It was like the third time I'd warned her, but she wouldn't leave; actually, it ain't that she wouldn't leave, because she could if she wanted to; it was more like she wouldn't listen to me. The more I got to understand Janice the more I realized she wasn't going to do nothing no one told her to do. So, despite my rational arguments for leaving, she continued to squat over the old man with this weird look on her face, in some sort a demented defiance no sane person could ever understand, and I think she did it just to spite me, but if she didn't do it just to spite me, spiting me was a big part a her reason why she was doing it. Don't let her fool you on that.
She looked sorry for the old man. Maybe it was the way I beat his ass and took his money that brought on a sudden strain a conscience in Janice, but I don't know. I ain't gonna pretend I can see inside the mind of a woman. After all, the old man didn't deserve what I'd done to him; on the other hand, I didn't deserve all a the shit that happened in my life either. I don't see no one apologizing to me so why should I feel bad for him? The world is a cold hard place. I just couldn't conjure up too much pity.
Maybe I was just an asshole. You always gotta consider you're the problem in a problem. But, in this case, if I was the problem, it was because I was reflecting the world I was raised in -- a world a predator-men who took my time and energy, chewed me up, spit me out, and never said thanks for continually taking from me. Am I supposed to feel guilty that I did a little a my own cheing and spitting? I'm Bob Collins. Guilt ain't my forte.
The thing that really got me was as Janice squatted there, refusing to listen to reason or me, she took out one a her titties and inserted its erect nipple in the old guy's mouth. Once the thing was in there, the old guy started to suckle on it, like he was a infant. Janice smiled with pure mirth that almost radiated out a her, then pet his greasy gray hair back on his head and cooed in his ear while he sucked. I could almost see her get happier the more I grew angry.
Finally, I couldn't take it no more; you can't just do that, disrespect a man right in front a his face, and expect him not to get upset. Sure, I bet Janice and her friends probably wanted me to keep my tail tucked between my legs and pretend it was my dick, which had been cut off, at least spiritually, and just let her do whatever she wanted without challenging her on none a it. But I ain't that kind a man. I don't got no tail; but I do got an eleven-inch dong that likes to pound pussy into submission. With an anger so hot and extreme it could a melted lead, I kicked the old man so hard in the gut that he made this hideous wheezing sound like his intestines were gonna explode and he spit out Janice's tit with a loud exhalation.
I could see Janice's nipple wet with spit.
She looked up at me with a fire in her eyes. "You didn't have to do that!" she snapped. "That was just insensitive and cruel."
Like what she was doing to me wasn't any a those things.
I didn't pay no attention to the dozens a other curses and accusations she was laying on me, just pulled her to her feet as a couple porch lights turned on, and started to really put the pressure on us to get the hell outta there.
I walked her down the road to the hotel, and when we were outta eye-shot, I said, "What the fuck was that all about?"
She was all tense, with her body wrapped up tightly in her arms. I already knew, just by the way she was moving, I'd made a mistake. "You wouldn't understand, Bob."
Finally, I couldn't take it no more; you can't just do that, disrespect a man right in front a his face, and expect him not to get upset. Sure, I bet Janice and her friends probably wanted me to keep my tail tucked between my legs and pretend it was my dick, which had been cut off, at least spiritually, and just let her do whatever she wanted without challenging her on none a it. But I ain't that kind a man. I don't got no tail; but I do got an eleven-inch dong that likes to pound pussy into submission. With an anger so hot and extreme it could a melted lead, I kicked the old man so hard in the gut that he made this hideous wheezing sound like his intestines were gonna explode and he spit out Janice's tit with a loud exhalation.
I could see Janice's nipple wet with spit.
She looked up at me with a fire in her eyes. "You didn't have to do that!" she snapped. "That was just insensitive and cruel."
Like what she was doing to me wasn't any a those things.
I didn't pay no attention to the dozens a other curses and accusations she was laying on me, just pulled her to her feet as a couple porch lights turned on, and started to really put the pressure on us to get the hell outta there.
I walked her down the road to the hotel, and when we were outta eye-shot, I said, "What the fuck was that all about?"
She was all tense, with her body wrapped up tightly in her arms. I already knew, just by the way she was moving, I'd made a mistake. "You wouldn't understand, Bob."
I was taken aback by her lack a response. I expected a hailstorm of invective and a couple a dosings a feminist wisdom. What I got frightened me even more.
So, what do I do? Since I'm Bob Collins, I continue with my line a questioning, unperturbed. Who knows why? Maybe it's some personality defect in me.
"What kind a criminal goes around and sticks her tit in her victim's mouth?" I said. "That just ain't how it's done! You're a horrible fucking criminal, Janice. Horrible!"
"I am not a criminal," she said.
"No, you're not," I yelled. And with as much venom as I could get outta my voice box, I added: "You're just a whore."
I figured that comment wouldn't go over very well; and I was right. She took off ahead a me in that quick way she only used when she was mad. Even though I was mad too, I didn't mind too much, because her ass always looked real good when she walked away like that.
"Don't you wanna see how much money we made?" I yelled at her.
She didn't turn around to look at me, only yelled at the top a her lungs: "Stop trying to control me, asshole!"
