Authors: Shane McKenzie
Fat Off Sex and Violence
by Shane McKenzie
Fat Off Sex and Violence © 2013 by Shane McKenzie
Cover art copyright © 2013 Glenn Chadbourne
All characters depicted in this book are fictitious, and any resemblance to actual events or persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.
No part of this book may be reproduced in whole or in part without the publisher’s written consent, except for the purposes of review.
For my brother David.
You’ve always been my best friend. I’m just as excited for your future as I am for my own. Go fuck some shit up, man. Celery generals!
As always, I have to thank Jeff, Carlton, and Rose for believing in me and my work. I keep expecting you guys to say no to me, and you just keep saying yes. Love y’all! Thank you to Paul at Thunderstorm for creating beautiful books. Thank you to Chris Morey and R.J. Cavender at Dark Regions Press. Thank you to Don D’Auria over at Samhain. Thank you to Tom and Billie Moran at Sideshow Press. There’s too many authors to name here, but you know who you are, and I love you all. Really I do. Though I will never allow them to read this book, thank you Mom and Dad for supporting your horror-loving son since day one. And of course, my girls. Thank you Melinda for loving me and always having my back. Maxine, if you’re reading this…go to your room. You’re in trouble. But Daddy loves you and couldn’t imagine a life without you.
Bury the Evil
The men dug with furious persistence, tossing spadefuls of earth over their shoulders, faster and faster as the moonlight shone beams of silver down on them. The snores of the beasts tore through the night, nearly stilling the men’s hearts, but they could not stop, must not stop.
“Faster. You must dig faster or we are all doomed,” Cassandra said, pulling her robe tighter to escape the bite of the cold. “Hurry, men. Quickly.”
“Yes, my lady,” they said as one. The arms found new fervor as the spades stabbed into the dirt, scooped it away.
The beasts writhed in their sacks, smacked their mouths. Everyone paused for a timeless moment, glaring at the sacks at Cassandra’s feet.
“Do not listen, only dig. Dig!”
And they did, they dug until only their shoulders and heads were visible from where she stood. “Enough…we must bury them. Must bury them before they wake!”
She peered up at the ancient tree, its branches pulling down the power of the gods and soaking it into the soil at its roots. This tree would hold the evil, she knew. It would keep the evil beneath the surface so that no more innocent blood would be spilled.
The men grabbed the first sack, the beast still snoring, though less frequent, with less volume. They covered the demon with dirt, stomped on the loose earth to pack it tight.
Cassandra’s hands clutched each other at her chest, massaging the perspiration deep into the skin as she watched the second beast be thrown into its grave. Its snores beat at her soul, turned her blood into ice.
But one man remained in the hole, smiled up at her. The others blinked rapidly, glared at each other and twisted their hands over the wooden handles of the spades.
She moved forward, but not fast enough to stop the man who remained in the hole from unsheathing a dagger from his boot and running it across his own throat. The gash tore wider as he leaned his head back and cackled at the moon, the blood bubbling out and soaking into his clothes.
Cassandra, as fast as she could, plucked the man’s spade from the ground, swung it wide into the faces of the other men, knocking them down before they could join in on the bloodshed. And with every ounce of strength within her body, she hoisted the bleeding man from the hole, tossed him aside before his blood could soak into the dirt, before it could feed the beast.
She shoved mounds of dirt over the snarling demon, covered it completely. “You are finished, devil. And here you will stay…forever.”
Her men groaned from behind her as they got to their feet, rubbing their faces. All traces of the beast’s influence seemed to have vanished, and when their eyes landed on their lady, they rushed over to assist her.
With the earth packed tightly over the graves under the god tree, Cassandra said a silent prayer, shed a tear for all she had lost, and nodded to her men. They lifted their fallen brother from the ground, his blood now a muddy puddle around him, though far enough away that the beast could not feed, and they left the evil behind.
Cassandra could only pray that it stayed buried, that no other unfortunate soul should ever awaken the feedlings.
Gary flipped to the next page of the Hentai comic and bit his lip. He held the pages open with his left hand—clutching the book at the top of the spine with the heel of his palm pressing the pages open as wide as he could get them—and tugged on himself with his right hand. The flimsy hollow-wood door never closed right, so he had his foot propped up against it just in case someone tried to walk in.
Something about the disproportionate, big-eyed cartoon characters got his heart pumping.
Squeezing himself, a violent shudder ran through him. He didn’t want to finish too fast, still wanted to get to the end, the climactic conclusion of
. A new shipment Mr. Shipley had gotten in that day, and Gary had already decided
copy was going home with him.
He turned the page, wiped the sweat from his brow. In the small space of the restroom, he kept getting gusts of his own body odor, had to hold his breath as he stroked, which only made him sweat more. Salty drips splashed over his tiny penis, but they just blended into the baby oil he’d already slathered himself with.
A knock at the door. Gary’s stomach plummeted to the floor and he gripped himself, concealing his entire manhood in his palm. “Somebody’s in here.”
“I know that, dumbshit. Hurry your ass up, we got customers.” The voice was thick with phlegm, deep. There was a coughing fit, and then: “And you just bought that comic you got in there with you.”
