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Flash Fiction Friday: I Likes ’Em Trashy

by: John Wayne Comunale

I’ve always liked my women a little on the trashy side. The ones with elaborate, unnecessary makeup, boots that are way too high with skirts that are way too short, and piercing eyes glaring from beneath dramatically cut, Betty Page bangs. Throw in a few tattoos for good measure and I’m a happy man. Naturally, I included this bit of information when I signed up for the new threeway app, Thrinder. I was surprised by the quick response shortly after posting my profile, but I went with it.

The message I received said to meet at a bar called The Tri-Corner Hat for drinks and conversation before getting down to business. The couple’s names were Greg and Terry, and according to our correspondence, they were very excited to meet me. When I walked in, I was thrown off by the total darkness of the place, but I figured when you’re meeting up with someone you met online for a threesome the last thing you wanted was an abundance of light. There was a man sitting at the bar sipping a drink that I recognized as Greg from his picture. He was wearing a ratty, black ball cap pulled down over his eyes, which he also wore in the picture I saw.

“Hey there,” I said walking up to the bar. “You’re Greg I take it?”

“Oh yeah,” he said, smiling wide. “That’s me. You must be Larry.”

“Guilty as charged,” I answered, immediately regretting my corny quip. “Nice to meet you. Is Terry here somewhere?”

“No, actually, she’s not,” he said. “She likes me to meet the other person first to make sure it’s a good fit for us. You understand?”

“Oh yeah, man,” I said. “Totally.”

“So,” said Greg, “you like ‘em trashy, huh?”

“That’s right,” I said, trying to be as casual as possible. “That’s just always been my type.”

“Well, you’re gonna’ love Terry. She’s as trashy as they come.”

“Sounds great,” I replied. “So when do I get to meet her?”

“Soon,” he said. “First, I need to ask if you’re cool with some pretty kinky shit.”

I’d had my fair share of interesting sexual encounters in my life, so I felt I could answer confidently.

“Oh yeah, man,” I said leaning into him, “the kinkier the better.”

I didn’t really have a proclivity for kink, but I wanted to set him at ease and get the show on the road. I was excited for this, but didn’t want to waste my whole night.

“That’s good,” he said, “real good. Terry and I like to get a little weird sometime, if you know what I mean.”

“I sure do,” I said, elbowing him playfully in the ribs even though I had no idea what he meant. “I’m down with the get down.” Another cheesy line I regretted.

“Fuck it then,” said Greg slamming his drink. “Let’s get out of here.”

I followed him out of the bar and turned toward the street, but Greg grabbed my shoulder and spun me around.

“It’s this way,” he said, pointing down the alley between the bar and the abandoned building next to it.

“Oh, uh, okay,” I said, following him into the darkness.
“Terry’s gonna’ be so jazzed to meet you man. We’ve been looking for someone that really clicks with us, and I have a good feeling about you.”

“I aims to please,” I said, seemingly unable to not speak in groan-worthy quips.

The alley was typical as far as alleys go. Bare brick walls lined either side, and piles of garbage sat atop mystery puddles of trash-water.

“So where are we going anyway?”

“To meet up with Terry,” said Greg without looking back at me. “You wanna’ go meet Terry right?”

“Of course,” I said. “Just curious that’s all.”

“It’s not much farther,” he said, attempting to be reassuring.

Ahead, I could see a dumpster with light peeking out from the other side of it, and the closer we got, I began to hear voices. The light turned out to be a trash barrel fire, and the voices belonged to two bums warming themselves around it. They stopped mid-sentence to gawk as we passed.

“Hey there,” said one of them. “You going to see Terry?”

The grizzled bum smiled, revealing a single black tooth in the center of his top gums. His right hand moved from the fire to his crotch, where he began to rub awkwardly while licking his scab-covered lips.

“I bet he is,” said the other bum whose tooth count doubled that of his counterpart. “He’s got that look.”

They both laughed, and rubbed at themselves. I could see the bulges in their pants reacting to the stimulus.

“Shut up, you degenerates,” spat Greg. “Why don’t you two go fuck yourselves!”

“Sounds good to me,” said the first bum as he reached over with his free hand to grab his friend’s face and guide it to his own. The two began to sloppily make out, which sounded like someone kneading wet dough.

“Don’t mind them. They don’t know shit,” said Greg pointing to a door up ahead. “Almost there.”

I nodded and sped up to be next to him.

“So, what’s Terry like?” I asked. “I mean, you haven’t really told me too much.”
“What’s to tell?” he answered. “She’s extra trashy, just like you like ‘em, she’s into freaky shit, and she’s down to fuck. What else do you wanna’ know?”

“Uh . . . well, I guess that’s good enough for me.”

The amount of trash lining the alley now was stacked over five feet high in some places, and the smell was unbearable. Greg grabbed at the lever on the door and turned to face me.

