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By Zachary Kyle Elmblad Copyright 2010 by The New Scum Productions Most Rights Reserved visit http://www.thenewscum.org for more info. THIS IS THE SCRIBD.COM EXCLUSIVE PREVIEW OF ZACH ELMBLAD'S NEWEST BOOK, “Borderline Vagabond.” IT MAY NOT BE REPRODUCED IN A PUBLIC FASHION WITHOUT CONSENT OF THE AUTHOR!
Chapter One – Consternation
“Pigfucker!” It was the first word I had heard of what was a long line of obscene and incessant curses I could have sworn were being directed at me. But from whom? For what reason?
I couldn't quite tell if it was a dream, or if it was really happening – no, not yet. “You fucking bastard, wake up!” I heard it again. How did I get here? Where was I? Who?
I got punched in
the shoulder – not hard, but with enough force to wake me up for real this time. With certainty this was, indeed, the waking world. I shook my head and opened my eyes. We should be punching
“It's Nine P.M.!
whores in the mouth and drinking gallons of
gin by now!
WHY THE FUCK ARE YOU SLEEPING?!”
He was shouting now, jumping up and down on the floor next to the couch. extended index finger. “Fuck! What day is it?” I was He was redfaced and pointing at me with a violently
I stuttered when I said 'day.' still waking up. When did I get here? “Tuesday! tab! Friday! Easter!
How long had I slept?
Who gives a
fuck?! Let's get drunk and walk out on our We've got shit to do and bitches to fuck and you just wanna park ass on the couch!” “Fuck it, you're right, man. thing. Let's do this
No time like the present.”
I peeled myself up off the couch and palmed the coffee table for my glasses. for LASIC. Complex organs, the eyes. I I was too lazy to wear contacts, and too poor
rubbed them because they felt like they needed to be rubbed. It didn't really help.
“Get up and wash off your face like a big boy, it's time to fuck cocaine and snort hookers. Wait. Nevermind, fuck it. Let's just go down to the skank shack and throw dollar bills at titties!” “Cocaine?” “Jokes, man. whores?! Why buy coke when you can buy
Fucking is much better than
getting your face rocked on an eight ball!” “What?” “Just get off the couch, asshole! DOESN'T LOVE YOU ANYMORE! Get the fuck off the couch!” “God, fuck man, you're insane. Delusional. society! Twisted. Paranoid. JESUS
IT IS TIME TO GO!
You're a menace to
An overall bad seed, your mother
didn't slap you enough!”
“I'm good people, that's why you're sleeping on my couch, now get up and start drinking you lazy, pathetic, no good piece of couch potato dog vomit! sucker! Rise and shine, cock Early bird You're the one that drove twelve
hours to come party with me! gets the fucking worm!” Hooper.
The crazy bastard.
living in some strange neighborhood outside Chapel Hill, North Carolina. It'd been nearly a year since I'd seen him last, and times spent with this loathsome experiment of humanity were endless tirades of alcohol, strippers, and drug buffets. He was the kind of guy that'd come up behind you with a machete, mumbling something about drug cartels and guerrilla warfare, only to turn at the snap of a finger and ask if you wanted to brew up some chamomile tea and eat cake donuts. He'd buy you shots at the bar just to watch you get too drunk to keep up with him. He'd give you a brownie and never tell you it's dosed with pot butter and liquid acid. He would rather just wait for you to figure
it out yourself.
Never accept food from a It's a A
stranger with a smile like his.
knowing smile, an anticipatory smile, a downright wicked and treacherous smile. smile you wouldn't forget for the rest of your life. We had lived together for a stretch, sometime in the past, and had developed a strange method of communication that mostly involved limitless use of profanity and offensively diminutive insults. to work well for us. friend again at long last. “Fire up the bong, Hoop, and summon me eight squirrels to castrate. my shaft. cunt. I've got a tingle in I wanna skull fuck a hooker and It seemed It was good to see my
stick a piece of re-bar up your mother's Break up a wall for me.”
“My mom's cunt is shielded with a wroughtiron encasement. alive. fucking wall. You'll never make it Break up your own You You're a failure.
You couldn't even fuck a girl
in a brothel with a thousand dollars.
can't even stay awake after Nine, how are
you going to become a master alcoholic like me?” “I'd fuck a thousand hookers with ten bucks and a razor blade rubber. I'd tell 'em to do it and they would, because Jesus taught me mind control when we vacationed in the Czech Republic. first, though. I have to enter a trance That's why I'm sleeping.
