The Dog And The Baby Die

The Dog And The Baby Die,
by,
William Morgan

The dog mauled the baby, tore her to pieces. I shot the dog.
Then I shot my wife for buying the wolf in poodle clothing.
Then I drove out to Pet Heaven, and shot the owner for selling the dog to my wife.
On the way home, I stopped off at my in-laws and shot them both for creating my wife.
Then I stopped at work and shot a couple of assholes, and bitches. Figured I’ve gone this far, may as well go all the way.
I went to the mall to get a hand rolled pretzel, and shot the driver of a Corvette for taking up two parking spaces.
I got my pretzel, then shot a mall cop for not doing his job. Allowing all those asshole teenagers to make so much noise was annoying.
I stopped at a Bass Pro to buy more ammo. I shot the sales clerk for forgetting my discount.
My hand hurt from all that shooting. I shot the person closest to me to alleviate the pain.
I get home, shoot the dog again. Make some coffee, wait for the police.
I’ll go out in a blaze of glory.

I’m 55, Still Alive

I’m 55, still alive,
by,
William Morgan

 

I’m 55, still alive
Workin’ my ass all for nothing
I’m 55, still alive,
Waitin’ to be six feet under
I’m 65, still alive
Can’t retire cos I can’t afford it
I’m 65, still alive
Dreamin’ to be six feet under
I’m 75, still alive
Nuthin’ but pain when I’m walkin’
I’m 75, still alive
Hopin’ to be six feet under
I’m 85, still alive
Can’t hear shit, tv’s blaring
I’m 85, still alive
Prayin’ to be six feet under
I’m 95, still alive
Can’t remember a goddamn thing
I’m 95, still alive
Beggin’ to be six feet under
I’m 105, still alive
Fuck it, where is my shotgun
I’m 105, still alive
Put myself six feet under

 

 

Carjack

Carjack,
by,
William Morgan

1.

     The night enveloped him, hid him in the shadows, but it did not mask his nerves. Rick Bollard’s adrenaline was flowing like a flash flood. His right hand holding the .38 was trembling slightly, and he realized he was gripping the gun too tightly. He blew out a long breath, willed himself to relax. His small frame suffered tiny shock waves and his scarred face felt hot. His dull grey eyes watered.
     Relax. Won’t be long now. Someone’s sure t-
     His eyes widened as a silver BMW slowly pulled into the Moregas gas station. They blinked with disbelief when the car parked by the side of the entrance where the light was almost non existent, and the fake cameras saw nothing. He was a little unnerved when the driver got out of the car. The man was tall, dressed in a tux with a purple cumber-bun. His dark hair was cut short, military style. He walked with confidence. Assured. The blonde in the passenger seat was dressed to the nines as well.
    Shit, thought Rick, military?
    Better abort, a little voice told him. Wait for a vic a hell of a lot easier.
    No, he scolded, anniversary’s coming up. Got to get a nice present for Vera. After that thing with Belinda, I gots to buy her some real jewelry, not that cubic zirconia shit. That BMW will do nicely. Big Joe’ll shit bricks when he sees me driving that in to the chop shop.
    Your funeral, said the little voice.
                                                                                 2
    

 

    Rick saw the man come out the entrance, slap the pack of cigarettes on the palm of his hand, open the pack, shake one out, light it, take a long, deep puff, and exhale with pleasure. The man then walked to the car, and Rick came out of the deep, deep shadows, everything on high alert, his awareness on 10. He pointed the gun at the man, said, ” give me the keys man. I don’t wanna shoot, but I will if I have to.” He cursed himself for sounding so small.
     “Shit,” said the man with a southern drawl that seemed to ooze molasses. Rick watched as the man’s eyes looked around. They were calm. The man smiled.
     He reached out the keys to Rick. “Y’all want the car? You got it. Don’t need no trouble. All I need is a hot bath, and a bed.”
     Rick didn’t hear no tremor in the man’s voice. Man wasn’t acting as if someone was carjacking him. Run, you idiot,said his tiny little voice. NO.
     “I’m takin’ the car. The woman stays in the car. For my safety. Don’t need you callin’ the police as soon as I leave. Just a little bit of insurance, understand?” She looked like she had a nice rack, and Rick was partial to nice racks.
     The man stiffened, seemed to grow taller. His face seemed to shift in the darkness.
     “Y’r gonna rape my wife?
     “Naw, man, what the fuck, like I said, insurance. I’ll drop her off at a Mickey D’s, or Burger King, an she’ll call ya.” Of course he was lying. Vera’s keeping her legs clamped after Rick’s cock went roaming, and this adrenaline had his cock rock hard.
     The man sighed, took a hit of his cigarette. “It’s dark back he-a, but I can still see the tent. You get the car. Get a lot for it. If I-” and then he flicked the cigarette in Rick’s face.
     The man was fast. Rick instinctively brought his arm up to protect his eyes, and suddenly the man was right in front of him, and he felt a great pain between his legs. Like someone poured lava on his balls. Rick lost his breath, his lungs useless, bags of nothing. His head felt very heavy, a terrible weight on his shoulders, so he bent over to ease the pressure, then everything went black.
                                                                              

                                                                                 3

 

    Gwendolyn Majors picked at her nails, sat fuming in the car. She stared out the car window seeing nothing but red.
     Her husband of five years, Raymond Majors, sighed as he drove.
     “What is it, honey?” His voice no longer had the southern drawl, more Midwestern.
     Gwen shrugged, continued to pick off the purple nail polish. She turned to Ray, her green eyes ablaze.
     “I could have handled him. Little guy like that? Shit.”
     Ray looked to heaven. He was tired. He hated weddings, his own being the exception. Listening to people lie about how the couple were the most wonderful people in the whole wide world. Doesn’t the bride look so beautiful? And the groom! How handsome! Ray saw a fat cow, and a brain-dead hick. Lots of pimples. Hair cut by his mother, whose eyesight must be almost non existent. His wisp of mustache laughable. His smile forced, his eyes screaming for help. He sure drank himself under the table. Made sure he was well sloshed before his honeymoon started, hoping his inebriation will take a few pounds off his new bride. Laying on top of her must be like exercising with one of those medicine balls.
     “Hell, I know that. Dumb-ass could’ve been taken by a child. You see how he held the gun? Christ, I wanted to laugh.” Ray shook his head at the sheer ineptness.
     “Then why’d you take him? Why not let me? I’ll tell you why. It’s because your a man, and the man-“
     Ray rolls his eyes. “Are you gonna start with the again? Really? I did what I did because the moment arrived, because the opening was there. That’s all.”
     “You did it to save the damsel in distress. Man has to protect the little woman from the little horny fish.”
     “Honey, that’s not-“
     “Gonna rape my wife? I heard you, I fuckin’ heard you. You were protecting me. Shit, I almost imagined the white hat on your ten gallon head. Man strong. Woman weak. It makes me so angry! I could have taken him.”
     “Okay, okay, you win, I did it to protect you, to save you, I untied you from the tracks just in the nick of time. Penelope Pitstop lives to see another day. We’re gonna drive off into the sunset, and you’re gonna blow me for saving your life.”
     Her green eyes lost a bit of fire, and she tried to dampen a grin, her ruby red lips making all kind of shapes, and lines.
     “Asshole.”
     Ray looks at Gwen, winks.
     “Naw, asshole’s in the back seat, sleeping.”
     Gwen turns and looks at the would be carjacker laying curled up in the back seat looking like a child taking a nap during a long arduous journey to some place they didn’t want to go.
     I’d have taken him. Easily.

