More ramblings.

Driving every day sometimes gets so fucking banal all you got is weird rambling to keep your eyes open.

She sniffed his shorts, smelled semen. That sonofabitch, she thought, either he’s been fucking around, or he’s back to masturbating. I’m cancelling the internet. How can I compete with all those airbrushed trollops? She had to figure out a way how to count the tissues in the box. When he gets home tonight, I’m gonna see if he wants me. Get on my Victoria’s Secret. The purple lace set. He loves that. Well, we’ll see if he still loves that.
Sonofabitch. I’ll kill him if he don’t want me.
She lay on the bed, forlorn, her fingers flicking her labia absently, the crotch-less panties just a useless garment, a piece of expensive, un-erotic lace. Her husband lay next to her, snoring, wearing his protective, blood red pajamas, no bulge in sight. She sighed. Jack would’ve-no-stop-he’s dead.
What to do? What to do?
Kill him.
Kill him?
Remember?
But, that’s just…well…I didn’t mean…figure of speech is all.
Find yourself a walking, raging boner, then. A young one. College boy, maybe. You’ll have to be a bit more…energetic, shall we say?
I…, wait a minute…, am I talking to myself?
No…, you’re talking to me.
Who’s me?
I’m me. You’re you.
What’s your name?
What’s my game?
Your name! Your name!
Same as it was yesterday.
Oh, you’re infuriating!
Bit like marriage, ain’t it? Ever think that he’s tired of you? Same body, same positions, same fake screams of endearment. Could be it’s like a job to him. Could be it’s no longer a labor of love, but a tedious, tiresome ordeal that he has to get through until he’s able to clock out. Does he still love you? Do you still love him? It’s not sweaty and sticky any more, is it? Passionless, mechanical. A forced fuck. Here’s my semi hard cock, see how I still love you? Oh, yes, put it in my almost desert dry cunt, let it scrape within me, hurt me, see how I still love you? Cum in my mouth, dear, cum in my mouth. Will you please cum in my mouth for chrissake! Don’t you see what time it is? Do you know you taste of piss and bitterness? Do you know he think’s your pussy tastes like cheese and whey, with a tang of iron? Or, how he wishes you’d shave so he doesn’t have to continually spit out dry brittle pubic hair? That he would love to bring a foot pump to bed to try to inflate your flabby breasts? That’s he’s seen better nipples on 100 year old corpses? That-
Shut up! Shut up!
He wants to spank you to spice it up a bit, but he doesn’t want to hurt his hand. Your ass is too big, too dirty, don’t you wash between your cheeks? It disgusts him-
Shut up! I’m warning you!
Warning who?
You!
Who am I?
What?
Who. Am. I?
Fuck, I’m tired, I give up, who are you?
Someone.
What someone?
Can’t you guess?
Me?
No!
Who, then, who? Stop playing these games!
I’m just a girl who can’t say no…
I-what?
Whorehair?
Wait a minute-wait a fucking minute-let me think-that’s familiar, so familiar.
Tireless pussy? Brazen cunt? Walking wet hole?
Jenny?
Oh, she remembers!
Jenny? Jenny Wilson?
Bingo! Give the cunt the clap!
You’re dead!
Oh, yes, that I am!
You’re dead. You’re dead! You’re dead! Get out of my head!
Oh, a poet.
Shut up! Fucking whore.
Jack liked me. Jack fucked me. In every orifice. Jack-
He was mine, cunt! Mine!
No, he belonged to me. He stayed with you because you were good at cooking, and cleaning. He laughed at your pathetic fucks. Feeble fucks he called them. Like fucking an empty jar. Oh-
Cunt! Shut your fucking mouth!
Try to stop me. You can’t. I’m here with you. Took a lot of depravity to get here. Took a lot of pain. Worth it, though. Did you think I would go away by killing me?
I didn’t-
Oh, for fuck’s sake, don’t deny it. He showed me the truth. You were driving the car-
No! Jack was! I swear! Whoever told you that lied! I was with Mom, she fell down stairs. She broke her hip. I was at the hospital! I swear! It was Jack!
You’re lying!
No! Who told you I killed you?
He Who Rules The Pits Of Hell.
He Who-what?
It’s what he wants to be called. I dunno, sounded stupid when I first heard it as well.
That’s so…so, pulp.
He’s got a lot of Weird Tales authors down there.
But, isn’t lying his forte? Isn’t he the Father Of Lies?
No!
Yes! He is! The Devil fucked you more ways than one!
No!
Yes! Your in my mind, scan my memory, see the truth. It was Jack. Jack killed you.
Shit.
See? I wasn’t lying.
Oh, shit.
I’m waiting.
For?
An apology.
Then, I’m sorry. So, so sorry.
For possessing me?
No. For the other. I’ll go now. Leave you be. Go back to scorching pain, and eternal blisters. Find Jack, find him and-ah, fuck-find him and what? Shit,he’s already down there, how do I get revenge? Guess I’ll have eternity to figure something out. Fuck! Death ain’t fair!
Jenny? Jenny! Jenny! Come back!
Then, the world came back, and she saw the scissors, her bloody hand, and she screamed long, and loud as she turned her head and saw her husband’s blood red pajamas soaked in black red blood.

