The following is a novella which I helped write in 2010. The story was begun by my friends Jorge Wolfhouse and Matthew Johnson, with myself doing the typing. The first three-quarters of the story were written by Jorge Wolfhouse and Matthew Johnson. The last quarter was written by myself, Joe Kopsick.
Included at the beginning are the authors' preferences as to whom should direct and star in the film version of this story, should it ever be turned into a screenplay.
I would apologize for the gratuitous use of racial slurs, and insensitive sexual jokes, which are found in this story, but they are there for a reason. This story is, in part, a satire of films such as Quentin Tarantino's Pulp Fiction and Reservoir Dogs, which have come to be known for including such controversial and provocative elements.
Enjoy!
WAKING DREAM
Directed
by
Quentin
Tarantino (fight scenes),
David
Fincher (fan scenes),
and
Robert Rodriguez (all other scenes)
Cast
of Characters
Tom,
the Fan Salesman (the
narrator)................................................................Christopher
Walken
Bill,
the Drunk Homeless
Veteran....................................................................................Nick
Nolte
Calico,
the
Whore......................................................................................................Christina
Ricci
Scarla,
the
Waitress........................................................................................................Julia
Roberts
Liquor
Store
Employee.......................................................................Quentin
Tarantino (in a dress)
Black
Bartender at the Dirty
Pillows..........................................................Tom
Waits (in blackface)
Teen
Wigger Drug
Dealer......................................................................Katt
Williams (in whiteface)
Henry
the
Cat........…........................................................................Danny
Trejo (in a cat costume)
The
Cop...........................................................................................................................Tom
Arnold
The Russian............................Samuel L. Jackson (no makeup, and not even attempting an accent)
The Gook...........................................................................................Christopher Walken (no lines)
Mr. Albert Dreyfuss (age 80).....................................................................................Steve Buscemi
Slavic Vaclav / Vinny, the Butcher.....................................................................Sacha Baron Cohen
Part
1: Tom’s Story
Time:
Who the Fuck Knows?
“The
fuck is this!? These fuckin’ eggs suck! Who cooked this bullshit?”
I
poked at one of the yolks cautiously with a fork. It popped, oozing
its yellow… goo and its white… reminded me of a sore I once
squeezed the pus out of. “Looked like somebody came
in this goddamn bullshit!”
Ah,
life and breakfast. All in a day's work, I guess you could say.
Who
came first; the chicken or the egg? We ask ourselves every day. It's
the eternal question, really, if you think about it. Also, if you
don't.
But
the question bears repeating: Who came first? Who came
first!?
“The
chef, ya fuckin’ moron!”
As
she stared into my eyes, something was amiss…
Her
tag flashed the name Scarla, if that really was her name.
I
could sense the hostility in the air was thickening and I knew
directly that this savage woman was about to take off her apron, her
shirt, and her blouse, and beat me with what was left of her
fifty-two-year-old breasts, so I sought better in the situation than
to coax her into something more of a calmness. “Do you have any
kids?”
“Why?”
“The
tip I’m gonna leave you is only a buck a kid, and one of your kids
just died in my eyes.”
The
badge-wearing woman named Scarla, who gave me these shitty eggs,
could not help but have a look of complacency in her eyes as she
suddenly switched her tune to something more airy from one that
suggested she wanted to gouge out my eyes with a hairbrush she’d
fucked herself with that morning. “What do you do for a living?”
“Why?”
“You
tell me how to do my
job,
I want to tell you how to do yours.”
I
hesitated. “I’m a door-to-door salesman.”
“What
do you sell?”
“Fans.”
“What
kind of fans?”
“The
good
kind…”
I sipped my coffee. “The kind that’d chop your finger clean off.”
“The
kind that… blows
you
at night?”
“That’s
our special model.”
At
this point, the eggs were growing cold, and sterile. But that was all
right, because so was my appetite. I decided it was time to hit the
bar. This woman couldn’t understand me, even though I was speaking
perfect English. The scene was getting ugly and I was the only one in
the damn place.
Down
the aisle, I could see the little folded napkins. Quickly, I said,
“Do you need help with those?” Then she turned her head to the
side, and gave me a condescending look as she turned back.
“Are
you telling me how to do my job again?”
“Check,
please!”
I
paid with credit, and I left no tip that day. Food costed me nine
damn dollars, which I never ate a single bite of. I could have bought
a liter of vodka with that. But instead, I chose to order these
overcooked, overlooked, over-easy ovaries from that
overly-dilapidated woman.
This
lack of sleep is really starting to freak me out.
Shit,
I need a drink.
Time:
1:30 A.M.
The
main drag was poppin’. Prostitutes on the corner were howling at
me, but I’d wasted enough money on these whores. It was time to get
down to business. It’s almost 2 A.M., and I have to get to the
liquor store. Somewhere there’s a bottle of Fleischmann’s with my
name on it.
I
don’t think I’ve slept in about two days… but who’s really
keeping track? Not me.
The
bum on the corner shook his cup at me. He smelled of scraped uteri
and decaying fruit, like a rotten mixed-berry cocktail salad made in
the back of an abortion clinic.
But
he had friendly eyes, the kind of eyes that told me he was good,
upstanding. So I throw in two bucks for him, and I thought… maybe
this guy could use a shower.
I
think I’ve found myself a drinking partner for the night.
The
man was visibly shocked. Said his name was Bill and he was a Gulf War
vet. He served at… well, he served, anyway… and he’d just been
released. I figured, why not? The man deserves a medal. God knows I’m
too
lazy to get out there and defend this country.
