TRIGGER WARNING: Pornography, Violence, Bad Grammar
(c) 2023 Rowini30 – email@example.com
“He lay face down in his shit, and there was nothing I could do, bleeding out.” Nervous tick, his hands. “Just bled out, the animal had eaten him.”
“It was gross. Hard to look at. Him lying next to the barf of the animal.”
“The animal barfed?”
“It barfed alright, because it saw me. Because I looked so ugly.” He downed his whisky in one gulp.
“Astonishing,” I said.
“Yep, that’s the big ol’ mountain monster from Red Rock Gulch.”
“Do you think I will be able to use a traditional phone next to its body, once I kill it?”
He nodded. “Most certainly. The radiation will be strong enough.”
We shook hands and parted ways, walked out into the night. As I drove the mountain road up to Red Rock Gulch, my mind drifted back to two nights ago, when I’d made sweet love to Sally in a shabby hotel room. She had a bad case of venereal disease, red pustules filled with goop covering her vagina.
But I was horny and didn’t care if my dick would fall off the next week. She was horny too. We were both horny.
“I love vagina!” she shouted, “I love dick!” I shouted. We were both excited by our own genitalia, as I pumped my meat stick into her, her pustules popping and the goo intermingling with the other juices. Our carnal exchange sounded like two dogs eating wet food.
I pulled out and came on her lower belly and pubic hair, the color of my sperm indistinguishable from the rancid goo her disease gave birth to.
“You should get that looked at.”
“I know, I just love the sound it makes and the smell of dog farts.”
“Bleurgh, you’re a nasty girl.”
“But you love me!” She jumped at me, hugged me. “Yeah, sure.” Her face pale, in shock, a 1920s movie star. “You don’t love me?” “Yes, Yes I do love you.” I tossed her back and went down on her, slurped the mix of juices up like a milkshake.
I was probably going to die.
And now I sat in my car, a car I had also made love to when no one was available, reciting its specs while standing behind it and jerking off onto the trunk. “V8, 430 horsepower, 512 foot-pound of torque.” Moving my tongue around as if I were tongue-fucking it, rubbing my skin until my balls gave way to the juices.
It was a lonely drive up the mountain.
I turned on the radio for some distraction. Johnny Handsome was singing his hit. “Gabba Gabba Gooey, Gabba Gabba Gooey, Gabba Gabba Gooey, FIST PUMP, Gabba Gabba Gooey, Gabba Gabba Gooey, Gabba Gabba Gooey, FIST PUMP.” That was the whole text of the song. People’s brains had melted.
Ghouls glowing blue,
their mouth open,
to the big sun
I turned off the radio and swerved into the parking lot. The stillness of the night, the lights of the city below. I took a pristine pack of Chesterfields out of my side pocket, opened the door and tossed it to the ground. I stepped on it with my cowboy boots, crushing every cigarette inside.
Smoking is bad for you.
I took the rifle from the passenger seat and made my way up the mountain trail. The air was clean.
“You did what in Alabama?” My publisher was shocked, her spoonful of lobster foie gras frozen mid-air. New York City, Spring 2022. The other guests were eating their food, the plague that caused them to stay at home a distant memory.
“I taught a group of organic farmers how to milk a cow without causing stress.” I shoved the salad on my plate around. “With conventional milking methods, the cow becomes sexually aroused, causing a stress hormone to get released into the bloodstream, contaminating the milk.”
“Pffrt!” She spat the contents of her mouth all over the table, showering me with bits and pieces of seafood and New Jersey salad. “I’ve been drinking sex milk?!” I raised my glass. “Everyone’s been drinking sex milk, Joanne. Cheers.”
She resumed her meal unperturbed. “So what are you up to now?”
“I’m hunting a monster in the Adirondacks.” Flashes of blood and violence, guts flying around.
“Adirondacks? A monster? Do tell.”
I sighed. “Two weeks ago, my girlfriend went on a hiking trip. Twelve friends of hers, all of them highly successful intersectional female CEOs of Forbes 500 companies. All of them highly pregnant.” My hand started shaking. “None of them survived.”
“Wow.” Lobster foie gras getting stuffed into a mouth.
“The details are unclear, but it seems they encountered something with immense strength.”
“Like a bear?”
“I don’t know. My girlfriend’s belly got ripped open, and her – our – baby was tossed into the rotating blades of a chopper flying overhead.”
