The Last Horror Novel in the History of the World Read Online Free PDF Page B

 
     
     
     
     
     
     

 
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
      
     
       
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
    We take the streets meekly.
    We knock on doors that go unanswered.
    Through trash swept yards, we tarry.
    We seven drunkards and Old Burt shaking his head at us as we sip ourselves sillier.
    Jokes are told.
    Blue Parson:
    A man, a woman, and a turtle go into a bar. Bartender says, “What can I get you?” Man says, a less ugly baby.
    Tyler:
    A fag goes to see a doctor because his dick’s turned purple. Doctor says, “I’ve seen this condition, but not in a blue moon.” The fag contemplates this, says, “Well, Doc, I guess you’re cute enough. Get me some paint and bend over.”
    Tim:
    Mom walks in on her son who’s jerking off to a picture of Dick Cheney. Naturally she’s disgusted. “Boy, you need help,” she says. The boy looks at the picture; he looks back at his mom. “I appreciate the offer,” he says, “but you’re not really my type.”
    Mindy:
    What do you call a lesbian with no tongue and no fingers?
    A waste of fucking time.
    Tessa:
    A man’s on trial for rape. He tells the judge he’s guilty but that the judge should be lenient on account of how small the rapist’s dick is.
    “The size of your dick doesn’t matter,” the judge says, and the rapist says, “Sorry.”
    “Why?” asks the judge.
    “Because,” the rapist says, “you’d only say that if you had a small dick too.”
    Old Burt:
    What do you call a black guy who’s never met his father?
    A black guy.
    Rob:
    What do you call a Mexican who can run fast and jump high?
    Manny:
    Let me guess: a wet back?
    Rob:
    I didn’t say that Spic could swim.
    In and out of cars and trucks we climb, looking for keys, but every time we find a keyed ignition, we can’t get the engine to turn.
    In empty homes, we lift phones from their housings, place our ears to receivers, but hear nothing emitted. No dial tones, no static.
    Back in the streets, we call out names of friends and relatives:
    Terry, Sally, Cindy, Tex, Guillermo, Tio, Chuy, Sebastian, Mikey, Maisy, Georgia, Molly, Andy, Sandy, Richard, Bob, Melissa, Lilly, Becky, Bailey, Victor, Jimmy, Hunter, Tom.
    Nothing.
    No one answers.
    No one comes.
    “This is creepy,” says Tessa.
    Above, the sky’s black fades to gray, the light of coming morning, muting out the certainty of night, whispering on the paleness of day.
    “I’m tired,” says Blue.
    “Me too,” says Mindy.
    “Let’s go to the tree house,” says Rob.
    “Might be the safest place,” says Old Burt, “good vantage point, I suppose. In case anything else is coming.”
    We all agree, and stumble to Blue’s. Climb up the ladder. Pick corners to flop in. Distribute blankets we’ve pilfered, pillows and bedrolls.
    In the dark.
    In the quiet.
    Our minds wander.

  
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
      
     
       
     
     
     
     
     
     

  
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
      
     
       
     
     
     
     
     
     

     
    MINDY
     
    In the brightening light of Blue Parson’s tree house, Mindy thinks of the semester she spent at UT Austin, living in the fourth floor of Dobie, a dorm named after a Texas legend, a man who wandered the state culling folk tales and low myths, bitter and happy stories, both, that evidenced the state’s turbulent history of a place that’s been fought over. She’d only read one of the things he’d written. A queer, tall tale about a man who’d used walnut husks as body armor—or so she remembered it. She’d read the thing in a library on campus, which one she couldn’t remember. There were several, and they all had different names. These names were lost to her, with the exception of one—PCL. She couldn’t remember the true meaning of the acronym, but, as she recalled, it was the library that housed the majority of the texts relevant to those pursuing degrees in engineering. Many of those engineering students were from Asia, so the students jokingly called it