Sunday, April 27, 2008

Johnny Rumble:
Six Gallons of Serial Head Fuck

The sheer gravity of the situation must be shared equally among all bodies present and accounted for with the confining space that we as humanoids must coexist peacefully in together so as that we might better understand why the fuck we are crammed into a tiny box with no light. Or we can just say the idea came from a song and call it good.

The house was quiet except for the sounds of rhythmic moaning and grunting coming from the upstairs guest room. It could only mean one thing to her.

“Hubby found his partner for the night.” She sighed. “Least somebody is getting some action around here.”

She slid silently into the kitchen to fix herself some scrambled eggs, yet found none to be had in the fridge. Her thoughts again turned to the rhythmic pounding upstairs and scrunched her face tightly. That’s going to stain the sheets, She thought to her self. “Might as well hope they haven’t used them all up in their fun and games.”

Her footsteps were intentionally heavy going up the wooden stairs to tell them they were about to be intruded upon. Pausing at the door, the moaning got louder and more vulgar, but She continued after taking a deep breath. Barely touching the doorknob, the entire door seemed to keel over, and then it did, falling to the floor with a great clatter that was sure to wake the neighbors at this time of night. Her husband was unfazed by this new development in his quest to plough his partner senseless and kept at it, even taking the time to turn his head and wave to his wife between thrusts.

She watched them for a few moments before recognizing her husbands partner. “Hey Steve.” Steve lifted his head off the pillow and smiled at her. She walked over the bed and kissed Steve on the cheek in friendship. His brow was sweaty, or it wasn’t sweat at all. She curled up on the stripped mattress next to Steve and watched him accept her husband from behind. She herself would be turned on if she wasn’t so bored with the idea.

All three of them made small talk while she watched her husband plunge his self into Steve. Finally, she asked, “Have you two used all the eggs in the house? Or are there a couple left over?” Steve reached over to the end table and handed her a couple of eggs. She again kissed Steve on the cheek and kissed her husband on the lips. The both of them looked quite bored with what they were doing, but She left them to their own devices. As she exited the room, her husband came and She witnessed yellow yolk run down the inside of his thigh. She shrugged and lifted the door back on it's hinges.

It was the next morning when He walked down the stairs. He was fortunate enough to have gotten a shower that morning to rinse of the trails of egg and semen across his body. Seeing his wife sprawled across the couch reading the morning paper, he padded over to her and kissed her. “I’ve got the next three days off. Why don’t we go on a vacation? To the redwoods? Or to see your mother?”

“That sounds like a good idea honey, but not to my mothers. Last time we were there, she thought she was a prostitute,” she responded.

“At least she didn’t get the Furry idea in her head. Come is so difficult to get out of fuzz.” He dug around in the pantry and found what he was looking for. Chocolate cake. Thick, dark, moist with a cherry garnish. He giggled to himself at his own dirty thoughts. “So it’s settled then. To the Redwoods we will go.” He heard his wife gasp in shock and looked up from his cake. “What is it?”

“There was a crash on the I-5 last night. Hundred and fifty people killed. Police described the scene as a slaughter of human flesh,” she red aloud. He just grunted that he was listening. She continued, “Among the dead were a Nobel prize winner, five nuns and Jean Luc Godard. And, oh god this is tragic, a truck full of Prada and Gucci merchandise!”

He dropped his plate on the counter. “No, it can’t be true! A whole truck! What a disaster!”
“Yes, it says it right here, ‘purses, clutches, various articles of clothing, and the driver of the truck. An epic disaster indeed.”

“Damn it.” He clenched his fist and pounded it on top of the rest of his cake. He sighed, “Oh well, you best get your things together. If we want to make it, we’ll have to go soon.”

The road was a long and winding one. If She wasn’t so used to his driving fast, She would be retching out the side window. As it stood, he was actually being rather conservative today. He had only hit about a half dozen woodland creatures in the two hours they had been driving. She turned down the rather violent rap music that was booming out of the stereo.

