|The Story||The Authors|
|Aben fiddled with the radio dial and suddenly -- from only the Prophet knew where -- there it came again, just as he'd heard it the day before: that cursed American rap music, with its pagan beats designed for the devil's own purpose of driving the women into a state of sexual frenzy -- as Aben's father had warned him had happened before -- tearing off not merely their veils but their very garments as well, racing madly through the streets like pariah dogs and leaping upon any man unfortunate enough to fall into their path! It was unthinkable. Aben shuddered inside... May the Lord preserve us... May the Lord smite down the perpetrators of this horrid music, the very same music played in all the red-hot chambers of the nine hundred and forty-six hells... He had heard rumors that they operated an illegal transmittor, like common pirates, from a ship floating somewhere out in the Gulf of Hafik... Other cabbies had insinuated that they were actually operating from within the government, blasphemers of the first order! Well, Aben harbored no doubts that they would be caught in due time -- and then what a spectacle that would present for the faithful gathered in the public square -- flayed alive, slowly divested of fingers, toes, hands and feet, then strung up in the sun by their private parts and roasted over slow fires of phosporous while the slinking street-dogs howled and salivated... For this was the fate you brought upon yourself for disobeying the word of God... And he shuddered again inside, but this time at the memory of something far more specific, and close to home, and painful to recall. His bowels clenched sourly. He snapped off the radio with a foul oath best in which the singer's parentage was discovered to consist of the unsavory midnight union between a jackal stricken with testicular elephantiasis and a toothless Druse hag of seventy-three...|
And Joan woke up from her dream. She was sweating, and looked at her watch,
which included the date and time. She found she had been sleeping for a week!
She tried to sit up, but she couldn't. She suddenly realized she was in a
hospital, with a handsome doctor (his name tag said BOB) standing over her.
"I'm going to take out your appendix, okay?" Bob grinned at her. Joan nodded weakly. The doctor gave a shot which tasted like purple melon...wait! This was a dream, too!
My name's not Joan! It's Amelia! I woke up and panted. I got out of bed and joined my husband, Dave, in the kitchen. He was...
|...Such were the blasphemous lyrics of the offending rap song. And the problem was, Aben could no longer get them out of his head. They spun there all day as he scoured the city in his beat-up gypsy cab, the driving beat of the song's end looping back into its beginning and the whole thing starting all over again. It was beginning to drive him a little batty. Surely the devil had a hand in this funny business, and only the devil knew where it would end!|
|So He drove out in the country and went fishing. The song of the fish helped him relax and he masturbated vigorously for two hours.|
|Later, Aben attributed this to the heat... yes, the heat and the sun... a kind of dementia, sunstroke, heat exhaustion... the same force which had travellers imagine oases out in the desert where there was only parched sand... otherwise he should never have sinned with himself as he had... in the middle of the day, no less... touching himself like, like, like -- like a filthy goat in rut! Oh, the shame of it! And he might have been caught, no less. Why hadn't he thought? He knew all too well the punishment afforded those who let the voices of the flesh get the better of them... And yet, as he went over and over it in his mind, with a horror bordering on fascination not altogether out of the ordinary for as infrequent a masturbator as he was, Aben couldn't quite shake the feeling that he memory was playing impish tricks on him, leading him round in circles by the end of his nose... Because there was something, wasn't there... Something, something (it became like a litany in him), the thing that had set him off in the first place, made him lose control. But what? He got that cold, queasy, ill-at-ease feeling again. His eyes watered and the shrimp he'd eaten for lunch reassembled themselves and came alive in the pit of his stomach, disturbing memory and causing desire to break out in all manner of rashes with their ticklish arthropod limbs and antennae. He jerked his cab over to the curb, leapt out, and vomited profusely into the dusty gutter.|
Suddenly, he heard a song, comin to him from the distant winds of infinity:
"This is the Desert song, we´re runnin´ all night long through the desert..."
"I´m going insane!" he thought.
we must sign up for world war 3 the soldiers are leaving soon
Aben was suddenly roused from his Apocolyptic reverie by an impolite tap on his
hairy shoulder by the infidel temptress in the back of his cab.
"Listen, Bub, if you have to make us late while you spill your foul foreign lunch into the gutter, the least you can do is kill the meter."
Aben turned from his heaving to face her, small bits of half digested cous-cous and with curried raisins, clinging to his beard. The woman was half leaning out of the window of the cab. Her hair and face uncovered for all the infidel world to gawk at and think unclean fornicating thoughts of. From where he stooped half crouched the unholy temptress soft and heaving bosom spilled over the edge of the window and her half open blouse revealing to his burning eyes a deep crack of cleavage as lovingly and painfully tempting as the tender buttocks of a young Syrian goatherd. Aben howled in anger and spat curses. Aben seethed with hatred for this evil land full of buxom devils trying to shake him the Chosen Path and into their foul pit of degredation.