“You ready?”
“Oh yeah,” I said, more ready to get out of the smothering trash than anything else.

Greg pulled the handle up and pushed in to open the door. It screeched like a cat being drug beneath a city bus, and I guessed it hadn’t been oiled since its installation. The room was dark but Greg stepped in, hit a switch on the wall to his left, and a single light crackled to life from the ceiling shining down on the center of the room. It was completely empty save for a giant pile of trash bags, which the light shined directly on. Greg crossed his arms and smiled staring at the pile.

“What is this?” I asked.

“That’s Terry,” he said, pointing to the pile. “Ain’t she a beaut?”

I scanned the room to make sure I wasn’t missing something.

“A beaut?” I said. “She’s a pile of trash.”

“Exactly,” he said. “You like ‘em trashy don’t ya’?”

“Yeah, but . . . “

Greg walked to the pile he called Terry and I followed. The smell was worse than in the alley, and I could see most of the bags were ripped, spilling rotten food, used diapers, and other unidentifiable, greasy trash innards.

“What are you waiting for?” asked Greg. “Let’s do this!”

He dropped his pants, exposing his very erect, very large penis, which he promptly buried into the side of Terry. I’m not sure what came over me, but I was instantly aroused and, not wanting to be outdone, I dropped my pants to show off my considerable endowment as well.

“Now we’re talking,” said Greg. “Get on in there. She’s nice and wet.”

Before I knew it, I was humping along with Greg at a furious pace. I grabbed at lumps of wet garbage that came away in my hand as I tried to find purchase on top of Terry. I rolled around her, sticking myself into any opening I could find, and they were all wet with anticipation. I found myself so engrossed in what I was doing that I forgot about Greg until I heard him cry out.

“Oh man, oh man,” he called from the other side of Terry where he was thrusting away with reckless abandon. “I’m gonna’ cum!”

I eased up and repositioned myself, thinking it was kind of soon for him to already be cumming, but I wasn’t going to say anything.

“Oh yeah, baby. Oh yeah, baby,” he said, panting as he reached climax. “Oh yeeeaaahhhh!”

I watched as Greg shook with the intensity of his orgasm, savoring every last quake. At the height of it, he threw his head back, and his cap fell to the floor behind him. Something was wrong with the way his head looked, but I didn’t want to believe it at first. The top of Greg’s head was a garbage bag with bits of paper, coffee grinds, and other trash spilling from it.

“What the–”

That was all I could muster before Greg’s face fell off and more trash spilled out from behind it. I watched in disbelief, while still pumping away of course, as his body fell apart in front of me, revealing more lumpy, leaking bags of trash that fell into Terry, becoming part of her. I was shocked, but I did come here to fuck, so I pounded away until finally finishing. I stepped away from Terry, zipped up, and took one final look around. I walked over to where Greg had been to find all that was left of him was his hat. I picked up the dirty, black thing, dusted it off, and put it on, pulling the brim down firmly over my eyes. I walked to large steel door, opened it, and took one last look at the trash pile.
“Thanks Terry,” I said. “It was fun. Hopefully, I’ll see you around.”

________

John Wayne Comunale lives in the land of purple drank known as Houston, Texas. He is a writer for the comedic collective MicroSatan and contributes creative non-fiction for the theatrical art group, BooTown. When he’s not doing that, he tours with the punk rock disaster: johnwayneisdead. He is the author of The Porn Star Retirement Plan, Charge Land, and Aunt Poster as well as writer/illustrator of the comic-zine: The Afterlife Adventures of johnwayneisdead. John Wayne is an American actor who died in 1979.

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Submit your bizarro flash fiction to FlashFictionFridaySubmissions@gmail.com.

Available for Preorder: Engines of Ruin

Lucas Mangum is offering his latest collection of short stories, ENGINES OF RUIN, for the very reasonable price of WHATEVER YOU WANT! Head over to Lucas’ website and pay what you want. The book will be released and sent right to you on October 1st!

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This collection of eight short stories by dark fiction author, Lucas Mangum includes “A Killing Back Home,” “Video Inferno,” “Hell and Back,” and “Occupy Babylon,” plus four never before published tales and an introduction by Shane McKenzie (author of MUERTE CON CARNE and MONSTERS DON’T CRY).

Out Now: Spermjackers from Hell

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Let’s summon a succubus, they said. It’ll be fun, they said…

I have some friends and we had a crazy idea: let’s summon a demon. Not just any demon but a sexy devil chick that will do anything we want—even butt stuff. It’ll be easy. It’s not like it’s going to work. Monsters aren’t real.

We were wrong. Really fucking wrong.

The demon is not what we thought and it’s making horrible things happen. People are cutting into each other’s junk, some guy is fucking his dog, and sex slugs from Hell are raping us and stealing our semen in order to build a goddamn hive!

We didn’t mean for any of this. But we’re gonna fix it… Just after a few more beers and bong hits.

