George Gad Economou

Marriage Or Booze

as everyone I know is
getting married or settling down with
kids and whatnot, of course I
get asked why I don’t do
the same.

I usually just shrug, smile, and ignore the question.

no one wants to hear the truth; they think
they do, until it’s too late.

they think they want to hear my reasons for
not getting married, for not wanting a serious
relationship. until they hear my wherefores.

met the love of my life when
I was twenty. we drank bars
dry, we drained bottles of gin and bourbon
every night.

we smoked crack cocaine. we snorted blow, too.
we dropped acid. smoked pot.
we also smoked, inhaled, and eventually shot heroin.
it’s what killed her; the best and worst
fucking thing I’ve ever encountered: junk. it took her
away after she had an abortion, because we both knew we
were unfit to become parents.

she OD’ed. I survived. went cold turkey.
relapsed. cold turkey again.
continued drinking. and smoking ice. and rock.
and anything else I could find.

anything and everything that fed the insanity
residing in my soul.
until I quit everything but booze.
now that I’ve reached the age I’m supposed to
be settling down, and people ask me why I
don’t, I wonder if I should tell them the
truth or if I should just go back to
chasing dragons until the moronic
questions dissipate.

Karina Bush

Maenad Chorus 1 from Dionysus in Digital

He has the code of pleasure in his cock.
Follow the cock. Follow the cock. Follow. 
Rave demons into the hot meaty soup. 
Tripping meaty ecstasy in the woods. 
Golden skin and songbirds everywhere. 
Sunburn your genitals in the throbbing
Zeitgeist. Zeitgeist. Zeitgeist. Zeitgeist. Perform.
The soft aesthetic mindless trancey porn.
Mad cocks. Mad loveliness. Cunt loveliness.
The dilating dirt with all its secrets. 
The warm dirt circling hoofed and screaming. 
Scrotal dirt. Cock dirt. Womb dirt. Cunt dirt. Dirt. 
Dirt is the currency. Tweet. Tweet. Tweet. Tweet. 
The mangled dirt beat. The Temple of Meat.

Jeff Weddle

Scumbag Jesus

What a lovely place for thugs 
and Jesus we have become,
especially since Jesus is now 
a killer and a rapist, 
a scumbag of avarice. 
The Lord knows we are very special, 
since nobody knows more 
about God and guns 
than we do 
and we alone can tell the world 
to bow down before us. 
Well, the world minus Russia, 
since they own us now, 
and maybe minus China, 
since they also have a claim, 
or the various Middle Eastern states
since they give so much cash 
to our Dear Leader. 
What a lovely stink we have
from our festering rot,
or maybe let’s say 
it’s from the dirty poor. 
Scumbag Jesus knows 
the impoverished and their needs 
are disgusting. 
Their bodies are only good 
for the pleasure of their betters, 
and only if they have strong backs 
or nice tits. Very young nice tits, 
especially so. 
Everyone dies at the end, 
so why be concerned? 
Scumbag Jesus sure isn’t. 
All the health care in the world 
won’t change that, 
so let’s just stop coddling the poor. 
The very, very rich have to eat, too, 
so we must be humane 
and cut their taxes to nothing.
Scumbag Jesus knows a thing or two 
about the burdens of wealth, 
since he and his dad 
have many mansions, 
and the upkeep is a bitch. 
So, he approves, just as he approves 
of the president’s secret police 
snatching people off the streets 
for torture and prison. 
Scumbag Jesus loves that most of all. 
Scumbag Jesus hates the libs, though,
as he hates the poor, 
and he hates everyone 
not born in America, 
also most people born here, 
since we are getting poorer by the day. 
One more thing:
Scumbag Jesus told me,
when we were drinking a beer 
the other night, 
that he made dicks for stabbing pussies 
and pussies for making babies 
and getting grabbed by celebrities, 
so the trans abominations
best stop their sinful ways. 
Scumbag Jesus won’t be taking your shit. 
He has no fucks to give. 
He’ll see you in Hell, 
waving the Stars and Stripes, 
and swinging his holy dick 
like a motherfucker.
Scumbag Jesus is proud to be an American, 
where at least he knows he’s free.