Gary was too close to stop now, so he flipped to the end of the comic. An elaborate drawing of a vampire girl lying on her back with a thick, detailed cock spitting cum over her belly, the veins as thick as tree roots, was there to push Gary to the edge. He held in his gasp as he came, grimaced and pressed his hand against the wall, letting the comic flip itself shut. Taking deep breaths, he wiped another thick coat of sweat from his face, and flushed the toilet. As the water swirled, he wondered if each individual little sperm was screaming in terror as it was sucked into the toilet’s gullet.
He yanked his jeans up, wiped his hand on his pant leg, and grabbed the comic. The pages were flipped until he reached the last image again, and he stared at it with jealousy bubbling in his gut.
I’ll never be able to draw this good.
A potent urge to crumble up his personal project,
, and toss it into the garbage filled him to the brim, but he just folded up
, stuffed it between his lower back and his waistline, and walked out into the comic shop. The air conditioning swept over him and turned his warm sweat into ice water, pulled the gooseflesh out.
Mr. Shipley was there, waiting on him. His thick hairy arms were crossed over his pot belly which pushed his Star Wars t-shirt to the limit. His mustache wiggled and he looked about ready to sneeze, but he pointed a stubby finger instead. “I’m docking your pay thirty minutes and I’m deducting the cost of that comic book.”
“Thirty minutes? I was only—”
“Do you really want to talk about what you were doing in there? Make me sick.” He turned toward the store, then looked over his shoulder. “And go wash your hands for christsake.”
On the other side of the counter stood the four regulars on tournament day at the Rusty Dungeon. The boys watched the exchange between Gary and Mr. Shipley and laughed without even trying to hide their eavesdropping. They elbowed each other, snickered. They each held their game decks, and though they’d been in the store all week buying new packs of cards, Gary knew they were no match for him.
They’ll never beat me.
He washed his hands, wiped them on his shirt.
“Hey, Gary, I heard you can get diseases from public bathrooms,” Sonny said, his braces gleaming. “You sure you should be doing that in there?” He laughed, looked toward his buddies, and they joined.
“It’s the only way he’d ever get one. Gotta have sex to get an STD,” Brett said and snorted.
The Turner twins giggled in unison.
“Fuck you guys. Like you’ve ever had sex with anyone but each other.” Gary wished he hadn’t said it even as the words flew from his lips. The only sex he’d ever experienced was with himself, a visual aide in hand or flickering in front of him.
Mr. Shipley slammed an open palm on the glass display case. “Okay, that’s enough of that.” He waved Gary over and whispered: “These might be high school kids, but they’re still under eighteen, you idiot. I don’t need no child molestation case on my hands, you got me?”
“I wasn’t…I was only—”
“Just drop it already.” He faced the boys. “Okay, you kids know the rules by now, right?”
Sneers contorted their faces, but they all nodded. They flipped through their decks, bounced on their heels.
“So, winner gets a rare character card,” Mr. Shipley said. “This week, we got the Demon Emperor.” He held up the foil card, looked from the boys’ faces back to the card, his smile widening with each glance. “This one goes for two hundred bucks on Ebay, so play to win, boys.”
“That card is mine, fat ass,” Sonny said. “You’re going down this week.”
Gary spat with laughter, then wiped the spittle from the glass counter with the bottom of his shirt. “Please. No. Chance.”
“So, Gary is the champion,” Mr. Shipley said. “You four play each other, single elimination, and the winner plays Gary. Winner of that gets the prize.”
As the boys chose their cards from their decks, Gary got to unfolding the table and setting out the chairs. He couldn’t stop himself from smiling the whole time, knowing the Demon Emperor was as good as his. The same four boys had been trying to beat him for over a year, and they’d never been close once.
Sonny bumped Gary as he walked around the table, then Brett did the same. The Turner twins sat across from them and laid their cards over the table.
Gary just stared at Sonny. He was more filled with shame more than anger from the fear he felt at the promise of this kid kicking his ass. A kid at least ten years younger than him, and half his size.
But he’s got friends. I could take him one on one.
When Sonny’s eyes shot from his deck of cards to Gary, Gary averted his gaze and walked away, got behind the safety of the counter.
“All right, boys. You can begin.” Mr. Shipley hit the stopwatch, coughed and spat the phlegm into a crumpled receipt in his hand.
The boys shuffled their decks and started the game. Sonny shot a quick grin toward Gary, ran his thumb over his throat.
Gary forced a small smile, though his skin burned red.
Gary laid his next card on the table. “I play the Elder Wizard.” He slid the card to the space between him and Sonny on the table and chuckled.
The other boys said “Ooohhh.”
“Go ahead,” Gary said. He snorted and swallowed the glob of snot that flooded his mouth. “Beat that.”
“Shut your fucking mouth, fat ass,” Sonny said. “Why don’t you go play with your dick some more?”
The boys started laughing, but Mr. Shipley stepped up. “Keep it clean, boys.”
Sonny flipped through his deck, pursed his lips. A trickle of sweat ran down the side of his face and beaded at his chin. He slammed his deck on the table, bared his metallic teeth. “Damnit.”
Gary jumped to his feet, raised his hands like a victorious boxer. “That’s right. And still the Mystical champion of the world…”
Sonny stayed in his seat, fingers thrumming on the table, ran his tongue over his braces and watched Gary with hard eyes. The other boys looked from Sonny to Gary and back to Sonny.