I don’t know. I swear, I don’t know!

“Are those titties?”
“Oh, yes, those are titties.”
“Those are a nice set.”
“Those, my friend, are a great set.”
“Pity she’s my Mom.”
“She’s not my Mother and I’m gonna masturbate to those two awesome visions.”
“I envy you.”
“I’m sure. Wanna go to my place, see if my sister is showering? We can both masturbate to that since I hate the preening cunt.”

Oh, I Wish I Was A Poet!

I need to poop
I need a nap
Close my eyes?
Or, take a crap?
Toilet’s upstairs
Too far away
I’m so tired
Worked hard all day
What to do?
I’m in a quandary
Take a snooze?
Or make some laundry?
Then it hit me
I’m such a dunce!
I can just do
Both at once!
I recline my chair
Unbutton my slacks
Shut my eyes
Try to relax
About to nod off
Dreaming of Meg
Something hot
Runs down my leg
It smells real bad
Must be the curry
Ah, well, I think,
No need to worry
Cos Meg’ll be home
To take care of her man
Strip me, wash me
If all goes to plan
She’s out on the town
Spending my money
this’ll be a helluva
“welcome back honey!”
Oh, the looks I got
When she came home
Her smile disappeared
Her mouth did foam
She stripped me down
In more ways than one
Made me feel small
At what I had done
She scraped my shorts
Scoured and scrubbed
washed, rinsed,and cleansed
Rub-A-Dub-Dub
She yelled and screamed
Threw the shorts in my face
They still smelled of curry
My, Such a disgrace!
You clean like an amateur
I said in disgust
Her face bloomed red
About to combust
Silently she seethed
Picked up a knife
Am I about to be
Killed by my wife?
I take it all back!
I hollered in fear
Your are the best!
My love! My dear!
Besides, if you kill me
Who’ll pay the bills?
You’ll shop no more
Have no more thrills
Put the knife down,
Let’s be like before
And I’ll promise to
Never poop no more
I’ve learned my lesson
I’m now a good chap
Pooping comes first,
Then I can nap.

Cassie Frugelli Wants To Go Far, Far Away

Cassie Frugelli Wants To Go Far, Far Away
by,
William Morgan

The fine hairs on her arms seemed sentient for they hated, and punished her. They felt like white hot needles stabbed viciously into deep tissue. The sweat poured out of her, a torrent of foul smelling contempt. In her mind her body was attempting to dehydrate her. Her stomach gurgled with rage, and spasmed wave, after wave of nausea. She felt hot, cold, hot, cold, body temperature going haywire. Out of control. The sickness made her kneel, made her bow to the god of the away powder. If it didn’t get worship, it punished severely.

If she didn’t get a hit soon…

She remembered the party all those years ago. Well, some of it. She had gotten pretty drunk. Tina, who had just turned eighteen and now was eligible to die in a land she didn’t give a shit about, invited just about all of Lorain county. So many people. All young. All full of energy. All not expecting to die anytime soon. Many drinking their livers into submission. Some snorting coke, some smoking crack, some injecting the far away powder.

Tina’s boyfriend, one of three actually, Brian was his name, she couldn’t remember his last name, all she could remember was that he was a leather boy. A metal head. Banging his head, mainlining to Iron Maiden. Glazed eyes, slack mouth, drool. Far away somewhere. Far away with not a care in the world. Want a try? asked Tina. C’mon, Cassie, try it. See where it takes you.

