Judson Michael Agla

Dead Dog Day, Chapter 5

The strip was jammed-fuck full of ass-fuck tourist scum scurrying around bitching about the heat and searching for cheeseburgers. In response to this sudden demand, the owner of the cantina got her chefs to get sinisterly creative and scrounge for an unmentionable mixture of ground-up critters and refuse. The new recipe was a tremendous hit, but the gut-wrenching indigestion that followed was a surrealistic torture, cruel even through my own irredeemably corrupted eyes, its victims hunched over and screaming and crying from the fuckery that was Voodooing the plagued miles of intestine held inside these poor fucks. There was a line up to the cantina’s door and and another line leading out into the street and towards the public restrooms, which were quite medieval in design, having no toilets and no toilet paper, just a hole in the ground without any support bars to brace yourself for the inevitable evacuation. There were two main ways an ass was going to handle this fuckery: One, a volcanic burst, followed by a macabre holocaust of shit splatter covering the entire buttocks and walls around you, in which case a decision had to made about sacrificing a sock or two to either wipe up the devastating mess or walking around for the rest of the day smelling like a shit-stained skunk. The other way this could all go down, if one was lucky, was by birthing a super-condensed shit ball, tight and hard and twice the size of any enjoyable sodomy, but after a few excruciating squeezes of the sphincter would result in mostly just blood that had to be cleaned up.

The strip was truly an ass-fuck circus of straw hats, golf-shirts and khaki shorts, socks and sandals and fucking fanny packs; the ass-fucks were buying up all the shit jewelry and other indiscernible trinkets made by monkeys, and their women wore mostly shit-made uncomplimentary gruesome sundresses and hard leather sandals fastened with soles made from used car tires, tripping all over themselves, feet like raw hamburger meat, convinced they’d eventually work them in.

Meanwhile, the monkeys came out in fucking hordes, pretending at first to entertain the tourists with stupid-ass fucking monkey tricks. They played their roles well, acting as docile playthings and amazing the tourists with their seemingly curious close proximity. There’d be no shit throwing today, though; those little bastards were there for one purpose: money. They were going to rob the fuck out of these fuckheads, it was an easy scam if you were a monkey, all they had to do was play stupid-fuck monkey, crawl all over the joyful tourist, play with his hat a bit while the wife took pictures, and bingo, the monkey would leave the scene with everything but the dumbfuck’s boxer shorts; fuck, those cunts were bright.

Dem had been staring at me for a fucking while now, looking like a three-legged puppy that had lost his bone to a bigger three-legged puppy. I knew what he was thinking, and with this extravaganza of excellent targets going by like waving flags, I couldn’t force him to restrain his true nature, to continue to hold back his obviously sorrowful constrictions. “Okay buddy, but no fucking amputations!” I finally relented. Joyful as a kid about to tear the wrapping off a present he knew he was getting, Dem reached into his magical bag of fuckery and pulled out a handful of mini dynamite sticks, ready to cause minimal but still destructive chaos on the strip.

Captain Edgar was surprisingly in great form; currently sporting one of his Jolly Roger t-shirts and carrying an actual working lightsaber we all thought had fucking died from sand, salt, and battery acid ages ago. Fucked if I knew how it was even functioning anymore, but there it was, all lit up like the real thing. Along with this abrupt rejuvenation, Edgar had also, to our wretched disgust, picked up his old pirate inflection, which Dem quickly put to a sinister halt by shoving a lit stick of dynamite down the ass end of his pants. Thank fuck it was just a little one, we didn’t need Edgar walking around with a giant gapping bloody asshole in need of urgent hospitalization, but he certainly did get the point.

Presently, what we needed was a view from the roof; it was the best vista for perusing the docks from afar, and we needed to steal a boat that would serve our very specific fucking needs this evening. The cantina’s owner had a special hidden patio up there, the use of which she was more than happy to lend to our sorry asses. The one obstacle in getting up there was that the would-be stairs were actually just a rope that hung down over the ass end of the building. We’d traversed this route many a time and easy it was not, but with a few scrapes, falls, concussions and general buffoonery along the way, we finally made it up up there. The owner had also had a botched-up dumbwaiter installed by her last monkey construction crew, however it did seem to work on the odd occasion, so we wouldn’t be left completely dry up there. Actually, Edgar once got his ass stuck in there, I’ve no idea how he even got into the wretched thing in the first place, but he was stuck in it for about a day and a half, we had to lube him up with carnivorous plant goop and dislocate both his fucking shoulders to get that ass-fuck freed.

