Recipe

Ingredients:

1 Warden Pam Randall Love Handle
1 Assistant Warden Hectric Beering
1 Erin Randall, six months pregnant
5 overly large cucumbers
1 straight razor
1 pair of black gloves
1 big butcher's knife
3 rolls of duct tape
1 pair of tinsnips
3 dining room chairs
1 tube Super Glue
1 pan
2 cups olive oil
1 shaker of salt

Directions:

1. Put on your black gloves and hide in Warden Pam Randall Love Handle's home. Attack, strip, and duct-tape (wrists, ankles, mouth) to a chair each individual as he/she arrives. Place each against a wall so that they can't fall backwards. Position each at the front of their chair so that their genitals and anus are exposed.

2. Turn on the front burner of the stove to HIGH. Insert the largest butcher's knife you can find in Love Handle's kitchen into the rings of the reddening front burner. Leave for later.

3. Beginning with Love Handle, carefully remove her top and bottom eyelids with your straight razor and use the Super Glue as a coagulant. Repeat on Beering and Erin. This will prevent them from closing their eyes and missing out on the excitement.

4. Cut the inner thigh of Erin and use the blood as lube to rape her in front of her mother. When done, say something sweet like, "Can you feel my AIDS in your pussy?" Or "I think I just brain-fucked your fetus." Or something cute like that. You can also say racist things to her since she's half-white/half-Asian.

5. Beginning with Love Handle, center the first of the cucumbers in her vagina and strike with the palm of your other hand until it is completely lodged. Repeat on her anus. Grab the red-hot knife from the front burner of the stove and place on Love Handle's vagina and anus to solder the openings. Be sure to say something like, "I thought your cunt would've had cobwebs falling out of it." Or "That's the first thing that's been in there since that" and point to her raped daughter. Repeat on Beering and Erin.

6. Using your tinsnips, clip Beering's scrotum down the middle, dislodge his testicles from the sack, and snip them off. Remove the duct tape from Love Handle's mouth, shove one testicle in, and replace the duct tape. Repeat on Erin.

7. Using your straight razor, saw off Beering's retracted penis. Remove the duct tape from his mouth, shove the penis in, and replace the duct tape. Since he looks like a woman, you will make him a woman.

8. While Beering is squirming, puncture his belly with the butcher's knife under his sternum and drag the knife down to his pubic region. Push on the sides of his fat belly until his innards pour out onto the floor. Step on them as you walk past him into the kitchen.

9. Turn the front burner down to MEDIUM heat. Pour two cups of olive oil into a pan and set on the burner.

10. Using a combination of your straight razor and the butcher's knife, carve a perfect oval around the protruding belly of Erin Randall. Be sure to hack deeply and as close to the womb as possible. Do not worry about the fetus - it will be toast soon anyway. Once finished, remove the top portion of Erin's belly from her body, exposing the fetus, sort of like a medical examiner removes the top part of the skull during an autopsy in order to get at the brain. (If Erin should pass out during this, slap her several times to awaken her.) Dislodge the fetus, cut the umbilical cord, and hold it up for mother and grandmother to see.

11. Place the fetus in the olive oil. Simmer for 5-10 minutes on each side or at least until it stops writhing. Cut it into small pieces.

12. Place several small pieces into the mouths of Love Handle and Erin and replace the duct tape across their faces. Eat a couple pieces yourself. You can salt to taste.

13. Erin and Beering should be goners by now. Kick their faces to make sure. Then turn to Love Handle.

14. With the dexterity of an orangutan, remove her nipples and Super Glue them to her head to show her as the devil she is. Then quickly gut her as you did Beering earlier and place the rest of the cooked fetus into her abdominal cavity. Once she expires, turn all the burners on the stove to HIGH, wipe your gloves on your victims' faces, re-pocket your razor and tinsnips, and leave as if nothing has happened. Because really, after the house burns to ashes and there's no evidence, nothing really did, did it?

Pro-Choice Like White Elephants

Hook left. Hook Right. Thrust, thrust, thrust. Wiggle, wiggle, wiggle. Circles, circles, circles. Hook left hook right thrust thrust thrust wiggle wiggle wiggle circles circles circles. Draaaaaaagggggggggggggg. Nothing.

"Nothing?"

"Nope, not a fucking thing-"

"Try it again-"

"Ah, mom-"

"No, we gotta get it out-"

He looked at the bent tip shining with mucous and blood. "Ah, this is so fucking cliche. Just go to the clinic-"

"I can't. I'm not allowed back there. They won't do more than four on the same person-"

"Well, a hospital then-"

"With what money? And how are we gonna get there?"

"Yeah." He looked down at her shaved cunt. "We could try the vacuum cleaner-"

"Fuck that. And suck my guts out-"

"No, I could rig a really thin tip with a straw and some tape-"

"Uh-uh. Ain't happening-"

"I could jump on your stomach-"

"No-"

"Or punch you-"

"You know how fucking hard you punch? Your fist'll go through my spine-"

He laughed. Then put his fingers to her clit and rubbed back and forth a few times before she squirmed her soaked folds away. "Why not just keep-"

"No-"

"I mean, don't you wonder-"

"I don't-"

"What it'll look like?"

"Nope-"

"A little me-"

"Nope-"

He lowered his head.

"What? Are you pussying out?"

"No, it's not that-"

"Then what?"

"I don't know, it's weird-"

"How?"

"Like killing myself almost-"

"Don't be stupid. Besides, a 2nd generation-"

His head shot up and he looked into her bleary eyes. "What?"

"Nothing-"

"My father-"

"Don't worry about it. Just stop being a pussy and do what you gotta do. Believe me, you don't want it anymore than I do-"

A huff. And tears that won't reach his eyelids. Then one finger, two, three, four, turn in the thumb. Deep breath. Punch. All the way through. Dig, dig, dig. Against her writhing and yelps, sliding around his forearm like a loose glove. And pull, pull, pull. Until his hand is free. And the clot of himself and her, a dead wad of snot and pus, lays between her legs. Free.

The Safe Way

Mark's asshole throbbed as he picked out the five biggest cucumbers on the shelf, bagged them, and threw them delicately into his shopping basket. His semi-hardon only grew stronger as he thought of the night ahead: cucumbers were so much better than dildos because you didn't have to wash them off when you were done and could even eat them. Until he saw an unmistakable platinum bowl-cut peeping over the mountain of onions just beyond the rows of cucumbers in front of him. "Warden Randall," he yelled.

The short watermelon of a woman revealed herself fully, a plastic bag in one hand, a tie-twist in the other. She nodded. Then nodded again. "Mr. Dennison."

"There you go with that fucking nodding again. You got Tourette's or OCD or something?"

"No, I don't, Mr. Dennison. I think it's best that we don't speak-"

"Why not?"

Warden Randall's eyes narrowed behind the puffy fat of her eyelids. "Because I know what you did. You're a stone-cold killer-"

"What are you talking about?"

"I know you murdered Officer Lickies and Officer Swallow and Washington and Jackson." She nodded once, then stopped her head abruptly and stepped a foot closer to Mark. "And Licebringer too. I swear, if I didn't know for sure that Anderson escaped, I would know that you murdered him too-"

"Whoa, wait a minute. Are you accusing me of something here?"

"Yes, and you know damn well-"

"And what evidence do you have?"

Warden Randall shook her head and looked down to the bag and tie-twist in her hands, which she was continuously threading through her stubs of fingers. "That's just it. I know you did it. But what I don't know is how you did it without leaving anything behind. No hair, no fingerprints, no semen, no DNA at all. Sometimes, I think you're-"

"What?"

Randall shook her head, her wispy, evenly-cut hairs falling around her ears and forehead. "Nevermind. I tell you, though, if Assistant Warden Beering wasn't so convinced you didn't murder them, I would launch a full investigation-"

"How is old Hector, that fucking fruit?"

"His name is Hectric-"

"Yeah, whatever." Mark giggled. "How'd he get a name like that? Can you imagine how many times he got beat up growing up?"

Randall stymied a smile and began to nod. "It was nice seeing you, Mr. Dennison-"

"Fucking call me Mark already-"

"Okay, Mark." She placed the knotted bag and twist-tie in the child-seat of her shopping basket. "But let me warn you: never approach me again-"

"What the fuck, Pam?"

"Listen-"

"Ah, come on, can't we be friends?" Mark pointed to his basket. "I mean, let's have dinner tonight, me, you, and your daughter-"

"Leave my daughter out of it." Randall's face contained all the blood in her gelatinous body, a cherry on top of a ruined, sloppy, vanilla sundae. "I swear-"

"You swear a lot-"

"Mark, I'm telling you-"

"No, I'm telling you. I think we could make good friends. And we could even invite old Hector-"

"Hectric-"

"Whatever. We could even invite him over, too. Like a family, the four of us. Especially since it's obvious you two are-"

Randall's fists balled at her sides. She stomped one foot that made her grocery cart rattle. "I don't care what you know about me. But I tell you, I don't take kindly to threats-"

"Who's threatening anybody?" Mark grinned, his semi-hardon scraping against the zipper of jeans. "Just tell me one thing-"

"What?"

"Where do you live?"

Homecoming

The sun's always brighter on the outside, the air's always cleaner, the water's always clearer. Mark squinted his eyes toward the cab that pulled in front of him and got in, his unlaundered jeans and T-shirt, which he hadn't worn in 18 months, crinkling fresher against the leather seats than any of his jail overalls ever would have. "Ferguson Court," he said.

"You gots it, brother-"

Mark shoved his right hand into his pocket and grabbed the $125 he'd made during his time in Cedarville State Prison as an upstanding citizen-inmate with no behavior infractions on his record. He laughed.

"Damn, you a young'un for that place-"

"Seventeen-"

"Damn!" The black man's yellowed eyes met Mark's in the rearview. "What the fuck you do-"

"Drugs-"

"Musta been a lot of drugs-"

"Yeah, they got me with a kingpin charge. Tried me as an adult when I was sixteen-"

"That's fucked up, man-"

"Yeah. Wasn't even my shit-"

"No way-"

"Way-"

"How much you get-"

"Twenty years-"

"Damn!"

"With all but two years suspended. Got out in eighteen on good behavior-"

"And just in time too. People gettin' whacked left and right in that motherfucker-"

"Yeah, it's scary-"

"You goin' back to school?"

"Nah, college. Got my GED in Cedarville-"

The man's eyes widened, then narrowed as he glanced down at the radio. "You like this?"

