Chubby_Chaser

“Yo dude, check it out.” Nigel turned the dome light on in the car, pulled a picture of out of his pocket, and handed it to Mahdakis. It was a photo of a big-titted sperm dumpster with nothing on but a pair of panties, her hands placed strategically over her bare breasts “This bitch is hot, huh?”

“Mm.” Mahdakis shook his head unimpressed. “Yeah, man a real piece of ass, dude.”

“Dude, she’s fuckin gorgeous! I fucked her last weekend. I took that picture!” Nigel was lying about taking the picture. “You can get chicks like this too!”

“Watch the road, will ya?”

“Got it.” Nigel grabbed the steering wheel with both hands again.

“I have a girlfriend.”

“C’mon, let’s get real for a moment. That thing? Back there? Nicki? That’s what you like?” Nigel shook his head in confusion. “You can do better you know.”

“Maybe.”

“So you’re a chubby-chaser, huh? What’s up with that, anyway?” Nigel made a left-hand turn without signaling and cut off an unsuspecting car that blared its horn.

“She isn’t fat!”

“She is. She’s humongous, dude.”

“Her tits are humongous; it’s an illusion….sort of.”

“No sort ofs about it, you’re doin’ a……..dude you got ketchup all over your mouth.”

“But I didn’t eat anything…oh shit!” Mahdakis grabbed hold of the rearview mirror and studied the red substance that was all over his chin and inside his mouth. “Ahh, sick man.” He opened the window and started spitting profusely.

“What’s the matter dude? Are you alright?”

“It’s blood man, it’s blood, not ketchup!”

“Where are you bleeding from? Are you gonna be alright?”

“It’s not my blood, man. It was on Nicki’s face.”

“Ah, sick!” Nigel also started spitting profusely out the window for some reason. “What happened to her?”

“Nothing.  She was just fine. I think she got it somewhere else.” Mahdakis continued his spitting and wiping off his face with the bottom of his T-shirt.

“It’s someone else’s blood?”

“I think so, yeah.”

“On her face?”

“I’m almost positive.”

“Positive? Positive for AIDS is what you’re going to be if you keep hanging around these people.”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah.”

“Fuckin aye. See what I mean? You need to date nice hot chicks like this, in the picture. I guarantee she wouldn’t be seen out in public with aids-infected bloodstains all over her face.”

“Maybe not on her face.”

“Dude….whatever….the point is, you’re hangin’ with a demented crowd and stickin’ it to a fat chick who’s destined for AIDS. You wear a condom at least, I hope.”

“Nah man, I hate those things.”

“YOU’RE GONNA DIE!”

“Mm.”

Original Artwork: Fabian Corona

© 2016 Mark Rogers

Book Cover for Paradise in Purgatory

Paradise In Purgatory

(Vol. IV)

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Who Are The B.U.R.N.O.U.T.S.?

Something Wicked This way Comes……

Close Encounters of A Preposterous Kind

“Okay, okay…sit down.” As Pumpkinhead sat down at a corner table in the coffee shop, Captain H threw his sandwich on the plastic tray and continued, “How do I communicate with the little green men?”
“Little green men?”
“Yeah.”
“Hey dude, did Jezebel sell you some of that liquid acid? That’s to be taken in small doses, you know. I hope you didn’t slurp that down.”
“Don’t be coy.”
“Coy?” Pumpkinhead picked at his hash browns. “You sure you mean coy?”
“Yeah I mean coy; you know like a wise-ass.” He took another bite of his sandwich.
“A wise-ass is just a wise-ass. If you’re coy, then you’re a bashful, or a shy wise-ass.”
“But you’re still a wise-ass!”
“Only if you use that particular adjective in there, otherwise you’re just a demure person.”
“Stupid?”
“Huh?”
“Stupid….a stupid person. Like, ‘that guy skipping across the street is acting a bit demurely’.”
“Because he’s demure, he’s stupid?”
“That’s what I’m thinking.”
“Being demure has nothing to do with stupidity. Did we go to school in the same country?”

2016-07-15-21-25-02

Continue reading

Volume 4

Remember when we had no deadlines, no responsibilities, no self-respect, no goals, and no motivation to execute any of them even if we did?

Back then things were simpler and more confused

If you remember (or forgot) the 80’s, then you’ll appreciate some of this. Or, if you are curious WHAT REALLY  went on in that time, this is not a bad place to start.

The latest installment of the series, FREE on Kindle unlimited……

© 2016 Mark Rogers

Book Cover for Paradise in Purgatory

Paradise In Purgatory

(Vol. IV)

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The Rock – Of Ages

It was a night just like any other night; a night of good times, a night of bad times, but mostly just a night of times. It was a night to remember, but more over, a night to forget. It was a night of endless ribbing and poking at one another’s blemishes and shortcomings, a night of mundane inebriation and quick fixes, a night of bonding among futile friends and worthy adversaries; in short, another night of explosive mediocrity.

For those who went, The Rock had been a source of nirvana, an escape from everyday troubles, a place to call their own and to hide from the world; regardless of the fact that the world was sometimes less than fifteen-hundred feet away. And, except for the one time, no parents or cops ever came to The Rock and, except for an occasional canoe or kayaker….and Moon, there was never any other signs of humanity at The Rock. It was their safe zone, and would forever be remembered as a peaceful haven in their memories.

Mahdakis stood on the edge of the small cliff, which held the rock and over looked the tail end of the Brandywine River that poured into The Christina, which eventually poured into the Delaware. It was a small river, only several feet deep at its deepest points, and at its widest point, you could throw a Frisbee to someone. But it was peaceful and had a calming effect on him. He stood thinking of the inevitable future, and the nagging past that just wouldn’t leave him alone. At this point he could hear almost every inane conversation going on behind him………………

Continue reading

Ride The Snake

Waking to the fuzzy feel of the rapidly fraying silk sheets, her naked curvaceous body intertwined with his and, and more importantly, to the comforting knowledge that he was safe. Safe in her arms; cocooned within a calming sense of belonging, purpose, want, and need; the beat of his heart, once again accompanied with a melody. He was with his true love.