The sudden unbidden ascension of a subgastric air-bubble up the narrow height
of his esophagus caused Aben to belch most forcefully into the woman's face,
whereupon she found her nostrils filled with a rich and earthy bouquet of
effluvations, the subtle olfactory charms of the sundry elements of Aben's
lunch bound together contrariwise by the robust sour funk of stomach acids.
Even in the shade it was nearly 100 degrees Fahrenheit, with the humidity
apporaching 100%, and Aben's passenger -- already hagridden by the torpid
weather, and strangely, shakily queasy all morning for no reason she had been
able to discern -- was now moved to push her own door weakly open and add the
contents of her own stomach to the spattered mess left by Aben, sobbing as she
She knew. It hit her like a Beatle-booted foot in the solar plexus.
Aben was moved to put a hand on her shoulders and steady her was the heaves buckled up and through her.
So that when at last she looked up -- glazed of eye, mouth speckled with flecklets of lo-fat cottage cheese and Vollkornbrot -- feeling about as disgusting as it seemed possible to feeling, sweat adhering her clothes to every rise and sticky cranny of her body -- when she looked up, it was Aben's face she looked into, and it constituted (and this understanding hit her just as suddenly and absolutely as had the certain knowledge that she was pregnant a few minutes beforehand) a mirror of her own (for what she saw in and on his face, the strained aftereffects of humidity and vomiting, she felt as corrolaries in her own face) and for a small icecube of time the two of them gazed deeply and wordlessly into each other's eyes, breathing evenly above the twinly quickening pulses of their respective circulatory systems. Oh, for one single good, kind man, she thought, instead of all these assholes. Fuckers every one. And now I'm pregnant on top of it. Ah, Christ...
Which of course broke the moment. "Thank you," she told Aben, hoisting herself back into the cab and slamming the door.
"Where to, memsahib?" she responded from the front seat, not meeting her eyes in the rearview mirror, and wondering what in the name of the exiled djinn had just happened, and possessing none of the language, neither internal nor external, to describe it, to acknowledge it, let alone act to on it. He pulled back out into the slow jerk of afternoon traffic.
"Oh... how about..." -- realizing she no longer cared; everything was different, the whole world seemed to have changed beneath her -- "I think the, the, the, oh, make it the bar of the Drake Hotel."
|lead bed cool man|
|And as the lead hit me I knew that I would never lay down by her side again, never touch her smooth hair again, never even see her bed again. And suddenly I start to feel cool and freazy more and more. I knew that in a few hours I would not be the man I was until now. I would be free...|
...Aben snapped off the radio in disgust. More of that depraved music which the
infidels some managed to sneak in under the nose of the Official Censors, time
and time again! Love, they sang about, love and the creeping perfidies of the
flesh! It was the devil's work for certain!
Glancing in the rearview mirror as the cab idled at a donkey-crossing, he noted the creamily smooth skin of his passenger as she reapplied her makeup in a compact mirror, and the thick-vined arbor of her dark tresses. Saw her head tilted back and the same hair, sweat-roped, falling down across her bare breasts and... But no, he told himself; may God strike me dead if I think such thoughts!
In a single fluid movement the woman snapped shut her compact and caught his gaze in in the rearview.
"Were you staring at me just now?" she inquired.
"No!" he said and jerked his gaze back towards the marching line of donkeys in
front of his cab.
"Well, why not?" she taunted. "Is there something wrong with me?" She leaned forward so that he could feel her warm breath on the back of his neck as she spoke. "Something wrong with you?" She giggled, tossed her tresses and sat back on the sticky vinyl seat.
Aben stared emptily at the donkeys trip-tropping by, their stiff mains jiggling and their tails waggling as they trotted. And the males with their vulgar sex organs hanging out for all to see. Nasty, large, animal things. He could feel himself getting larger. No! He told himself again. Get thee behind me satan! Get thee behind me and ride me like a - The blare of a horn from the car behind him derailed his train of thougt. He looked ahead and the donkey's were gone.
"Well," his passenger snapped. "What are waiting for?"
|"Thousand pardons, memsahib," replied Aben, with no small edge to his voice. He put the car into first and eased his foot off the clutch.|
As he often did at moments when he found himself confronted with a passenger in
the back seat who produced in him a feeling of unease, or uncomfortability, or
something far more unmentionable, Aben cleared his throat and asked the first
in a series of embarrasing personal questions which would remain on the same
inane keel until the passenger lapsed back into stony silence or threw money at
Aben and leapt of the taxi cab into heavy traffic. He'd learned these questions
from a xeroxed "Learn Anglaise" book some sniggering Dutch hippies had traded
him for three grams of kif so cheap and ill-refined it might as well
have been generated by the lower intestine of an aged camel, and Aben had
always delighted in being able to ply his passengers with the bright syllabics
of all those smudged sentnences he'd somehow been able to cognate without ever
"So," he asked the woman riding in the back, "Tell me when was you got it your last menstruation?"
