"All I'm saying is that's a fine piece of ass. I never had sex with no dead body though," Vincent said propped up on a shovel handle as Howl stood over the trunk of the primer-grey Pontiac.
"When did that come up?" He snaked his tie underneath the third button of his shirt and rolled the sleeves to the biceps. "Though I'll be honest with you. If an asteroid was hurling towards the Earth, I'd fight you to fuck her."
"That's sick."
"You thought it first." Vincent nodded philosophically and then gave Howl a hand. Together they brought the stripper out of the trunk. "What's the shovel for?"
Vincent squinted up into absolute white.
"We're not digging a hole big enough for a leggy girl like her with our bare hands."
Howl reached into the trunk and produced a garbage bag with a lumpy mass inside.
"See, this is exactly the kind of breakdown in communication that always keeps us just barely out of reach of our fortune. And cost us two-grand."
"You brought the bitch home. She has my fucking Remy. What's in the bag?" Howl answered him by doing a magic trick of sorts, only instead of rabbits he pulled out Ziploc bags of bacon and pig's blood, and tossed Vincent a pair of latex gloves.
"Look where we are. There's mountain lions and coyotes and stray dogs and vultures out here." There was something poetic about the wild blue desolation, small stoic scrub coarse and prickling unfettered against every last inch of sky in every direction. But then Howl and Vincent were stooped down rubbing a dead stripper with strips of raw bacon.
"This is sick," Vincent finally said after he stuck a strip in her armpit. "So how was work?"
Howl scraped his arm across his forehead.
"Makes me want to kill myself. Those monkeys can only stand it 'cuz they haven't seen people die. Give me this over that any day." Vincent seemed to hunker down on what Howl had said for a moment before telling him, "That's the difference between you and me. I'm just along for the ride. Hand me the blood." Howl didn't seem particularly impressed and passed the Ziploc bulging with blood, which Vincent drizzled over the stripper's chest.
"She's not a salad, just dump it on her."
[back]
No fate. No future. No GED.
[forward]
No fate. No future. No acquaintance.
[forward]
No fate. No future. No mercy.
[forward]
No fate. No future. No heiress.
[forward]
No fate. No future. No Columbine.
[forward]
No fate. No future. No compensation.
[forward]
No fate. No future. No gossip.
Comments (33)
Here we go again. Goddamnit.
Okay, that's disgusting. But very well written.
I found myself giggling at this. I sure do like bacon. :D
I second fibermom.
You know, if you don't get in at med school, I believe you have a very promising carreer as a multi talented super creative criminal ahead of you.
ryc; Apperantly I destroyed them with loads and loads of dancing, running, cycling, swimming and most other regular forms of exercise you can think of. Turns out there are quite clear limits for how much one's knees can handle.
Luckily, she said, I can get well if I do the most boring of exercises twice a day for 3 months, and don't exercise at all apart from that for the same amount of time.
It's not going to happen.
Every Xangan (that I've read so far) who has written some sort of story always include some sort of sexual action.
/revives stripper
i'd eat her before doing here. that's right, right?
Nearly mid way and you got me thinking about the song Schism by TOOL. The one part about communications and all that jazz.
Very nice indeed! Screenplay or novel?
film recc: NEKRomantik
Longpig - the breakfast of champions. What more can one ask when partaking in such a bountiful feast? As in the immortal Issei Sagawa, "I can taste her lips. My passion is so great. I want to eat her. If I do she will be mine forever. There is no escape from this desire..."
Huh you're good. I haven't really sat down to read these until last night. Very nice.
RR
..........................................
Ew. But.... well-written. But... ew. Ew. Ew.
>_<
Or I'm just squeamish.
Ewwwwwwwwwwww.
RYC: You could bring up the idea to your instructor? What happen to the tee-shirts?
your stories bring out the grotesque fascination with the human body in me lol.
ryc: boxer briefs ftw, cool!
@Bubble_Matrix - Neither. I don't know what it is, really. Flash fiction, I suppose.
yes, its the RER in paris, which is like a trainnn. this was after my first day in paris. after seeeing the eiffel tower (:
Oddly interesting.
RYC: Yeah. I'm now writing out the ending to one of my older stories Razorblade Symphony. I figure, I'll write the missing chapter at some point.
Writing can be such a bitch sometimes.
This reminded me of the pilot of Nip/Tuck.
I just read No GED, think I liked that one better than this. My favorite line from No GED was "For once he felt a lighter sort of peace, rather than that sort of peace Camus' Sisyphus might've felt."
Looking forward to more
I love how matter-of-fact they sound. Like they do this thing every day (and, from No GED & this story, they p'rally do).
"Here we go again. Goddamnit." Is the not-caring-stage happening again?
Very black humour...
Despite the subject matter, it was just fun.
A story of two guys doing what guys do (not burying strippers, well, mostly)
I liked this better then the last, more human.
And yeah, "Eagle", is when you sink a ball two under par, like a birdie is one under.
Zain
"she's not a salad, just dump it on her."
haha! my favorite line. i'm still smiling from it (:
ryc:
hush.
the last thing i need right now is gravity
@be_lie - Good point! o-o...
yes. well written, but dear jesus at 850 in the morning that's not exactly my choice read.
definitely not one of those bavarian maids. More like a little californian girl who runs around in circles doing the same experiment, expecting difference results.
dump her in the mesa and the coyotes will eat her without all that work!