"Turn it up-"

The man laughed, the gray hairs on his head dancing with the black shiny ones. "You gots it-"

"They can't fuck with me now
Huh? Fuck with me now
No, they can't fuck with me now
Can't fuck with me now
Let's go"

As the yellow Crown Victoria slid around the corner into Ferguson Court, the cabbie turned down the radio. "Which one?"

"That one-" Mark pointed out the window.

"All right, man-" The cabbie looked out the passenger side window at the blonde woman standing on the porch of Mark's house. He turned to Mark with a giggle that flashed his platinum grille. "Smart, my man. Got that pussy all lined up-"

Mark looked out and laughed. "Yep, all lined up." He grabbed all the money from his pocket and gave it to the cabbie in a clump of green and gray. Then got out and hurried to the stoop, where he met Sarah, weaved one hand through her hair, pulled her head back, and slipped his tongue into her open, waiting mouth.

Countdown

4

The platinum white knuckles of Mark's right fist met Officer Larry Lickies' chin so fast and with so much force that he didn't have time to react, to slip his gun from its holster, to blow his whistle, to scream into his radio, to recognize the last second he'd ever be conscious. And once his head hit the concrete floor of the empty laundry room, his skull shattering in veins of a fracture, his brain dreaming about his wife at home alone with the two boys and a bottle of Jack Daniels, he was no more aware of the gun Mark forced into his anus and fired four times than he was of the two shanks jettisoned through his eyes until they reached the bloody hair on the back of his head, imparting a lightning strike of eternal bliss and nothingness to his chilling body.

3, 2

Donte and Delonte couldn't figure out what hurt more: the jagged flesh of their wrists which were tied together above their heads with the biting wire from a package of pork loins; the meat hooks in their backs which held them erect but had refused to let them die; or the holes in their groins where their penises had been before Mark sliced them off, taped them together end to end, and placed the largest ebony, two-headed dildo - a veritable black mamba - he'd ever seen into the freezer for good keeping, the blood issuing from their pelvises in geysers of frothy crimson, a slow, drawn-out procession toward certain death for two of the stupidest motherfuckers Mark had ever met in his life.

1

Her holster was empty, but she was not - handcuffed over the pipe she'd used so many times to restrain Mark, he now slipped both hands comfortably into her pleasure holes, one over top the other, and nibbled away at her uterus and rectum with his razored fingernails until his hands met and pulled back with a rending grunt, one black-blood hole replacing the two and forcing little girl whimpers through the long brown hair that wrapped around her head twice, muzzling her swollen mouth. As he untangled her hair from her tear-soaked face, he kicked the gun from under his heel toward her dangling hands, which gnawed fruitlessly at the air inches above the Beretta as he strangled her with her own locks, her breaths dissipating with each squeeze until her determined hands and large-breasted body fell limp into the dark hole of Death, which Mark was sure he'd never know.

Love Handle

A short woman as round as a medium-sized boulder and sporting a platinum-blonde, Dutch boy haircut too short for her fat face sat down behind the desk across from Mark and adjusted her glasses, which were too big for her quinty eyes. She traced one chubby finger across the top sheet of paper in front of her, then looked up at Officer Swallow, who stood guard behind Mark. She nodded once, twice and then turned her beady blue eyes to Mark. "Um," said Pam Randall, the warden of Cedarville State Prison, who was affectionately known to the inmates who hated her backstabbing personage as The Love Handle, "you have another 6 months before you are paroled, Mr. Dennison-"

"Please, call me Mark-"

"Okay, then, Mark, you have another 6 months before you are paroled, however-"

Mark leaned forward at his waist, which was chained to his hands, and flicked his head toward a picture on Randall's desk, which depicted a young mulatto-colored girl with slanted eyes. "That your daughter?"

Randall drew in a large volume of air. "Why do you ask that?"

"No reason. I just know a lot of guys in here who would love to tap that-"

"Mr. Dennison-"

"Mark, please-"

"Mark, if you're trying to get on my good side, it's not working." She nodded towards him once, twice, then continued: "Making threats against my daughter-"

"Whoa! Who's making threats? Do you think your daughter's pretty?"

Randall adjusted her mass, which hung from her bones like thawed meat from a hook, and straightened her tie. "Why, yes, I do. I think she is beautiful, the most beautiful girl in the world-"

"Well, then, wouldn't it make sense that men, even men here, would want to go out with her?"

Randall looked him in the eye as best she could through her two little, meaty slits of eyelashes. "I don't know what you're getting at, Mark, but it's not going to work-" She nodded once, twice-

"What's with all the nodding?"

"What do you mean?"

"After everything you say, you nod twice. As if you're playing a Jedi mind trick on somebody or something-"

"Oh, I didn't know I did that. Thank you for informing me of that...involuntary habit-"

"You're welcome-"

Randall leaned back in her chair, the creaking of which sounded like a baby being raped and murdered, and threw her hands softly behind her head. The stains on her arm pits were massive, stretching from her biceps to her ribs. She narrowed her eyes. "Okay, no more bullshit, Mark-"

"No more bullshit-"

"The state's attorney is willing to offer you early release for any information you may be able to give the state regarding its current investigation into the drug dealing of your friends Donte Washington and Delonte Jackson since they have been confined to Cedarville State Prison-"

"Donte and Delonte are drug dealers?"

"Come off it, Mark, you know damn well they are. And you also know that they're about to be implicated in the murder of Devin Licebringer-"

"What?" yelled Mark, his knuckles purpling as he grabbed the arms of the plastic chair that held him. "There's no way-"

"Yes, sir, their semen was found deep - very deep - inside Licebringer's rectum-"

"No way!"

"Yes-"

"I can't believe it. It must be a set up. Those two sweet guys would never do anything like that. And the drug dealing..." Mark shook his head. "I just don't believe it."

"Believe it." Randall put her elbows on the desk and leaned forward, her hot breath full of either garlic, rotten toes, or turd. "Assistant Warden Beering just demoted Officer Larry Lickies to the wash room this morning after we found that he too has been involved in drug dealing with Mr. Washington and Mr. Jackson. They've been pulling in thousands a week-"

"Thousands?" Mark could hear his heart in his throat.

"Yes."

"Well, why do you need me?"

"Officer Lickies is refusing to testify, and frankly, we've got nothing on him but our suspicions. Otherwise, we have nothing but flimsy circumstantial evidence-"

"But there must be others-"

"Yeah, and they're all pieces of shit, excuse my French. And the two main ones involved with them are gone: Licebringer's dead and Anderson's still on the run."

"But still. Me?"

"Yes, you. You're a model inmate. You've caused no trouble since you've been here, and you've got several credits for good behavior. If you agree to testify and help us convict these two, you'll be out next week."

Mark looked down into his lap. The veins in the backs of his hands thump thump thumped, small rivulets of anger pulsing against his knuckles. Donte. Delonte. Lickies. Licebringer. Anderson. He looked up at the obese warden. "I don't know anything about any drug dealing," he said.

Randall leaned back in her wobbly chair and glared at him. "You know, you're in here because of those two-"

"No, I'm not-"

"Yes, you are. I know your story. You took the fall for them so they wouldn't go to jail, then they ended up in here anyway." She began to nod but stopped. "What, are you afraid of them?"

It was Mark's turn to glare at her. "No," he laughed, "I'm not afraid of anyone. Can I go?" He nodded once, twice.

Barb'd

Gray and black curlicues of smoke tripped skyward, the billows thinning and forming odd, familiar shapes overhead: ducks, a platypus, drops of sperm, Danny’s cock. Mark smiled. Then rose quickly to his feet as his shoulder was suddenly weighted down—with Devin Licebringer’s penis. He turned and faced Devin and the greasy man’s mute, red-faced accomplice, Moe Jury. “What the fuck, dude?”

Devin cackled, one hand holding his prick, which snaked out through his open fly, the other occupied with a half-eaten hamburger. He wiggled the former at Mark. “I oughtta make you suck it right now, you little bitch-“

Mark looked at the limp thing, its head beet-red and scabbed, and grinned. He narrowed his eyes into Devin’s. “You don’t have to make me. I’ll suck it. And bite it off.”

Devin bristled and looked back at Joe, who looked away and pushed the last bit of his hamburger into his fat jowls. He glared at Mark. “You little bitch, you ain’t never had nothing this big-“

“Well, if your baby daughter could handle it-“

“Shut the fuck up-“ Devin took a step toward Mark, then jumped back, the gaze of his wet, beady eyes lingering over Mark’s shoulder.

“Problem?” said Donte, walking up and slapping Mark’s back.

“No,” said Mark, laughing. “Just this dude thinks he’s got the biggest dick at Cedarville State-“

Delonte stepped forward, looked around quickly, then pulled out his cock, which spilled out of his knuckly fist, as if it might stretch to the ground.

“Now that’s a dick,” said Mark, as Delonte slapped it against his other hand before slinking it back into his trousers.

“Whatever,” said Devin. He stuffed his shrinking pecker back into his prison-issued khakis. “What do you expect with a nigger dick-“

“Dude,” said Mark, jumping forward, his nose an inch from Devin’s slick mustache and snorting furious breaths, “you just wrote your obituary-“

“Fuck you.” Devin stepped back and pointed his hamburger at Mark. “You’re fucking lucky Jack Anderson escaped or we’d be reading your obituary-“

“Yeah, Jack fucked the little kids and you beat ‘em-“

“Lickies!” Devin looked away, with a start..

“Problem, gentlemen?” said Officer Lickies as he stepped between the adversaries.

“No, sir,” said Devin. He took a bite of his hamburger. “Fuck, these things are good-“

“Well, why don’t you go get yourself another one?” said Lickies, shooing Devin and Moe toward the grill.

“Yeah,” Mark yelled after the retreating men to the giggling delight of his friends, “make your last meal your best.”

Hamburger

Mark nodded to Officer Lickies as they passed each other and entered the freezer, snapping the door shut behind him. He looked to Donte, then to Delonte, then to the man they held naked and shivering between them. Two steps and he was over Jack's kneeling form, looking down into his watering eyes and chattering teeth.

"Vengeance is mine-"

"What did I do?"

"You lied to me-"

"About what?"

"About what you're in here for-"

"I told you the truth-"

Mark flicked his wrist to his left, then made his way to his right, to the cutlery rack, as Donte and Delonte heaved the fat man onto the stainless steel table. Selecting his favorite filet knife, which he had honed to an imperceptible razor sharpness the day before, he began to giggle as he approached the mottled body sprawled out before him on the same table on which he was used to cutting vegetables and fruits every afternoon. He placed the tip of the knife at the top of Jack's sternum-

"Okay, okay, I did it. I'm sorry. I fucked him, that little kid-"

"Too late, you fucking pig-" And Mark grabbed a frozen apple from the bin overhead, sliced it in two with a twist of his wrist, and shoved one half into Jack's resisting mouth until the man's choking subsided and it disappeared into his chubby cheeks. The other half he gave to Donte, who casually took a bite.

