The Bull Story
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Chapter 1 - Prelude to a nightmare
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She came to me softly in the night. She gracefully lowered herself to me, then tripped
over the lamp cord and knocked over the nightstand. I asked if she was OK, and she
reassured me that she was. We embraced and caressed each other. I asked if she liked the
ocean. She said she liked the rain song better. The moon was full and I caught a glimpse
of it as she took me inside her. Then in my most seductive voice I told her that she was
standing on my toe. During my moment of ecstasy she asked me if I’d remembered to pay
the power bill.
An hour has gone by now as I lie here looking at the reflection of the lights shimmering
in the lake. It’s not as pretty at night now that they’ve cleaned up the oil
spill.
I turn on the stereo while I make some coffee. Somebody left the old coffee in the filter
and there’s mold on top. It’s a pasty looking pale green with what looks like
hairs sticking out of it. It almost seems to be reaching for me. Beckoning me to submit to
its undeniable immortality. I dump it in the trash.
Ten days have gone by now. I suddenly get a gnawing sensation that a midget is stealing a
car in Hackensack. My first instinct is to call my brother and make sure the twins are all
right, but I decide to draw a bath instead. Were I to call Danny now, at this hour of the
night, he would only worry and insist I move back home.
Home. The idea seems almost abstract to me. Is this apartment, with its peeling yellow
walls and crawling insect population, truly a home? Was Danny’s basement ever a home?
Cut it out, I tell myself. You’re out of control.
In the bathroom the pipes first rattle in response, then squeal within the walls so loudly
that I close my eyes and imagine I’m standing naked on a subway platform. The thought
makes my cock jerk upward like some spastic fish and I can suddenly remember getting my
first erection when I was five years old. It wasn’t from discovering a cousin’s
stash of beaver mags, or seeing a neighbor walk by their window in bra and panties, or
anything like that. When I was five years old I did my very first impression, a fairly
decent Richard M. Nixon, for my dad’s co-workers at a company picnic.
"I am not a crook," I deadpanned, waving my arms wildly above my head. Their
ensuing laughter—their very approval—sparked a change inside me. I remember my
penis stiffening in my shorts as they patted me on the head and asked for encore
performances. It was as if everywhere I looked there was a face of somebody who needed me.
Needed my jokes. I had found my calling.
It takes a good minute for the water to finally come out. When it does, it is a rusty
orange. I mutter to myself that Bullwinkle would never bathe in orange water, even if he
is a moose, and wonder what ever happened to predictability.
A phhhttt sound. A chunk of mud coming out of the water spout made me suddenly realize
that I'd been daydreaming for - how long? 10 minutes? An hour?
My Childhood.
The Basement.
Fuck Danny and his goddamn urine-soaked mattress. Fucking beer cans everywhere. Fruit jars
full of piss sitting on the floor because he was too lazy/drunk to go to the bathroom. Cum
stains on the carpet...
That was when I heard the knock at the door, a moment that was to change my life. If I had
known what was about to happen I would have remained silent, then that night moved far
away - leaving everything behind.
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Chapter 2 - The Awakening
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The man standing on my porch was wearing an old gangster-style suit with the hat dipped
forward and to one side. He got straight to the point. He asked me to come with him. I
told him no thank you, I'm hetero.
He never said another word until he parked the car at a clearing overlooking a nearby
small town. He appeared calm as he said it. He asked me if I knew about The Society. No, I
said. He then went on to tell me about his recent hernia operation. I purposely dropped my
cigarette which brought him back to the subject. He told me that everyone that lived
around me - everyone - is watching me very closely. When I asked why, he shook his head
and made a strange gesture with his hands. I told him he better keep his hands to himself.
He told me that The Society wanted something from me and they will stop at nothing to get
it. He hesitated for a moment, and finally he told me what they wanted - a dozen eggs.
In my disbelief my mind began to race. So that's it! That's why Those People have been
coming over, endlessly hounding me for an egg here and two eggs there! Let's see, I lent
out 2 eggs yesterday to Mrs. Henderson and 3 to Mr. Saskatchewan the day before. That
meant they would come for 7 more.
He went on to say that they have devised a means to plant the eggs and grow chickens. And
that my refrigerator happened to be over the center of an energy source that is documented
only by Colonel Sanders and is kept wherever his secret recipe might be.
I suddenly realized that any resistance to their Plan was futile. I knew at that moment
that I would give them their fucking eggs.
He took me back home and told me to act normally and make sure that I don't let on that I
know anything about Their Plan.
I went inside knowing that nothing would ever be the same. I would live this facade.
For now.
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Chapter 3 - Josh Is A Wanker
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I awoke to the sound of the alarm clock and threw the goddamn thing against the wall.
There is a pile of smashed alarm clocks on the floor there. 365 a year I smash, not
counting leap year.
I'm listening to Bill Hicks on the stereo while I'm trying to write my new book: "The
NecroTrimeton". As some of you may already know, it tells how to summon a demon - The
One Who Shall Not Be Named - to relieve your cold and flu symptoms.
The book was supposed to be a collaboration between myself and this guy named Josh, but he
won't return my calls. I wonder if he's on crack. Whatever it is, I must plow onward.
Besides, all I needed him for was to provide some ancient scrolls that contain some
writings that were written a very long time ago. Enough of my endless rambling - where was
I?
I go to make some coffee, and the mold is there again. How can that be? It must be the
undocumented energy source under my refrigerator.
The phone rings and I answer it. It's a friend wanting to know how to get to the police
station in my town. I tell him to drive backwards down main street at 110 MPH on the wrong
side of the road and he'll be personally escorted there. He tells me I should come over
immediately. He says I'll just have to see this.
I stare for a moment in disbelief. There must be 20 people standing in his yard. The
police are already there. They had just started playing "message in a bottle"
when I saw a beautiful girl looking out the window. I got closer and asked her her name.
She told me to eat shit.
I went inside the house, and my friend - who chooses to remain anonymous - told me I
should knock first. We sat down and he told me that somebody stole a roll of toilet paper
from his bathroom. I told him that he is a dumbass for calling me over for that, and I got
up to leave. He then said that he'd almost forgot to tell me that his entire family was
murdered. The only thing the police found odd was that there were some frozen whole
chickens missing from the refrigerator. (Could it be The Society, I wonder)?
To be continued...