Bangkok Gunfighter Without Pointless Huck Finn
Of all the trifling and useless monikers fobbed on Larry Dumpkins in the past, “Bangkok Gunfighter” was perhaps the most serviceable. After all, he had been to Bangkok–once, on vacation, where he narrowly escaped evisceration by Buddhist demons and adjacents–and although his gunfighting days proper were over, his steady hand remained fit to squeeze off a shot or six, should such a thing be called for. Larry’s life in retirement might have been perfect, managing a comic book store in the hip downtown area of Bone City known as SoNoe (pronounced “So No Way”), had he not been saddled with Pointless Huck Finn.
Pointless announced his presence one slow Friday afternoon…the store air was saturated with strawberry flavored bubble gum incense, and Larry was about to close the shop, fire up his dragon bong and curate his collection of circus punks featuring characters from Vampirella and Tank Girl.
Larry loved to set the circus punks on top of his broken black and white TV set–it had belonged to a favorite female cousin with enormous breasts who died in a bizarre club fire, and he saved it to savor her memory in what he hoped was not but knew was an unspeakably morbid and necrophiliac manner. Then he’d topple the figurines with a slingshot–he hated especially Vampie herself, and could imagine her screams and hisses of outrage when she flew off the TV…over and over.
Larry was checking the day’s take against cash register receipts when Pointless Huck Finn charged through the door, demanding to see Larry’s infamous trove of “Dirty Little Eight Pagers,” early porno comics from the Depression era.
“Seriously?” said Larry, taking his time with the receipts.
Pointless Huck Finn poked him in the chest with a yellowish, nicotine-stained forefinger. “Do you have them or not, muh dude? My buddy Today’s Tom Sawyer tells me you’ve got a choice stash in the back room and I’m not leaving until I see them. Your sign says ‘Open till 10:00 pm.’ I hope you’re not thinking of closing early.”
“Wow,” said Larry. “Just wow. Okay, I can show you the books, but lighten up…it is my store after all.” Salve to his irritation at Pointless’ manners, the certain and sure knowledge that should his customer grow tiresome, he could easily blow the man-child’s brains out of the back of his head straight into the promised land…he felt the police .357 warm in its shoulder holster, where he kept it for just such an occasion.
“Follow me,” said Larry. He led Pointless through a door marked “Private” to a storeroom crammed floor to ceiling with boxes, neatly labeled with a pink felt tip pen by genre, age and price range.
“Third from the bottom.” He pointed to a stack mashed against the west-facing wall. “Knock yourself out. I’ve even got some prime Betty Boops in there.”
Ah, Betty.
Pointless Huck Finn with an incredulous air: “I’ve got a bad back.”
“And?”
“And those boxes look heavy, man.”
“I’ve got some nugs of Blueberry waiting for my dragon bong, I showed you the box, I’m literally keeping the store open just for you, and now you want me to pull out my back dragging your 30s porno comics for you?”
“Okay fine. Today’s Tom Sawyer said you were kind of a dick.”
“Wait…who the fuck is Today’s Tom Sawyer…isn’t that a Rush song…and how do I know him again?”
“Well he knows you.”
Pointless fished a cell phone out of his pocket, punched redial. “Yeah, hi, it’s me. Pointless. You were right about the Eight Pagers, and you were also right about the manager…dick!!! Can you come down and help a white man out? Oh now come on, you’re still stuck on that little prick-tease Becky Thatcher? Dude, we have got to get you over that ass and into some new…oh, all right. You had me worried there for a second. Uh-huh, yeah, I need some, uh, assistance with the merchandise.”
Larry fingered the grip on his .357 and imagined fingering the clit on Becky. “What was that all about?”
Without answering, Pointless sank to the floor and began listlessly thumbing through a copy of The Hulk which had oozed through a rip in a nearby box. Five minutes passed in uncomfortable silence. Then the doorbell rang.
“You should probably get that.”
“Ya think?” said Larry. he returned to the front of the store and opened the door, visions of hits from the dragon dancing in his head. A tall, gangly man in his early 20’s flew past him, trailing the odor of burnt corn silk.
“Whoa, not so fast there pal.” But Today’s Tom Sawyer had already joined Pointless in the storeroom where, with many grunts and sighs, he commenced removing the boxes that sagged over “1930s–eight pagers, one handers.”
“If it’s not too much to ask, do you think you might re-stack those boxes once you’ve finished?”
The two ignored him. Finally, Today’s Tom Sawyer lugged the box with the Depression-era porn comics across the floor, and he and Pointless began rooting through it, tossing books until they came to “Betty Boop, Ming the Merciless and the Strap-On Kid.”
“Sweet!” said Huck, whistling through his teeth. “Oh Betty, you naughty, dirty minx you…” He pressed the book to his lips. “And your tiny, tiny friend…”
“You going to buy that?” hissed Larry. “Fifty bucks. And I’m taking a loss here.”
Today’s Tom Sawyer suddenly rose from the floor, pulled Larry to his chest and began relentlessly sniffing him. “Huck has his pleasures,” said Tom. “I have mine. Oh yeah, that’s tha primo bio-snuff.”
“Get a good hit?”
“Muh dude…” Tom relinquished his death-grip on Larry, who fell to the floor, vitiated. He felt as though his life essence had been sucked like someone had taken an assembly of mechanized soda straws to his arteries…
“What the fuck did you just do to me?” He could barely articulate the question. The ceiling swam before his eyes. Betty Boop lowered her panties and he sniffed comic book pooner.
“Today’s Tom Sawyer, he gets high on you,” said Pointless. “Ok, I’ll take the book.” He pulled a wad of cash from his jeans pocket, placed it in Larry’s limp, twitching paws.
Pointless exited the store, whistling. Today’s Tom Sawyer slid to the floor beside him, a blissful grin blooming on his face. “Since I started doing bio-snuff, my sex drive has been commuted…” he said. “I cum internally.” And then…
“Listen, I’m really sorry about Pointless. Huck hasn’t been the same since he tried to light out for the territories and instead lit up some killer kush that turned out to be laced with angel dust or some shit…when he returned, he had this faraway look and all he could talk about was vintage comics featuring strap-ons worn by miniature folx…me, I’ve been a happy camper ever since I learned how to get hoi af on people…it’s better than sex, better than any fucking cock in the world, mate. Hey, you look a little green in the onions…don’t you worry though, you recharge fully. I’m not a vampire or nothing. At least…”
“It’s all good.” Thoroughly drained, Larry was long past caring. “You know what? You’re all right. Fuck yeah. Definitely all right.”
“Thanks! And here you are, my new friend…The Bangkok Gunfighter without Pointless Huck Finn. You want a hit off me now, man?”
“Why the fuck not…why fucking not?”
Horror Sleaze Trash 