"Very good, very good! And have you have any zee discharge of wheech color?"
In his rearview he could see the woman's face had turned a dark shade of beet. It pleased him that he was making her happy this way. So much better than those blasphemous songs from the barbarian West. He continued:
"Please now for to step into, into the stee-rups. And to relax! I want for now to show you have a look at your sair-veex."
"I want I am going to eex-yam-een you va-chy-na. Please to lie back. I am very good spee-kair uff Anglaise, no?"
(The somewhat dim and superstitious workings of our Aben's brain could not possibly have grasped the chain reaction his ill-communicated words were having on the passenger in his back seat. Like dominoes, baby. For his words -- learned, as the reader has no doubt guessed, not from English Grammar, Third Edition, as he been so erroneously led to believe, but to a sample dialogue form Chapter 2 of Zeig and Bettmann's Etiquette for Gynecologists -- had set off a mnemonic chain lightning in the woman, a chattering chorus of dim familiar voices all round her, Babel of bright lights and faint green lozenges of ash leaves fuzzy and indistinct through frosted glass windows and the cold tiles of the tub when the nurses bathed her, steam billowing round her and Mr. Quack, her rubber ducky, bobbing updownupdownupdown in the water at her side, flagship to a seaa-force of windup plastic frogmen all set to invade the barbaric heathen kingdom of Mu... And then...
|Oblivious the effect Aben continued, "I am every much ze "cunnink leenkwist", zo you put it. Ees ferry dif-e-coult weeth ze anglaish tonk. But now I em to master eet. I prectiss you, no?" (This last phrase learned from a pair of giggling college students and scratched phonetically in arabic on a torn piece of paper taped to the dash board )He flashed his widest gold-toothed grin to her in the rearview mirror. He took her flushed expression as admiration for his exemplary English skills.|
|(...And then they had led her down the greentiled hallways (flash to the stuttery traffic of wheelchairbound patients, Haldol-eyed recent amputees, and funny Mr. Preej who swore all the time and whose hospital gown was forever coming open at the rear, allowing any and all access to the ghastly sight of his cavaderous buttocks the color of spoiled fungus) to the Examining Room...)|
"Now dee feerst ting I wantchoo to doo is chust to lie back and ree-lax," purred (well, he thought his manner was bedside enough to warrant to verb "purr") Aben through a wide smile which revealed the crooked headstones of his teeth, some capped in gold and others permanently discolored from a long-standing addiction to the betel nut.
She couldn't believe what he said. She gave him a smile and laughed at the
thought of sleeping with this guy. That wasn't going to happen - well, she sure
as hell was going to do everything she could to prevent it. Who the hell was
this guy anyway? Taxi drivers are just supposed to take you where you want to
go and get paid. Why was this guy talking to her?
"Pull over at the next street. That's the building," she said.
"Whatever ya say, woman."
She climbed out of the car and turned to the window to pay him. This time when he smiled, she saw nothing but white.
"How was that?" he asked, sounding exactly like every other native Bostonian.
"What the hell happened to your accent?"
"Well, I have to practice for acting class at some point. Between class and this job I don't have much time. I figure my passengers are fair game. What did you think?"
"Well, you had me fooled."
"Fart poo chuffer!" she exclaimed with great gusto and strode off with an air
of superiority, not yet realising that a yard or so of toilet paper hung
flapping from her behind.
"Ha Ha" snorted the taxi driver "there is paper stuck to ya bum" he chuckled again. The woman turned. She narrowed her eyes as she reached into the depths of her handbag
|and proceeded to give him the finger.|
|"Toilet paper or no toilet paper, I don't like to be yelled at." she screamed.|
...Your are going to be much more than just yelled at, youg lady, if you keep
up that disrespectful, childish behavior instead of doing what Nursey tells you
like a good little girl," said the Doktor, entering, shaking his head at her
and tut-tut-tutting with his tongue. "Do you want to be a good girl, or a bad
"I think she wants to be a bad girl," said the nurse.
"Yes, a very naughty little girl," replied the Doktor, taking his cue.
"The kind of little girl who is so naughty, so bad and rotten to the core, that she must be punished, again and again again, for unlike with other little girls, one punishment is never enough for this one --"
"Oh, yes, I think you're right, Nurse. I'm afraid we have such a little girl on our hands... Tut, tut... Now, let's see, then: what shall we do with her?"
....Pausing only to scream an arabic obscenity concerning a certain "fondness"
for syphilitic sheep that an errant jaywalker's mother may have had, Aben
watched the woman and her friend exit the cab and started to pull back out into
the lane of traffic. Her sharp cry called him back. He slammed the brakes.
"Wait for me. I'll only be a minute."
From the curb their eyes met again and again Aben felt something reach down and not so gently squeeze his entrails. Aben smiled nervously and turned the meter back on without losing eye contact. A trickle of sweat rolled down his armpit as she roughly grabbed her companions arm and hustled him into the building.