Daniel de Culla

Philip II’s Chair

Now I find myself alone with my erect penis.
I don’t know what to do
Whether to jump out the window of the inn where I’m staying
Show it to the women passing by on the street
In front of my window
Or stick it in my own arsehole
As Ovid taught us his Donkey did
With the dancing cock.
The art of shaking our clappers
It’s something we learn very well and without teachers.
But I don’t want to cum
Before showing it to the girls
And seeing them laugh like donkey
Making me cum inside
Closing the window, closing the blinds.
In this erect trance, I remembered
The charitable good advice
My spiritual father gave me at the Monastery of El Escorial
Where I went to confession one day 
During spiritual exercises:
-You idiot, I know a lot about masturbation.
If your penis is seriously erect
And can’t grasp the girls’ cunts
Go, grab a hammer and smash it.
He gave me a fake Bible
With a hammer inside.
I went to the Herrería forest
Placing my very erect and affectionate penis
On an enormous granite rock
That they say is the Philip II’s Chair
At the foot of Mount Abantos
And the impressive Machotas.
Unexpectedly with the light of this day
The hammer fell from the fake Bible
Grabbing it and hammering my erect penis
With a shower of blows to the glans.
I screamed so horribly
That stormy clouds suddenly
Began to throw down lightning and thunder
Seeming happy and, at the same time, tearful.
The fresh rain of the moment ended the erection.
Seeing my penis defeated and fallen
With its great beauty and significance still there
I dreamed that one day it would be declared
UNESCO’s World Heritage 
Like Philip II’s Chair.

Nate Mancuso

Happyboy

“KID DON’T LOOK NO FUCKIN’ EIGHTEEN,” the old man mutters, glaring at Happyboy from just inside the front door of the apartment. 

A foul odor spills out from the apartment into the cold night air. It smells to Happyboy like puke and shit and piss mixed in with momma’s old breakfast casserole. But it doesn’t make him sick, it just makes him hungrier. A familiar pang rises from his gut while the man continues to stare at him.

“He’s my own brother – y’think I don’t know how old he is?” Jade replies irritably, standing on the dull gray concrete walkway outside the apartment. Jade wears a black vinyl miniskirt over fishnet stockings and stiletto heels. Her cleavage spills out of her tight halter-top, her nose and eyebrows pierced and bare arms heavily tattooed. 

The old man looks her over again, absorbing every detail with hungry bloodshot eyes. He looks back at Happyboy. “How old’re you, kid?”

As if on cue, Jade turns to Happyboy with wide expectant eyes, her parted lips silently mouthing words to him. Happyboy looks over at the doorjamb, gazes over the splintered old wooden doorframe, then replies, “Eighteen.”

The man raises his eyebrows with a smirk. “What year ya’ born?” he asks gruffly.

Happyboy goes silent and looks at Jade in confusion.

“My brother’s kinda slow. He don’t remember shit like birthdays an’ all too good, but trust me he’s eighteen,” Jade explains.

“Y’all ain’t with the cops?” the man asks suspiciously.

“Fuck no, man!” Jade replies, then dips her head down toward the parking lot in front of the building. “That look like a fuckin’ cop car to you?” She adds, “An’ if we was cops, we’d gotta tell you right? So now y’know we ain’t cops.” 

“Who’s in the car?” the man asks, looking down at the beat-up Honda Civic in the parking lot, its windshield cracked and front bumper hanging off with a large dent on the hood. A dark silhouette shifts behind the driver seat with the bright orange ember of a cigarette tip slithering beneath his hoodie.

“Just a friend – he’s good, just drivin’ us, nothin’ to worry about,” Jade answers while she steps forward into the doorway and softly presses her body against the man. “Don’t you wanna party with me tonight?” she asks, slowly blinking her eyes and pouting her lips. “I promise you’ll have a good time with me.” She brushes her hand down the man’s protruding gut, grazing it against his crotch and keeping it there a long moment before pulling it back. 

Happyboy shivers in the bitter cold, teeth chattering. He hugs himself tightly for every bit of warmth he can muster, welcoming the temporary distraction from his overwhelming hunger.

Gazing down at Jade while his hand pets her lower back down to the curve of her ass, the man says. “Okay, just sit tight while I go talk to my ole lady. Be right back.” He closes the door, leaving Jade and Happyboy alone in the cold dark night.

“Freezin’ my fuckin’ ass off out here!” Jade says as her quivering hand reaches into her purse to pull out a pack of American Spirits. She has to huddle against the gray stucco wall to light her cigarette as the bitter wind howls through the walkway. After a long drag from her smoke, she walks over to Happyboy. “You okay, baby boy?” she asks, brushing his tousled hair back from his forehead.

“I’m hungry,” Happyboy mumbles with large sad eyes. He puts his arms around Jade’s slim waist, hugs her tightly and presses his face into her side. “I thought we goin’ to Golden Corral? Please Jade, I’m hungry!”

“We will, baby, I promise. Just gotta finish up here then Liam’ll take us. Don’t you worry.”

“Why’s Liam gotta come? Can’t we just go?” Happyboy whimpers as a strong gust of cold wind whips through the walkway and blows his hair back.

