"Yo, what up nigger?"
"Did you just call me nigger?"
"Hey, hey, man, you can't say nigger-"
"Why not? You just called me a nigger-"
"Cause you white, you ain't no nigger-"
"What the fuck? I was just repeating what you said-"
"You can say cracker-"
"So can you-"
"Yeah, but my peeps been in slavery for 600 years-"
"I ain't enslaving nobody. As a matter of fact, I support my black brothers-" Mark clasped hands with Donte, exchanging a tight wad of five twenties for a sliver of alumimum foil folded flat several times over, which he slowly slipped into the front pocket of jeans. "So take that motherfucker. Besides, y'all like being called that-"
"Fuck you say-"
"What's the name of your gang?"
"The Cedarville Niggers-"
"All right then-"
"Man, we takin' ownership of that shit-"
"Whatever. I'm fuckin' white as a ghost and I don't like bein' called nigger-"
"Damn, motherfucker, there you go again-" Donte glanced his knuckles off the side of Mark's ribs through his leather jacket and laughed. "You a crazy motherfuckin' white boy-"
"Cracker. Get that shit right-"
Donte laughed again and ran his hand lightly over his cornrows as he looked around. He nodded towards a security guard walking their way. "You wanna smoke-"
"Sure-"
"Let's get the fuck outta here-"
Donte put a key in the door of an old burgundy Cadillac that sparkled in the twilight. "Here's my lady-" He locked the doors after Mark got in, pushed the gas pedal three times, then turned the ignition. "Purrin' like a fuckin' kitten-"
Mark laughed, watching the mall grow smaller through his tinted window as Donte pulled onto the highway. He reached into the glove box and grabbed a small box. Flipping the lid, he pulled out a plastic baggie filled with weed and rolling papers and set to crafting two of the skinniest joints ever known to mankind.
Donte jerked the car into Mark's neighborhood, sped past 20 or 30 cloned single-family homes and softly alighted onto a narrow blacktop that stretched around the back of the community's electrical power boxes. Out of sight, he jerked the key backwards and turned down the radio. "Gimme some of that shit-"
Mark handed one of the toothpicks to Donte and watched as the only 21 year-old Cedarville High lit and sucked down half of his perfectly cylindrical creation. Donte handed Mark the joint as he began choking, waving the smoke pouring from his chest out of his face. "Smoke the rest of that white boy's dick, will you?"
Mark grinned and obliged his friend, burning his lungs and fingertips with the rest of the twig. He stubbed the remaining millimeter in the ashtray and exhaled, the veins in his forehead straining with the force of his gagging. He picked up the other string of a joint and handed it to Donte. "Here-"
Another two drags between them and several thousand coughs and they lay back against their leather headrests. "Is is it true what they say about you," said Donte.
"What's that?"
"That you're a faggot?"
"Who says that?"
"People-"
"That's funny. They say you're on the DL-"
Donte laughed. He punched Mark's knee. "Man, I got nothin' 'gainst faggots." He coughed. "You know Larry-"
"Yeah-"
"I let him suck my dick before-"
"Really? Why?"
"Motherfucker owed me three hundred dollars. But he only had two hundred. So I said, 'Suck my dick and you ain't gotta worry 'bout the other hundred.' I was just kiddin'. Next thing I know, nigger on his knees with my dick in his mouth-"
Mark laughed. "What the fuck?"
"Best head I ever got-" Donte turned his bloodshot eyes to Mark and shifted in his seat.
"Ha-" Mark closed his eyes, giggling.
And Donte's lips brushed against his, the man's large knotty hand guiding Mark's to his crotch-
Friday, February 1, 2008
Sunday, January 27, 2008
Chubby Double-Dildo Double-Penetrated Anal Lassies
"Dude, pop it in-"
Mark pushed the DVD tray shut and jumped on Maury's bed, next to his best friend. "It was in Flash's stash-"
After an FBI warning, four throbbing vaginas appeared on the TV screen, with the words "Play Movie," "Scene Selection," "Extras," and "Contact factwhores.com" next to them. Maury chose the second, then chose scene 7, "Dana Callahan and Jane Sheckleton." A pause and a flicker and two naked ladies with a healthy dose of belly rolls and stretch marks came on the screen with every intention of coming.
"Is your door locked?"
"Yep-"
Maury's eyes didn't move from the television as both sandy-haired ladies spread their legs across from one another, each's feet braced against the other's, and wiggled their clits wtih their chubby fingers, a stray digit or four slipping into their vaginas and anuses every few strokes.
"Dude, can we get some volume?"
Maury pressed a button on the remote and captured Jane's last erotic gasp as four long, fat pieces of rubber, each with penis heads on both ends, materialized between the women's drooling hairless vaginas.
"Black mambas-" Mark grinned and looked over at Maury, whose face, as always, showed as much emotion as the four double-headed dildos Dana and Jane were pushing two at a time into their cunts and assholes. He glanced down and espied a lump in Mark's jeans, brushing a hand over his own erection.
Dana and Jane slid down on the dildos until their vaginas met, then pulled apart, their labia strung together with clear ropes of each other's juices. Then back together and apart again, then again and again, their strokes quicker and more forceful, the younger Jane holding her own with the masterly Dana, the camera so close on their artificial copulation that Mark thought he could feel the heat of their friction, inhale the odor of their drowned nether regions.
"I need to jerk off-" And Maury pulled his hard-on out through his unzipped jeans, spit in his right hand, swabbed his penis quickly, then commenced scraping his hand up and down around it.
"Me too-" And Mark pulled his 4-incher out, smeared it with his pre-ejaculate and began to masturbate.
He looked to Maury's cock and found it to be as unremarkable as the rest of the boy, even though the muscle between his balls and asshole tightened with the desire to sit on it. He looked up at Maury's face and met the boy's eyes, which immediately dropped to his handiwork. Mark quickly reached over and grasped Maury's pale, veiny monument to obese women-
"Dude, what the fuck?" Maury stood up, pushing his dick back through his zipper. "I'm not a fag-"
"Me neither-" Mark let go of his deflated dick. "I just thought-"
"You thought wrong-"
"I mean," Mark swallowed a big slice of air, "I mean, the way you looked at me, I just thought-"
"What?"