So
what the hell? Might as well throw a guy a bone once in a while.
Bill
took his prosthetic leg out of his guitar case, put it on, and picked
up his traveling pack.
I
could tell this fuckin’ bum’d had a hard life. A bathe and a
shave shouldn’t do him any harm. I think I got some leftover
clothes he could put on. I’m definitely throwing out his
laundry,
though.
So
Bill asked me, “What do you do for a living?”
“I’m
a door-to-door fan salesman.”
He
looked around the room at my inventory. “Are these fans any good?”
“I
wouldn’t stick my dick
in
one… But we have
had
a few occasions… when that’s happened… So few in fact, they
even made us put stickers on the things that say, ‘Do not place any
appendages of corporeal extremities into the fan’… Didn’t stop
anybody… Kind of guy who’d think even once about stickin’
somethin’ in there wouldn’t stop to read
the damn thing, much less look up half the words on it… But at
least we can’t get held responsible anymore.”
Bill
turns to me with an incredulous look in his eyes, and then he smirks
at me. I think he thought I was joking. I go, “Seriously… don’t
stick
your dick in the fans.”
I
twist my head to the side. “How ‘bout a drink and a shower?...
I’m not a faggot or anything, I’m just too lazy to defend this
country…” I paused as I realized Bill probably had no idea what I
was talking about. “What do you say we get shitfaced?”
Time:
2:00 A.M.
The
woman in the liquor store was looking at Bill like he was a
shoplifter. This is good for me, because she wasn’t paying any
attention to my
well-dressed
ass. I was gonna pay for something, but the bottle of vodka in my
pocket screamed at me to get out of the store. I slapped the bottle
at my side to try to shut it up.
It
was time for me to blow this joint. My pretentiousness had reached
its peak. The woman never took her eyes off Bill; I even laughed as I
walked out of the liquor store.
Bill
met me at the corner and asked me why I didn’t buy anything. I told
him I didn’t have to. He was still so filthy that the woman never
took her eyes off of him.
I
had six grand in my bank account and I was shoplifting for the hell
of it.
Time:
2:30 A.M.
The
apartment was bare and empty. I can’t remember the last time I was
able to stomach food. I think the only thing I’ve paid for lately
was booze and cat food. Bill complained about the smell of Henry’s
pee. I don’t think I’d changed the litter box in a month.
I
tell him to sit down, to take off his boots and relax for a moment.
Then I looked through my closet for some clean clothes and a towel;
something that would fit his malnourished ass.
He
looked around my apartment, checking out what kind of life I live.
But in the corner of my eye, I could see that he was pondering why I
had nothing in my apartment but one mattress, three chairs, ten fans,
and a pile of vodka bottles reaching to the top corner of the
apartment ceiling.
I
found the clothes and towel easily enough. While he was showering, I
took five pulls off the Fleischmann’s bottle, thinking of how I was
going to explain to him why I’m out at 3 in the morning looking for
a homeless guy to drink with.
He
probably thinks I’m a fag… or a wingnut.
But
the simple matter of the truth is, I’m a whimsical kind of fellow
and I do these things on the fly.
Bill
was quick in the shower. Took him no more than ten minutes to finish.
I believed he’d been going through some kind of withdrawal; it
looked like he needed a drink. I offered him a mixer of orange juice
and vodka, what most people would call a Screwdriver. I just call it
a Screwed in the Head. He accepted graciously and offered me a bowl
of weed. I hadn’t smoked in years but it seemed like a good enough
opportunity.
Old
habits die hard.
The
thickness of the smoke enveloped my throat. I could feel the harsh,
acidic taste rising from the bowels of my stomach. I had obviously
been drinking too fast and too hard.
I
put one finger up, telling Bill to hold on for a moment.
Stumbling
aside, once, twice, I fell to the floor, embraced the toilet, and
suddenly there was a gorgeous, violent explosion.
I
set my head on top of the porcelain goddess for a moment. I counted
to three, then to ten. Then I said, “Fuck it. It’s time to go.”
Putting both my arms down on the ground, I pushed myself up,
straightened up, returned to the living room, and proceeded to drink
the vodka straight.
As
soon as I sat back down in the chair, Bill looked at me quizzically.
He asked if everything was alright. “Couldn’t be better.” I
poured myself a half-and-half drink of orange juice and vodka. This
orange juice was giving me mad heartburn.
I
asked Bill if he had any more of that green stuff he was smoking. He
said, “A bit.” I looked him up and down for a second, figuring
out how to propose what I was about to propose.
“Tell
you what, guy. I’ll let you keep a fourth of that vodka for
yourself if you give me what’s left of that weed… and find me
someone who can get me some heavier shit.”
Bill
took a whole three seconds to silently say yes.
Then
we toasted.
Time:
4:00 A.M.
Bill
said he knew a porch monkey who had some good cocaine, but we had to
go back down to the strip to see this monkey and participate in his
monkey business.
We
went down to the main drag. Hardly anybody was out. The only people
out at this time were wingnuts and freaks.
The
Dirty Pillows was a sleazy joint, but the strippers had nice tits.
Just don’t look into their faces; you might see someone you know
from high school who’ll sling pussy for five bucks a hit.
I
approached the bar with Bill to drown ourselves in some liquid
courage. Need to find an ATM. Crack is expensive, might need to find
a whole 8-ball.
“Scotch
on the rocks, no ice.”