Aben sat in the cab in a severe state of nervous confusion. He turned the staticy drone of the AM radio to a roar and compulsively began to pick at the most recent scabs on his neck and upper back. This American heathen woman was making him think the most unclean thoughts. He must get rid of her straight away and go home. He must pray and scourge himself. Cleanse away these filthy thoughts with the whip. (the well worn end of which poked ominously out from its hiding spot under the front seat.) He must go now, and do these things. He must purify his heart and pray forgiveness for his sinning heart. Now. He must go now.
But for all the wanting in the world Aben could not muster the strength to go.
into the manager office to confront tom on his wierd sexual comments. Brian was scared when he heard tom was looking for him thinking he was going to be the next victim of tom's anal adventure.
...Aben had always been at a complete loss as to where these frequent perverse thoughts and images came from. The concept of "subconciousness" was unknown to him. He vaguely connected his desires to the women who passed in and out of his taxi cab -- especially the hairier ones, who stimulated the bruter, gruntier, more animalistic impulses in his fantasy life -- visions of great, hairy, disembodied and vaguely sentient vaginas gone feral and quadruped raced through his head, the sounds of pounding feet on forest floors reverberating in his mind and making him dizzy with the humid odors of overripe mangoes, fetid swamps, rich human musk and sweat fermenting between folds of fat and in damp pockets of skin suggesting a good more available bodily orifices than just 9. He shivered as if the hand of pale Death itself had just lain a light, loving caress down the back of his neck.
|Aben closed his eyes and unclenched his usual reserve. He settled back into "the day-dream," as he called it... A recurring vision for which he had no explanation whatsoever, it regularly reared up fully formed from the Okeefenokees of his subconscious, dripping and stinking with the muck and worms of repressed lusts and latent desires, scaly with the unclean postulates of the Id... only to sink back down into the black fens of denial an hour or so later, leaving Aben dazed, shamed, unfulfilled, and that much more likely to beat his wife and children when he got home.|
...It begin with a great low groaning sound... huge doors throatily
opening, canal locks churring with the friction of metal against metal, pariah
dogs growling and struggling and farting in their alleyback slumbers, the dying
croaking guttural in their charity beds so as not to be quite so close to
death, women giving birth to teratogenic monstrosities, the shrieks of the
damned and the barks of the possessed, bodies dully thudding against bodies
thudding against more bodies with still more bodies crunching and breaking
apart and pulping beneath their shifting fidgetting myriad feet... it was as if
the very earth and old stale Hell were joining gnarled hands, spreading open
like a pair of mismatched legs, foaming-at-the-crotch so to speak... and from
the overwarm hollow between issued forth the whole chanting company of Aben's
deepest mind, stacked Bacchantes shaking their multiple sets of teats, limbless
veterans of senseless wars with neighboring nations, monstrous heads of cabbage
dancing on skinny legs and heavying the air with their sour boiled August reek,
which blended with the overpowering odor of a hundred thousand unwashed bodies
stuffed in a single rush-hour subway car... Women with the heads of birds, and
great tufted blackamoors brandishing priapic organs, and brazen children
displaying their roselike pudenda with neither shame nor abash, and vast
crawling reptiles steaming in the tropical air... Hippopotami bursting from
bizarre crotchless underwear, giant winking self-lubricating carrots and
cucumbers, satyrs in rut, toothless grandmas waving dildos at him, priests
copulating with monkeys and goats, young girls fellating sea-otters, howling
dogs stuck together, Humpty Dumpty buggering a chicken, the chicken winking at
They stop in a milling crowd just before Aben, who suddenly finds himself sitting on the high stone throne of a Tartar chieftan; and then out from their sticky ranks wriggles the woman from the cab...
|"Aben," she says from deep in the back of her throat -- it is the husky grrr of a lioness in heat, and Aben shrinks from it the inch-and-a-half that is all he has to shrink there on his heathen throne. "Aben." She peels back the ragged terrycloth bathrobe she wears a shoulder at a time and lets it fall, revealing breasts luscious and spheroid as cantalopes and then, unbelievably, a second face...? Aben gasps, even though the scene has played itself out many, many times in his imagination with the whole physical spectrum of womanhood. Yes, two eyes, a small uptilted nose and a pouty mouth with full lips and a pink flick-licking tongue regard him merrily from the middle of her superb stomach... "Aben," again, and he feels all the blood and heat in him collecting in the two centers of his being, face and crotch, as she continues, "Aben take me Aben take me Aben take me Aben," running that mischievous second tongue over those lips and drawing his eyes still further southward to the thistly black thicket between her legs. "Aben..."|
|"I can't believe this is happening right now," she whispers in his ear. "I can't believe my menstrual cycle is beginning right now, you don't care do you?"|
|"Why of course I don't care," he whispered back. "Just be careful as my wife washes the sheets tomorrow."|
...And instantly, in a dream-within-a-daydream, Aben is transported back many
years, to the unlikely, shameful occurences of his wedding-night...