"I was just being a friend. I thought you wanted me to do that. I didn't want to hurt your feelings-"
Maury shook his head and a slight line appeared in his forehead. "Just leave-"
Mark took another breath, sure that his eyes were spinning in their sockets, his brain shrinking and swelling in his skull. He let the blood beat against his eardrums a few more times, then jumped up, replaced his dick, and removed his DVD. "Dude, promise you won't tell anybody-"
Maury nodded.
"Promise me. I'm sorry." He laid a hand on Maury's shoulder, which didn't move. "I'm really sorry, Maury. You're my best friend. Please promise me."
Maury nodded. "I promise. Please leave now."
Mark heard the door shut softly behind him as he made his way down the stairs, past Maude-Lyn and Little Ned, and out the front door without making a sound.
Mark pushed the DVD tray shut and jumped on Maury's bed, next to his best friend. "It was in Flash's stash-"
After an FBI warning, four throbbing vaginas appeared on the TV screen, with the words "Play Movie," "Scene Selection," "Extras," and "Contact factwhores.com" next to them. Maury chose the second, then chose scene 7, "Dana Callahan and Jane Sheckleton." A pause and a flicker and two naked ladies with a healthy dose of belly rolls and stretch marks came on the screen with every intention of coming.
"Is your door locked?"
"Yep-"
Maury's eyes didn't move from the television as both sandy-haired ladies spread their legs across from one another, each's feet braced against the other's, and wiggled their clits wtih their chubby fingers, a stray digit or four slipping into their vaginas and anuses every few strokes.
"Dude, can we get some volume?"
Maury pressed a button on the remote and captured Jane's last erotic gasp as four long, fat pieces of rubber, each with penis heads on both ends, materialized between the women's drooling hairless vaginas.
"Black mambas-" Mark grinned and looked over at Maury, whose face, as always, showed as much emotion as the four double-headed dildos Dana and Jane were pushing two at a time into their cunts and assholes. He glanced down and espied a lump in Mark's jeans, brushing a hand over his own erection.
Dana and Jane slid down on the dildos until their vaginas met, then pulled apart, their labia strung together with clear ropes of each other's juices. Then back together and apart again, then again and again, their strokes quicker and more forceful, the younger Jane holding her own with the masterly Dana, the camera so close on their artificial copulation that Mark thought he could feel the heat of their friction, inhale the odor of their drowned nether regions.
"I need to jerk off-" And Maury pulled his hard-on out through his unzipped jeans, spit in his right hand, swabbed his penis quickly, then commenced scraping his hand up and down around it.
"Me too-" And Mark pulled his 4-incher out, smeared it with his pre-ejaculate and began to masturbate.
He looked to Maury's cock and found it to be as unremarkable as the rest of the boy, even though the muscle between his balls and asshole tightened with the desire to sit on it. He looked up at Maury's face and met the boy's eyes, which immediately dropped to his handiwork. Mark quickly reached over and grasped Maury's pale, veiny monument to obese women-
"Dude, what the fuck?" Maury stood up, pushing his dick back through his zipper. "I'm not a fag-"
"Me neither-" Mark let go of his deflated dick. "I just thought-"
"You thought wrong-"
"I mean," Mark swallowed a big slice of air, "I mean, the way you looked at me, I just thought-"
"What?"
"I was just being a friend. I thought you wanted me to do that. I didn't want to hurt your feelings-"
Maury shook his head and a slight line appeared in his forehead. "Just leave-"
Mark took another breath, sure that his eyes were spinning in their sockets, his brain shrinking and swelling in his skull. He let the blood beat against his eardrums a few more times, then jumped up, replaced his dick, and removed his DVD. "Dude, promise you won't tell anybody-"
Maury nodded.
"Promise me. I'm sorry." He laid a hand on Maury's shoulder, which didn't move. "I'm really sorry, Maury. You're my best friend. Please promise me."
Maury nodded. "I promise. Please leave now."
Mark heard the door shut softly behind him as he made his way down the stairs, past Maude-Lyn and Little Ned, and out the front door without making a sound.
Sunday, January 20, 2008
Sunday, January 13, 2008
Din-Din
Cast of Characters
Mark Dennison - hero, antihero, ubermensch, prophet, savior
Maury Wright - catatonic, pony-tailed, five-o'clock-shadowed underachiever and Mark's current best friend
Maude-Lyn Wright - Maury's mother and Cedarville High School's clinical, robotic English teacher whose appearance gives one the impression that she was half a chromosome away from being born with Down's Syndrome
Ned Wright, Jr. - Maury's precocious 5 year-old brother, who inspires pity from all he meets because of his haircut, which is the obvious result of Maude-Lyn placing a bowl atop his head and going to town with a pair of dull scissors
Ned Wright, Sr. - Maury's elderly father and Cedarville High School's music teacher and band leader, who is deaf in one ear and hard of hearing in the other and will never be caught dead out of his plaid shirt, oversized jeans, and suspenders
A 12-gauge shotgun - so Anton won't get mad
Act One (and only)
Scene One (and only)
(The Wrights' dining room. A rectangular table, covered in a plastic tablecloth with little flowers on it, sits in the center of the room. Four bowls are in its center: one contains macaroni and cheese; the second, Vienna sausages; the third, large rubbery meatballs; and the fourth, the thickest pasta Mark's ever seen. Maude-Lyn sits at one end of the table, Ned Sr. sits at the other end. Mark and Maury sit on one side, Little Ned on the other.)
MAUDE-LYN: How is everything, Mark?
MARK: Good. Especially the mac-n-cheese. It's magnifique (pronounced 'mag-neee-feek').
MAUDE-LYN: Well, thank you. This is Little Ned's favorite meal. We have it a few times a week. I thought you would like it.
