Pastoral Genocide


Ohio
September 1, 2008, 6:08 pm
Filed under: Writing | Tags: , ,

The fact of the matter is that pregnant women make me feel uncomfortable. I hate looking at them, I hate being around them. They’re mammoth, sagging beasts with cartoonishly large breasts and temperament issues. They roar like angry bears, primal and enraged. I’ve knocked three different girls up. It’s ridiculous, really. My semen has enormous purpose. Its efficacy is a towering and significant thing, a chalkish and sticky blend of force majeure and biological process.

I’ve got these three kids, and I hate them. Doesn’t that sound terrible? It is terrible. Kids are nothing but little assholes who love sugar. Mostly, though, I hate their moms. If there’s one thing I’ve learned in my life, it’s don’t have sex with a Puerto Rican. Nothing, literally nothing good can come of it. They’re nasty people. Angry, all the time. It’s a biblical fury, a delicate netting of Spanish and English and spittle. They hit like men. They fuck like water buffalos on methamphetamines. They aren’t afraid to have their brothers slit the throat of your dog if you don’t pay your child support on time. It’s fucking nuts.

Anyway, I’ve two kids with two different Puerto Ricans. I actually had a threesome with them, if you can believe that. I did far too much cocaine that night. Barely, I remember a blur of tanned breasts, polymer fingernails, and me ejaculating gloriously and robustly, everywhere. Two months later, they hunt me down and tell me that I’ve got them both pregnant. Which was horeshit, considering one of those bitches gave me herpes. I don’t and won’t ever believe that one of the kids is mine. He’s too dark, his eyes don’t look like mine. He isn’t mine. Unbelievable, really. Fuck cocaine. It’s for Europeans and fucking idiots.

The other kid I have with a fat white girl named Chris Everett. Sounds ridiculous, right? Like, Olympics Chris Everett. Same name, different person. This girl has the thickest upper arms you’ve ever seen. They’re like baby hippopotamus legs only soft and pocked with lumpy dimples of fat. I originally fell into line with his girl through fate and chance. And by fate and chance, I mean Internet dating. She sent me an e-mail, I sent her an e-mail. We exchanged stats. She lied, I didn’t. Boom. We met at PF Changs and before I knew it, she’s inhaling my penis like a feral hog eating a corncob.

In each case, I lobbied for an abortion. Hard. The Puerto Ricans claimed Catholicism. Chris Everett said abortions were for dumpster blacks. I’m not sure what she meant by that, really. She’s from Kentucky and sees life in austere and uniformed terms of black and white. I tried my best to roll with the punches, but it was tough. Still is tough. Three bastard children in less than 8 months. Goddamnit, you know?

I remember my dad talking to me about sex when I was a kid. He told me, don’t think with your dick, think with your head. Sounded stupid at the time. It still sounds stupid, but I’ll cede it degree of merit. My dad was a fucking asshole and a drunk, though. I saw him throw a haymaker at mom when I was nine. The next morning, I found a pool blood on the linoleum floor. It had dried black and hard and it scared me.

I lost my virginity when I was 14. When I was 13, I duct-taped a banana peel in cylindrical cone and microwaved it. I fucked it, pretending it was a woman. It didn’t feel like a woman. It felt like a banana peel that had been wrapped in duct tape. And microwaved on the popcorn setting for 3 and half minutes. It made me feel pathetic, like an animal.

Anyway, when I was 14, I had sex with a prostitute. I stole 12 dollars from my dad and 10 from my brother and had sex with a black hooker that I would later suspect to be high on crack cocaine. She had a black eye and smelled like menthol cigarettes. I met her in front of the 7-11 and told her I had twenty dollars and some innocence lose. Well, not precisely in those terms. But, it should have been implied.  Prostitutes, in general, play fast and loose with morals. That’s an obvious reality. But a 14 year old? There’s no way this whore isn’t frying in hell as we speak.

When it was done, I felt like a man. I wanted more. She said it would be twenty more dollars. I didn’t have twenty dollars. Nonetheless, I tried to mount. She pushed me down and called a guy named Leroy on the telephone. Leroy was a real sonofabitch. He came into the room, called me a faggot and slapped me across the face. It stung. He told me that I had to pony up the cash. He smacked the palm of his right hands with a balled-up left hand and I said that I either had to pay or that I had to pay. I told him I had had two dollars left over and he slapped me again. He took my two dollars and spit on me.

I was seventeen when I first fell into love. It was with a girl named Trisha. She lived in Wild Meadows trailer park and told me her uncle Ronny raped her once. I’m not sure if I believed it; Trisha was the sort of girl who seemed, well, impervious to rape. Because, of course, if you always want it, you can’t ever not want it. That’s how these things work, I guess. Trisha and me dated for a year before she did too much heroin with brother and ended up in a coma. I don’t talk to her anymore. I used to go visit her in the hospital, you know? I stopped, though. My life moved on while hers became cemented. It’s easy to fall out of love.

I was twenty when my dad died. I was sad but not too sad. Congestive heart failure. My mom died not too long after in a motorcycle crash. The police told me she was riding with Jim Stanton and both of them were drunk and neither of them were wearing helmets. They hit a tree and left a fantastic mess. It tore me apart from the inside out, it really did. We never got long, my mom and I. She just didn’t seem to care that much about me. And, that’s ok. I understand, now that I’m a father. Despite her faults, though, she was my mom. Your mom is your mom and you never really stop loving her.

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2 Comments so far
Leave a comment

Wow. That was some really fucked up reading. I will now be visiting your site from time to time. I only had a few questions. Is this shit for real? How old are you? And finally, what do the two Puerto Ricans look like that you had a threesome with?

Also, GO BLUE!

Comment by K Bizzle

You’re a good writer.

Comment by brian l.




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