We settled in quite nicely. With a fine view of the harbor as well as all the insipid mayhem taking place in the streets below, we were perched like the kings of our own little castle of fuckery, Christ! It would’ve been wicked just to hang our johnsons over the railing and piss all over the ass-fucks down there, but damnit, we had a job to do. Dem pulled out a pair of super-binoculars so I could scope out the boats in the harbor. Dem was in his all his glory up on the roof, seemingly being almost perfectly designed for dropping dynamite on passersby. One of the sticks actually fucking exploded in the air in front of this one asshole, with the blast blowing his hat and toupee right off his goddamn head. Dem was psychotic, but in a really kind of botched-up rollercoaster kind of way. I knew he’d probably kill anyone including me at the drop of a hat, but he was a hilarity of fuckery and fun that you just didn’t find much anymore.

Meanwhile, Edgar had gone off to the other side of the patio area, where he was now practicing some kind of slow, fucked-up martial arts thing with his lightsaber. It might have been some sort of fucked meditation or Star Wars thing for all we knew,. Dem and I had had several conversations about the state of Edgar’s mind, and we’d decided that to whatever fucking degree, he was certainly goddamn retarded.

Come to think of it, Dem and I never came to know exactly how or why the fuck Edgar had ever ended up on the island. He was so incredibly simple-minded, it was hard to believe that he could get himself into any illegal fuckery unless by accident. On the island it was considered rude and not the goddamn business of any fuck-hole to pry into information about the stories that led people here; those questions were left for the individual themselves to reveal, and ignoring this could get your ass tortured off in the jungle somewhere, no chance of a quick and easy death or even a courtesy ride back.

Dem and I had held more than a few late-night ponderings concerning Edgar’s true origins. The one we liked the best was that he was the estranged retarded embarrassment of some super-rich family that was attempting to cover up Edgar’s pedophiliac misadventures and other fuckery that was really fucking impossible to keep out of the papers. Edgar’s escapades becoming more and more public, the family finally gave him a trust fund, one large enough to keep him the fuck away with no reason to ever return. What can I say? I’m an asshole, and this asshole just found the instrument of our soon-to-arrive disastrous fuckery, all served up on a platter by the devil himself.

Fuck! There is was: A fucked-up macabre, sinisterly nostalgic combination of fiberglass and dual motherfucking propulsion with decal-striped nuances of gradient red, orange and yellow shimmering in the setting afternoon sun. She was a beautiful beast with copious features, a cigarette boat straight out of Miami Vice with the dimensions (bow to stern) seemingly going on forever. This was our diamond in the shithouse; with the unbelievable length and uselessness of the long front end, we could pack the fucker full of explosives, giving rise to an unintended plan B, where if plan A got ass-fucked sideways we could still ram our goddamn kamikaze boat straight into the cruise ship’s rock-fucked hull. However, some fuck would have to drive the overloaded explosive projectile, which by all accounts would probably be my sorry ass.

We could see the magic light coming over the mountains, covering everything in a blanket of orange. It was a beautiful time of day, even the trash on the strip looked like a master’s impressionist painting, but beauty was one thing and blowing up a cruise liner full of smack was another, and the magic light would soon turn to darkness. We finished up a few more drinks, bumped a lot of PCP, and dropped a few hits of this new acid the cantina’s owner had given us to try out. Next, we had to we had to zip up to Dem’s, because we hadn’t anticipated needing the extra explosives for our recently selected Miami Vice boat. I fucking hated going up to Dem’s, especially with the long jungle shadows fucking with your sight along the way. Plus, the whole place was fucking wired to blow. Given even the slightest misdirection, you could end up indiscernibly shot to pieces all over the fucking jungle. So, Edgar and I waited back on the trail a bit and let Dem go get whatever we needed on his own. He came out of his jungle hut carrying duffle bags full of fucking crazy-looking munitions, shit I’ve never even seen before. I guess Dem was busting out a special collaboration of fuckery that goes boom on the monstrous atrocity side of complete destruction, which by all accounts was exactly what we needed, and only a few hours to do it in.