MARK: I'll tell everyone in class tomorrow how good it was.
MAUDE-LYN: Thank you, Mark, but you do not have to do that. (She shakes her head.) I do not know how Bertha Shears maintains an A in my class.
MARK: Why is that?
MAUDE-LYN: Because she spends all of her time looking at you.
(Mark looks down to his plate and laughs.)
MAUDE-LYN: So you have noticed too?
MARK: She's pretty obvious-
MAUDE-LYN: Do her attentions bother you? It does not make for an unpleasant schooling environment for you, does it?
MARK: Oh, no, it doesn't bother me. She's never said anything to me. Other than hi every now and then. I guess it's kind of flattering-
MAUDE-LYN: I am sure Maury would be flattered. That is, if a girl ever looked at him. (She laughs.)
NED SR.: Huh? Maury's getting fatter?
MAUDE-LYN: (pointing to her ear) Turn up your hearing aid, Ned. I said, Maury wishes a girl would give him some attention-
NED SR.: Yeah, even the wrong kind.
MAURY: Thanks.
MAUDE-LYN: Learn to take a joke, son. If you could laugh at yourself, you would be a lot happier.
NED SR.: Yeah, you'd have a lot to laugh at-
NED JR.: (pointing at his plate) Look! Mommy, look at my art!
(Everyone looks at Ned Jr.'s plate. His pasta borders his plate in a semi-circle; in the middle, two meatballs rest above a horizontal Vienna sausage.)
NED JR.: It's Daddy!
MAUDE-LYN: That is very good, Little Ned.
(Ned Jr. looks at his mother. His bottom lip pops out and his eyes well up. He takes a deep breath, then lets out a wail that shakes everyone's eardrums but Ned Sr.'s.)
MAUDE-LYN: (reaching over and stroking Little Ned's arm) Little Ned, it is great. Just great. It is a fantastic piece of work. It looks just like Daddy. It is....perfect!
NED JR.: I can't eat.
MAUDE-LYN: Yes, you can. You need to eat so you can grow up and be even smarter and make even greater art.
NED JR.: No, I can't. I can't eat Daddy. (He puts his elbows on the table and his chin in his hands and continues to sob silently, the jagged edges of his bowl cut shivering with his breaths.)
MAUDE-LYN: (looking to Mark) Those are the travails of having a talented and gifted child. It is very challenging. You have got to give the appropriate level of praise or all bets are off.
MARK: I can see that. Wow. Amazing. And that cool little haircut of his-
NED SR: Huh? Who's talking smut?
MAUDE-LYN: (pointing to her ear) Turn up your hearing aid, Ned. Mark just said that he thinks Little Ned is very gifted.
MARK: You know, Maury's bright too-
MAUDE-LYN: You would never know it. He does not apply himself.
MARK: He did make the honor roll last quarter-
NED SR.: By the skin of his teeth. And that's after a good brushing.
MAUDE-LYN: (laughing) Oh, Ned-
MARK: Yes, but the honor roll's still good. Of course, everyone can do better-
MAUDE-LYN: What did you get on your report card, Mark?
MARK: (looking down and almost whispering) All A's.
MAUDE-LYN: See right there. And it is because you work your behind off and overachieve-
MARK: Actually, I-
MAUDE-LYN: All Maury does is lock himself up in his room with his video games and DVDs.
NED SR.: I think maybe if we take the TV out of his room-
MAURY: Dad-
MAUDE-LYN: I do not think that is the answer. Maury, you are just going to have to be more like Mark and Little Ned and your father-
NED SR.: Huh? Wed your father?
MAUDE-LYN: (pointing to her ear) Turn up your hearing aid, Ned.
(Mark and Maury exchange a sideways glance and roll their eyes at one another. A few more bites off their plates and they are finished eating. Mark sits back from the table and places his napkin on his plate. He looks over at the top of Ned Jr.'s bent shaking head and wonders what his little brain tastes like.)
MAUDE-LYN: So Mark, are your parents still together?
MARK: No, ma'am, my mother and father split up when I was three. I haven't seen or heard from my father since. I do know, though, that he died in Iraq during the initial invasion.
MAUDE-LYN: Oh, really? That is horrible. I am very sorry to hear that. His blood is on President Bush's hands.
NED SR.: Huh? Bush is still a band?
MAUDE-LYN: (pointing to her ear) Turn up your hearing aid, Ned. Mark lost his father in Iraq, at the hands of George Bush.
NED SR.: I'm sorry to hear that, Mark. Damn George Bush! (He slams his fist on the table.) I lost my father in the second world war. In '45. Thanks to Truman, that war-mongering son of a bitch. We never should have entered that war either. I can't wait until this country collapses. It's been nothing but war, war, war since its inception. Killing nothing but innocents. Like my father. And yours. There's never any reason to go to war. Once this country is toppled, there will be peace on earth for a million years. (He slams both fists on the table.)
(Mark, Maury, Maude-Lyn, and Ned Jr. stare at flushed-face Ned Sr. for several minutes. Then Ned Jr. begins to cry loudly once more.)
MAUDE-LYN: It is okay, Neddie. Daddy is not mad at you. He is mad at the criminal President Bush and President Truman. You go on up to your room now and work on your spelling. I will be up a little later. Remember, we are still working on one- and two-letter words.
NED JR.: (getting up and walking out of the room.) I can't eat Daddy, I can't eat Daddy, I can't eat Daddy, I....
MAUDE-LYN: (whispering) We are a very anti-war, anti-violence family. We believe in peace at all costs. Especially Big Ned. He gets a little emotional sometimes.
NED SR.: How did your father die, Mark? Was it friendly fire?
MARK: No, sir. His squad was ambushed. He was the only one who was killed.
NED SR.: Figures-
MARK: His commanding officer said that he was responsible for saving the lives of his fellow soldiers and actually helping them to defeat the insurgents who attacked them. He was given a Purple Heart.