But with all that, came the familiar air of uncertainty. The uncertainty of what she was thinking (and why), or scheming to do next (and when), and then, how long this euphoria would last. But it was his choice, and he knew the plausible consequences. He knew he’d forfeited all control the moment he stepped towards her; yet he stepped anyway. The serpent that was their twisted, masochistic passion for one another had reawakened itself and was cotton-mouthed; thirsty for new blood. And in its unyielding quest to quench the thirst, would lead them both down a long spiraling ride of emotional anguish and sexual nirvana, as only a serpent can be held accountable. Continue reading

Homo & The Marlboro Man

“Dude, do you have to sit so Godamn close?”
“Sorry,” said Tony, scooting over towards the window.
“And why the fuck aren’t you in the back, anyway?”
Tony looked in the back seat at Floyd, Frank, and Snowy, who were already packed in like sardines. “I don’t know. I thought three in the front and three in the back was a much better fit.” –Bobble-bobble-bobble
“It’d be fine if you weren’t one of the three up front!”
“What the fuck’s your problem man?”
“Oh man,” uttered Floyd, putting his forehead in the palm of his hand.
(inhale) “Here we go.”
“Huh…huh-huh.”
Jason turned around to address the three in the back, “You wouldn’t be laughing if you were in my situation How would you feel if you were up here sitting next to a flaming queer?”
“Say WHAT???”
“Huh-huh-huh-huh. Not good.”
“Who’s a flaming queer?”
“You! You haven’t been able to keep your fuckin’ eyes off of me since we met. Winking at me and spewing derogatory remarks in my direction. What the fuck’s the deal with you? I don’t go that way.”
“Neither do I, you narcissist fuckin’ nut-job!”
“Nut? Job? An interesting choice of words. Not crazy, insane or wrong…but NUT! And job! You know why? Because you got my nuts on your brain!” Continue reading

Return To Sender

burning-diploma

“Where you off to in such a hurry?”

“They just kicked me out of school,” said Mahdakis, stopping to acknowledge Floyd. “I guess I got to start looking for some sort of a job, or something.”

“Well that wasn’t very nice of them. What did you do?”

“Nothing.”

“Ya had to do something. They don’t just kick you out of school for doing nothing.”

Mahdakis took a puff of his cigar. “Apparently they do.”

“Hmm…who knew?”

“Hey dudes! What’s up?” Nicki said, coming out of the school, slapping them both on the ass. “Shouldn’t you guys be in class, or something?”

“Us? I thought you graduated a few months ago. What the hell are you doing here?”

“I just wanted to say hi to a couple of teachers. Ask how their summer was, you know?”

“Did you have sex with them?”

“What? No! What’s the matter with you?”

“Then why are you talking to teachers when you don’t have to?”

“Never mind.”

“Mahdakis just got kicked out of school.”

“For how long?”

“Forever long. Mr. Fuss said if I quit on my own, it will look better on my record, so I did.”

“Shit man, what did you do?”

“Nothin’ Hee-hee-hee-hee. He did nothing!”

“And it seems that’s not an acceptable practice.”

“Well, duh,” Nicki said, getting in his face. “You’re supposed to do something, anything…but you can’t just do nothing.”

“Ahh….and nothing is not something, is it?”

“No, it’s not.”

“But anything is something.”

“And something can be anything.”

“Most definitely.”

“But you can make something out of nothing, people do it all the time.”

“And you can make nothing out of something, although it’s not recommended.”

“So where did I go wrong?”

“It sounds like you were trying to make anything out of nothing, buddy, that’s the problem here.”

“Okay, but can’t you make nothing out of anything?”

“Sure. Politicians do it on a daily basis.”

“Now I see.”

“Alright, enough of you assholes. Anyone seen Tony?”

“He went to pick up his car this morning, and then go to work. They offered him new full-time hours. If it works out, he’s hoping his birth-givers will let him quit school.”

“Quit school?”

“Well at least he can say he was doing something.”

“He can’t quit school! And where the hell is he? That asshole! He told me to meet him here because he didn’t have a ride!”

“I don’t know, Nick, but he left a while ago, and what do you mean, quit school? Why not? Thousands of people do it every day.”

“That doesn’t make it right.”

“Or wrong.”

“But it does make it trendy.”

“I’m thinking about doing it!”

“When?”

“How about right now? Hee-hee-hee-hee,” Floyd laughed, slapped him on the back and started walking away from the school with him. “Want some company?”

“Sure. The more the merrier.”

“Yeah, let’s see how fuckin’ merry you guys are standing in the unemployment line. What the fuck? What are you idiots gonna do with yourselves?”

“I don’t know,” Mahdakis confessed. “I guess whatever teenage dropouts do.”

“Wanna get high?”

“Sure.”

“Listen to yourselves. What a bunch of fuckin’ B.U.R.N.O.U.T.S.”

“Okay Mrs. Smarty pants, what would you do?”

“I don’t know,” said Nicki, swinging a set of keys around. “But I have my birth-giver’s car all day, nowhere to go, and a bag of purple microdot.”

“Where’s the car?”

“The Jeep’s over there, right in front.”

“I thought you couldn’t park there.’

“Student’s can’t park there but I’m not a student anymore, remember?”

“See? You get all kinds of special privileges and access to the school once you don’t go here anymore, or have any real use for it.”

“But while you’re here, you’re treated like an animal. This makes sense to you guys?”

“It’s incentive.’

“Incentive would be getting a blowjob from your teacher after a good grade.”

“That’d be a lot of blowjobs.”

“Not if she taught you idiots. Besides, what if it was a guy teacher, you assholes? You want some old dude slobberin’ all over your cocks?”

“I don’t know, that wouldn’t be so bad, I guess.”

“She says it like it’s a bad thing.”

“You know I read somewhere that Japanese female-birth-givers do just that for their male offspring, when they bring home a good grade for the semester.”

“That’s just sick, you know that. What kind of a normal person would want their female-birth-giver giving them head?”

“Have you ever met Floyd’s female-birth-giver?”

“Shut up, dude.” Floyd looked over at Nicki and said, “Normal is all how you are raised. If you’re taught that this is normal, you don’t think of it as odd.”

“Meaning, the female-birth-givers go down on their offspring when they’re young? What are you, an asshole?”

“It’s true. In that same report, they explained how they masturbate their male offspring when they’re very young so as to stop them from crying, and continue this practice well into puberty.”

“Makes sense.”

“What??? Mahdakis, where do you come up with this shit?”

“I read a lot.”

“Maybe if you read more of your assignments instead of whacking off to National Geographic, or whatever, you wouldn’t be repeating your senior year again.”

“Aren’t you paying attention? I’m not.”

© 2011 Mark Rogers

Front Cover for Driftwood (book 1)

Driftwood (Book I)

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Chubby Chaser

“Yo dude, check it out.” Nigel turned the dome light on in the car, pulled a picture of out of his pocket, and handed it to Mahdakis. It was a photo of a big-titted sperm dumpster with nothing on but a pair of panties, her hands placed strategically over her bare breasts “This bitch is hot, huh?”

“Mm.” Mahdakis shook his head unimpressed. “Yeah, man a real piece of ass, dude.”

“Dude, she’s fuckin gorgeous! I fucked her last weekend. I took that picture!” Nigel was lying about taking the picture. “You can get chicks like this too!”

