We were submitted this random short story and had to publish it.
[Beware this is vulgar, intense, and makes no sense.]
Around with Lshanté
The setting: A cold, wet, rainy beach. Eyebawl-less fish on shore. Mid-winter.
The characters: the DJ (all the kids know the DJ! he has some stupid name or somethin. DJ 2wet2dry. he controls the ipod at the party ‘hey guys check this sh!tout’. ugh I want to plug his index finger in the toaster) 2 gays (high on K*, 23 lines a coke couldn’t hurt, ecstasy, pills with stars, pills with kats. meowwwz. a few bongs never did any wrong…) the drunk handy-tard (slurring, spilling, drooling, ‘im soakedddd. who shpillled the f’ing red stripe on my vintage tee?’) the perv (fiddling around with his nipple ring. dreaming of children with priests. a minimalist. digs lint out the button d’belly. smells it. licks it. yum. devours it.) the doctor (face bleeding, fingers wobblin round the place, jaw crunchin, shakin like a prosthetic leg, too many pills, mumbling to the gays, thinkin bout that surgery to perform in the morning.)
The bonfire doesn’t light in the rain. The doctor’s water bursts and the labor pains commence. Rain starts pissin down like it’s God hatin on our lifestyle. Toes start turning red from the hypo. I think I left my Doc Martins in the bar. But we do got them sweet drugs, this lovely wine, that Red Stripe and somehow some blessed soul smuggled in some Wild Turkey Whiskey.. Mmmm Mmmm. Lshanté love me some dat.