 

                                                                                    4

 

 

     Ray drove, glancing at Gwen, that red sequined dress accentuating her body perfectly.
    We gotta get another car, he thought, and a change of clothes. That dress is too distracting and I need no distractions when the work begins. Damn, she’s beautiful. Does Walmart sell burlap sacks? First things first, though
     Take care of this asshole. Show him the way of the world. Show him the truth.That the weak do not fuck with the strong.
     “Need another car. This one’s a bit too conspicuous. So’s your dress. Your tits are gonna spill out if I hit a pot hole.”
     “Then avoid all the pot holes, darlin’.” Gwen shakes with laughter, her milky white breasts wobbling in time.
Ray grins, begins to nod his head to the generic Rock on the radio.
     Thump! Thump! Thump! Frightened muffled yell.
     “Ah, fuck. He’s awake already?” Gwen says angrily. “Your losin’ your touch, Ray.”
     “Wanted to knock him out, not kill him, love.”
     Thump! Thump! Thump!
     “Fuck it, he’s gonna wake the asshole. Pull over, I’ll take care of him.”
     “Now, Gwen, babe, no-“
     “I’ll be gentle, promise. There’s a field on the right. Pull in there.”
     Ray looked around, using all the mirrors. Not much traffic this time of night. Pulled into the field, muddy from last nights rain.
     Christ, he thought, that’s all we need, to get stuck. He parked by an untended hedge, hoping that it’ll keep them out of sight, got out of the car, walked around to the passenger side, opened the door for Gwen.
     “Why, thank you kind sir.”
     “Hurry up,” said Ray, as he popped the trunk.
     Gwen stared into the quite roomy trunk and smirked at the man trussed, and gagged. His eyes were pleading, scared. The stench made Gwen flinch back. “Jesus!”
     Ray shook his head. Best man at the wedding was a shitter. Looked real mean when he was drinking with the boys. Had that laugh that wasn’t a laugh, but a tough man’s titter. Fucker thought he was tough. His bowels said different.
     Gwen was furious. She slapped the man. Slapped him again.
     “Dirty fucker!”
     Scratched her nails across his face. Muffled screams again.
     “Shut up! Shut up you little shit. Keep fucking quiet, or I’m gonna take my nail file to your balls.” The man tried to curl up. Muffled sobs. Then Gwen began stroking his hair, and in a soothing voice said, “listen, we’ll be asking you a few questions in an hour or two. I’m sure you know which ones. Uh-uh, no, don’t shake your head, won’t do you no good lyin’. Mr B won’t like you lyin’. Now, be quiet, okay? You wake the guy up in the backseat? Well, the pain will be fierce, I promise you. No more thumping, and we’ll go easy on you. But, while you’re waiting for us, think hard on your answers to our questions. We’re the best. The best, understand? We’ll know. Now be a good boy…,” She grabs his hair, pulls his head up close to her face, whispers, “shut the fuck up.” Slams the trunk. Gets back in the car. “There’s a Walmart a couple of miles ahead. I’ll buy us some regular clothes. Mr B says there’s a place not too far from here that has shitty cameras, but plenty of cars to choose from. Some kind of trance club. Let’s get assholes lesson over with.”
     Ray smiles in anticipation. Drives with glee.
     The weak do not fuck with the strong.

 

                                                                             5.

 

 

    Some cars are so old, so beat up, the owner doesn’t give two fucks about it getting stolen. They never lock the doors, some will even keep the keys in the ignition, walk away with a slight hope someone will steal it. Give them an excuse to upgrade from a shit car to a crap car.
     The car Ray picked was an old Chevy Monte Carlo. Looked green in the back of the parking lot, but the darkness probably hid it’s true color. The car looked as if it was in a demolition derby. There were so many dents, and dings, lots of rust, not one window was free of cracks. Someone had written in black marker on the passenger door “Wash Me,” then crossed it out, and beneath it said “Kill me.”
     Doors were unlocked, keys were in the ignition, and a 12 pack of Bud Lite sat behind the driver’s seat, along with a plethora of empty bags of Cheetos, and Lay’s salt and vinegar potato chips.
     “Bud Lite. Jesus.” said Ray, disgusted as he opened the door for Gwen.
     “Don’t drink it, then.” said Gwen, glancing at the asshole curled up in the back seat as he snored. Little guy, but heavy to carry.
     Ray got in on the driver’s side, turned the ignition, and, miraculously, the car started. There was a few burps, and farts, and wheezes from the engine at first, but she gave a loud cough, then roared.
     He turned to Gwen, smiled, “lady luck’s still with us. Speaking of lady, you look like Taylor Swift, only with bigger tits.Nothin’ gets my motor runnin’ like Walmart clothing.”
     She blew him a raspberry, sticking her tongue out at an obscene length.
     “Well, you look like Kayne, only whiter.”
     “Touche, my love. Now, where’s this asshole live?”
     Gwen looked at the driver’s license, wondering at the hilarity of working the BMV and taking the photo at the worst possible second. Rick Bollard looked like he just got out of bed and was about to be arrested. “Depforth Street, Off 38th, about three miles.”
     “Okay, you direct, and I’ll obey. That’s a first, right, hon?”
     “Fuck you.” laughed Gwen.
     Rick continued to snore.

 

                                                                                       6.

 

 

    “This it? Christ, looks like he lives carjack to carjack.”
     Gwen, and Ray stared at the run down house, with it’s barely painted siding, weed filled postage stamp lawn, and at the small rotted wood shed.
     “Yeah, look at all the houses on this street. Foreclosure heaven. Fuckin’ sad.” said Gwen, as she reached over for a Bud Lite, popped it open, and poured over the asshole.
     Rick was all spastic as he blubbered, and sputtered, his hands rubbing his face, arms spasming, legs kicking. “Whu-whu-what the fuck!”
     “Hello, asshole,” said ray.
     “Hello asshole,”said Gwen.
     Rick stopped moving. Only his eyes moved. They blinked. Blinked again. And again. Then it dawned on him.
“Oh, no, no, please, please. I didn’t-I swear I wasn’t-oh shit, please…, please don’t kill me. Please don’t kill me!”
     “Aw, shut the fuck up, asshole. We’re not gonna kill you. We’re gonna teach you.”
     Rick was confused. “What? I-what? I-I don’t unnerstand? Teach me? Teach me what?”
     “Not to fuck with the strong.” said Ray, grinning. “Get out of the car, asshole.” He pointed the .38 at Rick’s face. “Only gonna say it once, though.”
     Rick put his hands up, Gwen told him to put them down, just get out of the car. Like, now, asshole.
     Ray tracked Rick with the gun as he got out, then Gwen got out, he then handed her the gun as he got out. “Nice place you got here. Do all the work yourself? I’ve tried and failed so many times at growing so many weeds. You’ve certainly got the thumb, man.”
     Rick was openly crying. “Please don’t hurt me. Please.”
     “Shit, we ain’t gonna hurtcha, asshole. That’d be like when your daddy beats ya for being out late, or sticking the centerfold pages of Big Mama Jugs together with your preschool juice. You wouldn’t learn a lesson. You’d just sneak out when he’s asleep, and shoot your watery jizz over your copy of Spiderman, instead. The pain goes away, the lesson fades, and you go back to your old ways. We are better teachers. You will learn. You will never forget. Now, get in the house.” Ray’s voice was ice cold, robotic, devoid of emotion. It terrified Rick.
     “No-please-listen, I’ve learned. Honest! I swear I won’t, I won’t ever-ever-I-oww!”
     Gwen slapped him hard in the face.
    “In the house, asshole.”
     Rick sobbed, and blubbered, nodded as he rubbed his cheek, now blazing with fire.
     He turned toward the house, felt for his keys in his pocket, had a microsecond thought about running, or screaming, even of turning and attacking. But, that thought turned his bowels to water, so he walked a dead man’s walk to his house.
     “What are you going to do?” He whispered.
     “Whatever the fuck I want.” answered Ray.