“C’mon now, Happy, y’know we got no other ride now. I’m workin’ on gettin’ us a car but for now we need Liam.” Jade’s voice hitches and she presses her lips to Happyboy’s forehead. “I’m doin’ my best for us, baby, I promise.”

A tear rolls down Jade’s cheek and drops to the crown of Happyboy’s head. While it trickles down his scalp, he looks up at her and says quietly, “I know you are.”

Jade walks over to the rusty iron gate at edge of the walkway and looks down at the car, where the bright tip of Liam’s cigarette sits motionless behind the dark windshield. She nods down and hugs herself for warmth, then turns back to the apartment door when she hears it creak open.

“Okay, we’re good, now come on in an’ get the hell outta that cold,” the old man says when he reappears in the doorway. He moves aside to let Jade walk into the apartment leading Happyboy by his hand.

The first thing Happyboy sees when he enters the filthy, cluttered apartment is the woman on the lime-green sofa holding a can of PBR in one hand and a cigarette in the other. An oversized Star Wars t-shirt is pulled down over bony knees with pale skinny legs bent and tucked beneath her. She takes a drag from her cigarette, exhales, then studies Happyboy through a cloud of smoke. “Well now, Jesus H. Christ, will ya lookit the size ’a that lil’ fucker,” she says lazily then shifts her gaze to the old man. “Sure he’s ol’ ’nuff, Jebby?”

The man scowls back at her. “This ain’t a fuckin’ job interview, Gin. Said they ain’t cops and big sister here swears he’s eighteen.” He looks over at Jade, who nods her head to reassure him.

The woman looks Jade up and down, appraising her like a piece of used furniture, then shakes her head and smirks at the man. “Okay Jeb, go have some fun with your lil’ ragdoll over there while l get on wit’ tubby.” She purses her lips at Happyboy and, in her raspy smoker’s voice, says, “C’mon over here big boy, let ole’ Ginny take a look at ya’.”

Happyboy looks up at Jade, who nods back at him while Jeb’s grubby paw clenches her ass. “G’head, Happy, it’ll be okay,” she assures him.

“Happy’s his name?” the woman laughs. “Fat lil’ bastard don’t look too fuckin’ happy to me. Looks sick after eatin’ a truckfulla flapjacks!” 

Jeb cackles out while his lips nestle into the crook of Jade’s neck, his nostrils absorbing the pungent scent of cheap perfume.

“It’s just his nickname,” Jade explains quietly while Jeb snakes his tongue up her neck to her earlobe.

“Never heard ’a that nickname before,” Jeb remarks while he takes a brief pause from nibbling Jade’s ear.

“Our momma used ’a take us to McDonald’s and he’d say ‘I wanna happy’ when he meant to say happy meal. So we started calling him ‘Happyboy’ and it just stuck.” Jade looks down at Happyboy with a smile.

“Well he sure ain’t look like he missed too many happy meals,” Jeb chuckles, then looks over at Ginny who’s taking a pull from her PBR. “Clock’s a tickin’, ole girl, so you let Happyboy here make you right while me’n big sis’ get to know each other.” He grabs Jade by the wrist and leads her toward the bedroom.

“Hold on now,” Jade says, planting her feet in the stained shag carpet before Jeb can pull her further. “We gotta get paid first.” Looking up to meet Jeb’s gaze, she taps his stiffening bulge and says, “You gotta take care of us, honey.”

While Jeb moves his hand from Jade’s wrist to his pocket, she says, “An’ my brother’s starvin’ hungry now, you got anything here he can eat?”

“Whatever he can find over there’n the kitchen,” Jeb mutters as he pulls some folded twenties from his pocket.  

Jade turns away and hurries to the kitchen before Jeb can hand her the cash. After looking around, she returns with a half-loaf of Wonder bread and open bag of Doritos. She hands them to Happyboy who immediately digs in. 

“Peel that mold off the bread before you eat it, Happy,” Jade instructs as she looks in disgust at the bluish-green bread crusts visible through the clear plastic bag. Happyboy ignores her and stuffs a handful of the moldy bread into his mouth. Closing his eyes, he wolfs it down with a steady hum.

“Lookit ’im go!” Ginny exclaims, shaking her head in amazement as Happyboy polishes off the bread then plunges his hand into the open bag of Doritos. “Don’t get too full on me, boy, y’got s’more eatin’ to do tonight,” Ginny laughs. She glances over at Jeb, who’s looking down impatiently at Jade as she counts the bills he just handed to her.

“Only a hundred bucks here,” Jade says, glaring suspiciously up at Jeb. “The deal was two hundred for both of us – what gives, man?”

“You’ll get the other hundo after,” Jeb replies while pulling Jade into the bedroom. “It’s on the dresser.”