I'm secretly controlling you along with everyone else in the world at the same time. You've got no free will, motherfucker, philosophize yourself out of that!” “Mind control? Did you just tell my mind to
get the hell out of the house and proceed directly to the nearest bar?” “Hell yes, I did.” “Well, damn, man. I guess I'll just have to It's good to see you
trust your judgment! control.” “Now you're thinking!
maintain moral integrity when utilizing mind
I wondered if it'd be
possible with that tiny fucking brain of yours! You're finally beginning to understand the greater purpose, man.” “My greater purpose is to get drunk and fuck hookers with my dick. We're leaving. I hope you're ready for this.” He was a crude person, but not out of necessity or ignorance. He was a crude He was sick person because he found it utterly hysterical to offend people. with the power of words. five and buy him a shot. He'd call a guy a He'd cut up pizza He'd
pussy to his face and then give him a high with a hatchet at four in the morning.
come to your house and eat all your food, then show up a week later with a car full of groceries and a backpack full of drugs and booze. He'd buy you a pack of cigarettes to pay back the square he bummed off you a week ago, but then he'd just smoke half the pack anyway. speak. He would read things out loud in When this guy was around, everybody other languages that he didn't actually
had a good time.
He was one of those rare The guy That's
people, the ones that are so memorable they couldn't be properly explained. you're proud to call a friend, even if he disgusts everyone else around you. see him. He's that cool. why I drive half way across the country to
“I found this new tit bar a couple of miles away. Get in the truck, and let's go throw money at chicks.” “Finally, a good idea! I was wondering when
you'd be over the formalities; fully prepared and ready to find the main nerve.” “Oh, I'm ready.” He grabbed his money clip and keys, I grabbed my phone and my wallet. to burn on the ride out. We each had a glass of Dewar's and rolled up a fat joint There really was no cocaine, that one was always just a little too much for us – both in expense and consequence. Better to play around the edge It was all jokes, than to go over it.
There were no hooker skull fucks We weren't as
going down that night.
audacious as we made ourselves out to be. It's just a whole lot more fun to keep people guessing. The world can get boring sometimes, and it's good to know that you can count on some folks to make it a bit more appealing. Throwing some shit in the pot an stirring it up just to see what comes out at the end. Things are far more interesting that way. The real world needs a little fiction in it every once in a while. “Light this, fuck stain.” “Give me a lighter, scrotum mouth.” He passed me a lighter and I checked the side streets for cached cop cruisers before I sparked up the joint. We passed it back and forth and cut the offensive back and forth for a real conversation. “So, how's everything been going, dude?”
He didn't yell anymore, it was his normal speaking voice. to know. “Hell on Earth, man, twenty four hours a day on this wretched rock in space.” “Aw, come on, it can't be that bad. At He really did want
least you've got a house and a job and a car and money to come drink with me in the dirty South!” “You're right, man, it isn't all that bad, but I just wish I could get a better fuck out of life every once in a while. All this day to day drudgery and the bills and these monotonous pseudo-relationships make me want to eat paint chips. soft. Old, even.” What are you going to I think I'm getting
“Soft as a limp dick! do? man. time. Cry?! Don't worry.
We'll get ya all cheered up, I'm glad you made it
out, and we're certainly gonna have a good No sense sitting around wishing you Get off of it.” were dead.
“Yeah, you're right, man.
over-emphasizing the negative.
chicks to look at, beer in my fridge, music on the speakers, and good times on the calendar. stopped.” “Fun wouldn't be fun anymore if you didn't have some bad shit go down between the good times. there.” He pulled a half-full bottle of Jose Cuervo from underneath his truck seat. He twisted off the cap, put it to his lips, and suckled a mouthful before handing it over to me. “I've been saving this for a special occasion. I don't usually share my road liquor, you're a special guest.” “I'm honored,” I said, as I took a warm gulp of the tequila for myself. It burns a You know this, you dumb fuck. We're nearly Stop getting down on yourself. I just wish the fun never
little bit more when it's been in a hot car for who knows how long, but the effect is still the same and I love it. I reached into the cargo pocket of my shorts for my pack of smokes, flipped the flap open, and grabbed one with my lips. sparked it up. “I thought you were quitting, man. some day.” “Keeping that fifth of Cuervo under your seat isn't a very good idea, either, you know. And besides – quitting is for quitters, isn't that right?” “Every good thing comes to an end, man. Quitting isn't quitting, it's looking out for yourself. punishment.” “Words to live by, those,” I said. It takes a careful balance of poisoning yourself and then taking the Those I fished a lighter out of the other pocket and
little fucking bastards are gonna kill you
I couldn't help but reach for the bottle of tequila again as I sucked down the last of my cigarette before flicking it out of the window and narrowly missing a less-thanthrilled pedestrian. empty. The security in these places can borderline on the excessive, and twenty bucks a head was way too much for a cover charge. We ponied it up, and figured we'd better get our money's worth. After photocopies of our driver's licenses were taken, we were led through a large black door. my nose. familiar. As it opened, the scent of sweat, cheap perfume, and despair filled The surroundings were all too Mirrors on the walls, disco balls We pulled into the strip club parking lot, which was mostly
sending shattered reflections all over the room, imitation velvet chairs with low arms, U.V. Responsive carpet, and a long Formica bar-top with a leather-skinned woman behind it who had graduated from the stage to the manager. We made haste for the bar, looking the woman in the eyes as we approached. We're
no hooligans, and you're no fool. remember that, and keep face. “What can I get you, boys?”