Back then she was Cassie Frugelli, 17, a fresh faced, gullible, beguiled, drunk girl with an unbroken hymen. If she wasn’t so drunk…, so pliable…, so fucking stupid. When Brian came back from heavy metal heaven, him, Tina, and, Cassie had sneaked off to the attic, the only place where there were no other bodies. Tina, damn her, had found the vein while Brian, damn him, had gotten the far away powder, spoon, and lighter ready. Tina gently held Cassie’s head in her lap and caressed Cassies’s long brunette hair. Cassie distinctly remembered Tina smelt of blood. Tina cooed, and whispered sweet lies in her ear as Brian injected liquid nirvana.

That feeling! That indescribable feeling was something she had never experienced before, or since. The high was so euphoric, so godly for she had left her earthly body, traveled the universe, alone, but, not lonely, floating in between the stars, flying through deep, deep space, impenetrable blackness, the vastness, the nothingness, a vision to behold, a wonder, she sees 5 lanes, roads of the future, her futures, all possible, the universe letting her decide, choose her life ahead and it was all hers, all Cassie’s, her body alive, alive, alive, aware of every inch, every molecule, every atom, her skin tight, pores open wide, black sludge oozing, cleansing, releasing every toxic thought, poisonous dream, noxious nightmare, her organs working in perfect synchronicity, her sex afire, dripping, swollen, wanting release, her mind filling with all the data of the world, the galaxy, the universe, open to a whirlwind of all the true meanings of life, knowing the reason she was here in the universe, she spreads her arms, tries to hug the world, love the world, love everyone, I love you, love you, I love you all, look at the universe, see how perfect, how mathematical, how-, then she was harshly brought back to reality, and found herself laying on her back, the musty mattress spotted with blood, her hymen no longer unbroken, and through dull eyes sees Brian wiping his cock on her panties, smiling, Scorpions’ Another Piece Of Meat playing in the background.

Now, 20 years later, she still thinks back to that first high, that amazing vision, tasting the universe, experiencing all of creation. When she told Tina, and Brian, (after screaming, and running to the bathroom to cry, and lament, and rage, and finally to clean), of her experience, Brian had laughed, looked puzzled. Wasn’t LSD, darlin’. Don’t know what happened to you. Maybe a little crazy? She crazy, Tina? Loopey? Get dropped on your head?

Tina had tried, unsuccessfully, to wrap her arms around Cassie. Sorry, Cass, I’m on my period. Otherwise. Y’know.

Like she was excusing rape. Like it was okay. She was just a back up fuck thing. No worries. The horror of the realization that Tina was a monster, scared Cassie even more than the defilement by Brian. Tina wasn’t even embarrassed, or felt any shame. She thought Brian did nothing wrong. It enraged Cassie enough to slap Tina hard. Tina stepped back, shocked. Brian pushed Cassie back. What the hell, cunt? Cassie kicked him as hard as she could between his legs, smiling as he doubled over, his eyes crossed, his face a comical farce of pursed lips, blown out cheeks, knotted eyebrows. Brian groaned, then yelled as she kicked him in the face. Bitch! Here came Tina, claws out, lips curled. Fucking bitch! Cassie stood her ground, waited until Tina got close enough, then, with her own claws, she made trenches, and grooves, scratching deep, scarring, blood pooling, Tina screeching, Cassie laughing, Brian sobbing. She left, making sure she grabbed Brian’s far away powder, and kit, then walked home. Sad, angry, ashamed. When she got home, she showered, scrubbed, cried, scrubbed, raged, scrubbed, until the water became too cold to bear, until she had the cleanest vagina in the world. Violated, yet spotless.