“Watch the road, will ya?”

“Got it.” Nigel grabbed the steering wheel with both hands again.

“I have a girlfriend.”

“C’mon, let’s get real for a moment. That thing? Back there? Nicki? That’s what you like?” Nigel shook his head in confusion. “You can do better you know.”

“Maybe.”

“So you’re a chubby-chaser, huh? What’s up with that, anyway?” Nigel made a left-hand turn without signaling and cut off an unsuspecting car that blared its horn.

“She isn’t fat!”

“She is. She’s humongous, dude.”

“Her tits are humongous; it’s an illusion….sort of.”

“No sort ofs about it, you’re doin’ a……..dude you got ketchup all over your mouth.”

“But I didn’t eat anything…oh shit!” Mahdakis grabbed hold of the rearview mirror and studied the red substance that was all over his chin and inside his mouth. “Ahh, sick man.” He opened the window and started spitting profusely.

“What’s the matter dude? Are you alright?”

“It’s blood man, it’s blood, not ketchup!”

“Where are you bleeding from? Are you gonna be alright?”

“It’s not my blood, man. It was on Nicki’s face.”

“Ah, sick!” Nigel also started spitting profusely out the window for some reason. “What happened to her?”

“Nothing.  She was just fine. I think she got it somewhere else.” Mahdakis continued his spitting and wiping off his face with the bottom of his T-shirt.

“It’s someone else’s blood?”

“I think so, yeah.”

“On her face?”

“I’m almost positive.”

“Positive? Positive for AIDS is what you’re going to be if you keep hanging around these people.”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah.”

“Fuckin aye. See what I mean? You need to date nice hot chicks like this, in the picture. I guarantee she wouldn’t be seen out in public with aids-infected bloodstains all over her face.”

“Maybe not on her face.”

“Dude….whatever….the point is, you’re hangin’ with a demented crowd and stickin’ it to a fat chick who’s destined for AIDS. You wear a condom at least, I hope.”

“Nah man, I hate those things.”

“YOU’RE GONNA DIE!”

“Mm.”

Original Artwork: Fabian Corona

© 2016 Mark Rogers

Book Cover for Paradise in Purgatory

Paradise In Purgatory

(Vol. IV)

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(we are) The Road Crew

“This is bullshit, Frank! What the fuck do we need Carl and Floyd for, anyway? Huh? Wanna tell me that?”

“I dunno, I’m just tellin’ you what I heard from Floyd. I guess your brother feels sorry for them and wants to give them some sort of a job by lettin’ them help out with the band.”

“Fuck ‘em! We are the road crew! Not them!”

“I thought you and Floyd were really tight these days.”

“Not when the prick’s cutting in on my action, yo! Christ, neither of them even owns a vehicle.”

“I know.”

“So what’s that gonna do? We got just as much stuff to carry around in the same number of cars, and two more people to find room for!”

“Yep. I know. I think maybe he just feels sorry for them you know, living out on the streets and whatnot.”

“Bullshit, man! Floyd slept at my house last week while my brother slept out on the street with Carl. What the hell’s he talking about?”

Frank took a chug of Budweiser. “I don’t know about that. Floyd says they haven’t seen Mahdakis much this past week.”

“Well, he sure the hell ain’t stayin’ down at Pock’s and Dakota’s.”

“Dakota’s not even staying at Pock’s and Dakota’s. Huh-huh-huh-huh. Hey, ya know…that’s right. We been there every night, and ain’t seen him but for rehearsal.”

Pumpkinhead took a big long drag off a joint. “Haven’t seen him once, dude.”

“Well where is he, then?”

Pumpkinhead exhaled with exaggeration, “I don’t know. He’s into girls, I know that.”

“And what are you into?”

“I am too, asshole! But he likes to play house, if you get my drift!”

“That’s kind a gay. But you know what? You got an attitude problem. What’s with being so hyper all the time?”

“I’m not! I’m just an expressive person!”

“Well, express the fuck down, then.”

Pumpkinhead took another long hit and scrunched his eyebrows together. “Where the fuck is he staying at night, I wonder.”

“Someone said they saw him walking in Old Norford, the other night.”

“Ah no.”

“You think he’s back with Jezebel?”

“It would explain his presence there….Copper Tom lives there too, but I doubt he’d be visiting him.”

“Why does Mahdakis hate him so much?”

“Probably because Copper Tom’s a fuckin’ asshole, that’s why!”

“He wouldn’t be such an asshole if your brother wasn’t always yelling at him.”

“MY BROTHER YELLS AT HIM BECAUSE HE’S A FUCKIN’ COKE ADDICTED, GOOD FOR NOTHING, DEGENERATE PIECE OF SHIT; THAT’S WHY!”

“Don’t fuckin’ yell at me. I’ll pick you up by that giraffe neck of yours and fling you into the river.”

“I’ll mess you up, dude!”

“Ha-ha-ha-ha! I’ll squish that pumpkin head of yours until your brains fall out your eye sockets!”

“Yeah, you wish.”

“Huh-huh-huh-huh. That’s it? That’s all you got?”

“For now.”

“For now,” Frank repeated, “oh well, you know what?”

“Mm.”

“At least it’s better than sleeping on the streets with Carl and Floyd.”

“What is?”

“Your brother…..with Jezebel, or whoever he’s with.”

“Yeah, I don’t think it’s her, dude. She really pissed him off last time. He was real hurt and shit, but hey, fuck him and Carl and Floyd! What’s up with that? Why the hell don’t they just go home and sleep?”

“Because they’re not allowed to. Huh-huh, Remember?”

“That’s a bunch of shit, dude. My female-birth-giver’s always crying at night because that asshole won’t come home half the time, or call to say where he is. Carl and Floyd, same thing. Ask Kim if you don’t believe me. They just want people to think that they’re on hard times so they have justification to be idiots. All it is, is a way of validating their own laziness and lack of motivation, thereby giving them an excuse to accomplish nothing.”

“Wow. That’s a concept, right there,” Frank said, staring out at the Brandywine River, “I mean, that’s pretty ingenious.”

“Ingenious? Are you smoking crack?”

“No. I’m the same way as them, but I have no excuse for the way I am…….Wish I had thought of that. Huh.”

“Frank,” Pumpkinhead said cautiously, “I don’t mean to hurt your feelings or anything, but you’re a little……slow….sometimes, brother. You don’t need an excuse.”

Frank turned his head towards Pumpkinhead and the two of them sat on The Rock staring at one another until Frank started laughing uncontrollably. “Ha-ha-ha-ha-! Ha-ha! That’s what I want people to think! Ha-ha-ha-ha!”

“Huh? Are you serious? Why?”

“I guess to validate my uh, lazy…….whatever it is you said. Huh-huh-huh. And to get people to feel sorry for me sometimes. Girls dig it, too.”

“Oh.” Pumpkinhead sat stupefied. “So you’ve no reason to feel envious of them, Frank. You got your own gig going on.”

“That’s right.” Frank lit up a Marlboro and took a long drag. “Now…….let’s talk about this accident that Carl and Floyd are going to have.”

 

© 2012 Mark Rogers

Crimes Seen Front Cover

 Crimes Seen

(Book II)

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F.A.G.G. Metal – Invasion Of The Penis Snatchers

It was an enormous mansion lined with wall to wall cocaine users and big-haired, scantily clad sperm dumpsters; it was a party of no less than four-hundred people; the occasion was the long awaited release of the Open Fly debut album, ‘Rock Out with your Cock Out’, and anyone who could show up, did. Most everyone wanted a piece of the Open Fly action, and wanted to be around them because they were indeed, cool. Or so the trend-following record label wanted everyone to believe.

For better or worse, the music scene had really taken shape. If any guy was going to make it in the music business at this point in time, he needed to possess, not only the pelvis and cheek bones of a nineteen-year-old girl, but the shaved legs as well; all stuffed inside tight genitalia-strangling spandex. Another major requirement for being considered relevant in the present music world was exposing a freshly waxed chest, with a full head of hair teased no less than ten inches above the skull, and if you wanted to make it really big, you wore hints of blush, eyeliner, and sometimes lipstick or colored lip-gloss and made puckering kissy faces at the big-titted sperm dumpsters in the audience while you played your guitar solo or bass fill. It didn’t hurt your image to grow your nails long and have them painted up in some effeminate manner either. And, of course, Open Fly lived to be flaming F.A.G.G.’s and were therefore the talk of the town, all the rave, the big cheese, the flavor of the day, in a fashionably gender confused world of what was regrettably now the biggest fad in music – Female-Aspirant Guy Groups; commonly known as F.A.G.G. Metal.

Basically, the scene had shifted from angry restless rebellious youth of the streets fighting for or against a cause; sending a message of hate, love, and a desire for a better planet (accompanied usually with some very interesting and talent-packed songs), what was now, nothing more than a bunch of wealthy, testosterone ridden, beautifully groomed, long-haired, would-be-jock-otherwise, mama’s boys out for nothing more than to penetrate the prettiest and stupidest bitch they could find; And the bait? Nothing more than a nursery rhymed melody sung over a 1-4-5 progression played on a shiny electric guitar, and a line or two of white powder. It was the roaring gay eighties.

Open Fly had just landed a minor contract with an up-and-coming record label. Their music was carefree, la-dee-da, drink-some-beer-and-fuck-some-chicks-in-fast-cars kind of music. It disgusted Mahdakis to no end that these types of bands were what was now being signed and granted small tours with even bigger, more well-known, la-dee-da, drink-some-beer-and-fuck-some-chicks-in-fast-cars kinds of bands. It spoke volumes for what was supposed to be his generation.

But this was no longer his generation. He banished it – along with some of the respect he had for its followers, which were many of the good friends he still had. He was not about to shave his mustache or sell out at any cost, but nor was he taking any immediate opposing action to do anything against it either. Instead, he seemed content in doing nothing with his music for the meantime.

 

Meanwhile… on the other side of town, in the rear parking lot of Barely Bagels, more stupidity was rearing its ugly head, as Frank, Carl, Dakota and Goiter prepared to attend the aforementioned F.A.G.G. Metal party…….

 

“Anybody wanna get going?” Carl said, impatiently.

“Why, you in a hurry for some F.A.G.G. action tonight? Ha-ha.”

Carl punched Goiter on the shoulder. “Shut the fuck up.”

“Ow!”

“Well he’s got a point, I mean…..they could dress a little more masculine, don’t you think? What’s up with those hair-dos, anyway? Why do chicks dig that? Dakota? Do tell.”

“Not all chicks dig it Floyd; me for one. I think they’re a bunch of poseur idiots. But if you must know, most of the other girls like it because it’s upbeat rock-n-roll that keeps things light and fluffy and doesn’t bring you down, or remind you of everything that’s wrong with your life…and the world.”

“Huh-huh, you mean like Mahdakis’s shit.” Frank Slate shook his head. “Good cripes. I love the guy, don’t get me wrong, but Jesus Christ, stick a fork in me when the song’s over, will ya?”

“I can never tell when his songs are over.”

“Yeah,” Frank continued, “sometimes I think the whole concert is just one long-winded song. And I’ll be damned if I ever know what the fuck he’s talkin’ about.”

“It’s called theater, dummy.” Dakota took a drag from her cigarette and blew it in his face. “But I guess a simpleton like you wouldn’t understand.”

Frank grinned, knowing she was only teasing. “Huh-huh-huh, you’re a nasty lil’ cunt, ain’t cha?”

“Whoa! Whoa! Whoa! Whoa,” Carl screamed at him, “Easy!”

“I’m just kiddin’. Heck, I roadie for the guy, you know.”

“So you’d think you’d know more about what’s going on with him than you do,” Floyd said.

“Yeah, but I don’t.”

“And therein lies the genius that is Frank Slate. Ha-ha-ha!” Goiter laughed all by himself.

“So basically, F.A.G.G. metal is music that doesn’t burden your brain with any strenuous thinking,” Carl summed up.

“And that’s why so many people like it, and the radio plays it all the time,” Dakota agreed. “It’s ear candy for simple people with limited artistic capacity…

“Of which, there are many.”

“…people who hate having to think, and can only handle simple melodies running through their head.” She took another drag and exhaled as Frank earnestly absorbed what she said. “I mean you might as well play nursery rhymes on the radio.”

“The radio, I-I can’t even listen to it anymore, it’s so full of that F.A.G.G. Metal shit. Fuckin’ disgusting,” Carl hawked a big yellow loogy on the ground.

“You know what Mahdakis says?” Frank asked, trying to remember the conversation.

“This ought to be good.”

“He says that the government’s in cahoots with all these big companies that buy up radio stations and play uh…..what does he call it…..Mind Numbing….yeah, mind numbing music that’s meant to keep the American population…us….ignorant and distracted from what’s really going on. He says, that uh…..that these…these same companies also buy up music rights from older deadbeat artists…”

“Deadbeat?”

“…and uh….what do they do….they uh….yeah, since they now have the royal rights…”

“….Royal rights?”

“They were knighted,” Dakota whispered sarcastically.

“… they make the stations that they bought up, play these same songs over and over again, which makes them rich because the more people hear something, Mahdakis says, the more they want to hear it again because they know it’s safe and………they like uh….status quo, or whatever word he used; and that it will be the same for F.A.G.G. Metal years down the road, you know, because it’s a simple friendly kind of harmless music that brain-dead folks and their nice little children, although I think he said mindless children, will probably like years later. He says it’s all some sort of a…..a net to catch the most American fish at one time, or something like that, I think.”

A long hush of abysmal silence followed as everyone stared at each other, wondering if Frank was done. Floyd shook his head and broke the silence. “I’m not sure what’s worse, Mahdakis and his conspiracy theories, or Frank explaining them.”

Goiter laughed, “Makes it sound twice as insane as it already is.”

“And trust me,” Carl lit up a smoke and said, “neither one of them needs any help sounding insane.”

“Ha-ha!”

Frank turned and walked towards the car. “Fuck it. I like the radio…and F.A.G.G. Metal.”

“Me too, Frank,” Goiter said. “I’m right behind ya pal.”

“Hey-hey-hey, none of that. Just ’cause we’re goin’ to a F.A.G.G. Metal party together doesn’t give you the right to fuck me in the ass.”

“Then what exactly does?” Dakota asked.

Carl rolled his eyes in exasperation. “Can we just please get the fuck out of here already?”

“Yeah, alright,” Frank conceded, “let’s go meet up with our F.A.G.G. Metal friends and suck some F.A.G.G. dick all night long…..Mmm.”

Floyd stared at Frank. “Jesus Christ, Frank. Sometimes I wonder if you even know what the hell you’re saying.”

“Everyone hop in.” Frank got in his car and started it up. “C’mon, let’s go!”

 

 © 2013  Mark Rogers

Benevolence & Betrayal (Book III)

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Blue Morning, Blue Day

pabst

“God is an evil, demented, son of a bitch!”

“Oh my.”

“And I’ll tell you why Robin, you wanna know why?”

“Of course I do; who wouldn’t?……..But I’m afraid to ask.”

“I’ll ask.”

“Okay Fred, go ahead. Ask.”

“Fine. Howard, why, as you so gracefully put it, is God an evil, demented son of a Bitch?”

“Because he gave me the smallest penis on the planet!”

“Aaahhh, ha-ha-ha-ha-ha!”

“Oh, come on, you have to be exaggerating.”

“Robin….when I’m naked, it looks as though I have two belly buttons.”

“I think God compensated for it though with that nose. Hee-hee-hee-hee!”

“Yeah, go ahead and laugh jokeman, laugh away; Laugh while your wife is having sex with black men on the front lawn, in broad daylight.”

“Hey, I didn’t write that joke! Fred handed that to me. Hee-hee-hee-hee! I wish I did, though. Hee-hee-hee-hee!”

“I knew I didn’t want to ask.”

 The clock radio, sitting on the soiled shag-carpeted floor, blares out the syndicated morning radio show on WYSP. A listless right arm falls on top of it slamming the button down. The hand attached to the arm fumbles about and finds a half empty can of Pabst Blue Ribbon leaning against the radiator. Mahdakis takes a pungent gulp and opens his eyes, acknowledging the dawn of another hapless, miserable day on this wretched, grey planet.

It is past eight o’clock on a Wednesday morning. The birth-givers and his younger brother, Pumpkinhead, have long gone to work…as most responsible adults have.

Our hero stumbles downstairs groggily, and turns the TV on as he begins to fix breakfast, a vegetable omelet with an abundance of cheese; enough so to scorch the frying pan beyond color recognition. The cartoon, Inspector Gadget is on; he watches with mild curiosity as he seats himself at the lonely cedar kitchen table wondering if anyone ever thought of making a porno version of Gadget, “Go, go gadget penis!” But his happiness is quickly subsided, as he is once again smacked in the heart with reality, and reminded that for the first time in four years, he is with the absence of true love in his life. For whatever reason, he liked being in love and having a girlfriend. Was it insecurity, or just an overwhelming need to possess another person’s affections? It was good that Jezebel was out of his life. But now he had no one else to blame for his problems…and he hated that.

Lying on the table, to the right of where he is eating, is a yellow note pad with writing on it. It is a song that he had started the day before yesterday. There are only four lines written on it:

 

‘Lovers may go but new ones will show

As the faces change and the years go by.

But I’m too weak to smile

And I’m too strong to cry…’

 

He gives pause as he considers adding another line. In the background he hears the desperate plea of a foiled bank robber being captured by Inspector Gadget, who had used his Gadget legs to extend up into the air another twenty feet, thus allowing him to walk over traffic. Mahdakis thinks for a moment how that would really come in handy…as long as everyone else didn’t have the same capability. Because then, you’d have the same problem with traffic congestion, but just twenty feet higher above the ground.

The twenty-year-old peels a pen up off the floor. The pen is covered in some unidentifiable goo (most likely something Pumpkinhead spilled on it last night while making dinner for himself at one in the morning while stoned off his ass). Mahdakis adds six more lines to the would-be song:

 

‘As destiny pulls me away

Towards a much more cloudy day

And there’s nothing more to say…

 ..But to face the truth and realize

That it’s time to break these emotional ties

That keep me locked up behind cold eyes.’

 

There.

His work was done for the day. Still chewing his food, he gets up from the table, walks to the kitchen and dumps the plate into the sink. ‘Someone will clean this up, they always do. Every day I put dirty plates in here and the next day they’re gone.’ He turns off the TV and heads upstairs to rub one out and take a shower.

It is almost ten o’clock by the time he is dressed.

There.

Two hours killed without too much thinking. But how to destroy the rest of the day? His birth-givers told him he’d best find a job soon…..‘or else’. He didn’t know what ‘or else’ meant, but it didn’t sound promising. He had come to appreciate the comforts of a real home (warmth, electricity, his own room, a toilet), and was in no hurry to return to the lifestyle of living under bridges, in friends’ cars, and in laundry mats as he had done with Carl and Floyd only a year ago. He walked to his upstairs bedroom window and stared outside, deep in thought, trying to remember the events of the night before……

Photo: “I have got a crush on you,” by Tor Alden
Art: “The Burnouts” by Liz Aikler

© 2016 Mark Rogers

Book Cover for Paradise in Purgatory

Paradise In Purgatory

(Vol. IV)

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New Release!

My latest installment of the series; If you remember (or forgot) the 80’s, then you’ll appreciate some of this.

Or, if you are curious WHAT REALLY went on in that time, this is not a bad place to start.

And best of all, it’s FREE on Kindle Unlimited for a few more weeks.

© 2016 Mark Rogers

Book Cover for Paradise in PurgatoryParadise In Purgatory

(Vol. IV)

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To Suck or Not To Suck

Sham Rock walked up to Pumpkinhead and studied him only an inch away from his face, feeling Pumpkinhead’s face with his hands like a blind man reading brail, as if Pumpkinhead were an inanimate object or a painting being observed by an artist. “What’s the matter with you, Pumpkinhead? You look spaced out.”