Ginny leans back on the ratty sofa and pulls her t-shirt up above her waist. She spreads her legs open and angles her pelvis toward Happyboy. “Pull my panties down, chubbyboy,” she commands as she leans back into the armrest of the sofa. When he hesitates, she looks up at him angrily, her small beady eyes boring into him. “C’mon now, don’t you know what the fuck to do? Your sister told Jebby ya’ did.”

Too scared to speak, Happyboy hears the man’s groans start up then get louder through the thin bedroom wall, followed the rhythmic sound of a creaking bedframe. He looks back at Ginny, now perched on her elbows glaring at him and saying something that he can’t make out while the buzzing in his head kicks in and grows louder, drowning out every other noise in the room. His head begins to spin and the dizziness sets in. His stomach churns and he can feel a sharp acidic taste at the back of his throat. He grows lightheaded, then stumbles forward to the armrest of the sofa opposite Ginny. He leans into it to steady himself.

Happyboy is ripped out of his stupor by Ginny’s hand yanking him forward so hard by a fistful of shirt that his head snaps back. The buzzing in his head stops abruptly, replaced by Ginny’s loud voice. “—ckin’ retard? Get on up here and take off my panties!” she screams at him with a violent scowl.

Happyboy reaches his hands up to Ginny’s bony hips and pulls at the sides of her light blue cotton panties. He only has them down to her upper thighs – revealing a thick reddish-brown bush that crawls down out of sight beneath her crotch – before a powerful gut-wrenching stench attacks his nostrils. He grimaces and squeezes his eyes shut as he’s assaulted by the ungodly stink of raw sweat, filth and putrid unwashed pussy and ass. Like a living breathing organism, the stench slithers through his nostrils and permeates his head, marinating in his skull and crawling down through his throat and lungs, activating the acidic bile at the pit of his stomach. Happyboy’s stomach churns again. He tries but can’t subdue the gassy belch that rises up from his gut. He knows what’s coming next. But this time he can’t stop it. 

Ginny’s eyes bulge out in disgust as the contents of Happyboy’s stomach pour out – covering her hairy crotch and lower stomach up to her abdomen with fresh glistening vomit. Unable to control himself, Happyboy turns and plods toward the bedroom door, stopping halfway to lean over and puke into the already-nasty shag carpet. Wiping off his chin, Happyboy pushes open the bedroom door. “Sorry, Jade, but that lady—”

Happyboy stops abruptly. Both stark naked on the bed, Jade is on all fours with Jeb kneeling behind her, thrusting into her with loud porcine grunts and flesh slaps. His pale flaccid pock-marked ass jiggles like jello while her head knocks against the metal headboard with each thrust. Both of them turn their heads at once when they hear Happyboy enter the room. 

“Get the fuck outta here, kid! You’re s’posed to be with Ginny!” Jeb screams at him, then looks furiously back at Jade. “What the fuck’s goin’ on here, sis’? I ain’t even come yet – now get ’im the fuck outta here!”

Jade opens her mouth to speak but when she sees Happyboy’s face she jumps up off the bed and wraps the crumpled bedsheet around her. She hurries over to Happyboy, who’s sobbing hysterically and saying, “I’m sorry, I’m sorry … I didn’t mean to.”

Jade puts her arm around his shoulders and presses her cheek against his damp tear-stained face. “Oh baby, just calm down now. Tell me what happened.”

Before Happyboy can answer, Ginny rushes into the room with a pistol in her shaking hand pointed right at Happyboy. Looking at Jeb, she bellows, “Fat lil’ fucker just puked all over me!” She turns to Jade. “I don’t care if Jeb ain’t done with your skank ass, hand over what he paid you then take your little piggy and GET THE FUCK OUTTA HERE!”

Jade steps in front of Happyboy, shielding him from the gun pointed at his head.  “Ma’am, please. I’m sorry about what he did, it was an accident. Now please calm down and then I’ll get dressed and get the money. We’ll give it back to you then leave. But please lower the gun, you’re scarin’ the shit outta my brother.”

“Just put your fuckin’ clothes back on and gimme the money,” Ginny repeats without lowering the gun, now pointed at Jade. 

Jade nods obediently, then picks her clothes up off the floor next to the bed. Seeing an opportunity, she looks over at Happyboy, who’s standing frozen at the foot of the bed, staring at her in a trance. “Oh no, Happy, you don’t look too good,” Jade says. “You gonna be sick again?”

When Ginny and Jeb look over at Happyboy, Jade quickly pulls her cell phone from a pocket in her skirt and thumbs the keypad without either of them seeing her.

Happyboy looks down quietly, sniffling and shaking his head. 

“Fat lil’ bastard better not puke again. Now hurry the fuck up and hand over the money you nasty-ass whore!” Ginny commands while Jeb, now with a towel wrapped around his waist, walks over next to her. 