“There was a chopper? What was it doing there?”
“A boyfriend was stalking one of the women.”
“With a chopper? That’s super-dumb. That thing is so loud, you can hear it…”
“I know, I know, the guy’s stupid.” I sighed again. “But it was a good thing he was around. He was able to land and finish the women off.”
“Finish them off?”
“They were hurt and writhing in pain. It was no use. He released them from their misery.”
“Release them? But couldn’t he have flown them to the hospital?”
“No use, boom boom boom. Headshot.” I started crying.
Joanne put her hand on mine, squeezed it. “Now now, New York City is a diverse workplace environment. I’m sure there are other intersectional female CEOs around, who are highly pregnant.”
“You think?” Eyes clearing, wet water running down my face.
I finished my salad, and it was super good.
The climb was steep, and I held my gun close to my side.
My penis coiled around the barrel like a snake, kissing the anodised metal like a mother her baby. Kiss, kiss, kiss.
But I had no plan.
What was the strategy?
I would confront the monster, and blow its brains out? What if my penis did not uncoil itself in time, gripping my gun so tight I could not aim?
Questions, questions, questions.
My foot slipped on loose rocks. Sediment had shed from above, spilling debris across the path. The mountains here were dangerous even without monsters. Climbers died and walkers got lost in the woods.
What compelled men to take on such risks? Fresh air, exercise, nature? A desire to meet your own limits, out here, at the fringes of civilization. To touch yourself, the ‘you’ that reaches out from the other side of death, to establish a unison with the spirit that’s occupying the world, and yourself.
The green was thick and lush in the dark. The rustling of leaves, as frightened animals scurried away. The ever-present chirping of crickets.
I was not far from where the ladies were found, lying dishevelled among the trees, each woman with a hole in her head, courtesy of Gunther.
The authorities ruled that he acted correctly, help would have come too late, and in this way, their suffering was shortened.
Gunther was traumatized. The deaths got to him, haunting him at night, screeching into his ears, “What the fuck are you doing?”.
He crashed his helicopter into a rock wall a week later.
What would all those spirits do to this area? So many deaths. Wandering about, restless. I might be surrounded by spirits right now. Grasping me with their hands, wanting to suck my dick.
Sally stood rigid in the rancid apartment, the warm hue of a fading light illuminating an assortment of trash and molding furniture.
She was intoxicated by the pointlessness of the situation, of reality as a whole.
Standing there, naked, her arms lightly raised to the side.
The disease had spread to her legs, red rash covering the skin, the pustules making their way down from the vagina. A black hand had begun scratching from inside her thigh, breaking through the flesh and reaching outside, turning and grasping at nothing.
As black as the night.
It retreated back into her leg.
“What do you see in her?” Her eyes closed, or half open, I could not tell.
“Nothing. I thought I could change her, corrupt her, turn her into something else. But she has no interest in growth.”
“What about the baby?”
“Six months old. Healthy and growing, for all we know. But all she cares about is campaigning for the Democrats, hanging out with her bougie friends, and ‘binging’ shows on Netflix. Jesus.” I took a drag from the cigarette.
She leaned forward and raised one of her legs parallel to the floor. Extended her arms, face down. The third yoga warrior pose, Virabhadrasana III. “That’s what you get for hooking up with a normie. What about the Pizza Gate?”
“Has been closed. No more pizza demons.”
She mocked me. She knew how much I liked the pizza demons. How much I liked to put their salami dicks in my mouth, and chew on them. So delicious.
“You liked salami, too.”
She moved back into a standing position. “I still like salami.”
“Do you like my salami?”
“Baby, I could chew on your salami all day long.”
We made our way back to bed.
The pizza demons, as they waddled through the ethereal gate, tasty triangles with arms and legs.
The entire catering service for democratic events in the New York area was pizza demons. Democrats liked to to gorge themselves on the little fellas, their eyes going into full reptile mode, slinging down greasy bits while ignoring their screams, ripping off their arms and legs and shoving them up their butt, walking around all fours shouting “I am a dog, I am a dog”.
Blue dog, indeed.
I caressed her skin.
The part that was undiseased.
“I’ve got a long day ahead of me tomorrow. I should leave.”
She got up, and dressed herself.