Without another thought, he traced a careful line from Jack's neck to his orange pubic hair with the knife, the subcutaneous fat no hindrance, his eyes widening as he watched the writhing torso open itself up in a smooth trail of congealing blood, a river freezing before it had a chance to flow. Then he re-traced the rivulet, pressing harder, Jack's muffled moans rhythmic and calming him further as he reached inside the man's belly and inched his fingers up to the man's driving heart, the incision around his wrist tight and hot like a virgin cunt around a swollen cock.

"I think I've got a boner," said Mark, as he squeezed the heart until his thumb and fingers met in a warm lake of goo, Jack's body rising for a brief second, then slamming lifeless onto the table, bits of apple spilling from between his lips with his last pants. "He's done."

Mark removed his hand and wiped it on Jack's hairy, bloated belly. Then set about taking him apart, piece by piece, sliver by sliver, with the assortment of knives, saws, and cleavers on the rack behind. As he removed each part, dictating his actions to his friends like a surgeon, he gave it to Donte, who put it through the industrial, motorized meat grinder over and over, bone, cartilage, tendon, muscle, and organ a mish mash of powdery, fleshy Play-doh.

As they finished up - wiping and disinfecting the table and tools, forming perfect circular patties with their uncovered palms - the freezer door popped open. Ned Bongo, the short, bald, humorless Italian who ran the kitchen - and was serving consecutive life sentences for eating his two children in church - entered and looked from Mark to the pan of meat patties with his bulging eyes.

"Very good," said Ed, nodding. "The barbecue tomorrow is going to be a runaway success!"

Typical

7:30am - Wake Up

7:31am - Think about Danny

7:45am - Brush teeth, shit, wipe 100 times (or more)

8:00am - Breakfast (2 scrambled eggs, 1 slice scrapple, 1 pancake, 1 cup orange juice)

8:30am - Read, Write

10:00am - Kitchen duty (for lunch)

10:15am - Prepare trays of processed chicken, turkey, beef slices (remove from refrigerator and place in oven at 350 degrees Fahrenheit)

10:45am - Prepare fruit and vegetable cups (remove from freezer and place in refrigerator to thaw)

11:15am - Prepare dessert (remove from refrigerator and arrange in pans on buffet)

11:45am - Go to freezer and jerk off in fruit juice concentrate

12:00 Noon - Prepare fruit juice (from concentrate)

12:30pm - Serve first round of lunches

1:00pm - Serve second round of lunches

1:30pm - Serve third round of lunches

1:45pm - Go to freezer and jerk off into fruit and vegetable cups, set aside for Devin Licebringer and his friend Moe Jury on fourth round

2:00pm - Serve fourth round of lunches, eat lunch

2:30pm - Clean up (wash and dry trays, pans, cups, and put back in proper place)

3:00pm - Two hours in the yard (hang out with Donte and Delonte, sell and smoke drugs, threaten other inmates, make plans with Officer Lickies, who's always talking to Donte and Delonte, and Officer Swallow)

5:00pm - Showers (jerk off or get/give head or fuck somebody or get fucked by somebody, eat cum)

5:30pm - Nap

6:30pm - Dinner (2 slices processed chicken, 1 cup fruit and vegetables, 1 cup fruit juice)

7:00pm - Go to Janitor's Closet with Officer Swallow

7:30pm - Read, write

9:00pm - Lights out

9:01pm - Jerk off, eat the cum

9:29pm - Think about Danny

9:30pm - Sleep

Swallow

"314!"

The steel door slides open crickety crack, and Officer Carol Swallow steps in, boots clickety clack. Uniform the same brown and yellow of all the other guards but narrow at the waist and wide at the hips. Cuffs biting on his slender, scarred wrists as she hooks them to a chain around his waist. Then down to one knee, incarcerating his ankles, her face at his crotch.

A tug and he follows her, hooting in his ears from his fellow inmates, all wrongly convicted, all right where they belong. Passes by Donte and Delonte and Officer Lickies outside, nods to his colleague and to her charge, his feet scraping along the gunmetal gray paint of the concrete floor. Then down another row of catcalls, then another. Through a door heavier than both of them. A right, then a left, encroaching darkness, a slim wooden door marked 'Janitor', inside a closet of dirt and chemicals.

His arms burn, his cock swells when another set of cuffs hooks him to a pipe overhead, rust sprinkling the spikes of his hair. Her hands at his waist, her face almost cute enough to be a boy's or a model's in his crotch, biting at his hard-on through the gray cotton, teeth raking zipper teeth. Until she frees it. And takes all of him, cock, balls, in a gulp, her mouth like an inside-out sweaty sock, smooth, soaked.

Her thick tongue around his taut veins, a sponge of blood, then a vacuum twirling stronger his balls sucked through his urethra, the sweat under his arms trailing trails down his torso, coagulating a diagonal in the triangle of soft hair squashed against her nose. His hips tighten, pump, he releases in squirts at the back of her throat. And might fall down the hole behind the last drops if she doesn't stop slurping-

Zipped up. Uncuffed. Dragged back. The steel rods re-form in front of him, panting, smiling on his back in his lonely bunk, her mother's form nothing but a trace of shadow. It was better than the last time.

"314!"

TEN

It's Raining...Huh?

Half the cock hung over his hand, stiffening as the dots of water darted it. "I should make you suck this big motherfucker now. You're lucky Lickies is over there, you little shit." Devin nodded to the guard standing at the entrance to the showers.

"Um, it isn't that big-"

"Bigger than that little mushroom cap of yours-"

"And Lickies doesn't have to be here-" Mark looked over his shoulder, the blazing shower pelting into his back like so many pins, and nodded at Officer Lickies. The guard nodded back and stepped out into the hallway. Mark turned back to Devin and nodded beyond the man's greasy head, "Now there're some dicks-"

Mark caught Devin's twisting body in his arms, the man's goateed jaw dislocated instantly from Donte's giant fist, and slammed him bleeding into the slimy, tiled floor. Scooting Devin's head against the wall with his left shin, he reared back with the other leg and cracked the heel of his right foot into side of the unconscious man's skull. Then kicked again. And again. And again. Until Donte and Delonte grabbed him.

"All right, man, you got him, don't kill him yet," said Delonte, as he grabbed Devin's ankles, twirled the man around onto his back, pushed his legs back until his knees were at his shoulders, then entered his soaped-up cock into the relaxed pink pucker of asshole. "Now, this is how it's done," he laughed, his coal-black buttocks clenching and unclenching as he plunged in and out several times until his body shuddered, his cock buried to the base.

As Delonte pulled out, his cock shrinking, dripping thick strings of cum, Donte fell to his knees, centered his cock between Devin's buttocks and lunged forward. At which Mark's knees hit the floor on each side of the man's head as he crooked his neck up and shoved his dick into the gaping, bloody mouth, pumping furiously, his scrotum stretched tight over the gasping nostrils. The stinging water drops shooting onto his shoulders lessened in their harshness and washed over him like a caress from Danny-

His perineum tightened and he thrusted harder. "I'm coming," he said.

"Me too," said Donte.

"Pump him full of AIDS-"

"You got AIDS?"

"I don't know," Mark shrugged. "I guess-"

Donte pulled out and rolled onto his side, laughing. Delonte jumped on top of him, slapping his back and matching him guffaw for guffaw. Slowly, Mark's snot-filled chortles grew into calm, steady breaths and a widening smile as he watched Devin's chest heave slower and slower until it stopped. He pulled his dick from his mouth and stood up. Then aimed the shower head directly at Devin's shrunken, useless cock and wound the hot water knob until steam filled the room and no one could see the pink water curling down the lone drain in the center of the floor.

Smugg-a-lin' Baby

Mark put out his hand.

"Um, there's a problem-"

Mark's shoulders slumped. "What?"

"The guard-"

"Yeah?"

"It wasn't Swallow-"

"It wasn't supposed to be. It was supposed to be Lickies-"

"Oh-"

"Oh nothing. Where is it?"

"I...I swallowed it-"

"What the fuck did you do that for, you little piece of shit?"

Jack's eyes welled, the tears glinting with the lone light of the cell overhead. He placed one chubby hand over his chest. "I'm sorry, Mark, I thought Swallow was supposed to be there, and when I saw Lickies, I panicked and just...swallowed all of it-"

Mark snorted a few heavy breaths through his nostrils. "Well, fucking throw it up then-"

"I, I can't-"

"Jesus Christ, dude, you're fucked-" Mark's breathing began to slow and he unzipped his pants, pushed them to his ankles, and sat on the toilet. With a grunt that was audible only to himself, he forced out the turd that had been tickling his rectum all morning.

"Do I still get to suck it?" said Jack.

Mark wiped quickly, then stood up and pulled up his pants. "No, bitch, you get to eat it-" And he braided his wiry fingers through the wet, matted hair on the back of Jack's head, and with more strength than he needed, slammed the man's face into the stainless steel oval that contained his sleek turd. "Fucking eat it, bitch. And throw my shit fucking up!"

He straddled Jack's massive back and pushed down with both hands until the toes of the man's scuffed shoes stopped tap-dancing behind him. He pulled Jack's head out of the toilet and looked at his wet, gasping, browned face. "You're fucking disgusting, dude. Now, where's my shit? Did you get it out?"

Jack barely shook his head. So Mark grabbed him around the waist as best he could and dragged him to the lower bunk, on which rested the man's upper body. With a forceful tug, he ripped Jack's pants from him, then tore them into pieces, which he stuffed in the man's whimpering mouth. He grabbed the shampoo bottle from the table and squeezed every last drop of it into the crack of Jack's red-haired, pimpled ass. "There's only one way to do this," he said as he coated his hand with a few dollops of the shampoo. "Send a fucking pedo to do a man's job and...shit happens."

And he plopped one bony finger into Jack's asshole. Then another. And another. And then the fourth. And twisted them until the knuckles of his hand were flush with Jack's anus. He slipped his thumb inside his palm. Then punched his fist into the man's rectum to his wrist, Jack's head rearing up, his screams muted by the cotton of his pants. Mark slapped him on the back of his head with his free hand, then pushed his face into the mattress as he clawed his hand through Jack's rectum, giving it small punches here and there to get past sticking points on his forearm, gobs of shit licking at his arm hairs, his fingers searching with all their dexterity for antyhing that didn't feel like a turd or tissue. Until finally his elbow slipped through Jack's anus and his middle finger detected a mass unlike anything else it had encountered. He grabbed at it quickly and pulled his hand back as fast as he could, a flood of feces, blood, shampoo, and what must have been rectum falling in a pool between Jack's knees, just under his gaping, murdered hole.