The
huge ape behind the counter said, “What the fuck… Are you fucking
with me or are you serious?”
“Totally
fuckin’ serious… Hey, I need to pay cash for this piss-water. Is
there an ATM in this shit-hole?”
The
gigantic simian’s glazed eyes shifted over to the side of him,
looking down the aisle past the dancer’s ass. “Other side of the
stage, asshole.”
I
thanked the gargantuan anthropoid with a nod of my head. I approached
the ATM machine and punched in my PIN number. Two of the dancers’
asses were riding my sides. This piece of machinery was obviously
strategically placed for getting money into panties. So I asked the
lady to my right, and she looked down on me, and she said, “What do
you want, sugar?”
“I
want
this
fuckin’ ATM to work.” Fumbling with my card, I slyly glanced at
her as I asked her, “So how do you
like
it? Like…” I inserted the card forcefully, then gently, then
forcefully, then… well, you get the picture… “…this?”
“Wet
and yellow.”
I
paused. “What the fuck does that mean?”
“It
means…you
can piss on me and fuck me in the ass for fifty bucks.”
The
thought of pissing in her hair was appealing. “Do you accept
crack?”
She
smiled and nodded, and I told her to meet me in the alley in a half
hour, and I would gladly oblige her.
Time:
4:45 A.M.
As
she shook me off in the alley, I said to Calico, “There’s nothing
more glorious than taking a nice piss after busting a nut… Want to
come home, bitch?”
Bill
approached me from behind while my cock was still out. I half-thought
he was going to run off with my money. It was a good thing he showed
up, because this whore was expecting payment.
Unfortunately,
I had no pipe, but Bill was prepared with a car antenna he’d ripped
off a Cadillac.
This
was some good fuckin’ coke. I don’t think I’ve tweeked this
hard for a while. But it was getting late. It was time to go back to
the liquor store for a bottle of Calico Jack. I found it humorous…
Calico did not.
Once
again, the lady behind the counter was following Bill with her eyes,
and paying no attention to me.
Stealing
felt good. Made me feel like I was stepping out of the empty box that
was my life.
Time:
5:30 A.M.
The
crack whore had made herself right at home. She’d even emptied the
litter box.
The
Calico Jack and the cocaine were kicking my ass.
The
crack whore took it upon herself to give Bill a patriotic blowjob. He
seemed grateful. Bill gave Calico a twenty-one-cum salute, and she
used one of my dirty socks to wipe it off her face. The flagpole in
my pants was speaking to me, screaming for an orgy something along
the lines of Ye Olde Faithful.
I
asked Calico if she’d ever been gangbanged. She was compliant, if
not more than willing. She blew me while Bill fucked her in the ass.
Unlike
Bill, I’m a firm believer that it melts in your mouth, not in your
hand, so I shot my wad as deep down her throat as possible. After it
was all said and done, my Calico Jack was gone, and so was my will to
live.
I
needed to get fucked up again.
Bill
was obviously tweeking his ass off. The fan had become an enticement
by this point. I shouldn’t have tempted him. I shook my head ‘no,’
but said nothing as Bill stuck his finger within reach of the fan
blades.
Bill
did not scream or cry, in fact, he smiled and said to me, “This is
one quality piece of machinery… We should probably hit the liquor
store… and then the hospital… I lost the finger, I don’t think
they’ll be able to reattach it… Well, you win some, you lose
some… and I guess the fan won this time.”
As
the blood sprayed onto Calico’s face, I said, “It was a pointless
battle, but a fantastic idea. That was the coolest shit I’ve seen
in a while. Told you that fan’d lop your finger off… We should
probably go to the hospital first.”
“Nah,
liquor first,” said Bill, as I pulled a rubber band around his
bleeding finger. He shook it at me and said, “Priorities!
Goddammit, man, priorities!”
A
brief silence passed. “Hey Bill... let me show you something.”
I
led him into a room in my apartment that he'd never seen before. In
it sat a giant fan, the size of an entire wall. On the floor, nothing
but a few blooming ashtrays, falling apart slowly in a whirling
dervish of smog and death.
Bill
said, “Uh... I don't get it.”
I
struggled for a whole five minutes to light my cigarette, seeing as
the huge goddamn fan was putting out my Bic lighter every chance I
took.
The
cigarette caught. I exhaled. “...This is my biggest fan.”
Time:
5:46 A.M.
As
me and Bill entered the liquor store, the bitch behind the counter
was still watching Bill with her eyes. Needless to say, I had no
problem simply stuffin’ a vodka bottle in my pocket and walking out
the door. By this time I was running low on cash again, and needed to
find another ATM.
So
we swung by the main drag again, and past Dirty Pillows, between the
fruit cocktail place and the abortion clinic or whatever, there was
another ATM. I made the transaction quickly. It gave me a receipt
showing my remaining balance. What convenience!
A
street peddler approached us. “’Choo need, mah niggas?”
“I
need a raging erection,” I said through clenched teeth.
“You
want some Molly?”
“I
don’t give a fuck what her name is, what she looks like, I’ll
take anybody at this point.”
At
this, the peddler hoarsely croaked a cheap imitation of laughter. “I
got your shit right here.” He looks back and forth, then looked
straight into my eyes, tipped his head back, opened his mouth, and
said “ah.” He asked for eighty.
I
gave him sixty, but he never counted the money.
As
we walked to the apartment, I began to flip my fucking balls off.