Darkness fell across the island as the noise settled exclusively along the strip. Predictably, the tourists were taking full advantage of the utter lack of drinking and drug laws, and most of them would inevitably be laid prostrate, unconscious, dead and scavenged for valuables, all over the ground and barroom floors before the morning light. The only other sounds of any concern were of three buffoons for hire, hammered on booze and PCP with some unknown, untested form of acid that was now crawling up the spine of the three buffoons in question. We were right properly fuck-assed pissed, fighting over who’s carrying what, stepping all over each other. At one point Dem fucking clocked Edgar for no fucking reason at all, Edgar fell off the docks twice, and fishing his stupid ass out was slowing us the fuck down. Once we found our boat, I went straight to the clusterfuck of wire guts that were connected to the ignition; this would usually be Dem’s job, but he was fucking all busy with constructing the right formula for a gargantuan wrath of god type explosion in a very cramped space. As I worked to hot wire the damned thing, all was silent down below, that is until I heard Dem say, “If you don’t turn that goddamn thing off I’m gonna shove it up your fucking ass, pull it out your mouth, and shove it right fucking back up your cocksucking ass!” Dem always hated that fucking lightsaber.

Before too long, the fucking boat engines blasted to life like a goddamn rocket ship. We’dd originally planned to paddle the fucking thing away from the shore, but no use in subtlety anymore; we’d probably woken half the monkeys on the island already, so we untied ourselves from the dock and cruised out as quietly as this monstrosity could. We’d have to watch the fuel as well; we’d brought extra but these speed machines were made to go fast and not very fucking long.

It was then I began to sense a new oddity within my already debaucherously contaminated high-octane type of fucked; I was right on and fucked all crazy like, but there was a wretchedly wonderful surreal attack on my wave link, or buzz gauge, like an introduction to a new fashion of fuckery that was parading up and down the runways in my head. The boat’s helm felt like jelly, and I was seeing shit everywhere that most fucking definitely wasn’t there; I called up Dem and Edgar who were finishing up world war three all packed up nice and tight in the bow of this stylishly hot ride that’s fate was to become a high speed fuck of destruction. “Do you guys feel WEIRD?” I asked. FUCK! What a goddamn question given the clusterfuckery at hand, but they did; both reports matched my own experience and we had to surmise that it was the ass-fucked new acid we were all fucked and tripping balls on. Ah, fuck it! We’d all been overdrugged before, and on a lot more intense fuckery than just demon-dipped hallucinogens. We’d taken drugs right out of the devil’s own hands for fuck’s sake, we’d prepared the shit out of this caper, things were in place, maneuvers were maneuvering, and we had some fucking donkeys to blow up.

I eased the boat up alongside the barge and there they were, bigger and more bloated than ever and still munching away at the hand-delivered pile of dump food we’d left them with. It was then that we discovered that the fucking space acid had a really fucked and useless side effect: short-term memory loss, so much so as for me to witness Dem light his cigarette fourteen times in a row, at which point I actually had to fucking stop him. All we had to fucking do was tie the barge to the goddamn boat, which was Edgar’s job; I was busy holding the boat and Dem was working on his configuration of explosives for when we scuttled that fucking cruise ship. But instead of doing his job, Edgar was talking to the fucking donkeys, and Dem was about to fucking gut his sorry retarded ass with a fucking meat cleaver before I intervened just in time and clocked him with the butt of a snubnosed revolver I’d picked up off the floor of the Lamborghini. Knocked somewhat to his senses, Dem stepped back and Edgar finally got on with the business of tying the barge to our boat.

We were all set to pull out, and with a collection of our calculations, we surmised that we had anywhere between thirty minutes and five hours to pulls this little caper off, so averaged out, we shouldn’t have any problems as far as time went. However, as we cruised off into the bay, I could tell that the barge and the boat weren’t getting along at all, those fucking donkeys were freaking the fuck out, and the barge was a living goddamn time-bomb and if it went off, so would we! So, we convinced Edgar to swim over and calm those goddamn beasts the fuck down. Dem gave him a stash of army surplus prefilled morphine spikes to jab the worst of them with. I hoped we didn’t fucking lose any to the bay, which was jam-fuck filled with huge motherfucking man-eaters, and one bite from them would be enough to trigger an explosion knocking the barge over capsized, donkeys sinking into the mouths of leviathan predators. Not only that, but one little bump from one of those big bastards down below could sink us all straight to hell. Watching Edgar swim to the barge, I realized he may not be completely entrusted with this knowledge of the bay’s deeper denizens, in regards to sheer number of man-eating squids, sharks, etc populating its waters. Fuck me! Something tells me we’ve gotta move. Edgar was safely aboard the barge and stabbing the freaked-out donkeys with morphine, Dem’s bomb all set up was ready to blow, and despite all the blue and pink-fanged teddy bears presently fucking each other on the boat’s dash, all was truly good in the hood.