The withdrawal was something horrifying. Fire, Ice, Pain, Misery. She thought she was going to die. Wanted to die. The far away soothed, comforted, relaxed. She always had a thrill of anticipation before she plunged in the far away, hoping for a repeat of the the first one. It never came. She wondered if it was a mixture of the alcohol, and drug, but she could never remember what she drank. There was so much beer, and hard liquor at the party. She remembered vodka, rum, Bud, Miller, Jack, moonshine, even. She tried drinking before injecting, various mixtures of beer, and liquor, but, there were so many combinations, so many variables, it just made her more miserable after, made the pain more intense, the depression darker. She tried, and tried, but, she never had the vision again. Just a high, just a normal fucking high. She did go somewhere, but, it was like going on vacation to Gettysburg, or Niagara Falls. Everyone did that. It was nothing special. Bland, vanilla, been there, done that. Still, she needed the far away. The punishment was too much to bear without it. Life was nothing without it. She would do things for it. Degrade herself. Whore herself. Steal. Rape Peter to pay Paul. Her body was a temple for the far away. Those movies. They are out there. She thinks of them a lot. Has any of her family seen them? Her Mother, Brothers, Billy, and Jim? She thanks God every night that her Father died before she ran out of money, out of hope, out of far away. That’s one burden she doesn’t have to carry.

Now here she was, with another creep, damning herself to go far away.

Cassie watched the creep. Studied him. His excitement unnerved her. His anticipation shocked her. He smelt of garlic, rosemary, and fear. His tall, thin frame shook, his gray eyes were shining, the lips wet from constant licking. He looked so ordinary, so human. He could be a neighbor, a co-worker, a fast food manager.

“Money up front, alright?”

He took out his wallet. It looked ordinary, as well. Not made of human skin. He took out a wad of notes.

“A thousand? Yes? That’s what we agreed on.” He didn’t look her in the eyes.

His profile stated he lived in California. That’s a long way to travel to Ohio. Then again, it was the internet. A liar’s domain. Full of small, weak men typing their impotent rage in ALL CAPS.

She counted slowly, making sure it all was there, and none of it was funny. Plus she was putting off what was agreed on.

Was there another way?

She wished. She prayed every night. Got on her knees, implored, begged, beseeched God for help, for assistance.

Assistance. Ha! What a joke! Couldn’t get that from welfare. Basically told her to go fuck herself. Her family had disowned her. Her husband had divorced her. Didn’t they realize that she needed the money? Couldn’t they show a little compassion? She hated stealing from them. Hated it. But, she had no choice.

No choice. Well, there was one, but that involved a lot of pain, and sickness, and strength. She knew she was weak, hell, she was born weak. Weak of mind, of self, of spirit. No. There was no choice.

She sighed.

“Ready?”

The man hesitated for a sec, then undid his belt, unbuttoned his pants, dropped them to his black, shiny shoes, took them off. Next came his underwear. He kept his shirt and tie on.

His penis was rock hard, the glans glistening.

“I’m ready.”

“I can see that.” A lame joke got a lame smile.

“Over here.” She walked him to the corner of the bedroom.

Oh, God, oh, God, where are you?

Eyes brimming with tears, hands shaking with shame, she reached down into the second hand blue crib, and undid her little boys diaper, exposed him, avoiding his year old baby blues, trying to block out his laughter. He wasn’t wet.

“No touching,” she said, firmly.

“No, no, I won’t. I swear.”

“Because if you do…” Showed him the baseball bat.

His hands came up. “Swear to Christ. I won’t, I won’t.”

She stepped back.

“Get it over with.”

The man looked into the crib, and began to stroke himself.

When he was finished, he asked if he could use the bathroom to clean himself up. He apologized for the carpet. His face was red. From the act, or shame, she couldn’t tell.

He stopped at the door, kept his back to her, said, “you could make more if you-”

“No. Never. Understand?”

He nodded, went into the bathroom. Shut the door. She heard the water running.

She quickly fixed her boy’s diaper. Wiped her tears off his little face. So sorry. So sorry. So sorry.

She looked at the money. Imagined the escape, the bliss. Need to get to Nick’s, get some bliss, some far away. Far, far away powder. How much can I buy with this? How much will I need? How pure? Far away and lax do not mix. Shitting the dream is not what I want. I want my universe, I want that vision. It was so pure. One more time, then I’ll quit. Swear. On my father’s-no-don’t-don’t-

She wondered fleetingly whether she even had a soul anymore.

The man came out of the bathroom, nodded, put on his underwear, pants, coat, and hat. “I have friends. Lots of friends. We could set up a timetable of sorts. On your time, of course. Lots of money to be made. I could help weed out the, ah, more aggressive types. No fee, maybe a discount. You have my private number. I suggest you get a landline. I can help you secure it. You won’t want for anything. Until he gets too old, of course. Just let me know.”