...How proudly they had mounted the begarlanded stairs, he second, steadying his hands upon her broad rump to keep himself from slipping in his advanced drunkenness...
...How the world had shone as they hand hands and crossed over the threshhold into the inner sanctum prepared by her sisters and her illtempered camel of a mother, the conjugal bed wreathed in fragrant blossoms which played fugues of havoc upon Aben's allergies, and the specially fitted bridal-sheet which tradition insisted they should do their business through...
...His eyes lit upon the concave hole embroidered in the center of its white expanse. He had heard the story countless times from his older brothers and cousins... To be frank, he had always found it rather ridiculous, especially from the lazy vantage of afternoons spent dozing narcotically beneath perfumed mosquito-netting in the cool interior of Madame Lassfah's, nuzzling into the onion-fragnant armpit of Kafoozalem, most desiriable of the madame's girls-for-hire, tracing a finger along the rise of her flanks...
...His bride noticed his eyes upon the sheet and giggled. And that was the beginning of it...
...Because a woman muyst never, never, NEVER giggle at a man about to perform the act of coitus, no...
...No, for it was the foulest of omens possible to be heaped upon a man, and on his wedding-night, and boded nothing but ill, ill, ill winds, he cursed silently to himself, chewing his lip and blushing conflagratorily and unable to meet her gaze...
"Husband mine," she exclaimed with a further titter, "Why blush you so? Now that God has blessed our union and we are man and wife, there can be no shame in these things, no shame between us. Take off that kaftan of yours, and let us ourselves more comfortable make." She sputtered a great spout of a giggle into her hand, utterly failing to disguise it as a cough...
...And a thumbscrew turned inside of him. Aben felt tears welling in his eyes.
|He spun, sitting in his spinning chair, to hide the tears that would otherwise have fallen more or less directly onto and down his cheek bones, but which now were sort of spiraling down and around his face, some collecting in his left ear (the good one) and the rest - the majority - collecting in the vicinity of his nose, which had just begun to heal.|
|he knew not why this sadness was upon him, but decided to accept it anyway. There was no use fighting it. It would impose itself upon him anyway.|
|He set his jaw and held his head high. It was the only way he would ever survive this chaos|
|Never had he been known to such a fact as this. Chara & Kimberleigh soon would find the truth about him. His secret will be unvieled to reveal this cheating scum.|
He's been doing this for years; scamming young girls. He'd scam
them in pairs, usually best friends or sisters. Quite shrewd in
his M.O., he'd pick designated places to pick up these young girls
(all of whom to be of legal drinking age, mind you. He wasn't a
pervert). Primarily in bars, college hangouts. He'd begin with a
subtle scan across the room to get a feel of the place. Then,
he'd spot a couple almost moments after. Was also quite the
gentleman, offering to buy the young women drinks. If any were a
difficult mark, he'd usually just let them go. He would get to
know the two, play one against the other, spliting them apart.
One would be jealous of the other because they both would develop
an interest in him but see, he knew this...which all the more made
his little game exciting. He thrived on that. Without that, he's
as good as powerless. He would then go out with one behind the
other's back, neither being the wiser...until he got caught...by
making the same date on the same night at the same restaurant but
with a different person. He got confused as to who he was going
out with that night, apparently. He took one date to the
restaurant where reservations were made but little did he know,
the other "date" was on her way to the restaurant, totally in the
dark. When he and the date were seated, they ordered a bottle of
Don Perignone to celebrate the evenng. Almost through the meal,
the "other" date shows up and stopping dead in her tracks, sees
what's going on! Collecting herself, she sachés over to the table,
apologizing for being late because her "RIDE" never showed up.
She then sits down like nothing ever happened, calls for the
waiter, then orders the most expensive thing on the menu,
just like her best friend. Throughout the evening, the two
continued ordering champaigne without reguarding their "date's"
financial status. The poor scum had no money to pay for the meals
and charges were pressed against him for deliberately getting the
girls drunk and stickingthem with the tab. The girls were taken
home safely while the creep was carted off to jail. Luckily, a
female officer recognized the man from where "THEY" were going out
and knew that the AMERICA'S MOST WANTED was searching him out,
too! She turned him in and is now in Federal custody. Turns out,
he's had several bench warrants pending and $2000 in unpaid
parking tickets that must've collected over the years...and the
whole thing was set up by none other than Chara and Kimberleigh.
They finally did to HIM what he did to THEM!
I was disussing this with a friend of mine. I showed her an article that was in
the paper about him. I expect her to find it appalling an have a megga bitch
about guys like that, i didn't expect this. All of a sudden, her eyes began to
fil with tears, her face turned a slight pale red, she began to breathe really
unstable. I knew she was hurting inside and yet I did not Know why.