Jade hands the folded twenties to Ginny, then starts to put her clothes back on next to the bed.

“Hold on now, big sister, I ain’t had a chance to finish off yet,” Jeb says as he approaches Jade with a sly grin.

“C’mon, man,” Jade pleads as she pulls on her halter-top. “I gave you the money back, now we’re out.” Jade looks anxiously toward the door and says, “C’mon, Happy, we gotta—” 

The butt of Ginny’s gun slams hard against Jade’s temple. Jade falls back onto the bed while a sharp pain drives straight through her skull, splitting her vision as she loses consciousness. Through blurry eyes, she watches helplessly as Jeb hobbles toward her with his towel falling to the floor and his hand moving down between his legs. She hears Ginny’s bellowing laughter as Jeb’s beefy hands rip her stockings and panties down her legs, and then completely off. Using his girth to press her down into the bare yellow-stained mattress, he tugs at her bra, which finally gives way after the straps dig hard into her flesh. Barely conscious and unable to defend herself with the pain rocking her skull, Jade closes her eyes while Jeb’s sweaty flab slides up her torso until she can feel his hard member poking between her thighs to find an entry point. The buzz in her head grows quieter as she fades in and out of consciousness. Even Ginny’s shrill laughter seems far away now. As her eyes flicker and the blackness envelops her, all she can hear is Jeb’s heavy breathing in her ear as he finally forces himself inside. 

But Jade is jolted back into the light by the sound of the front door being kicked open. 

Happyboy rocks back and forth on his feet with his eyes closed and fresh vomit dripping down his chin while Ginny holds the gun inches from his head. He’s shaken from his trance by the loud footfalls behind them. When Ginny turns around toward the bedroom door, Happyboy sprints toward the bed with his arms raised and hands out, crashing into Jeb’s side and pushing him off of Jade onto the floor. He turns around when he hears the gunshot. Ginny is splayed across the floor with blood flowing from a fresh bullet wound in her chest. He looks up at what – actually who – stands just outside the bedroom door.

Liam.

***

Ignoring Jade and Happyboy, Liam walks calmly across the room with his gun pointed at Jeb, who’s now scrambling desperately across the floor to grab his towel. “Cash!” Liam screams at him. “Every fuckin’ penny!”

“All’s we got is what she gave my wife,” Jeb says to Liam in a shaky voice. They both look over at Ginny, now lying dead on her back with vacant eyes staring out into nowhere.

Liam looks back at Jade and nods over toward Ginny. “Get the money off that bitch and search the rest of this shithole. Take whatever you find.” He turns back to Jeb and, with his black leather steel-toed boot, delivers a sharp kick straight into Jeb’s ribs. 

Fighting the pain from Liam’s kick, Jeb wheezes out, “I swear that’s all we got, man. I mean look around – we look like we got cash stowed away?”

Jade grabs Liam’s arm before he can answer. “C’mon Liam. Cops’ll be here soon. Neighbors musta heard the gunshot.”

Liam hesitates, then nods at her. He looks over at Happyboy impatiently. “Let’s go, boyo, gotta bounce.” Then he turns to Jeb, who’s cowering against the wall with his head in his hands. “Towel!” Liam shouts.

“What?” asks Jebs.

“I said gimme that fuckin’ towel!” 

Jeb takes off his towel and hands it over to Liam with a scared, confused look on his face.

Liam carefully folds the towel into a square, then places it atop Jeb’s sweat-dampened head. He holds it there firmly and looks back at Happyboy with a smile while using his other hand to press the muzzle of his gun against the towel. 

Happyboy turns around to take Jade’s outstretched hand, barely blinking at the sound of the muffled gunshot behind him.

***

AC/DC’s “Back in Black” blasts from Liam’s car stereo while he and Jade pass a joint between them. When it’s snuffed out, Liam cracks open a Keystone Light from a six-pack on the floor and raises it toward Jade. “Cheers, babe,” he laughs before raising it to his lips.

Jade smiles at him, grabs the beer from his hand and chugs it down in one gulp, followed by a loud belch.

“Wow!” Liam exclaims in awe. “This girl likes her drink!”

In the backseat, Happyboy lies on his side, staring blankly at the back of Liam’s dirty cloth seat. “Jade, please, I’m so hungry,” he whimpers. He bites down on his knuckle to distract himself. 

“Here ya’ go, big boy,” Liam says casually while tossing a plastic-wrapped half baloney & cheese sandwich over his shoulder onto the backseat. 

Happyboy tears off the wrapper and downs the sandwich in two large bites. “I’m still hungry,” Happyboy whines. “Can’t we just go to Golden Corral?” He turns over on his seat and faces the backrest.