"Got it!" Mark giggled. He pulled Jack's head up and turned him over, wiping his hand and forearm on Jack's face. Then he made his way to the sink and washed up, soaping his arms to the shoulders, his semi-erection shrinking further. After he dried off, he made his way back over to the bunk and sat down, draping the towel over Jack's barely breathing face. "Clean yourself up, you sick fuck. You smell like shit."

In Da Yard

They clasped hands, pulled each other closer, embraced, then stepped back, their hands in their pockets.

"Look at you, Marky, you been hittin' da iron?"

"A little. So what the fuck charge y'all catch man?"

"Same one-"

"Yeah?"

"Man, it all a set up. They just wanna lock two more niggers away, dat's all-"

"True dat-"

"So what they charge y'all with?"

"Assaultin' a po po-"

"Really?"

"And attempted murder of a po po-"

"Fuck-"

"Man, it ain't like dat at all-"

"Dat's da truth-"

"Remember dat cop lock you up?"

"Uh huh-"

"Dude was fuckin' harassin' me and Delonte, man. Followin' us all over da place. Pullin' us over for no reason, searchin' our shit. But he couldn't get nothin' on us-"

"True dat-"

"So we sittin' at my joint one night, just watchin' TV and shit and I see these eyes in da window. I get up and then I hear shit outside-"

"Fuck-"

"I thought it was somebody tryin' ta rob me and shit. We got our gats and went to da front door and there's dis muthafucka runnin' down da driveway-"

"No fucking way-"

"Well, he ain't runnin' no more-"

"Jesus-"

"One of us caught his spine. Right in da neck-"

"Wow. And they arrested y'all? They shoulda arrested him-"

"True dat, homes-"

"Fucker said he comin' by to question us 'bout a shootin' on da otha side a Cedaraville. You know me, I don't even go over there with dem whack niggers-"

"Yeah-"

"Anyway, dude said he there to ask us questions. At two in the fuckin' mornin'. Creepin' round my fuckin' yard, peepin' in my window. Man, I coulda been playin' wid ma dick or somethin'-"

"Ha-"

"They catch y'all with any shit?"

"Fuck no. Just dis bum charge-"

"Man, I'm so fucking sorry, dude. That's bullshit. I almost shit my pants when I saw y'all walk by my cell. But that fuckin' creep I'm in there with woulda liked it-"

"Dude, let me tell you 'bout dat muthafucka. He was here when I here last time. He been here foreva-"

"For inviting an 8 year-old to his house?"

"For molestin' a 8 year-old. He like da biggest fuckin' pedophile in da state-"

"Really?"

"Fuckin' guard told me he like molested hundreds of kids but dey could only get him on da one-"

"That's fucked up-"

"Yeah, I'm surprised he alive dis long. Every cell mate he ever have beat da shit outta him-"

"I'm surprised he ain't in solitary-"

"Well, there's a reason for dat-"

"Ah-"

"Yep-"

"Hmm. We need to do something about that dude-"

"Uh huh-"

"But we need some drugs. There some cool guards here?"

"Fuckin' bunch of 'em. Get anything you like-"

"All right. We'll be able to take care of two things at one time then-"

They clasped hands, pulled each other closer, embraced, then stepped back, their hands in their pockets.

Back

A small, hairy, freckled hand crept over the side of his bunk and across his left hip, stopping at his crotch, where its fingers began tugging at his zipper. Mark blinked his eyes twice, then sat up, swung his legs over the bunk, and jumped to the floor all in one motion. His feet didn't stop moving till Jack Anderson's back was against the far cement-blocked wall, Mark's slight 5'9" frame towering over the diminutive, portly man. He glared down into Jack's eyes, which were wide with fear or lust - or both.

"What the fuck is your problem, dude?" said Mark.

"Um, I lost something, roomie-"

"Stop calling me roomie-"

"Okay-"

"You're so fucking stupid. I wasn't even asleep or anything. Dude, do you lack self-control that much?"

A buzzer sounded loudly through the prison, echoing in every cell. Jack blinked over at the tiny clock on the table. "The parade's starting," he said. And slipped out from under Mark and made his way to the barred door of their cell.

Mark followed, inching away from Jack as he took up his post next to him. Another line of black men carrying bed linens and toiletries made its way past, a conga line of the defeated and entrapped, like a scene from Roots. Mark watched, sighing, till his heart stopped beating with the sickening force of recognition as the last two black men approached. "Donte," he yelled, "Delonte."

Both men looked at him at the same time and grinned, throwing back their heads.

"What the fuck, dudes?"

"We get up witch you in the yard, a'ight?" Donte nodded.

"Yeah, yeah, man," said Mark. He looked to his shoe tops and could've sworn that his body was as empty as their soles.

"Who are those niggers?" came a voice from behind him.

Mark spun around, his eyes narrowing to where Jack had quietly backed up to pull out his cock - the head swollen and red - and masturbate, sweat coating his forehead. "Don't call my friends niggers again or I'll fucking gut you," said Mark. He pointed to Jack's short, fat cock in his short, fat fingers. "And if I see your dick one more time, I'm gonna cut it off. Got that?"

Jack nodded, popped his dick back in his pants without zipping them, and made his way to his bunk.

"Uh uh," said Mark, as he reached in front of Jack, tore the sheets, blanket, and pillow from the bottom bunk with both hands, and threw them to one of the dusty corners of the cell. "I got the bottom bunk now. You lost that privilege, bitch."

Simile

Like a rotting kitten carcass under the bed? Or like a scabbed-over pussy? Or shit-filled entrails? A baggie of testicles, scrotum, penis, fingers, and eyeballs? A turkey-and-cabbage fart?

Mark's eyes opened from sleep, his nostrils twitching, and looked down at the odor assaulting his brain through his nose. Jack sat bare-chested on the toilet, his government-issued pants around his ankles, his short, fat cock like a dog's red rocket in his cum-covered hand. He looked up at Mark and smiled, the freckles on his face disappearing in a bevy of lines around his eyes and on his bloated cheeks.

"Good morning, roomie!"

"What the fuck, dude?" Mark sat up, letting his legs dangle over the side of his bunk. "You got fucking issues." He shook his head and laughed to keep from gagging. "Something crawled up in you and died-"

"What do you mean?"

"The smell-"

"Oh, this is mild compared to-"

"Compared to what? An Auschwitz oven?" Mark pointed to the man's crotch. "I don't need to be seeing that again-"

"Sorry." Jack's cock dropped from his hand, which he wiped on the side of his leg, and drooped, shrinking, between his gelatinous thighs. "I just come better when I'm shitting-"

"Whatever-"

"Who's Danny?"

"Huh?"

"Your sleep is very, um, boisterous-"

"Really? How do you mean?"

"You toss and turn all night-"

"What the fuck? Did you watch me sleep all fucking night?"

"No. You were right above me, you know." Jack shook his head with a laugh, then continued in his forced casual tone, as if he were discussing a new college course with a professor, his pinky held out from his teacup as he sipped his Earl Grey: "You kept saying the name Danny. And you pop your elbows - or maybe it's your knees - every five minutes or so. It's really very disturbing-"

"That's really very disturbing." Mark again pointed to the man's crotch. And was disturbed himself that he'd gotten so used to the smell of the man's bowel movement so quickly.

Jack stood up, pulled up his pants, and buttoned and zipped them.

"Aren't you gonna wipe?"

"Don't have to; I shit clean-"

"Yeah, right-"

"Ah, it doesn't matter, roomie, we shower every day any way-"

Mark yawned, then 1-2 snapped his fists forward, his elbows' crackling echoing in the cell. "What the fuck are you in here for anyway?"

Jack cleared his throat. Then looked Mark straight in the eyes without blinking, like a cat on patrol for a mouse. "I had the audacity to invite an 8 year-old boy to my house for lunch."

"Really?"

"Yes."

"That's it?"

"That's it."

Mark narrowed his eyes and stared into Jack's widened eyes until the latter's slowly closed to a blink, like a coffin closing on a hated corpse. "Bullshit," he finally said. "There ain't no fucking way you got put in jail for inviting a kid to your house for lunch. What was he, a friend of your son's?"

"I don't have any children."

"A nephew-"

"No." Jack turned around to the small table in the corner and fingered the closed pages of one of the books lying there. "He was just a boy I met-"

"Where?"

"On the playground." Jack sighed. "He was a beautiful boy, who looked not much unlike yourself. A really sweet, innocent boy. I could tell right away that he needed someone older who could-"

"You were gonna fuck him, weren't you?"

"I don't fuck, roomie, I love, I guide, I teach, I instruct, I turn boys into the men the world needs. I make boys feel as special as every boy should feel-"

Mark looked at the toilet and espied the skinny black turd circling the bowl. If he looked long enough, it seemed to move, like a venomous, hungry snake raising its head to strike. He could smell its stench once more. "Dude," he said, "you're fucking sick-"

Jack turned around, smiling. "Roomie, you aren't so different from me."

"I ain't nothing like you-"

Jack shrugged. "We'll see."

1005-1977

"Next group!"

Mark slid his feet along the wet tiles, the mold between the tiles squishing between his toes, until he was under a shower head. As the rest of the line behind him settled into place, water pounded onto his head, its cold turning hot and relaxing the goosebumps on his skin. He finally removed his hand from his tiny dick and balls and soaked them with soap.

"Close your eyes and don't open 'em till you rinse this shit completely off!"

And a chubby guard in a rain slick twisted his wrists over Mark's head, an ammonia syrup spilling out of the bucket and coating his lean physique with a false sense of cleanliness. He rubbed the last of the solution from his body and blinked his eyes open just in time to catch the towel thrown at him from another guard in a matching rain slick. Quickly, he dried off, knotting the towel around his waist, his semi-erection a normal-sized bulge through the stiff white cotton.

"This way!"

Mark and the 9 other inmates, all black and twice his size, followed another guard down a short hallway and through a thick, steel door into a small, bright room, the halogen lights overhead bouncing in erratic waves off the yellow, concrete walls. As the large door shut behind them, two heavily armed guards - helmets, kevlar vests, M-16s, 9mm's, tear gas canisters, several sets of handcuffs, night-stick - approached and took up posts at each end of the line. Behind the guards followed four men in lab coats shoving their hands into latex gloves and pulling out small flashlights.

"Drop your towel!"

