Catfish McDarus

by Horror Sleaze Trash on August 29, 2011

Not An Ounce Of Mercy

The two gay dudes wheeled the crippled man into my house. No beer, no wine, no smoke, empty handed, mooching as usual. The cripple pulls out a glossy magazine of adobe mansions in Arizona from a pocket in his wheelchair.

“That’s mine, right there,” the crip points. Showing my wife a million dollar house in front of some snaggle toothed mountains. Trying to be polite, she smiles.

“You have funny ears, has anyone ever told you that?” the crip asks.

“No,” she’s not smiling any longer.

Two women, strangers, come in. “We’re with him,” they point to the crip. Like that explains everything. One is adorned with turquoise jewelry, gaudy frog green stones. The other is not too bad, except her cotton candy ratted hair and ass like a banjo.

Invited guests started arriving, poets, musicians, and potters. The potters are my wife’s friends and coworkers. They all have ear plugs in jest, to filter out the after dinner performances scheduled. The poets and musicians don’t find the ear plugs very amusing.

We eat posole and tostadas. A crip asks my wife what one of her desserts is, she says flan.

“Phlegm? That’s a lot of loogies.” His smart ass remark doesn’t quite make it. I can almost see red smoke seeping from her ears.

One of his friends comes into the kitchen and fills a tumbler with tequila and says, “By the way, your daughter is choking in the other room.”

I shove several people out of the way and knock banjo ass flat. Finding my kid, she has a piece of hard candy lodged in her throat. I flip her up and shake her from the ankles. The candy comes out and she is bawling and frightened. I give her some milk, the last of the carton.

“Hey, I wanted some of that milk,” the crip whines. He’s lying on our new couch, with his dirty shoes on and his piss and shit bag underneath him. Crip orders some lady guests to bring food and drink for his friends. Then one of the gay guy’s brother arrives totally drunk and obnoxious. He starts hitting and slobbering on all the women, including my wife. I start thinking dangerous thoughts, as the party gets worse by second.

The gay couple goes in the backyard; I can hear slurping sounds like someone is siphoning gas. I ask the crip if he wants smoke weed upstairs, where my wife can’t smell it. He agrees. I pull him in his chair up the stairs and open the porch door. We hear sloop sloop glug glug sloop and a moan.

“Well, where’s the joint?” crip asks.

“Down below.” I shove him through the rotten porch railing. He screams in disbelief. I see his chair flying beneath him in the moonlight. They crash into a jumble with the two half naked dudes. Everything gets quiet. An owl hoots.

I find my daughter sleeping peacefully. I close my eyes in the dark room that smells of Baby Magic.

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