This
shit was definitely the real deal. Bill nudged me in the side and
said, “We should probably get back. Granted, you got nothin' to
steal, but she is
a
crack whore, there’s no telling what she might pocket… Goddamn
impatient bitches.”
Time:
6:30 A.M.
The
sun was peeking through my blinds and the walls were breathing
deeply, seemingly breathing at
me,
even. I suspected the Molly was spiked. This was some seriously heavy
shit. I could feel my brain glazing over.
The
cat was a comfort. His fur felt like silk strands between my fingers.
Calico and Bill were in the corner, handling their business. I
decided it was a good time to go out and get some air.
What
the fuck do you do at 6 A.M. in the morning? What is there to see?
I
dropped by the diner. Scarla was standing outside after her shift had
ended. She looked beat. The bags under her eyes did not look polite
to her. Didn’t flatter her features, to say the least. I could tell
she could use a friend.
“Wanna
go get some coffee, bitch?”
“It’s
gonna take more than a cup of coffee to get in my
pants.”
“Why
the fuck would I get into your pants?”
“If
the shoe fits, wear it… but in this case, it’d be the condom in
my back pocket.”
“How
‘bout fuck the coffee and let’s hit the bar instead?” She
smiled and agreed.
Time:
7:00 A.M.
The
bar was practically deserted.
The
bartender was an asshole… but I like it that way. Service with a
smile is phony. At least if you’re dealing with a dick, you know
you’re dealing with a dick and not a dick with a smile. Call it
simplicity, I call it natural.
I
asked the bartender where the bathroom was. He pointed to a door that
led to the alley.
The
side of the dumpster was a suitable-enough urinal.
Scarla
came from around the corner to offer me a helping hand, to hold my
cock while I piss. There’s something satisfying in this. My prick
was already getting hard as the last few drops leaked out.
I
lifted up her apron and skirt and fucked her from behind by the
dumpster. It was quick business, no complaints, no noise. She left
directly afterwards.
When
I re-entered the bar, I saw that her drink was gone. I needed to find
a pick-me-up before I crashed. Crashed and burned, that is.
I
decided it was time to stop pussying around, get down to the brass
tacks, and get seriously
fucked
up.
The
meth whore on the corner directed me to her dealer.
My
lack of sleep was making me delusional. I needed to get to the liquor
store and pick up another bottle. I’d probably pay for it this
once, what without Bill with me to serve as a decoy. A half-gallon of
Southern Comfort sounded perfect at this time.
I
decided to walk back to my place, where obviously, Bill and Calico
were passed the fuck out. Those fuckers’ve got it easy.
As
for me, I didn’t have time for sleep. I have shit to do. At all
hours of the night.
As
I walked in the door, I noticed the smell right away. Bill had passed
out and pissed himself. So much for the clean clothes I’d given
him.
I
kicked at his feet, trying to wake him up. He was non-responsive, but
Calico stirred and gave me the finger. I mentioned the crank in my
pocket and she perked right up.
“Why
didn’t you come back earlier?”,
she asked, rubbing the cum out of her eyes.
As
I cracked the bottle of Southern Comfort, Bill hoisted himself up and
removed his
piss-stained
clothing. I laughed as I asked Bill if he was going to stick his dick
in one of the fans next. He flashed me the chopped middle finger and
said, “Don’t tempt me.”
He
hobbled up onto his fake leg and went to the kitchen for a few
glasses, some ice, and a meth pipe.
Calico
sat behind in the easy chair to the left of me. “You know some very
bad people are after me at the moment, don’t you?”
I
rubbed my head, feeling the creases in my skull. I never felt older
in a while after being told that. “Okay… I take it you have some
nigger who has a chain on you, huh?”
Tilting
her head back, Calico considered me with a serious look that I’d
not seen since I first met her. “So the fuck you gonna do about it?
You gonna kick me out?... Perfectly understandable… Either way,
some time within today or tomorrow, a Mr. Albert Dreyfuss will come
by here with a very large, angry Russian.”
“Russian?
Like some kind of Rocky bullshit?”
“Yeah,
something like that. The guy would piss on his own grandma’s
grave.”
At
this I smiled. “Well, if this scary motherfucker does come by,
we’ll see what happens. He might just go away for some money.”
“You
would do that for me?”
“Who
says I’m doing it for you?”
That’s
when our eyes met. Something was dead in both sets. In that moment,
we understood each other’s innate greed. She turned away and I
grinned.
Bill
lurched into the room with glasses and ice in his hand and a
twat-eating grin on his face. He tossed me the pipe as he said, “Hey,
I just thought of something really fucked up. I think you’re going
to like this, man… So I stayed at my parents’ place for a week,
and after a while I noticed my dad begin to rub off on me… so I
said ‘get that thing out of my face’ and called child protective
services!’”
Calico
stood up and said, “That’s not funny, I was molested as a child.”
I told her, “You were molested
two
hours ago… Looks like you didn’t learn a goddamn thing, now,
doesn’t it?”
“Fuck
off, freak… I gotta go take a piss. When I get back, we better find
something to do or my victimized ass is out the door.”
The
bathroom door slammed as I put my lighter to the pipe. “Fuckin’
cunt can’t take a joke.”
“Yeah,
but she sure can take a dick.” We both laughed.
“Touché.”
Calico
came out of the bathroom, visibly pissed. Her bottom lip twisted
downwards into a sort of sneer as she looked at Bill and me.
Bill
looked at her directly in the eyes, and, with a big grin on his face,
said, “Hey, Calico… so how many girls have you slept with?”
