Wednesday, February 29, 2012

“A Town Called Disdain”, Episode 117: target

Larry Winchester,
* master of montage if not meaning, now returns to the embarrassing plight of that villain we love to hate, Captain Alexis J. Pym of the Unites States Navy’s mysterious “Q Section”, last seen (in Episode 114) buried up to his chin in quicksand beneath a mesa in the atomic bomb-blasted desert several miles outside of a town called Disdain, NM, on a September night in 1969...

(This episode rated EL for excessively lurid prose. Click here to read our previous chapter, or go here to see how the whole damned epic started.)

*”The working stiff’s John Updike” -- Harold Bloom

The motorcyclists had drawn up their bikes to the curving bank of the sinkhole and their headlights lit it brightly.

The only flaw in its smooth silvery surface was the head of Pym, still wearing his tan naval officer’s cap.

“Who dat?” asked one fellow.

“It’s a head,” replied another.

“What’s a head doin’ in there?”

Pym spoke:

“What do you think I’m doing?”

The Motorpsychos were stumped, silent but for the purring of their idling motors.

“You fools,” added Pym.

“Let’s shoot the head,” yelled one of the Motorpsychos.

Another of the gang obligingly took a shot with his Luger but missed by several yards.

“Ha! You suck, Pigmind.”

“Fuck you!” yelled Pigmind, and he fired several more shots, all misses, until the gun was empty.

All the other Motorpsychos laughed.

“I am a United States naval officer!” called Pym.

“Sailors suck dick,” yelled back one of the Motorpsychos, and all of them laughed.

Pym had no reply for this. It was true, some sailors did suck dick. Not all, but some. It was a tradition among seamen that probably went back to the first long voyages of the Phoenicians. Men needed an outlet on long sea voyages in cramped quarters with no women. Undoubtedly even those paragons of masculinity the Vikings had availed themselves of their own hearty brand of rough-and-tumble homosexual sport --

“Let’s take turns shootin’ at him,” suggested one Motorpsycho.

“Good idea,” said another.

This was not a good way to die. A fitting way to die perhaps, but nonetheless…

One fellow on the far left raised a long-barreled revolver and began cracking off shots in the direction of Pym’s head.

Pym tried to think of some suitable terminal thought, but thought of nothing.

Which is what I soon shall be, he thought.

Which thought seemed suitable enough.

And having thought this last thought he was now as ready as he would ever be, which was not very ready, not very ready at all.

But it would have to do.

(Continued here. Be sure to pick up your complimentary “Town Called Disdain" lunchbox with the purchase of ten hot dogs with sauerkraut at any Kresge’s 5&10 lunch counter, while supplies last.)

Monday, February 27, 2012

l'amour, part 15

by gabrielle-jeanette perfidy

illustrated by rhoda penmarq

part fifteen of seventy-eight

for previous chapter, click here

to begin at the beginning, click here

quiet, except for a few wind driven raindrops on the windowpanes, descended.

celeste was first to doze off, dreaming of walking on the beach.

jean-louis gradually relaxed his stern meditative pose, his pipe went out, and he too fell asleep.

albertine, attempting to read a book titled "the epistemology of fascism" by one of her acolytes, was the last to succumb.

part 16

Sunday, February 26, 2012

l'amour, part 14

by gabrielle-jeanette perfidy

illustrated by rhoda penmarq

part fourteen of seventy-eight

for previous chapter, click here

to begin at the beginning, click here

finally freeing herself from cousin berthe, leonie closed her bedroom door behind her, though she could not lock it.

she lay down on her bed and picked up a book, which after much ado, and enlisting the help of the local priest, she had persuaded cousin berthe to allow her to take from the local library.

the book was "the cathedral" by huysmans. she began to read:

"at chartres, as you turn out of the little market-place..."

part 15

Saturday, February 25, 2012

toquette - 1. a young woman from the provinces

by jolene de joinville

illustrated by roy dismas and rhoda penmarq

special thanks to Prof. Dan Leo for his editing efforts

on a bright morning in may, in the year ---------- , a small crowd had gathered in front of the offices of m hobart, wholesaler of fine foods.

two sisters of the night, perhaps one step up from the lowest class. were engaging in spirited fisticuffs, and were being desultorily cheered on by some grocers boys, young gentlemen returning home after a long night, and other idlers of the sort habitually seen in the streets of the capital, in peace time.

georges groy, second clerk of m hobart wholesalers, was arriving for work only a few minutes early. he would have liked to put his thumbs in his vest and enjoy the proceedings, but he felt m hobart's eyes on him from the second story window and proceeded up the open stairwell and into the offices without breaking stride. but as he did he fleetingly caught the eye of one of the pugilists - an eye of palest green, in a face startlingly young, though heavily rouged.

"bit of a ruckus," groy remarked to m hobart on entering the office. adding with a smile, "some might be inclined to summon the police."

"not i," m hobart responded. "i have every confidence that they will arrive in their own good time. but i am glad to see that you have arrived on time, groy. the comtesse d'a-------- is disputing her bill. be so kind as to go over it, if you please. give it your most ruthless appraisal. "

"yes, monsieur." groy cleared his throat. "i had hoped to have a word with you this morning, if i might."