"Open your mouth! Wide!"

"Lift up your scrotum!"

"Turn around and bend over! Spread your buttocks!"

"All clear!"

"Attention!"

Mark turned around, his hand over his stiff cock and shrunken balls, and watched as the first two in line were escorted naked by one of the machine-gunned guards over to the small table on the other side of the room, at which sat two more guards. On each side of the table were several stacks of garments and bedsheets and small plastic bags filled with an indeterminate amount of supplies that would cost ten cents apiece at a dollar store. After a series of muffled questions and nodded and shaken-headed answers, the two black dudes quickly clothed themselves, accepted their bedding and toiletries, and walked out the steel door on the other side of the room to two more waiting guards.

Mark followed the armed guard up to the table with the black guy on his left, his dick shriveling in his hand, and stopped in front of the white-haired guard on the right side of the table.

"Number?"

"One zero zero five dash one nine seven seven-"

"Dennison, Mark?"

Nod.

"Do you have any allergies?"

Head shake.

"Are you taking any medication?"

Head shake.

"Are you addicted to drugs and/or alcohol?"

Head shake.

"Do you have any medical condition that the state or Cedarville Prison should be aware of?"

Head shake.

"Do you plan to make use of Cedarville Prison's psychological counseling services?"

Head shake.

"What size are you?" Nod to the piles of clothes.

"Medium?"

"Yeah, that's about right." The guard looked Mark up and down, his bloodshot eyes lingering on his covered crotch. "Well, small for your underwear." And he nudged the guard on his right, the two of them giggling together as they watched Mark's hand tighten on his tiny dick.

Mark took in a deep, silent breath. "It's all in how you use it-"

"You won't be using that side in here, young'un-" And the guards laughed again.

"We'll see-"

"So we will." The guard reached down, grabbed a pile of clothes, and threw them at Mark. "Get dressed, boy."

He dressed so quickly he couldn't feel the rough cotton scratching his skin, the boxers creeping us his ass, or the zipper breaking on his pants. He collected his blanket, sheets, pillow, disposable razor, soap, shaving cream, and toothpaste, and stepped through the door to the guards and a short stroll of hoots and whistles until he was stopped abruptly in front of a cell not much smaller than his room at home.

Climpkt! Clampkt!

He laid his necessities on the bare top bunk, then sat with a slow plop onto the lower bunk, which was already covered with a scruffy blanket and flat, hard pillow. The toilet was stainless steel and rusted and sat inches from him; above it was a plastic mirror smeared with humidity and stains of soap. In the corner just beyond was a small, plywood table, on top of which sat a few dog-eared books, pictures of strange children, and two composition notebooks. The concrete walls were gray and dusty, the cement floor rougher and dustier. Mark laid back on the bed and closed his eyes, his breath soft in his ears under the clatter outside the cell. How would he be able to jerk off and not get caught?

Climpkt! Clampkt!

His eyes popped open and looked at the opening door, the bars goose-stepping across his line of sight and revealing a short, fat, red-haired man dressed exactly as he was.

"You're in my bunk, roomie," said the man, smiling.

Hail Mary

"Dude, it just ain't fuckin' right. Fucker lucky he die, I woulda killed him good-"

"Excuse me-"

Donte looked up over his shoulder into the old woman's frowning face. He raised his eyebrows.

"Please mind your language, young man. There are others here who would not rather hear-"

"Are you fuckin' talkin' to me, you old bitch?"

"Listen, young man-"

"No, you listen-" Donte looked the woman's brown habit up and down in a glance and grinned. "You stop molestin' kids, I'll stop cussin'-"

"That's it-"

"Sister Mary-"

She turned around. "Father David, I have this under control-"

"You have what under control?" said Donte. "Listen, bitch. One of our friends just got murdered. We here to mourn-"

"At the mall?"

"At the fuckin' mall-"

The nun looked down, then back up at Donte. "I'm sorry about your friend, but using that kind of language is no way to mourn him-"

Donte stood up and approached the nun, towering over her as he spoke. "So now you tellin' me you know my friend better than I do?"

"No, I just-"

"You just nothin'." He looked back at Mark, Delonte, and the rest of the Cedarville Niggers circled around the two fake-wood tables they'd squeezed together. "If you know what best for you, you'll shut the fuck up right now before somebody get hurt-"

At this, a hand appeared from behind the woman and grabbed her arm. "That's enough, Sister Mary Grabber. Let's go." The priest turned the shaking nun around with both hands and led her to the EXIT.

Donte sat down. And a WHOOP! went up from his fellow gang members, echoing through the Food Court, along with several pats on the back and high-fives. He wiped a curtain of sweat from his brown forehead and looked at Mark, who had been scribbling on a napkin and giggling throughout the whole ordeal. "The bitch lucky I don't rape and kill her-"

Mark looked down at the upside-down 3-D cross he'd drawn, then looked back up at his friend. And raised his eyebrows.

Full of Grace

Mark snapped his fist into her forehead with a quick jerk of his elbow and pounced on her back as she fell over the slight wooden chair at the foot of her bed, wrapping his palm around her mouth as he ripped her bonnet off with his free hand. "Nobody disrespects us, you hear?"

She nodded as best she could through the strength of his fingers, the one-inch gash between her eyes spilling rivulets of blood into each.

"Stigmata," said Mark. "Dudes, fucking hold her arms."

Donte and Delonte each grabbed one of her arms. Mark gripped the collar of her tunic, and with a one-handed tug, tore it from her 60 year-old body, the cotton's scream almost as loud as her moaning. Her spine showed through the translucent skin covering her back, which was spotted with overgrown moles, some of which sprouted stiff gray and black hairs.

Mark traced her bumpy, creaky spinal column with one extended forefinger. Until he got to her ass, where he separated her mushy, pocked buttocks at the crack and glared at a criss-crossed mishmash of tiny scabs from either wiping too hard or not at all. With the nail of his middle finger, he drew an upside down red star inside a slimy circle of darkening goo by clipping each shell of dried blood from around her browned hole, at which she began to wriggle and groan loudly, repeating through her struggling breaths, "I forgive you."

Mark peeled her knee-high stockings from her varicosed, flabby legs, balled them up and gave them to his friends. "Shut her up," he said. And they pushed the tight little spheres of satin deep into her drooling mouth. Using the tips of his fingers as tiny loofah sponges, Mark smeared her asshole slick with her own blood, then pushed his jeans and underwear down with one hand, his pre-cumming boner springing loose like a kangaroo from a boxing ring's corner, while he guided his taut 4 inches into her rectum with his other hand.

"I forgive you," her throat said through its tracheal membrane and sagging wattle.

"Forgive this," said Mark. And he came for the first time as close to her colonic sphincter as his genetics would allow. Quickly, he pulled out and put the head of his dick to her labia and lunged forward.

Snap!

"Fuck! She's dry as a bone! Fucking cunt almost broke it in half!" He spit twice into his hand and rubbed it into her vagina, then tried again. "Fuck, what does it take to get you wet, bitch?" Mark looked at Donte and Delonte, both of whom were trying with all their might to hold back their laughter. "Fucking turn her over," said Mark.

Once on her back, her legs splayed, the long, rigid white hairs covering her mons stared up at Mark, mocking him. He bent down and retrieved his razor from his pocket, and with a few quick flicks of his bony wrists, left her as bald as an infant, tiny crimson islands pooling in the creases of her groin. Mark leaned up and stuffed the hair he'd collected into her mouth, then buried his face between her legs with a deep breath. Two minutes of slurping and tonguing and he finally revealed her clit, drawing it deep into his mouth. Quickly, his sharp lower teeth met his sharper upper teeth through the wrinkled flesh and he swallowed it to the accompaninent of her loudest muffled "I forgive you" yet.

Mark, a red swath masking his dimples, rubbed his cock into the rivers of blood flowing in thick knots onto the floor below, then fell forward again, this time tearing her hymen with his weight and knuckly pelvis as he ground his hips against the back of her thighs and buttocks until he came a second time. At which he stood up and looked at Donte. "Give her your big stuff, dude."

And Donte obliged, going first to her anus, then her vagina, as they had agreed upon. Delonte followed, lasting longer than the other two put together, her breathing slowing and barely audible, save for a coughed, guttural "I forgive you" every now and then when Mark would slacken her rosary, which he'd chained around her neck. And tightened and loosened and tightened and loosened and tightened and loosened-

Delonte zipped up his jeans. Both her holes were torn top and bottom, undulating in and out, breathing on their own, gasping for air or more cock. Or offering forgiveness. Mark turned her over onto her stomach on the floor and unsheathed his razor. With herky-jerky curves of his hand, he traced a 3-dimensional cross on her back, its foot at the nape of her neck, its top gushing into her crack. He grabbed one of the ancient, unlit oil lamps from the nightstand, removed its glass, and poured its contents into the pumping crevices of his artwork.

He looked to Donte. "Dude. Matches."

When ____________ Collide...

All Mark could hear was the whir of the DVD player through the images on the TV meeting his eyes, which couldn't blink if he'd used his fingers to pull them shut.

"What the fuck?"

He looked at Danny, the boy's cheeks soaked with tears, and opened his mouth, but his tongue - dry and shriveled with embarrassment - refused to do his bidding.

"I can't fucking do this with you," said Danny, and he walked to the door, stopping in front of Mark. "Why?"

"Why?"

"Yeah-"

"Why were you going through my stuff?"

"Your stuff? You said everything of yours was mine. And mine, yours. I was just trying to find a movie to watch. But I found-" Danny pointed to the TV, on the screen of which featured another in a long line of the Cedarville Niggers ramming his dick into Mark's hungry asshole. "And you fucking videotaped it?"

Mark lowered his head and thought he heard his heart regain a semblance of its former self through his chest. His ability to breathe returned as a squirt of saliva welled on his tongue. "I'm sorry," he said, "it won't happen again."

"Again?"

"That was so long ago-"

"It could've been last week for all I know." Danny sighed. So hard that Mark could smell the sweetness of his own cock on the boy's breath. "No wonder they fucking do everything you say-"

Danny took a step forward and was met by Mark's bony hand on his pointy shoulder. "Don't leave," said Mark. "I love you-"

"I can't do this." And Danny jerked his shoulder away and made for the stairs.

Mark watched a few more seconds of his finest day as the only white member of the Cedarville Niggers through puffing eyes that drained all the water and blood from the rest of his body, leaving it numb and useless. Until he heard the front door slam. At which he turned and bounded down the stairs in two oblivious leaps. As he opened the door, he pulled up at the sound of metal eating flesh and bone.

