“Gross. What the hell is it?” I was unable to look away from the little body, pinned as it was like a lab experiment. Better there than flying around, though, or I’d be snatching a flyswatter.
“I don’t really know. But it looks like a fucking threat to me.” He slid it back into the envelope and tossed it into his bag. “Anyways! I’m going on tour this spring and clearly, with this shit going on…” He kicked at the briefcase. “I’m going to need some protection.”
“All right. How is my ‘celebrity’ going to do that?”
“It’s not. I’m putting together a team of bodyguards, and what better way to do it nowadays than with my own fabulous reality contest show? Can you see it? Celebrity judges and weekly death matches. It’s exactly what Supernatural TV is aching for. Cameron Hansen would host, of course, and all we’d need is our Paula. You’d be our Simon.”
“Simon? I’m too cute and, anyway, you’d be our fucking Paula. What we’d need is a Randy.” I reached for my purse and began to scoot out of the booth. The idea was ludicrous.
“Maybe.” His voice thundered. “But I’m a nut with financial resources and I’d be willing to pay.”
“So you’re looking for more than just a guest judge here, then? We’re talking about exclusive advertising contract with product placement?”
“That could be arranged.”
“Let me think about it.” I looked around the Hooch and Cooch and couldn’t quite believe that such a gross experience might lead to a potential financial windfall. “All right, let’s plan to meet somewhere less…disgusting, and then we’ll talk about it. Sound good?”
“Up to you.”
“Well, let’s figure it out in the parking lot. I don’t think I can stomach this place much longer.”
As we stood to leave, a commotion began in the hallway to the private rooms. A steady stream of men were rushing from the exit, most of them screaming and none of them attempting to shield the bulge in their trousers. Following them was a roar that vibrated through the room and a crash as the chicken coops shattered sending several birds flapping and skittering off toward the door in the shack. Gil and Ethel ran into the room, my mother brandishing a machete, Gil some sort of short club.
“We better get out of here.” I turned to Birch, but he’d already darted for the front door. Behind him a massive hairy beast emerged from the tangle of metal cages. Its bulbous head sheared the ceiling as it lurched, creating a groove across the ripples of metal. Its thick, muscled arms ended in raking claws that shredded the floorboards into mulch with each powerful swipe. It stopped in the center of the room, head twisting wildly from one patron to the next until it found its quarry.
The creature howled with such force, the floor shook under me. Slobber clung to foot-long fangs like sloppy pennants flapping in the direction of Johnny Birch, who let out a quivering whimper.
It rushed forward.
Dammit, I thought. There goes the TV show.
KENSINGTON BOOKS are published by
Kensington Publishing Corp.
119 West 40th Street
New York, NY 10018
Copyright © 2008 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: 978-0-7582-5649-2
1 Azzedine Alaia: Tunisian designer, famous for banding a woman’s body into its proper form, regardless of her actual shape, a God at turning cows into shapely visions of sublime modernity.
2A word of caution: This name has been changed to protect you from the evil that is this particular celebrity and he is certainly not Bruce Willis, Ben Affleck or Brad Pitt (although he may have worked with one or all of them in the course of his career).
3 That’s what Mommy calls bad touch.
4 Poor swans.
5 Hooker.
6 A certain horror author has made it their concern to develop a blatantly homosexual shtick for their vampires. This has bled into both human and supernatural consciousness. I couldn’t have spun it better myself.
7 Dead flesh doesn’t heal and spackle is only cheap in bulk.
8 USO: Unknown Supernatural Origin.
9 The answer: Exactly as it was before death, BORING.
10 Werewolves, wereleopards and, to a lesser degree, werebears, who prefer the more masculine milieu of Les Toilettes, if you know what I mean.
11 The fucking potty mouth.
12The opposite of a living person’s hunger pang, which goes: stomach, head, car, McDonald’s.
13Succubus: A demon that can take the form of a female, in order to drain the life essence from its male victims. Often these demons work in tandem with an incubus, a male version of the demon, who will use the collected semen of the succubus’s victims to impregnate women. Sound sexy? Not so much.
14An exaggeration. Saturday, after the Liesl situation, Wendy and I binged on two guys coming out of a salsa club, yummy Latin boys with just enough spice. Couldn’t dance for shit, though.
15Along with animals (so cute), the elderly (too chewy) and people with cold sores, because honestly—ew!
16This is America, after all.
17The stare is our signature move; our victims, in that brief calm time before the realization, describe it in the sexiest way as, get this, “a vibrating recollection.”
18As if this needs clarification; I mean, who wouldn’t be?
