whistle.
He paused for a second.
"Think if Grunge Pharaoh joined with Chemical Cranberry in the rehearsal space of 3 a.m. Arrival while The Indian Trace Sessions sang backup. It's post-Emo new wave Skacore from L.A."
I remembered the time on Woozathon when my universal translator gave out. The native species had me in shackles. I seemed to be facing a similar situation. I did not understand a single word uttered.
"You've probably never heard of any of those bands. It's ironic."
I forced my way past this guardian to the six people gathered inside the hallway. I immediately felt uncomfortable. I heard utterances unspeakably annoying.
“I bleached my hair today, then decided I didn’t like it so I dyed it back.”
I stumbled.
“God, does anyone actually listen to CDs anymore? Don’t they realize vinyl is so much better?”
Another misstep.
“Everything is just so corporate .”
The walls were closing in. I was in hell - and there were hipsters there.
“I’m in a kickball league. That’s ironic.”
I stumbled again.
"This band, they cover an N’Sync song. That's ironic."
I turned on the skinny, tall guy who said that last thing and unloaded.
"That's not irony you son of a bitch. I think you're fishing for sarcasm. Irony is being a Greek king and having sex with your mother or buying a set of combs for your bald whore of a wife."
He stared at my blankly.
"Are you being ironic?"
By the Gods of Jupiter, I wanted to blow his head off with my blaster. But, I knew better. The Lieutenant would have my badge and McGruff wasn't around to take the fall.
Things couldn't get any worse. Then I heard that voice.
"Yo, space dawg! I'm back!"
I turned around and saw him, a head in a jar perched on a robot body. The metallic fingers held a blunt in one hand.
Oh shit. It was Will.
I saw the chocolate faced man walk in the shop after smoking many cigarettes and drinking many beers on the side of the building. He looked out of place, even given the surroundings. When he walked out about ten minutes later with a briefcase, I knew he was the connection. If I followed this poor bastard and find the diamonds I could nail his Jew boss for dealing in the rocks. If this guy was selling conflict diamonds as The Lieutenant suspected, I wanted to take him down. When I was a green rookie on the force, they sent me out to a standard recon of Slagar. Turns out the planet had a lot more going on then anyone guessed. There were large diamond deposits underneath the surface and the Jews were mining it out with a vengeance. After I'd rescued that first tiny robot dog pup from the mine, I swore it was personal.
I guess everything's personal these days.
The man in the paint stained clothes began to take a baffling connection of bus routes and I tried to keep up, but he was more proficient at this game than I. He moved from ease stretching his single dollar farther than transportation should physically allow. I kept a distance back on my hoverbike and I don't think he saw me. Finally, he got off in what my maps labeled as the city's Uptown sector.
The mule moved down the street in a jagged pattern, perhaps trying to throw anyone tracking his movements. Or perhaps he was just really wasted. Either way, he turned a corner and vanished. I glanced around, but the only activity I could see was a house with a man standing out front. This could be the market for unloading the diamonds, I couldn't be sure. I would try to get in, hopefully I could talk my way past this guard at the front.
"It's five dollars, man," he told me as I got closer.
I took him in. His earth pants were very tight and made of a fabric I recognized as denim. They were "jeans" I surmised. His vision must be impaired because he wore glasses, although not the most aerodynamic I'd seen, as they were large and black rimmed.
"What's five dollars?" I asked him. I had to feel this out and play it cool. If he was the bouncer to an illicit diamond trading market, I would have to bring my A-game.
He made an exasperated sound.
"It's a show, man. Pay to see the band plus you can eat all the tofu you want."
I took it all in, but it really didn't help.
"Hey, did you see a black guy come in here a little while ago?"
He turned his nose up, literally.
"Black? What are you? Some kind of racist? Maybe you should go somewhere else, I bet there's a NASCAR race or something on TV," he said chuckling.
I put my hand on my blaster, but kept it holstered. I really wanted to blow his head off right there, but I refrained. Maybe I could find his weakness. My matrix did a quick assessment of his attire and identified him as an Earth sub-species known as "Hipster." I found the approach to exploit him.
"Listen, tell me what I want to know or I'll tell all your friends I saw you at Hot Topic last weekend," I threatened.
He broke. He looked at the door and then back again.
"Ok, I know the guy, he had a briefcase. I was afraid he'd steal something. I let him in a couple minutes ago," he said.
I looked at him. "That wasn't too tough, now was it?" I paused and glanced through the window on the side of the doorway. "Just what kind of show is this?"
The hipster seemed to regain his composure despite the threat. "You've probably never heard of them," he sniffed. "They're called Farewells in Brazil. It’s made up of a sitar, a trombone, an upright bass and a tin whistle.
He paused for a second.
"Think if Grunge Pharaoh joined with Chemical Cranberry in the rehearsal space of 3 a.m. Arrival while The Indian Trace Sessions sang backup. It's post-Emo new wave Skacore from L.A."
I remembered the time on Woozathon when my universal translator gave out. The native species had me in shackles. I seemed to be facing a similar situation. I did not understand a single word uttered.
"You've probably never heard of any of those bands. It's ironic."
I forced my way past this guardian to the six people gathered inside the hallway. I immediately felt uncomfortable. I heard utterances unspeakably annoying.
“I bleached my hair today, then decided I didn’t like it so I dyed it back.”
I stumbled.
“God, does anyone actually listen to CDs anymore? Don’t they realize vinyl is so much better?”
Another misstep.
“Everything is just so corporate .”
The walls were closing in. I was in hell - and there were hipsters there.
“I’m in a kickball league. That’s ironic.”
I stumbled again.
"This band, they cover an N’Sync song. That's ironic."
I turned on the skinny, tall guy who said that last thing and unloaded.
"That's not irony you son of a bitch. I think you're fishing for sarcasm. Irony is being a Greek king and having sex with your mother or buying a set of combs for your bald whore of a wife."
He stared at my blankly.
"Are you being ironic?"
By the Gods of Jupiter, I wanted to blow his head off with my blaster. But, I knew better. The Lieutenant would have my badge and McGruff wasn't around to take the fall.
Things couldn't get any worse. Then I heard that voice.
"Yo, space dawg! I'm back!"
I turned around and saw him, a head in a jar perched on a robot body. The metallic fingers held a blunt in one hand.
Oh shit. It was Will.
Wednesday, July 18, 2007
The Dinner Guest - Chapter 30 : Road Trip pt. 3
Flagstaff, Cameron, Bitter Springs, Page.
Arizona is a big state and driving through it was harder than I thought. Kate and I had been enjoying ourselves as much as we could on this long trip. Karl wasn’t far away; I could sense his odor and I could smell that mangy mutt lover he’d found. The only thing keeping me from turning this jet car around and flying to Mexico with this redhead forever was the growing orb in my uterus.
Kate and I had been taking shifts driving and keeping the car under the speed limit. There was no need to draw the attention of authorities. Plus it gave me some time to think about my next move towards my growing desire for Kate. The moment we had in that shady motel was so wonderful. But then again, my uterus…
At some point between dusty rest stops on US highway 89, I felt a sharp pain come from in my belly. The pain came like three sharp stabs equally spaced apart, like someone tapping on a door.
“Ouch!” I blurted.
“What’s the matter?” Kate said turning her eyes from the road.
“My stomach. We’d better pull over. Something isn’t right”
Kate pulled the car off the highway at the next uninhabited exit. After a few miles of driving she found a dirt road, turned right then stopped. The front headlights went out and the front door was flung open.
“I’m coming around to help!” Kate yelled while shuffling around the front of the jet-car.
“It’s alright Kate. I was just startled out of sleep. I’m sure it’s nothing, really”, I said. I knew she would overreact to the situation.
“Honey, with you being pregnant and all, we need to stick together. Or at least, make sure your lady-parts are in order.” She opened the car door, letting a gust of wind blow hair across my face.
“You’re too kind”, I said. I had to admit to myself that I enjoyed getting the full treatment from her.
- - -
The next day I awoke in the back seat of the jet car. Kate was next to me and I had a burning sensation coming from my whisker biscuit. I looked into the front seat and there staring at me was a fully grown midget in an 18th century French military uniform. He had a three-pointed hat that sat atop his midget head, which was cocked slightly to the side.
What happened? Why was there a midget in my car? Why did I feel like I just dropped a seven-pound turd from my vagina? These were questions my older brother needed to know or he was going to surely be angered.
Kate was sleeping next to me with her head on my shoulder. Spittle had dripped from her lower lip into a pool between her milky white breasts. Seeing her in that helpless, dreamy state made my already burning crotch start to tingle. I hated to wake her from her beauty rest but I needed some answers. The midget in the front began to move.
“Whoa there little fellah. What’s your name?” I said in a semi-baby voice. He turned to Kate, then back to me, spying our position and working it through his plum sized brain. Kate began to stir as I asked another question.
“Would you be a sweetheart and hand me my phone? It’s right there”, I said as I pointed towards the dashboard.
The midget looked at my outstretched finger and followed it to my blackberry sitting on the dashboard. He leaned over to it and picked it up. Turning it over in tiny hands, he inspected its every surface.
“That’s it little guy. Now let’s have it”, I said as I stretched my arm out towards the devise.
His head whipped around to the hand in his face. The facial expressions he had were stunted by the lack of skin on his small skull. But in that instant, he went from curious to furious. Before I could retract my hand from the front seat, the midget had pulled a small sword from his waist and ran it through my palm.
“OH MY GOD!!!!” Kate screamed at the sight of blood. I turned to her horrified face and insisted that we exit the vehicle. I kicked out one of the windows and piled Kate and myself out before the midget could cause any harm to my loved one .
While standing on the dusty Arizona highway, I looked inside at my attacker. He began to pound upon the glass with every ounce of midget might. Kate wrapped her arms around me and held on for dear life.
As the blood from my impaled hand began to drip on the pavement, a swarm of blackness came over the bright summer sky. I looked up at what seemed to be a swarm of some kind. The swarm moved left and right high in the atmosphere. It moved closer with each left to right movement. The midget began to scream at birds fell like rain from above, swarming around our car. Thousands of beaks attacked the safety glass. The beating of so many wings began to blow dirt into my open wound. Then a crash of glass and the midget was air-lifted from the car. As he rose higher into the desert air he looked back upon us standing in the road.
Kate turned to me with weepy eyes then at my bleeding hand, sword still dangling from the wound. She began to cry and I began to wonder.
Did that midget just come from my vag?
Arizona is a big state and driving through it was harder than I thought. Kate and I had been enjoying ourselves as much as we could on this long trip. Karl wasn’t far away; I could sense his odor and I could smell that mangy mutt lover he’d found. The only thing keeping me from turning this jet car around and flying to Mexico with this redhead forever was the growing orb in my uterus.
Kate and I had been taking shifts driving and keeping the car under the speed limit. There was no need to draw the attention of authorities. Plus it gave me some time to think about my next move towards my growing desire for Kate. The moment we had in that shady motel was so wonderful. But then again, my uterus…
At some point between dusty rest stops on US highway 89, I felt a sharp pain come from in my belly. The pain came like three sharp stabs equally spaced apart, like someone tapping on a door.