She couldn’t speak, because she knew she’d just scream. She nodded instead.

“Goodbye, then.”

She waved, then he left.

Then she looked down at her little boy again and questioned if she ever loved him at all for there was a tiny voice speaking behind her collapsed soul, a voice that desired, demanded the far, far away powder, uncut, pure, euphoric, a voice horrific in it’s insistence, chilling in it’s influence, frightening for she was listening, that chanted over, and over, and over. Never say never.

Flayed

Hungry Horace ate Keyhole Kate’s face, with a side of roast potatoes, wonderful Yorkshire pud, and a heaping helping of Rodger’s blood sausage. Rodger was behind Horace, tied to a chair, eyes glazed as blood oozed from the slit in his neck ( Dodge outta that one, boy! Har Har!)

Elsewhere, Peter Piper checked the handcuffs, rope, and chloroform, and then began to play his pipes in front of a BeyoncĂ© poster, Sid’s face was purple, tongue black, eyes almost popping from their sockets, because he forgot the rudimentary procedure when feeding his snake, Faceache was a shoo-in to win Britain’s Got Talent, and he was getting emails from numerous horror movie makers like Dario Argento, and John Carpenter, Oddball was forced to make money by advertising himself as the Ultimate Dildo, Little Mo was tasting cock for the first time, Desert Island Dick finally saw a ship passing by and swam out to meet it, only to be disemboweled and devoured by Hook-Jaw, Judge Dredd blew Bully Beef away for obvious reasons, Chips, despondent, hanged himself from a lamppost on the corner of Bash Street, Ginger stole Vals Vanishing Cream and watched Beryl taking a bath, the knife in his hand sharp and gleaming, Shiner lay crumpled in a heap by a gutter, pulverized by Pansy Potter after making comments about her sexual orientation, and Billy Whizz proved once and for all on YouTube that he was faster than The Flash.

All this happened because some kids were exploring and came upon the flayed skin of a god, and one of them decided to don it.

Cut

Cut,
by,
William Morgan

It was seeing the clump of hair floating in the toilet that broke me.

My skin became clammy, and cold, my stomach lurched, threatening to expel the toast and cornflakes that I had for breakfast.
The bathroom seemed to shrink, and become claustrophobic, the heat seeming to rise, as if someone had poured cold water over hot stones. Sweat poured out of my body. I was drenched in a minute. I felt sick, waves upon waves of nausea had me bent over, gagging, polluting the flavor of the corn flakes, poisoning the toast.
I heaved, vomited, splattering the floor with clumps, and lumps, mixed with a white froth. The smell in the small, white hot bathroom assailed my nostrils, and brought me to my knees. I retched, coughed, cried.

WHORE!!

My head snapped up-frightened, sweat turning cold, I looked around the bathroom, saw nothing-

HUSSY!!

I yelled, grabbed the sink to pull myself up-heart hammering, threatening to burst, skin feeling tight, ready to tear, a roaring inside my head, so loud, so strong, it obliterated any other sound. The room was spinning, spinning, making me dizzy, bringing the nausea back. All my senses seemed to become more than human. I could see infinitesimally small cracks in the grout of the tiles along the shower wall, the blue color of the tiles no longer sky blue, but a color that my mind couldn’t translate. I could hear a spider methodically spinning it’s web, the sound of the silk expelling from it’s tiny body like the crash of a wave heard through a Marshall amp. The air passing over my skin was so cold, and yet, so comforting, the taste in my mouth was rancid, foul, my tongue burned, and the smells, the smells-so many different-

HARLOT!!

The bathroom was spinning, spinning faster, and faster, colors, and textures a blur, and I felt myself in a space that wasn’t real, a place that didn’t exist any longer.
The bathroom disappeared, and I found myself floating in the infinite universe, feeling so small, so insignificant, so lost. I closed my eyes, not wanting to see all that blackness, and nothingness.
When I opened them, I was in a bathroom. Not my bathroom which was full of light, and bright colors, but the bathroom of my youth, dark, grimy, the color of mud, and dismay.
My sister, Holly, was sitting on the toilet seat, sobbing, as my father savagely cut at her hair with blunt scissors.
TRAMP!!” he screamed as he cut, shearing her beautiful long, blond hair. Grabbing locks, twisting the hair violently, he cuts, and hacks, not caring if he cuts into her scalp, immune to her screams, the blood.