“Fuckin’ high on angel dust, bro. I’m buggin’.”

“You gotta be careful messin’ around with that stuff. It’ll kill ya you know.”

“Yeah man, I can dig it,” was all Pumpkinhead could say.

“Where’s Nicki? Why didn’t she give you guys a ride?”

“She threw us out of the car after Mahdakis over here called here a fat little cocksucker.”

“What’s wrong with being a cocksucker?”

“Huh?”

“Nicki, I’m talking about. Why would she be upset with being called a cocksucker?” Sham Rock asked.

“Yeah, what’s her problem anyway?” said Rizzo. “I love it when people call me a cocksucker. Especially when it’s a complete stranger driving by and I’m standing on the side of the road with a large group of friends……Or better yet, family members.”

“Family members call you cocksucker?”

“That’s not right.”

“Oh it’s fine. They do it all the time! In fact, that’s how they address my birthday cards. ‘So, you’re one year older….Happy Birthday Cocksucker’.

Ignoring Rizzo’s sarcasm, Dakota suggested, “Maybe it was because you called her a fat cocksucker.”

“Girls don’t like being called fat,” said Kim.

“Yeah…that’s a real sticking point.”

“Cocksucker’s one thing,” Kim lectured on, “but to call a woman fat…well that’s just asking for a beating.”

Ignoring them all, Sham Rock continued, “But being called a cocksucker only means that she’s useful and well liked.”

“It’s derogatory, man.”

“Derogatory shmogatory. Isn’t sucking someone’s dick a nice thing?”

“Sure is,” Tony Ravioli said, bobbling his head. Bobble-bobble-bobble- “Why, you feel like being nice right about now?”

“You’re a wise-ass too, Tony. You and Rizzo are made for each other.”

“And it’s good for the environment,” Pumpkinhead said.

“And fun for the whole family!”

“That’s disgusting. What’s the matter with you anyway, Rizzo? And Sham, why the fuck are you asking this?”

“Contemplating a career change?”

“Shut the fuck up, Bobby. You too, Riz.” Sham Rock turned and studied Mahdakis. “And I don’t know what the hell you’re thinkin’ about over there, but I don’t like that grin on your face. Somethin’ tells me I should bust your head wide open right now.”

“But then you’ll never know.”

“Never know what?”

“What I was thinking.”

“Ah-ha! So you were thinking!”

Mahdakis took a puff off his Tijuana Small cigar. “It happens.”

“Sometimes.” –Bobble-bobble-bobble. Tony observed Mahdakis’ eyes squinting as he took the thin cigar out of his mouth. They had been together for too many years for Tony not to recognize that he was about to go into one of his lame, self-serving comedy routines. Tony also knew it a signal for him to step into sidekick mode.

Mahdakis said, “Most likely, a long time ago, it was someone whose last name was cocksucker.”

“Someone who lived in a small village…” -Bobble-bobble-bobble

“Marseille, France, perhaps.”

“…or just outside of…”

“…where she was considered a…”

“…or he…”

“…or he was considered a cheat or a liar.”

“Or someone who did the job only half way.”

“Which then of course begs to ask the question, which came first, the cock or the cocksucker?”

“The cock came first. The cock always comes first.”

Dakota broke their routine and said solemnly, “I always thought it was because they tease you by giving you oral until you’re hard and then leave, never finishing you off, or letting you fuck them. And that’s why people hate cocksuckers.”

“Oh.”

“Well sure, then there’s that.”

“Makes sense to me.”

“Mm.”

“Hey, what would life be like if we greeted each other like dogs?”

“We probably wouldn’t French kiss that much.”

“Do dogs give oral?”

“Not to other dogs.”

“So who do they give it to?”

“People.”

“People?”

“Yeah, I seen that in a movie or two once,” said Frank.

“Jesus, what a fuckin’ perv you are, man,” Polly laughed.

“How could you have seen it once if you saw it in two different movies?”

“Maybe it was the same scene.”

“Doesn’t matter. He still would’ve seen it twice.”

“What the fuck kind of movies are you renting, Frank?”

“Regular kinds.”

“Regular, my ass.”

Shake-shake-shake, (Inhale-exhale) “I got shit loads of those kinds of movies, Frank….a lot of cool imports from Germany and whatnot.” (Inhale-exhale) “Grandmas and black dudes, dominate fat chicks with submissive oriental business men, hot teens in locker rooms, gay bikers on acid, famous athletes who worship feet while masturbating, big-titted blondes with horses, midgets who eat shit,” (inhale) “you name it. I’m watching one at home right now called Anal in the Antarctic. It’s about an Eskimo love triangle.” (exhale) “If you ever wanna borrow something, just let me know.”

© 2016 Mark Rogers

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Paradise In Purgatory

(Vol. IV)

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Taking It For Face Value

Black Tom inhaled the joint and lazily looked over at Pock, the owner of a weathered crater face. “So why do they call you Pock? Is that a Texas kind of thing?”

Mahdakis and Tony were silent, eyeballing one another trying to make the best of an uncomfortable moment.

Pock spoke softly, “Nah man, it’s ’cuz a my face and whatnot.” Pock’s hand waved over his face suggestively as his eyes lowered to the ground. “You know?”

“That’s just from bad acne at one point in time. You can cure that you know.”

“Yea, how? Cut his head off?” Tony laughed.

“That wouldn’t be much fun, now would it?” Black Tom got up and walked into the bathroom. When he returned, he was holding a jar in his right hand and was mixing its contents with a wooden spoon, held in his left. “What you need, is to dab just a little of this on your face every morning and at night just before bed. It’ll do miracles.” Black Tom knelt down in front of Pock and was about to poke his face with the pointy end of a feather.

“Hey man, what duh fuck is dat, mane? Ya’ll gone fuckin’ bonkers er sumpin’? Don’t touch me wit dat crap.”

“It’s okay,” Black Tom retreated politely, “it’s just a facial concoction that rejuvenates the skin by going deep into the pours and replenishing any facial blemishes back to their original state. You’ll be a better looking guy in no time, just trust me on this one. There’s nothing in here that you don’t ingest into your body anyway, or nothing that isn’t all natural.”

“Wut duh fuck iz it, ’zactly?”

“It’s two parts strained mud water, one-part chicken blood, with a drop of vanilla extract and a sprinkle of crushed lavender pedals; about a teaspoon or more.”

“Say what?”

“Just grab a handful or two of mud and put it in a colander, spaghetti strainer or whatever, and let the water strain out into a bowl or something; maybe do this overnight because it’s gonna take a long time.”