Jade looks over at Liam with pleading eyes. “C’mon Li, it should be fine. I told him earlier we could go after this one.” She places a hand on Liam’s thigh.

Liam pats her hand. “Let’s just see how this one goes. Should be gettin’ two bills from these fuckers. Maybe you can work him for another fifty or so an’ then we can go after.” He tokes the joint, then adds, “If not, I got plenty ’a food the fat little bastard can eat back in the apartment.” Liam takes a long pull from his beer. “An’ he don’ need t’eat every goddam minute of the day, else he’s gonna fuckin’ explode.”

Jade looks back at Happyboy, who’s turned around with his face buried in the backrest of the seat. She smiles then turns back around and grabs the smoldering joint from Liam’s hand. She takes the last hit as he pulls into the cracked old parking lot of the apartment complex. Staring at the dark, drab brick apartment building in front of her, lit only by a small sliver of moonlight, Jade sighs and asks, “How much longer, Li?”

Looking over at her with empty eyes, Liam replies, “When I say so.”

“But what about Happy? He’s just—”

“Not now, Jade. I – we – need the fuckin’ money.”

Liam takes the joint from Jade and presses it out in his ashtray. Looking at her for a long moment, he asks, “Good to go?”

Jade exhales softly, then quietly nods back to him.

Liam nods. “Room 214, second floor. Dude’s name is Jeb.”

****

Eyes closed, Happyboy looks deep into the black void. Like he always does to ignore the hunger screaming out from his stomach and consuming his body. He pinches his eyes tight and smiles, relieved when the colored rays break through the void. This part always relaxes him. But he’s never seen this one before. Maybe it’s a new one just waiting to escape into the light.

Happyboy can hear the sizzling bacon from the kitchen. And that smell. That delicious smell of frying bacon that fills his nostrils and expels every competing odor, every other sense. And possesses him.

Happyboy knows what that smell means: that momma is close by. She’s in the kitchen with her apron and spatula, just cookin’ quietly and hummin’ along. Maybe even signin’? Momma loved to sing. Happyboy walks into the kitchen and momma turns around with a smile. She plants a soft warm kiss on his forehead and tussles his hair. “Look what I made for you, baby boy,” she says while pointing over at a full plate on the kitchen table. A heap of scrambled eggs, hash browns, bacon and sausage links sit invitingly next to a smaller plate of thick buttered toast. 

Between mouthfuls, Happyboy looks up at momma excitedly. “Can we get ice cream later? Jade said—”

“Well now … daddy may need the truck today, but if not then maybe—” 

Before momma can finish, Happyboy jumps out of his chair and races towards the stairwell. “I’m gonna ask Jade so maybe she can ask daddy to take us!”

“Happyboy, no!” momma yells after him. “Don’t go up there! C’mon back down here!”

But it’s too late. Happyboy bounds up the stairs as fast as he can, using his hands to propel him up the stairs in front of him. Breathless when he reaches Jade’s bedroom door, Happyboy is too excited to hear the steady grunts on the other side. He turns the doorknob and throws the door open but then stops. His face goes slack when he looks over toward the bed.

“Happy!” Jade screams at him. But a meaty hand slides over her mouth as her head is forced violently into the pillow beneath her. Her eyes fill with tears as she struggles to breathe. Happy looks behind her and his legs give out. There he is. Mounted behind Jade. Thick tattooed forearms pinning her down while his hips thrust violently atop her.

Daddy.

***

“The fuck is wrong with you?” asks Liam as he pushes Happyboy into the back seat of the Civic. On the passenger side, Jade leans shaking against the door, quiet sobs escaping her mouth from somewhere much deeper. “Get the fuck in the car, Jade!” Liam shouts while looking wildly around the parking lot. “We gotta get the fuck outta here! Like now! Pronto!”

Jade doesn’t move. She’s staring through the rear window at Happyboy, whose face is pressed against the glass looking anxiously back at Jade. “I’m so sorry, baby,” she repeats over and over, only stopping when Liam grabs a fistful of her hair and yanks the car door wide open. 

“Goddammit I fuckin’ told you we gotta get the fuck out—” Liam stops short when he feels the gun being pulled from the rear waistband of his jeans. He lets go of Jade and spins around. But before he completes his pivot, the butt of the gun crashes into his face and he falls backward, tripping over Jade’s foot onto the cold black pavement of the parking lot. Staring up in shock with one hand pressed against his shattered eye socket, Liam murmurs painfully, “Why you fat little fuckin’ bas—”

Liam stops when the first bullet pierces his jugular. Happyboy’s kick strikes him beneath the jaw and drives his head back into the pavement. Blood spurts through Liam’s fingers that are grasping at his throat.

