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“Well, what on Earth do you think you’re doing, you skinny little dope of a man?” It was Vonnegut again and we were in the field. I sat atop the washing machine with the cat with the cat-shitting face.
“I’m writing my obligatory shit short.”
It was morning, and crisp, and the whole of the field was sopping in puddles of excrement, like a bog. Vonnegut wore my waders, I now saw, and carried an umbrella. He held a steaming beverage in a mug.
“What happened to the Ponderosa?” I asked him.
“Swept away, I’m afraid. By your river.” True, the Ponderosa was no more, carried away by the swift fecal currents of my short. Vonnegut frowned, his pursed lips angling his unlit Pall Mall in my direction. “And those are your drafts?”
I still write all my shorts in pencil, on looseleaf, so I handed them over. “It’s just supposed to build to a crescendo. I wanted to take the shit short to a new place. Shit like Acme has never seen. Shitting, shitting, shitting. Barfing, shitting, fluids. Volume. The ultimate spraying. I don’t know.”
Vonnegut cleared his throat and read. “My testicles tensed and spun. I almost puked as my poor little overclenched asshole buckled under the strain. My susurrating star winked and winked and winked. It was trying so hard! It took a sort of anal breath then, a spluttering, fitful breath, like a brat catching her wind in the midst of a tantrum, going, ‘Heeb-eeb-eeb-eebeebeeb!’ My asshole blew bubbles!”
Vonnegut sighed and opened his umbrella. The ochre clouds soaring above the field released their feculent payload in gusty sheets. Fleckets of it peppered my skin, stinging me. “Enough with the shit, Richard. It’s time for you to leave Scranton.” He took a deep, deep draught of steaming hot diarrhea from the mug. He smacked his lips. “Is this really necessary?”
POOP PART 3
POOP PART 5
Date Written: January 12, 2005
Author: Dick Vomit
Average Vote: 4.5