TROLLOP!!”

Grabbing handfuls, cutting with a manic speed, throwing the tufts onto the dirty, unwashed, curling linoleum, or into the toilet.
Holly screaming, Father hissing, spitting flecks of foamy spittle onto her almost barren head.

SLUT!!”

Mother had been dead two years. She must be on her knees, begging God to return her to the world to protect her child. God, being the most Fatherly of all fathers, ignores her, watches his creations destroy.
I was two years older than Holly, and all I did was watch with horror.
Holly, seven at the time, who had found her dead Mother’s make up bag in a box in the basement, and decided to play grown up. Holly, my little sister, who, when she colored, could never stay inside the lines, whose lips were now bright pink with lipstick, thick, and heavy, absurdly clownish, whose cheeks were so rouged she looked like Judy from Punch and Judy, and whose eyelids were painted a deep blue, all the way up to her eyebrows. Mascara was literally dripping off her eyelashes.
She looked like a clown who had been sent to hell, and vomited back up.

JEZEBEL!!”

“DADDY! PLEASE! DADDY! STOP!”
I ran to him, beating feebly with my small fists.
“STOP! PLEASE! STOP!”
Holly looked at me with despair, blood mingling with her tears, hitching, and hiccuping.
Father let go of Holly, his eyes bulging, his face a horror of anger, and rage, full of fury, and madness.
He smiled, then punched me in the stomach. I heard a whooshing, not realizing it was me. My breath seemed to abandon me to my devices. I found myself on my knees, gulping for some air, any air. My head was swimming, and my face felt so hot, so hot.

WHORE!”

The sound of his mad voice scared the air into me. I took a deep breath, in through my nose, out through my mouth. Relishing every molecule of oxygen.
Holly screamed loudly, and I saw that his feverish punishment had taken a chunk out of the top of her head.
He stopped, momentarily stunned by her scream, and I saw red. A nine year old should not feel the type of rage I felt, should not shake with the fury of a god, should not seethe with outrage.
I slammed my little body into his knees, and he cried out with shock, and ire, backed away, and fell into the tub. The scissors had flown out of his bloody hand. Came down on his throat.
He panicked, tore out the scissors, and blood gushed. A geyser of crimson. His hands covered the wound. His eyes found mine. I saw fear.
Holly had jumped off the toilet, wrapped her arms around me, hid her head, shaking.
I watched him die.
I smiled.
The bathroom shook, began to tear apart, the ceiling cracked, walls fell. A thunderous crack almost broke my ear drums as the whole house broke asunder. I held Holly tight as we began to rise toward the sky, a sky full of dark, brooding clouds, full of violence. Lightening hit the tub where the corpse of Father lay. The combination of ozone, and roasted flesh gagged me, the taste of copper, and barbecued pork made me shiver with disgust. We rose faster, and faster, and I looked down and saw a blackened lump smoking in a melted, misshapen tub. It was unrecognizable. Except it’s eyes. It’s eyes were open. They were bright. They accused.
I squeezed Holly, but she was gone. I was alone again in the universe. Alone. Lost and alone.

Screaming.

Crying.

Hopeless and-

falling-

falling-

faster-

faster-

Heart in my throat-

Bowels loosening-

Bladder failing-

falling-

falling-

plummeting back towards the world.

Closing my eyes, I await the impact.

Screaming-

“Honey! What’s wrong?”

I open my eyes and see my wife, Sheila, who has been my anchor for ten years. I’m sitting with my back against the toilet. My pajamas are soaked with sweat. A puddle of yellow between my legs.
Sheila stands there, mouth agape, her slim frame visible through her sheer nightgown.
I gulp.
“You’ve-you’ve cut your hair.”
“Yeah, yeah, I wanted a change. But, honey, that doesn’t matter. What’s wrong? What happened?”
I slam my hands against my head.
“You cut your hair!”
“Darling! I-“
“You cut your hair! You cut your hair! You cut your hair!”
I sob. Shake with pure emotion.
Holly.
Whore she was named. Whore she became.
Dead at 21.
Sheila knells beside me, strokes my head, whispers her love.
I reach back. Flush the toilet.