The inside of the apartment like the inside of someone’s bowels, the dim light fading into red, red-green streaks of god knows what running along the walls. A woman getting dressed, fastening her bra behind her back.
Waiting to get thrown up from whatever was digesting me.
There was a noise.
Louder than the others. No scared animal that was running away. More like a big animal wanting to be heard. I tightened the grip on my rifle. My penis had released the barrel a while ago, meekly making its way back between my legs, flaccid and resting.
“Aurgh!” A mighty roar.
“Augah!” I shouted back.
We were screaming back and forth as I made my way uphill, away from the forest to the foot of the rock wall.
I figured I stand a better chance if I have the mountain to my back, and the clearing in front of me.
Gun loaded. Check. Cold sweat on my neck. Check.
Shapes in the forest. Where is a shape? My eyes trying to discern the trees from something else, anything else.
A dude stepped out of the shadows. A naked man with a bald head. He started walking in my direction, arms waving.
“Why’d you scream so loud?”, he shouted.
“You screamed first!” I replied.
“I’m here for therapy.”
“Screaming therapy. Nothing like walking through the woods at night, screaming your lungs out. You should try it.”
He came to a halt in front of me. He licked his lips. “Hey, you wanna have sex?”
I threw the gun away, and we started making love. He kissed my thighs, started sucking my dick, which squeaked in anticipation like it was about to eat a bowl of corn flakes.
His pale skin under the moonlight, I turned him around and prepped his butt for penetration. “Oink oink.” My glans could not contain its joy any longer.
I thrust my meat stick into his hairy crevice, and entered the love cave that evacuated a Chipotle Happy Meal not too long ago.
Lubricated by the best cuisine Mexico has to offer, we started our epic journey of love-making.
My dick found its way up his colon, moving back and forth like a wanderer that would never reach their destination.
Or would it?
Excited by its claustrophobic journey into the insides of a man, it found a new eagerness to grow, far surpassing any size it had previously been able to adopt.
Growing past the colon, past the heart, into the throat. “Gargl-gurgl.” He started choking. The dick had lodged itself in his throat. “Gorgl.” Would he suffocate? His body started convulsing. I was still too horny to go flaccid, his body wrapped around my penis.
“Gargl.” Something had to happen soon, or he would die. I punched the back of his neck, hoping for a reaction, any reaction. “Gargl. Gargl.” Was he trying to tell me something?
His face turned blue. Quick! I closed my eyes.
Reached within me.
And started thinking of every boob, ass, dick and vagina I had ever experienced on this beautiful planet of ours. I focused all of this energy into my dick, like Goku getting ready to throw his Kamehameha.
I could see the tip of my dick inching past his teeth. There! A little bit more, old friend. Doo it, do!
A burst! A detonation of a dam. Golden juices flowing forth, shooting into the air, showering forest leaves like an eager firefighter putting out a fire. We looked like a marble statue atop a fountain in a European castle.
“Gargl go – oh my god. I thought I would die right there.” He stood up.
“What’s your name, friend.” I inquired.
He looked at me, puzzled. “Nepomuk.”
I raised an eyebrow. “That’s a dumb name. I’m just gonna call you ‘Guy I fucked so hard, my dick came out of his mouth’.”
He offered me his hand, and I took it. Fingers intertwined, we walked across the moon-kissed meadows, and explored the forest and its fruits.
Shannon screamed at me. She was caught in the frenzy of her reptilian self, dismembered pizza demons covering the floor around her. “Rarr!” I punched her in the mouth, knocked out a tooth.
We had met thirty minutes earlier, I was the guy delivering a truck full of demons to the New York fundraiser. One percenters and media personalities had exchanged pleasantries, now they were licking salsa off each other’s breasts, enthralled by the taste of the best thing they had ever eaten.
Shannon started crying. I started crying too, because I thought “fuck me, now I’m getting cancelled.”
I sat down on the ground next to her, putting her head between my hands. “Why did you hit me?” she sobbed. “I thought you were going to eat me.” “Why would I eat you?”.
We faced each other, crying. Around us, the little triangles were screaming for their lives, people ripping off their limbs and covering the stumps with their mouth, so none of the tomato-lifeblood would go to waste.
We started tearing into each other, like two zombies reborn, ripping the skin off our faces; cheeks, lips, eyebrows, everything fell to our teeth.
Someone knocked both of us out with a fire extinguisher.
