Read Battle of the Network Zombies Online
Authors: Mark Henry
Tags: #Fiction, #Fantasy, #Contemporary
Battle of the Network Zombies (26 page)
I peeked in the triangle-shaped gap and saw him leaned back on the dirty couch, rubbing his crotch through a dingy pair of camouflage pants.
“Whoa,” I chided. “Hold on. We’re not doing this now.”
“If you want this pee we are.” He held up a little baggie. “You know what I had to go through to collect it?”
“I can imagine, but I don’t think we have the time.” Even as I said the words, I could see in his face that, one, we’d have plenty of time, and, two, I wasn’t as prepared as I let on.
I sat down beside him and slipped my hand over his thigh and across the front of his pants. There was definitely something hard in there, running just underneath the fabric like a vein under skin. I rubbed it a bit and he groaned, his head lolling on his shoulders.
I chewed at my lower lip and pulled my hand away. Geoffrey’s hands fumbled for the button and zipper, which snagged halfway, forcing him to stand up and slip them down his hips.
“Are you gonna take those off?” I pointed at his boxers—reindeer frolicked on winter whites, Rudolph’s nose sticking out farther than the rest as the boy’s thing tented the fabric in precisely the right spot for some inappropriate and terribly un-sexy animation.
“Yeah.” He grinned uncomfortably and then closed his eyes as he slid the boxers down, reaching inside to free his erection over the band.
It wasn’t what I’d expected, just sort of tube-shaped and veiny, not big enough to be scary really, but at the same time, absolutely horrifying. It was smooth and the hair around it smelled like verbena or lavender or whatever old women like when they buy nice soap.
I looked up only once while I was doing it, not even sure I was doing it right, just sort of sucking and licking at it awkwardly. But Geoffrey’s face explained everything, contorted in a grimace of both pain and panting pleasure, his breath shallow one moment and then gasping for air the next. When he came, his hips bucked and I pulled away.
That was for the best.
I would have never been able to figure out what to do with the junk that came out. Not back then, at least, it was just too weird a moment.
Geoff lay there a bit with his eyes closed and his penis soft against the top of his thigh. I stood above him and waited, not sure for what, or why I didn’t just snatch up the bag with the Ball jar in it, which lay nearby atop a wire spool the kids used like a table. But I didn’t.
When he opened his eyes they were wet with tears, but I think he was happy. I didn’t ask.
“I’m going to get going.” I reached for the bag and he nodded, pulling his pants up around him.
Geoffrey and I didn’t go to the same school, or frequent the same places.
I never saw him again.
What I remembered about that day was the power I had over him.
Back at the house, Ethel was finally coming to grips with her stomach and was apparently able to keep down water as she was guzzling it from the straw in a Big Gulp cup.
I followed her into the bathroom, hiding the small jar under my sleeve. “Here’s the test. Says you just pee on it and then wait.”
She handed me the strip of white plastic and walked out of the room. A bonus, since I was sure I’d have to somehow pour Mrs. Stanford’s pee without Ethel seeing. I’d all but resigned myself to the idea of sopping my sleeve with urine in the process. But sometimes things turn out.
Just like the little plus sign on the test strip.
Ethel went crazy, screaming at Burt at the top of her lungs, while he deflected her blows and pledged his undying love. He even had a ring on hand to pop the question.
“You did this to me on purpose,” she accused.
“Of course not, honey.”
I cleared my throat loudly and played my final card.
And dropped the key ring of condoms—each one pierced through its center—into my mother’s open hand.
T
rès
I
mportante
Authorial Acknowledgments
This book was a labor of love, and by labor, I do mean it was like forcing a fat baby out of my ass. A baby I’d never conceived if it weren’t for Gil’s prodding. So you have him to thank for all the fabulousness and pathos.
I should thank Johnny Birch, as this story never would have happened without his smarmy shenanigans, but I’m not going to. He should thank me.
American Minions
would have tanked, low-budget bullshit that it was. Now his name is associated with one of the most top-rated series ever. Thank you.
A thousand thank-yous to Scott for putting up with my dead ass. You really are a reason to keep pretending I’m alive.
I’d like to thank my readers.
Some of you get it. I mean really get it. The others can just go on believing that their soy lattes with Splenda,
SLOW-CHILDREN-AT-PLAY
street signs, organic produce, and low-carbon footprints will save them from the inevitable. Sad.
We know it’s not so horrible.
It’s just more life.
I’m thankful for that, too.
KENSINGTON BOOKS are published by
Kensington Publishing Corp.
119 West 40th Street
New York, NY 10018
Copyright © 2010 by Mark Henry
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any means without the prior written consent of the Publisher, excepting brief quotes used in reviews.
Kensington and the K logo Reg. U.S. Pat. & TM Off.
ISBN: 978-0-7582-5995-0
1
No. No paparazzi either. Yeah. I was glad about that.
2
Dont pretend you dont know what Im talking about. That piss is rank. Good for getting rid of some quick water weight, though. Just a tip.
3
The authorities, that isnothing disrupts business like a vice raid.
*
for instructional purposes only!
4
I didnt want to even think what these girls would use
that
for.
5
Its a curse that my sense of smell is so acute. A curse!
6
Hey. Ive always kept mine neat and trim. Dont go making assumptions.
