“Mama tvayi aasaktirasti, my sister,” was his usual reply.
Once their ingestion of the clusters became regular, the Sanskrit they spoke became choppy. It was a difficult language to master and although they were born fluent in it, ever since the Skank Clusters had them addicted, it seemed as though their intellect was rapidly regressing.
As they cuddled, draped in silken sheets, they fed each other clusters of skanks and ran smooth fingertips over each other’s cool, naked bodies. They never paid attention to the quibbling nor did they partake in any of the bizarre eating rituals as others did. They were far too refined to engage in trivial discussion and were too enamored in each other to pay attention to anything else.
The bunch they were currently munching was particularly ripe (and relatively quiet) and after they plucked each skank off, feeding them to each other like twin Caesars, their refinement took another dive towards simplicity.
“Grab your deha and stick it in my chora kothari,” begged Jonxie.
“I’m the durgati, baby.” Junk proceeded to mechanically ravage his sister with very little romance.
The television that rested atop one of the multiple mattresses provided only a glow of twilight ambience as the twins licked and drooled over each other’s flesh. It only served as background noise and a flicker of teasing light. They were completely unaware of the broadcast that belched forth the latest harrowing report:
NEWS FLASH:
The King of Saudi Arabia blew his asshole out today. At 1:38 this morning, his rectum prolapsed and completely vacated his torso in the middle of an unusually thunderous fart, no doubt the affect of countless gangbangs committed to the King’s royal rear. Chaos has once again consumed the Middle East. A society that took extensive measures to hide female flesh has shed its shield of religious extremism. Arabic women have been seen engaged in lurid, public prostitution. These acts have equally enraged and intrigued the population of Islamic males, causing hedonistic riots throughout the city streets.
“Aaplavate me in your retodheya, mama bhraatr,” Jonxie pleaded as Junk pumped away at her beckoning ass. Her pose mimicked a cat in heat. Junk wasted no time in gratifying his sister’s demand and followed her instructions – he bathed her in a forceful ejaculation. Then, in a spontaneous impulse that surprised him only afterwards, he hauled back and punched her in the cheekbone. Jonxie was out, and so was Junk. He slammed the door on his way out. He wanted more Skank Clusters and didn’t give a shit if he was naked.
* * * * *
Tuggy and Raster charged through the flimsy apartment door closing it with their backs braced up against it. They both stood huffing and wide-eyed. Raster turned and latched the chain and deadbolt, immediately turning back to barricade the door with his body.
“WHAT…THE FUCK??” Raster said though heaving gasps.
“All those people out there…they’re all Skanks!”
Raster turned to his best friend. “Wow, Tuggy, you’re really astute!” he said, dripping sarcasm.
“What the hell is going on out there?”
“You saw the news, man! Everybody is freaking out on those Skank Clusters. I just had no idea how bad it was. It’s like it all happened over night!”
“You mean over day.”
“Shut-up you dick! You gotta promise you’re never gonna touch one of those clusters ever again.”
“Whatever,” Tuggy said with a sneer.
“I mean it, man! Those things are toxic or something. Everybody is all hopped up!”
“You still want to put on Thunder Warrior II?”
“Now is no time for passive voyeurism, Tug. We have to do something!”
“Like what?”
“Let’s see what the TV is saying.”
Tuggy pressed the button and the television sprung to life.
NEWS FLASH:
The havoc resulting from the sudden addiction to Bien Bits’ Skank Clusters has escalated to a state of global crisis. According to the Atomic Scientists responsible for maintaining the Doomsday Clock, we are now only one minute to midnight. The threat this time is not nuclear or climate change, but biosecurity. Disaster looms, threatening humanity with what some theorize is a mind-altering and potentially fatal agent administered by ingesting these ever-popular Skank Clusters. Across the globe, militias have been organized overnight by networking sites such as ‘Twitter’ and ‘Facebook.’ As quickly as these proclaimed ‘units of protection’ were put together, they were rounded up like herds of cattle and thrown into what appear to be ‘Concentration Camps.’ These camps are primarily abandoned warehouses and gated apartment complexes situated in urban ghettos.
It has been reported by the very few lucky enough to escape that the conditions of these camps are nothing short of inhumane. These witnesses all shared the same reports of cannibalism, rape, prominent drug abuse, and in some cases, even incest. Televisions set up in all the dormitories housing the captives have been plying non-stop Cluster commercials. At this point, there have been no plans made by any of the world’s governments to aid those who are trapped by these mindless Skanks. More to follow, here at Channel 36.
“This planet is turning into a battle zone, Tug. We gotta get ready for war!” Raster said as he quickly paced the apartment. He was flapping his arms about like an ostrich in a vain attempt at take off.
“It’s not like we’ll be able to fight the planet. Everybody is all fucked up – you saw it out there! The best we can do at this point is get some guns and steal what we can to get by.”
Raster disappeared into his bedroom.
“Look,” Tuggy continued, “let’s just go back out there, beat the shit out of someone, get some weapons for defense, and stock up on provisions.” He poured some more vodka down his gullet. Out of habit, he reached for his coffee can that usually contained his stash of Skank Clusters, only to find it empty. “Black outs can sure be a bitch,” he grumbled.
Raster reemerged looking like a hero from one of his favorite action flicks. He tied a pair of old yellow and blue striped gym socks and fashioned himself a headband. The knots aligned with his temples and looked like floppy Goofy ears. He wore a camouflage fishing vest with a built-in foam life preserver and cut off jean shorts that came down to mid thigh. He also carried an aluminum baseball bat.
“You look ri-goddamn-diculous,” blurted Tuggy. He didn’t even laugh at his silly friend. It wouldn’t be grim to laugh.
“You’re one to talk, Count Grishnack.”
“Seriously, man! You look worse than any cast member in Space Mutiny. You make Sean Connery from Zardoz look like Frank Sinatra. You just suck, bud.”
“Yeah? Well at least I’m ready for action. What are you gonna do…breath vodka fumes at them and frown?”
“I think the only protection you’ll have is getting those Skanks out there to laugh their ass off at you. They’ll be too busy trying to compose themselves before they attempt to rob you.”
“Look, this is getting us nowhere. We have to think!” Raster slammed the bat down on the table, jostling a stack of DVDs and rumbling Tuggy’s bottle.
* * * * *
The walls inside the concentration camps were spackled in congealing human fluids. Skank possessed people ran in twitchy, rampant frenzies, busying themselves with drug-addled orgies. The lurid screams of sodomy rang throughout the warehouses and apartments as Skank commercials ran incessantly.
Close ups of succulent lips plucking flailing, vivacious mini-trash flickered on the wall mounted televisions. Bien Bits…bringing you the flavor of life.
Moans seeped through the flimsy walls as injection followed injection. Heroin and Ketamine were the most commonly administered, but there was the occasional deliverance of meth that was supplied to some of the males that were used for breeding purposes. Women were drugged into a helpless state – the receptacles of rape. Males were coaxed into turgidity and forced to copulate (often at gunpoint) with the Skanky women who were eager to have a child and raise it on welfare. Th
ose who died from substance overdose were left to putrefy. Those who served as breeders were left in solitary confinement, oozing reproductive juices.
* * * * *
Jonxie had lost any method of verbal communication. Her addiction to Skank Clusters stole away her intellect, leaving her only with desires – more Skanks to consume, sex with someone, anyone - but there was someone she vaguely remembered. A shadow formed as she closed her eyes. ‘Where are you tonight?’ were the formless words that manifested in her aching heart. The words were neither Sanskrit nor English and were nothing more than an emotion translatable by those who had suffered a broken heart. She knew there was something missing. Something important. Something as close to her as her own skin, and she knew whatever it was, she didn’t have it. It was driving her crazy – not knowing, not able to do anything about it, feeling helpless.