I awoke two months later on top of a New York high-rise, lying on the balcony of a wealthy donor’s penthouse, face wrapped in linen and a cigarette protruding from my mouth, scotch in hand.
The best plastic surgeon New York had to offer stitched us back together, followed by two months of artificial coma. Shannon lay next to me, equally wrapped up and supplied with scotch and tobacco.
It was a misty November morning, the humidity carrying the noise up a 100 feet to our clinical sanctuary.
“What do you think?” A tired sound coming out of her tired mouth.
I cleared my throat. “I think of nothing.”
The morning dew covered the leaves in Central Park, geese were quacking and wobbling around, and the rapists and murderers receded back into the shadows. People running around the reservoir, a mother shoving her baby buggy on a sandy walkway between tress and bushes.
Rubber on asphalt.
“I thought a lot.” Shannon took a drag from her cigarette.
“What about? How long have you been awake?” I replied.
“These past 5 minutes. I don’t know.”
“You thought a lot in 5 minutes?”
“Do you know where we are?”
She smoothed out a crease in the bathrobe that covered her leg. “I remember this place. A wealthy donor. Met him once.”
My mood lightened. “Is this one of those $200 million apartments?”
“Yes.” She drank. “You know, everything Fox News says is true.”
A stern voice. “I don’t believe it.”
“Yeah, me neither, I’m just kidding around. I think I’m still buzzed by the drugs. Do you think we can get up?”
I exhaled. “Try it.”
She moved her legs, her feet touched the cold stone paving of the balcony.
“Uh oh.” Legs back on the chair. “Nope, still too dizzy.”
I touched the bandages on my face. “Who fixed us up?”
She put whisky and cigarettes down. “Some aesthetician, there are so many.”
“Who pays for this?”
“The party. Things like these happen so often, there’s a special emergency fund. You remember Ted Kennedy?”
My eyebrows furled behind the mask. “The senator?”
Shannon resumed her story. “Drove his car off a cliff, drunk. Girl next to him died. Was a huge scandal. The party vowed never to let something like that happen again. Thus the Special Operations Team, S.P.O.T. for short, was created.”
“S.P.O.T.? Why not S.O.T.?”
She shrugged her shoulders. “S.P.O.T. sounds cooler. Aren’t you a writer?”
“Yeah, but – “
“There are S.P.O.T. operatives everywhere. There were S.P.O.T. operatives at the party. Probably the ones who brought us here.”
“S.P.O.T. operatives.” I took a sip from the whisky.
A seagull whizzed past the high-rise.
“So she asked me if I could father her a baby.”
“For real? Like a sperm donation?”
“No, we did it old-school, on the stone floor. The beast with two backs, missionary style.”
I took a capsule from the burlap bag, orange-white, placed it on the forest ground. We were playing a game with the medication he hid under a giant root, for special emergency situations. The game worked as follows: Each one of us took a random gel cap from the bag, and tried to match one of its colored halves with another colored half of a capsule already in play. If you got three in a row, you scored a point.
Our dicks hung flaccid, cum dripping on the humid soil.
He was three points in the lead. I did not like this. “So, what do you do?”
He sighed. “I wrap cars. Green, orange, black – any color you want. I’ll wrap it.”
I did not understand. “What do you mean, ‘wrap a car’?”
He scored another point. “Like, you take a sheet of plastic that’s coated with adhesive on one side, and put it on the car. Then the car has a new coat.”
One point for me. “And you can make a living this way?”
“Some wraps cost up to $5K. Or more. Depends on the make and the amount of detail.”
I looked at the clearing behind the trees. The blue of the moonlight and the wet green of the grass. How would it match?
A rustling of leaves.
Another scared animal.
And then teeth.
Lots of teeth.
‘Guy I fucked so hard’ was lifted from the ground, his head encircled by a row of teeth biting into his flesh, like a bizarre crown of thorns.
His pale body in the moonlight, the crunching of bones, the swallowing of brain mass. “Gargl.” He gargled one last time, and not because he had my dick in his mouth.
His eyes turned upward, his body shivering, he was slowly devoured by whatever came out of the darkness to haunt us.
I will never forget you, ‘Guy I fucked so hard my dick came out of his mouth’. Still lying on my back and in shock, I started slowly edging towards the forest clearing.
Guy’s big toe disappeared in a black hole and he was gone.