I asked her to tell me. I trusted her with everything so I knew that she would trust me with this. She began her story. This unfamilar and yet very interesting man came walking my way at a bar one night. I don't normally go to bars and yet I decided to tonight. He walked up to me, catching my eye, that also being unusual for i usually only go for guys I know extremely well. He asked me to dance, we danced all night, he took me home to his place. Here... She stoped. I urged her to go on. But she just kept repeatedly saying Here...Here... Eventually she told me. Here I was raped.
It was my first time with a man. And ever since even though it hurts me so, I feel a kind of love for him. It was three months ago. And yesterday I discovered I was pregnant.
|I immediately placed the unborn child for sale on eBay. By 9:00 AM this morning the high bid was $75,800. There was no doubt in my mind that giving up this child was not worth that amount. I wanted $500,000. Not a cent less.|
I was scared----not just nervous, but
deep- frightened. It took an act of
concious will for me to attack with a
tightneing overwhelming feeling of
shocks were controlled by a device
The year was 2081 before God and
anybody else stonger or quicker
kneeling down to its edge
more arrived and glide in
i also wanted to wait for a bug
to annihilate it self
and play ump the encyplogist
I visit of course for bugs
my query was
|"Does squashing a spider really make it rain?"|
|Not unless your mother is a landmark for passing tourists.|
|said the frantic belgam house wife as he descretly entered the abandoned warehouse.|
|"Oh my lord of the dance" yelled persilla from her 20 story apartment building|
"yes, it is I...and as a symbol of our love I am writing our names on the
wall as I urinate while doing a jig."
Just then, a dirty bum emerged from behind a dumpster beside the love struck artist. "I'm all for romance, but can't you profess your love farther down so I don't get this golden shower spray?"
|"Some days deal us a worse hand than others." he spoke still staring at the wall. "But today, my good man," he chortled, "Urine luck!"|
....And on and on she prattled to Aben in a misguided attpempt to relax him
into his Bridal Chamber duties. She told him wanton stories of attempts on her
virtue that she had rebuffed and whispered softly into his ear 27 different
ways she could pleasure him now that they were man and wife. Aben's blush grew
deeper and deeper, but alas, his male member grew not. Lully giggled again.
Aben cursed inwardly again. The giggling the embarassment of the bridal sheet which he would be expected to fly outside the chamber window like some truimphal flag of conquest. And here with this brazen wife of his and her infernal giggles. How was a man supposed to concentrate on tumescence with that voice buzzing into his ear about all sorts of sinful things. (And long and hard he prepared himself, so liked to claim to himself, at the flesh market of Madame Lassfah. Nearly every penny he earned peddling dates, olives and dried fish in the market place was spent at Madame Lassfah's. The shriveled old Madame herself often attending his sessions and tutoring him on the many pleasures to be taken from a woman's body. "Put your hand here and squeeze" she'd croak grasping his wrist within one of her bony talons would place it for him on one of the delightfully plump and pleasing flanks of Martika, his second favorite of Madame Lassfah's stable. He had learned much about the pleasure of a woman under the good Madame's tutelage. And spent a small but thoroughly delightful fortune in the process.)
|But alas, apparently he had been oversexed by the Madame and her vigorous whores...instead of thinking about making love to his woman, all he was thinking about was turning on the t.v. and watching Monday Night Football.|
|"That's It!" he thought, "I'll fantasize about football while I pleasure her!" He then got her to go down on all fours, and started nailing her doggie style while pretending he was a QB waiting for a snap. He was so into his fantasy though, that he yelled "Hut, hut, hut!" at the top of his lungs. "What the hell...you're fantasizing about football, aren't you?" she angrily inquired. "Uh...well...ummm....Damn! Okay, I can't lie. It was the only way I could get in the mood...I'm so sorry, honey!" "well," she said, "In keeping with your fantasy, try this." He was felled instantly by a vicious kick to the balls, whereupon she raised her arms and screamed "It's good...three ponts!"|
|And she sat there watching as his nutsack grew to the size of a small casaba. It turned an ugly hue of orange and purple before he let out his final moan. Collapsing in a heap of sweaty flesh, he died.|
|....She then looked down at her feet and realized that in the heat of passion she had forgotten to kick off her pointy toed stilletto heeled shoes. She shrugged it off as an unfortunate mistake, and began to collect her clothes so she could get dressed and leave before someone discovered them. "Still," she thought, "It seems like a shame to waste a nutsack the size of a small casaba..."|
That thought quickly vanished when she suddenly heard someone in the outer
office. Brushing back her hair she tried to make herself look as unruffled as
possible....No one must ever know...
Still feeling the intense moment she....
|walked in, still trying to look unruffled...|
It was her mantra. Try to look unruffled, she'd say to herself over and over
again when she was nervous or unsure of herself. Unfortunately, as much as she
tried, she always appeared ruffled. Her friends noticed it all the time but
didn't want to mention it to her because of her fragile psyche. So she
continued under the delusion that if she could just think about looking
unruffled, she would actually look unruffled. What she didn't know was that
seeing the person on the outside her office was going to completely unravel her and she had no mantra for trying not to look unraveled.
|She walked out of her office, determined to put on a facade and fool everyone into thinking nothing was wrong. Just then, she looked up and saw the last person she ever would have expected. "You!" She shrieked. "What are you doing here? Why are you here? How..." Before he had a chance to reply, she became unglued. Shaking her fist at the heavens, she screamed "I have no mantra for this! Damn you, damn you to hell!" Violently shoving the mysterious man out of the way, she bolted out of the building. Who was this mysterious stranger, why did he provoke such a crazed reaction, and more importantly, would he discover the dead man in her office?|
Lully had always found herself able to think with an almost superhuman clarity
in times of great stress, and this certainly was such a time. Veiling herself
and wrapping her body in a dusty, shapeless djellabah left in the bridal
chambers by that lazy, filthy Druse cleaning-woman Aben insisted on keeping.
Lully could smell the woman's sharp octegenarian scent among the folds of cheap
Nubian cotton; a swirling, almost nauseating blend of mutton, camphor and
hemmorrhoid-lotion that suddenly amde her think of her own grandmother. But of
course! If anyone could help Lully out of this pickle it was her beloved Ni-ni.
She raced out into the darkened street, where revellers from her and Aben's
wedding were yet rolling in the gutters, flaunting both the nine p.m. curfew
and Allah's injunctions against drunkenness. One, not recognizing her, grabbed
her ankle hard. His eyes shone starlike with alcohol and his words came
stumbling out head-over-heels in a slurred. muddy deluge:
"You wanna wanna, I mean, honey, I got a, you know how beeg, babybaby, beeg as the beegest zucchini you ever see, you know, hahaha I give you like it long and the whole night, bumpsen-bumpsen uhn!, wanna, eh-eh?, baby, take me, take me home and -- AND MAKE ME LIKE EET!"
She shuddered as if Evil itself had run a bony talon down the nape of her neck; then kicked him hard, twice, once in the hairy paunch protruding from his soiled dashiki and once in the throat; he let go her ankle with swinelike wiik-wiik-wiik and rolled over to heave up the contents of his stomach into the gutter. She could smell the sour wine smell as she turned out of the alley into Suleiman's Lane. Who'd invited him? Cursed freeloaders... And yet, the whole hushed-rushed way to her grandmother's her mind despite herself returned to the bum's drunken come-on again and again... Beeg as the beegest zucchini you ever see... Bet his wife enjoyed her wedding-night, she sniffed to herself... But there was no time for self-pity. Her very life depended on this -- if there were not a bridal sheet hanging out there window the following morning, and if that sheet were not stained with a great red fiery blot of her hymenal blood girdling the embroidered hole in its center, proving to the whole town that she before God had gone to the altar a virgin and was now as much a wife as any woman, then she must go before the executioner and receive the fate befalling all shameless hussies in that country -- public torture and death... And after all the precautions she'd taken to restore that long-lost maidenhead of hers, such that Casanova himself would not have known her to be anything but virginal... For what? For this? Whom had she married? Who did he think he was? Why had she let herself get into this mess?.... But then already her tiny wizened Nini was opening the door of her tiny house at the end of Fomalhaut Alley, looking her shrewdly up and down and reading in Lully's face what had thus far conspired in the marriage of Aben and her granddaughter... And with a wrinkled, shushing finger at her lips and a wink glinting with the all silent conspiracy of women, she led Lully into the darkness of the house.
|Where, with a speed that defied her aged body, she grabbed a ceremonial scimitar that was hanging on the wall! She wheeled around before Lully had time to comprehend the unthinkable betrayal and prepared to enact swift justice on her tainted granddaughter.|
|i waz walking through the woods.|
|"Yes, one day, in the month of Necco, I was walking through the woods outside Damascus..." said Lully's grandmother sadly, shaking her head at the memory, the scimitar held aloft and glinting in her withered, corpselike arm. "I was on the way to join my husband at his parents' house, to celebrate the Feast of Tintinabulation..." The old woman swallowed hard. "I reached the river Ghan-Al-Urjhak, which was swollen and raging after the rainy season; I payed the boatman his coin, climbed into his boat, and we set out for the far shore. I was the sole passenger -- or so I then thought -- and, though, it was not entirely uncustomary for a woman to travel alone in those days, nevertheless I felt in my breast a vague foreboding as we began to brave the current...|
|"My premonition was to prove not without foundation," continued the old woman, "for no sooner had we reached the center of that mighty river, than the boatman the tore back his ragged burlap hood, revealing not the face of the old gentleman I was accustomed to be ferried by, but instead the fiery countenance of a djinni most fearsome and of utmost repugnance in stench."|
"Well....I said, You don't get many of those on a dark river in the middle of
The old lady turned to me and gave me a winning look,"So I married him and we lived happily ever after!"