 

                                                                                       7.

 

 

     “Christ, you sure were rough with his old lady.” Said Gwen as they drove back toward the Trance club parking lot.
     “Well, she married the asshole, didn’t she?” Ray thought back to the punches, and kicks, the swollen face, broken mouth, smashed nose. Maybe he did get a little rough. Maybe.
     “And you sure enjoyed asshole’s daughter.” Gwen glared at Ray.
     “Hey, that was business, not personal. I think she was a virgin, you know.”
     “Can anyone living on that street even spell virgin? Bet they use auto-correct on their phones a lot. Text their friends so and so’s a virgil. I saw your cumface, sweetheart. You sure were enjoying doing your business.”
     “And you’ll see it again tonight when we get back to the motel. Hell, honey, I wasn’t enjoying it. I was only teaching asshole a lesson that rape is wrong-“
     “So says the rapist. Like the pot calling the kettle black.” Gwen rolled her baby blues.
     “Hey, listen. That little cocksucker is never ever going to lay his hands on another woman ever again. He was going to rape you. Now, hold your tongue. He was. His cock couldn’t hide in the darkness. He didn’t know what he was going to get himself into, pardon the pun. All he saw was a ditzy looking blonde bombshell in the car. Oh, stop the pouting. He thought you were going to be easy. He’s probably done it before. Got away with it. Thought that little gun gave him power. Little fuck. He ain’t never gonna do that again. He learned a hard lesson, love”
     Gwen could still smell the fear, taste the salty tears in the air, hear the thud of fist on flesh. She still has the image of Rick tied to the bedposts, crying, shouting through the gag of his daughter’s unwashed underwear, made to watch as his wife, and daughter are brutalized in front of him by Ray. The anguish, terror, hate, rage unfold in seconds. She saw the alarm on Ricks face when Ray tells his wife, Doris? Dolly? Whatever her name was, Ray telling her why she was being sodomized. And the abhorrence, the pure un-distilled repugnance she showed as stared at Rick, nearly made Gwen flinch back in revulsion. The woman’s face was unrecognizable. Just a special effect in a horror movie. Her eyes swollen shut, her cheeks abnormally sunken, her nose concealed behind coagulated black blood, her mouth shattered, lips plumped by fist, not Botox. Ray had punched her in the kidney’s, the back of her head, twisted the skin on the back of her arms, slapped her ass until it was bright red, squeezed her right breast until she screamed loud enough to wake the neighborhood, and bit her nipples until they bled. She suffered. She hated. But, not Ray. No. She never took her eyes off Rick. Her hate was palpable, it fogged the air around them. If looks could kill. Then, when Ray was done, she had to suffer again as she was made to watch her 16 year old daughter, Mary? Maisie? Matilda? Began with an M, she was sure of that, she had to watch her being violated. Ray was more gentle, and deep down, Gwen resented it. She wasn’t giving him any tonight. Not for a while. Not until the simmering anger went away. She wasn’t even sure if it even would go away. She’d have to take it day by day. Like a fucking alco.
     She wondered who would free themselves first, the husband, or wife. She knew it wouldn’t be the daughter, Marta? Martha? Gwen had been a wee bit aggressive when trussing her up. She had tightened the cable ties to the point of stopping blood flow to her hands. Hoping the little cunt will lose them. If wifey gets free first, will Rick survive? Which would win her over, her wrath, or her love for her daughter? If Rick gets free, will he run as far away as he can before he calls the police? Which would win over, his fear from a wife full of rage, or the love for his daughter? Interesting scenarios. She ran all of them through her mind, to help take away the thoughts of losing her love for Ray. She didn’t hate him, but she was starting to dislike him. She imagined tightening a cable tie on Ray’s cock. He sure enjoyed that tight pussy a bit too much.
     Ugh! Stop with the jealousy!
     They arrived at the trance club, could hear the booming drone of industrial noise, and yells of patrons. Ecstasy, pile driving music, and sweaty millennials make for quite a night.
     The BMW was still parked on the edge of the field way in the back of the parking lot. Above the booming noise, and screams of drugged out humans, Ray, and Gwen could hear the all too familiar Thump! Thump! Thump!
     “For Christ’s sake!” said an exasperated Gwen.
     Ray laughed. “Who listens to a woman?”
     Enraged, Gwen ran to the trunk, and began slamming her fist down on it. “Shut up! Shut up! I’m telling you, cocksucker, right now! I’m not in a good mood, so you better stop-!”
     “Babe. Honey. A few of the entranced have left their lair.”
     Gwen turned, and saw five young men staring. They were dressed in washed out tees, and bleached jeans, ragged, with torn holes near the knees, and crotches. Probably paid a hefty price for them.
     One of the boys, who looked so young, she wondered if he even had pubic hair yet, laughed shrilly, like a girl on helium. “Look, guys, lady’s so fucked up, she’s yelling at her car. Betcha she popped down one of Bernie’s concoctions. Hey! Lady! That’s a car! A car!”
     Gwen gave him the finger, hoping they’ll come over, hoping she’ll get a chance to spill some blood.
     All the unbearded just laughed, gave her the finger back, then piled into a Ford Tempo. Sped slowly into the night.
     Ray, and Gwen got back into the BMW. Ray started the car, said,
     “To the barn?”
     Gwen rummaged in her sparkly purple purse, brought out her nail file. Her eyes glittered.
     “Oh, yeah, darlin’. Now it’s my turn to play.”
     They drove off, within the speed limit, this time ignoring the continuous Thump! Thump! Thump!

 

 

 

Ramblings

Things That Emerge From My Mind While Driving

Her belly was bloated, colored with black, purple,yellow. She was an outie, her navel about to pop a surprise. Her breasts were like empty Walmart plastic bags, lined with black veins. Her nipples oozed thick green drainage. Her head was next door, not watching CSI:Miami. But, you know what? At a certain angle, with the lights dimmed, she looked strangely erotic. Which made me carefully take a picture, and upload it to Swollenbabes.ru
It got 250 dismembered thumbs up.

What I Don’t Want To Hear When I Take A Woman Home

“Hey, mister, there’s a Tic Tac in your pubic hair.”
“Uh, that’s not a Tic Tac.”

The beginning of a story?

I was googling how to keep flies from laying eggs on my dead wife’s vagina, when there was a knock on the door.