She could see from the windows, all the things she couldn’t find the words to describe. But she looked anyway, searching for something or someone she couldn’t identify. A fit of insanity overwhelmed her as she screamed and tore at the sheets that rested on the mattress-covered floors. She flipped the mattress over and knocked the television over that was displaying the same news story about concentration camps – completely foreign and cryptic information that bore no relevance to Jonxie. She bounced and spun herself off the walls like a prisoner in an asylum. Blood splatters polka-dotted the white walls as her head uncontrollably smacked against them. Woozy and exhausted from the adrenaline-fueled outburst, Jonxie curled up in a corner of the large single room, sitting on one of the disorganized mattresses. She rocked herself back and forth. Her fingers clung to her golden hair, becoming tangled in the strands as she tore away. She began tearing at herself with her nails, pulling long spindles of curling flesh off her arms and legs. It was as if she was desperately searching for any information she could find, a key to the puzzle of her missing…‘something.’
* * * * *
“What are we gonna do, Tuggy?”
“Who cares? This place sucks anyways. I say let the planet go to hell. Let it end itself so we can all return to the chaos that inadvertently created us,” Tuggy said in an unenthusiastic monotone.
“I just don’t get it, man. How on Earth did you manage to stay resilient to the effects of the Skank Clusters?” Raster asked. “If we can figure that out, maybe we can save everyone else.”
“I’m too grim to act like a Skank.”
“Just because you’re grim doesn’t mean you’re immune to them. There has to be a reason that you have managed to stay, well, ‘yourself’ and not turn into a Skank.”
“I’m telling you – I’m too damn grim.” This time, a smile crept across his face.
“You really don’t give two shits, do you?”
“Nope. People had it coming. If we all hated ourselves, then there would be no reason to act in such a self-gratifying manner. Fuck sex, fuck drugs, fuck money – that’s all anyone cares about – and unfortunately, those are the things that motivate our measly existence.” Tuggy went for his wallet and the razor this time slicing multiple cuts into his cheeks. The blood drooled down and looked like stringy, red mutton chops.
“That’s it!!” Raster stood up and pointed down at Tuggy. “Dude! You’re so fucking right!”
“I know it.”
“No, you depressed dolt! It’s your cutting. Maybe it’s similar to how they used to use leeches, you know, how they used to stick them on people to suck out the bad blood! Maybe with your constant cutting, you are letting the bad blood out. That’s why the Skanks haven’t got to you! Your body makes new blood that doesn’t have the Skank germs in it.”
“Ha! You’ve lost it. Even if you’re right, are you saying we should go around a cut up the entire planet? Wait…that would be awesome! We could start cutting people and then when they come back to being normal, tell them to cut MORE people and so on. It would take a while but that might work. And even if it doesn’t, who gives a fuck – it would be fucking fun!” He saw himself get excited and immediately corrected himself. “I mean, it would be fucking brutal as fuck,” Tuggy said with a scowl.
“Uh, Tuggy, I don’t think that would be an efficient solution.”
“Then why did you shit that stupid idea out of your mouth?”
“I don’t know, I was just thinking out loud, I guess.” Raster sat back down.
“It’s like people are possessed with Skank souls or something. Too bad people aren’t possessed with demons. That would be cool,” said Tuggy.
“Wait…you might be on to something. When people are possessed, they have to be exorcised, right?”
“Well, yeah, I guess.”
“So how would we exorcise people possessed with Skanks?”
“How the fuck should I know that, you tool?”
“Well, demons hate the church, so they are read The Roman Ritual of Exorcism. Now, Skanks have to hate something, so what would we read to Skanks that would exorcise their souls from people?”
“I don’t know, they’re all fucking stupid, so maybe we should read them a book, like classic literature or something.”
“You could be on the right track, but Skanks need to be educated on what is socially acceptable, what is right and wrong.”
“You’re saying you want to teach philosophy to Skanks? Ha!” Tuggy smacked his hand in his face and shook his head. Blood fled from the impact and found it’s way to Raster’s shirt.
“Uh, yeah I guess that’s what I’m saying. Do you know anything about philosophy?” Raster asked with a hopeful giddiness.