“Okay. Where do I find sum ’dat chicken blood?”

“Just a fresh chicken from the grocery store will do. You know, before you cook it, reserve the blood in a container of some sort, but don’t let it sit around for more than a week in the fridge, or it’s no good.”

“Fresh chicken; got it.”

“And the pedals you can purchase at any florist of course. But this is the important part.” Black Tom moved in towards Pock’s face, holding the feather like a pen. “You must apply just a little bit with the tip of an authentic ostrich feather, as the ostrich is rich in particular enzymes that disperse from the feather stem when mixed with the other proper ingredients.”

“Enzymes, yeah…I heard ah doze.”

“Then apply the ointment like this.” Black Tom began touching Pock’s face lightly with the tip of the feather, and drew what felt to Pock like, imaginary lines; one under his right eye and then one on his left cheek. “This will go into your skin’s pours directly and sit festering, adding essential vitamins and minerals to the under layers. That’s it. Don’t apply any more than that. The next time you do this however, apply the ointment in two different spots.”

“Which ones?”

“Wherever you like. Just mix it up and don’t go over the same area too often. Then when you’ve done that…” Black Tom turned the feather around and began brushing Pock’s entire face with the feather end, “…give yourself a quick brushing like so. When you give it a brush like this, you are brushing any excess of those vitamins and minerals that may have not gone into your skin and spread them over your face where they won’t do much, but what little they do, will heal, and not go to waste by dripping on the floor.”

“Vitamins and Min’rals…those are good tings.”

“Yes they are, and so are ostrich feathers. That is why it is very, very, very, important that you use an authentic ostrich feather, like so, and not a fake one or any other type of feather. Do you understand?”

“Yeah…authentic.”

“Right, and since they’re hard to find, I’ll give you this one. There’s a little place down in the village here where I can get more.”

“Can you eat ’em too?”

“The feathers?”

“Ostrich. Do you eat ’em?”

“Personally I don’t eat any meat at all unless it’s between a woman’s legs, and even then I’m known to be a bit stingy. But I’ve heard that it is quite a delicacy in other countries.”

“Pussy?”

“No, Ostrich.”

© 2011, 2014 Mark Rogers

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In Case You Were Too Stoned To Remember…..

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Remember Tomorrow

“The only good thing about today is it’s still young and there’s still hope we will die before it’s over with.”
“That’s the spirit. What do you have against waking up tomorrow, anyway?”
“Tomorrow’s the reason I wanna get it over with today! Tomorrow we have to do this bullshit all over again!”
“What makes you so sure?”
“Because I am.”
“Oh.”
“Because tomorrow is the day we pay for our wasted yesterday.”
“Which is actually today.”
“Exactly!”
“But it hasn’t been wasted.”
“Not yet. But it will. And all we can pray for is that today–”
“Or yesterday tomorrow.”
“–stops right here before tomorrow settles in.”
“The day after tomorrow, yesterday.”
“Right.” Continue reading

Ride The Snake

Waking to the fuzzy feel of the rapidly fraying silk sheets, her naked curvaceous body intertwined with his and, and more importantly, to the comforting knowledge that he was safe. Safe in her arms; cocooned within a calming sense of belonging, purpose, want, and need; the beat of his heart, once again accompanied with a melody. He was with his true love.

But with all that, came the familiar air of uncertainty. The uncertainty of what she was thinking (and why), or scheming to do next (and when), and then, how long this euphoria would last. But it was his choice, and he knew the plausible consequences. He knew he’d forfeited all control the moment he stepped towards her; yet he stepped anyway. The serpent that was their twisted, masochistic passion for one another had reawakened itself and was cotton-mouthed; thirsty for new blood. And in its unyielding quest to quench the thirst, would lead them both down a long spiraling ride of emotional anguish and sexual nirvana, as only a serpent can be held accountable. Continue reading

Paradise In Purgatory

Remember when we had no deadlines, no responsibilities, no self-respect, no goals, and no motivation to execute any of them even if we did,?

Ah……back then things were simpler and more confused….

 

© 2016 Mark Rogers

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Paradise In Purgatory

(Vol. IV)

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Go Fuck Yourself

“Go fuck yourself.”

 

It’s more than a request.

It’s a demand

And at best,

A command

That would suggest

Temporary discord

with one who stands

Before the matter at hand.

 

But, can this be done?

And why would someone

In the midst of a

Mad verbal spasm,

Wish upon you

A healthy orgasm?

 

If the answer’s gray

Then why bother to say

And or express

Such ignorance

Of grammar, body and flesh?

 

What about something different?

Why not something intelligent?

How about something like:

 

 “May an aids-infected,

acne faced,

family-disgraced

basket case

of a foreign race,

penetrate you

in a tight place.”

 

 Ha-ha.           What?         “No good”      you say?

Go fuck yourself!

 

© 2001, 2012, 2016 Mark Rogers

Placid Animosity

Placid Animosity

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God Is Everywhere

“It’s God’s way. You have to accept it and embrace it if you believe in God. God wants us to endure a good ass fucking from time to time. It’s just the way he is. I think he likes to watch, too.”

“You got problems,” Rizzo huffed, stomping away.

“It sounds like you got problems; not the least of which being, your subconscious struggles with faith.” He puffed on a Tijuana Small cigar. “You know, I just love how when something goes well, you fuckin’ people thank God for everything. Thank yourselves. You’re the ones who pulled through. It makes me laugh when people pray aloud; thanking God for all they have and exclaiming how God has shined his light down upon them for their self-righteous efforts. Well, by saying that, you’re inadvertently saying that God hates all the other unlucky motherfuckers in this world. The ones who live in backwards countries and are starving to death, or the ones who lose their homes to a fire. It must be because God hates those particular families and races of people. What about natural disasters? Were the victims of those disasters all heathens? That’s what people who thank God for all the joy in their lives are saying. Otherwise, why wouldn’t God give joy and happiness to everyone? He has the capacity to do so, right? I mean, he is the Almighty. Right?”

“That’s a good question.”

“You want the answer?”

“Probably not.”

“It’s because, number one, there is no God and this is all one blind crap shoot or, number two, there is a God but he’s dumb as a wall, which means that our creation was probably nothing more than a freak accident he had while making a pot of coffee. Or, number three, there is a God and he works in partnership with Satan to preserve the balance of good and evil. I mean, what would God mean without Satan?”

“I really don’t wanna believe that God is evil, if there is one.”

“You know in a community fish tank, when one fish gets really sick, it is best to take it out of the water and let it die slowly, rather than spread the disease. That fish didn’t do anything wrong. He was just minding his own business when he got sick but it is for the good of the whole community that he expires. It’s just a responsibility that the owner of the tank, or in this case, God, must take care of whether we like it or not.” Mahdakis held her hand, lovingly, and stared back at the night stars.