19The tricky bitch had snapped off the fibula; it looked just like a femur though, huh.
20I know, I know, I’ll have to exercise twice as long tomorrow.
21Triple Chocolate Cake: a crunchy exterior reveals a cascade of moist devil’s food (aptly named) and chocolate chips, topped with a ganache worthy of a truffle. When warm, like on my seat next to me, it’s like one of those molten chocolate cakes from Cocoa on Market.
Chai Tea Cake: This is really more of a palate cleanser as it really only has a hint of tea flavor, but is spicy nonetheless. This spiciness combined with the creamy glaze is brilliant. I would brave India and fight off the throngs of street beggars, if these lovelies were sitting in baskets on the table next to the naan.
Oregon Marionberry Fritter: The first of a trio of raised donuts, a holy trinity, if you will, and I think you will, because I’m going to. Think apple fritter, with marionberries instead of apples, spotted evenly through a lump of fried yeast dough (mmm, fried dough) then drenched with Elite’s glaze from heaven. It truly is like the skies opened and God handed these to his favorite creation: me.
Mandarin Orange Glazed: Now this one is the same dough as the fritter, but is all about the glaze. You can almost feel the burst of flavor, like biting into a fresh orange. Sometimes I cut this one into wedges and pretend my mouth is full of juices. Oh wait, that’s saliva.
Peppermint Crème Filled: That’s right. You read it correctly, peppermint crème. What you don’t know is that the dough is the flavor and shade of hot chocolate. A perfect holiday memory, only Elite has it year-round, and for that we should all pray that the donut bakers should receive only the finest head available.
A Second Triple Chocolate Cake: See above. This flavor needs to be the last thing you taste. It coats your mouth like silk and, miraculously, is maintained for a good hour after. I cannot stress enough the importance of ending with this lump of lusciousness.
22 Were those Dickies? Jesus.
23 Hmm, maybe it was the deadish breath?
24 “That bitch’s breath stunk.”
“No more cocktails (I’m going to miss kamikazes and ooh, zombies).”
“Who will they get to dress my corpse?”
“I hope they have carbohydrates in heaven.” And, finally,
“Goddamn donut box.”
25 I’m talkin’ anal, bitches. Don’t be coy.
26 That’s pissy cooch, not Prissy Koch, she’s from Accounting, and a re
al cunt. Honestly, who keeps receipts?
27 He didn’t need to know about the donuts any more than the incontinence, so get off me.
28 If only the lies of human dating could be replaced by a simple ass sniff. Think of the wasted tears that could be avoided. Sniff. Yep. That’s an asshole.
29 Use your imagination. Jesus! Do I have to tell you everything? I blew him. Don’t make that face. You’ve done it, too.
30Zombie or retard? You be the judge.
31 Without a scathing comeback, I revert to a haughty adolescence. I’m not proud. It’s shameful. Lazy.
32 Which has never, I assure you, been a problem.
33 Mmm, donuts.
34 In a nutshell: Eat people and drink cocktails, wear expensive foundation that really covers (as if I needed to be told that) and moisturize (duh). Carry a small box of moist towelettes and breath mints, wherever you go. Oh. And don’t allow yourself to be maimed, or disfigured, because forever is a long fucking time.
35 Lips and assholes, the makings of hot dogs.
36 Cute ones. I’m thinking Retro ’80s.
37 The following self-diagnoses are a result of years of introspection and research, plus I stole a book called the
Diagnostic and Statistical Manual of Mental Disorders from my therapist’s bookshelf:
1.
Obsessive Compulsive Disorder (OCD): I’m not imagining this one. You’re reading a list, aren’t you? Is it really necessary? I’ll answer right after I wash all the doorknobs again, excuse me.
2. Generalized Anxiety Disorder (GAD): My understanding is that this is a disorder where everything makes you anxious. I’m not sure whether I actually have it or if I just like to think I do.
3. Bulimia Nervosa: Before you get any ideas, I do not puke, I exercise, like a demon.
38 And, just typing that gave me Wes Craven–style creeps.
39 Except by a tip, of course. That’ll get ’em moving. This is America.
40 Point of fact: The presence of a dead clown(s) is rarely cause for concern. Normally, their corpses signal that someone has simply been considerate enough to dispose of the rotten creatures, before you have to.
41 The Assessment: Shorter by a couple of inches, pretty face, thin, smallish tits, vintage shirtdress tied with a gold chain, cute shoes.
42 A rhetorical question, obviously. I don’t give a shit what you think.
* Not that there’d be any question of that.
