sd gross
11-06-2009, 05:00 PM
Warning: I sent this to film director John Waters and although he said he loved it, he wrote me it was far too disgusting to ever find a publisher. If you have thin skin, a weak stomach, or no taste for irony or satire, please don't peek. It's really disgusting. :peepwall:
Disgusting!
by Stephen D. Gross
"Mangled baby flamingoes gives your pudding color!", they had told him at the culinary academy. Last time he broke into the zoo the authorities had threatened to shut his restaurant down. Heavens knows they couldn't afford to feed all the critters, anyway. Besides, the rule of Nature is, Everything eats, until it's Eaten. But now he was driving through the desert and he couldn't help but notice that the unruly mob of tourists, mostly here for the National Dwarf-Tossing Finals, had left the highway brown with dried blood and littered with road kills.
His little New Orleans eatery catered to an exclusive clientele which loved exotic dishes, and his chief reason for cruising this particular roadway on this scorching August afternoon was the endless buzzards buffet spread out along the road's parched shoulders. He pulled off the steaming asphalt grabbing his box of Super-Size Zip-Locs and his spatula. His rectal itch was driving him nuts and it was time for a deep, penetrating scratching anyway. His custom-tailored spatula was cleverly hinged and not only served as a possum-scraper, but doubled as a perfect 'roid grater as well.
He hurled a clotted booger at a nearby turkey vulture, attempting to drive it off the decomposing burro its head was buried in, but the big bird stood its ground. Heaving up a thick, stringy glob of phlegm, he spat at it, but the wily buzzard just snatched it in mid-air and sucked the ripe clam into its already-bulging crop.
This was no good. He'd been trying to generate a bigger lunch crowd and except for a mummified manx, his larder was almost empty. From the corner of one runny eye he saw the rat with paralyzed hindquarters crawl out of a flaking sewer pipe holding a round and glassy object in its mouth. He was about to cave its skull in with his crusty tool when a mangy tom cat leaped from its hiding place in a nearby leaky hazardous waste container and landed, claws spread wide, upon the crippled rat's back.
The startled vulture laboriously lifted its body from its fetid feast, rising slowly on its heavy wings. It seemed to explode as the rear-view mirror of a passing Airstream slammed into it. Veering too late to miss the hapless bird, the trailer fishtailed, snapping the tomcat's spine like a dry pretzel, making a hollow 'pop' that echoed through the skeleton-strewn arroyo.
Running back to his Edsel for his shovel and a stronger baggie, he slipped in the car's oil slick, catching his ear on a rusty shard of metal and tearing it in two. As the shredded ear flapped against his cheek he wondered where the rat had found the glass eye that had rolled from its mouth when the Airstream struck. Off in the distance he saw that the silver trailer had swung a lazy "U" on the desert highway and was now heading back toward him.
As it screeched to a dusty halt, a little girl with sores all over her legs jumped out of the passenger side quickly followed by a grizzled hunchback. With drool oozing down his chin, and one bloodshot eye, the frothing gibbous hitched up and buckled his pants. Pulling a slab of well-chewed Blackjack gum from between his rotted teeth, he stuffed it into his empty eye socket.
"I like to have sex with the little bastards before I eat them", he gurgled to no one in particular. "It cures them", he punned nastily. Clutching a dirty spoon in a hand that was missing three fingers, the little girl leaned over the scarlet pool spreading in a circle about the crushed cat and its intended prey. She looked hungry enough to eat the hashmarks off a wino's underwear.