“Ouch!” I blurted.
“What’s the matter?” Kate said turning her eyes from the road.
“My stomach. We’d better pull over. Something isn’t right”
Kate pulled the car off the highway at the next uninhabited exit. After a few miles of driving she found a dirt road, turned right then stopped. The front headlights went out and the front door was flung open.
“I’m coming around to help!” Kate yelled while shuffling around the front of the jet-car.
“It’s alright Kate. I was just startled out of sleep. I’m sure it’s nothing, really”, I said. I knew she would overreact to the situation.
“Honey, with you being pregnant and all, we need to stick together. Or at least, make sure your lady-parts are in order.” She opened the car door, letting a gust of wind blow hair across my face.
“You’re too kind”, I said. I had to admit to myself that I enjoyed getting the full treatment from her.
- - -
The next day I awoke in the back seat of the jet car. Kate was next to me and I had a burning sensation coming from my whisker biscuit. I looked into the front seat and there staring at me was a fully grown midget in an 18th century French military uniform. He had a three-pointed hat that sat atop his midget head, which was cocked slightly to the side.
What happened? Why was there a midget in my car? Why did I feel like I just dropped a seven-pound turd from my vagina? These were questions my older brother needed to know or he was going to surely be angered.
Kate was sleeping next to me with her head on my shoulder. Spittle had dripped from her lower lip into a pool between her milky white breasts. Seeing her in that helpless, dreamy state made my already burning crotch start to tingle. I hated to wake her from her beauty rest but I needed some answers. The midget in the front began to move.
“Whoa there little fellah. What’s your name?” I said in a semi-baby voice. He turned to Kate, then back to me, spying our position and working it through his plum sized brain. Kate began to stir as I asked another question.
“Would you be a sweetheart and hand me my phone? It’s right there”, I said as I pointed towards the dashboard.
The midget looked at my outstretched finger and followed it to my blackberry sitting on the dashboard. He leaned over to it and picked it up. Turning it over in tiny hands, he inspected its every surface.
“That’s it little guy. Now let’s have it”, I said as I stretched my arm out towards the devise.
His head whipped around to the hand in his face. The facial expressions he had were stunted by the lack of skin on his small skull. But in that instant, he went from curious to furious. Before I could retract my hand from the front seat, the midget had pulled a small sword from his waist and ran it through my palm.
“OH MY GOD!!!!” Kate screamed at the sight of blood. I turned to her horrified face and insisted that we exit the vehicle. I kicked out one of the windows and piled Kate and myself out before the midget could cause any harm to my loved one .
While standing on the dusty Arizona highway, I looked inside at my attacker. He began to pound upon the glass with every ounce of midget might. Kate wrapped her arms around me and held on for dear life.
As the blood from my impaled hand began to drip on the pavement, a swarm of blackness came over the bright summer sky. I looked up at what seemed to be a swarm of some kind. The swarm moved left and right high in the atmosphere. It moved closer with each left to right movement. The midget began to scream at birds fell like rain from above, swarming around our car. Thousands of beaks attacked the safety glass. The beating of so many wings began to blow dirt into my open wound. Then a crash of glass and the midget was air-lifted from the car. As he rose higher into the desert air he looked back upon us standing in the road.
Kate turned to me with weepy eyes then at my bleeding hand, sword still dangling from the wound. She began to cry and I began to wonder.
Did that midget just come from my vag?
Monday, July 16, 2007
The Dinner Guest- Chapter 29: Road Risible
“If any of say a word, I’ll gut you like a flounder.”
Shriss appeared more nervous than upset, but it was hard to tell. I’ve seen chain smokers before. Hell, I was one at age nine. But I’ve never anyone chain smoke three cigarettes at a time. I think my mom came close when she was pregnant with me, which explains why my dad called me Ashtray during my childhood. That and the cigars he would put out with my asscheeks.
There Shriss was, puffing away. I was directly behind her in the car, sitting next to my dog as we watched the smoke clouds billow up from her unmoving body, like a muffler with three pipes.
“They’re just cops. Why’re you so nervous?” I asked her, petting Abita as she cocked her head to the side and barked softly.
Shriss turned around abruptly, snarling at her three passengers. Through the smoke and ash of the cancer sticks, she mumbled, “They’re not cops. They’re Mormons. I don’t do well with these galactic assholes.”
The creature sitting next to Abita started snickering. Not a normal snicker like a stifled giggle. These guffaws were more like the moonshine cars, sputtering and popping, ready to explode from the toxic fumes infecting his engine. His bright, round eyes changed hues with each whirr and whiz, trolling the rainbow from puce to vermillion.
If I didn’t know any better, I’d say he was having an aneurism.
“Quiet down, they’re here.”
The cops tapped on the window with their nightsticks. They stepped away as the window rolled down, brandishing their sticks from their hips like violent dildoes, ready for puncturing the yeast infection of society. No wonder cops get off on power.
“How can I help you officers?” Shriss said in her most feminine voice possible, a low falsetto that would make James Earl Jones proud. “I was just on my way to Temple to be with my husband and his sixteen other wives.”
The cops looked at each other and grinned. “Ma’am, are you aware that polygamy in the great state of Utah is strictly forbidden. It’s punishable by death here. Now, I’m sure we can arrange some sort of ‘alternative’ penalty for you, pretty lady.” They snickered together, real snickers, scratching their bellies with their black, plastic members.
From the back of the car came a tiny voice, cracking amidst its own giggles. “Help me, (snort). She’s going to (giggle) make me marry a goat (snort).”
The cops and Shriss turned their attention to the monster sitting beside me. Sir Bill smiled back at them, his sharp, pointed teeth jutting out in an awkward grin.
“What the hell are you doing?” I whispered to him. I tried to nudge him with my elbow, but instead got Abita, who had been laying down with her head dipped down into the foot space. Sir Bill giggled even louder as Abita whined and brought her head up. The cops stared at our silly trio in the backseat. They shifted their focus from me to the dog to the lizard-like monster with a Mickey Mouse hat on. After a long pause, one of them pointed his nightstick at Bill.
“You’re a funny looking kid, you know that?” He spat on the ground, chewing his smokeless tobacco slowly. “You look almost like a lizard.”
The other officers nodded at him, one of them (the biggest one) moving around the car to get a better look. Peering into the window, the officer scrunched his face against the glass, mesmerized by the strange being before him. “He’s green!” he exclaimed, his breath fogging the window and his voice muffled, “and I think he’s a chupacabra. In fact, he is a chupacabra. They just put a hat on him to disguise him.”
With this statement, Sir Bill roared with laughter, shaking the car and the people outside of it. His red eyes filled with tears as he shook from side to side in mirth and glee, hitting his leg with the palm of his hand. Shriss took a swing at him, aiming for his head, but missed and hit Abita in her shoulder. Abita yowled and stood up straight.
The force from Bill’s laughter shook the cops as they moved, compelling them to hold their hats onto the head and stay low to the ground to keep balance. The car shook violently, upending itself and tilting in every direction, nearly capsizing onto its side. Still Bill laughed, holding his sides and flailing his arms. The noise drowned out all speech as it grew louder and more forceful. I saw Shriss yell at me, her mouth moving in silence against the din, the lips moving from a deep smile to a quick kiss. I stared at her quizzically, not able to decipher what she was saying. She repeated the same word over and over, SMILE KISS, SMILE KISS, SMILE KISS, pointing at the ground by Bill’s feet.
Outside the car, the cops had found their balance and drew their guns, aiming them directly at Bill and me. Shriss repeated her word, wrath in her face. I shrugged my shoulders at her, too stunned to move, my brain distracted by the sonic howls of laughter beside me. Shriss repeated the word one more time, slowly, emphasizing each syllable. SMILE……KISS….
Abita nodded and nuzzled beneath Bill’s feet. She grabbed a bottle of cough syrup and, with a twist of her head, hurled it into the gleefully gaping grin of Bill.
The laughter stopped as a giant sucking noise came from his side of the car. The shaking ceased and the cops gathered themselves. They ran to the car, opening the windows, ready to pull Shriss, Bill, and me from the car.
They stopped and stared at Abita. She returned their glare and nodded her head. The cops backed away, bowing their heads. After three steps they kneeled, genuflecting.
“What the hell?” Shriss looked at me, puzzled.
Again I shrugged my shoulders.
Bill sat there, silent, that same stupid expression on his face. He was lost in tangerine dreams.
Abita barked, a long yowl. The cops stood and bowed.
“We had no idea you were in the car. We will escort you to your palace, your majesty,” one cop said in a hallowed tone.
“What the hell is going on?” asked Shriss.
“Shut your mouth. You’re in the presence of Abita, Queen of Mormonia.”
Shriss appeared more nervous than upset, but it was hard to tell. I’ve seen chain smokers before. Hell, I was one at age nine. But I’ve never anyone chain smoke three cigarettes at a time. I think my mom came close when she was pregnant with me, which explains why my dad called me Ashtray during my childhood. That and the cigars he would put out with my asscheeks.
There Shriss was, puffing away. I was directly behind her in the car, sitting next to my dog as we watched the smoke clouds billow up from her unmoving body, like a muffler with three pipes.
“They’re just cops. Why’re you so nervous?” I asked her, petting Abita as she cocked her head to the side and barked softly.
Shriss turned around abruptly, snarling at her three passengers. Through the smoke and ash of the cancer sticks, she mumbled, “They’re not cops. They’re Mormons. I don’t do well with these galactic assholes.”
The creature sitting next to Abita started snickering. Not a normal snicker like a stifled giggle. These guffaws were more like the moonshine cars, sputtering and popping, ready to explode from the toxic fumes infecting his engine. His bright, round eyes changed hues with each whirr and whiz, trolling the rainbow from puce to vermillion.
If I didn’t know any better, I’d say he was having an aneurism.
“Quiet down, they’re here.”
The cops tapped on the window with their nightsticks. They stepped away as the window rolled down, brandishing their sticks from their hips like violent dildoes, ready for puncturing the yeast infection of society. No wonder cops get off on power.
“How can I help you officers?” Shriss said in her most feminine voice possible, a low falsetto that would make James Earl Jones proud. “I was just on my way to Temple to be with my husband and his sixteen other wives.”
The cops looked at each other and grinned. “Ma’am, are you aware that polygamy in the great state of Utah is strictly forbidden. It’s punishable by death here. Now, I’m sure we can arrange some sort of ‘alternative’ penalty for you, pretty lady.” They snickered together, real snickers, scratching their bellies with their black, plastic members.
From the back of the car came a tiny voice, cracking amidst its own giggles. “Help me, (snort). She’s going to (giggle) make me marry a goat (snort).”
The cops and Shriss turned their attention to the monster sitting beside me. Sir Bill smiled back at them, his sharp, pointed teeth jutting out in an awkward grin.
