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.
HOLD UP!! Jesus is stumbling out of the waves. Rolling onto the beach. No tribal loincloth or toga to speak of. No Jewish curl. No Hindu dot. No discolored turban. No yam-aka. Is Judas circumcised? Who knows? Too small. Are Peter and Paul in tact? Shriveled up like seedless grapes in a lukewarm bath. Hair longer and filthier than my braided pubic wig. Seaweed everywhere.
The DJ, the gays, the doctor, the tard, the pervert & I get on our knees. What escapes from us nobody knows. The depths of our souls are being submerged in a milky cesspool of warmth, radiation poisoning, and eternal light. On our knees we hold hands and hum to a trance beat; we smile and rejoice. The seance that envelopes us is disgusting and pure. We are mindless animals no longer trapped in the shackles of this life and misery… And I think that last round of X just went straight to my head. All the dilation. All the ritual goodness. The gays embrace each other with newfound tenderness. The perv renounces satin and saddles his legs into the nearest chastity belt. The DJ is speaking in tongues. The drunk delivers the premature baby of the doctor. She swiftly cuts the cord with a clean shell and the baby is named Fruit-of-the-Womb. I soak up all the emotion and rub my breasts into the wet sand. I renounce this capitalist society and pledge my allegiance to Marx.
Jesus is crawling toward us, his dreadlocks scraping along the rocks. Oye! He comes bearing gifts. A blunt in his pincers. A flapping phish between his savage middle-eastern teeth. At once our movement ceases and as the Messiah draws near. ‘I am a messenger from the almighty. I come in peace. I come bearing gifts.I am friend, not foe. Do you speak American?’ The fire alights as the cast of characters move in unison with a joful rendition of ‘what if God was one of us?’. Jesüs homeboy tosses that fish onto the crackling flames and all is good in the world. The night is young. Our eyes are aligned with the stars. The moon in its harvest glow warms our toes that are encrusted with urchents and merchants. Natalie Merchant comes on the radio. Haven’t heard that song in ages.The baby suckles the teet of DJ. The phish tastes like fish. Our parents forgive us. .
Just another day in the US of A. God Bless America everyone. For tomorrow I embark on my mormon pilgrimage to spread the good word of Jahosaphat to the heathens of Europe, Mexico and all those other countries. I hope that I may stay in touch with you civilized people through this blog. I will send news of my sub-mediocre life.
Luv, LshantéLegit apparel. Only by P&C.