"Ah, but if I had only known," sighed Lully's withered grand-ma-ma, still
brandishing the great glinting scimitar over Lully's neck. "What a foolish,
romantic young girl I was in those days, breaking the laws of God and
man, abandoning my lawful husband for the brutish love of an evil efrit,
the King of the Djinn, the last genie not to have been banished by Suleiman the
Magnificent to the bottom of the sea... His name was Rhafi, and a lustier ,
smellier, more insensitive mouth-breather has never been seen among the ranks
of mortals and immortals. Why, his very farts were sufficient to choke most of
Europe with the grippe espagnole for centuries, thus bringing on the
Dark Ages... And he was a most horrible pre-vert. The things he used to
make me do, grand-daughter of mine, ah... ah... ahhhhhhhhhh.... Er, yes. A most
unclean individual was this Rhafi..."
Lully was stunned. Her own grandmother, her beloved Ni-ni... She had never guessed.
|What would she do now that her one true love, her brother Hector, had been found dead with the dairy maid? The story of her grand-ma-ma's Satanic former life haunted her, as did the face of Hector. Lully wished for sleep, but none would ever come. She thought of death, but knew that the horror of the Gangalines would follow her into heaven or hell, sleep or awake, death or desire. She would leave, yes leave. But where...?|
|Such tragedy and unseemliness had ever tended to hover at the edges of Lully's family, especially on her mother's side. Now her grandmother was only confirming what Lully was least willing to accept about herself, though she knew it in her heart to be an absolutely irrepressible facet of her character.|
But Lully possesed a much more quality than that: Lully was a Bisexual Homophobic lesbian Hermaphroodite who lived in a cave during her off seasons of working street corners and turning tricks for her customers. One night, she raked in over $100 and that was on a good night! She was most famous for the "disappearing hooker" trick where she'd take a john to her apartment, get him liquored up and to him she'd say, "Now you see me..." and with his wallet, she'd then say, "now ya don't". She was good at scamming johns. She went as far as ripping off one of her female johns (a jonah), extorting hundreds from them! Ah but what a clever wench she was.
But Lully possesed a much more quality than that:
Lully was a Bisexual Homophobic lesbian
Hermaphroodite who lived in a cave during her off
seasons of working street corners and turning tricks
for her customers. One night, she raked in over $100
and that was on a good night! She was most famous
for the "disappearing hooker" trick where she'd take
a john to her apartment, get him liquored up and to
him she'd say, "Now you see me..." and with his
wallet, she'd then say, "now ya don't". She was good
at scamming johns. She went as far as ripping off
one of her female johns (a jonah), extorting hundreds
from them! Ah but what a clever wench she was.
(She was never sure just where, when or through what sticky, intimate means she had contracted the dreaded Imitatus Burroughsius contagion, but -- much like her younger sister's herpes -- the virus was controllable only to the extent that Lully could control her own stress. Otherwise -- at times such as now, with her grandmother's fiery scimitar still raised over Lully's neck, dawn only three hours away and the problem of her wedding-night still unsolved -- the disease would gain footholds in the foothills of her neural networks, and suddenly she would find herself inexplicably referring to everyone as a "dick," a "mark," a "trick" or a "john" and seeing the world as a sinister and endless and endlessly gritty food-chain of petty criminals, corrupt cops and corrupter politicians, and triple-agent homosexual aliens come to twist terrestial affairs to their own untranslateably bizarre ends while buggering prepubescent Algerian street-boys by the hundred then brain-felching them through their nasal passages... This was the dreaded William S. Burroughs Manquee Syndrome, and there was only one antidote for its horrible, cranky symptoms. She clenched her eyes shut in pain, threw her head back and -- to the utter bafflement and disbelief of her grandmother (who thus was finally moved to lower the gleaming scimitar to the night-cool flagstones) -- and -- slightly off-key, which made it that much worse for her demon, the homuncular inner WSB -- Lully began singing Carole King's Tapestry album in it's entirety, beginning with Side One, Song One:
"I feel the EARTH
UNder my FEET
I feel the SKY TUM-buh-lindown
And so on. Her grandmother dropped the sword (its ringing conjunction with the ancient stone floor unheard by anyone), pressed her withered hands over her ears, and squeezed hard. Down the corridor, the servants began to twist and turn in their bedding, their previously clement dreams having suddenly been invaded by hordes of pretentious, eager-beaver Tin Pan Alley demimondaines scattering sheaves of unpublished songs behind themselves like dandruff and proclaiming, in tony grating New York or Long Island accents, with mantralike repetition, and despite all evidence to the contrary, "I'm a genius... A genius, I tell ya.. Listen, I'm gonna play you a sawng..." And unfortunately, they found their dreams filled with all too many available pianos, too, the dreaming servants could not refuse them...)