NED SR.: What a shame. What a shame. And I bet you don't have anything to remember him by, do you?
MARK: No, sir.
NED SR.: Do you like to hunt, Mark?
MARK: Huh?
NED SR.: I didn't stutter. Geez, you sound like Maury. When he opens his mouth every blue moon. I said, do you like to hunt?
MARK: I've never been hunting-
(Ned Sr. gets up and exits the room in a hurry.)
MAURY: Thanks, Mark-
MAUDE-LYN: Maury Wright!
(Ned Sr. enters the room carrying a large double-barreled shotgun.)
NED SR.: This was my father's. I've been hunting since I was child. My grandfather used to take me out hunting until I was old enough to go with my buddies. I wish I'd been able to go with my dad.
MARK: Me, too-
NED SR.: I keep it in my gun case in the living room with my rifles and ammo. But it goes on the top rung. I don't know what I'd do without it. Every time I shoot it, I can feel my father looking down on me.
MARK: That's great-
NED SR.: You know, Mark, if you ever want to go hunting, I can arrange it. I've never been able to get Maury out there with me. I'll even let you use my father's gun here.
MARK: Sir, I look forward to shooting your father's gun someday.
Exeunt.
Mark Dennison - hero, antihero, ubermensch, prophet, savior
Maury Wright - catatonic, pony-tailed, five-o'clock-shadowed underachiever and Mark's current best friend
Maude-Lyn Wright - Maury's mother and Cedarville High School's clinical, robotic English teacher whose appearance gives one the impression that she was half a chromosome away from being born with Down's Syndrome
Ned Wright, Jr. - Maury's precocious 5 year-old brother, who inspires pity from all he meets because of his haircut, which is the obvious result of Maude-Lyn placing a bowl atop his head and going to town with a pair of dull scissors
Ned Wright, Sr. - Maury's elderly father and Cedarville High School's music teacher and band leader, who is deaf in one ear and hard of hearing in the other and will never be caught dead out of his plaid shirt, oversized jeans, and suspenders
A 12-gauge shotgun - so Anton won't get mad
Act One (and only)
Scene One (and only)
(The Wrights' dining room. A rectangular table, covered in a plastic tablecloth with little flowers on it, sits in the center of the room. Four bowls are in its center: one contains macaroni and cheese; the second, Vienna sausages; the third, large rubbery meatballs; and the fourth, the thickest pasta Mark's ever seen. Maude-Lyn sits at one end of the table, Ned Sr. sits at the other end. Mark and Maury sit on one side, Little Ned on the other.)
MAUDE-LYN: How is everything, Mark?
MARK: Good. Especially the mac-n-cheese. It's magnifique (pronounced 'mag-neee-feek').
MAUDE-LYN: Well, thank you. This is Little Ned's favorite meal. We have it a few times a week. I thought you would like it.
MARK: I'll tell everyone in class tomorrow how good it was.
MAUDE-LYN: Thank you, Mark, but you do not have to do that. (She shakes her head.) I do not know how Bertha Shears maintains an A in my class.
MARK: Why is that?
MAUDE-LYN: Because she spends all of her time looking at you.
(Mark looks down to his plate and laughs.)
MAUDE-LYN: So you have noticed too?
MARK: She's pretty obvious-
MAUDE-LYN: Do her attentions bother you? It does not make for an unpleasant schooling environment for you, does it?
MARK: Oh, no, it doesn't bother me. She's never said anything to me. Other than hi every now and then. I guess it's kind of flattering-
MAUDE-LYN: I am sure Maury would be flattered. That is, if a girl ever looked at him. (She laughs.)
NED SR.: Huh? Maury's getting fatter?
MAUDE-LYN: (pointing to her ear) Turn up your hearing aid, Ned. I said, Maury wishes a girl would give him some attention-
NED SR.: Yeah, even the wrong kind.
MAURY: Thanks.
MAUDE-LYN: Learn to take a joke, son. If you could laugh at yourself, you would be a lot happier.
NED SR.: Yeah, you'd have a lot to laugh at-
NED JR.: (pointing at his plate) Look! Mommy, look at my art!
(Everyone looks at Ned Jr.'s plate. His pasta borders his plate in a semi-circle; in the middle, two meatballs rest above a horizontal Vienna sausage.)
NED JR.: It's Daddy!
MAUDE-LYN: That is very good, Little Ned.
(Ned Jr. looks at his mother. His bottom lip pops out and his eyes well up. He takes a deep breath, then lets out a wail that shakes everyone's eardrums but Ned Sr.'s.)
MAUDE-LYN: (reaching over and stroking Little Ned's arm) Little Ned, it is great. Just great. It is a fantastic piece of work. It looks just like Daddy. It is....perfect!
NED JR.: I can't eat.
MAUDE-LYN: Yes, you can. You need to eat so you can grow up and be even smarter and make even greater art.
NED JR.: No, I can't. I can't eat Daddy. (He puts his elbows on the table and his chin in his hands and continues to sob silently, the jagged edges of his bowl cut shivering with his breaths.)
MAUDE-LYN: (looking to Mark) Those are the travails of having a talented and gifted child. It is very challenging. You have got to give the appropriate level of praise or all bets are off.
MARK: I can see that. Wow. Amazing. And that cool little haircut of his-
NED SR: Huh? Who's talking smut?
MAUDE-LYN: (pointing to her ear) Turn up your hearing aid, Ned. Mark just said that he thinks Little Ned is very gifted.
MARK: You know, Maury's bright too-
MAUDE-LYN: You would never know it. He does not apply himself.
MARK: He did make the honor roll last quarter-
NED SR.: By the skin of his teeth. And that's after a good brushing.
MAUDE-LYN: (laughing) Oh, Ned-
MARK: Yes, but the honor roll's still good. Of course, everyone can do better-
MAUDE-LYN: What did you get on your report card, Mark?
MARK: (looking down and almost whispering) All A's.