Wasting no time, Jade grabs Liam’s keys from his pocket and hurries around to the driver-side door while Happyboy hops into the passenger seat. His door slams shut as the Civic peels out of the parking lot. 

“What we gonna do now?” Happyboy asks Jade when they’re out on the road. 

Keeping her eyes fixed in front of her, Jade shrugs her shoulders. “I don’t know. We’ll figure it out, baby.” She pauses, then adds, “We always do.”

After a long silence, Jade looks over at Happyboy with a comforting smile. “Still hungry, baby? Golden Corral might still be open.”

“That’s okay,” Happyboy replies, placing his hand protectively over Jade’s. “I’m good ‘til breakfast.”

Eli Evans

Stickball Promiscuous and the Matrimonial Miscommunication

Stickball Promiscuous, the retired broomsquire, was aghast when, shortly after he’d joined her with bawdy intentions in the hay-stuffed sackcloth that passed for their conjugal bed, his wife and helpmate Hoggesflesh informed him that his penis was crummy.

“You’re not exactly in the bloom of youth yourself!” the former twig-tyer cried. “Believe me, there are things I could say about your vagina. For example, I could compare it to an empty bag of potato chips, or a worn-out baseball mitt, or for that matter, a dusty sarcophagus, or an old rusted out pipe, or a piece of lasagna left out overnight on the kitchen counter during dry weather, or even a thrift shop penny loafer. In fact, the only thing stopping me from making such comparisons is the fear of what could happen to me, socially speaking, if I did and you subsequently posted about it on the internet. For one thing, Shlomo the cobbler would almost surely be prohibited by his wife from ever inviting me over again for brandy and stimulating conversation about the relative merits of realism versus nominalism, and for another, I highly doubt Eanflæd the garment weaver would be willing to sell me a new undertunic at the upcoming market day, which would be bad news indeed considering my current one reminds me more and more every time I catch a passing whiff of it of the back end of a dyspeptic hognose.”

“My dear,” came Hoggesflesh’s reply, “I’m afraid you’ve got me all wrong. I didn’t say your penis was crummy – I said it was crumby.”

And in all fairness to Hoggesflesh, considering that Stickball had spent the entire afternoon naked below the waist eating croissants and Cadbury Flakes, it probably was.

Ashley Roberts

He’ll Do It for Me

Im looking for a bridge to you, Daddy
With each man I live and die for
I get one step closer to understanding you
And why you left
And why you avoided
And why you cheated 
And why you drank 
And why you hurt
And why you thank
And why you loved me
So completely 
So obsessively 
But could not gift me your presence 
And why you thought the gift was your absence 
And why you needed so much time alone 
And why you could never stay too long
And why you and I are kin
And why I must find you through men
Im looking for a bridge to you, Daddy 
I think I finally found the one
The one who will rise to meet me
Despite every way he is just like you
He’ll do it, for me, Daddy?

Jonathan S. Baker

Trophy Widow, 1963

Perfectly preserved in the dark,
still, she wears his favorite dress,
his favorite heels, the spikes 
that catch on the shag
nearly rolls an ankle
mixes him a highball,
drinks it herself 
has another and waits
it is like it was
has another and waits
the longer she waits
the more she will need
has another and waits 
for the archeologists
to find her there in his vault
with the rest of his possessions

Justin Karcher

This One Time We Held Hands and Watched the Dawn Rise Over a Strip Club

A dancer leaned from a window and let her hair fall. 
Southern Ontario never felt more like a fairytale. 

Years later you sent me a text out of the blue.
“If you fuck someone tonight 
try to love them less than me.” 

I didn’t respond but maybe I should have.

If you’re reading this, I still hope 
for the future we talked about

having sex while Bernie Sanders is giving 
a victory speech, to really roll around naked 
in grassroots where the beautiful voices are

where none of them feel trapped. 

Francesca Miele

Daydream

After her shower, Francesca stood naked at her bedroom window, fingering her cunt, the late afternoon sun showing the dirty streaks in the glass. Next door in the yard below, Khalid, her neighbour’s hunky teenaged son, was throwing a football around with a couple of his friends. Watching Khalid, Francesca panted as she gently pinched her nipples. His young body moved fast, hard, powerfully, the sun glinting off his sweaty chest, for he had taken off his t-shirt. She found herself imagining what it’d be like to run her fingers through his thick, curly black hair, to feel his hard biceps, to spread her legs for his even harder, relentless cock. Her heart beat fast, she began rubbing her clit roughly, almost falling over as currents of joy rushed through her body and her mind wandered into dangerous but exhilarating territory.

