onto about a 45 degree gravelly incline covered with saplings and scrub and big natural-looking rocks. When I slammed the door, the whole car slid downhill about a foot and the women inside screamed and clutched their seat belts. Priceless. I gave them a wink and a thumb up and hiked up the hill and back a bit, just far enough so a sudden wind wouldn’t blow my urine on the Rover.
God, what a beautiful car I own. It’s really in its element out here, gleaming chrome and gunmetal grey against the blue sky, a lovely patina of authentic off-road mud on its flaps, undergrowth caked beneath the real chrome bumper like the rouge on a lawnmower’s lips, and a long flat trail of subjugated vegetation and churned turf blazing off into the distance behind. I’ve never seen my car looking happier than it did that day, like a free-roaming alpine goat perched on a rocky bluff, sniffing the wind for other goats’ vaginas. I wish I could find another really hot car for my car to mate with, I love it so. It’s got a look that screams Money! but it screams in a classy, operatic voice that’s also rugged and Teutonic, sort of a Conan the Singing Barbarian scream, if you follow me. Basically, it makes everybody inside of it seem wealthy and sophisticated, yet violent. Through the polarized rear window, even Marcia and Edna looked poised and regal, sitting still, clutching their seat belts, leaning uphill, doing and saying nothing. Except I knew Edna was seething. She likes to seethe. And when Edna seethes, Marcia pouts. It’s cute, really.
I finished peeing all over nature and returned to the Rover. We slid a few more inches downhill when I slammed the door.
“Marv, are you trying to get us killed?” Edna bitched.
“Not entirely,” I said.
“Remember? Remember what the doctor said about impulses ? Don’t you think you’re acting just a teensy bit selfinflictive?”
I threw it in low gear and put the hammer down. The wheels spun as we slid farther down the ridge, flinging rocks and twigs in all directions. Marcia from Product Dialogue let out the tiniest little whimper, like she does when she comes. Sexy!
“That’s crazy talk, baby. I love me. I would never hurt me.” I rocked the steering wheel left, then right, sort of randomly plowing around the gravel we were swimming in, trying to drill down into something bite-able. The car slid and twisted around in place like a hovercraft, throwing up an epic cloud of dust around us as the engine roared with automotive excellence. Finally we snagged something and sprang, caribou-like, up the side of the so-called cliff and back on to boring flat land — where I just barely spotted some little surprised animal dart under the front wheels, a beaver or dog or something, I don’t know what exactly but the girls had their eyes closed so I decided to neglect to mention it — and there we were, horizontal again, “safe.”
Marcia squealed with delight and clapped her little hands together. Edna rolled her eyes.
Edna: “Maybe you should go vegan, Marv. Just drive to the supermarket and back, hunting tofu.”
“Baby? Did you smoke crack while I was out there with Walter?” Edna huffed. Marcia giggled. (I should explain: Walter, obviously, is my cock; Edna knows this; Marcia also knows this; Edna does not know Marcia knows this. Or maybe it was dawning on her, but that was starting to matter less and less as we got deeper into Bear Country.)
“Vegans have ethics, Marv. They care about others.”
“I care about others. I care how they taste!” Badda-bing! I crack myself up. But no giggle from Marcia … no, I suppose Marcia actually cares about others from time to time herself. Silly girl. In the mirror I saw her little mini-pout, eyebrows slightly furrowed, head bent forward, chin pointing down toward her slender neck and her big, tight funbags jutting from the underwire bra and the camo lycra action halter I bought her. Her body said Fuck Me Sideways, but her face said
Marina Dyachenko, Sergey Dyachenko