I was watching 70’s porn, got nostalgic.
There’s a little compartment in a wife’s brain that stores every nasty thing you did, or said, to her. 30 years ago, 30 fuckin’ years! Okay, we had a fight, Marge, and me. I walked out of the house, said to her,” takes two paychecks to pay the bills, how you gonna survive, huh?” Marge glared at me, “maybe I’ll just have to prostitute myself,” she said. And I replied, with a bit of venomous mirth, “you’ll have to lose some weight, then, won’t ya.”
30 years ago! And she still talks about it! Oh, my God!
She hasn’t aged well. Went grey 20 years before her time. Gone to fat. Eats so much chocolate, she shits Easter eggs. Watches Dr Phil, Dancin’ With The Stars, and anything with a Kardashian in it. I’m sitting in my easy chair trying to watch the Indians game, and Marge is spewing up all this nostalgia. Her mouth always constantly moving, perpetually forming words that fail to enter my ears because I’ve learned over the years how to tune her out. Once in a while, though, something forces it’s way into my head.
“‘member, George, back in September 24th, 1993, I wore those earrings that you’d bought me the previous Christmas? The ones with the Amethyst gemstones, and diamonds? You didn’t even notice, even with me throwing you hints, an all. That hurt me, George. That really hurt me. I cried myself to sleep.”
Thankfully, I thought.
“Yeah, once again, and again, and again, Marge, I’m sorry, but at least I did notice the one time when you shaved your pussy.”
Man, I was shocked. As soon as I stripped off her panties, hairless pussy.
“What in the name of fuck, Marge! You’re pussy looks like a 12 year olds!” Well, a 12 year old who’s been putting out since she was 4.
“You think I like that? Think I’m a pedo? A fuckin’ freak!”
I was incensed. Then I had an idea. Fuck this. “You lay right there, don’t you move. I’ll be right back!”
I jumped off the bed, went into the bathroom, opened the medicine cabinet, got some tweezers. Squatted. Began to pluck my ass hair. I mean, if you have to blow dry your ass after a shower, you got too much ass hair. So, I plucked, and plucked, enough to get a handful. Then I went downstairs and got some Elmer’s glue.
I’ll fix her, I thought.
She was still laying on her back, sobbing. Ah, fuck. “Shaddup, willya! I’m gonna make it right!”
So I put a little dab of Elmer’s on her pussy, stuck on a few hairs. A lil dab’ll do ya! A dab, a clump, a dab, a clump. Jesus, it was takin’ a long, long time. My dick had gone in a coma. And, pardon the pun, but, I’m one of those people who’s anal retentive. I had to get that triangle just right. Not an obtuse, or an Isosceles, I wanted an Equilateral triangle, but upside down. A real seventies magnificent bush. And the color had to be uniform, the flow of the ass hairs had to be in harmony. When I finally got it to my satisfaction, I heard snoring.
Dammit, Marge!
Hell, I thought, I’ve gone to all this work, by God, I’m not missing out. Asleep, or not, I’m going in!
Maybe if I start eating her out? Might wake her up? Won’t be rape, then? A grey area to be sure.
Fuck it. I went down on her.
And, Jesus Christ, her pussy smelled like my ass! Zest wasn’t doing it’s job. My ass wasn’t Zestfully clean. Gaggin’ I was. Nauseated.
And then I found out that Elmer’s glue doesn’t adhere well to pussy sweat, for a lot of the ass hair stuck to my face. When I ran to the bathroom to throw up, and wash the fuck out of my face, I saw myself in the mirror. I had this weird lookin’ ass hair mustache. Reminded me of the mustache John Holmes wore. Holmes was a porn star. Had a massive cock. Was a massive cock. He used his when golfing. Substituted it for his 9 iron. Even parred all the way. He probably used it as deadly weapon in the Wonderland murders. I remember watching Insatiable, where he was so coked up, he could hardly get it up. His mustache looked just like mine.
“George! George! Are you listening?”
Uh,no.
“George, drone-drone-drone——-”
Time to get back to the game.

David Is The Best/Worst Friend In The Whole Wide World

1

This is David. My invisible friend. He’s been my friend for like forever. He always looks out for me. He always protects me. He makes me stronger. He once held his arm over a lit candle, the flame inches from his pearly white skin, for 2 minutes, 32 seconds. I couldn’t even make it to 30 seconds. It hurt. And the smell of singed hair made my eyes water. Running the burn under a tap relieved the pain but as soon as I pulled my arm away, the pain came back. My arm was under the running water for a long, long time. I remember Mommy yelling at me. And Daddy scolding me, screaming about the water bill. David just glared at Mommy and Daddy, gave them both the evil eye. They didn’t survive long after that. David’s evil eye was really effective.

You can’t see him. He is quite possibly the most beautiful man in the whole wide world. Not that he looks like a model, or movie star, nothing like that. He’s flawless. He doesn’t have any spots, or wrinkles, or pockmarks, crinkles, his skin is really smooth, and velvety to touch. He is hairless. I know that because he is naked. He isn’t embarrassed, though sometimes I am, especially when I have someone over for dinner. Definitely makes me uncomfortable when I have a lady over. What can I do, though? He’s my friend. The greatest friend anyone can ever have. I can’t tell him to leave. He doesn’t bother anyone. unless they bother me. Then he gives them the evil eye. Then I’ll know I’ll never see them again. Works out quite well. Plus he doesn’t eat, or fart, or snore, or tell bad jokes, or laugh inappropriately. He’s perfect.

2

He tells me things about my neighbors. He knows a lot about them. For instance he told me the story of Mrs Hickson.

Mrs Hickson is a wonderful old lady who lives two doors down from me. Always pleasant, always courteous. She asked me once if I knew anything about drains since hers was clogged and was making an awful mess. David told me to say yes, and she invited me into her home. I had to take my shoes off at the door before I entered. She had a polished wood box just for shoes. It looked as if she just bought it straight out of the store. This way, she said, and please mind the clutter, this drain has gotten me all flustered. I searched around for something out of place, and all I could see was a couple of used tissues laying on her coffee table. I figured it must be bad since the mess had made her cry. She walked me through her living room which looked like one of those showrooms you see at home and garden shows. Pristine, dust free. Immaculate. I imagined this is what a house would look like in Heaven. Everything looked new, spotless. The couch was covered in plastic, as were the two high back recliners sitting in front of the fireplace. The mantle has many photos of Mrs Hickson with a man who I assumed was Mr Hickson. David told me he died two years ago from an aneurysm. They were childless. The largest photo was framed in gold. It was old. Black and white. Blurry. There was a huge man holding a little girl high upon his shoulders. The little girl was laughing, and the man had the biggest smile. Her father, David told me. Do you mind? asked Mrs Hickson. she held a pair of gloves in her already gloved hand. They were the type you see in hospitals. I must have looked perplexed because she said do you mind putting them on? its just that I have just scrubbed and waxed the banister and, well, do you mind? No, no, not at all Mrs Hickson. Glad to. Thank you she said, rather relieved.

We walked up the stairs, the thick white, and I mean white, carpet making our climbing quiet. Well, that and the fact that I was walking in my stocking feet. I didn’t hear a creak though. Not a sound. It was kind of eerie. We got to the bathroom. It gleamed. The bathtub was a thing to behold. The jolly green giant could fit in there. Here it is, said Mrs Hickson, pointing at the sink, a look of horror on her face. A couple of spots of black sludge lay around the drain of the sink. Can you do anything about that, she asked with a tremor in her voice. David told me to say yes, of course. You got any tools? David told me how to fix her drain, and I did everything precisely as he said. As soon as I was done, Mrs Hickson was already garbed up to attack the stain without prejudice. She had her rubber gloves, her spray bottles, her scrub pads, cloths, apron, mask. She looked as if she were about to go to war. Thank you she said, tears in her eyes. She fumbled about in her apron pocket, took out a fifty, tried to give it to me. No, no, no I said, I couldn’t, really, Mrs Hickson, it was an easy job. A plumber would have cost me a lot more, she said. Please, take it. She was quite firm, so I relented. As David and I left, my worn shoes looking filthy, unworthy, Mrs Hickson, broom in hand, methodically brushed away my footsteps.