** Thanks, Mom!
*** His!
43 Wal-Mart, would be my best guess, or somewhere equally haute.
44 An actual “humph.” So rare, these days. I hadn’t heard one since Roz in a repeat of Nine to Five.
45 Except for the time with Ben Moretti, oh and Joel Watts and that time with Rachel somebody, after that stupid Wicca meeting, but that was a long time ago, a long time.
46 Weird, right? It was like they knew me.
47 Classy.
48 Moment of silence.
49 Is there any other way?
50 If this comes as a surprise, then you’ve overlooked the fact that I’m a total bitch. Totally unacceptable, considering, I’ve given you plenty of hints. It should have you reconsidering that YouTube bitch.
51 She was dead, after all, and blonde.
52 It’s my memoir, and I like lazy similes.
53 You knew I’d notice.
54 Is it wrong that I thought it looked like a floating poon? I don’t think so.
55 Making my initial reference all the more disturbing, no?
56 Yeah. That one.
57 Please stock up on the following items:
1. Spasteam 2000: There are other steamers on the market, but this one seems to be able to extract a blackhead without stripping ten layers of skin. If we wanted that, I’d have suggested a belt sander.
2. Otani Alcohol-Free Exfoliating Gel: Alcohol-free is a must, particularly for dry skin. An alcohol-based exfoliate will render your skin a desiccated wasteland, and no one wants to see that.
3. Egyptian cotton extra soft washcloths, natural: If you’re going to spend $42 on an eight-ounce bottle of Otani, do you really want to scrub with that Target shit?
4. Fiji or Voss water for rinsing: Okay, I'm being elitist here but I don’t know where you live, your tap water could smell like raw sewage. some do, you know.
5. Clarity Spa’s Fluff Toner: Most toners will be effective, but if I can create an excuse for a quarterly visit to the spa, then, it’s on.
6. Hypoallergenic Softdiscs: Please disregard the need for these applicators, only if you reside in a singlewide trailer and call metal flashing a foundation.
7. Matsuma Conditional Moisturizer: Creamy, bordering on edible, even the name of the company suggests food. Your skin will look so fresh, bystanders will have to resist the urge to lick.
8. Brookhaven Valley Pinot Noir: To drink, silly. Essential. The more you think of this as an experience, as pampering, the more likely you are to spend the time required to look fabulous.
58 Steam. Exfoliate. Rinse. Tone. Rinse, again. Moisturize. Please commit it to memory.
59 Shout out to Clive Barker!
60 Or, a cacophony of maniacal incomprehension, your choice.
61 Some of which are excerpted for this book.
62 It was kind of cute how she thought she looked good.
63You know what they say about large canines. Big…ego.
64 And, who wouldn’t want that?
65 Only it wouldn’t matter. Her delivery was so awful and standard; she’d still have to blow him.
66 That’s the word! I’m a supernatural. After all, isn’t that what I try to achieve with my makeup? I’ll even say it like this: I’m super natural. Très Minnesota.
67We used to call her Naughty Kinky. Don’t you wish your name could be so deliciously mangled?
68If you don’t stop thinking those dirty thoughts, you’re going to have to seriously consider joining a twelve-step for sex addicts. Now, how would your girlfriend/boyfriend react to that? It’s just not fair to them. So embarrassing.
69 You look it up. I’m not big on accuracy. I’m in advertising, for Christ’s sake.
70 Shut up. I can be nice. Fuck off!
71 Or unholy, as the case may be, the unholiest.
72 i.e.: Did I catch you looking at dirty pictures again? You little devil.
73 Well no more danger than driving while talking on a cell phone, in the rain, whilst in the middle of a total fucking freakout.
74 Is it wrong that my tummy growled? I’d hate to seem insensitive.
75 Jen Lancaster’s memoir is well-read and dog-eared. The bitch is bitter and I love her.
76That’s the royal “we.”
77 Who doesn’t love a Kubrick reference?
78 Sorry, couldn’t resist.
79 Would you like feces with those bowling alley fries?
80 Enticing, no?
81 They’d have to be to employ that overused adjective.
82 Trauma is the New Recovery. Caution: that tidbit is all mine, folks. When you use it—and you will—pepper it through your speech like veins of blue mold through Roquefort.
83 I love an unexpected rhyme.
84 A circle with horns, the inside is a rainbow. Co-opted from the gays. Easy to overlook.
85 I would have to check if that had been done. I do love to facilitate.
86 Standard Operating Procedure for show of irritability.
87 Her trademarked look. It indicates the presence of either unacceptable males, or dirty diapers in a grocery store parking lot.
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