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

Something Wicked This way Comes……

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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Click here for more inane drivel and lascivious behavior – brought to you exclusively by The B.U.R.N.O.U.T.S. Chronicles™

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

All Tomorrow’s Parties

What the fuck man, let me in!” Jason demanded, standing on the third stair from the top, pushing on the door to Snowy’s room, which was above his grandparent’s garage. “Stop horsing around, Snowy, or I’ll huff and I’ll puff and I’ll…..”

“You’ll suck my dick! What the fuck are you doing here anyway? You’re supposed to be here tomorrow,” Snowy said, pushing back on the door from the other side.

“Tomorrow? Yeah, right. But the real party is going on tonight. Good thing I got my ear to the ground.”

“And I’m gonna put your face to the ground, with it, if you don’t stop pushing this fuckin’ door! Now, come back tomorrow.”

“What the fuck is this? Come back tomorrow? Are you joking around or something?”

“Does it look like I’m joking?” Snowy said, grabbing a broom and shooing him away, like an oversized rodent. “Now get down the stairs motherfucker, and come back tomorrow! This is the only way I could do it. You’re ruining everything!”

“I’m ruining everything? What’s tomorrow? Get that thing away from me.”

“There’s not much room in here, Jason, so I had to throw the party in shifts. One group of friends tonight, and one tomorrow; all different people; one’s that you and I know from way back.”

“But, why can’t I just stay here now and not come tomorrow?”

“Because, there will be too many people up here.”

“So what?”

“So, the Fire Marshall may come and shut us down, or something.”

“Shut you down? Fire Marshall? Have you lost your mind?”

“No. Besides, if you don’t come tomorrow, like I asked, I won’t have any one cool to hang out with?”

“Why did you invite un-cool people to begin with?”

“I was gonna ask the same thing,” said Rizzo, from inside the room.

“Rizzo!” Boodles yelled walking through the door and past Snowy, without a problem.

“So, I have to hang out with the un-cool people?”

“Stop your sobbin’ before I snap you in half.”

“Yeah, right. C’mon, man. Rizzo’s here.”

“Yeah, and do you know why she’s here? Because I asked her to come tonight, like I asked you to come tomorrow night. You don’t see her showing up last night at my house do you, slim? No, she show’s up when she’s asked because that’s the respectful thing to do, and not show up unannounced like a Kirby fuckin’ vacuum salesman!”

“Fine. Sorry about that. I’ll come tomorrow so you have someone cool to hang with. But I’m here now, so let’s hang now, as well.”

“Hey, can we come again tomorrow?” Pablo asked in an instigating manner.

Snowy got into Jason’s face and said, “See what you’re doing? If you come both days, then he’s gonna wanna come both days, and Rizzo will have to come both days, then everyone’s gonna wanna come both days, and pretty soon it’ll be fuckin’ anarchy. Look at these people in here, you’re getting them all riled up.” Jason looked in at Pablo, Rizzo, Cannoli, and Jack sitting peacefully and talking softly among themselves. “You’re about to incite a riot. If you don’t go, I’ll be forced to call the authorities!”

“Ha! What are you gonna tell ’em, ‘Hey officer, there’s this crazy guy at my cocaine party, and he won’t leave.’ Huh? Fine……Boodles, let’s go.”

“I wanna stay,” she yelled from inside.

“We can’t! The Grand Pooh-Bah of Parties is kicking us out.”

“Oh, c’mon,” Boodles whined.

“You’re fine,” Snowy assured. “HE has to go, though.”

“Say what? She’s fine? She can stay but I can’t? She wasn’t even invited. How much of that shit have you had so far?”

“But she was your ride, right?”

“Of course!”

“That’s fine. I allotted for most people to come with a person who would be their ride. But she can’t come tomorrow, too. You’ll have to drive yourself tomorrow or find someone else to take you, someone who isn’t here tonight.”

Jason stared in disbelief and poked his finger hard on Snowy’s chest. “Fine, but this is some fucked up shit, and I’m not going to forget it. Boods! C’mon, I need a ride back to my house, apparently.”

“Take Dakota if you’re leaving, unless you can find a ride later.” Snowy looked at the saucy longhaired brunette in the tight jeans.

“I’m coming back,” Boodles informed him.