He ran to Danny's body just under the front bumper of the old Bronco, the knees of his jeans tearing on the stained pavement as he propped the boy's head in his lap. Putting his ear to Danny's mouth, he could feel its impending cold, could hear every word the boy had ever uttered, every word that he'd never get to say. Rocking back and forth, he looked into the stone face of the person he'd loved the most in his life, and deposited the first tear he could remember in months into the ceramic eyes that wouldn't blink no matter how hard he wished for them to do so.

Wait.

Don't go.

Wait.

Can I? Can I have another hour?

Can I? Can I have another minute?

Can I? Can I have another second?

Wait.

Come back.

Wait.

"Hey!"

Mark looked up, and through the spiderwebbed windshield could see his mother's ex-boyfriend.

Dan stuck his head out the driver's side window. "You two faggots get out of my way before I kick your asses-"

Mark laid Danny's swelling head on the pavement softly and got up, making straight for the driver's side of the Bronco. As Dan began to open the door, Mark slammed it shut with a kick of his bloody shoe, then reached into the cab of the truck, weaving his fingers through the thinned white hairs on the back of the old man's head. With a familiar calm that freed all the strength he could muster, he introduced Dan's forehead to the windshield a second time. Then a third. And a fourth. And a fifth. And countless more times, each thrust more powerful than the last, until he could no longer tell what was glass and what was Dan's face.

With a sigh that deflated his entire being and let loose a cacophony of tears that lapped at his chin, he returned to Danny's body, a hardening mass of bone, muscle, vein, and tendon, and fell in a sobbing heap to the asphalt beside him.

Busted!

"Fuck-"

"Fuck..."

"Ah, fuck."

"Fuck!"

"Put it up your ass-"

"Put what up my ass?"

"In your crack-"

"What the-"

"They won't look for it there-"

"Fuck they won't-"

"Turn your fuckin' head around, man-"

"Sorry-"

"Two fuckin' gay ass white boys ridin' 'round with two niggas. We fucked, man!"

"Dudes! Shut the fuck up!" said Mark as he eased Donte's new CTS onto the shoulder, the police cruiser's disco ball of lights dancing in the rearview. "Listen to me. Put all your shit under my seat-"

"Mark-"

"No, seriously, dudes. Shove it all under there. And deny, deny, deny that any of it's yours-"

"Dude, that's a lot of shit-"

"How much back up you got, Donte?" Mark could see the outline of his friend's afro in the rearview, a black oval against the search light that turned night into day inside the car. He looked to Delonte's tight cornrows, neat bubbles covering his head. "Delonte? You?"

"Fuck, man, you don't-"

"Just shut the fuck up-"

A tap at his window. A gun in a holster, a hand on top, right at eye level. Mark rolled down his window, releasing a car-ful of pot smoke into the Cedarville dusk.

"You know why I pulled you over?"

"No, sir-"

"You were doing 52 in a 45-"

"Really?"

"Yes, sir. Can I see your driver's license and registration?"

"I don't have one-"

"Turn off the engine and give me the keys-" The cop pocketed them and Mark watched him walk back to his cruiser in the sideview.

Danny leaned over from the passenger side, his lips close to Mark's ear. "You don't have to do this-"

"He right, Mark. Dude, I can-"

"Will everybody just shut up? This is my decision. This is what's best."

"Fuckin' cops. I hate 'em. I wish I had my gat-"

"Okay, I need everybody out of the car." All four of them jumped at the sound of the cop's voice. "Keep your hands where I can see them and move real slow."

Mark looked back at the police cruiser as he stepped out of the car and saw that four more were behind it. A dog's furious barking met his ears through the blood swishing in and out of them. Fuck! Big time! He obeyed the cop and went to the front of the Cadillac with Danny while Donte and Delonte made their way to the back end. As they assumed their positions, the dog was let loose inside the car and began digging and yelping under the driver's seat.

The cop who'd pulled them over dropped three baggies and two pipes on the hood of the car and pointed at them. "Those yours?"

"Yep-"

"Really?"

"Yes, sir-"

"Nobody else's?"

"Nope. All mine. Nobody else even knew I had it in the car."

"Because those guys back there said it's all of y'all's-"

"No, they didn't-"

"Yes, they did-"

"Well, they're lying then-"

The cop narrowed his eyes into Mark's. "That's a lot of shit, boy-"

Mark shrugged.

"You're looking at a lot of time. Possession. With intent to distribute. At least 10 years-"

Mark looked away and sighed. "Yeah-"

"You know this car was reported stolen this morning-"

"Yes, I stole it-"

"Really, from where-"

"From wherever-"

The cop shook his head. "Stupid fucking white boy-"

Mark put his head down and nodded. Then looked back up at the cop and grinned. "You gonna arrest me or not?"

"Wait here." The cop walked back to Donte and Delonte and after a few gesticulations, sent them walking.

"Mark, you don't have to do this," said Danny.

"Listen. Yes, I do. They're my friends. Our friends. You know how much back up time they got? And being black? They'll never get out of jail. And for what? The same thing half these cops do in their spare time." He shook his head. "I'll be all right. We'll be all right. This'll be my first offense. I'll get probation or something. Sometimes, you just gotta do the right thing. And taking care of your friends is the right thing-"

"You can go," said the cop, pointing to Danny. "Start walking. And don't look back."

He turned Mark around, then frisked and cuffed him as roughly as a butterfly alighting on a flower petal. "I've got to get your info," he said, sliding Mark into the wide backseat of the police cruiser. He sat in the driver's seat and shook his head. "You know," he said, "half of us don't do the same shit in our spare time. And tell your friend Donte I wish he'd had his gat too-"

Relapse

The house was warmer inside than the evening was outside. And it was darker. And quieter. Except for his bedroom, which peeked around the corner upstairs through the light from his New York Giants lamp and almost muted the squawking of the springs of his bed. Mark breathed in a familiar sweet, plastic aroma and jumped up the stairs three at a time.

Sarah's back was to him, her greasy blonde hair stretched in tangles to her waist. She shifted again, her head fallen forward, as he stopped in his bedroom doorway.

"Mom, you okay?"

"I will be in a minute." She held both her hands up over her head.

"Mom, you shouldn't-"

"You shouldn't, you little fucker-"

"Language-"

"Fuck language-"

Sarah put the pipe to her lips, then the flame to the end of the pipe. Smoke gathered in the glass tube, then disappeared into her lungs, reappearing a minute later half of what it used to be. She patted the bed next to her until Mark's bony ass was firmly set on it.

"Flash-"

"Fuck him-"

"Mom, really, your language-"

"Fuck language, Mark. It don't matter what you do. Be good, go to church, don't cuss, don't smoke, don't drink, don't do nothing, and still you get fucked over all the same-"

"But you get to go to heaven when you die and it'll be all right-"

"Fuck heaven. And hell. There ain't no such thing as either-"

Mark giggled. "So what happened? More fighting?"

"He's a fucking meth head. Always was. Always will be. Why do you think he was so fucking hyper all the time? Walking faster than people run? Overcompensating with all that religion bullshit-"

"Amen-"

"Shut the fuck up, Mark-"

Mark giggled. He pointed to the pipe in his mother's hand. "You two could've done that together-"

"That's the problem. We're recovering-"

"You are-"

Sarah shook her head. "Well, we were. Or I thought we were. At least, I was-"

"That sucks-"

"Tell me about it. I come home today and he's smoking the shit right in the kitchen-"

"Yikes-"

"Don't make fun-"

"I'm not-

"I know-" Sarah laid the pipe and lighter on the bed and put one arm around Mark. "I'm just not gonna let people, I don't care who they are, talk about you the way he did-"

"Really?"

"Uh huh-"

"What did he say?"

"Let's just say he wrote his one-way ticket out of here with one word-"

"Whoa-"

Sarah turned to face Mark, resting her veiny hands on his smooth cheeks, and aimed her dilated pupils straight at his eyes. "Nobody talks about my boy like that. You hear me? You're my son, and I love you, Mark. Don't ever let anybody tell you any different." Her eyes blinked and fell to his lips. "You hear me?"

Mark nodded and wrapped his arms around his mother's waist as she squeezed him close to her. Then pushed her away as her lips puckered on his neck, her tongue tracing a small circle.

"Mom, I can't-"

Sarah's chin plopped onto her chest and her arms limped up by her sides as Mark left the room.

"You fucking faggot," she said.

What Was Yours?

Wait.

Don't go.

Wait.

Can I? Can I have another hour?

Do you remember? Remember when we first kissed? And you said you felt like you were home and I said I felt the same way? As if our tongues had been looking for places to rest and finally found their graves?

Can I? Can I have another minute?

Do you remember? Remember when I first touched your cock? And you said my fingers felt like the fur of a kitten and I said the skin of your cock felt like the surface of water? And then I sucked it and you said something about pretending God and Heaven exist but I didn't really hear you because you were in my throat and I was trying to force all of you into me? As if you would be my last meal before I stalked off to the chair?

Can I? Can I have another second?

Do you remember? Remember when we smiled at each other yesterday? And you said we would never die and I agreed and then you said that if we did it would be together just like in the movies? And how I thought about how you never betrayed me and how you were the only one who never betrayed me and the only one I think who ever loved me and how I never wanted to kill you and not even cut you and not even gloat when you writhed in pain from my teeth on your cock a little too tight? As if you were a gift I never wanted to open that would just sit on my lap and absorb my tears on the only Christmas I would ever have?

Wait.

Come back.

Wait.

Mark's eyes opened and he squeezed them shut to dry them. The voices of his mother and her boyfriend wafted to his ears through the drywall separating his bedroom from hers. He snaked his fingers under the waistband of his boxer briefs, grasped his hard-on with the tips of his skinny fingers, and began to stroke, pre-ejaculate smearing the glans.

It is Written

"Donte called."

"Cool."

"And that boy Danny called."

"When?"

"A little while ago."

"How long ago?"

"I don't know. Fifteen minutes?"

"Why didn't you wake me up?"

"You were sleeping."

"So?"

"Who is this boy?"

"A close friend of mine. Why?"

"I don't know, it's just seems odd-"

"What seems odd?"

"That you're so close to someone you just met-"

"We've got a lot in common-"

"Like what?"

"Like we like a lot of the same things, music, books, and movies and stuff. And we have the same sense of humor- Why?"

"I don't know, he's just kind of-"

"What?"

"I thought he was a girl-"

"He's not-"

"Does he like girls?"

"Jesus Christ, Mom-"

"Language-"

"Language!"

"Dan, what do you think?"

"Well, The Bible is pretty clear-"

"Fuck The Bible!"

"Mark!"

