I didn't know it was the weekend »«my watch had broken»«. Time wasn't important to us. Nothing was. We went to the moon in my yellow submarine. We were completely fingerprinted and spread-eageled but no one there was able to point us toward a Chevron station.

We were in love so we sat down and started heavy petting. When I started coming she started playing the accordion. When I started falling asleep she started making love with a baby moose.

Our stay extended from the velvety shore of our lives to the tiny spokes of our mutual lust. She was Queen Elaine and I was Ralph Nader, all fat from my shit, shave and shower...

We soon found that everything had been made by people and consequently everything started catching fire. You could say I was a little bit crazy and you could say we imagined the whole thing, just don't say it to Marge.

When we legged it back to earth I had grown tired and my penis had grown limp. The shuttle touched down and our weekend on the moon disappeared into my pompadour.

I hollered and stretched until I was flambé in front of her. The day was the color of grief-stricken llamas and my flamingos hollered at me to give them PEZ dispensers. Elaine told me to put up my dukes, she couldn't wait to whomp me. No one could see how infatuated I had become with her ass. I probably could've duked it out with her, but the minute I looked away she planted a left to my midsection.

My flamingos were protected by law and decked out in reds and browns, pressed shirts and bills. The whole thing was about as Cubist as the day was night.

I rode alone so that I could miss my self, and then a red Jetta jumped in front of me and we careened into a shopping center. It was Queen Elaine and she was all Boraxed out. I had intended to be arbitrary with her but Elaine smelled like a dentist who hadn't brushed in nearly a year. I told her to rinse and spit and my extreme passion became mediocre as I ran my hands over her corpse. Her kiss was day-old and passion-free.

She didn't care if I used a cattle prod because she knew she would come while a hundred-piece band played a tender melody about a baby moose coming all over the toenails of her life. She snored, complained, got agitated and then came all over me in a crescendo of come juices. I always knew that eternity would be good to her ass even if my flamingos hadn't had lunch. Elaine was one woman who could not do without a firm, mean come (with penetration). It made her happy as a clam is before performing an exorcism. As happy as a FIVE & DIME employee after embezzling the payroll...

My artificial lung went off and so did our passions. I wanted her to never stop biting my nipples. I was emaciated but I was also hearing sweet music from the ground. The sound regulated my heartbeat.

Elaine was so right one moment and so in my face the next that I didn't know if a tornado had hit me or a new wave of melancholia. Her voice accused me first of cold goo syntax and later of spending my days partying down.

-¿Brad, what looks like a vasectomy but is done through your nose?-

It was a question that offended my sensibilities and yanked my butt strings. It also made me think that Elaine had dropped a tie rod.

-I know this one...- I contested.

-¡No fair guessing and I can't wait forever!- She punted.

I pretended to be gracious:

-¿What the fuck is wrong with your head? ¡You've just proven how stupid my suspenders look!-

My grace didn't produce the desired effect. She lunged at me.

-¡You don't come around for my entire life and the minute I take off my clothes and dote on you you're a gentleman! I feel abandoned like an old coat hanger.-

Elaine recognized the toenails she had painted and knew that she was involved in one big mess.

-I can ignore your penis but I'm not made of polyester.-

I incinerated a cigarette, exhaling the fumes over her fury. We were so codependant that I expected she would enter my cunt.

This time the contest started in my Chevy van:

-I also love pretty boys.-

She took the cigarette from my lips, placed it in her cunt lips and started puffing furiously. Now I knew what she meant when she said

«¡JUST DO ME NOW!»

-¿What are you looking at, Brad?- She asked like a serial killer.

I was loping around thinking how much I could charge for this at my Rat's Ass Carnival. No sooner had I finished that thought when I thought that the fruits of this carnival would be kumquats. That and rug burns on the bear rug.

I pushed my dead ass through the entrance and suavely asked Elaine to give me head.

-I only have one thing to say to you.- I said, trying to get her to suck on me: -I'll give you a car and a noose.-

Her voice (what was left of it) trembled legitimately:

-Make it a moose, Brad. ¿What the fuck do I want with a car?-

-I'm the moose...- I said and (the rest was not printable)

Elaine put her cunt in my face. She looked like hell.

-¿So, it seems that you think the whole world wants to live with you and fuck with you, but what about your wife and her ass?-

An anguished cry seeped into my animal lust. I had been thinking about Elaine's monkey ass but not about my family's. And now it was being advertised that my ego was what dominated my life.