MAUDE-LYN: See right there. And it is because you work your behind off and overachieve-
MARK: Actually, I-
MAUDE-LYN: All Maury does is lock himself up in his room with his video games and DVDs.
NED SR.: I think maybe if we take the TV out of his room-
MAURY: Dad-
MAUDE-LYN: I do not think that is the answer. Maury, you are just going to have to be more like Mark and Little Ned and your father-
NED SR.: Huh? Wed your father?
MAUDE-LYN: (pointing to her ear) Turn up your hearing aid, Ned.
(Mark and Maury exchange a sideways glance and roll their eyes at one another. A few more bites off their plates and they are finished eating. Mark sits back from the table and places his napkin on his plate. He looks over at the top of Ned Jr.'s bent shaking head and wonders what his little brain tastes like.)
MAUDE-LYN: So Mark, are your parents still together?
MARK: No, ma'am, my mother and father split up when I was three. I haven't seen or heard from my father since. I do know, though, that he died in Iraq during the initial invasion.
MAUDE-LYN: Oh, really? That is horrible. I am very sorry to hear that. His blood is on President Bush's hands.
NED SR.: Huh? Bush is still a band?
MAUDE-LYN: (pointing to her ear) Turn up your hearing aid, Ned. Mark lost his father in Iraq, at the hands of George Bush.
NED SR.: I'm sorry to hear that, Mark. Damn George Bush! (He slams his fist on the table.) I lost my father in the second world war. In '45. Thanks to Truman, that war-mongering son of a bitch. We never should have entered that war either. I can't wait until this country collapses. It's been nothing but war, war, war since its inception. Killing nothing but innocents. Like my father. And yours. There's never any reason to go to war. Once this country is toppled, there will be peace on earth for a million years. (He slams both fists on the table.)
(Mark, Maury, Maude-Lyn, and Ned Jr. stare at flushed-face Ned Sr. for several minutes. Then Ned Jr. begins to cry loudly once more.)
MAUDE-LYN: It is okay, Neddie. Daddy is not mad at you. He is mad at the criminal President Bush and President Truman. You go on up to your room now and work on your spelling. I will be up a little later. Remember, we are still working on one- and two-letter words.
NED JR.: (getting up and walking out of the room.) I can't eat Daddy, I can't eat Daddy, I can't eat Daddy, I....
MAUDE-LYN: (whispering) We are a very anti-war, anti-violence family. We believe in peace at all costs. Especially Big Ned. He gets a little emotional sometimes.
NED SR.: How did your father die, Mark? Was it friendly fire?
MARK: No, sir. His squad was ambushed. He was the only one who was killed.
NED SR.: Figures-
MARK: His commanding officer said that he was responsible for saving the lives of his fellow soldiers and actually helping them to defeat the insurgents who attacked them. He was given a Purple Heart.
NED SR.: What a shame. What a shame. And I bet you don't have anything to remember him by, do you?
MARK: No, sir.
NED SR.: Do you like to hunt, Mark?
MARK: Huh?
NED SR.: I didn't stutter. Geez, you sound like Maury. When he opens his mouth every blue moon. I said, do you like to hunt?
MARK: I've never been hunting-
(Ned Sr. gets up and exits the room in a hurry.)
MAURY: Thanks, Mark-
MAUDE-LYN: Maury Wright!
(Ned Sr. enters the room carrying a large double-barreled shotgun.)
NED SR.: This was my father's. I've been hunting since I was child. My grandfather used to take me out hunting until I was old enough to go with my buddies. I wish I'd been able to go with my dad.
MARK: Me, too-
NED SR.: I keep it in my gun case in the living room with my rifles and ammo. But it goes on the top rung. I don't know what I'd do without it. Every time I shoot it, I can feel my father looking down on me.
MARK: That's great-
NED SR.: You know, Mark, if you ever want to go hunting, I can arrange it. I've never been able to get Maury out there with me. I'll even let you use my father's gun here.
MARK: Sir, I look forward to shooting your father's gun someday.
Exeunt.
Sunday, January 6, 2008
Love Letter
Dear Mom and Dad,
I'm sorry. If you even care.
This was something I had to do and since I was your son I figured I should tell you why. It was your fault. I know you hated me ever since I was born. I could tell by the way you always talked down to me and I could never do anything right. That's why I never talked and seemed so comatose all the time. Because I was put in a coma by your emotional neglect and abuse. Why did you hate me so much? Maybe now you can be happy.
Was I really that bad of a person? So bad that my own parents hated me until I had to take care of myself? I don't see how Little Ned was so much better than I was. I know he was talented and gifted and everything but I think he was retarded. Plus he was a spoiled fucking brat. And he had a bad haircut. And he told me that he hated both of you as much as I did.
You two made me miserable. I was never good enough. Everything I did was wrong. I was ugly. I looked like that guy who used to be on David Letterman a long time ago. But not anymore. Now I look like that guy who tried to commit suicide after he listened to Judas Priest. Only I'm dead right away. And you're happy.
Maybe I'm happy too. I was talking to my friend Mark and he told me that I had a lot to live for and that I was a good person and that I was really smart and talented and had a lot going for me but I know he only said that to be nice. Tell Mark I'm sorry I didn't listen to him. Instead, I listened to what my parents were saying all my life.
I don't think I was a bad person. Like when I raped Little Ned before I killed him I was very gentle on his tight little asshole. I stuck all kinds of little things up him to loosen him up before I put my dick up there so he wouldn't bleed too bad. He didn't. And I didn't even come in his ass. I just pulled out and ran to the bathroom and did it in the toilet then flushed. He didn't even cry. He said it felt good. He even got a boner. You should have seen it. It was tiny. At least that's one thing I had over him. My dick was bigger than his.
And when I killed him I blew the top of his head off with one shot. It was quick and painless I'm sure. I put the gun to his temple, said "Mom and Dad wanted me to do this," then I pulled the trigger. He didn't cry then either.
I'm sorry. If you even care.
AMF,
Maury
I'm sorry. If you even care.