"There was a nightclub in Paris during the war, the "Ball 'n Broil" the hunchback rasped, "where you could have sex and supper all with the same beast." You had to wear rubber boots, he explained, because the puddles of bodily fluids made the floor slippery. "They led us down a stone stairway littered with bones and rotting flesh, into a dank, dark cellar. Oily, black stuff oozed down the greasy walls and dripped from the ceiling." The girl with two fingers proffered a spoonful of ratjuice to her hunchbacked father. He kicked at it and grunting, fell heavily over onto his side. He lay there for a moment, waving his spidery arms and legs and opening and closing his mouth like an injured beetle. His daughter squatted over his head and relieved herself. The hot, acidic fluid flowed into the open, runny sores that covered his face. The two chuckled warmly as they shared their tender moment. The father continued his story:
"As you were led down the steps, the squeals and screams of the pigs and geese welcomed you; the pained yowling of the cats and the shrill keening of the frightened rabbits were enough to arouse the Dead! " "You mean rouse the Dead, don't you?" the other asked. "You've never seen a corpse with an erection?", answered the Hunchback. "They were penned individually in tight little cages so they couldn't move, but there were circular openings in the wire to accomodate the client's needs." His breath came in short gasps as the electric heat of his memory sent convulsions through his body. "The cages were on low tables so we had easy access to them, and when we were done, we rang for the butcher." He told us about an Albino Manx that had cost him 100 Francs. Broiled in frog tongues, leeks and garlic, the cat was so delicate and fresh, he could taste his own jism in it, he said. His daughter's eyes rolled back in their sockets as she lifted the crushed rat between her two fingers and rubbed it sensually all over her body. Her father watched her eagerly for a moment or two and then tore it from her grasp and began sucking its head as if it were a lollipop. Like a furry, crimson pacifier, it seemed to calm him and his wiry legs and arms ceased their twitching.
A car appeared like a dot on the distant horizon churning up dust devils as it flew along the highway. In no time it was on the scene, slowing to a stop opposite the afternoon carnage. An old man slowly peeled himself out of the passenger side and as he approached them, they could see his eyes widening in growing disbelief.
The three stared at him, neatly dressed despite the heat, in a jaunty Glen Plaid sport coat and an Armani neck tie with grey and red regimental stripes. As he got closer the trio's eye grew wide with horror - "O God! O God, No!" they croaked - "Look at that. I've - I've never seen anything like it!". Backing away in revulsion, shrieking like banshees, they gouged their eyes, looking for an avenue of escape. But the searing heat of the desert dessicated everything its kiss of fire touched.
Gagging as they choked back their vomit, they pointed at the approaching stranger with shaking fingers and rasped in terror, "Plaids with stripes...?
PLAIDS WITH STRIPES??? Why that's...that's... REALLY DISGUSTING"!!
:sweep:
Disgusting!
by Stephen D. Gross
"Mangled baby flamingoes gives your pudding color!", they had told him at the culinary academy. Last time he broke into the zoo the authorities had threatened to shut his restaurant down. Heavens knows they couldn't afford to feed all the critters, anyway. Besides, the rule of Nature is, Everything eats, until it's Eaten. But now he was driving through the desert and he couldn't help but notice that the unruly mob of tourists, mostly here for the National Dwarf-Tossing Finals, had left the highway brown with dried blood and littered with road kills.
His little New Orleans eatery catered to an exclusive clientele which loved exotic dishes, and his chief reason for cruising this particular roadway on this scorching August afternoon was the endless buzzards buffet spread out along the road's parched shoulders. He pulled off the steaming asphalt grabbing his box of Super-Size Zip-Locs and his spatula. His rectal itch was driving him nuts and it was time for a deep, penetrating scratching anyway. His custom-tailored spatula was cleverly hinged and not only served as a possum-scraper, but doubled as a perfect 'roid grater as well.
He hurled a clotted booger at a nearby turkey vulture, attempting to drive it off the decomposing burro its head was buried in, but the big bird stood its ground. Heaving up a thick, stringy glob of phlegm, he spat at it, but the wily buzzard just snatched it in mid-air and sucked the ripe clam into its already-bulging crop.
This was no good. He'd been trying to generate a bigger lunch crowd and except for a mummified manx, his larder was almost empty. From the corner of one runny eye he saw the rat with paralyzed hindquarters crawl out of a flaking sewer pipe holding a round and glassy object in its mouth. He was about to cave its skull in with his crusty tool when a mangy tom cat leaped from its hiding place in a nearby leaky hazardous waste container and landed, claws spread wide, upon the crippled rat's back.