“What the hell are you doing?” I whispered to him. I tried to nudge him with my elbow, but instead got Abita, who had been laying down with her head dipped down into the foot space. Sir Bill giggled even louder as Abita whined and brought her head up. The cops stared at our silly trio in the backseat. They shifted their focus from me to the dog to the lizard-like monster with a Mickey Mouse hat on. After a long pause, one of them pointed his nightstick at Bill.
“You’re a funny looking kid, you know that?” He spat on the ground, chewing his smokeless tobacco slowly. “You look almost like a lizard.”
The other officers nodded at him, one of them (the biggest one) moving around the car to get a better look. Peering into the window, the officer scrunched his face against the glass, mesmerized by the strange being before him. “He’s green!” he exclaimed, his breath fogging the window and his voice muffled, “and I think he’s a chupacabra. In fact, he is a chupacabra. They just put a hat on him to disguise him.”
With this statement, Sir Bill roared with laughter, shaking the car and the people outside of it. His red eyes filled with tears as he shook from side to side in mirth and glee, hitting his leg with the palm of his hand. Shriss took a swing at him, aiming for his head, but missed and hit Abita in her shoulder. Abita yowled and stood up straight.
The force from Bill’s laughter shook the cops as they moved, compelling them to hold their hats onto the head and stay low to the ground to keep balance. The car shook violently, upending itself and tilting in every direction, nearly capsizing onto its side. Still Bill laughed, holding his sides and flailing his arms. The noise drowned out all speech as it grew louder and more forceful. I saw Shriss yell at me, her mouth moving in silence against the din, the lips moving from a deep smile to a quick kiss. I stared at her quizzically, not able to decipher what she was saying. She repeated the same word over and over, SMILE KISS, SMILE KISS, SMILE KISS, pointing at the ground by Bill’s feet.
Outside the car, the cops had found their balance and drew their guns, aiming them directly at Bill and me. Shriss repeated her word, wrath in her face. I shrugged my shoulders at her, too stunned to move, my brain distracted by the sonic howls of laughter beside me. Shriss repeated the word one more time, slowly, emphasizing each syllable. SMILE……KISS….
Abita nodded and nuzzled beneath Bill’s feet. She grabbed a bottle of cough syrup and, with a twist of her head, hurled it into the gleefully gaping grin of Bill.
The laughter stopped as a giant sucking noise came from his side of the car. The shaking ceased and the cops gathered themselves. They ran to the car, opening the windows, ready to pull Shriss, Bill, and me from the car.
They stopped and stared at Abita. She returned their glare and nodded her head. The cops backed away, bowing their heads. After three steps they kneeled, genuflecting.
“What the hell?” Shriss looked at me, puzzled.
Again I shrugged my shoulders.
Bill sat there, silent, that same stupid expression on his face. He was lost in tangerine dreams.
Abita barked, a long yowl. The cops stood and bowed.
“We had no idea you were in the car. We will escort you to your palace, your majesty,” one cop said in a hallowed tone.
“What the hell is going on?” asked Shriss.
“Shut your mouth. You’re in the presence of Abita, Queen of Mormonia.”
Monday, July 9, 2007
The Dinner Guest - Chapter 28: The Assassin's Story
Inhale that sweet stuff, I thought to myself as I took a long drag off my Doral. The flame was getting dangerously close to my filter, but there was plenty left. I snuffed it out on the side of the jewelry shop and slipped it into my pocket for later. I took a likewise final swig of my Natty Light tallboy and hid it behind a trash can. There were a couple drops worth saving and every little bit helps me keep the buzz.
It all helped with the pain. Unofficially, I painted my bosses' slum land tax writeoffs. Even more unofficially, I was a contract killer with a conscience on retainer for a sociopath.
My name is N..., well, if I told you that, I'd have to kill you, too.
You can call me Agent N.
I let out a long cough and walked into the building. It was your standard crappy jewelry shop, specializing in moving family heirlooms from jonesing meth heads. A couple dollars would give them enough for a hit and they'd be happy. Grandma back at home would cry when she found her wedding ring missing, but not everyone wins. It didn't bother my boss, as long as one thing happened.
The Jew got his cut.
I walked past the displays and the tiny men with yamikas standing behind them. My paint stained clothes stood out like a laugh track on Schindler's List, but they knew who I was. I sauntered to the back where a large Israeli was guarding a door.
"Yo, the boss man wants to see me, whitey," I attempted to give him a handshake, but he was unfamiliar with my Negro greetings. He tried to slap my pound and then switched to the pound when I went back to the slap.
"Sorry..." he muttered. It was sad, this large, strapping, imposing figure was tripped up by his heritage.
"It all gravy, dawg. Shit, if we were all black there wouldn't be enough white women to go around." I laughed at my own joke. "Man, you want me to wash your car?"
He declined and threw the door open. I told him I was really good at it, but he was unconvinced. I pulled my rag out from my back pocket, but that didn't sway him.
"The boss is waiting, you better go back there," he told me.
I could take a hint. I told him maybe next time and he said maybe. I left him at the door and went inside. The door shut behind me with a loud bang. There was a hallway in front of me with another door at the far end. Windows lined the hallway my right side and I looked in briefly as I passed.
Rows upon rows of tables stretched out with dozens of little Asian children chained to seats. They shaped Matzah balls in their tiny yellow hands under the watchful eye of a Jewish man pacing among them. I didn't know this one's name, but he was imposing. His long white beard stretched down his chest, a contrast to his black clothing.
As I walked by, he grabbed an Asian by the hair.
"This Matzah ball isn't kosher enough! What do you think we're making here? Eggrolls?"
He pulled out his whip and gave him several sturdy lashes. He made eye contact with me and only smiled. I was more than happy to make it to the door.
I opened it slowly and saw The Jew was at work. He had a guy tied down on a table in the middle of the room. There was one bright light hanging straight down overhead.
"So, I'll ask you again, what did you tell the cops?" he said as he walked around the table. The guy didn't look in good shape. They had been at this a while.
"Boss, I swear, I didn't tell them anything!" he screamed.
The Jew laughed a little.
"If I had no problem killing Jesus, I won't think twice about killing you. Tile his genitals!"
He snapped his fingers and another jew stepped out from the shadows with a large piece of marble tile. The man started screaming.
The Jew noticed me and gestured me to follow him. We left the man screaming and entered an office off the side.
I'd been in there many times before, but you never get used to seeing so many skulls. They're arranged all around the place, a morbid ambiance even by my standards as a professional killer.
He sat down behind his desk and offered me the seat across from him.
"My sun-blackened friend, how are you?" he kicked his feet up on the desk.
"Boss, I'm good, I'm good," I answered.
"Hard at work painting?" he asked.
We both looked at each other and laughed pretty long. Another coughing spell hit me. When I regained myself, I asked him what was going on.
"My diamond operation has caught the attention of the cops, my sources tell me," he said. "This one out here wasn't any use, but I have information."
"What do you need me to do?"
"I need you to take him out," he slid a picture across the desk at me.
It looked like a dog, but also like a robot.
"His name's Abito, he's an intergalatic robot dog cop and he's poking around."
"Boss, I don't know about killing no cop," I said uneasily.
"I'm willing to offer more compensation. You'll never have to worry about bus fare again, and of course the other standard rate."
He pulled out a briefcase and flipped it open. It was full of packs of Doral. I had a bad feeling, but I couldn't resist.
"You have a deal."
It all helped with the pain. Unofficially, I painted my bosses' slum land tax writeoffs. Even more unofficially, I was a contract killer with a conscience on retainer for a sociopath.
My name is N..., well, if I told you that, I'd have to kill you, too.
You can call me Agent N.
I let out a long cough and walked into the building. It was your standard crappy jewelry shop, specializing in moving family heirlooms from jonesing meth heads. A couple dollars would give them enough for a hit and they'd be happy. Grandma back at home would cry when she found her wedding ring missing, but not everyone wins. It didn't bother my boss, as long as one thing happened.
The Jew got his cut.
I walked past the displays and the tiny men with yamikas standing behind them. My paint stained clothes stood out like a laugh track on Schindler's List, but they knew who I was. I sauntered to the back where a large Israeli was guarding a door.
"Yo, the boss man wants to see me, whitey," I attempted to give him a handshake, but he was unfamiliar with my Negro greetings. He tried to slap my pound and then switched to the pound when I went back to the slap.
"Sorry..." he muttered. It was sad, this large, strapping, imposing figure was tripped up by his heritage.
"It all gravy, dawg. Shit, if we were all black there wouldn't be enough white women to go around." I laughed at my own joke. "Man, you want me to wash your car?"
He declined and threw the door open. I told him I was really good at it, but he was unconvinced. I pulled my rag out from my back pocket, but that didn't sway him.
"The boss is waiting, you better go back there," he told me.
I could take a hint. I told him maybe next time and he said maybe. I left him at the door and went inside. The door shut behind me with a loud bang. There was a hallway in front of me with another door at the far end. Windows lined the hallway my right side and I looked in briefly as I passed.
Rows upon rows of tables stretched out with dozens of little Asian children chained to seats. They shaped Matzah balls in their tiny yellow hands under the watchful eye of a Jewish man pacing among them. I didn't know this one's name, but he was imposing. His long white beard stretched down his chest, a contrast to his black clothing.
As I walked by, he grabbed an Asian by the hair.
"This Matzah ball isn't kosher enough! What do you think we're making here? Eggrolls?"
He pulled out his whip and gave him several sturdy lashes. He made eye contact with me and only smiled. I was more than happy to make it to the door.
I opened it slowly and saw The Jew was at work. He had a guy tied down on a table in the middle of the room. There was one bright light hanging straight down overhead.
"So, I'll ask you again, what did you tell the cops?" he said as he walked around the table. The guy didn't look in good shape. They had been at this a while.
"Boss, I swear, I didn't tell them anything!" he screamed.
The Jew laughed a little.
"If I had no problem killing Jesus, I won't think twice about killing you. Tile his genitals!"
He snapped his fingers and another jew stepped out from the shadows with a large piece of marble tile. The man started screaming.
The Jew noticed me and gestured me to follow him. We left the man screaming and entered an office off the side.
I'd been in there many times before, but you never get used to seeing so many skulls. They're arranged all around the place, a morbid ambiance even by my standards as a professional killer.
He sat down behind his desk and offered me the seat across from him.
"My sun-blackened friend, how are you?" he kicked his feet up on the desk.
"Boss, I'm good, I'm good," I answered.
"Hard at work painting?" he asked.
We both looked at each other and laughed pretty long. Another coughing spell hit me. When I regained myself, I asked him what was going on.
"My diamond operation has caught the attention of the cops, my sources tell me," he said. "This one out here wasn't any use, but I have information."
"What do you need me to do?"
"I need you to take him out," he slid a picture across the desk at me.
It looked like a dog, but also like a robot.
"His name's Abito, he's an intergalatic robot dog cop and he's poking around."
"Boss, I don't know about killing no cop," I said uneasily.
"I'm willing to offer more compensation. You'll never have to worry about bus fare again, and of course the other standard rate."
He pulled out a briefcase and flipped it open. It was full of packs of Doral. I had a bad feeling, but I couldn't resist.
"You have a deal."
