Monday, 29 June 2009

We Came For Blood

He wraps his whole self around his food. Puts his face up right close to it, moves so his shoulders and arms wrap around it, as if he’s some starving dog ready to snap at any hand that even contemplates taking it. Watching him makes me feel sick, as he crowds around his plate, breathing out and in rapidly as the food sucks down his gullet. Mumma sow's little piglet, pimple pocked and red faced from the exertion it took for him to walk to the KFC counter, from way out there, fifty metres to the carpark. She chuffed in after him, she in her 40’s and he around 20.

“Well, what do you want?” she wheezes.

“Ultimate burger meal, the one with the burger, the chips, the drink, the potato and gravy and the chicken wings. Make it a large. And I want a second burger.”

She orders the bucket for herself.

Twenty dead chooks later and they look at each other, he shrugs, as if to say “well I didn’t ask to be born”, and she shrugs back as if to say “they said you can’t get pregnant the first time. Or, for that matter, the last time.”

Sunday, 21 June 2009

And This Is How It Happened

So we were sitting there happily minding our own business, in a quiet little microcosm amongst the raucous of the public house. Tim, to the right of me, was a strapping young gentleman of 6′1; a well-mannered and well-educated individual who shared my burden of nursing a quiet drink. Across from us at the four seated table was another young man and his buxom wench. She was an average looking girl with plenty of bosom on show, which Tim and I agreed was mildly pleasing. Suddenly, Tim’s current thought was interrupted by something, a drunken yahoo had attempted to lick his ear. Pushing the yahoo away, Tim exclaimed that the man was a cunt. Then, being the well-mannered individual he was, he apologized to the table.

“I’m sorry about dropping the C-bomb there guys,” he remarked.

The bosomly girl who had up to this point not opened her mouth and had therefore seemed quite mature and respectable suddenly piped up, “don’t worry about it, it’s pretty much my favourite word.”

“Your favourite?” Tim blurted, flabbergasted, his opinion of her dropping by the second.

“Yes. CUNT!” she ejaculated back.

“Calm down, please,” requested Tim, as politely as he could.

“You know what my new favourite word is? JESUS! FUCK!” she yelled as she slapped her hand on the table. “JESUS! FUCK!” she did it again.

Tim and I looked at each other perplexed at this woman’s unabashed display of immaturity.

“Did you know he was black?” she asked of us.

“Who?” Tim replied.

“Jesus. He was black.”

I disagreed.

“He was. I bet you’ve never even thought about it.”

“I think most races were living in most areas at that point,” Tim recalled, drawing on his knowledge of the immigrations and migrations during the Roman Empire.

I piped up and offered an opinion about Jesus being brown, a Semite, and that I had indeed thought about it.

“Have you never seen anyone from Saudi Arabia?” she demanded.

“Yes, and they’re brown.” I replied.

“Brown, black, what’s the fucking difference?” she paused. “And do you think they had ships back then?”

“Yes,” I replied, for the first time in my life using something in everyday life from my $15,000 ancient history major.

“No. You’re wrong,” she said.

“They did. Jesus lived around the area of Galilee, there is a lake there. His friends were fishermen.”

“Hah! And do you know how big a lake is? A lake is this big,” she indicated with her index finger and thumb a tiny portion, “and an ocean is this big!” she indicated throwing her arms out.

“They had ships back then,” both Tim and I agreed.

“Lakes can be pretty big. The lakes in the states, or what about the Mediterranean sea, that’s pretty much a big lake.”

“Of course I’ve seen the Mediterranean sea! Fucking hell, I’ve floated in the Mediterranean sea!”

“What are you even talking about ships for anyway?” I asked.

“What am I talking about ships for? I’m making a point, fuck.”

“It wasn’t even related to the conversation, you just started talking about ships.”

“Come on we’re leaving,” she said, her eyes welling up. She stood and grabbed her boyfriends arm, pulling him from his chair where he sat completely bewildered by the entire conversation and stormed out of the room.

Tim and I looked at each other, laughing at her surprise departure.

“Did that just happen?” Tim asked.

Yes it did. And that is exactly how it happened.

Friday, 19 June 2009

Osteal Me Away

As her mouth opened to take the best of what I had for her, all I could see were the rows of teeth. White, like bone protruding from her head. And all I could think of was how she would look without skin, that deep down, I was receiving oral pleasure from a skeleton. I screamed and pushed it to the floor, putting one of my feet on the skeleton’s head, and punching it’s ribcage until it went quiet. I looked at it, skin taught from stretching over its horrible frame, hiding as best it could inside this thin covering, but it couldn’t fool me. I hear footsteps. I grab a knife. Maybe there are more. I’ll have to check them one by one.

Wednesday, 17 June 2009

Not Fade Away

I suppose it’s like that in the end. A little bit cold, a little bit lonely, something you need to do on your own. No more tits where you’re going. No more drugs, no more alcohol or two girl threesomes. Yet for some reason you accept it, go quietly into the dark, forgettable. Your soul waited so long for her to be born, yearning for her to give you the time of day and for her to look upon you and to know you like you knew yourself. She never did, though you spent many hours begging it from the universe. As if the universe ever owed you a single cent. So she disappeared out there somewhere, into the huge small world and was never heard from again. For some reason, now, it matters. You can only put her out of your head for so long before she creeps back in, never aging, perpetually youthfully gyrating and flashing you smiles she never showed you. All her curves in the right places, tits so young and firm you could crack eggs on them, and you would if she’d let you. There wasn’t much more you could’ve done for her at your age, a young girl like that. Crack eggs on her tits, watch the yolks and albumen trail down her stomach, and thank her for her time. If even her perfect body couldn’t rouse your local member into her polling booth, then what hope did you have? Better just to die and fade away. 

Saturday, 13 June 2009

Is It Still A Crymax When You're Crying On The Inside?

He’s calling her phone again.

I tried gentle persuasion to get her to turn it off, but she refused. Gave some excuse about one of her girlfriends ringing up with an emergency. I’d tip the only kind of emergency being a relationship or fashion crisis. For that’s what I’m down to. Sleeping with self-absorbed girls who have sex with virtual strangers for spite. I should be grateful. A man like me, she’s better looking than what I’d normally get. If I ever so much as smiled at girls her age, they’d walk past and give each other looks of horror, before putting their fingers down their throat in mock disgust and heckling laughter.

The phone rings out, diverts off to voicemail. She waits for the bip as the message is received. I thrust away as she listens to it, a stern look on her face. She hangs up and places the phone back on the dresser. It immediately starts ringing again.

Tuesday, 9 June 2009

Dose and Don'ts

“Don’t worry, it happens to all guys,” she said.

And yeah, maybe it does, but not to this guy. Perhaps it was the flecks of dead skin hanging on like grim death from the red rings around her nostrils. The fantasy was so much harder to keep going when it was obvious she was a drug addled coke whore. Squat down there, between your knees, pierced and tattooed, she slobbered her drug puckered mouth around your shaft which failed to bother coming to the party. So I put my hands around her neck and squeezed. Just a little; just enough to flush her cheeks and make her show a bit of emotion. Fear and anger flashed into her eyes. It made me wonder if she has a dad out there, who used to kiss her cheek and tuck her into bed at night. A little brother she rings from time to time, tells him she’s doing great, making it big in her acting career. Anything to avoid the truth, that the last legit work was a car advertisement two years ago and the money was spent in one score. Now life is just about the three C’s, cock, cash and coke. But perhaps I’ve gone too far, her eyes have rolled back into her head and her body has gone limp.