She
walked towards me, and, ignoring Bill’s question, with a quick,
light jab to my gut with her fourth finger and middle finger, grabbed
the pipe out of my hand.
She
looked into the bowl of the pipe, flicked the lighter, said through
clenched teeth.
“Fuck
of a lot more than you
have,”
and took a giant blast.
CRACK!
“Get
on the fucking ground, you faggots!” The gun told me I should
probably listen to this giant fucking asshole, so I lied on the
ground.
Bill
did not.
“Who
the fuck are you!?,” said Bill. I had a pretty good guess of who it
was.
We
should have seen this coming.
In
a situation like this, it’s best not to care about what’s going
to happen next. That’s
how
you panic and get your ass killed. No, best not to think about it.
“Bill,
shut the fuck up.” Bill sneered and spit in the face of the fucking
huge gook in front of us.
“Naw,
piss on that zipperhead! Bustin’ into my good friend’s apartment,
acting like
we
were fucking niggers… I don’t think so!”
The
gook wipes the spit off his fishy-headed mug, steps forward, and,
pushing his right leg out, another CRACK!, followed by a third. Bill
wobbles to the right, hissing and spitting, screeching, “Fucking
chink motherfucker, you’re dead!”
I
sighed, wondering when Calico was going to say something. Then I
realized that she isn’t gonna say shit, ‘cause she was gone to
the bathroom as soon as the first crack happened on the door, the
meth pipe with her, the selfish bitch.
I
looked to the door, and there was the gook and her… What the fuck?
Asshole has to be over eighty!... Goddamn, man, some guys just don’t
know when they’re too useless to the point where they’ve become
fixtures in this shit-hole world.
“Get
my bitch out here now!” His voice, acidic and putrid, the kind of
voice that, when you first hear it, it reminds you there are some
people in this world you’d just rather either get away from, or
else go after first. Either instance, you need to remain calm,
collected, and tell yourself that when this evil fuck turns his back,
you can’t let down your guard, because that’s what they want.
They want you to trust them, so then you’re easier to extort,
swindle, and control.
Bottom
line, it’s easier for them to stick their knife in when you turn
your back. Fucking bitch would have been useless. She’d freak, get
pissed, or comply, and reason dictates to me that she wasn’t gonna
have any of that shit.
Good
girl.
“How
‘bout you take your bitch off my guy, and I’ll explain that your
actions will either A, end ugly, B, end ugly with someone hurt, or C,
it’ll be fucking peaches and candy canes for all of us. So you can
get the fuck out of my apartment, and I can continue to fuck your
bitch, who I want to buy permanently.
“Every
man needs a hole to fuck… Circle-‘a-life shit.”
I
opted my hand into the air, signaling that everything was fine and
dandy, even though that was far from the truth at this moment. But,
at a time like this, I wasn’t going to take chances with
formalities.
In
what seemed to be three quick strides, the gook was beside me with
his foot raised back. The pain in my ribs was instantaneous and
blinding.
The
kick was hard enough to throw me onto my side… but out of the
corner of my eye, I saw the most badass shit I ever witnessed in my
whole life.
In
a matter of seconds, Bill was across the room, knife in hand. The
gook must have seen me look, but, as he turned around, Bill shoved
his knife directly through his elbow, snatched the gun out of his
hand, and blew his fucking brains out. Unfortunately for all of us,
there was a fan directly behind him.
Needless
to say, my apartment was fucked.
Leaning
on his cane, the evil old fuck slowly placed his hand into his
pocket, pulled out a silk handkerchief, wiped off his forehead, and
looked around the room. “I think we can come to some sort of
agreement… perhaps we should sit down for this.” The pimp gave
himself the pleasure of finding his own chair, which he sat down on
cross-legged, and gestured to us to take our seats.
Bill
remained standing with the gun still in his hand. Bill’s face
showed fifty kinds of pissed-off. He was obviously not the one to
fuck with right now, so I ignored him for the time being. I thought
he could use some space.
I
slowly stood up, walked towards the couch, and carefully sat down.
The ancient asshole looks at me calmly, contemplating what kind of
character I am. Without blinking or giving any sign of emotion, I
looked him straight in the eye and said, “Five hundred.”
In
a toneless voice, he replied, “That won’t even replace my fucking
slant-eyed freak-of-
nature
you just shot dead… Good help is hard to come by these days.
Chinamen aren’t cheap. You must understand this, right?”
“My
landlord’s gonna shit backwards when she sees the door to my
fucking apartment… not to mention the dead chink and the red wall
I’ve got to deal with in my living room. It seems we both have our
messes… I’ll give you a grand and you can leave my apartment with
your face still attached.”
The
wicked bastard nodded slightly, saying “Done.”
I
looked to where Bill was standing. “Bill, if this asshole moves,
blow his fucking face off. Don’t take your eyes away from this guy.
If he moves one fucking step, shoot him right there.”
In
my room, there’s a slight amount of cash that I’ve stashed away.
Not for any particular reason other than having it handy. I counted
out ten Bens from a stack in my shoebox and neatly placed the box
back on the shelf in my closet.
Tossing
the money on the table, I said, “Now get out.”
Rolling
the money in his hands, he places it in his pocket, stands up, and
walks to the door without a sound. Looking at Bill, I said, “Hey…”
Bill lowered the gun. “We need to get this fuck out of here. And
lock the goddamn door for fuck’s sake.”
Time:
11:00 A.M.