Saturday, July 7, 2007
The Dinner Guest - Chapter 27: Guess Who?
Karl and Kate [everybodylovesabita@gmail.com]
Scott From PR [fattybonghits420@hotmail.com]
Sat, Jul 7, 2007 at 12:43 PM
To: everybodylovesabita@gmail.com
K8,
Hey babe, Scottster here. Guess what? Your fucking dog killed me and your husband buried me under a fountain. That gringo husband of yours better slow his roll before I back my size twelve up his culo.
What happened to tossin back a few frost-brewed slices of heaven and playing hide the weasel? Did you think I wasn’t gonna lay that sweet ass of yours? Come on, you were diggin the shit out of my new body spray, I could tell.
But whatevs…
So heres the plan my red-headed puta barata. I came back from the dead the Zombie Pimp of Zaezeron, to destroy the one they call the Mutt Mangler with my boner. The devil is a brown haired canine and I’m the white hot warrior out to destroy this inter-species orgy of fur. You like that? Huh?!? You like THAT?!?!
Didn’t think so
Your Scotty is back with special powers and a few surprises in his pants. I also gotz my secret weapon. Your lesbian girlfriend got the best of Hoagie, but he won’t be denied again. Just wait until I’ve packed him good, you’ll see.
I want you to know I ain’t done with you. We have some business to take care of and my wank is itchy for some female stank. Don’t mind the sores on my crank, it’s part of being undead. The people of earth have no idea what it’s capable of and the powers from within my crotch. So get your pussy cream ready cuz daddy’s back in town.
Scotty Out!
Scott From PR [fattybonghits420@hotmail.com]
Sat, Jul 7, 2007 at 12:43 PM
To: everybodylovesabita@gmail.com
K8,
Hey babe, Scottster here. Guess what? Your fucking dog killed me and your husband buried me under a fountain. That gringo husband of yours better slow his roll before I back my size twelve up his culo.
What happened to tossin back a few frost-brewed slices of heaven and playing hide the weasel? Did you think I wasn’t gonna lay that sweet ass of yours? Come on, you were diggin the shit out of my new body spray, I could tell.
But whatevs…
So heres the plan my red-headed puta barata. I came back from the dead the Zombie Pimp of Zaezeron, to destroy the one they call the Mutt Mangler with my boner. The devil is a brown haired canine and I’m the white hot warrior out to destroy this inter-species orgy of fur. You like that? Huh?!? You like THAT?!?!
Didn’t think so
Your Scotty is back with special powers and a few surprises in his pants. I also gotz my secret weapon. Your lesbian girlfriend got the best of Hoagie, but he won’t be denied again. Just wait until I’ve packed him good, you’ll see.
I want you to know I ain’t done with you. We have some business to take care of and my wank is itchy for some female stank. Don’t mind the sores on my crank, it’s part of being undead. The people of earth have no idea what it’s capable of and the powers from within my crotch. So get your pussy cream ready cuz daddy’s back in town.
Scotty Out!
Friday, July 6, 2007
The Dinner Guest- Chapter 26: On the Road Again
We had been on the road for three hours when everyone woke from the sleeping charm I put on the group began to wane. I didn’t plan on bringing Sir Bill along, but a good showgirl must learn to improvise, especially when in the company of a group of perverts.
The dog tried to attack me. Big mistake. Every creature in the known universe knows you don’t lay a hand on the strippers, especially in the Champagne Room of Life. Luckily, my natural Viking abilities and universal travels have taught me a thing or two to defend myself. I may have been a woman for these past few years, but I’m not a damsel in distress.
Utah loomed in the horizon as we barreled along I-15, heading north into the dirty heart of America. Mormonia, as the galactic travel guides described this land. I was not welcome here and had to lay low for fear of being caught by the Royal Guard of the Temple. I’ve had my brush-ups with those pajama wearing fruitcakes before, particularly during my adventures in stealing the Radio of Time.
My biggest problem was the trio waking up in the back. A young man, his oddly devoted dog, and a Mexican monster known for sucking the blood out of goats. How the hell was I going to lay low with these three?
“Sir Bill, wake up! Put on this hat.” I reached into my glove compartment and brought out a beat up, Mickey Mouse visor, a chunk taken out of the bill. Damn it, Goofy. He couldn’t wait until I dropped him off at that homeless shelter in Kansas City.
“Oh man, this is totally against my style,” chirped Bill, frowning as he grabbed the visor.
“Just put the goddamn thing on. It’ll make you look more normal, you half-bred pile of crap.”
Karl giggled at the insult, nudging Abita with his elbow. The dog licked his face in response, and I could have sworn I saw the traces of a smile creep across her snout.
“I’m hungry,” Sir Bill groaned, holding his stomach. “Can we stop for some peyote?”
“Goddamnit, you stupid stoner, we can’t just stop and look for peyote. Here, take some of this.” I reached into my purse and threw a bottle of Robitussin at his head. He bit into the plastic with sharp incisors, titling his head back and gulping down the cherry-flavored goodness. His red eyes burned brightly, a cocked grin on his face, drool trickling down his chin. Karl and Abita stared at him as he mumbled to himself for a few minutes. Karl appeared interested. I smiled and threw him a bottle as well.
“Here, take some medicine. It’ll at least give you something to do besides stare at a mythical beast for the next nine hours.”
Karl gulped half of his bottle, offering the other half to the dog, who lapped it up, licking the bottle’s mouth and Karl’s mouth, trying to get the last few drops. Karl’s eyes dilated, his mouth adopting a similar, stupid grin. Abita licked his open smile, slurping his teeth and gums, brushing his molars with her fur, a canine toothbrush with doggy Crest to make it all better. Soon she laid her head in his lap, dreaming fervent follies and tripping balls near his balls. It was quite the scene, three half-brained refugees stuck in a cough syrup fantasyland.
I spent this quiet time concentrating on the road, pondering our next move as we crossed the Utah-Arizona border. I had to drive the speed limit, obey all traffic laws, and look as inconspicuous as possible if I wanted to make it out of the state alive. Damnitall, I hate driving slow. At this rate, we’d make it Pueblo by late this evening, which was about nine hours too long for my tastes. Patience was never one of my many virtues. I wish I could just teleport there and be done with it, but I can’t let my superpower be known to anybody. Just another part of the curse of being me.
Captain Rage, time for me to cash in some of those favors you owe me. Robert Strange, you too. I’m going to need all the help I can get from those two.
I drove on in silence for a few more hours. The three slumbering wonders remained quiet in the back seat the entire time, conked out in a hallucinatory frenzy, peaceful lambs induced by psychedelics to explore the hidden fossils of their mind’s twelve eyes.
They awoke all at once, sweating in the arid heat, their eyes dazed, confused, and panic-stricken.
“I’m hungry.”
“Where are we?”
The dog barked nonsense, yips and yowls of incomplete thoughts. She started roaming in circles, jumping on and off the other passengers, wagging her tail, and whimpering in fear. Sir Bill slapped at the dog, missing but connecting with Karl’s shoulder. Karl retaliated by punching Sir Bill in his reptilian face. Abita bit at the seat cushion, tearing away a large chunk of vinyl.
“Shriss, he’s hitting me!” I heard a whine come from behind me. “Make him stop!”
“Shriss, Abita is eating your car. She’s drooling all over the place. It’s gross,” erupted from the other side.
“Shriss, can we pull over? I think this is where the Hopi Indians used to camp. I need to find their spiritual markings. I’ve read about them. C’mon, this is important stuff!” cried Sir Bill.
“Goddamnit, we are not visiting your hippie sites. The Hopi did not discover the secret to astrophysics, there is no spiritual enlightenment to gain from the Museum of Dishwashers, and Dadaism is garbage. Sit down and shut up,” I screamed, turning my head to yell directly at their faces. Sir Bill grimaced, emotionally hurt and dejected, folding his arms into his chest. Karl and Abita looked away, avoiding my glare. I stared them down for a few more moments. When I turned back around, I sped a little faster, trying to cover some ground and end this trip.
It was only hours later that I realized I had missed my turn to Pueblo.
The dog tried to attack me. Big mistake. Every creature in the known universe knows you don’t lay a hand on the strippers, especially in the Champagne Room of Life. Luckily, my natural Viking abilities and universal travels have taught me a thing or two to defend myself. I may have been a woman for these past few years, but I’m not a damsel in distress.
Utah loomed in the horizon as we barreled along I-15, heading north into the dirty heart of America. Mormonia, as the galactic travel guides described this land. I was not welcome here and had to lay low for fear of being caught by the Royal Guard of the Temple. I’ve had my brush-ups with those pajama wearing fruitcakes before, particularly during my adventures in stealing the Radio of Time.
My biggest problem was the trio waking up in the back. A young man, his oddly devoted dog, and a Mexican monster known for sucking the blood out of goats. How the hell was I going to lay low with these three?
“Sir Bill, wake up! Put on this hat.” I reached into my glove compartment and brought out a beat up, Mickey Mouse visor, a chunk taken out of the bill. Damn it, Goofy. He couldn’t wait until I dropped him off at that homeless shelter in Kansas City.
“Oh man, this is totally against my style,” chirped Bill, frowning as he grabbed the visor.
“Just put the goddamn thing on. It’ll make you look more normal, you half-bred pile of crap.”
Karl giggled at the insult, nudging Abita with his elbow. The dog licked his face in response, and I could have sworn I saw the traces of a smile creep across her snout.
“I’m hungry,” Sir Bill groaned, holding his stomach. “Can we stop for some peyote?”
“Goddamnit, you stupid stoner, we can’t just stop and look for peyote. Here, take some of this.” I reached into my purse and threw a bottle of Robitussin at his head. He bit into the plastic with sharp incisors, titling his head back and gulping down the cherry-flavored goodness. His red eyes burned brightly, a cocked grin on his face, drool trickling down his chin. Karl and Abita stared at him as he mumbled to himself for a few minutes. Karl appeared interested. I smiled and threw him a bottle as well.
“Here, take some medicine. It’ll at least give you something to do besides stare at a mythical beast for the next nine hours.”
Karl gulped half of his bottle, offering the other half to the dog, who lapped it up, licking the bottle’s mouth and Karl’s mouth, trying to get the last few drops. Karl’s eyes dilated, his mouth adopting a similar, stupid grin. Abita licked his open smile, slurping his teeth and gums, brushing his molars with her fur, a canine toothbrush with doggy Crest to make it all better. Soon she laid her head in his lap, dreaming fervent follies and tripping balls near his balls. It was quite the scene, three half-brained refugees stuck in a cough syrup fantasyland.
I spent this quiet time concentrating on the road, pondering our next move as we crossed the Utah-Arizona border. I had to drive the speed limit, obey all traffic laws, and look as inconspicuous as possible if I wanted to make it out of the state alive. Damnitall, I hate driving slow. At this rate, we’d make it Pueblo by late this evening, which was about nine hours too long for my tastes. Patience was never one of my many virtues. I wish I could just teleport there and be done with it, but I can’t let my superpower be known to anybody. Just another part of the curse of being me.