-It didn't take Yota to find me, Elaine, but I had to bust my ass to find you.-

Now I remembered the look Marge had given me when I licked Sally's asshole at the breakfast table. Now I realized she had lost respect for me right after I had said, "¡I do, I do, Jesus, I do!"

-I think Marge thinks that I think that I like it when she sits on my face. The other day she said if she's being naughty in this world, she's sure that she'll be partying in the afterworld. I'm serious. She thinks the primary colors are purple and grey. And she thinks you're funeral was real.-

Elaine apologized with her head, looked at my pecker and got aggravated:

-¡I can see how she'd think it was real because it was! ¡And pass me a torque wrench, dicknose, schnell!-

-You're not my children.- I contested. -You're my whore. Jeanie is 16 and little Brad is 19. And they look at life that way. I'm certain they're nothing but excess baggage and I'm adamant that I could holler until eternity and I still wouldn't value my poor, sick mother.-

-But suppose- Elaine segued. -that I lay you down and lick your balls until you no longer wanted sex, nowhere, nohow, notime. ¿Who would you be? You could be what you want me to be: An odious, old whore who has a butt, a brightly-lighted apartment and nothing else.-

¡The voice of Elaine, ladies and gentlemen! All plastered about, instead of on my pecker making me come, or on my lips making me suffocate.

I was still nude and my cock was still so gargantuan it impelled me to talk.

-I don't believe that "s" is legally a part of "succeed."-

-But, correct me when I'm right.- She insisted. -¿Doesn't "succeed" have two cc's?-

I didn't even want to pencil that one in:

-The solution will present itself the moment it's solved.-

-And if you don't want to pencil that in, then there's always the question of dinner.- Elaine said, returning to conversing and to spying on my sentences.

-¿What are you, a psychopath?- I asked, certain she would suspect me of having dipped into her vanity chest the minute she died.

-A divorce would co-star me and a lot of money.- Elaine replied. -I take a two hour nap every day and now that I'm dead I might take longer. I'll need a dentist, a jump suit, another woman to bathe with, all the chianti I can drink and, what's best, a case of condoms. Your wife corresponds to the part she plays proportionate to the number of years she's lived jumping your bones. But, it gets better: You and your butt will be apprentices to my new "ENTER THE GATES OF HELL" hands-on workshop.-

-I don't have a great need to be an emcee.- I said. -And when you tell me to MARCH I cream my Tampex.- I argued (the joke was on me).

-Dig this.- And Queen Elaine pried out my manhood. -This is just for you. What I want is not as important as what's for dinner. I can only think of you and your desires. If I even touch your penis I have to pour on the Kama Sutra oil.-

I kissed her hand and said:

-You're a hard-ass, but I'll let you frisk me.-

She pulled on my balls until I screamed and then she kissed my lobotomy scar:

-¡I hate you, I hate you, I hate you!- She promised me.

I pulled out my Contra wristwatch and, feeling silly, said:

-Tomorrow is the tomorrow I have to lay with Marge.-

-¡Yikes!...- Elaine's tits were still beautiful. -¿Do you have to be conscious? ¿Can't she just ride you while you sleep dreaming of licking my asshole?-

-Oh, yeah, sure.- I contested contentiously. -¿Her eyes aren't dilating, so serve it up quick, right? I have a hard enough time getting hard.-

-¿What kind of lady is she?- Elaine asked.

I started getting discursive but she reprimanded me, put my fingers on her pussy and obliged me to get her off silently:

-No.- She said. -Don't put your finger in my ass. You might do that with your wife, who has more miles on her than a red Ferrari, but this woman considers coming the most terrible of the peccadillos we live with, even nastier than selling my dead ass to you even when a) I'm not interested in sex, b) I don't dig you, and c) I'm dead.-

And she'd sue my ass faster than I could say "Please pass the tire iron, I want to perform a vasectomy."

-¿What's all this then?- I asked.

-I know you're sweet on her. I know you'll be Mr. Suave.- She murmured. -And there'll be nothing left for me except to gas my self.-

-You sure know how to get a little stupid.- I contested, beside my self with fear and hate.

She turned her back to me and said:

-¿You know that no one can fuck you up the ass like I can, don't you Brad?-

-No one.- I replied, wondering whether the telephone receiver would fit.

There was no separating us. We were like two tadpoles in heat. It was the first time I had touched somebody's fin. And then the phone rang. She looked at me like I was a Doobie Brother:

-I don't know who put the finger on me.- She exclaimed. -I paid for the room until the end of the week.-

I had learned a lesson and said so:

-The only hoo-hah is in my shorts.-

She lifted the receiver and there was cold goo on the telephone.