“No you’re not. Once you leave you can’t come back.”

“Say what? Why not?”

“Because you’re HIS ride, and that’s the only reason you’re allowed to stay, and she wasn’t invited without Carl, so she has to leave with you, unless someone gives you a ride later on.” He looked at Dakota.

“Okay. I can get a ride later. Pumpkinhead is coming, right?”

“Far as I know.”

“I’m staying,” Dakota said confidently, walking into the room, and plopping herself and her purse down, next to Cannoli and Jack Carrot.

“Well, I don’t wanna go,” said Boodles, as Pumpkinhead came walking up the stairs, behind Jason.

“Okay, stay here,” Snowy said, pushing her back in and addressing Pumpkinhead with his eyes. “Dude, stay right there.”

“Yeah, what’s up man?”

“Can you give Jason a ride back home? He’s not feeling himself tonight.”

“Ahh man, what a rash. I just got here, dude. Can’t we chill for a minute?”

“No,” said Jason sarcastically, “because once you’re in, you can’t leave and come back…those are the rules.”

Goiter, who had been standing behind Pumpkinhead laughed and said, “Can’t we get some sort of ticket stub? Ha-ha-ha.”

“What the fuck is he doing here?”

“Say what?”

“I thought you were coming alone.”

“I saw him hitchhiking on the road. He had nothing to do.”

“So why does he have to do nothing here? Why couldn’t he do nothing somewhere else?” (inhale-exhale) “You just don’t know when to leave well enough alone, do you, Pumpkinhead?”

“What the fuck, man?”

“Fine.” (exhale) “But you’ll have to stand outside, under the tree. There’s no more room for anyone in here.”

“There’s only five people in there!”

“Can you give this joker a ride back, or not? Dude, I’ll make it worth your while.”

“What are you going to do,” asked Goiter, “give him a blow job? Ha-ha-ha.”

“I’m gonna crack you in the fuckin’ head, is what I’m gonna do!”

“Alright man, let’s go.” Pumpkinhead motioned to Jason.

“Hang on…Boodles, come here for a minute.”

“C’mon man, let’s go.” Pumpkinhead said impatiently. “You wanna come, Goiter?”

“Might as well, I’m in no big hurry to start standing under a tree all night.”

© 2012 Mark Rogers

Crimes Seen Front Cover

 Crimes Seen

(Book II)

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Another Piece Of Meat

Tony and Mahdakis sat on the front porch stoop of Tony’s female-birth-giver’s new home, enjoying a cigarette as she and her new companion, Radcliffe, scurried about inside preparing the next course for Thanksgiving dinner. Mahdakis didn’t know that’s what they were doing in there. He thought dinner was over and that perhaps they were washing up or preparing dessert. After all, the six of them had already indulged in appetizers such as ricotta stuffed mushrooms, fried zucchini, marinated mozzarella balls, and antipasto salad. Thereafter, Mahdakis and Nicki were already stuffed and barely managed to get through what they assumed was the main course, baked eggplant lasagna with an asparagus feta salad, immediately followed by a mandatory helping of freshly sliced roast beef and a side of roasted garlic and rosemary potatoes. But this was the Italian way. Mahdakis and Nicki were of the white mutt nationality and knew not of such unabashed gluttony. They also had not grasped the concept of sampling only a bite or two of this and that instead of devouring everything in front of them as rapidly as possible.

It was growing dark outside; the clocks had been turned back. Light from the television in the empty living room smacked enticingly up against the glass windows every once in a while, reminding those outside that there was a game on. Dallas was playing the Vikings. Nicki Tater and Tony’s brother, Pedro Ravioli, took a drive to get some more beer and some smokes. Pedro was clean-shaven with short black hair and was built like a Sneetch, but without the star on his round belly. “Quite a dinner ma’s rustling up in there, huh?” Tony Ravioli said. “You better have some more room in there.”

“Oh man, I don’t know about that. Hey dude, what the hell happened last Saturday night? Why was Polly crying?”

Tony shook his head in bewilderment. “Dude, I really don’t want to talk about it.”

“I was right outside your bedroom door with Sally, about to come you know.”

“You were; what about me?”

“Dude, I was holding Sally up by her ankles and…..”