Captain Rage, time for me to cash in some of those favors you owe me. Robert Strange, you too. I’m going to need all the help I can get from those two.
I drove on in silence for a few more hours. The three slumbering wonders remained quiet in the back seat the entire time, conked out in a hallucinatory frenzy, peaceful lambs induced by psychedelics to explore the hidden fossils of their mind’s twelve eyes.
They awoke all at once, sweating in the arid heat, their eyes dazed, confused, and panic-stricken.
“I’m hungry.”
“Where are we?”
The dog barked nonsense, yips and yowls of incomplete thoughts. She started roaming in circles, jumping on and off the other passengers, wagging her tail, and whimpering in fear. Sir Bill slapped at the dog, missing but connecting with Karl’s shoulder. Karl retaliated by punching Sir Bill in his reptilian face. Abita bit at the seat cushion, tearing away a large chunk of vinyl.
“Shriss, he’s hitting me!” I heard a whine come from behind me. “Make him stop!”
“Shriss, Abita is eating your car. She’s drooling all over the place. It’s gross,” erupted from the other side.
“Shriss, can we pull over? I think this is where the Hopi Indians used to camp. I need to find their spiritual markings. I’ve read about them. C’mon, this is important stuff!” cried Sir Bill.
“Goddamnit, we are not visiting your hippie sites. The Hopi did not discover the secret to astrophysics, there is no spiritual enlightenment to gain from the Museum of Dishwashers, and Dadaism is garbage. Sit down and shut up,” I screamed, turning my head to yell directly at their faces. Sir Bill grimaced, emotionally hurt and dejected, folding his arms into his chest. Karl and Abita looked away, avoiding my glare. I stared them down for a few more moments. When I turned back around, I sped a little faster, trying to cover some ground and end this trip.
It was only hours later that I realized I had missed my turn to Pueblo.
Wednesday, July 4, 2007
The Dinner Guest - Chapter 25: Abito in "On a Leash"
I thought Miami was fucked up, but it turns out that place has nothing on New Orleans.
It was Day 2 of my stakeout on the house Lola went into and so far I'd seen my share of weird shit.
Even though I was hiding in the bushes, I still ended up bumming two packs worth of smokes to about 40 dudes who said they were in something called Rebirth Brass Band. And from the house, a naked retard dude came crashing into my hiding spot.
"Assitez-moi!" he groaned. He looked sad and helpless, but he was jeopardizing my position.
"Get out of here, you freak," I said, giving him a kick.
He started running down the street and the house door flew open. Standing there was a mustached man holding a taser and a butterfly net.
"Ou est vous, my slow little man?" he called out down the street.
It didn't take him long to round up the retard and march him back inside.
"Come back and you can look at my comics," he told the guy. "You like Tin Tin?"
Near the end of the second day, my wrist communicator started ringing. Uh oh, this was never good.
I flipped open the screen and saw the face of the Lieutenant back at the station staring at me.
"Where the hell are you, Abito? If I had a Tyberian nickel for every time you went off the radar, I wouldn't need to wait for my shitty pension."
The boss didn't look happy, but what else was new. In his defense, it was sometimes tough to tell. Robot pandas just look sad sometimes.
"What the hell happened in Miami? I'm getting reports pouring in of dead children."
Damn. I guess it was too much to hope he'd never hear of that.
"It was that bastard McGruff," I lied. "The psycho when crazy and did some damage before I took him down."
"It's a mess, Abito, and I'm getting tired of cleaning those up. Where the hell are you now?"
"L.T., I'm hot on the trail of the space witch. It's taken me to an Earth settlement called New Orleans."
The giant panda laughed.
"Well, I'll be fucked. For a crappy-ass detective sometimes you get lucky. I was calling to reassign you to a new case in that city."
I was shocked. After everything that happened, I was getting yanked.
"Boss, I'm still trying to find Karl. This is the only lead I got and you know this is personal. If you take this from me now, you might as well take my badge."
"Quit with the dramatics, you asshole. I get enough of that from my ex-wife. There's a bigger problem you need to deal with first."
I sighed and asked him what my orders were.
"We're getting tips about an intergalactic diamond smuggling operation and the ringleader is in New Orleans. Take him down."
"What's his name?" I asked the boss.
"I'm sending over coordinates to his jewelry shop," he paused. "You may have heard of him. He's known simply as The Jew."
I did know the name. And I knew things were going to get messy again.
It was Day 2 of my stakeout on the house Lola went into and so far I'd seen my share of weird shit.
Even though I was hiding in the bushes, I still ended up bumming two packs worth of smokes to about 40 dudes who said they were in something called Rebirth Brass Band. And from the house, a naked retard dude came crashing into my hiding spot.
"Assitez-moi!" he groaned. He looked sad and helpless, but he was jeopardizing my position.
"Get out of here, you freak," I said, giving him a kick.
He started running down the street and the house door flew open. Standing there was a mustached man holding a taser and a butterfly net.
"Ou est vous, my slow little man?" he called out down the street.
It didn't take him long to round up the retard and march him back inside.
"Come back and you can look at my comics," he told the guy. "You like Tin Tin?"
Near the end of the second day, my wrist communicator started ringing. Uh oh, this was never good.
I flipped open the screen and saw the face of the Lieutenant back at the station staring at me.
"Where the hell are you, Abito? If I had a Tyberian nickel for every time you went off the radar, I wouldn't need to wait for my shitty pension."
The boss didn't look happy, but what else was new. In his defense, it was sometimes tough to tell. Robot pandas just look sad sometimes.
"What the hell happened in Miami? I'm getting reports pouring in of dead children."
Damn. I guess it was too much to hope he'd never hear of that.
"It was that bastard McGruff," I lied. "The psycho when crazy and did some damage before I took him down."
"It's a mess, Abito, and I'm getting tired of cleaning those up. Where the hell are you now?"
"L.T., I'm hot on the trail of the space witch. It's taken me to an Earth settlement called New Orleans."
The giant panda laughed.
"Well, I'll be fucked. For a crappy-ass detective sometimes you get lucky. I was calling to reassign you to a new case in that city."
I was shocked. After everything that happened, I was getting yanked.
"Boss, I'm still trying to find Karl. This is the only lead I got and you know this is personal. If you take this from me now, you might as well take my badge."
"Quit with the dramatics, you asshole. I get enough of that from my ex-wife. There's a bigger problem you need to deal with first."
I sighed and asked him what my orders were.
"We're getting tips about an intergalactic diamond smuggling operation and the ringleader is in New Orleans. Take him down."
"What's his name?" I asked the boss.
"I'm sending over coordinates to his jewelry shop," he paused. "You may have heard of him. He's known simply as The Jew."
I did know the name. And I knew things were going to get messy again.
Tuesday, July 3, 2007
The Dinner Guest - Chapter 24 : Girl Talk
I love road trips to see the countryside. The American landscape can be so pretty; i love pretty. Karl always said that if Jesus were born in America, he’d surely kick every minority’s ass out of the country. He sure loves his country. I missed Karl, though traveling around with the next best thing wasn’t bad.
Megan said we should stick to back roads, and away from state highways. Keeping a low profile is the only way to get to Karl safely. She had been making good time to catch us up to him, but it was still going to take awhile. I missed that cuddly man whose virginity I stole; I’ll always treasure it.
Somewhere between Phoenix and Flagstaff we stopped and rested for an afternoon. Megan found a little motel called Stumble Inn for us to rest out road-weary bodies.
“Do you like bathes? I just love getting all sudsy,” I said as we entered room 6 together.
“I’ll go check if there’s a tub. Make yourself comfortable. You’ll need your energy for later” she said walking towards the back of the room to the restroom. As she said those words, she turned her head and smiled.
I sat down on the bed and laid my head back. Just then I heard water running in the bathroom; there must be a bath.
“Kate! I need to talk to you in here,” she said over the sound of the running water. Her voice of tone had suddenly changed from sensual to somber. I entered the bathroom to see Megan shirtless sitting next to the tub with her head in her hands.
“Is everything alright honey?” I said. She looked pale and sad.
“I need to tell you something because it makes me scared,” she said.
“Oh sweetheart! What’s the matter?” I said as I hurried over and put an arm around her tanned body.
“Well, I’ve been having nightmares about a midgets and I don’t know why. These dreams are full of violence and revolution. I’m scared,” she said clinching me tighter.
“Oh honey, it’s just bad dreams. You’re here with your sister now; sisters for life” I said stroking the top of her head. She turned towards me with teary eyes.
“Big sis, there’s something else” she said, quickly freeing her grip on me and turning away. “I think I’m pregnant because I haven’t bled from my cooch in well over a month.”
I was shocked. How could this pure soul of mercy have been infected with the seed of life? This was going to make Karl very upset.
“Whose baby is it?” I asked moving closer and placing my palm on her skin.
I’d always been impressed by Megan’s beauty, so being so close to her then made me realize we had totally bonded. Plus, I just love pretty things. Pretty landscape. Pretty people. Pretty flowers. Pretty hair. Pretty everything.
The steam from the tub was condensing into little droplets of moisture on her back. Heat from the hot water made wearing clothes unbearable. I stood up, grabbed the bottom of the dress I had been wearing and in one motion flung it over my head and into the corner. As I began to sweat, the bathtub seemed more and more appealing.
Megan turned around and froze. I supposed she had just realized we were both naked in a sauna. Anyone would be shocked at first. Right?
“Oh Kate, I’m so glad you are here. You’ve no idea what it is like living away from home and the ones I love.” Megan leaned toward me and wrapped her long arms around my shoulders. Our breasts squished together and slid around from the moisture that had collected on them. We held each other until the bath water went cold again.
Megan said we should stick to back roads, and away from state highways. Keeping a low profile is the only way to get to Karl safely. She had been making good time to catch us up to him, but it was still going to take awhile. I missed that cuddly man whose virginity I stole; I’ll always treasure it.
Somewhere between Phoenix and Flagstaff we stopped and rested for an afternoon. Megan found a little motel called Stumble Inn for us to rest out road-weary bodies.
“Do you like bathes? I just love getting all sudsy,” I said as we entered room 6 together.
“I’ll go check if there’s a tub. Make yourself comfortable. You’ll need your energy for later” she said walking towards the back of the room to the restroom. As she said those words, she turned her head and smiled.
I sat down on the bed and laid my head back. Just then I heard water running in the bathroom; there must be a bath.
“Kate! I need to talk to you in here,” she said over the sound of the running water. Her voice of tone had suddenly changed from sensual to somber. I entered the bathroom to see Megan shirtless sitting next to the tub with her head in her hands.
“Is everything alright honey?” I said. She looked pale and sad.
“I need to tell you something because it makes me scared,” she said.
“Oh sweetheart! What’s the matter?” I said as I hurried over and put an arm around her tanned body.
“Well, I’ve been having nightmares about a midgets and I don’t know why. These dreams are full of violence and revolution. I’m scared,” she said clinching me tighter.
“Oh honey, it’s just bad dreams. You’re here with your sister now; sisters for life” I said stroking the top of her head. She turned towards me with teary eyes.