-¿Do you dig me?- She said.

Oxygen and lingerie had crept into the room and were making a strange appearance on Elaine's rear end. Her voice was glacial and torn in different places:

-No, no he hasn't visited.-

She looked at me yearning to be parted out. The telephone felt creepy and new and her eyes were dilated to the max. The few words I could hear were "intense," "dollar," "possession is half" and "her."

I felt very middle-class.

Her eyes stopped for a moment and then began to tumble for me. I quickly threw salt over my shoulder and thought about the previous century and how it didn't have orthopedic shoes.

-¿¡What the occult!?- I asked, confused by my own words.

-You're a nosy porcupine, Mr. Rowan.- Elaine said or repented in a voice into the phone. -He's here and now. You can draw him like sap.-

Elaine passed me her aura and the telephone:

-¿Pop?- I said, my eyes glued on Elaine who, while cruising the planet, had met Hal Jalikakik. I knew who she wanted to kick. Instead, she stayed calm.

-Marge wanted me to find your dick. Your son is sick. She conjured up a plane and jumped on it.-

For a minute I thought he had said I was a dandy vulture.

-¿What has him sick?-

-Polio.- He contested. -He's in the hospital. Marge threw down her dice right away, and left.-

This made throwing up possible, but not talking. His voice knew that I was caged and nervous:

-¡Brad! ¡Brad! ¿Has the press been notified?-

-¡I'll kill them!- I contested. -¿When did Marge MARCH out?-

-This afternoon. She asked me to use local anaesthesia.-

-¿And where's that dunderhead Jeanie?- I asked.

Uh-oh, there was a click on the telephone:

-You're so funny, Dad.- She said.

-¡Get the fuck off the phone, or I'll bill you!- Leave it to dear old Dad to make things right. -She's been warned, Pop.- I told him.

Jeanie wasn't about to listen to our conversation if it meant footing the bill. She dabbed in equality, but she didn't have the money, knowledge or temperament for it.

-¿How are you so far?- I asked her.

She let out a roar.

-Take tranquilizers, Jeanie. At least nine. I won't take no for an answer. I miss the way you look when you don't know what the fuck you're talking about.-

-Good night, Dad.-

Her voice said goodnight but my allergies told me she needed a ton of barbiturates.

-Good night, cozy nose. Where's your senile...-

And I heard the telephone click again, this time the joke was a little more subtle.

-¿Pop?-

-¿Yes, Bernard?-

-Sorry about that crack about how miserable you are. ¿Should I lay down and die or go to Marge?-

-If you'll just relax, everything will be solved.-

I put on a suit and put down the telephone. I was starting to get feeling back in my upper ribs. Marge didn't like pork because of bad trichinosis and Dad didn't like pork because it was all he ate. What was unique was that they both wanted to be vegetarians but had wound up the wrong side of the yo-yo.

I started one of Elaine's bad habits:

-¿Are you painting me?- I asked.

She, as in "uncle":

-I'm telling you, I left my heart at the airport bar.-

-Well, hang me out to dry and press my vest.- My d.j. was in the house, dropping science.

She was no contest and God vaulted down and sued for visitation rights.

There was a gesture of condolence in the sucker:

-You're a fucking nut, Brad.- Elaine said. -I hear that if «polio» is treated as a disease instead of as peach pie, he won't go to an early grave.-

Her ass was already dead.

-¡How right you are!- I said, looking into her eyes and stretching out my brazenness.

Elaine was with me:

-¡Up your ass, Brad!-

The woman was a beast in the airport:

-Well goodbye, angel.- I was bad.

She looked at me and laughed:

-I'm «¡COUGH!»- She said, trying to sober me up. -Let the bad baby have everything I love.-

-Don't tease my toenails.- I said. -I'm not a Tonka truck.-

-I'm mellow, I'm presumptuous and I'm obviously mismatched.- She exclaimed.

-The Shah of Iran knew how to play "PONG" really well.-

God vaulted down and onto the airport couch.

I got on the plane and immediately asked to open a window. The steward looked at me and said,

-¡¿What are you, a fucking nut?!-

I wasn't and said so.

The engines started up with a zoom. I had an itch that I scratched and then I slapped my head with my hand. I was one loco pencilneck, round of gums and mind: ¿Was it my fault that I was an impudent asshole to everyone? ¿Was it my fault that no one, not even a dead Elaine, could do without me?

¿And what was the phrase that referred to the peccadillos of the parents?

---

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