This was something I had to do and since I was your son I figured I should tell you why. It was your fault. I know you hated me ever since I was born. I could tell by the way you always talked down to me and I could never do anything right. That's why I never talked and seemed so comatose all the time. Because I was put in a coma by your emotional neglect and abuse. Why did you hate me so much? Maybe now you can be happy.
Was I really that bad of a person? So bad that my own parents hated me until I had to take care of myself? I don't see how Little Ned was so much better than I was. I know he was talented and gifted and everything but I think he was retarded. Plus he was a spoiled fucking brat. And he had a bad haircut. And he told me that he hated both of you as much as I did.
You two made me miserable. I was never good enough. Everything I did was wrong. I was ugly. I looked like that guy who used to be on David Letterman a long time ago. But not anymore. Now I look like that guy who tried to commit suicide after he listened to Judas Priest. Only I'm dead right away. And you're happy.
Maybe I'm happy too. I was talking to my friend Mark and he told me that I had a lot to live for and that I was a good person and that I was really smart and talented and had a lot going for me but I know he only said that to be nice. Tell Mark I'm sorry I didn't listen to him. Instead, I listened to what my parents were saying all my life.
I don't think I was a bad person. Like when I raped Little Ned before I killed him I was very gentle on his tight little asshole. I stuck all kinds of little things up him to loosen him up before I put my dick up there so he wouldn't bleed too bad. He didn't. And I didn't even come in his ass. I just pulled out and ran to the bathroom and did it in the toilet then flushed. He didn't even cry. He said it felt good. He even got a boner. You should have seen it. It was tiny. At least that's one thing I had over him. My dick was bigger than his.
And when I killed him I blew the top of his head off with one shot. It was quick and painless I'm sure. I put the gun to his temple, said "Mom and Dad wanted me to do this," then I pulled the trigger. He didn't cry then either.
I'm sorry. If you even care.
AMF,
Maury
Sunday, December 30, 2007
Let's Get It On!
Mark re-racked the barbell after his 10th repetition and jumped up from the bench, placing his hands on the dipping bar and leaning forward until the pain in his chest was unbearable. And then he held the stretch for a count of 60, his head bent down and away from the 20 sets of eyes marveling at him. His chest filled with extra-hot, ravenous blood as he righted himself, his new choker made of white bone cool around his neck.
"Jesus Christ, man," said Maury.
"What?"
"Dude, you just hit 10 reps with 315 like it was nothing-"
Mark shrugged. "The last few were pretty hard-"
"It didn't look like it."
Mark took a deep breath and squeezed his chest until he thought it might burst. He exhaled. "Dude, what do you call a girl who's a slut and a cunt?"
"I don't know. What?"
"A sclunt."
Maury's expression, as always, remained the same, his blue eyes locked in place, unblinking, like those of a sphinx; his lips separated as if about to speak though it rarely happened; and his complexion a pale eggshell white that never saw another color brought to it. "That's funny, man. Real funny-"
"Really?" Mark looked into the boy's eyes as his pony-tailed head nodded at him. "Dude, are you fucking autistic or something?"
"Huh?"
"Nothing-"
"How much do you weigh, Dennison?"
Mark turned to face his interlocutor, the teacher of his weight training class, Mr. Trees, the school's sports Renaissance man, as he coached every sport that mattered: football and wrestling. "Um, about 150-"
"Really? That's it?"
"Uh huh-"
"Ever thought about coming out for the football team?"
"Nah-"
"Why not? You don't like football?"
"No, I like football. I'm a big New York Giants fan-"
"You should try out next fall-"
"It's the team thing I don't like-"
"What do you mean?" Mr. Trees put one hand on his bald head and rubbed his large belly, which hung out from under his Cedarville High polo shirt, with the other.
"I don't like groups. I don't join groups or teams or clubs or organizations-"
"How about wrestling? There are individual classes-"
"Yeah, but you're still on a team. I'm just-"
"Scared!" came a loud voice from across the room.
Mark looked in the direction of the insult and narrowed his eyes. "I'm not scared of anything or anyone." He sniffed a quick loogie into his throat and popped his left elbow. "A wise man once said that if you're going to commit a crime, you should do it alone. I think the same applies for anything you do in life."
"Well," said Mr. Trees, tugging at the bottom of his shirt, which snapped back up to his belly button, "I think you ought to reconsider. As a matter of fact, I'm going to ask you every day until you do." He laughed.
Mark wiped a swath of sweat from his forehead and smeared it on his shorts. "How about this?" He pointed at the boy who had interjected himself in his and Mr. Trees' conversation. "I wrestle him and if I win, you never ask me about football or wrestling again."
"And if he wins?"
"He won't-"
A collective "Oooh" arose from the other boys in the weight training room as Mr. Trees leaned towards Mark. "Dennison, Jesse Simons is a 4-year letterman in wrestling. He's won States three years in a row and hasn't lost a match during that whole time. Plus, he outweighs you by 30 pounds-"
"If you're saying he's scared-"
"Let's get it on!" screamed Jesse's voice from behind Mr. Trees' blimp of a body.
The weight benches, dumbbells, and barbells crowding the middle of the room were rolled away to the farthest corners, and Mark and Jesse stood facing one another, Mr. Trees between them, acting as referee.
"Do you even know how to wrestle, Dennison?" snarled Jesse.
"I've seen it on TV-"
The boys circling the makeshift wrestling area laughed. Then became quiet just as quickly as Mr. Trees blew his whistle and Mark and Jesse lunged at one another, each grasping the other's biceps, their wet heads knocking and rubbing together. Suddenly, Mark rocked to his right, then jerked left, twisting his arms with all the force he could summon from his legs, Jesse's body pirouetting horizontally in the air twice before thudding face first into the weight room's rubber flooring. Quickly, Mark flipped him over and slid across his torso, pressing the boy's shoulders into the floor, a smile cementing itself on his face as he watched the blood trickle upward from Jesse's nose into his closed eyes.