By some miracle, we finally arrived at the site of the wreck, without a single helicopter in sight. The donkeys were overjoyed to be on solid ground once again, but something told me they’d reconsider their jubilations if they knew just what they had in store. Quickly herding them into the yawning hole in the ship’s busted hull, it wasn’t long before we’d made our way back to the cargo hold full of smack. Almost as if he were seeing it for the first time, it blew Edgar’s mind when he saw the sheer amount of smack packed in that huge compartment. Edgar and I were going to bring the donkeys down some steps to the smack level and Dem was going to rig the explosives around the designated donkey zone, thus creating a singularly timed blast that would leave no trace of anything but another gapping fucking hole in the hull.

Now, this was the really fucking fucked part of our plan: we’d rigged the Miami Vice boat to blow in case this mission got shit-fucked, and so far there’d been no shit-fucking, so in all reality, we could just remove the explosives from our boat, bring them in, adding a little more zest to the up and coming fuckery, and load our boat with EVEN MORE fucking smack than we’d even planned to carry, but our decision-making skills were sorely lacking by this point and we were hallucinating like madmen. I myself just couldn’t shake the fucking fanged teddy bears from my vision, and no one even thought to bring a fucking watch.

We obviously couldn’t handle this situation in the state we were in; that was the only clear piece of information we could fucking agree upon between us. I was so fucking confused by this point I’d agree to just about anything that would end this impending doom of clusterfucking madness. By and by, we decided to leave the explosives right where they were; time was a pressing factor and the set up on the Miami Vice boat was going to take at least fifteen minutes to two hours to dismantle and bring aboard, and besides, fucking around with Dem’s custom Christmas tree of wires and bombs and shit would most likely lead to even more clusterfuckery, being that we were all still tripping big balls of hallucinatory brain seizures and fuck. So, we left the ship with what we could carry, finally waving goodbye to our donkey-bombs for good, thank fuck, those fucking things had been fucking plaguing me with their uncertain but inevitable explosiveness all bloody goddamn day. We loaded up our boat with a substantial amount of booty and took the fuck off at hyper-speeds directed directly in the direction of the dump to offload.

Still, we had a donkey-ridden, smack-filled, atrophied cruise ship to sink with a precise explosion at a predetermined spot just above the waterline, which Dem had thoughtfully marked ahead of time with a big ass sharpie. Hitting the spot dead on would set off the whole fucking works Armageddon style. Safely back to our beach, all that was left to do was set the fucking auto-pilot, well that and first setting up some stolen lounge chairs from the hotel, pouring drinks, banging junk, and bumping PCP. Then, the button was finally pressed. We all just kicked back andwatched as our self-controlled mega-bomb blasted off into the distance. All of us had trepidation literally oozing from our slack mouths as we watched it go, hoping to hell we didn’t somehow manage to fuck the whole thing up after all. Also we took a somber moment to lament for the poor donkeys and their contribution to this insane fuckery they never saw coming when they ate all those dildos and other essentially  inedible items before.

Our timing proved perfect: just as the morning’s magic light began to blanket the island once more, the fucking cruise ship blew sky high, like the devil himself shot a giant fire-fart straight out of hell manifesting into a monstrous mushroom cloud disseminating everything outwards into indiscernible donkey particles, smack smoke and boat bits. It was so fucking beautiful we were all driven to tears.

We could even feel tiny fragments of ash floating down upon us as the tide moved in; it looked like the first snowfall of winter with clean white flakes of the purest fuckery piling up on the beach and in the dump. Despite the relief and overwhelming satisfaction that all this fuckery hadn’t gone completely fucking sideways as ultimately expected, I was forced to acknowledge that the fuckery bar had now been raised infinitely fucking higher.

That wrath of god explosion had been large enough to decimate a small moon; it was sheer gloriousness in its most finest of moments, a new artistic genre of fuckery, C4 and gaseous farm animals, which none but us possessed the pure corrupted drug-ridden thought processes and total disregard for human life, or other, to even conceive of such a spectacular abomination. In celebration, we opened another bottle of rum and dipped into a few more tabs of that new acid, hoping for a more serene trip without all that fucking around; but there was still one question rolling around in my head, given the clusterfuckingly fuck-ass shit show that had just unfolded and was now rapidly vanishing into the past:

What kind of outrageous FUCKERY would we pull next?


Dead Dog Day, Part 1
Dead Dog Day, Part 2
Dead Dog Day, Part 3
Dead Dog Day, Part 4
Dead Dog Day, Part 5

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