“Big sis, there’s something else” she said, quickly freeing her grip on me and turning away. “I think I’m pregnant because I haven’t bled from my cooch in well over a month.”
I was shocked. How could this pure soul of mercy have been infected with the seed of life? This was going to make Karl very upset.
“Whose baby is it?” I asked moving closer and placing my palm on her skin.
I’d always been impressed by Megan’s beauty, so being so close to her then made me realize we had totally bonded. Plus, I just love pretty things. Pretty landscape. Pretty people. Pretty flowers. Pretty hair. Pretty everything.
The steam from the tub was condensing into little droplets of moisture on her back. Heat from the hot water made wearing clothes unbearable. I stood up, grabbed the bottom of the dress I had been wearing and in one motion flung it over my head and into the corner. As I began to sweat, the bathtub seemed more and more appealing.
Megan turned around and froze. I supposed she had just realized we were both naked in a sauna. Anyone would be shocked at first. Right?
“Oh Kate, I’m so glad you are here. You’ve no idea what it is like living away from home and the ones I love.” Megan leaned toward me and wrapped her long arms around my shoulders. Our breasts squished together and slid around from the moisture that had collected on them. We held each other until the bath water went cold again.
Saturday, June 30, 2007
The Dinner Guest- Chapter 23: The Cryptozoological Journey of Abita
My Love talks too much, I decided as I left the living room of that damn Stripper woman and explored the house. He got caught up with those damn maps, too. I hated “Fun Time Atlas Dress Up Hour” with Love and Her every week. The noble beasts such as myself were not designed to resemble human migratory routes. The Canines were the keepers of the World, trusted by the Spider God KARLTOR to maintain this universe for the return of PABLOS, the Ovener, who will come again in glory to save existence from the Nothing Pandas.
It’s basic theology, and you would figure the Humans would know their stuff. But, of course, they don’t, ignorant fools. Even Love retains his ignorance, preferring to marry that hag in the outdated Cathol wedding ceremony. While it was appropriate to perform this ceremony about three millennia ago, it had gone the way of income taxes and child sacrifice in most of the civilized galaxy. But on this KARLTOR forsaken hunk of rock, they still listened to the Rolling Stones. Ignorance abounds.
I made my way through the Stripper’s modest domicile, sniffing around her rooms and linen drawers. This lass was not trustworthy, not one bit. She had to have some sort of skeletons in her closet, probably Eskimo children she’s lured into her realm with the prospect of sealskin shoes or mukluk washings. Those Inuits were suckers for a good mukluk Scrub and Shine.
This human’s home was stranger than most that I’ve encountered. Each room had a different theme, usually centered on the prevailing autonomy of these United States. The master bedroom contained flag enameled locks and chains, whips and harnesses with the stars and stripes festooned in elaborate fashion. The bed, a waterbed of sorts, was a giant flag and waved once trounced upon. The ceiling was a picture of Thomas Jefferson, the lamps Abraham Lincoln, and the telephone the Statue of Liberty, her torch the earpiece, spreading the fire of liberty through telecommunications.
The bathroom was a devotion to America’s landfills, littered with anti-recycling treatises and miniature models of the Great American Landfills, like Mt. Rumpke in Cincinnati, Wheelabrator in Pennsylvania, and all of New Jersey. The bathtub, titled “Newark Finishing School” in big, bold letters hewn into the marble, has a faintly green hue. The toilet, which the Stripper has named “Baton Rouge,” has an oddly floral scent. I could not spend much time in this room.
I ended up in the basement. Racist memorabilia adorned the walls. She was especially into caricatured depictions of Senegalese-Americans. I would have been abhorred by such tepid displays of segregationist pride had it not been for an oddly off-putting statue leaning against a far corner of the room. It was a headless John Adams, his hands stroking a goat, the animal’s face strangled in fear and anger. I sniffed along this marble creation, confused as to its meaning and purpose in this dungeon. Inquisitively, I licked the goat, hoping to extract something through my bionic tongue. The biological mechanics of my taste buds bristled over the smooth surface. Nothing special to report. Suddenly, the wall behind the statue started to shake, the hand of John Adams brushed down the goat before returning to its original position. A doorway appeared in the stone wall. A secret passage! I ventured forward into the darkness, sniffing a trail through the gloom.
The room inside was small, modestly furnished, and warm. The rocks glowed with a strange luminescence, giving off heat from unknown sources. They were not hot to the touch, but rather spewed heat from their essence. The room resembled a sauna, the humidity in the air thick. Brown, plastic bottles were strewn across the floor, with towers of two-ounce plastic cups stacked neatly up to the high ceilings.
In the corner, a faint wheezing was heard, then a cough, a brackish hack that shook the walls. No figure was around, no visible entity from which the wheeze emerged. Then a voice, low and salty, rose from the darkened corner.
“Bring me Delsym!”
I scoffed at this demand, barking to the hidden stranger, “I shall do no such thing. Show yourself or I shall be forced to eradicate you.”
“Delsssssssym,” the voice echoed again, straining to conceal its desperation.
On the floor near my feet lay a bottle half filled with liquid. The orange label read “Delsym.” I kicked it over to the corner, mere inches away from the darkness. A scaly hand emerged, snatching the bottle, retreating into the gloom in a hurry. A vast sucking noise followed, like a hog in a trough, before a giant belch bellowed in the room, the bottle thrown down in the dark.
“Oh I’m so high right now.”
“Present yourself, stranger. Or I shall be angry.”
A kangaroo foot stumbled into the light, another one emerging soon after. Big red eyes blinked at me. An odd amalgam of genetic modification, the creature now standing before me burped again. Kangaroo feet, scaly body, red eyes, cat’s paws. I barked in displeasure.
“What sort of foul beast are you?”
The creature blinked at me again, his oblong jaw gaping, the sharp teeth protruding in an ignorant grin.
“They call me Sir Bill. I am a chupacabra.”
I had never heard of such a beast, and told him so.
“Do you have any goats on you? No? Damn. I could go for a good goat right about now.”
Sir Bill stared blankly at me for several minutes and I used my bionic sensors to get a good read on this strange being. My internal zoological dictionary could find no traces of him, which was odd since I could locate every distinct species of the Moonworm genus.
“Hey bro, do you have any more syrup? I’m jonesing for a good buzz.” Sir Bill licked his lips with a forked tongue. His red eyes dimmed a bit as the psychedelic effects of the Delsym seemed to wane.
“No. How did you get here?” I implored, waving my paw at the stone walls of his cell.
“The Stripper caught me in the desert. I was high on peyote. She bribed me with sugar wafers. Those things are great munchies. I’ve been stuck in this cell for nearly a month now, surviving on cough syrup. Those give you such great, mellow highs. Oh man,” Sir Bill’s voice trailed off as he wobbled, smiling stupidly and slapping his forehead, barely missing the gigantic ears adorning his face. “Man, I think I have a problem.”
I scoffed at his suggestion, barking in impatience. “I don’t have time to meddle in your puny affairs. Why is she keeping you down here? What purposes do you hold?”
Sir Bill frowned, exasperation filling his face. “She knows my secret. And the power I hold. She’s trying to mate me with others. If that were to happen…”
“The world will be mine.” A shrill female voice filled the room. The Stripper loomed in the doorway, hands on her hips, smiling menacingly. “Enough of your blather. It’s time for us to go, all of us.”
I leapt at her, ready to strike.
It’s basic theology, and you would figure the Humans would know their stuff. But, of course, they don’t, ignorant fools. Even Love retains his ignorance, preferring to marry that hag in the outdated Cathol wedding ceremony. While it was appropriate to perform this ceremony about three millennia ago, it had gone the way of income taxes and child sacrifice in most of the civilized galaxy. But on this KARLTOR forsaken hunk of rock, they still listened to the Rolling Stones. Ignorance abounds.
I made my way through the Stripper’s modest domicile, sniffing around her rooms and linen drawers. This lass was not trustworthy, not one bit. She had to have some sort of skeletons in her closet, probably Eskimo children she’s lured into her realm with the prospect of sealskin shoes or mukluk washings. Those Inuits were suckers for a good mukluk Scrub and Shine.
This human’s home was stranger than most that I’ve encountered. Each room had a different theme, usually centered on the prevailing autonomy of these United States. The master bedroom contained flag enameled locks and chains, whips and harnesses with the stars and stripes festooned in elaborate fashion. The bed, a waterbed of sorts, was a giant flag and waved once trounced upon. The ceiling was a picture of Thomas Jefferson, the lamps Abraham Lincoln, and the telephone the Statue of Liberty, her torch the earpiece, spreading the fire of liberty through telecommunications.
The bathroom was a devotion to America’s landfills, littered with anti-recycling treatises and miniature models of the Great American Landfills, like Mt. Rumpke in Cincinnati, Wheelabrator in Pennsylvania, and all of New Jersey. The bathtub, titled “Newark Finishing School” in big, bold letters hewn into the marble, has a faintly green hue. The toilet, which the Stripper has named “Baton Rouge,” has an oddly floral scent. I could not spend much time in this room.
I ended up in the basement. Racist memorabilia adorned the walls. She was especially into caricatured depictions of Senegalese-Americans. I would have been abhorred by such tepid displays of segregationist pride had it not been for an oddly off-putting statue leaning against a far corner of the room. It was a headless John Adams, his hands stroking a goat, the animal’s face strangled in fear and anger. I sniffed along this marble creation, confused as to its meaning and purpose in this dungeon. Inquisitively, I licked the goat, hoping to extract something through my bionic tongue. The biological mechanics of my taste buds bristled over the smooth surface. Nothing special to report. Suddenly, the wall behind the statue started to shake, the hand of John Adams brushed down the goat before returning to its original position. A doorway appeared in the stone wall. A secret passage! I ventured forward into the darkness, sniffing a trail through the gloom.
The room inside was small, modestly furnished, and warm. The rocks glowed with a strange luminescence, giving off heat from unknown sources. They were not hot to the touch, but rather spewed heat from their essence. The room resembled a sauna, the humidity in the air thick. Brown, plastic bottles were strewn across the floor, with towers of two-ounce plastic cups stacked neatly up to the high ceilings.
In the corner, a faint wheezing was heard, then a cough, a brackish hack that shook the walls. No figure was around, no visible entity from which the wheeze emerged. Then a voice, low and salty, rose from the darkened corner.
“Bring me Delsym!”
I scoffed at this demand, barking to the hidden stranger, “I shall do no such thing. Show yourself or I shall be forced to eradicate you.”
“Delsssssssym,” the voice echoed again, straining to conceal its desperation.
On the floor near my feet lay a bottle half filled with liquid. The orange label read “Delsym.” I kicked it over to the corner, mere inches away from the darkness. A scaly hand emerged, snatching the bottle, retreating into the gloom in a hurry. A vast sucking noise followed, like a hog in a trough, before a giant belch bellowed in the room, the bottle thrown down in the dark.
“Oh I’m so high right now.”
“Present yourself, stranger. Or I shall be angry.”