"Sarah!"

"What the fuck? Somebody writes something in a fucking book and you believe it hook, line, and fucking sinker because you're afraid to die?"

"It's the word of God, Mark-"

"It's the word of a bunch of fucking dudes who hate you and me and everybody else and want to control every fucking thing we do."

"Language, Mark-"

"Language, Sarah!"

Mark looks around hurriedly, then makes his way to the counter, pulls out a sheet of looseleaf and a pen, scribbles like a meth machine. Then grabs a knife, shovels it through the sheet perpendicular to its faded blue lines, holds it above his head and slams the shivering blade into the center of the table, between his mother and her boyfriend.

And he walks out of the kitchen shrugging, "Then fucking believe this":

Truth/Beauty

Mark laid the stack of well-thumbed papers on his desk behind him, on top of The Day Doesn't Care, the latest book of poetry by his favorite poet, then turned to Danny, who sat opposite him on the bed. "I like your stories. I did notice that there're a couple different themes that seem to run through them-"

Danny sat up, pushing his face within inches of Mark's, his green eyes widening under his charcoal-black bangs.

"In all of your stories, you're the main character, and they all involve you saving the world while at the same time being on the run from somebody who wants your ass-"

Danny nodded, giggling, a hint of white teeth showing through his parting lips.

Mark laughed. "I mean, even in BE A MAN, BE A MONK!-"

Danny's nodding head increased its velocity.

"And you love alliteration-"

Danny's head steadied itself. "Well, you know, that represents the alliterativeness of the world. It mirrors Life's endless repetitiveness. If you notice, I really only use it-"

"In the parts where somebody's about to get your ass. Because everybody wants your ass, right?"

Danny smiled and stuck out his tongue.

Mark analyzed his mucous membranes for an unconscious second and realized they contained too much snot. So he sucked a handful down the back of his throat-

"Hold it!"

So Mark held it, resting the viscous, spinning mass on the back of his tongue. Until Danny's hand curved around the back of his neck, molded their lips together, and vacuumed it into his mouth. Danny leaned his head back and Mark watched Danny's Adam's apple undulate as he swallowed the biggest snotball Mark had mustered in months.

"It's almost as sweet as your cum-"

"Really?"

"Yeah, like the blood of Christ-"

"I'll give you the blood of Christ-"

Mark reached behind him without taking his eyes off Danny's, his little hard-on scratching his underwear, and reached into the top drawer of his desk. In one motion, he slithered off his T-shirt with his left hand as he clicked his straight razor open with his right. The blade slid mercilessly across his chest with a flick of his wrist, and he grabbed Danny's blackened hair in a fist, guiding the boy's quivering lips to his sliced nipple, where they slurped furiously. As the short, deep scar began to coagulate, he drew Danny's head back and tasted his own blood in his boyfriend's mouth.

"I want to taste all of you," gasped Danny.

"Well, you're not tasting my shit-"

"No, not that, that's not you, that's what you don't want as a part of you-"

Mark peeled Danny's shirt, pants, and underwear from his body and gulped his dick into his throat, the pre-ejaculate a welcome sting to his esophagus. A few minutes and Danny's hips began to jerk and he slinked up Danny's veiny body, smearing it with the remnants of his razor work, as Danny slid in the opposite direction, taking Mark's baggy jeans with him and grabbing his dick around its base.

"You're the only one who's never made fun of my dick-"

"Why would I?"

"Because it's so small-"

"But I love you and it's a part of you and if you really love somebody then you love every part of him-"

And Danny took Mark's cock and balls into his mouth in one swallow, as Mark's eyes welled for the first time in years.

Y.S.E. (You're So Emo)

1.

Have you ever seen someone so beautiful
That you wanted to die?
I could look at you forever and find
Something new every minute
That I’ve loved all the time.

2.

I was going to write you
A love song,
But then I remembered
You don’t love me back,
So I threw the paper away
And typed this instead.

3.

You won't remember my kiss
because you were asleep,
dreaming
of someone else
and not me.
But that's okay-
I dream too,
though
I don't mind admitting
it's just about you.

4.

If I went away
you could play
much better.

But that's assuming
you even care
one way or the other.

Danny lay across Mark's bed, his extra-small, blank, white T-shirt halfway up his hairless belly, his tight, low-slung black jeans slung lower with making himself comfortable, a ruffle of green boxers edging out above his belt. Mark watched him as he read his work, his eyes slipping underneath the looseleaf pages and down the boy's fatless length to the knot on the left side of his zipper, which mirrored his own, if a bit larger.

"Wow, you really must have loved...her?"

"Her?" Mark grinned until he saw a smile spread across Danny's face. "Yes, I was very much in love. Still am."

"Aww, that's sweet-"

"It's hell-"

"Yeah." Danny laid the sheets of paper between them on the New York Giants-clad comforter, then turned on his side toward Mark, his shaggy head resting on his hand.

"Because when I fall for somebody, I fall quickly and I fall hard and it's difficult for me to get back up-" Mark turned onto his side to face his friend, his poetry crumpling under him. "Do you know what I mean?"

Danny nodded. Then looked to Mark's lips. Then his neck. And his black T-shirt and white jeans. And back up. "I like that choker." He put a finger to it, pressing it into Mark's collarbone. "Is that real bone?"

"It's human teeth-"

Danny laughed.

Mark grabbed the inverted cross that hung from Danny's gold necklace. "This is pretty cool-"

Danny laughed again, going quiet as his eyes locked onto Mark's glaring irises.

Mark tightened his grasp on the cross. "You look so much like him-"

"I'm not him-"

"Good-" And he pulled Danny's face to his, their hungry lips crashing softly together.

The New Kid

"So you are from California?"

"Yes, ma'am."

"Cedarville must be a bit of a culture shock for you then?"

"It's...different."

Mrs. Wright laughed. "Okay, today, we are working on our creative writing projects. I am going to need you to pair up with someone-"

"He can be my partner," said Mark, his hand raised.

A few giggles and a couple laughs came from the other 30 students in the room.

"What?" Mark looked around the room, grinning. "Just because I'll die for my art?" He shrugged.

"All right, Mark," sighed Mrs. Wright, laughing. She looked to her new student. "Mark is your partner. He will show you what we are doing. We just started this project a month ago and they are not due for another 8 and a half weeks, so you will have enough time. Especially with Mr. Dennison's guidance-"

The class' giggling was replaced by the scratching of desks and sneakers on the hardwood floor. Mark watched as the skinniest kid he'd ever seen approached him, 3 or 4 books gathered in one arm, his other hand brushing a thick swath of shaggy blackened hair out of eyes so green they looked as if someone had soaked them in a melted crayon. He put out his hand.

"I'm Danny."

"I'm Mark. Poet, provocateur, superstar-"

"I can tell." Danny laughed, flashing a set of perfect white teeth, the canines the same length as the rest, and a pair of dimples so deep they seemed to meet somewhere in the middle of his mouth. "Mrs. Wright seems nice-"

"She is. Very nice." Mark brought his voice down to a whisper and locked his eyes on to Danny's, whose didn't waver. "Be nice to her. Her son committed suicide-"

"Oh, shit-"

"Yeah, and what's worse is he killed his little brother first-"

"Holy fuck-"

"I know. And some people say he raped his dead body-"

"What the-"

"Shhh." Mark looked around. "Just be careful what you say around her. And me too. Maury was my best friend." Mark forced his eyes to swell with impending tears that would never come.

"Dude, I'm sorry-"

Mark shook his head. "It's okay. It's just that we never saw it coming, you know-"

"I understand-"

"Cool." Mark sucked in a gigantic portion of the room's air and let it out in a sigh. "So, we've got a project here-"

"Creative writing?"

"Well-" Mark stopped, staring into Danny's eyes for another 15 seconds. "You know what? You look so much like this friend of mine that I used to have, I feel like I'm talking to him from beyond the grave-"

"Maury?"

"No. Daniel. He was my best friend-"

"How'd he die?"

"He fell asleep smoking a cigarette, with his girlfriend beside him-"

"Wow-"

"Yeah, I know." Mark put up a hand. "Okay, enough morbidity. Here's the project: submit a rough draft of a short story or a novel in progress up to ten thousand words in length by the end of April. You can work on it as much as you want, of course, but we meet twice a week here in school to go over our work with each other to get feedback and criticism and whatnot. Mrs. Wright is going to submit the five best to agents and publishers in New York and see what happens. Also, she is putting together a literary mag for the school that will feature the 20 best entries in all her classes."

"That's cool. So what are you doing, a short story or a novel?"

"Neither. I'm working on a poetry collection-"

"Huh?"

"Dude," Mark grinned as he continued looking into Danny's eyes, which hadn't moved from his or blinked in the last 30 minutes, "I don't ever fucking do what I'm told."

Danny smiled, his dimples kissing his tongue. "I like you-"

"I like you too-"

Leader of the Pack

Mark, his body white from lack of sun, lay back on the chilled metal table, his arms stretched out to his sides, his ankles crossed.

"Fuck me like Jesus Christ," he said.

A chorus that included several "Woo Hoo's" and one "Fuck the shit out of that white boy" went up from the 20 black guys, aged anywhere from 15 to 25, standing against the wall of the science lab, which they had easily slipped into with a key from one of the gang's fathers, Cedarville's best science teacher and winner of the county's "Teacher of the Year" award three years running.

Delonte, at the far end, stepped up to the table and grabbed Mark's ankles, sliding his lean, vascular body towards him until his ass was at the table's edge. He spread Mark's legs and pushed them back until Mark's knees pressed comfortably against his collarbone. "Hold your legs back, bitch," he commanded and Mark did as he was told with a giggle. Delonte grabbed an open 40oz from one of his crew and tipped it over Mark's genitals, the frothy beer soaking Mark's hard-on and tightened scrotum, then his asshole, which he puckered in and out to sip the warm brew.

Delonte pushed his baggy jeans down to his feet without unbuckling or unsnapping them, revealing the largest penis Mark had ever seen, a long, knotty, two-toned affair that looked like a branch broken from an old, burnt oak rather than a man's dick. The black man spit in his hand and stroked his cock until it was even more erect, his pre-ejaculate mixing with his saliva, the veins along his penis glistening and as thick as fingers-

"Fuck me with that little dick of yours," said Mark.

And Delonte obliged, stepping up and pushing his massive meat into Mark's waiting hole, burying it to the base in one stroke, Mark's anus ripping bloody to accept it, his unheld breath allowing him to experience the pleasure in the pain....