As
I rummaged through my closet, I realized that I had nothing but my
suits left. That was fine by me because it seemed like appropriate
attire for the situation.
I
put the suit on in front of my full-length mirror.
“Oh,
shit… when was the last time I fed the cat?” I whispered to
myself.
I
walked into the living room, my hands down to my cufflinks. These
damn things will never click right. That’s when I heard a faint
licking sound.
It
took me a second to realize what it was after putting two and two
together.
There
was Henry, stoically lapping up brain matter from the gaping canyon
in fatass’s face.
“Huh…
I guess there’s some things in life that just take care of
themselves.”
Calico
emerged from the bathroom with a look of disgust on her face. She
steps back and then giggles. “You guys are sweethearts. I don’t
know how many ass-whoopin’s I took from this guy.”
“Good.
You won’t have any problem shoving him into the trunk of my car
then, will you?”
“No
problem. It would be a pleasure. So… where’s the plastic bags and
some bedsheets?”
Time:
1:00 P.M.
The
methamphetamine had given me Superman-strength. Pushing the
relatively empty dumpster to underneath my window was a breeze. I
said softly to myself, “I could spin this shit on my penis,” and
gave Bill the thumbs-up and a big smile.
The
Asian’s already cavernous face collided with the corner of the
dumpster, creating a large thump, a crack, and a splat. It was kind
of like dropping a melon off a parking garage.
Bill
grinned energetically as he gave me the thumbs-up back. I have him
the thumbs back down.
His
aim was way off.
Getting
the Asian’s body out of the trash was not an easy task, seeing as
Calico was doing all the heavy lifting. I mean, I’m not about to
ruin a perfectly good suit over this bullshit.
Thankfully,
I live in the type of neighborhood where people mind their own
fucking business. Everybody knows snitches get stitches.
After
Calico rolled the body out of the dumpster, I helped her carry it to
the trunk.
Pushing
that dumpster was easier than lifting this fat piece of shit.
Concerning
the bullshit involving the gross, sticky mess in the living room,
considering the circumstances, I’m gonna let the cat take care of
it.
I
slammed the trunk shut as I began to toy with the idea of getting a
motel.
“So…”
plodded Calico, her eyes darting back and forth from my face, to the
trunk, to the thin trail of slope-blood leading from the dumpster to
my car, “where are we gonna dump this chink-headed fuck?”
I
paused and looked into her eyes. “Who said anything about dumping
him?”
Time:
1:15 P.M.
Calico
and I went back up to my room. I shoved my key in the lock and the
door swung open. I forgot it was broken.
“Jesus
Christ, this place looks like someone made a fruit cocktail salad in
the back of an abortion clinic and forgot to put the lid on the
blender.”
Bill
sat against the wall between the pile of vodka bottles and the boxes
of fans, glancing at me out of the corner of his eye. He pet Henry,
who was nonchalantly lapping up pieces of gray matter. “Yeah…
well… so you guys get the body into the trunk all right?”
“Yeah,”
I said as I lit up the meth pipe. “We got to go do something,
though.” I exhaled. “We’ll just be back in a few minutes…
just chill here for a while, make yourself at home… And for God’s
sakes, put a fucking chair against the door or something.
Jesus.”
I
tossed him the pipe. “Sure thing, man.”
“Come
on, Calico, blast that fucker and let’s get out of here… This’ll
only take a second.”
Time:
1:30 P.M.
I
started up the car. Calico sat in the back.
The
lazy cunt.
I
drove a couple blocks away and parked the car. Get it out of sight,
in case anybody recognized it.
After
parking, some errant bastard almost hit me with his piece of shit
Chevette. “Hey, I'm Walken here!”
We
headed back to the apartment on foot. I picked up a bottle of water
at a gas station while Calico stood outside and smoked.
Time:
1:40 P.M.
Calico
finished her cigarette as she leaned against the dumpster in the
parking lot of my
complex.
I stood over the trail of blood and poured the bottle of water over
it.
Just
then, a black-and-white rolled up. “What’cha doin’ there, sir?”
“Shit!”,
I thought. “We’re sure fucked now!”
As
Calico walked towards me and faced the pig, she put on the shifty
eyes and an embarrassed look. “Uh… I’m on my period, officer…
M-my boyfriend here was just cleaning it up.”
The
hammer arched his eyebrow and looked at me and Calico quizzically.
Thinking
quickly, Calico squinched up her cunt muscles and shot a bright red
tampon at the asphalt underneath her from up inside her skirt.
The
cop’s eyes bugged out as if the sight of the tampon on the ground
gave him a flashback to decades of beating coons to a bloody pulp in
alleys all over the city.
“All,
right, folks, you have a nice day, now.” He sped off.
I
could barely contain my laughter as I waited for the donut-munchin’
motherfucker to get out of earshot. I belted out heartily.
“Shut
up,” she snipped.
“I
didn’t know you were on your period!”
“Shut
up.”
“Oh,
so I’m your boyfriend now?”
“Shut
the fuck up!”
“You
didn’t tell me you weren’t wearing any panties!”
“Jesus
Christ, let’s just go inside, okay?”
“No,
I want to know what else
you’re hiding from me, Calico!”
“God,
you’re so
immature.”
“Did
you fuck that dead gook while I bought that water?” I chucked the
empty water bottle into the bloody dumpster as Calico punched me in
the shoulder. I laughed. “Hold on a second, I gotta move this
dumpster back where it was real quick…”
Time:
1:50 P.M.
“I
bet you’re achin’ to get into that bathroom,” I said to Calico
as we stood at the door to my apartment.