"certainly. after you have checked the comtesse d' a---------'s bill, bring it to me and after we have gone over it - you may have your word."

for complete episode, click here

Friday, February 24, 2012

l'amour, part 13

by gabrielle-jeanette perfidy

illustrated by rhoda penmarq

part thirteen of seventy-eight

for previous chapter, click here

to begin at the beginning, click here

for previous episode, click here

part 14

Thursday, February 23, 2012

“A Town Called Disdain”, Episode 116: warpath

Paco's station wagon with original owner

Our author Larry Winchester*, responding to an overwhelming volume of cards and letters, now turns his focus on a couple of beloved characters we haven’t seen in a while, the Native American brujo Paco and that dissolute rock star and wit, Derek Squitters.

(Click here to see our previous chapter or go here to re-start the whole damn thing.)

*”The anti-John Updike.” -- Harold Bloom

Paco and Derek roared through the desert in Paco’s scabrous green ’55 Plymouth station wagon.

Derek was loving it. It was all so -- American.

Paco was even letting him drive. Driving wasn’t so hard if you just stayed in one gear and there were no other cars around for miles. Paco gave Derek directions, they stayed on little trails and dirt roads and they roared along.

The Seeds were singing “Pushing Too Hard” on the radio and it was all so fucking beautiful. Derek felt like he was in a fucking western, a fucking John Ford or Larry Winchester movie, he felt like he was Burt Reynolds in Navajo fucking Joe. This fucking desert all around, these weird buttes or mesas or whatever the bleeding hell they were called. Bleeding cactuses. Fucking tumbleweeds for Christ’s sake. Driving out here with this real Indian. And with his own shotgun, man. Just like James Caan in El Dorado.

This was the best fuckin’ night he’d had since his group first headlined the Albert fucking Hall.

Paco had loaded his granddad’s old Winchester repeating rifle for himself and his own double-barreled Purdey 12-gauge for Derek to use. The spirits had spoken through his TV set, and it was time to go on the warpath. It was strange that he had to go on the warpath with the Englishman, but life was strange.

Just to be on the safe side he made the Englishman his blood brother before they left, cutting slits in the palms of both their right hands with a butcher knife and then clasping the wounds together, mixing their bloods, then sticking Band-Aids over the cuts. He sure hoped he wouldn’t catch syphilis or some other white man’s disease from the Englishman.

(Continued here. Soon to be a major motion picture featuring Burt Reynolds as "Paco" and Tom Courtenay as "Derek"; music by Ennio Morricone and the Spike Jones Orchestra; a Dino DiLaurentiis/Larry Winchester Production in association with Jack Webb. Rated R for vulgar language and excessive drug use.)


Pest Control


They arrived in the spring of 146, quiet narrow wheels and faces whispering through the green orgasm eating the city. The children were very quiet, even more so than usual, but the...wariness was gone, their eyes light and quick with motion as the ancient new place slipped by. Their mother's sure, slim fingers turned the car absently, perfectly, her own eyes following each looming grey hulk as they passed. The guide slipped back to green from amber and straightened up, beginning to blink gently. Their father, not looking up from his lap as he muttered into a headpiece, tapped a finger inaccurately on the small green arrow as it flashed on the dash.

"I know, dear." Norah spoke gently in the unaccustomed quiet of this place. Her low voice was somehow just as penetrating now as it had been back on the Deck, as she roared and bellowed orders and warnings to her dirtscrapers, the endless distant rumbling her only argument, constant machine-clatter and drill hiss her involuntary punctuation. "We're almost there. I hope it's in better shape than the rest of these."

"Hmmp. Better than the farm. Ohhh, shit...recomp, 7, 3, interrelate. Pause. Sorry."

"Might as well close it, dear. We're here."

The skinny, battered torpedo of their new car (a proudly reconditioned 2073 Hong Spandler Zipper, in jaunty, uneven yellow) slowed, making the final turn from the tree-lined and littered street. It drew to a nearly-silent halt, faint hum of braking power and crunch of rubber on leaf disappearing into the warm stillness.


All text ©Peter A. Greene 2012

Wednesday, February 22, 2012

tales of the hotel st crispian, chapter 47: "all in this together"

by horace p sternwall

illustrated by roy dismas and konrad kraus

artistic supervisor: rhoda penmarq

for complete episode, click here

Monday, February 20, 2012

l'amour, part 12

by gabrielle-jeanette perfidy

illustrated by rhoda penmarq

part twelve of seventy-eight

for previous chapter, click here

to begin at the beginning, click here

for previous episode, click here

"ah, heaven is witness to my patience! go to your room, mademoiselle!"

" i will go to my room. where else would i go?"

part 13

Sunday, February 19, 2012

l'amour, part 11

by gabrielle-jeanette perfidy

illustrated by rhoda penmarq

part eleven of seventy-eight

for previous chapter, click here

to begin at the beginning, click here

for previous episode, click here

part 12