“Spare me the visual, will ya? I think I saw anyway. She was upside down, wasn’t she?”

“Yeah! You like that move?”

“Not for me, no. But hey, if sucking on an ugly chick’s mound of meat is your thing, well then God bless. I mean, someone’s gotta do it, right? And it sure the hell ain’t gonna be me.”

“I had to finish myself off, dude. Thanks a lot.”

“I’m sorry. I………What? Where?……Where the fuck did you finish yourself off?!”

“Well I don’t know exactly; it was dark. But I guess somewhere on the couch.”

“The couch? You blew your fuckin’ load on my couch?”

“Maybe it hit the carpet instead. Like I said, it was a little dark and I couldn’t see where it went.”

“So that’s your thing? You just blow loads all over people’s houses whenever you feel like it?”

“I had to! I heard that if you’re worked up that much and don’t let yourself come, you can get blue balls or something.”

“That’s an old wives’ tale. Besides, this whole fiasco is your entire fault anyway.”

“How is it my fault?”

“Hey, you pulled me aside, after you and Sally finally arrived, and told me that Polly takes it in the ass.”

“That’s what Sally said.”

“Well guess what, she wasn’t taking it that night!”

“You tried that move on the first date?”

“I didn’t try anything, I did it! She gave me great head, so I flipped her over and shoved it in, thinking she was really going to dig this.”

“Who digs that?”

“Polly! That’s what you said! You said Polly likes getting fucked in the ass!”

“She hates getting fucked in the ass; that’s what I said.”

“No you fuckin’ didn’t, Mahdakis! You pulled me aside and said, ‘Psst; hey, Polly takes it up the ass.’”

“Right, but I didn’t say she liked it! She can’t stand it, actually!”

“That is some information I could have used!”

“Hey!” The front door opened and a middle-aged man with glasses and a balding scalp stepped outside. “It’s getting a little loud out here don’t you think fellas?”

“Sorry Radcliffe.”

“Sorry.”

“Your mother said she will be serving in about twenty minutes, okay? So be inside. Where’s your brother and Nicki?”

“I don’t know; good question.”

“Well let’s find them or your mother will have a fit.”

Radcliffe went back inside to give the television its much-desired attention, as Tony put his cigarette butt out on the cement walkway and looked away from his friend. “Where the hell is Pedro and Nicki? We need to eat soon.”

“That’s okay, man. I’m gonna pass on dessert. No offense but I’m not a sweets guy myself. Nicki said she was stuffed, too.”

“Dessert? What the fuck’s the matter with you? My birth-giver slaved all day, you can’t leave now!”

“Fine. What is for dessert anyway?”

“Homemade tiramisu and fresh cannolis I think, but that isn’t the point! Skip dessert if you want, but we’re serving the main course now!”

“Main course? What the fuck are you talking about? We just had pasta and beef!”

“I’m talking about the turkey with fennel sausage stuffing!”

“The what?”

“And the fish! We haven’t had the turkey yet. You can’t leave, motherfucker!”

“Fish?”

“With homemade bruschetta!”

“Jesus Christ. How am I supposed to eat all that?”

“Just eat a little! She worked hard all day and last night!”

“Fuck man.”

Nicki and Pedro pulled up in the car as the door to the house opened once again and Radcliffe stepped out. “Oh okay, everyone’s here; just in time. Good, now we can eat.”

“Awesome!” Pedro yelled, springing like a rocket out of the passenger’s seat. “That’s what I call timing.” As Pedro got to the porch he smiled at Mahdakis and said, “You coming in, or are you just gonna stay there looking stupid.”

Mahdakis looked at Nicki, who was still in the driver’s seat, and mouthed the words, ‘There’s more food’.

She stared helplessly back at him, wiping her nose then mouthing the words ‘Are you kidding?’

He shook his head ‘no’ and took a step towards her car.

“I have to get back home,” she finally said announced out the window. “This is my Mom’s car and she needs it back. Mahdakis, if you want a ride, come now!”

Mahdakis felt six very disapproving eyes staring at him on the porch and could not look at any of them. He took another step towards the car and simply said, “Sorry, I have to split, too.” Then picking up his pace towards the car yelled back. “Thanks for everything. Tell your birth-giver that what I did eat was the best I’ve ever had. Awesome!” He jumped in the car as Nicki quickly put it in gear, “See you tomorrow!”

Nicki made a U-turn at the end of the dead end road and sped out as if they had just robbed a bank. “Where to Mahdakis, my love?”

“Anywhere…Southpoint. I don’t care; just get me away from all this food. These people are nuts!”

“No shit man, how can people eat like that?”

“And there were only six of us. What the hell?”

“Crazy,” Nicki said sniffling and wiping her nose again.

“So what the hell took you and Pedro so long?”

“Oh, damnedest thing; I had to gobble on his cock awhile in exchange for a bag of coke and he couldn’t come. Ha-ha-ha…Ha-ha-ha-ha!”

Mahdakis looked at her face. She was smiling, probably trying to instigate him. He wasn’t going to bite. Even Nicki had more scruples than to mess around on her boyfriend right under his nose with the brother of her former boyfriend, right under his nose. “Funny,” is all he said.

“Ha-ha-ha….Ha-ha-ha-ha! Okay, Southpoint it is. Let’s see if Curly and Pumpkinhead are around since we’re driving right by.”

“Cool.”

The truth of the matter was, Nicki hadn’t been joking about the Pedro Ravioli thing, and as a matter of fact, had begun dating him behind Mahdakis’s back, so she would tell him two decades later……“Ha-ha-ha…Ha-ha-ha-ha!”

© 2016 Mark Rogers

Book Cover for Paradise in Purgatory

Paradise In Purgatory

(Vol. IV)

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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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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)

Click here for more inane drivel and lascivious behavior – brought to you exclusively by The B.U.R.N.O.U.T.S. Chronicles™

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

Book Cover for Paradise in Purgatory

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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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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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

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Paradise In Purgatory

(Vol. IV)

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Hello, Yellow Brick Road

While they were only twenty, they felt like, and came off like, thirty-five year olds. They felt they had already lived a full life, and while some felt that the time had come to get serious, most were too afraid to let go and leave sight of the youth that hard living had stolen from them. They were determined to take it back, or hold on to, the insanity that was now their life so that the phantom feelings of it would never fade.

And without noticing, he had let a very significant door in his life slam shut behind him while unconsciously stumbling through another; the door behind him sealing off the negative background noise that for so many years had plagued his heart terribly. The door behind him also shutting out expired friendships and fruitless romantic endeavors. More remarkably, escaping such a life unscathed, a life that had been riddled with hostility, crime, deceit, betrayal, and over all ill fate. This was the wrong place for him to be. Either he had fooled himself into thinking he was something he was not, or he had simply outgrown whatever he was. Perhaps his senses were warning him to change course, or maybe he was just finally beginning to listen to them……..

 

© 2016 Mark Rogers

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Paradise In Purgatory

(Vol. IV)

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Skid Marks

Mahdakis stepped into the laundry mat, that Floyd and Carl had recently made their temporary sleeping quarters since being kicked out of their homes. “A little conspicuously bright for sleep, wouldn’t you say, Carl?”

“Yeah? Go back outside then.”

“It’s freezing out there.”

“Right, but in here?”

“It’s like a sauna, quite frankly.”

“We got half the dryers going, that’s why,” Carl said proudly. “Brain power.”

“I see.”

Floyd spoke from the rear of the mat where he stood folding clothes on a table, “I won thirty dollars in change playing poker with Squid,”

“Ah. And why not sleep here, instead of getting one of those rooms at the Motor Inn for nineteen ninety-nine, and having a few bucks to spare, right?”

“We didn’t want anyone to think we were gay,” Floyd said, placing a lace negligee on a hanger.”

“You’re still hell bent on keeping it a secret, are you?” Mahdakis looked at Floyd, who swiftly moved on to folding some silk panties,

Carl, finally noticing what Floyd was doing in the back of the laundry mat said, “What the fuck are you doing?”

“What does it look like, Johnny-Boy? Folding clothes.”

“Where did you find them? And cut the shit with that Johnny-Boy crap.”

“Whose are they?” Mahdakis asked.

“I don’t know. They were just sitting in here.” Floyd motioned to the dryer.

“So you’re folding them?”

“Well…..yeah……they’re gonna wrinkle otherwise.” Then, mumbling to himself, Floyd uttered, “Ooh, that spot’s not coming out.”