From Christine Morgan, author of Mythic Lust: the Minotaur, and The Raven’s Table: Viking Stories, comes a sleazy and deviant satire about sex, occultism, and nerd culture.

Get it here

Rerelease: SICK PACK

Back on the streets with a fresh new cover, it’s MP Johnson’s SICK PACK!

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Fabulo’s six pack is hypnotic.

Literally.

His abs can hypnotize people, and that’s why they appear on the covers of romance novels worldwide. He’s in-demand and life is good for him. But what about for his abs? Did he bother to ask them if they wanted the spotlight? Of course not. The truth is they’re sick of it. All the dieting and crunches. They want more out of life, so they vamoose, forcing poor Fabulo to replace them with something altogether different and altogether disgusting, an all new…

Sick Pack!

Get it here!

Flash Fiction Friday: Hammer Time

by Christopher Lesko

I saw this asshole pushing a shopping cart filled with groceries down the road, about a mile away from the grocery store. I slowed my car and yelled out the window to him. “Hey! You can’t take that shopping cart home!” He ignored me, kept pushing along, rumbling over gravel and shit. “Yeah, I’m talking to you. That cart doesn’t leave the parking lot.” He flicked me off.

Some people probably wondered why I even bothered to yell at him. It’s not like I work for the grocery store or anything. And even though I was on my way to that same grocery store, I didn’t even plan to use a cart. But I couldn’t stand the fact that this guy thought he could do whatever he wanted. I know for sure he wouldn’t be pushing an empty cart back to the grocery store afterward. The thing he was doing is the kind of stuff that’s wrong with the world. That and legalized marijuana. Yeah. First, you legalize marijuana, then you vote for Donald Trump because you are so high in the voting booth you accidentally voted for the wrong person . . . or didn’t even vote, and now your brain is so doped up you think you can just push a cart out of the grocery store parking lot, go home with it, and leave it there. For what? For it to end up in a ditch behind the apartment building that’s what. That cart will be back there with old tires, dirty diapers, aluminum cans of Miller Lite, broken television sets, and other shit. Then some hobo will eventually set up camp in the woods there, and then there will be a bunch more hobos coming to live there, and then all those hobos will have hobo sex back there, and then one day I might end up living back there with them. I’ll want to sleep but will be too afraid. I’ll have to sleep with one eye open, so they don’t try to lick me. Or … I’ll have to find the biggest hobo in the camp and lick him first. Show them all who’s the boss.

I pull over, get out my car, and jog up to the guy ready to push that fucking cart over if that’s the way I’m going to get him to stop pushing it any further. But before I do any such thing, the guy halts.

“U can’t touch this!” he yells.

“Watch me!” I grasp the side of the cart.

He reaches in one of the bags, pulls out a hammer and throws it down on my hand. He throws it down on my face next, right in my eye socket.

I go down seeing stars. One of those stars is I see is Mr. M.C. Hammer, dancing around in Hammer Pants. He tells me I need to use Command Strips and that I need to pray. Tells me I need to pray just to make it today. And that’s why we pray.

When I come to, I’m lying face down, outside somewhere in the shade, my cheek pressed to the cold, muddy ground. One eye sees happy green trees, and the other eye sees a mix of deep purple and bloody red trees, floating black dots, and that fucking shopping cart flipped over, missing a wheel.

I’m happy to be alive, but I know the hobos are coming … the hobos are coming.

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Christopher Lesko is the author of The Grlz Like Vodka, Long Live Crazy, That’s My Ghoul, The Electric Lunatic, Fukced Up, and a handful of deranged short stories. You can follow him on Facebook and buy his books on Amazon.

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Submit your bizarro flash fiction stories to FlashFictionFridaySubmissions@gmail.com.

 

Christoph Paul Gets Serious with Max Booth III

Head over to CLASH MEDIA to see two grown men hurl words at one another like drunk jai alai players. Plus this gif!

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Podcast-landia!

Now and then my bizarro peers will chime in and let me know what’s happening out there in Podcastlandia.

Today I hear tales of Nicholaus Patnaude at LOSING THE PLOT, discussing his books Guitar Wolf and First Aide Medicine, as well as his new psychedelic horror press, Psychedelic Horror Press (fitting!). Nicholaus also relates his experience stuck in a time-loop within the Dyatlov Pass incident, a cautionary tale that can’t possibly save you from the exact same fate.

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Then there’s the always-interesting Jeff Burk. His latest installment of JEFF ATTACKS! features Miss Spooky talking about her career as a circus and side show performer. She discusses her acts, the reality of being a clown on a national tour, and the remaking one’s self as a performer. Miss Spooky has performed at several bizarro events in Portland, performed at two World Horror Conventions, and has been a judge at the Gross Out Contest:

So check out these podcasts! Bizarro Central will likely return with more installments of Podcastlandia to bring you the lowest episodes at the bottom of the bottomless podcast barrel.