7
White linen. Like it was the 40s in Johannesburg and hed planned to attend a garden party. What the fuck? But it does bring to mind a question: what is appropriate strip club attire? Clearly, for dancers its a no-brainer, just cling-wrap a thong to your labia, rouge up your nipples and youre good to get boners twitching. For men, it doesnt seem to matter, theyre just as happy to have skanky twat against dirty jeans as they are $1,000 suits, or linen trousers, apparently. For me it would have been a question of practicality. Had I known, I would have opted for my vintage Dior swing trench with an Alexander McQueen rubber belt to cinch it, cause really, do I look like I need an Empire waist?
8
Didnt think so.
9
Purely for effect, you understand. The moment seemed to call for it. Oh, who am I fooling, I was dumbstruck.
10
Yes. That was a jab at the notoriously freckled and obscenely overpaid dancer Marisha Detlove. Word is Birch screwed her out of a very publicly disclosed virginity and a small fortune in Lladr figurines in a bizarre sex-related accident. The news was less than specific, however.
11
Seriously. You could feel it hanging in the air.
12
Was there anyone who wasnt an artist in the 70s?
13
Seriously. Havent I? What the fuck?
14
For the uninitiated, this is the part where you either skip ahead to avoid the gore or read on slack-jawed as I chomp this bastard.
15
If I ended up a hood ornament, Id totally be like one of those painted mermaids on pirate ships, flashing my shit with abandon and pin-up pouting. What kind of hood ornament would you be?
16
What? Its not like itd kill em. Christ, youre so sensitive.
17
This is where you lightweights skip ahead. I wont judge. This time.
18
I dont know why you insist on taking this to a dark place.
19
Dont you chime in. Im trying not to hear you right now.
20
So get your mind out of the gutter, pervo.
21
Not like that. Jesus.
22
As if I didnt have a clue. Jesus, Wendy.
23
Or maybe it will. I do enjoy keeping you people guessing.
24
And so do you. Right? Im asking you a question.
25
I know what youre thinking. Im not either. But youre wrong. I havent killed Wendy yet, have I? And shes given me plenty of reasondont act like she hasnt.
26
Not that anyone actually rallies for political correctness, but whether its soccer moms for the banishment of the word retard or fashion rejects banding together in white shoes after Labor Day, it just goes to show, theres always something to be offended about.
27
No shit. See Appendix (page 289).
28
Ive not given much thought to biblical sexual habits. Have you?
29
Closer to the core and were hypersensitive, so no cold-fish jokes, bitches! And the lubrication problem has cleared up entirely, though the reason for that is so unpleasant, I have no intention of detailing it here. Best leave it to your filthy imaginations. Have I reminded you recently that you make me sick?
*
the concept, not a person
30
Damn, that site is getting a lot of play this go-round. Social networkings not really my thing. I have a MySpace and I try to Twitter, but its so easy to forget and if the people reading them arent available for a late-night snacky call, then what good are they?
31
That sharp intake of breath you heard was Wendy and me judging Gils decision-making. It was done through our teeth and not silently, as you might have observed. Its not good judgment, if theres no whistle. Mark that down in your notebook.
32
Or Band-Aids, or prosthetic limbs, or adult diapers, unfortunately. Especially that last one.
33
Poor Betsey. By the way, they always come in a solid alternative.
34
As in Longstocking.
35
You cant have too many ins with the cops, what with so much to cover up in this afterlife.
36
Will someone tell me why Im talking about myself in the third person?
37
Joking. If ever there was a trend Id like to quash, its that little cult of Pollyanna bullshit. Look on the bright side. Look on the bright side. Seriously, the dimwits that came up with that can kiss my brownside. At least you have your health, my ass.
38
Which brings to mind the question of whether prostitutes take breaks.
39
Might as well cut it off at the pass, right, and if you can smoke a Camel while youre doing it and drink Red Bull and vodka while you recover, then all your friends in Home Ec will think youre all the more tragic and popular. Who doesnt want that?
40
Because one is never enough, like a Pringle, or a Botox injection. You know what Im talking about, ladies.
41
And why wouldnt I be? Its not like Id intentionally cram all nine contestants into an old Lincoln stretchfor Christs sake, it wasnt even black. If it showed up on your doorstep to take you to the airport, gleaming white like a smile, youd send that shit back to the white trash wedding it came from.
42
The lowest. None.
43
Yes, that was both a euphemism and a critique of his supremely shiny rack.
44
Turns out it was.
45
Lets just go with judgers. Its what Im comfortable with.
46
Which is the solution to so many uncomfortable situations. Bored. Camp or vamp it up, throw in an accent, make a little funat the very least, youll be entertained. And isnt that all that matters?
47
Id put money on the latter. Not then, but at some point in their lives. No question, theyve taken it in the rear for money. You know the look. Dont tell me you dont.
48
Arent they all?
49
Its amazing what you can convince yourself of in the middle of the night and after a fifth. Those flashing plane lights? UFOs, or at the very least, dying stars. When I was alive, I might have chalked them up to aneurysms, but again, Im not a doctor; also, Im dead, so that diagnosis doesnt really work anymore. Though I am still thinking, so I suppose its possible a neuron or something could explode up there.
50
I find its important to take pleasure in the little things: cute puppies, a bargain at a designer trunk sale, and well-deserved assaults. Just a tip.
51
Just when the DTs were setting in, too.
52
Seriously, what kind of a vampire flies around like that. It just wasnt right, or cute, at all. Wait till I told Gil, hed puke up his Fran Drescher, or whatever celeb vintage he was chugging nowadays.
53
And by God knows what, I think you know, I mean whittling. And by whittling, I mean jerking off.