“Well, yeah. It’s important to understand both sides of an issue before you can pick one. I believe in the self, the selfish human aspect of things, and anarchy – no government, no structure. I kinda like how things turned out. But I suppose if things were to return to ‘normal’ the Skanky folks should hear about social structure, but also how to think for themselves so they won’t be controlled by whatever is controlling them. I recommend Plato’s The Republic and Nietzsche’s On the Genealogy of Morals,” Tuggy educated.
“Tuggy, for a misanthropic dude, you are surprisingly insightful. We need to get to a book store.”
“And then what, dumbass? How are we gonna read to the entire planet?”
“Look, all the television and radio stations are set on one channel – it’s the Emergency Broadcast thing. So all we need to do is get those books, I’ll go to a radio station, you go to a television station, and we start reading. Then we hope that our hypothesis is correct – people should snap out of their Skank comas and everything should return to normal.” Raster explained.
“Whatever. Let’s just go. I’m bored anyway.” Tuggy and Raster stood up and looked at each other. Raster took the sleeve of his shirt and wiped the blood off Tuggy’s face and gave him a reassuring slap on the arm. “Dude, you’re so gay.”
Raster smiled and grabbed the keys, Tuggy frowned and grabbed the vodka and they both left their apartment and made for the bookstore.
* * * * *
The streets were littered with chaos. Glass from broken shop windows covered the sidewalks, shining like a wealth of diamonds in the setting sunlight. Countless fires scratched away at the evening sky and smoke billowed from the downtown buildings. Ashes and newspaper joined the leaves in the autumn breeze, passing abandoned cars left in wreckage.
Dead bodies were scattered and as common as wild daffodils – some nude, some with syringes still stuck in their arms, some obviously murdered but all a grayish-blue. Traffic lights blinked as if confused about what instruction to deliver. Jonxie knelt at a traffic pole, naked, licking and fellating the button in an attempt to change the flashing red palm of the ‘Do Not Walk’ to the green glow of a person-in-motion so she could cross the street. She ran one massaging hand up and down the pole and fingered herself with the other. It had been days since Junk had left, and in her mind, she couldn’t figure out if she wanted to find him or just find a dealer to score drugs or Skank Clusters from
. The red palm disappeared as steam rose from the box and displayed the green person indicating it was safe to cross. She wiped her mouth with the back of her hand and licked her fingers, tasting herself. She had never been outside before and as she aimlessly wandered the streets, she saw the form of the only person she ever knew. It was a pale, naked body with matted blond hair. She found Junk on his back – not more than two blocks away from their flat.
As she stared in saddened disbelief, she noticed his cock wiggle and stiffen. She crouched beside him and put a hand on his chest to check for a heartbeat, but found none. She grabbed his penis and felt it move and swell. Bubbles of blood boiled up from his urethra in a viscous stream as a tiny hand came out, followed by another. The head of his penis tore and almost spilt in half as a Skank emerged. She scurried over and started kicking at the tops of his dangling testicles. “Dat’s right, yous is fuckin’ dead, beeitch!”
Junk’s throat started to swell then his head started to twitch and a dozen more Skanks scampered out of his mouth in an incomprehensive, shit-talking cluck-fest. His belly rippled and churned as more blood puddle from beneath him, seeping out between his legs. Another half-dozen Skanks, covered in feces and mucous, squirmed out from beneath his balls. Even though he was lying on his back, Jonxie saw the protrusions of flayed tissue of his anus as the Skanks tore free. “You sick mudafucka, dat’s what you git – you an yo’ kinky ass!”
Jonxie started to sob. Any knowledge of Sanskrit had completely vanished and never knowing much English, she found no vocal way of expressing her loss. As the Skanks jumped up and down on Junk’s body, she plucked them up, one by one, and put them in her mouth. She devoured them all. They popped and spurted Skank goo in a mélange of flavors – and they were delicious.
* * * * *
At the bookstore, Raster and Tuggy found the ‘psychology’ section and immediately found the two books they needed. “Too bad there’s only one copy of The Republic. How are we gonna get the maximum effect if we both don’t have those books?” Raster said.
Dinner Bell for the Dream Worms Page 6