Khalid didn’t how his neighbour lusted after him, and had been lusting since he moved in with his widowed father a few months ago. His naivety and innocence, if naive and innocent a college-aged, Arab boy could be, intensified her longings, slightly tinged with guilt. She knew she should resist temptation and keep her distance, but the allure of his youthful vigour was irresistible. Gasping as she fucked herself, her daydream about Khalid deepened, her fantasies so explicit and all-consuming that she could almost feel his cock thrusting into her, his hands twisting her nipples, making her cry out in pain and pleasure. Oh, the pleasure. Hurt me, please, she begged in her mind, her body edging towards a climax. 

If she ever approached the boy with lust in her eyes, she’d risk embarrassing rejection, then again, maybe not. Like any virile adolescent, surely Khalid would eagerly fuck at the first opportunity. And weren’t Arabs supposed to be lusty? She had read many erotic fantasies and watched porn flics online about Sheiks, their harems and sex slaves. She also remembered her university film course where the students and professor had discussed the sexual implications of the silent movie The Sheik with the smouldering actor Valentino. She had to have Khalid, she had to kneel before his majestic cock, she had to swallow him whole, her Arab stallion. 

Francesca’s heart pumped faster. Her fingers pinched her swollen clit as she imagined Khalid’s hands gripping her, probing, fingers slick from her wetness. His cock rose like a sabre, the force of it cutting into her flesh as he raised her legs around his waist, all in front of the window. And she also fancied that his father might see. His voice, deep and commanding in her ear: You’re a cock whore, Francesca, a needy slut begging for virile Arabs. And I’m going to give it to you, bitch. Was that Khalid speaking or his father speaking?

She nearly screamed, yes, yes, as she imagined him staring into her eyes and seeing her insatiable desire for him. His eyes were black with equal lust as he pushed his long and thick cock into her cunt.  And you’re gonna be my cocksucker, bitch, after I nut so much hot junk in your belly, it’ll flow out of your cunt for days. How much cum would he also shoot down her throat: great dollops of creamy, life-sustaining cum? Lost in her daydream, she scarcely noticed the other boys in the yard, for Khalid’s voice sounded as if he was right there in the room with her, speaking as he fucked her: little cum hungry pig who’s going to take my cock like a good slave. 

Francesca’s body trembled with intense and electrifying desire, so receptive and ready for Arab cock: oh Khalid, oh Khalid, fuck me, fuck me, she whispered aloud as if he was actually in the room with her.  Be my master, she cried out, enslave me, whip me, chain me, do whatever you want, as if she could shout out through the window and the boy would hear her pleas, drop the football and rush into the house to fuck her senseless, to fuck the woman next door, just to fuck her until she fainted.

Open your mouth for me, Francesca, Khalid commanded. She was so startled she withdrew her hand from her cunt. Was he in the room? Was his father also in the room? Parting her lips, seeing the boy still outside, she imagined Khalid forcing his horse cock into her mouth and down her throat, filling it, past the gag reflex, and she began working it, sucking it, craving it, as if she could actually taste his precum and feel the veins pulsing as he thrust in and out. Delicious obscenities roared out of his mouth: you fucking piece of meat, you trashy cum bucket, you wasted cock sucking whore, and her mind flamed alive to hear them.

Her nipples, hard and aching, from his rough handling, he slipped out of her mouth, slapped her face, then rammed into her soaking cunt. Was it real? It couldn’t be, for there was Khalid, her Arab stallion, still outside throwing a football. But his hands seemed to be clasped around her neck as if strangling her into submission, securing her as he jackhammered her cunt. Were they his fingers or hers pinching her clit, causing her to hold her breath and nearly collapse, crying in ecstasy? Oh, Khalid, my Khalid, my Sheik. Good bitch, she thought she heard the boy’s voice murmur, suddenly tender.  You need to feed off my huge Arab dick, don’t you, slave? Turn around, bitch, Khalid commanded, his voice firm. Or was it his father? I want to fuck your ass.

Francesca complied, and braced herself against the window. Hands grabbed her hips, his fingers dug into her thighs, a thick cock forced it ways between her ass cheeks. The father’s, the son’s, did it matter? She screamed from imaginary pain when a crack against the window startled her, and she instantly withdrew her own hand from her sopping cunt.

“What the …?!!!?

The ball had hit the window. A cracked rivered across the glass. Below Khalid and the other boys pointed, and shouted at each other. Abruptly ripped out of her fantasy, dizzy and unsteady, Francesca inserted a finger in her mouth and sucked, relishing her own flavour. Big bellied and bearded, hefty and appealing in his traditional robe, his father appeared in the yard and pointed at her window, as if to assess the damage, as if he knew she was standing there. As if both son and father sensed her desires. Oh, may it be so, she whispered. It was time to get to know her neighbours better.