The startled vulture laboriously lifted its body from its fetid feast, rising slowly on its heavy wings. It seemed to explode as the rear-view mirror of a passing Airstream slammed into it. Veering too late to miss the hapless bird, the trailer fishtailed, snapping the tomcat's spine like a dry pretzel, making a hollow 'pop' that echoed through the skeleton-strewn arroyo.
Running back to his Edsel for his shovel and a stronger baggie, he slipped in the car's oil slick, catching his ear on a rusty shard of metal and tearing it in two. As the shredded ear flapped against his cheek he wondered where the rat had found the glass eye that had rolled from its mouth when the Airstream struck. Off in the distance he saw that the silver trailer had swung a lazy "U" on the desert highway and was now heading back toward him.
As it screeched to a dusty halt, a little girl with sores all over her legs jumped out of the passenger side quickly followed by a grizzled hunchback. With drool oozing down his chin, and one bloodshot eye, the frothing gibbous hitched up and buckled his pants. Pulling a slab of well-chewed Blackjack gum from between his rotted teeth, he stuffed it into his empty eye socket.
"I like to have sex with the little bastards before I eat them", he gurgled to no one in particular. "It cures them", he punned nastily. Clutching a dirty spoon in a hand that was missing three fingers, the little girl leaned over the scarlet pool spreading in a circle about the crushed cat and its intended prey. She looked hungry enough to eat the hashmarks off a wino's underwear.
"There was a nightclub in Paris during the war, the "Ball 'n Broil" the hunchback rasped, "where you could have sex and supper all with the same beast." You had to wear rubber boots, he explained, because the puddles of bodily fluids made the floor slippery. "They led us down a stone stairway littered with bones and rotting flesh, into a dank, dark cellar. Oily, black stuff oozed down the greasy walls and dripped from the ceiling." The girl with two fingers proffered a spoonful of ratjuice to her hunchbacked father. He kicked at it and grunting, fell heavily over onto his side. He lay there for a moment, waving his spidery arms and legs and opening and closing his mouth like an injured beetle. His daughter squatted over his head and relieved herself. The hot, acidic fluid flowed into the open, runny sores that covered his face. The two chuckled warmly as they shared their tender moment. The father continued his story:
"As you were led down the steps, the squeals and screams of the pigs and geese welcomed you; the pained yowling of the cats and the shrill keening of the frightened rabbits were enough to arouse the Dead! " "You mean rouse the Dead, don't you?" the other asked. "You've never seen a corpse with an erection?", answered the Hunchback. "They were penned individually in tight little cages so they couldn't move, but there were circular openings in the wire to accomodate the client's needs." His breath came in short gasps as the electric heat of his memory sent convulsions through his body. "The cages were on low tables so we had easy access to them, and when we were done, we rang for the butcher." He told us about an Albino Manx that had cost him 100 Francs. Broiled in frog tongues, leeks and garlic, the cat was so delicate and fresh, he could taste his own jism in it, he said. His daughter's eyes rolled back in their sockets as she lifted the crushed rat between her two fingers and rubbed it sensually all over her body. Her father watched her eagerly for a moment or two and then tore it from her grasp and began sucking its head as if it were a lollipop. Like a furry, crimson pacifier, it seemed to calm him and his wiry legs and arms ceased their twitching.
A car appeared like a dot on the distant horizon churning up dust devils as it flew along the highway. In no time it was on the scene, slowing to a stop opposite the afternoon carnage. An old man slowly peeled himself out of the passenger side and as he approached them, they could see his eyes widening in growing disbelief.
The three stared at him, neatly dressed despite the heat, in a jaunty Glen Plaid sport coat and an Armani neck tie with grey and red regimental stripes. As he got closer the trio's eye grew wide with horror - "O God! O God, No!" they croaked - "Look at that. I've - I've never seen anything like it!". Backing away in revulsion, shrieking like banshees, they gouged their eyes, looking for an avenue of escape. But the searing heat of the desert dessicated everything its kiss of fire touched.
Gagging as they choked back their vomit, they pointed at the approaching stranger with shaking fingers and rasped in terror, "Plaids with stripes...?
PLAIDS WITH STRIPES??? Why that's...that's... REALLY DISGUSTING"!!
:sweep: