Such a Shame

Herr Ratten, an old Nazi dressed in black double-breasted dress tunic, black trousers, and black leather boots, sat on a bed and suckled from his great-granddaughter Gertrude.

“Ja! Is Matilda’s breast!” he said.

Milk dribbled from his mouth. Gertrude, sitting with her legs crossed, wearing only white cotton panties, giggled and wiped his chin with her thumb. She, like her great-grandmother, enjoyed a rare condition where the breasts filled often, though without child or pregnant. Ratten had travelled far to taste again Matilda’s milk.

Ratten held Gertrude’s babyish face. He ran his knobby fingers over her smooth, shaven head.

“A perfect angel, my Gertrude,” he smiled.

“Do you like my ink, Pappy?” she said.

Over her entire body were tattoo symbols of the Neo-Nazi. A crucified Hitler nestled between her tits.

Ratten shrugged. “Eh, I can admire passion.”

Gertrude pouted.

Ratten patted her hand. “My darling, you must be subtle. Appeal to common factory man, and middleclass type. This body art is silly. Is much too much. A Nazi today must blend.”

“Like the shape shifting Jew,” Gertrude said.

Ratten stood. “Insolence! You subvert our Reich with your idiot intentions and, and picture book ideations. The Space Reich does not need you. You serve Jew purpose like on puppet strings. Earth is a decadent Jew paradise! I’ll have this planet blown to bits! Yes, by Hitler! Mars is preferred to this toilet!”

Ratten prepared teleportation transport to his orbiting Space Reich vessel.

“No!” Gertrude shouted. She knocked the device from his hands.

Ratten stared at her. “Perhaps you are correct. A purification, as planned. We’ll clone Aryan race while we wait for shrubbery to regrow.”

He jabbed Gertrude with a prick point, and obtained her blood. She swore.

Ratten chuckled. “Your environment ruined you. We’ll raise you proper in test tube.”

“I want a baby,” Gertrude said.

“Excuse me?” Ratten replied.

“Now!” Gertrude shouted. The door to her room burst open. Two shirtless, muscular skinheads, each with matching tiny swastikas tattooed over their nipples, seized Ratten.

“What is the meaning of this?” Ratten demanded.

Gertrude undid Ratten’s belt and separated his tunic. “You will fuck me, and give me a baby.”

“An horrendous idea.”

Gertrude lowered Ratten’s pants and took his cock in her mouth. Ratten swelled.

He chuckled. “Still got it, ja? Do not do this. I warn you.”

Gertrude stood and slapped him. “Shut up. Put him on the bed.”

Ratten giggled. “Have your way. I surrender!”

Gertrude crawled over her great-grandfather, moved her panties to the side, and lowered herself over his old, throbbing, 5-inch dong.

She punched Ratten in the nose. “Come.”

She hit him again. “Come you bitch. I am the mother of the Reich. My baby will be Messiah!”

Ratten laughed. His spittle was blood. He ejaculated. He looked at Gertrude.

“Goodbye, my angel.”

Gertrude’s chest thrust upward in quick jerk motion. Her head fell backward, jaw slack. She began to heave, gurgle dry sucking air as she did. Milk dripped rapidly from her boobs. Her throat swelled, cracking apart underneath her skin. A large sperm head popped from her mouth. The sperm wiggled up, flailing back and forth, and continued to grow. Gertrude’s body slumped over. The sperm found a skinhead and wrapped around him. The sperm constricted. Bones snapped. The skinhead screamed. The other skinhead attacked the sperm. The sperm tail snapped his neck with a whip crack. Ratten rose calmly, fastening his belt. The sperm slithered over and rubbed against Ratten’s crotch. Ratten petted it.

“Good boy,” he said. He gripped the sperm with both hands and brought it to his mouth. He bit the sperm’s head, and tore from it a chunk of sperm flesh which he chewed. Holding the sperm midpiece like it was the cone of a hefty cotton candy, he ate and pondered Gertrude’s cunt. She had fallen so that her upper body rested on the floor, back against the bed, and her thighs were spread just so. Ratten rubbed her cunny with the partially eaten sperm and shook his head.

He clicked his tongue. “Such a shame.”

Plenty of Fish

“Can I get you a menu?”

The bartender’s question pulled Ed out of his funk. He had been sitting there drinking for a good two hours, becoming more and more despondent with each swig.

“Sure,” he said resignedly. “Might as well.”

His Saturday lunch date was late. Two hours late. No call, no text, nothing. It was official. Another no-show.

Ed peered at the menu. He craved some old-fashioned beef tacos with crunchy shells. Of course he would’ve preferred a taco of the hairy variety, but this wasn’t happening. Not today, anyway.

He placed his order.

“Another beer?” the bartender asked.

“Sure,” Ed said.

This online dating game wasn’t working worth a damn. Women were more than willing to exchange messages, but when it came time to actually meet . . .

Today marked the third time that he had been stood up. Third and last, he thought. Enough is enough. No more online dating for Ed.

***

Back at his apartment Ed deactivated the account and grabbed another beer from the fridge. He had bought a six-pack of tallboys on his way home from El Palacio; nothing to do today but get shit-faced and wallow in self-pity.

He grabbed his cigarettes and went out on the little balcony overlooking the pool. Eye candy galore. Women laid out on chaise lounges soaking up the afternoon sun, others swimming, laughing, talking. Good-looking women, too. Young, probably single.

Ed was young. And single.

But he had no desire to join them. He had gotten plenty of sun in Iraq. And now he was home and working a shitty job and trying to meet a woman.

One of his coworkers at the garage had recommended online dating; this guy claimed to get all kinds of action. Desperate and horny, Ed had been intrigued, so much so that he had opted for the premium membership package with all the bells and whistles. Now he felt like a total fool for wasting his money.

Ed smoked and drank and tried to enjoy the view, but it was hard. Those women down there in their bikinis were out of reach, unattainable. He might as well have been watching supermodels on TV. They didn’t want some grease monkey veteran plagued by nightmares . . .

He finished his cigarette and went back inside. It was too hot out there. Unless you were swimming. Ed regarded the dreary walls of his apt. A dip might make him feel better, help him sober up. He wasn’t supposed to be drinking at all.

Dr. Libby would’ve been disappointed.

***

Ed slammed the door to his apartment, threw the bolt, and rushed to the bathroom. He stood at the sink and splashed cool water on his face, hoping this would extinguish his shame and rage. His excursion to the pool couldn’t have turned out worse. The whole thing had been a bad idea from the beginning.

All that beer, the tacos, the savage sun and heat, the supple flesh, everything had made him dizzy and sick and he had managed to climb out of the pool but that’s as far as he got before it came out in a torrent. Some had actually laughed when he puked. Heartless bitches . . .

Four months ago, in the leasing office, he had all but demanded a unit with a view of the pool. Now he never wanted to see the pool again.

Unless . . .

Ed’s rifle was in the bedroom closet.

He pulled it out.

The AR-15 was loaded, ready to rock, ready to roll. He opened the sliding glass door and stepped out on the balcony. They were still down there, all of them. A few guys had shown up since his ugly departure.

He felt the reassuring pressure of the stock against his shoulder. Just like old times, he thought. Ed was back in Fallujah.

The opening round pierced a brunette’s eye, bored through her brain, and exited the back of her head in a fine pink mist.