“You know what really bugs me today? Humanity. Humanity bugs me. What ever happened to culture, museums and education. Look at the younger people. All they care about is clothes and music that extols the virtues of ‘bitches and hoes,’ playing violently bloody video games. They don’t care about anyone else but themselves. Me, me, me, mentality. It’s sickening. Heck, the other day, I saw a young man mug an old lady, and another pass a car crash without a thought about stopping to help the poor people in the car. I tell you, society has failed. Racism is running rampant in the youth. It's sickening what they do to each other these days. Drive by shootings, lynchings...Look honey, a nigger on the side of the road, get closer and I’ll get him with the door.”
She flung open the door at the right time and sent the man sprawling on the pavement. She was sure she broke his back with the door. “I mean, whatever happened to class and helping other people in need and being kind to your neighbors? It’s a sad, sad world we live in darling. The youth are lost.”

They drove along in silence for a few miles before he hit the brakes to avoid an overturned car on the side of the road. They slowed down and passed the wreck in a crawl. Blood was everywhere. On the asphalt, the grass, the trees, the car, limbs were strewn about, a half a head was lying on the dividing line. Part of the car was engulfed in flames, and a rather large, portly woman was hanging out of the sunroof screaming in pain and screaming for help in saving her luggage. Both the husband and wife surveyed the chaos around them and drove on by. He quipped, “That’s what they get for by cheap French junk.” They sped up and continued on.

“The woods are nice this time of year. So much fresh air. The smell of pine trees and flowers. It’s great!” He really was enjoying himself thoroughly. His wife stopped momentarily to look at a flower.

“Such beauty, such innocence, such frailty,” she said, crushing the flower between her fingers, “such is the way of life.”

“Look,” he poked his wife in the head, “Down the trail. Somebody’s coming.”

They watched intently, and heard the person, now distinguishable as a woman muttering to her self and reading from a notebook, “My word, this story is excellent. ‘The old lady was clever enough and he thought that if she had started from any of the right premises, more might have been expected of her. She lived according to the laws of her own fantasy world outside of which he had never seen her set foot. The law of it was to sacrifice herself for him after she had first created the necessity to do so by making a mess of things.’ How deep! ‘If he had permitted her sacrifices, it was only because her lack of foresight had made them necessary.’”

The husband and wife just looked at each other with quizzical faces. He reached into his pocket slowly and brought out a lighter. A twinkle was set into his eye as he flicked it to life. He whispered to his wife, “Let’s burn her.” She nodded in agreement and jumped on the woman’s back. He brought the open flame to the woman’s simple dress and caught it on fire. Husband and wife held hands as they watched the old southern mental case become consumed in flames and let out agonizing screams. Smiles crept across their faces as the screaming died down into horrible silence. When the woman was nothing up a pile of ashes, He turned to his wife and said, “I never like Flannery O’Connor anyway.”

She kissed him on the end his nose and they continued down the trail.

“Wait”, She heard him say, “Do you hear that? Like a dialogue?” She paused and focused on the sounds of the forest. She heard nothing though. “Hang on, maybe it needs to be tuned.” Her husband went over and kicked a tree a number of times, each time a sound becoming louder and louder.

“Static,” She said, “simple static.”

“Hang on,” he snapped a tree limb off and every thing came into starling clarity. A voice from the heavens opened up.

“Because happiness that it is proposed to us declines only in cash, because the success is material and that the joy must amount, that selfishness is asserted like a virtue to raise, because one mistakes the ideals which are erased in front of the careers, and that one continues to judge on the car and the wages…”

“Where is that voice coming from?” She looked around and spun in circles until her husband grabbed her.

“It is the divine command! We are listening to the divine being right now! Listen!”

“Because one refuses parts with the cold hand of the unemployed and that one always thinks in borders and nationalities. Because the imbeciles are lost with the wallets of our owners, and that there are always ministers and senators, the elite ones and deputies, because the world is well managed so that that lasts a long time and that one buys with credit and dead freedom which obliges us to continue.”

“It sounds like His Divineness is an anarchist. Big time anarchist,” she flatly stated. “Perhaps the Government got it all wrong.”

“Of Course they did my dear, the Constitution is soaked in the blood of millions. HE hates order. Listen.”

“Because the revolution will not come, it is necessary to go away!”

“Hmm, so that’s what we’ve been doing wrong all these years,” she said, “Oh look, a rabbit!”


  1. wicked mate, weird :)
    Good though, is it a one off, or larger thing?

  2. thanks for dropping by, Johnny. havent been checking your love stories lately... i was signed in for a full-time job and... cheeezzz... didnt actually witnessed you grow yellow! Er, 'nother form of hardcore! miss your old stories, 'tho.