So dude, where you been?” Carl said to Mahdakis.

“Hee-hee-hee-hee!” Floyd laughed from the rear of the mat. “Jesus Christ, will ya look at these?”

“Ahh! Man!” was Carl’s reaction to the pair of skid marked encrusted cotton underwear that Floyd held in the air like a trophy.

“I didn’t think women did this sort of thing. Hee-hee-hee-hee. These things are ruined. Why even bother. Fuck it.” Floyd threw them into the trash basin.

“Fuck this; let’s go grab a bite to eat.”

“Cool,” Floyd said, and placed the basket gently back down on the bench, as he then began scribbling something on a napkin. “Just give me a minute here. I’m gonna leave this person a note.”

“To let ’em know you make house calls?”

“Nah, nothin’ like that……Okay, let’s go,” Floyd said, laying the note on top of her basket and rushing out the door just behind Carl and Mahdakis. He paused for a moment and looked over his shoulder. “You got to wonder what kind of person just throws a load of clothes in a dryer in the middle of the night and leaves them there.”

Kelly Pierce was that kind of person. And she filed a report with the police, which, in turn, spawned an investigation by the Norford Police Department, spearheaded by Police Commissioner Stromboli.

Floyd's Note Revised

Commissioner Stromboli re-read the last part of the letter aloud, “Floyd……..Floyd…..What do you suppose that means, Darryl?”

“Arr. You don’t tink it’s just his name?”

“Hell no! No one is that stupid. This is code for something, an acronym of some sort. Something gang related or………maybe having to do with the mafia!” The Commissioner rubbed his chin. “What was that guy’s name in The Godfather?….Hmm, never the mind, we have to figure out what this FLOYD thing stands for. It’s our only clue.”

“Found Loitering On Your Doorstep?”

“Don’t be daft! What kind of nonsense is that? Besides, isn’t Doorstep two words?”

“I do believe it’s one, sir.”

“Fetch a dictionary.”

“Sir!” a voice yelled coming up the precinct stairwell. “Commissioner!”

Commissioner Stromboli and Officer Darryl turned to see Officer Roy scurrying, up the stairs with Rookie Rick. “Officer Roy, what’s the trouble?”

Roy looked at the rookie cop. “Tell him what you heard.”

“Well, this morning I overheard John, the night watchman, talking to one of the construction workers on the job site. Apparently, every Thursday night before work, John stops around the corner at Cassel’s Wash & Dry on Third, and throws his laundry in the machine. Then, on his break, throws it into the dryer. He goes back to his post, works the rest of his shift, and picks it up in the morning on his way home. But this time when he returned to the mat…”

“Don’t tell me………..his clothes were folded!”

“Not only that, sir. But someone left him a note.”

“Jiminy Cricket, sir!”

“What kind of note?”

Roy pulled the note from his breast pocket, and unfolded it. “It just says, ‘You owe me, Johnny-Boy.’.”

“Johnny-boy?”

“Meaning the Night Watchman, John.”

The Commissioner looked puzzled and frightened for a moment as he stared at his reflection in the sparkling clean, precinct floor and gave thought. “Did he sign the note, Roy?”

“Nope. Not this time. And so far as we can tell, there’s no relation to either of the victims.”

The commissioner whipped off his glasses. “Dear God in heaven! Twice in three days; what kind of diabolical, twisted malcontent are we dealing with, here?”

“I don’t know commissioner, but anyone sick enough to go through other people’s clothes, well…”

“They’re capable of anything……Roy? Darryl? I want you two to add an extra cruiser at night and start canvassing areas near any laundry mats. Start within the vicinity of these last two.”

“Yes sir.”

“We’ll find this demented, clothes-folding son of a bitch sicko if it’s the last thing we do.”

 

© 2012 Mark Rogers

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 Crimes Seen

(Book II)

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Hand Jive

“He needs a job.”
“But, he has no skills.”
“Maybe he could  give hand jobs down at the bus depot.”
“It’s steady work.”
“I hear it’s pretty much up and down.”
“It’s something he’d enjoy.”
“What kind of man would want a hand job from Pock? What kind of twisted malcontents are we dealing with out there?” Continue reading