Before I can open my mouth, Hooper is already summoning a plethora of libations. “Two Irish Car bombs, two shots of Jager, two Newcastles, and some peanuts if you've got them. I tip well, lady.” She said in a
“Right away, honey.”
Marlboro-tinged southern accent. “You're going balls deep on the first thrust, aren't you, Hoop?” “Ain't no other way. A toast! Say a
fucking toast and let's be on with it.” My favorite toast, I didn't write. stole it from Neil Gaiman. “To absent friends, lost loves, old gods, I
and the season of mistthat we may each and every one of us give the devil his due.” “Hail fucking Satan!” Hooper screamed before he pounded his Irish car bomb and brought it down with a hollow smack against the bar. “To the new Millenium Jagermeister Christ!” I screamed back at him while I tipped back the Jager and poured it on down the hatch. We laughed for a bit as the bartender stared at us with a shocked stare and widened eyes. “Starting a tab?” She said. “Fuck yeah, we're starting a tab- we're only getting started! We had to pay twenty bucks to get in to this place!” She took his credit card, and we gingerly sipped the Newcastle. We had to There hold off on shots for a while, or else we'd be dragged off by the shirt collars. were some very large, and very scary men
guarding every door. It wouldn't have been the first time we were dragged from a bar, either. We had a tendency to offend. Although it was funny to us, it was rarely funny to anyone elseespecially those on the receiving end of our attempts at stretching the limits of decency. “Coming up next, the sexy Sandra struts her stuff on the stage. for twenty! Meanwhile, two girls Pick your two favorite babes The D.J.'s stereotypical
and retreat to your own private dance in our V.I.P. Lounge!” voice cut over the opening synth lines of “Poker Face” by Lady Gaga. Sexy Sandra wasn't so sexy. sake. She was the
fat chick they kept around for fetish's There's always the construction Bluffing with her worker in the back that comes up to stick dollars in her fat rolls. muffin, indeed. She prowled around the stage like she was looking for a bowl of ice cream, and grabbed the bar in the middle, untying her
top for the big reveal. She unleashed her flopping sacks of flesh as the construction worker yelped and spilled another of many beer stains to come on his plain white T-shirt. He ran up to the stage with a dollar bill in his hand and his legs shook as he slipped it underneath a breast she lifted for him. He sauntered back to his table with a sheepish grin. Sooner or later, she had his arm in hers as she led him to the V.I.P. Room for a twenty minute dance with the other fatty, Shaniqua. The guy might never forget that night. I only wished I could. “Christ! things. She ignored him, and carried on with her performance. or four years. clientèle. I'd bet she was in her mid She had a product to sell, a twenties, probably been dancing about three specific demographic, and a willing Hooper's caterwauling surely wouldn't affect her income or success. Get off the stage and on to a Hooper wasn't one to sugar coat Me,
Strippers don't strip because they're made to do it. Strippers strip because they There's all kinds of There's make money stripping.
women, and they're generally equally represented at a strip club. Asians, Blacks, Latinos, Whites, Fatties, Anorexics, Tattooed, dread-locked, shaved, and unshaved. time. So many women, so little Everybody's got their What a shame.
penchant, and strip clubs aim to please. Hooper would find a girl he liked if he waited long enough. The next was “Foxy Roxy” as the D.J. called her. three. The brunette-bombshell type. She wore a She Character aged thirty five, girl aged twenty Bet your bottom dollar. collared and starched white shirt tied off in the front, and thick-framed glasses. looked mean, vicious even. transfixed. Hooper was
He fished a dollar out of his
pocket and walked slowly up to the stage. She dropped down to her knees, and opened the front pocket on her white shirt. Hoop folded the bill in half, and stuck it in her pocket. She wiggled her tits in his face, and he walked back with a smile.
“Much better,” he said, with a red faced grin over his bottle of Newcastle.
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