“You’re
such an asshole.”
I
stood there silently and looked at her. “Drip… drip… drip…”
“Open
the fucking door already!”
I
unlocked the door and pushed it.
THUNK!
“Oh,
yeah… BILL!... Bill, get this goddamn chair out of the way,
post-haste! We got a bleeder out here!” Calico sighed and rolled
her eyes.
A
rustling of wood and carpet, then a creaking sound. “What’s up?”
Calico shoved her way past him and into the bathroom. Bill’s eyes
widened. He regained his composure as I chuckled silently to myself.
“What?”, he asked.
“Nothing.”
I sat down on the couch and lit up the crank again. The faucet came
on in the bathroom as I noticed Henry, bloody as all hell, continuing
to do what he does best.
I
passed the pipe to Bill as Calico walked in with her hands on her
hips. She looked around at the mess and sighed.
“Yeah,”
I said as Bill handed the pipe back, “I know how you feel. Can’t
earn your keep…” I lit and inhaled. “The bloody pussy’s
handling the clean-up… He’s sure givin’ your
bloody pussy a run for its bloody money.” I laughed a cloud of meth
smoke at Calico’s face.
She
snatched the pipe from my hand and sparked it up casually.
“Quite
the feisty one today, aren’t
we?”
“I
told
you, I’m on
my period.”
“Told,
my ass!”
Calico
tossed the pipe underhand towards the wall over Bill’s head. As he
fumbled to catch it without burning himself, Calico exhaled and said,
“You still
haven’t told me what we’re gonna do with the body.”
“Yeah,
what gives?”, Bill said.
I
held up my hand. “Hey, hey, chill… all right?” I let the room
settle, to let them know everything was under control.
“In
about three hours, we’re gonna pay a visit to a friend of mine
downtown, and he’s gonna take care of it… So don’t you
two worry about a thing.”
Calico
paused and leaned in. “What… what are we gonna do ‘til then?”
I
heaved a sigh of “I
don’t fuckin’ know” as I stood up. I walked into the kitchen,
opened the liquor cabinet, pulled out a bottle of red wine, uncorked
it, and went to the window.
Bill
looked eager. “Hey, what year is that?”
I
leaned out the window and chucked the bottle into the dumpster. It
shattered loudly.
When
covering your tracks, it’s most diligent to do so nonchalantly,
gradually, and through the use of subterfuge.
I
pulled another bottle out of the cabinet. “Fuck if I
know, but this
one’s a sixty-nine.”
As
Bill opened his mouth, Calico elbowed him in the gut, snatching the
pipe and lighter out of his hands. Bill let out an agonized groan,
instead of whatever stupid fucking innuendo he was about to use to
demean Calico. “Good girl,” I said.
She
tossed me the pipe. “Bill, do you think you can get us some acid
this time of day?” I flicked the lighter.
Bill
grimaced as he held his stomach, his face and chest lurched forward,
and expelled a groan of, “Uh, I can make some calls.”
He coughed heavily.
“You
do that, buddy… you do that.” I tossed the still-hot pipe at the
floor by his feet as he collapsed on top of it. Bill belted out an
agitated scream as Calico leapt up, gave his fat backside a rolling
shove, and reached for the pipe as he coughed and rolled back over
the spot onto Henry’s tail.
Henry
let out a disturbed wail and went back to gobbling up tiny bits of
flesh from off the wall. I went to the toolbox to look for a
Phillips-head.
Turning
one of the fans into a high-powered fuck robot seemed like a perfect
way to pass the time while Bill tried to find us some doses.
Time:
2:45 P.M.
I
yanked a length of duct tape as Calico held the dildo perpendicular
to the center of the fan.
I
glanced at Bill, talking to his connection over my phone. In my mind,
I heard him say, “More like perpen-dick-ular.”
I
chuckled. “What?”, Bill asked.
“Nothing…
Hey, so we need to figure out a way to cut the blades off of this
thing. That shit’ll chop your pussy clean off, y’know.”
“I
know,
you’ve told me like a hundred times.”
“You
do…
Oh, perfect… Uh, hold on a sec, I’ll check. Hey, how much did you
guys want?”
“For
fuck’s
sake, Bill, we’re bus-… Oh,
you found
some… Cool… Uh… I
don’t
know… Ten-strip oughta do it, I guess.”
“Ten…
yeah.” I instructed Calico to hold the dick more firmly.
Ah,
memories.
“Is
fifty bucks cool?”
I
was absorbed in trying to tape the dildo down more sturdy. “Uh,
yeah, sure, man… whatever.”
“Yeah…
Okay, I’ll be around soon… Thanks, man… Later.” He hung up
the phone. “Ding, ding, ding, ding, ding, ding!”
Calico
and I held onto the dildo and looked at each other. “Jackass,” I
was certain we both were thinking.
“Hey,
Bill, why don’t ya make yourself useful, and go over by the toolbox
and bring me some more duct tape, will ya?”
Time:
4:30 P.M.
Calico
sat up and down onto the oily, spinning cock mounted to the center of
one of my biggest fans. I sat in the chair, leaning against the door,
watching her, and beating my meat.
A
rapid pounding two inches behind my head made my body jerk forward,
causing the chair to fall onto all fours as I shot my load onto my
face and chest. Calico nearly killed herself throwing her bloody
pussy off the whirring dick.
I
stood up, moved the chair out of the way, and opened the door for
Bill. “What the fuck took you so long?”