© 2011 Mark Rogers

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Driftwood (Book I)

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Pasta Affair

After finally securing her right leg to the bedpost with a towel, Tony went to the dresser drawer, pulled out a roll of duct tape, and proceeded to cut off a seven-inch piece, “I’m tired of your mouth, already. Try this, you bitch!”
Tony walked over to the bed where Nicki was screaming, “No! No! No! Don’t! Please, No! I can’t breathe! I’ll hyper ventilate!”
“Too bad, bitch!” Tony quickly applied the tape over her mouth.
Nicki lay on the bed flailing her naked flabby body around; her left leg trying to kick him away, “Mmm! Mmm! Mm-mmmmmm!!”
The smoke alarm started going off, “Shit!” Tony quickly cuffed her left leg to the post, “I forgot about the pasta on the stove. I’ll be back!”
“Mm-mm?” she mumbled as Tony turned and ran downstairs to the smoky kitchen.

Tony returned, holding a large pot of steaming lasagna noodles, which he set down on the dresser, “I hope you like butter,” he said, taking one of the hot noodles out of the pot and dangling it in the air, allowing the hot butter to drip on her naked body.
“MMM-MMM!”
“Yeah, Mm-mm…yummy, right?”
“Mmm!”
“Okay. Okay, I won’t make you wait any longer. Here, take this,” and then Tony thrashed her several times with the hot, wet, buttery lasagna noodle on her torso.
“Mmm!!! Mmm! Mmm!!!!”
“Yeah…mm-mm. You want some more, huh?” Tony walked over to the steaming pot and yanked out another noodle in which to torture her with.
“Hmmm!”
“Yeah…..I know…You got an appetite for sausage too. I haven’t forgotten.” Tony began yanking on his penis while he whipped her with the noodle on her inner thigh and the sides of her ass, butter splashing everywhere upon impact of her body . Nicki tried to scream through the duct tape as he whipped her with more noodles, over and over again; all the while frantically masturbating.

As if all this wasn’t enough for the helpless young woman, she was to be further traumatized when five police officers came crashing through the bedroom door, as she lay on the bed with her glory wide open for all to see, and watched them tackle Tony Ravioli. “FREEZE YOU FUCKER!”
“DOWN ON THE GROUND! GET DOWN!”
“I GOT HIM, JOE. I GOT HIM! CHRIST THIS FUCKER’S HAIRY….YUCK!” the uniformed officer yelled, spitting something out of his mouth.
“GET OFF ME! WHAT THE FUCK’S GOING ON AROUND HERE?”
Officer Roy drew his weapon and pointed it at Tony, “Don’t move. You’re under arrest for kidnapping, sexual assault, stalking, endangerment, vandalism, trespassing, and all kinds of odious charges.”
“WHAT THE FUCK DOES ODIOUS MEAN?”
“You have the right to remain silent, anything you ……”

© 2011, 2014 Mark Rogers

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The Passenger….

The dark, unassuming vehicle pulled over to the side of the highway. The driver leaned over and rolled the passenger window down. “Where you headed?”

“That way,” Goiter said, pointing north without making eye contact.

“That way? Huh, what a coincidence, I’m going that way. Get in.”

The man behind the wheel was Curtis Bolio, originally from Ohio. He was a decent looking, clean-cut white man in his late thirties or possibly mid-forties. It was hard to tell because he was a gym enthusiast and took extremely good care of his body. Curtis had a wife and kids back in Cincinnati, but they weren’t missing him. They weren’t missing him because they were dead; dead because he killed them after raping his son’s buddy in the middle of the night during a sleepover and then stabbing his wife and son to death when they discovered what he had done. It was of no consequence to Curtis Bolio however. He had done this before when he was much younger, to another young lad long before he was married…..before the days of the institution…..and he was eager to do it again….maybe with Goiter, maybe not. Goiter was a bit older than his usual prey, but perhaps he would be a willing participant in gratifying his needs so that Curtis would not have to kill him. He didn’t look forward to the killing aspect of it all, but sometimes it was a necessity in order to keep him out of jail. He did enjoy the raping however; he loved the way they screamed and squirmed and tried to fight back. It aroused him tremendously. In his mind, it was the same tough love that his father had enforced upon him when he was younger; enforced so Curtis would grow up and be tough. Tough enough anyway to hold down a young boy while riding his backside. What an absolutely delicious treat he thought it was, to be rewarded with such a well-deserved pleasure after a usually well-fought battle. The battle of course being the boy’s struggle to get away. And it was the struggle that made it all such great fun; It was the struggle that gave Curtis Bolio the rush of exhilaration he so desired on a daily basis. But how nice it would be if he could just find someone to play the rape game with him on a regular basis so he wouldn’t have to go through the killing process afterward. Curtis Bolio had boys like that but he grew tired of them after a while and had to ‘set them free’. “So what do you say we both go that way together?” he smiled and looked over at Goiter.

“Wherever. I don’t care. Just get me out of here.”

“Going through a bad spell?” The man looked over at Goiter and eyeballed his crotch, raising his eyebrows happily as he did. “Growing up isn’t easy, especially when you’re different than everyone else. And that’s the core of it all, isn’t it? You’re different and they don’t understand how to play with you; right?”

“Something like that,” Goiter nodded his head. “How’d you know?”

“It takes one to know one.”

“Know one what?”

Ignoring his question, the man continued, “But every once in a while we get sent a reminder from God that….you believe in God, don’t you?”

“Sure…why not? Sounds good.”

“No why nots about it. He’s here……and he’s queer.”

“Ha-ha-ha….Huh? Say what?’

“Never mind.”

“You were saying something before though.”

“Right…every once in a while God drops us little reminders to let us know that we’re not alone in our suffering. That there are others who share similar pains and doubts about who we really are and where we’re going. If nothing else, it’s comforting to know that we are never alone in our loneliness.”

“That’s deep. I know a guy in Norford who talks like that.”

“Really?”

“He’s a poet…or a rock musician….or something. Ha! Actually, right now he’s just a drunk. Ha-ha-ha-ha.”

“You like to laugh. That’s good; it’s good to have a sense of humor. Hold on to it, you’ll need it.”

“How so?”

“Hmm.” The man once again ignored his question and stared at the highway ahead, pretending to be thinking long and hard. “You wanna play a game?”

“A game? Hey man, I ain’t funny like that.”

“Oh I assure you this isn’t funny.”

“Oh okay; alright, lay it on me then.”

“I thought you’d never ask.”

 

© 2016 Mark Rogers

Book Cover for Paradise in Purgatory

Paradise In Purgatory

(Vol. IV)

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