Mr. Trees tapped Jesse out, then fell to one rickety knee to tend to the boy. Mark high-fived Maury and the two walked out of the weight room between two rows of mute, wide-eyed boys who couldn't back away fast enough.
"Jesus Christ, man," said Maury.
"What?"
"Dude, you just hit 10 reps with 315 like it was nothing-"
Mark shrugged. "The last few were pretty hard-"
"It didn't look like it."
Mark took a deep breath and squeezed his chest until he thought it might burst. He exhaled. "Dude, what do you call a girl who's a slut and a cunt?"
"I don't know. What?"
"A sclunt."
Maury's expression, as always, remained the same, his blue eyes locked in place, unblinking, like those of a sphinx; his lips separated as if about to speak though it rarely happened; and his complexion a pale eggshell white that never saw another color brought to it. "That's funny, man. Real funny-"
"Really?" Mark looked into the boy's eyes as his pony-tailed head nodded at him. "Dude, are you fucking autistic or something?"
"Huh?"
"Nothing-"
"How much do you weigh, Dennison?"
Mark turned to face his interlocutor, the teacher of his weight training class, Mr. Trees, the school's sports Renaissance man, as he coached every sport that mattered: football and wrestling. "Um, about 150-"
"Really? That's it?"
"Uh huh-"
"Ever thought about coming out for the football team?"
"Nah-"
"Why not? You don't like football?"
"No, I like football. I'm a big New York Giants fan-"
"You should try out next fall-"
"It's the team thing I don't like-"
"What do you mean?" Mr. Trees put one hand on his bald head and rubbed his large belly, which hung out from under his Cedarville High polo shirt, with the other.
"I don't like groups. I don't join groups or teams or clubs or organizations-"
"How about wrestling? There are individual classes-"
"Yeah, but you're still on a team. I'm just-"
"Scared!" came a loud voice from across the room.
Mark looked in the direction of the insult and narrowed his eyes. "I'm not scared of anything or anyone." He sniffed a quick loogie into his throat and popped his left elbow. "A wise man once said that if you're going to commit a crime, you should do it alone. I think the same applies for anything you do in life."
"Well," said Mr. Trees, tugging at the bottom of his shirt, which snapped back up to his belly button, "I think you ought to reconsider. As a matter of fact, I'm going to ask you every day until you do." He laughed.
Mark wiped a swath of sweat from his forehead and smeared it on his shorts. "How about this?" He pointed at the boy who had interjected himself in his and Mr. Trees' conversation. "I wrestle him and if I win, you never ask me about football or wrestling again."
"And if he wins?"
"He won't-"
A collective "Oooh" arose from the other boys in the weight training room as Mr. Trees leaned towards Mark. "Dennison, Jesse Simons is a 4-year letterman in wrestling. He's won States three years in a row and hasn't lost a match during that whole time. Plus, he outweighs you by 30 pounds-"
"If you're saying he's scared-"
"Let's get it on!" screamed Jesse's voice from behind Mr. Trees' blimp of a body.
The weight benches, dumbbells, and barbells crowding the middle of the room were rolled away to the farthest corners, and Mark and Jesse stood facing one another, Mr. Trees between them, acting as referee.
"Do you even know how to wrestle, Dennison?" snarled Jesse.
"I've seen it on TV-"
The boys circling the makeshift wrestling area laughed. Then became quiet just as quickly as Mr. Trees blew his whistle and Mark and Jesse lunged at one another, each grasping the other's biceps, their wet heads knocking and rubbing together. Suddenly, Mark rocked to his right, then jerked left, twisting his arms with all the force he could summon from his legs, Jesse's body pirouetting horizontally in the air twice before thudding face first into the weight room's rubber flooring. Quickly, Mark flipped him over and slid across his torso, pressing the boy's shoulders into the floor, a smile cementing itself on his face as he watched the blood trickle upward from Jesse's nose into his closed eyes.
Mr. Trees tapped Jesse out, then fell to one rickety knee to tend to the boy. Mark high-fived Maury and the two walked out of the weight room between two rows of mute, wide-eyed boys who couldn't back away fast enough.
Sunday, December 23, 2007
Lazy
"Oh, my God-"
Mark looked up from his runny eggs, a yolk-soaked piece of toast in his hand. "What?"
"Isn't this your teacher?"
"Who?"
"Irwin Cook? Isn't he the one whose house you used to go to?"
"No." Mark chewed off a slimy bite and swallowed it. "I mean, I only went over there once. I left right away. He was a creep-"
"He was murdered-"
"I know-"
"And this girl, did you know her?"
"Not really. She was in my English class. She was a whore-"
"Mark! Your mouth-"
"Whatever. She was. A whore, that is. She slept with everybody-"
"Well, she was murdered too. That's not nice to talk about her like that-"
"What do you know? Maybe she deserved it."
Sarah looked back at the newspaper on the table in front of her with a shake of her curler-strewn head.
Mark yawned and rubbed some more sleep out of his eyes. He circled the last of the transparent egg white and hardening yolk off his plate with his last piece of toast and devoured it as he put his plate in the sink. "Where's Lightning Dan?"
"Mr. Wheate to you, Mark-"
"Yeah." He coughed. "So where is the old fart?"
Sarah shook her head again. "He's run up to the hardware store. We need a plunger."
"Is that what they're calling Viagra these days?"
"Shut up-"
Mark laughed. "Are you finished reading that crap yet?"
"Mark, this is serious stuff. They haven't caught anybody yet-"
"They never will-"
"Yes, they will, and when they do, I hope they string him up-"
"That's nice. Then you'll be just like him-"
"Mark, we've been over this-"
"Too many times." Mark rubbed his bare belly with both of his veiny hands, looking at the nub protruding from his nylon rugby shorts just below. "I'm going up to my room."
"Did you know this Phil kid too?"
"Not really. He was some retarded kid they put in my Art class so he wouldn't feel different-"
"Oh."
