Toxicity Read Online Free PDF Page B

The
hairy bone-clad stick-waving peoples ignored him.
     
    “I could also offer to include a
little stanza about our meeting in a future poem? A published poem, I
might add.”
     
    Nothing. Nada. Zip.
     
    “Indeed, being a leading member
of the Culture Ministry I could perhaps bring some kind of foreign aid to your
plight? Make the people in power and with money and influence aware of your
terrible afflictions, your lack of funky clothing, your horrible predilection
for rendering your own bodies with bone piercings. How’s that sound? We could
maybe supply you with razors to get rid of all that ghastly body hair.
Especially for the women; indeed, if you are women. Lots of people in corduroys
would trot along, become involved, and start getting you medical treatment and
building schools for your children. How’s about that for a slice of fried gold?”
     
    He beamed, pleased with his
proposition.
     
    The cannibals, for now he was
sure they were cannibals on account of a toddling toddler who’d just
wobbled into view sucking on a small human skull, ignored him.
     
    Svoolzard felt his lower lip
start to emerge; a prima donna pout. What a cheek! First, his thesis
performance was interrupted. Second, the indignity of a crashing starship!
Third, Lumar, that sexiest of sexy pliant bendable mistresses, goes all weird
and strange on him, no doubt because of a savage bump to the head, he was surer
than sure, and stalked off into the jungle in a huff like they’d had some kind
of teenage lover’s tiff! Then he was hit from behind by some kind of
sleeping dart, and awoke to find funny little hairy people refusing to speak to
him.
     
    It was just... not on.
     
    Svoolzard felt his temper flare,
aided and abetted by his cold-turkey situation from at least fifteen different
types of narcotic. One of them, SLAP, had a cold-turkey come-down period of
seven years. Now that’s what you call an addiction.
     
    Right, he thought. RIGHT!
     
    “OKAY,” he suddenly bellowed,
swinging frantically as he really punched from his diaphragm, “THIS IS A BLOODY
DISGRACE AND I’M JUST NOT HAVING IT! NOT HAVING IT AT ALL! THIS IS A RIDICULOUS
SITUATION AND YOU FAIL TO UNDERSTAND THAT YOU HAVE HERE, TIED TO THIS TREE, A
BONAFIDE BLOODY GENIUS! I AM A POET! I AM A SWASHBUCKLER! I AM A GENIUS!
I AM REVERED THROUGHOUT THE GALAXY OF MANNA! I AM WORSHIPPED BY ALL WOMEN! I AM
WORSHIPPED BY MOST BLOODY MEN, ACTUALLY! I AM A HELL-RAISER, A DRUG-WORSHIPPER,
A LOVER AND A HIPSTER, AND YOU HAVE NO RIGHT TO HOLD ME LIKE THIS! NO RIGHT TO
TIE ME TO A TREE AND SHOUT ‘UG’ AND ‘KAK’ AND WAVE YOUR POINTY STICKS AT ME,
YOU SHITTY LITTLE HAIRY HEATHEN SAVAGES! I WANT THE AMBASSADOR FOR EARTH
CONTACTING RIGHT NOW! I WANT A COMM CALL! I WANT MY RIGHTS! GET IT?”
     
    There was a long, long pause.
     
    In his passion at his oratory,
Svoolzard had closed his eyes, as well as drooling down his own forehead.
Passion-spittle, he called it. He knew his many lovers found it extremely sexy.
     
    As he opened his eyes, a “shitty
little hairy heathen savage” was crouched before him, skirt of grasses parted,
long pierced penis unrolled to touch the ground. The shitty little hairy
heathen savage grinned up at Svoolzard, showing teeth filed to points and inset
with rusted twin razor blades rescued from old disposable razors.
     
    “Yes?” said Svoolzard, hopefully.
     
    The shitty little hairy heathen
savage held up a knife and fork, his grin getting wider at the same time as his
bulbous eyes.
     
    “Time for supper, fancy man,” he
grinned.
     
    ~ * ~
     
    TWO
     
     
     
     
    “She’s
pretty hard.”
     
    “Not as hard as my cock.”
     
    Smoke swirled. Glasses clinked.
Chips clattered.
     
    “No, really, mate, I’ve heard she’s
as tough as an iron bar.”
     
    “Heh, I’ll give her my iron bar
up every single orifice, I can tell you. Hear her sing like a canary.”
Laughter.
     
    “Come on, Jones; don’t talk about
the lady like