Then a bump bump bump the table's legs squealing Mark's body jolting with Delonte's cumming cock he exits with a plop another steps up smaller more forceful in out in out Delonte running around the side measuring up to Mark's lips for a cleaning stuffing it into his esophagus his shriveled balls cushioning into Mark's nose the scent of iron chlorine shit the taste of his ass like heaven a few ropes more of the extra-large cock's cum splashing his vocal chords before being withdrawn replaced by the dick that just showered his rectum replaced by a smaller dick and on and on until the break of dawn heart pummping rhythms to his ears breaths quick short through his nose passing the pipe hittin' the rock a cerebral orgasm Glock round chambered cocked piercing the hole then there were two Mark gets up his ass mashing slipping through the puddle of fuck blood a warm forty 18 Cedarville Niggers' after-cum saliva the last two lay on the table at opposite ends their legs intertwined their crotches mashed their 8 and a half inchers the smallest held together by a generous hand Mark jumps onto the table squats on both of them rocking back forth back forth massaging his prostate with 17 inches his four-incher hard with the cum about to shoot over his shoulder Donte steps up mashes lips with him their lips don't feel any bigger when you kiss them no matter what they look like the two are finished Mark rolls over pulls his legs back "Eat my ass so I can cum" Donte's knees hit the tiled floor tongue out meshing with Mark's asshole Mark jerking his little dick wet with pre-cum ejaculates his eyes closed torso stiff the sound of his cum hitting just under his ear tinny bip bip bip his hole opens the cum of 20 of Cedarville's finest niggers smothering Donte's face "Woo Hoo, good times" "Huzzah!" "Look at dat shit" "Donte's a white boy" Hahahahahahahahahahaha

Mark grabbed a towel and put it to his asshole, soaking up the damage wrought by his fellow gang members. He wiped the sweat from his brow with his other hand and watched as they put on their clothes. Donte came over to him, his face finally clean, and slipped his baseball cap onto Mark's head.

"Get dressed, you crazy son of a bitch," he said.

Mark laughed as the rest of the guys turned around to look at him. He put his hands in the air and shrugged.

"Is that all you niggers got?" he said.

Prelude (in the Key of Ghetto Major)

Yo yo yo this is how it went down
20 funky niggas and one spikey-haired clown
Cedarville all up against da wall
Lined up biggest ta small
One at a time equals two later
Ain't no room in this room for DL haters

Watch out for Dennison
When he roll up he be menacin'
Gonn' whip out his lil' white dick
Too small even for a tiny tick

What you gonn' do
When you got genitals in yo hands?
Throw 'em up, throw 'em up!
Like a muthafuckin' trophy!

You know when it come to suckin' D
Ain't none better than Marky D
He taken more than a few
Make a nigga say "Woo Hoo!"
Munchin' on cocks
Like they is Doritos
Suckin' harder than a swarm
Of AIDS-infected mosquitoes

Elbow poppin', snot gaggin'
Cock slurpin', asshole saggin'
His throat be full and quiet
But his big white booty do all the talkin'
He open his man-pussy lips
And da niggas stick they Glock in

The pipe burn hollow
Marky D in da lead
Niggas they follow
Ready fo' da Double-D
Jimmy's are fo' losers
Spit 'n blood's fo' winners
They see dat red-pink asshole
Bust all they nuts in 'im

(Everybody say)
What you gonn' do
When you got genitals in yo hands?
Throw 'em up, throw 'em up!
Like a muthafuckin' trophy!
A muthafuckin' trophy!
A muthafuckin' trophy!
A muthafuckin' trophy!

(Written by G-Dub and The Durrr
Performed by Miguel "Bottoms Ups" Francisco
Courtesy of D-Ra(i)l'd Productions, Inc.
Copyright February 2008)

Brothers

Mark slipped the blade of his straight razor between the gun cabinet's doors, crowbarred it open, and with one gloved hand, brought down the shotgun from the top rung. He pulled two shells from the unlocked drawer below and slid them into the barrels, snapping the gun shut with a flick of his wrist. "Woo hoo, good times," he said, repocketing his blade, and took off for the second floor.

Ned Jr. was on his knees in his room, placing blocks one on top of another and knocking them down with a swipe of his skinny arm and a jabbering howl from his pursed lips that shook the bangs of his bowl cut. Mark tapped on the door with the butt of the gun, sliding it behind his back as Ned Jr. looked up.

"What's up, little man?"

"Hi-"

"Whatcha doing?"

"Playing King Kong." Ned Jr. looked down at Mark's hand. "Why are you wearing that glove?"

"My hand's cold-"

"Oh-"

"Is Maury taking good care of you?"

"I hate it when they leave me with him. He's boring-"

Mark laughed. "Tell me about it-" And he closed Ned Jr.'s bedroom door as the boy resumed being an ape. Four steps and he was inside Maury's room, the butt of the shotgun in his armpit, the open ends of the barrels on the boy's forehead. "Hi."

"What the fuck, dude?"

"You didn't say I couldn't come back-"

Maury grabbed the waistband of his jeans. "You can suck my dick, dude-"

Mark jabbed the barrels forward, two perfect red circles swelling instantly over Maury's expressionless face. "Shut the fuck up-"

"Ouch, man, that shit hurts." Maury put a hand to his forehead. "Why are you doing this?"

"You did it-"

"I didn't do nothing, man-"

"Sit there and get some paper and a pen." Mark pointed to Maury's desk with the gun. "You've got to write a letter to your stupid fucking parents, telling them why you killed yourself-"

"I won't fucking do that-"

"And Ned Jr.-"

Maury got up and sat down at his desk, pulling a pack of looseleaf paper and a pen from the top drawer. "Don't hurt my little brother-"

"Are you gonna do it or not?"

"Fuck you-"

"Dude, it doesn't have to be Shakespeare-"

"Don't hurt my little brother is all I ask-"

"Okay." Mark snorted a meatball of snot down his throat. "I'll dictate, you write. Since you're about as bright as that little retard in there-"

"You're lucky you have that fucking gun-"

"Dear Mom and Dad-"

Maury picked up the pen with a shaking hand and began writing, the first letters smearing with a tear that dropped from his eye. After he signed his name, he turned to Mark, who placed the barrels of the gun back above his nose. "Please don't-"

And Mark pulled the trigger, watching as the top of the boy's head detached itself from the rest of his body, the fragile bone dragging along with it hair, blood, brain, neurons, synapses, capillaries, and everything else that once resided just above and behind his best friend's face. The remaining parts of Maury fell sideways onto the floor, and Mark gave the ass one last good kick, then turned slowly at the noise behind him. He took a step forward and put a gloved hand over Ned Jr.'s mouth. "Have you ever been raped and murdered?" he whispered.

Black Holes

"What the fuck is this place, dude?" Bertha Shears' body looked as if God had fucked up royally and put mismatched halves of two different women together and plopped Bertha's head on top. From the waist up, she was straight up, the only things perverting those perfect lines two cupcake-sized breasts, half-moons stuck in orbit in front of the tiny Pluto that was her torso. Below her belt, her hips billowed out, straining against a pair of size 20 generic jeans from Lane Bryant that saw scarred meat flowing over their waistband like lava out of a volcano on Mars. "I've lived here fifteen years and never knew it was back here."

Mark put his hands on his hips and looked at Bertha, whose silhouette in the shack's doorway blocked out the sun behind. With a swivel of his neck, he took in the knotted, cracked boards, the hole in the wall behind him, the webs of hiding spiders in the corners, and the mound of dirt off to one side, a shovel firmly planted in its middle, and grinned. "It's my home away from home." He shrugged. "Actually, it's a tree house that isn't in a tree anymore."

"I thought it was your spaceship-"

"That too-"

He reached out and grabbed Bertha's wrist, pulling her to him and pushing his tongue into her mouth in one motion. Before she could kiss him back, he placed a hand on top of her head and dragged her down along the front of his body until her face was at his zipper. Another second and his pants were around his knees, his tiny erection bobbing at her lips.

Bertha reared back. "Wow, you got a small dick-"

"Shut the fuck up-"

"No, it's cute. I love it-" And she swallowed it - and his balls - in one gulp. Then spit them out, gagging. "Dude, your fuckin' pubes stink-"

"Oh, I haven't showered for a couple weeks-"

Bertha choke-gagged and spit a voluminous ball of saliva from deep in her throat between Mark's legs.

"And I gotta shit-"

She shook her head. "I don't think-" She coughed. "This floor isn't very stable-"

"You know you fucking want it-" Mark stepped out of his jeans and underwear, then locked his hands around her head and shoved his wet little dick into her open mouth, pumping her face until she was sucking him of her own volition. "Going boldy-" Before he could untangle his hands from her straight, shaggy hair, his perineum tightened, shriveling his testicles close to his pelvis and jolting his hips, then his cock, as he blasted three warm tethers of cum into Bertha's mouth.

Mark fell to his knees and fastened his mouth to Bertha's, drinking his cum from her tongue, which he swallowed for the third time that day. He pushed her onto her back and pulled on the waist of her jeans until they slid over her gelatinous hips, the zipper tearing, the button flying into his eye. "Fuck!" Blinking the sting out of his eye with fury, he grabbed her ankles and rammed her legs forward until she was on her shoulders and elbows, the folds of her chubby vagina staring up at him wide-eyed through an alien jungle of slick, matted curly springs of hair.

He rocketed to his feet, squatted over her, and licked her sticky clit with the head of his needle dick. Then loped forward, spreading his ass cheeks with his hands, until he felt her labia kissing his anus, at which he lowered himself further, hermetically sealing them together. With a forceful undulation of his abdomen, he pushed a 2 day-old turd out of his rectum-

"What the fuck?" Bertha twisted away from under him and scooted on her ass into the nearest corner, where she initiated an exploration of her brown, packed vagina. "What's your problem, dude? Why'd you do some sick shit like that?"

"Was that a pun?" Mark laughed. He ran his middle finger deep through his ass crack and flicked the results of his excavation at the crying girl in front of him.

"Jesus Christ!"

"I told you we were gonna space dock-"

"You fucking pervert." Bertha dug the last of Mark's turd from her cunt. "And with that little fucking toothpick-" She pointed. "Ha, I wouldn't've felt it anyway-"

Mark disengaged the shovel from the mound of dirt and held it high above his head, bringing it down with such force that as Bertha's skull split into uneven halves, the rest of his turd propelled from his ass and crashed into the wall behind him. He dislodged the shovel from Bertha's mouth, nose, and brain, then carefully wedged its bloody tip between two floorboards behind him, flipping one up to expose the hole he'd dug the day before. Two more boards and he dragged Bertha's cooling mass across the shack, depositing it into the shallow abyss.