A kangaroo foot stumbled into the light, another one emerging soon after. Big red eyes blinked at me. An odd amalgam of genetic modification, the creature now standing before me burped again. Kangaroo feet, scaly body, red eyes, cat’s paws. I barked in displeasure.
“What sort of foul beast are you?”
The creature blinked at me again, his oblong jaw gaping, the sharp teeth protruding in an ignorant grin.
“They call me Sir Bill. I am a chupacabra.”
I had never heard of such a beast, and told him so.
“Do you have any goats on you? No? Damn. I could go for a good goat right about now.”
Sir Bill stared blankly at me for several minutes and I used my bionic sensors to get a good read on this strange being. My internal zoological dictionary could find no traces of him, which was odd since I could locate every distinct species of the Moonworm genus.
“Hey bro, do you have any more syrup? I’m jonesing for a good buzz.” Sir Bill licked his lips with a forked tongue. His red eyes dimmed a bit as the psychedelic effects of the Delsym seemed to wane.
“No. How did you get here?” I implored, waving my paw at the stone walls of his cell.
“The Stripper caught me in the desert. I was high on peyote. She bribed me with sugar wafers. Those things are great munchies. I’ve been stuck in this cell for nearly a month now, surviving on cough syrup. Those give you such great, mellow highs. Oh man,” Sir Bill’s voice trailed off as he wobbled, smiling stupidly and slapping his forehead, barely missing the gigantic ears adorning his face. “Man, I think I have a problem.”
I scoffed at his suggestion, barking in impatience. “I don’t have time to meddle in your puny affairs. Why is she keeping you down here? What purposes do you hold?”
Sir Bill frowned, exasperation filling his face. “She knows my secret. And the power I hold. She’s trying to mate me with others. If that were to happen…”
“The world will be mine.” A shrill female voice filled the room. The Stripper loomed in the doorway, hands on her hips, smiling menacingly. “Enough of your blather. It’s time for us to go, all of us.”
I leapt at her, ready to strike.
Friday, June 29, 2007
The Dinner Guest - Chapter 22: Lola Goes Home
I wandered through the door of my sister's laboratory and glanced around. Text books were piled high, impossibly balanced all the way to the ceiling. The walls were completely covered by a thick layer of framed diplomas from countless schools of higher learning. And in the back corner, I could see my sister, conversing with a mentally challenged-looking guy on a nest of old term papers."Lola!" she screeched. She dismounted from the stack and tossed a black cloak over herself before running across the room. "Camille!" we hugged and it warmed me. After everything that had happened, I felt safe in my sister's arms here in New Orleans. I looked in her eyes and I could see she felt the same way.Breaking off the hug, I asked her about the guy in the corner."That's Pierre. I read in a medical school book that retards have interesting conversations, so I got one. We're just about on the same intellectual level, despite his handicap," she walked back to corner. "I'll let him have a couple minutes out then I'll throw him back in the cage." "Je m'appelle Pierre!" he yelled."Shut up or I'll get the hose!" Camille shrieked. "Do you want a go with him before I lock him up? It's OK, I fixed him so he doesn't talk about anything offensive or remotely interesting. Basically, I took the fun out of him."I told her no thanks and then broke down. I told her the whole story: Abito, Will's injury and my quest to find Karl."Can you help me, sister? I need to find a spell to locate Karl and banish Abito to another dimension?""I have a test to study for, I don't have time!" she howled, throwing her hands on her hips."Please, Camille, you've had more education than everyone I've ever met...combined. If anyone knows the answer, it's you."She sighed and walked over to her desk. She flipped through some papers and picked up a stack."The Karl spell will take a couple days to round up the ingredients and let it simmmer. Do you have a hair from his pubis?" I reached into my pocket and pulled out the glass jar I use to protect it. I didn't want to lose this little piece of him."Is there another way?" I asked."If you want to save him, this is the only way."I handed it over. Camille snapped her fingers. "There's another thing we can do with this. I can make a love potion to help you make him yours."I paused. I could decide later if I wanted to use it, but if I had it..."Go for it," I told her.Camille shifted through more papers and continued to absentmindedly talk. "I can get this together and put it on the burner..."She stopped and looked at something on her desk. Transfixed, she picked it up.It was one of those mailings colleges send out by the gross ton to students across the country. Shit, I thought to myself, who let that in here?"Huh, did you know SUNY Binghamton is ranked by U.S. News and World Report as the best liberal arts college in Binghamton, N.Y.?"Uh oh, I could see it in her eye. This was bad."Dad! Dad!" she bawled.After several seconds of her yelling, father came through the door to the lab."What is it, Camille? I heard zee yelling from the kitchen. Is it Bastille Day?""Dad, I want to go to SUNY Binghamton!""Oh Camille, you have been to other SUNY schools.""I want to go to SUNY Binghamton," she screamed, stamping her foot."OK, OK," he said holding his hands out. "I did not want to retire anyway."At that point Camille glanced over and saw Pierre was gone."Dad! My retard ran away!" she turned back around to yell at father."Do you want me to birth one from the womb?" father asked innocently."No, dad! I want you to find Pierre. He couldn't have gotten far."Father shruggged. "I will find zee stun gun." He left the lab and closed the door.Camille collected herself."Now, back to your problems."Home sweet home.
The Dinner Guest - Chapter 21 : Hoagie's History
Hoagie here and damn them lesbian bitches. It’s just like two women to leave a man for dead, while horny men fudge-pack each other on TV repeatedly. I’m gonna get those bitches and get them good, for Scotty.
After I came to, I got up off the floor, zipped up my pants, and looked around. In any other situation, I’d probably just raid the fridge for beers, but I needed Scott’s killer come hell or high water. I walked over to a desk and found an address book in the drawer. On the cover was scratched “My loved ones” in flowery print. I flipped to the number called “Megan’s cell phone” and dialed it on my Richard Petty themed cellular phone. I acted like I was Karl to fool the young minx, but it didn’t work. The bitch hung up on me. So I got in my truck and drove. I needed to think and feeling three hundred horses under my marbles sure helped.
Just as I kicked my rig into third gear I started to get a unusual feeling in my pants; all tingly like. The motion of my truck made the fuzzy feeling stronger and more intense. The faster I drove the more intense the feeling got; it raced up and down my homosexual genitals. It had to be Scott’s doin’. He’s the only person who could do that to me, alive or dead! I drove on, using the sensation like a homing device.
When the invisible stroking finally ceased I had ejaculated all over myself and my truck. I dug some old napkins from a McDonald’s bag and began to cleanup the mess. While wiping off the passengers seat, I looked up and found I was parked in front of a small home with a mail box reading “Karl, Abita, and Kate”. Oh Scott, your final resting place. You were leading me!
I jumped out of my truck and raced around to the backyard as if being pulled by my still-moist penis. The fountain in the middle of a flower garden grabbed my attention immediately. The water flowed red as blood and the grass surrounding the stone structure was wilted yellow. As I approached, Scott began to call to me, “Hoagie, bro, help me. Hoagie, please”. It continued to get louder as I came upon the earth beneath the flowing red water.
“Hoagie, baby. I need your help, bro. Release me from my earthen tomb so I may rise again!” Scott’s voice rattled through Hoagie’s mind.
“Tell me what to do? How do I release you?” I shouted at my lover’s voice.
“Hoagie, there is only one way you can release me from death and bring me from the grave” he began.
“Tell me! I’ll do anything!” I pleaded. There was a long pause and I began to sweat. The voice arose again.
“You must mix the living blood of this fountain and the seamen from the front of your pants, spread it over your bear nipples and sing the song Alfie. Then I can rise anew. the Zombie King!” he groaned in invisible pain.
I didn’t think twice and got right to mixing. The blood and semen mixed together making a smooth pink texture. I stripped naked, smearing the fluid over my nipples and now erect prick. There was only one sausage for my meat locker and he needed and blood/semen melody yesterday.
Moments after I started singing, the earth below me began to shake and shutter. The sky above me churned and I lost my balance, falling over into the blood fountain. A figure rose from the dirt, crawling to his feet and moaning. He was covered in a dark film of dirt and sticks. Bugs and tiny insects fell from his limbs and they straightened. As he turned to me, I checked out his crotch area to make sure that bitch dog didn’t damage my lover’s package. It seemed to be the same size but the blood ran into my eyes, blinding me momentarily. I kept singing and as he stood upright fully, an unseen choir joined in with harmonies over the chorus of my song
“Hoagie, my love. I knew you had the power to raise me. I have returned as a zombie king. I must search for a zombie queen to lift the curse bestowed on me by Satan” Scott said in a hallow tone. His voice was much different than I remembered it being. Darker, and filled with power.
“I had come to avenge your death my love, but the lesbian whores got away. Oh and btw, if you need a zombie queen, I could totally be one for you” I spoke. I was still sitting in two feet of blood looking up at him, when he moved closer.
“Fear not. I have changed and risen from the dead with superpowers!” he said, puffing up his chest and slapping his buttocks with one hand. “I now have the power of many undertakers” he said turning towards a small statue of the Virgin Mary in the corner of the garden. With a twitch of his rectum, a beam of fluid flew from Scott’s barbed boner and melted away the porcelain statue in a puff of green fog.
“Fuck me in the ass! Did that come from your boner?” I asked.
“I will, but later. And yes, it was my super power; I ejaculate acidic formaldehyde.”
“Cool beans” I said.
We vowed then and there to avenge Scott’s death then move to the Mexican coast. Scotty told me all about his spirit journey with Satan in the garden. We held hands, bathed in the fountain and took turns shaving each other’s grundles. After a few hours we retired inside the house and put on a DVD.
After I came to, I got up off the floor, zipped up my pants, and looked around. In any other situation, I’d probably just raid the fridge for beers, but I needed Scott’s killer come hell or high water. I walked over to a desk and found an address book in the drawer. On the cover was scratched “My loved ones” in flowery print. I flipped to the number called “Megan’s cell phone” and dialed it on my Richard Petty themed cellular phone. I acted like I was Karl to fool the young minx, but it didn’t work. The bitch hung up on me. So I got in my truck and drove. I needed to think and feeling three hundred horses under my marbles sure helped.
Just as I kicked my rig into third gear I started to get a unusual feeling in my pants; all tingly like. The motion of my truck made the fuzzy feeling stronger and more intense. The faster I drove the more intense the feeling got; it raced up and down my homosexual genitals. It had to be Scott’s doin’. He’s the only person who could do that to me, alive or dead! I drove on, using the sensation like a homing device.
When the invisible stroking finally ceased I had ejaculated all over myself and my truck. I dug some old napkins from a McDonald’s bag and began to cleanup the mess. While wiping off the passengers seat, I looked up and found I was parked in front of a small home with a mail box reading “Karl, Abita, and Kate”. Oh Scott, your final resting place. You were leading me!
I jumped out of my truck and raced around to the backyard as if being pulled by my still-moist penis. The fountain in the middle of a flower garden grabbed my attention immediately. The water flowed red as blood and the grass surrounding the stone structure was wilted yellow. As I approached, Scott began to call to me, “Hoagie, bro, help me. Hoagie, please”. It continued to get louder as I came upon the earth beneath the flowing red water.