I crawled backwards, my elbows digging into the wet soil.
The monster moved towards me, and a ray of moonlight hit its horrible deformed body. Like a turd covered in boils, with patches of fur and a pair of eyes where its head was supposed to be.
“Red wave, bitch.” The monster wiped its mouth.
“What?” I stuttered.
“I said ‘Red Wave, bitch’. Vote in November.”
I started running.
Across the clearing, the wet stalks of grass touching my butt and nutsack.
The monster followed me, levitating on a cloud of smoke that morphed into an army of skeletons, then back into a cloud.
“Red wave, bitch. Vote in November.”
I made it past the clearing. Back into the woods, crashing through branches, my bare feet stepping on sticks and brambles. Morning was coming. Where was my gun? I dropped it at the foot of the rock wall, where ‘Guy…’ approached me.
Where we had sex.
That was 100 feet in back of me, and uphill.
The ‘thing’ was catching up rapidly, the trees and branches seemingly no obstacle to its massive size, as if it could move through them. “What the heck”, I thought to myself, “better risk it than die not having tried.”
I made a sharp turn, and started running uphill.
“Ah-ha-ha. Running uphill, I see. What do you think this will accomplish?” , the monster blurted out, wet guttural sounds and phlegm in his throat. Branches cutting through the soles of my feet, bleeding and burning. My dick and balls dangling around like a Loony Tunes cartoon.
The rock wall was in front of me, another sharp turn. Would I find it, lying somewhere in the tall grass? Would I be able to ready it in time, shooting a hot load at the pursuer behind me?
Skeletons in the fog, reaching out, their evil and twisted faces gasping for air, aeons of armies taking shape and dissipating over and over again.
“There’s no use in running.” It spat out words, unperturbed by the chase. “We’ll take the house majority, we’ll grab every district. Bitch.”
The clearing was in front of me, the face of the mountain to my right. “You think you can take all that energy, and see no repercussions? Those pizza triangles were our brothers. We demand retribution. You ripped them apart, gouged on their bodies. Now it’s payback time.”
A couple of steps. Run.
“You looking for this?” A tentacle shot past me, through the tall grass, picked something up.
The tentacle and gun were pulled back, the weapon disappearing into the abomination’s body.
“Ha, thought you could blast me, the old monster from Red Rock Gulch? Not so.”
“He can’t, but I can.”
Both the floating turd and I stopped dead in our tracks. The voice came from above. A man was standing on the precipice, shades and a red bandana adorning his face. On his left shoulder, a quadruple-barreled rocket launcher, aimed straight at the thing from outer space. Or wherever it came from.
“I’m Gunther, and I’m here to fuck you up.”
The monster sputtered. “Gunther? Who the fu-“. A hiss. The combustion of propulsion fluid. The rocket shot forward. The thing’s eyes widened.
Direct hit. The blast wave threw me ten feet into the air.
A rain of meat on the forest meadow. Intestines, teeth.
I got up. Its body was torn open, and tiny screams emanated from the mound of flesh. I stepped closer.
The unborn babies of the 12 pregnant women, fused with the tissue of its now deceased host. One of them could have been my boy, or girl. We never found out.
Gunther’s voice from above, again. “Fuck this.” A second hiss. Right into the middle of this ghoulish prenatal clinic. The rocket burst. Again I was knocked off my feet.
“Call it late-term abortion.” Gunther tossed the launcher aside and climbed down. Helped me get up.
“You’re the chopper guy.” I said, still in shock.
“I’m the chopper guy.” He took off his shades, eyed the supernatural meat loaf in front of me.
“I thought you died. The helicopter crash – “
“All a ruse. To draw this thing out. Thanks for your buttfucking, by the way. That did the trick.”
“You think it -“
“Nothing like gay sex to rile this thing up.” He spat on the ground. “I’m Gunther Duborski, Agent with S.P.O.T.”
“You’re a S.P.O.T. operative.”
“Yes, I am.”
I pulled my old phone from my backpack, that lay nearby, next to my clothes. “I heard you can make calls and use it as a resonator, once you kill it.” I put the phone down, threw the cable into the goop. Started dialling.
It rang. “Yes, hello? I’d like to make a reservation for two for Monday night. We’ve got something to celebrate.”
I hung up and Gunther and I made our way back down the mountain.