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Excerpt: This is Where My Life Went Wrong

By C. Bard Cole.

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He gave her a long, juicy taste of his magic lollipop. It was an all-day sucker. She gobbled down the sweet nectar. She would never be satisfied with just a taste. She wanted all of it inside her parched, hungry throat. This is true. She really liked lollipops. On the other hand, one thing she disliked a lot was penises.

Billy was the smallest player on the team, but when the guys kicked back to play some more relaxed games, he showed what a great receiver he could be. Even when he got pounded over and over, he sprang right up, ready for the next guy to have a go at him. He loved nothing better than getting a workout and building up a sweat going head to head with the big guys. By the end of that session, he was wet from head to foot and boy did he feel sore. The soreness gave him trouble later that evening, when he went to a gay sex club and fifteen guys ran a train on him. Billy made a mental note never to play football and bottom at a gay orgy on the same day.

Tommy started off his English class doing good work & pleasing Teacher, but he just could not keep it up all semester. Disappointed, Miss Brown asked what his problem was — did Tommy need special attention? A more personal touch? Tommy eagerly agreed and for the next two months Miss Brown took the reins and drove that boy harder than he’d ever been driven before. Her one on one efforts made him say with a smile that he never thought he’d enjoy being ridden by a teacher! Ridden hard and whenever he wanted to quit she said no, fighting back and taking him to the next level. And it must be said that Tommy was Miss Brown’s favorite pupil too. It was her last year teaching junior high — she had reached the mandatory retirement age of 65. She gave Tommy a nice pen and pencil set.

Mister Joju hairy potto. A nickel bag of hope. A nickel bag of pussy. A nickel bag of dereliction of duty. A nickel bag of angina. A nickel bag of diarrhea of the mouth. A nickel bag of Mediterranean style consoles. A nickel bag of pork. Squeeze one’s nut. Chasm one’s peccary. Notch-puncture one’s Frenchman.

82. A Season on Fire

Mr. Pink Pfister says hey. One town in Franconia Notch had a mysterious corazon, a shalimar dancer named Eileen McNamara. Her breasts were as large and as full as coffins. She carved a breaker in her soul, she sang out O Surzaine Monster, mi piaci i gligli, a bone tramp, a carolina henweight. Your internal hemorrhage at Carthage, upon oliphants and heuroscopes. Her breasts as full as coffinships, land down to sea her eyes a gluey pastoralia. She was sermonized a hairy bumpkin, a grasping clasper, his shilly nethers a crepuscule accent, a grave furling. Who could have corked that sucker? Mr. Burgermeister, not Sunny O’Hair that for sure.

(Overheard in hell)
A: Are you ready for the reception to greet Ronald Reagan?
B: No, I’m still waiting to see Yves St. Laurent to have my dress fitted.
A: Don’t you wear Halston?
B: That hack? Do I look like a Studio 54 coke hag, to wear such a thing?
A: Oh, J. Edgar, you’re such a pill.
B: I don’t even know why I bother talking to you, Mrs. Onassis.

What pricklicious satire! Dear MTV. Here is this proposal for the next season of REAL WORLD. “Real World Baltimore: The Ugly Season.” Six strangers living in one apartment in Highlandtown, Baltimore. All must be from MD, VA, PA, DE, area. They look like normal Real World cast. However, staffers strategically “leave” the information that they are the “ugly” cast, that the show is trying to appeal to normal ugly Americans by casting contestants who are more “ordinary” and less “model-like” or “attractive.” Their apt. will be shitty vinyl-covered grandma furniture & bunk-beds. Their job will be staffing a “crazy” Real World bar. We will conspire to make this the “worst Real World ever,” all the boys will be dogs and all the girls brainy feminists except for one male-identified working-class black butch who hates all the other cast members. We will send their parents tapes of what’s going on, editing it so it looks worse. Patrons at the bar will tell them we’re showing them nude on a special over-18 website, showering and changing and taking craps so that they will try never to take off their clothes anymore. If any of them quit, their bed will be given over to City Shelter Services and a homeless man will take the bed. I think this is a great proposal. Who doesn’t like to fuck pudgy bitches? Not you, that’s for sure. Here is a soapy norse polish the gamestaff, a dialectic of epic proportions. Reality TV is the new form of Baal worship, degrading humanity as much as it asks to be without the slightest thought of redeeming them.

A child can fart like a lamb. It is all possible thanks to genomes. Now let’s tell a story. Once, Charlemagne stopped in a small alpine village to ask an old man why he wept so. The old man said, I weep with the foreknowledge of the great suffering your conscience will bring you. Outraged, the young king had the man slain. Years later, he thought of that old man and laughed. Hillsgrove, NH, the town where Mary MacNamara lived. She was the real-life inspiration for the song “Miss Mary Mack.” In reality she had oozing syphilitic nodules all down her back, not silver buttons. The elephants that jumped over the fence were pure invention.

C. Bard Cole witnessed the two great urban disasters of twenty-first century America in New York City and New Orleans and is currently waiting for the third in Memphis, Tennessee. His short fiction has appeared in Men on Men, Flesh & The Word, and other book anthologies, as well as in the short story collection, Briefly Told Lives. He is a former assistant editor of Alabama Heritage magazine, where most notably he contributed an article about a fascinating rock.

This is Where My Life Went Wrong will be released in 2009 on BLATT Books.

First published in 3:AM Magazine: Thursday, October 16th, 2008.