OCD? I asked David. Yeah, he said. She was born in a small coal mining town in Kentucky, he told me, her father was a great big man with a hearty laugh, and a big heart. Dorthy Fitzburgh loved her daddy. He was the gentleness of souls. And he doted on Dot. She was his favorite of the six children he had with Francis, his wife. After a day in the mine, he would come home, try to shower and scrub away all the dust and grime off his skin. Then he would sit in his favorite chair, pop open a Schlitz, and take it all in in one big gulp. He’d sigh, burp, then open his arms, and Dot would jump up from wherever she was sitting and leap into his arms. They were strong, and protective, safe. How’s my girl bin t’day? He’d ask. And she’s tell him all about school, and what her brothers got up to, and all about the games she played with her friends, but he’d never get to hear all of it because he’d fall asleep, tired, exhausted after being in the mine all day. One night, when she was 7, David told me this in a stage whisper, she had gotten up to go to the outhouse to pee, and found her father sitting in his recliner, sobbing. She ran to him, forgetting all about her bladder, and kneeled next to him, trying hard to keep the tears springing up, and asked him what was wrong. He looked up with such despair. Oh, Dot, he said, oh my sweet little girl. Ahm feelin’ down, is all. Ah see this tiny little house, with it’s cracked windows, and stained ceilings, and lousy plumbing, rotting wood an ah just cannot stand it anymore. Ah wish ah could give y’all a better place to live, a better life, an education. Your’n Mama works hard trying to make this place look livable, and then ah come in all dusty and dirty messin’ it all up. And ah don’t make enough money to make things better. Ah work hard, Dot, but my paycheck don’t reflect that at all. It makes me ashamed, ah feel less of a man. Dot stood up, put her arms around her daddy’s neck and told him you are the greatest Daddy in the whole wide world. I don’t care about cracks and rot and damp. Who cares about all that when they’ve got nothin’ but love surrounding them. I love you, Daddy. I will always love you. Everyone loves you. He lifted Dot, hugged her and sobbed even harder. You, he said are the greatest daughter not in the whole wide world, but in the universe. The greatest ever. And ah am so blessed to have you as ma child. God has given me a gift that ah can never repay. I love you, Dot. always remember that. You are so special. He sat her on his lap, wiped his eyes. She could see that the tears had cleaned some of the grime off his face. It looked like a map showing rivers, and creeks. She stared at his face for a long time. Listen, he said, a catch in his throat. Listen, tell ya what. Help your Mama clean this place. She needs a lot of help getting all the dust out. Your brothers ain’t got a lick of sense when it comes to being clean, so that has to be your job. Keep it as clean as humanly possible. It’ll help me when ah come home full of coal dust. It’ll ease my sadness. ah’ll figure out somethin’ for the comin’ summer. Hook up a shower outside, get a laundry basket to put ma dirty clothes in. You just make sure Daddy has clean clothes. Can’t do it now, not with winter comin’, but when it starts warmin’ up. That way your Mama won’t be huffin’ and puffin’ and grumblin’ about all the dirt ah’m draggin’ into the house.

He smiled, but it was a sad smile. Whaddya say, Dot? She hugged him again. Smelt the sadness and despair. Promised, before God, that she would do it. Daddy? Yes, my baby girl? She kissed on the cheek. I gots to go. I have to pee. He laughed, kissed the top of her head. Well, go on. Watch out fer critters,tho’. Them skunks are around. Either that, or Mr Scrooge farted. Daddy! Playfully punched him in the arm, then ran, ran fast out the door. Mr Scrooge was the owner of the coal mines. a miserable human being married to a miserable wife, producing an even more miserable son.

On her eight birthday her father went deep down into the mine, and never came out. They never did find his body. The jolly green giant was gone and it tore his whole family apart. Dot especially. She vowed to get out of that town no matter what. And she did just that on her 16th birthday. Just up and went. Hitchhiked to Ohio, got a job in a grocery store, saved up money for a place to rent, and then she met Daryl Hickson. He was a regular customer at the IGA, and he always made sure he got in line when Dot was at the cash register. After a while he asked her out. To his surprise, and Dots, she said yes. They dated for a year, then one day he proposed. They were married for 49 years. She always remembered her Daddy, and she always made sure the house was clean for when Daryl got home from working at the steel mill. She scrubbed, and washed, and mopped, and polished, and it took her a whole day to get things right. After making love she would strip the bed, put new crisp clean sheets on. She did this three times one night. Made Daryl roar with laughter. Smacked her on her rump when she was changing the sheets. Oh, no, I’m going to have to change them again. And she’d turn around, hold him and kiss him.

That’s why she is the way she is, David said. And I felt sad for her, but happy too. For she did get out of that miserable little town

3

I do have a friend you can see. His name is Jeff. We’ve been friends for like since we were 7 years old. Jeff isn’t pretty. More rough. Face is pockmarked, nose is out of shape, chin is pointed, and he has a slight squint. Put him next to David and it’s like yin and yang. Complete opposites. Jeff doesn’t have an invisible friend and he sometimes make fun of me for having one. David will get angry and attempt the evil eye, but I tell David to stop because I don’t want Jeff to come to any harm. I mean everyone needs a visible friend. I tell David at night when we are alone that I need a visible friend otherwise I’d be alone. You have me, he’d say, you’ll always have me. I say hey, I know, but, no-one can see you and its not like I can go out for a bite to eat and have a conversation with you. It would look like I’m crazy or something. David relents, says he understands. Look, hey, look at me, I say, look, I’m 30 now. When I was a kid invisible friends were OK. Mommy and Daddy would play along pretending they can see you. Drink their invisible tea, eat their invisible cake. Daddy would fall down clutching his chest pretend to be dead from an invisible arrow. Those times were good until you gave them the evil eye.

They were just being parents, David. They were doing their job. Maybe if they’d had another child, maybe then they would have eased up. But, they couldn’t. I was always at the fertility clinic seems like for forever. And always, always, Mommy would come out of the doctors office crying and Daddy would have his arm around her shoulder, handing her tissues, trying to console her. We’ll keep trying, he’d say. we’ll keep trying. Didn’t help her. I’d hear them talking in their bedroom, whispering fiercely, trying not to raise their voices, arguing whose fault it was, she telling him her eggs were fine, him telling her had an overabundance of sperm. Both saying they should have a houseful of kids by now. I remember Daddy saying that maybe it just wasn’t meant to be. Maybe Hugo, meaning me, was all they were supposed to have. They just didn’t know that you had something to do with their barrenness after I was born. You didn’t want me to have a brother or sister after I was born, after you came into my life. You were the first thing I remember, you were, not Mommy or Daddy. Their faces came after. That’s why they thought something was wrong with me when I was a baby. Thought I was autistic, or something. They told me, laughed about it actually, that it seemed I wasn’t there. That my personality was blank. That I never cried for food, or to be changed, or to be hugged and loved. That I never smiled or laughed. It scared them. I was taken to a lot of specialists and they couldn’t figure it out. Did all kind of tests and stuff. They even discussed about putting me away.  Then bam! One day I became a human being, not a blank state. That’s when you came along. Helped me through the process of having a sense of identity. They were so happy, so relieved.

 

I wonder how different my life would have turned out if I had a sibling. Would you have disappeared from my life? Would a brother or sister upset the apple cart? I ponder that just before I go to sleep. Not that I want you to go away or anything, I mean don’t take it personally. It’s just that, well, it’s just that you are always around. You are always by my side, an invisible shadow. It suffocates me sometimes. Especially around women. If you’d just go to another room while I’m trying to talk. If you’d just stop staring at the women as I attempt to put my arms around them. They can’t see you, but somehow, they sure can sense you. Stiffens them up, makes them very uncomfortable, which is why they don’t stay long, why they make excuses to leave, why I spend my nights alone. Oh, leave off, you know what I mean. I want a relationship. With a woman. Just a kiss. One kiss. That’s all. But no, I don’t even get that. You interfere. You screw everything up. You’re supposed to be my friend, so act like one. Leave me alone for a while. Let me see what that’s like. Let me be myself. Okay? Please?

4

Damn. That didn’t work out at all. I couldn’t move, couldn’t talk. I just sat there, saying nothing, doing nothing, just stared at the TV. Jenny put her arms around me. I didn’t react. She even put her lips on mine. Jesus, she screamed as she slammed the front door, it was like kissing a doll. I was a blank slate again. I was nothing. I didn’t exist. A flesh puppet without a master. I am not myself, am I? I am nothing without you. Truly nothing. I came around when you walked into the room. Do you know how frightened I was right then? To realize that I have no power of my own? That I am utterly powerless without you?

5

Jeff just showed up. It’s unnerving for he always calls ahead. Hey, Hugo, how’s things? He asks looking around the cluttered room, at last nights uneaten dinner for two, two nights of dirty dishes fighting for room in the sink, the stacks of broken pencils piled into a precarious pyramid on the coffee table. I really don’t remember doing that. I didn’t even know I had that many pencils in the house. Where is he? He asks. Beside me, I say. Oh, hey Dave how’s it hangin’? On my left, I explain. Oh, Dave, my man, what’s cookin’ bro? David hates being called Dave. And hates the way Jeff speaks to him. His eyes are getting dark. Why are you rubbing your chest? I ask Jeff. Oh, just some heartburn. Should’na had that Pepsi on the way here. Pop always gives me the burns. I turn to David. Don’t, I say forcefully. Yeah, Dave, don’t. It’s not me, Hugo. He really does have heartburn. I blush with embarrassment. Why are you here,Jeff? Need ya to come with me. It’s important. Where to? It’s a surprise, Hugo. Just for you. Davey boy ain’t invited. Don’t! I yell. Yeah, don’t! yells Jeff. What happened, he get up out of the wrong side of the bed this mornin’? You grumpy, Davey? I bow my head, shake it, please Jeff, I’m tired, too tired for surprises. Jeff comes right up to me, stands with his hands on his hips, then pushes the air to the left of me. David had already moved away. Jenny called me. Told me this godawful tale about you just sitting there like you were in a coma or something. She said you were a nice guy, but too weird for her. And Jenny’s been with some weirdo’s Hugo. For you to spook her like that? Jesus, that must’ve been one strange date. So, what happened? Huh? You want to tell me? I’m your best friend, remember? We’ve been friends for years, Hugo. Davster get all jealous? Freak out? Interfere? You can tell me all about it while we walk to my car. Dick, I mean Dave can do some housecleaning while we’re away. Is he able to do stuff like that? Can he enter the physical world, the real world? Can ya, Davey boy? There’s so much venom in Jeff’s voice. So much hate. He’s the one that’s jealous, says David. Wants you all to himself. But, tell me, who saved you from those boys who wanted to rob and beat you? Who took care of that horrible English teacher and his threat to give you an f? Who showed you the diseases that Harriet carried before you plucked up the courage to ask out on a date? Who took care of the mechanic that tried to rip you off? Jeff? No, Hugo, it was me. I will always look after you because I’m always with you. Jeff comes over when he damn well feels like it. And it’s been a while since he last came over. It’s been getting longer and longer. His wife thinks you’re weird, his kids think you’re weird, his other friends think you’re weird. He laughs when they make a joke about you. They tell sordid tales about us. Quite graphic, very detailed. Oh, if you ever heard them, you would explode, Hugo. Would you like that? Shall i tell one-no! I scream loudly. Shut up! Tears drip on the stained carpet and I absurdly think thank God Mrs Hickson can’t see that. She’d have a stroke. Jeff grabs my arm, tries to pull me up. C’mon, Hugo, we’re going. Let’s go. David whispers in my ear. He’s taking you to a shrink. He think your head needs examined. A shrink? A shrink? I ask incredulously. Jeff’s eyes widen and I see the truth. You think I’m mad? You think I’m insane? Is that it? No-now wait a minute, here, wait, Hugo, calm down, calm down, okay? I don’t know how- Jeff clutches his chest, falls back, crashing onto the coffee table, pieces of pencil flying everywhere. Jeff! Jeff! I get up, rush over to him, scared, unsure of what to do. His eyes are wide, and his face is turning blue. He coughs up bloody phlegm. CPR! CPR you fool! or call 911! Do something! Where’s my cell phone? Oh, hell, where did I put it? Compressions, never mind, do compressions! How many, oh, how many? I place my hands on his chest, his face is now almost black, like a miners. In my peripheral vision I notice David moving away from me. David! David! Please, help me! Talk me through this! I need to save him! David turns to me, smiles, walks into the bedroom, shuts the door. I turn my head toward Jeff, and become nothing. I watch the light go out of his eyes. I watch my visible friend die. My only friend die. The screaming in my head becomes louder, and louder, and louder, and invisible tears roll down my cheeks as I hear laughter coming from behind the bedroom door.

Oh, I Love The Smell Of Semen In The Morning

“Oh, I love the smell of semen in the morning,” she exclaimed, though I was pretty sure we didn’t fuck last night.
Or, did we? Last night is clear up to a point. I picked up Abby at her apartment on S. Park Street. She looked gorgeous in her black and blue dress with the plunging neckline. Her red hair was tied up, with little wisps looking as if they were arranged that way for effect. Her legs took center stage with all the workout she’s been doing. Long, muscular, smooth. Athletic.
She got in the car. We talked about our day, laughed, listened to Bill Withers’ Lovely Day over and over again. Went to Applebee’s. I had ribs, she had the chicken, ate as if it was her last meal. No, she ate as if someone was going to take her plate away. I told her to slow down, that I can’t even spell Heimlich, never mind do it, but, she giggled and said that she always eats that way. She has four brothers, and they all messed with her by taking some of her food.
Then we went dancing at the new club on Forth Street called Feets. That’s when things get hazy. I remember drinking a shot of Tequila to bolster my courage to get on the dance floor. I remember Abby buying the first drinks, that is clear because I argued that the man should buy the first drinks, and she shrilly laughed and told me it was 2015 and that man was finally in his rightful place, second. Then she went up to get the drinks, and, I distinctly remember her texting someone on her phone as she waited for the order. I asked her who she texted, and she told me it was Rally, her neighbor, who lives next door. She’s a nice lady, around 40, I think, I’m not sure to be honest. She could be younger, or, older, she’s just got that face. To be quite frank, she’s ugly as sin. And I mean she didn’t fall through an ugly tree, she was dragged through a whole bloody forest. I know it sounds mean, but, with the warts, pimples, and stretched, dry skin, and her thick, black eyebrows, her slight squint, big nose, and pointy chin, she looks like a police rendition of a meth addicted grandma. Her body is flat, like a 2D photo, her legs, when she uncovers them, which is rarely, look like two misshapen lumps of wood carved by Picasso when he had a urinary tract infection.
Still, I felt a little shame there when thoughts like that enter my head. She is truly a nice lady. She has an infectious laugh, though when she opens her mouth and you see missing teeth it kind of deflates the joy. She’d do anything for you. Yes, I felt incredible shame.
After the drink, though, well, things are really pretty foggy. Did I dance? Did I drink a lot? Too much?
Did we fuck?
Did she slip me a mickey? Did Abby roofie me?
No, that’s preposterous. Why’n the hell would she do that? Still, I was feeling unnerved.
So I asked her straight out. Did we fuck?
She looked astonished. You can’t remember? Am I not that good? Have I lost my -ahem- technique?
I can’t remember anything after entering the club, I said.
You did drink a lot, she said, looking ,what, suspicious?
Then, as I pulled off the blanket off me, I got a waft of something.
Something familiar.
My eyes widen, and I gasped with horror. Body odor. Oh, not the odor of laying in bed all night, not the familiar odor of someone who showers everyday, no, this was the odor of the Great Unwashed. The odor of someone who fears they will wither away like the Wicked With Of The West if so much as a drop of water hits their skin.
Rally.
I know, I know deep within me that she had been in this bed. Oh, my dear Lord…oh, no…not possible…did I? DID I?!!
Abby, I screamed, Did I, did I, hell, I can hardly say it, did I fuck Rally? Did I? I sound like a broken record.
Abby, put her hands up to her lovely, conspiratorial face, and said, no, whatever gives you that idea? Of course not.
She doesn’t act very well. I jumped up, ran to the shower, scrubbed myself raw with hot scalding water, washed my dick about a thousand time, and when the water got too cold for me to stay under the stream, I dressed, and left her apartment. Left for good.
As I walked out to my car, Rally was at her door, smoking a cigarette. Her eyes were no longer squinting.
They were full of knowing.

Assassin

Assassin,
by,
William Morgan

” I had my gun,see? As soon as I held that .38 special in my hands, I felt powerful. I felt like a man. I was gonna be all like Micheal Corleone in that restaurant. So, yeah, I went over to Bernies. He owed me money. A lot of money, but, I only wanted a little, not it all, just enough to get by. So, yeah, I went over there.’cept Bernie was dead. And, they just didn’t kill him, they fuckin’ destroyed him. There was hardly anything left of him. He was torn apart. They left his face intact, I guess so’s he could be recognized. But, the rest of him? Well, you saw him. Who could do that to another human being? I stared at him a long time, tryin to comprehend what I was looking at. It was horrendous, but, it was difficult to look away. Morbid curiosity, I expect.
And, yeah, ya got me. After the shock, I decided to look around some, see if I could find some money. I didn’t have a dime to my name, man. I needed to eat, y’know? So, I look all over the house. In the livin’ room, bedroom, bathroom, in his couch, in his cupboards, closets, fridge freezer, under carpets, under the mattress, pots, pans, every fuckin’ where. Then I step on this floorboard in the spare bedroom. It’s loose, and I’m like, oh, yes! So, I lift up the floorboard, and I find a strong box. I take it out, and, lets be honest, I was scared shitless. What if the killers come back? What if they were looking for the box I had in my hands? Every noise made me jump. I was like shittin’ bricks. So, I’m thinkin’, ok, get the fuck out. Take the box, go home, break it open.
And that’s what I did. Got a hammer and bashed the fuck out of that lock until it finally broke. I was sweatin’. Not used to workin’. I was pissed when I opened the box, cos there wasn’t any money in it, only videotapes. They were labelled alphabetically. Annabelle, Beth, Cassandra, Cathy, Christ he had about 40 tapes in there. So, I’m thinkin’, well, he’s been makin’ some home movies, maybe I can sell em, get a little bit. So, I pop the one labelled Cassandra in the VCR and play it. I wanted to see how good a quality the movie was.
Do you know what it’s like not to sleep? To be scared of closing your eyes because you know for a fact you’re gonna have a soul burning, horrifying, nightmare? That you’re gonna see Bernie, all ripped and torn, with his guts trailing on his bedroom floor, with his limbs moving unnaturally cos they’re hanging by tendons, his neck in a strange angle, grinning lasciviously as it climbs upon a 14 year old girl?
I never knew, never even suspected Bernie was a kiddie fucker. He just didn’t look the type. Bernie looked normal, y’know? I’m still tryin to process it, and I’ll never be able to understand. All those tapes, all those poor children. Jesus, and I can’t sleep, I can’t sleep. And, I’m tired, so fuckin tired, so scared of what lies behind my eyes when I close them.
But, I think I know what happened to Bernie. Revenge, that’s what that was. Fuckin ball to the wall, no holds barred vengengance. That’s why the face was left intact. Because his name had to get in the paper. A definite identity.
He was slaughtered, Detective Monahan, assassinated.”

Hard

Boom! Boom! Boom! Boom!
Sheila! wake up! Please! Jesus, it’s important! I don’t know how much time we got! WAKE UP!”
Sheila Munder furrowed her brow, gritted her teeth,and almost growled as she slowly stirred from her dream of normalcy, contentment, and Moth-“
Boomboomboomboomboom! “FOR FUCK’S SAKE, SHEILA! WAKE UP! I DON’T KNOW HOW LONG IT’S GONNA LAST! PLEASE! FOR THE LOVE OF GOD!”
Al Munder stirred ever so slightly, his REM sleep halted for a moment, his face impassive, slack,with a tiny bit of drool making a beeline for the stained, flat pillow that holds his balding, empty head.
Deep, deep down, he thinks to himself, huh? wasszat? huh? Al? zat me? Al? wasszat noise?
Shelia opened her eyes and looked at the clock. It was one in the morning. One in the fucking morning and she had to get up with the chickens and somebody’s trying to break the door down.
You better have a damn good reason for waking me, she thought, or I’m gonna be kicking some ass.
She shook the cobwebs out of her brainpan, turned over in the bed and looked at her husband, who just lay there, out like a light, not a care in the world.
Ya bloody great lump.
Sheila sighed and felt the weight of the world upon her, the unrelenting stress, the heartache. Her shoulders slumped, her head hangs, her eyes glistened.
Why, she thought, why?
Al, thought, huh?

2

“Cath! You break that door down and I swear I’ll-“
Shelia opened the door, and stared at her best friend Cath Frogton, who lived across the street, and who was standing outside her door wearing a baby-doll nightie that held nothing to the imagination, holding the hand of her husband, Ray, who was only wearing pajama bottoms (that depicted SpongeBob in various disguises. (Look! There he/it is disguised as Waldo! And there he/it is disguised as Elmer Fudd! Funnee!Funnee!). Ray was staring off into another dimension, his eyes empty, a slight grin on his mannequin face.
“My God, Cath,what’s wrong? Is there something wrong with the house? Do ya have a gas leak? An intruder?- Omygod, is there someone in your house? -is it Ray? Is there somethin’-“
“He’s hard,” said Cath, proudly.
“He’s what? Hard? Whaddyamean hard? Hard, hard? The hard?”
Cath smiles, reaches down and pulls out the waistband of Rays fav pajamas (Look!He/it’s disguised as Daffy!).
Sheila stares, her eyes bulge, and her jaw almost drops off her face as she sees an honest to God fully engorged, erect penis. She so wanted to reach in and touch it, just to make sure it wasn’t a mirage,or anything. She stood fascinated, watching it twitch and quiver.
It reminded her of Al.
Oh, you bad girl, shut your mouth.
“How? What did you do? Jesus! Look at it! It’s real, a bonafide hard-on! It’s erect! My god, Cath, we gotta take a picture.No-one’s gonna believe it. We’re gonna be rich!”
We? thought Cath. We? That iron dick belongs to me.
“It’s all yours,” said Cath, reluctantly, enviously.” I’m on my period, so this’ll go to waste, we need to get upstairs now and get the deed done, before it goes away, oh, Sheila, we need to go now, luv, cos I’m havin second thoughts ’bout you fuckin’ my man, but, in these harsh times, in these fucked up, mean, harsh, end of the world , apocalyptic times, pride goeth before a fuck. Get ‘im up there and ride the fuck out of him and collect that white gold. Maybe one of his little swimmers will remember where to meet up with one of your ovaries and we’ll have contact and they’ll melt into one another and create our survival. Go!”
Sheila was in a state of shock. Fuck her best friends man? How could she?
Hell, how could you not? she thought, ever since something happened and all the men started to develop an extreme form of dementia, where they forgot just about everything ‘cept how to breathe, plus to add to the misery, all cocks went soft, the world has been a different place. Who could imagine every man becoming impotent? When was the last time a baby was born? She couldn’t remember, it was so long ago. Hell, do I even remember how to fuck?
She grabs Rays hand, “C’mon, big boy, times a wastin'”
Ray, whose brain was in sleep mode, doesn’t move, just stands there looking off somewhere else, his face devoid of emotion, unable to react, communicate, a silent doll with an erection.
“Help me, Cath, poor guy’s completely out of it.”
Cath sobs quietly as she remembers Ray when he was a fully functional human being. Talking, laughing, able to drive, able to work, able to live.
“Ray! C’mon! Hey, Ray! Look at me! It’s Cath! Remember? Cath! Fartbox! That’s what you call me, remember? After the night of the beans and cabbage? Please, honey, I need you to go-I need you to go with Sheila. Here, I’ll go with you, ok? Give me your hands, that’s it, hold my hands, walk with me, microwave. There, that’s it…one step at a time…Shelia…you’ll have to do this in the living room, I don’t think I’ll be able to get him upstairs…go get some sheets and blankets and lay them on the floor…Ray, micro….stay with me…hurry, Sheila.”

3

Sheila, wrapped in a blanket, looks in despair as she watches Cath prepare Ray for the…the what? Fucking? Lovemaking? Babymaking? Betrayal?
I can’t do this.
Her face is wet from the tears flowing freely and she finds herself shaking as if she is in the worst of Winter, when it is a balmy August night.
Oh, God, I can’t do this.
“Cath, I can-“
Her best friend looks up at Sheila, with a look of determination, and an unutterable sadness in her face, and, with a voice full of heartache states “He’s ready”
“Oh, Cath, Cath, I don’t thing I can go through with this.This is wrong.This is-“
“-maybe a new beginning. Look,you think I’m gonna enjoy this? This is breakin’ my heart. My man, my man, probably the only man in this whole goddamn world who has something that every woman wants right now, a chance…, a chance to be a Mother…, a chance to restart this fuckin’ ball of crud, a chance for humanity. And, me, his wife, who cares for him, feeds him, washes him, changes his diaper, who watches her husband day by soul-crushing day become a vegetable, and who despairs and rages at what he has become, is on her fucking period. I’m goddamn bleeding clots and I am full of anger right now, so full of cold, black, rage and it is tearing me apart so much that I want to destroy this fucking world, this Universe, because life, as always, is so unfair. I’m getting fucked, alright, but, not by Ray. So,drop that blanket, rub that Vaseline around your lucky cunt, fuck that real doll and hope he squirts some viable swimmers.Now! Before I change my mind.”

4

“Well, that was-“
“Quick? Why dya think I call him Micro?”
Shelia, her legs up in the air, starts giggling. If that was fucking, well, she sure didn’t want to do it again. Never even had a chance to get any pleasure. As soon as his cock entered her, Ray shuddered, a half grin appeared, his eyes crossed, and drool dribbled out of his mouth unto her nose. Is that considered a facial?
But, he came, a lot. If felt like he spewed a gallon of semen into her, and she prayed that his sperm didn’t have Alzheimer’s and that their little GPS maps were uploaded correctly (Take a right here, now a left,no, not that way! That’s the fucking spleen!).
Where did it go wrong? she thought. Why did it go wrong?
No-one could come up with an answer. The air was tested, the water was tested, DNA was scrutinized to the Nth degree, brains were explored, scanned, sliced, autopsies were performed and every inch of the body was analyzed. And, nothing, absolutely nothing was determined as to the cause of the dementia, or the impotence. Viagra, Cialis, Levrita, every ED med was tried, and every aphrodisiac was bought (causing Rhinos to become extinct, and oysters to be one of the most expensive dishes on the planet). Nothing helped. Deer Penis didn’t, nor, Spanish Fly. Lingerie sales sky rocketed, but that did not stir the snake.
The snake was dead, long live the dildo
There were riots, of course, sperm banks were robbed, turkey basters were shoplifted, and men who had been cryogenically frozen were thawed and their sperm sold on eBay. Many people got rich from the Great Madness..Men, finding themselves impotent, took their rage out on their girlfriends, wives, and children. There were countless murder/suicides, shooting sprees ,and assaults. Then the dementia slowly crept in and everything had to re-imagined. The police force, Fire department, Armed forces, Navy, and Government had to be reconstructed. Men no longer ruled. Those in Government fought to the bitter end, but, in the end the men were voted out because no-one wanted men in power who forgot what that power would unleash upon the world. There was a major shift in political, economical, and fiscal power. The Great Madness created a vacuum, and it sucked the light out of the world. It was a time of darkness, and violence, and rage. Love was smothered in it. Women were in control, but, it came at a terrible price. Frustration set in, and, many women turned to drugs to escape the heartache. Fetish sites got astronomical hits, sometimes overloading the servers. Pornography came out on top, as DVD and Blue Ray’s set record sales. Many watched for nostalgia, and those born after the Great Madness watched to see what an erect penis looked like. Surprisingly, most women stayed with their husbands and boyfriends. There were divorces of course, but not as many as people thought. One woman was quoted as saying “Well, they can’t fuck, but they still have their fingers and tongues.” The hardship of taking care of someone with dementia came to full bore. The anguish of watching their men slowly forget who they are, and the agony of the men not recognizing their loved ones caused immense heartache. Then there was the violence, and the walking out of the house in the middle of the night, the incontinence, and the falls. Men could not drive, or, fly, or sail. They could not operate machinery, even those who were not affected by the Great Madness, because it was sudden onset. The average age of the dementia was 20, and those who were16 to 20 were made to work menial jobs. The most they were allowed to use was a mop and brush. They resented it. I’m not crazy, I should be doing something more exciting than this shit. But, they were only fooling themselves. The Great Madness spared no-one.All males were doomed. The women named them The Fuckless. Humanity was slowly ending and procreation was at a standstill. It was apocalyptic.The End Times
Now this, the first intercourse since the Great Madness. A fuckless actually fucked.
Ray was sleeping, Cath was weeping, and Sheila, legs still in the air, was praying.
Please, please..., a boy…, let it be a boy…, immune from the Great Madness…, please God…, please…, we need this…, humanity needs this….
A thought popped in her head, and she relaxed, and inwardly she grinned. If it’s a boy….
She imagined the power she would yield

Rubber Dolly

My Mama told me
If I was goody
That she would buy me
A rubber Dolly
But when she gave me
The rubber Dolly
It wasn’t the one
I saw in Hustler

Live! Live!

Why haven’t I run?
Why?
Why do i want to live?
Self preservation, survival, it’s strong, powerful, it takes over your mind. It takes over everything.
The things he’s made me do-and all because of that gun at my head. All because I don’t want to die.
And, I should die. I should. I run through all the things that makes me want to live longer. My girlfriend, Tina, who I was going to ask for her hand in marriage not three weeks ago, my Mother, Father, Brother, friends, co-workers.
All bullshit.
Tina will dump me in a heartbeat when she finds out that I’ve become a monster, my parents will probably disown me, my brother will just stop speaking to me, and my friends and co-workers will look at me with horror, and fear. I’ve crossed that line. I’ve become the boogieman, the thing under the bed, in the closet, stalking the neighborhood for a victim in my quest to quench my lust for blood.
I’ll be a pariah.
And, when I do die, as we all do, will God take that gun at my head into consideration?
“Yes, Patrick, I know your life was on the line. I know you didn’t enjoy the things he made you do, so you’re going to purgatory for a while to think upon what you did, and ask forgiveness, contemplate your actions.” Or will He say ” You are my child, and I am very disappointed in you. I would have taken care of you, but you had no faith. You should have taken the bullet. To Hell with you.”
I should run, take the bullet, end it all. Be a man, a human being, but, I can’t, so help me God, I can’t, I can’t. I want to live another day, another hour, another second.
And the child kneeling in front of me, crying for his Mommy, will not change that fact.

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