Wasn't no one trying to control her -- especially not me. I got enough problems controlling myself and I had no reason to seek authority over someone else's decisions. Dumb bitch.
Maybe she didn't even realize it herself, but no one controlled Janice; she was a force to be reckoned with, a natural fury, a demon a self-possession. She made all a her own decision and everybody, including me, when along for the ride. How else could I explain the fact I was now married? Marriage was the last thing I imagined for myself. I had plans a fucking any woman I came across until the day I died. Beer and broads, that was my mantra. But now I was married. Somehow she'd connived me into it and here I was suffering the consequences -- and the marriage wasn't even forty-eight hours old. I started getting depressed when I realized she had played me like a violin. I had to get my mind off a the situation and I was wondering how much cash I got off the old guy anyway, so I took out the roll -- and unrolled it. The results were unimpressive.
"Fuck," I muttered. I'd just committed a felony for sixteen dollars.
"What kind a criminal goes around and sticks her tit in her victim's mouth?" I said. "That just ain't how it's done! You're a horrible fucking criminal, Janice. Horrible!"
"I am not a criminal," she said.
"No, you're not," I yelled. And with as much venom as I could get outta my voice box, I added: "You're just a whore."
I figured that comment wouldn't go over very well; and I was right. She took off ahead a me in that quick way she only used when she was mad. Even though I was mad too, I didn't mind too much, because her ass always looked real good when she walked away like that.
"Don't you wanna see how much money we made?" I yelled at her.
She didn't turn around to look at me, only yelled at the top a her lungs: "Stop trying to control me, asshole!"
Wasn't no one trying to control her -- especially not me. I got enough problems controlling myself and I had no reason to seek authority over someone else's decisions. Dumb bitch.
Maybe she didn't even realize it herself, but no one controlled Janice; she was a force to be reckoned with, a natural fury, a demon a self-possession. She made all a her own decision and everybody, including me, when along for the ride. How else could I explain the fact I was now married? Marriage was the last thing I imagined for myself. I had plans a fucking any woman I came across until the day I died. Beer and broads, that was my mantra. But now I was married. Somehow she'd connived me into it and here I was suffering the consequences -- and the marriage wasn't even forty-eight hours old. I started getting depressed when I realized she had played me like a violin. I had to get my mind off a the situation and I was wondering how much cash I got off the old guy anyway, so I took out the roll -- and unrolled it. The results were unimpressive.
"Fuck," I muttered. I'd just committed a felony for sixteen dollars.
3 comments:
Okay, so here are some thoughts:
This is absurdist, right? I mean, I have to struggle not to laugh at Bob in every chapter, because he thinks and says some funny stuff. But he's intended as a caricature, right?
I'd be more lucid but it's 5 am and I needed something to read, and I picked this because of our Novelr discussion. From a technical standpoint, your chapters and format contribute to flow, and make it easy to continue reading. It's absurd that I would want to, given the subject matter, but that's why I asked if it was absurdist.
Because if I treat it as comedy, it's funny. If I thought this was a serious protagonist, I'd think the story was horrible. Bob's narrative vocabulary regularly incorporates bad grammar (like "a" instead of "of" on a regular basis) and yet he uses a nuanced vocabulary otherwise. (ejaculated, thwart, do you really need more examples?)
There's no way someone could be stupid enough to use "a" instead of "of" and then use "exhalation" properly. So knowing that it's intentional, makes the story funny.
I hope that makes sense.
It seems like Bob would be the "hero" of the underside of American culture. He reads like a caricature of action heroes, slime bags who write into porn mags about their prowess, and guys who think the funniest thing about the Simpsons is when Homer burps. You're using him for social commentary, right?
I'm really tempted to give it 4 or 4 and a half stars on Web Fiction Guide but I have no idea how I'd write the review yet.
Thanks for the comments, Gavin.
The story is "loosely inspired" by my life and people I have known in the course of my life, and yeah, you could say it's absurdist, because, let's face it, people are kind of absurd, and I'm a person -- I can't spare myself from the cruel dagger of satire and ridicule; but mostly I just want to make fun a myself and some a my proclivities (even if I didn't actually do all of the things I write about), along with some a the proclivities of men in general. Sometimes I use exaggeration, maybe even, oh, what's the word for it, lying? One thing I am not exaggerating, though, is the size of my member. When it comes to that, I feel it's safer, at least for females in the audience, for me to downplay what I'm packing.
But that's just me: loaded with native intelligence unrefined by civilization or education.
It sounds like you refined it enough for yourself -- because, uncivilized and uneducated or not, you write with intention, nuance and creativity.
I'm assuming there must be a lot of "exaggeration" and "lying" because the intellect at work in the text (from Bob the author) is so markedly different from the dialogue and behaviour of the protagonist. (Bob the character)
Bob the character comes across as a caricature of the all-American lout, while I'd believe Bob the author possesses a cutting intellect. The two don't seem compatible as one person, just based on my understanding of the links between cognition and literacy.
I might have to re-examine my assumptions and knowledge, but believing you're a creative and talented liar makes a lot more sense. Either that, or evolved yourself over the course of your life in a drastic fashion.
As in, I think you're responding "in character" and aren't really as brutish as "Bob the character." But I could be wrong. ;)
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