“Hoagie, baby. I need your help, bro. Release me from my earthen tomb so I may rise again!” Scott’s voice rattled through Hoagie’s mind.
“Tell me what to do? How do I release you?” I shouted at my lover’s voice.
“Hoagie, there is only one way you can release me from death and bring me from the grave” he began.
“Tell me! I’ll do anything!” I pleaded. There was a long pause and I began to sweat. The voice arose again.
“You must mix the living blood of this fountain and the seamen from the front of your pants, spread it over your bear nipples and sing the song Alfie. Then I can rise anew. the Zombie King!” he groaned in invisible pain.
I didn’t think twice and got right to mixing. The blood and semen mixed together making a smooth pink texture. I stripped naked, smearing the fluid over my nipples and now erect prick. There was only one sausage for my meat locker and he needed and blood/semen melody yesterday.
Moments after I started singing, the earth below me began to shake and shutter. The sky above me churned and I lost my balance, falling over into the blood fountain. A figure rose from the dirt, crawling to his feet and moaning. He was covered in a dark film of dirt and sticks. Bugs and tiny insects fell from his limbs and they straightened. As he turned to me, I checked out his crotch area to make sure that bitch dog didn’t damage my lover’s package. It seemed to be the same size but the blood ran into my eyes, blinding me momentarily. I kept singing and as he stood upright fully, an unseen choir joined in with harmonies over the chorus of my song
“Hoagie, my love. I knew you had the power to raise me. I have returned as a zombie king. I must search for a zombie queen to lift the curse bestowed on me by Satan” Scott said in a hallow tone. His voice was much different than I remembered it being. Darker, and filled with power.
“I had come to avenge your death my love, but the lesbian whores got away. Oh and btw, if you need a zombie queen, I could totally be one for you” I spoke. I was still sitting in two feet of blood looking up at him, when he moved closer.
“Fear not. I have changed and risen from the dead with superpowers!” he said, puffing up his chest and slapping his buttocks with one hand. “I now have the power of many undertakers” he said turning towards a small statue of the Virgin Mary in the corner of the garden. With a twitch of his rectum, a beam of fluid flew from Scott’s barbed boner and melted away the porcelain statue in a puff of green fog.
“Fuck me in the ass! Did that come from your boner?” I asked.
“I will, but later. And yes, it was my super power; I ejaculate acidic formaldehyde.”
“Cool beans” I said.
We vowed then and there to avenge Scott’s death then move to the Mexican coast. Scotty told me all about his spirit journey with Satan in the garden. We held hands, bathed in the fountain and took turns shaving each other’s grundles. After a few hours we retired inside the house and put on a DVD.
Wednesday, June 27, 2007
The Dinner Guest- Chapter 20: Where to Go America!
Colorado
Utah
New Mexico
Texas
Colorado
Utah
New Mexico
Texas
I watched as Shriss Babler sprawled over her living room carpet. In a unique bit of interior decorating, the former Christ-like Viking cum star-dazzled showgirl allowed for her innate love of the American way to seep into every aspect of her home, from the Fourth of July tree, plastic with red and blue balls dangling from its wood, to the American flag wallpaper depicting every incarnation of the Stars and Stripes, even a special section in the basement devoted to the Stars and Bars and other streamers of alternate American pride, the subterranean dwelling being the most appropriate arena for displays of risqué historical artifacts. I share her enthusiasm for the minutiae of history, my own basement being filled with my personal anthology of Falun Gong insignia tote bags and Children of November wristwatches.
But the most interesting feature of Shriss’ home was the carpet of her living room, a vast cavern of apple pie lamps and baseball glove recliners and George Washington ash trays and Thomas Jefferson themed TV trays. This carpet, in precise detail woven into the fibers, depicted an enlarged map of the United States, circa 2150 AD. The normal fifty states were there in their contemporary incarnations, with a few moderations, namely the entirely of California broken off into the Pacific Ocean and Delaware finally portrayed for its true nature: a dark emptiness in the soul of America. A few additional states littered the rest of the carpet, from the Guami goodness in Asia, to the liberation of Georgia 2 in Eastern Europe (after the Second Balkan Revolution of 2035), to the single, sub par state known as Canadaxico, two parts straddling the Contiguous 48 and connected only by their year of admittance (2099). Shriss was sprawled out over the American MidWest, her long, luscious legs spreadeagle towards New England and the South, a deep mouth ready to swallow the Mid Atlantic into the recesses of her womb, swallowing and engulfing Ohio and Kentucky into her snatch.
Colorado
Utah
New Mexico
Texas
“Where to go, where to go?” She sighed as she wiggled her strong thighs to and fro, swooshing along the Mississippi and no doubt halting the commerce on her flat, tiny rug country. I gazed at her ripping physique, the smooth tan of her back and the tiny tramp stamp peeking out from her skirt, a lotus petal being infiltrated by a hummingbird. How quaint.
“I have so many places that we can go. So many friends and safe houses.” She sighed again, her head falling to the carpet. “Oh how I love maps.”
This last statement piqued my inerest, my own fascination with geography and the lost art of cartography deeply ingrained in my own psyche. Countless times I would make love to Kate while she wore a costume shaped like Idaho, while Abita festooned her painted fur in a rough sketch of Route 66. “Fuck me in my potato maker,” Kate would scream, “Ravish me like the huckleberry loving state that I am.” Things got really interesting when she dressed as Florida. That’s when we brought out the two sided dildo and Abita resembled Interstate 75.
“In Albuquerque we can stay in my cousin’s Alpaca farm. You’re not allergic to camelids, are you?
I shook my head as I stared at her glistening, straight white hair, the testament of her scarred existence.
“Hmm, maybe not. Those animals are kinda boring. Oh, we can go to Dallas! I have tons of family there.”
Dallas….Dallas…..Dallsa….Dassal…..Dassad…..Lassad….Sallad….no
“Houston?”
“Fuck no. Too many bad memories.”
“Austin?”
“If there’s one place for me to hide, it’s definitely at my in-laws. No way.”
“Salt Lake City? I am a high ranking member of the Mormon church, ya know.”
I shuddered, remembering my last encounter with the Mormons. So many dead rabbits. An entire solar system strung out on caffeine…
“No thanks. I’d rather die.”
Abita barked, three long ruffs followed by a yowl and a yip. I raised my eyebrow quizzically, pondering her suggestion. Before I could say anything ,Shriss interjected.
“What’s that girl? Pueblo? You don’t say…”
I sat there, dumbstruck at the powers of this being before me. I thought I was the only one who could understand my dog.
“That’s a perfect place to go!! I have friends there we can stay with. Plus they have a laboratory that might be able to help us out in getting you off this planet. This sounds perfect. You’ll love them, they’re a cute gay couple. Robert Strange and Captain Rage. It’s settled, we’re going to Pueblo!”
Colorado
Utah
New Mexico
Texas
On to Colorado.
Utah
New Mexico
Texas
Colorado
Utah
New Mexico
Texas
I watched as Shriss Babler sprawled over her living room carpet. In a unique bit of interior decorating, the former Christ-like Viking cum star-dazzled showgirl allowed for her innate love of the American way to seep into every aspect of her home, from the Fourth of July tree, plastic with red and blue balls dangling from its wood, to the American flag wallpaper depicting every incarnation of the Stars and Stripes, even a special section in the basement devoted to the Stars and Bars and other streamers of alternate American pride, the subterranean dwelling being the most appropriate arena for displays of risqué historical artifacts. I share her enthusiasm for the minutiae of history, my own basement being filled with my personal anthology of Falun Gong insignia tote bags and Children of November wristwatches.
But the most interesting feature of Shriss’ home was the carpet of her living room, a vast cavern of apple pie lamps and baseball glove recliners and George Washington ash trays and Thomas Jefferson themed TV trays. This carpet, in precise detail woven into the fibers, depicted an enlarged map of the United States, circa 2150 AD. The normal fifty states were there in their contemporary incarnations, with a few moderations, namely the entirely of California broken off into the Pacific Ocean and Delaware finally portrayed for its true nature: a dark emptiness in the soul of America. A few additional states littered the rest of the carpet, from the Guami goodness in Asia, to the liberation of Georgia 2 in Eastern Europe (after the Second Balkan Revolution of 2035), to the single, sub par state known as Canadaxico, two parts straddling the Contiguous 48 and connected only by their year of admittance (2099). Shriss was sprawled out over the American MidWest, her long, luscious legs spreadeagle towards New England and the South, a deep mouth ready to swallow the Mid Atlantic into the recesses of her womb, swallowing and engulfing Ohio and Kentucky into her snatch.
Colorado
Utah
New Mexico
Texas
“Where to go, where to go?” She sighed as she wiggled her strong thighs to and fro, swooshing along the Mississippi and no doubt halting the commerce on her flat, tiny rug country. I gazed at her ripping physique, the smooth tan of her back and the tiny tramp stamp peeking out from her skirt, a lotus petal being infiltrated by a hummingbird. How quaint.
“I have so many places that we can go. So many friends and safe houses.” She sighed again, her head falling to the carpet. “Oh how I love maps.”
This last statement piqued my inerest, my own fascination with geography and the lost art of cartography deeply ingrained in my own psyche. Countless times I would make love to Kate while she wore a costume shaped like Idaho, while Abita festooned her painted fur in a rough sketch of Route 66. “Fuck me in my potato maker,” Kate would scream, “Ravish me like the huckleberry loving state that I am.” Things got really interesting when she dressed as Florida. That’s when we brought out the two sided dildo and Abita resembled Interstate 75.
“In Albuquerque we can stay in my cousin’s Alpaca farm. You’re not allergic to camelids, are you?
I shook my head as I stared at her glistening, straight white hair, the testament of her scarred existence.
“Hmm, maybe not. Those animals are kinda boring. Oh, we can go to Dallas! I have tons of family there.”
Dallas….Dallas…..Dallsa….Dassal…..Dassad…..Lassad….Sallad….no
“Houston?”
“Fuck no. Too many bad memories.”
“Austin?”
“If there’s one place for me to hide, it’s definitely at my in-laws. No way.”
“Salt Lake City? I am a high ranking member of the Mormon church, ya know.”
I shuddered, remembering my last encounter with the Mormons. So many dead rabbits. An entire solar system strung out on caffeine…
“No thanks. I’d rather die.”
Abita barked, three long ruffs followed by a yowl and a yip. I raised my eyebrow quizzically, pondering her suggestion. Before I could say anything ,Shriss interjected.
“What’s that girl? Pueblo? You don’t say…”
I sat there, dumbstruck at the powers of this being before me. I thought I was the only one who could understand my dog.
“That’s a perfect place to go!! I have friends there we can stay with. Plus they have a laboratory that might be able to help us out in getting you off this planet. This sounds perfect. You’ll love them, they’re a cute gay couple. Robert Strange and Captain Rage. It’s settled, we’re going to Pueblo!”
Colorado
Utah
New Mexico
Texas
On to Colorado.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