Mark was in his room in ten seconds, locking the door behind him, sliding his shorts over his erection and off his body. He sat bare-assed at his tiny desk, on which sat an old computer monitor, CPU, and keyboard, a stack of graphic novels, a large file, a small, battery-operated hand drill, and 32 teeth. The trash can next to his desk was filled with sticky Kleenex tissues and the New York Giants sheets on his bed were crumpled with a restless night's sleep. He picked up the last tooth he'd been working on, which he had filed into the shape of a triangle and leaned back in his creaking chair.
It was Daniel's tooth. One of the top canines. So it was easy to make it a triangle and not some other geometric shape. The incisors were harder. But not. They were more fragile, but they were larger. If you were careful, you could make any shape you wanted. If you weren't, then you were fucked. Just little floaty bits that you couldn't do shit with. The molars were the worst. Very thin. And you had to split them. Just right. Or it was another mess and a prayer the SuperGlue would work.
He put the triangle to his own canine, which was so sharp that he'd cut his tongue just brushing against it a couple times. He wanted to SuperGlue Daniel's over his. But he couldn't. Because it'd look like shit. Everyone'd call him Mr. Ed. So he stuck it in his dickhole. Daniel's dick was perfect. A perfect fit. He could fuck it all day without it hurting but he'd feel it intensely against his prostate the whole time. Daniel'd been the only boy who'd made him come just by fucking him, without touching his little dick.
FUCK! MEMORIES! They were nothing. Nothing but bruises on the brain. Nothing but pain. People are masochists. Which is why they keep mementos. Clothes, jewelry, love letters, teddy bears, furniture, whatever. Teeth. They stab those parts of their brains over and over - and fucking feel good about it. Because they're scared they might feel better without it-
Mark sat up quickly and pulled the tooth out of his dick before it slipped so far in he couldn't get it out and placed it back on the table in a puddle of his pre-ejaculate. He queued up the music player on his computer and began filing as the song he'd written and recorded on his old Hewlett-Packard let loose through the speakers on the floor beneath his desk:
"I fell in love with a boy
until he told me
to shut the fuck up
to shut the fuck up
to shut the fuck up
Just shut the fuck up"
Mark looked up from his runny eggs, a yolk-soaked piece of toast in his hand. "What?"
"Isn't this your teacher?"
"Who?"
"Irwin Cook? Isn't he the one whose house you used to go to?"
"No." Mark chewed off a slimy bite and swallowed it. "I mean, I only went over there once. I left right away. He was a creep-"
"He was murdered-"
"I know-"
"And this girl, did you know her?"
"Not really. She was in my English class. She was a whore-"
"Mark! Your mouth-"
"Whatever. She was. A whore, that is. She slept with everybody-"
"Well, she was murdered too. That's not nice to talk about her like that-"
"What do you know? Maybe she deserved it."
Sarah looked back at the newspaper on the table in front of her with a shake of her curler-strewn head.
Mark yawned and rubbed some more sleep out of his eyes. He circled the last of the transparent egg white and hardening yolk off his plate with his last piece of toast and devoured it as he put his plate in the sink. "Where's Lightning Dan?"
"Mr. Wheate to you, Mark-"
"Yeah." He coughed. "So where is the old fart?"
Sarah shook her head again. "He's run up to the hardware store. We need a plunger."
"Is that what they're calling Viagra these days?"
"Shut up-"
Mark laughed. "Are you finished reading that crap yet?"
"Mark, this is serious stuff. They haven't caught anybody yet-"
"They never will-"
"Yes, they will, and when they do, I hope they string him up-"
"That's nice. Then you'll be just like him-"
"Mark, we've been over this-"
"Too many times." Mark rubbed his bare belly with both of his veiny hands, looking at the nub protruding from his nylon rugby shorts just below. "I'm going up to my room."
"Did you know this Phil kid too?"
"Not really. He was some retarded kid they put in my Art class so he wouldn't feel different-"
"Oh."
Mark was in his room in ten seconds, locking the door behind him, sliding his shorts over his erection and off his body. He sat bare-assed at his tiny desk, on which sat an old computer monitor, CPU, and keyboard, a stack of graphic novels, a large file, a small, battery-operated hand drill, and 32 teeth. The trash can next to his desk was filled with sticky Kleenex tissues and the New York Giants sheets on his bed were crumpled with a restless night's sleep. He picked up the last tooth he'd been working on, which he had filed into the shape of a triangle and leaned back in his creaking chair.
It was Daniel's tooth. One of the top canines. So it was easy to make it a triangle and not some other geometric shape. The incisors were harder. But not. They were more fragile, but they were larger. If you were careful, you could make any shape you wanted. If you weren't, then you were fucked. Just little floaty bits that you couldn't do shit with. The molars were the worst. Very thin. And you had to split them. Just right. Or it was another mess and a prayer the SuperGlue would work.
He put the triangle to his own canine, which was so sharp that he'd cut his tongue just brushing against it a couple times. He wanted to SuperGlue Daniel's over his. But he couldn't. Because it'd look like shit. Everyone'd call him Mr. Ed. So he stuck it in his dickhole. Daniel's dick was perfect. A perfect fit. He could fuck it all day without it hurting but he'd feel it intensely against his prostate the whole time. Daniel'd been the only boy who'd made him come just by fucking him, without touching his little dick.
FUCK! MEMORIES! They were nothing. Nothing but bruises on the brain. Nothing but pain. People are masochists. Which is why they keep mementos. Clothes, jewelry, love letters, teddy bears, furniture, whatever. Teeth. They stab those parts of their brains over and over - and fucking feel good about it. Because they're scared they might feel better without it-
Mark sat up quickly and pulled the tooth out of his dick before it slipped so far in he couldn't get it out and placed it back on the table in a puddle of his pre-ejaculate. He queued up the music player on his computer and began filing as the song he'd written and recorded on his old Hewlett-Packard let loose through the speakers on the floor beneath his desk:
"I fell in love with a boy
until he told me
to shut the fuck up
to shut the fuck up
to shut the fuck up
Just shut the fuck up"
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