Bill
looked at me with wide-open eyes, and slowly said, “I don’t know,
maaan… why are you
covered in cum?”
“Ah,
ol’ twat-face over here was fuckin’ herself and I nutted
everywhere… Are you trippin’ already? You motherfucker.”
“It’s
okay, man, I only took
three.” He plopped down on the couch and held out the bag of doses
as I wiped off. Bill glanced around the room with a child-like look
of wonder and over-stimulation as I put my pants on.
Calico
panted heavily as her quivering pussy straddled the greased-up
tornado of cock.
I
looked at my watch. 4:35 P.M..
“Fuck!”
Calico
fell, her whore ass hitting the edge of the grill of the fan.
“Goddammit!... Don’t fucking
do
that again!”
“Sorry,
bitch… Hey, we need to get out of here. It’s time to pay a visit
to my Russian friend across town.”
“Can
I come?”, Calico asked.
“Well,
judging by your record over the last hour and a half…”
“Bill,
shut the fuck up,” Calico and I said in unison.
“Sure,
Calico. Powder up, and… get your twat on straight, or whatever…
we gotta get there at 5:00 on the dot.”
“More
like 5:00 on the period.”
Time:
4:55 P.M.
Calico
and I began to balls as I parked in the lot of Slavic Vaclav’s
Pan-Eurasian Ethnic Specialty Meatery. Bill was peaking.
The
last customer of the day was exiting with a fresh pack of dried cured
echidna pussies as Vaclav locked up for the night.
I
rapped at the window of the door. Vaclav looked up. “Tom!” He
quickly unlocked the door and ushered the three of us inside.
He
locked the door behind us. “Has been ages, good friend!” He
greeted me excitedly with a friendly kiss on each cheek.
“And
here I thought you weren’t
a fag,” said Bill.
“Jeez,
Tom, why didn’t you tell
me you were bisexual?”
Vaclav
looked at Calico sternly for a brief moment, and smacked her right
across the face. She looked at him timidly as tears began to well up
in her eyes.
Vaclav
stared back at her. He glanced at me. I sighed nervously. “Wha’s
matter, you no like getting slept in face?” Without missing a beat,
Vaclav grabbed a few items off the shelf. “Is okay. No cry, pretty
whore girl. Is begin of sexy time!” Calico began to calm down as he
shoved the items at her tits and said, “Here sausage and olive oil.
We go into meat freezer, you put oil on sausage… You fuck esshole
with sausage, eh!?” He slapped her across the face again, only much
harder this time.
Calico
perked right back up, her face beaming. She snarled a deviant, brazen
smile that was rife with signs of the kind of sexual repression that
only half an hour away from the spinning cock-fan robot could
possibly instill in a human being. “Can I… can I have some
scissors to cut the edge off the plastic wrap?”
“Oh,
no… no,
silly whore girl…” he waved his finger in her face. “You fuck
through
pain, eh? Is good!” She squeezed him tightly, putting the sausage
and the bottle of olive oil around his back. He put his hand on her
shoulder blade as he winked at me. I winked back.
Women
are put off by only a certain level of degradation. Knowing exactly
how much abuse turns them back on again is a subtle art. An art of
which Vaclav was the Picasso.
“Come,
come! We go to meat freezer! Is party!”
Time:
5:05 P.M.
Bill
sat on a crate in the freezer while he moved the oiled-up sausage in
and out of Calico’s ass. Vaclav and I stood and chatted, our breath
hanging in the air.
“So,
Vinny, the reason why I came here today is because I’ve got some of
that,” I leaned in, “rare
Vietnamese monkey meat…,”
I stood erect and arched my eyebrows, “that you’re always looking
for?”
Vaclav
paused. “Ah, yes, my friend. Always looking for… rare
Vietnamese monkey meat…
Hey, why you use code? Nobody here get suspicious. War man and pussy
girl know what’s go on, is good?”
“Oh,
yeah…” I scratched my head. “Shit, Vinny, I guess I’m being a
bit too cautious.”
Bill
used both hands to spin the sausage around inside Calico’s ass as
she moaned and adjusted to feeling of the cold, wet floor against her
knees, toes, and forearms. “Hey, why’d you call him Vinny? The
sign outside says ‘Slavic Vaclav’.”
“Ah,
yes, war man… Is come from Vaclav, I change name to Wenceslas, Tom
here shorten ‘Wenceslas’ to Vinny. Is good?”
Bill
continued to thrust the meat as he threw Vaclav the kind of empty,
bewildered stare you could only get from a guy peaking on some
classic sunshine acid. “Yeah… I remember this one
time… ‘s fuckin’ this Russian
girl?… in this alley once, and it was like… oh, man… I’m all,
‘take it, bitch!’, and she’s all, ‘Oh, yeah,
I don’t even know what the fuck
you’re sayin’ to me, ‘cause I talk all, like, Cyrillic and
whatever?... and I’m like, ‘yeah, you like
that dick, don’t
ya, whore?’, and she’s all, ‘hammer my sickle’ and junk…”
Bill chuckled. “It was awesome.”
Vinny
and I looked at each other, feeling robbed of the last thirty seconds
of our lives. “Your friend butcher story… in Soviet Russia, story
butchers you.”
I
laughed. “In-deed.”
Written by
Jorge Wolfhouse, Matthew Johnson, and Joe Kopsick
Written
in Summer 2010, edited between 2010 and October 2015
Finalized
for publication on January 22nd, 2021
Cover added on February 10th, 2021
