The cult section of the literary world

Flash Fiction Friday: ROCK HARD

by Kevin Shamel

I jumped my motorcycle over twenty-three flaming buses full of children. And landed it. I lept into a cannon and was shot out alongside a rocket, which I rode to a Vietnam dog-fight in the air. I blew up a commie plane with the rocket and somersaulted out of the explosion to land on a burning jet where I fought off and killed five ninjas, an alligator and two kung-fu guys.

I dove from the spinning F-15 at 36,000 feet, landing on a blimp thirty thousand feet down. I bounced off the blimp while connecting a bungee cord to my ankles and fighting an eagle, and dropped another three thousand feet. After bouncing back, I released the cord to dive into Angel Falls, the highest waterfall on Earth. I flew down the cliff, showered with high-mountain mist, and used my wing-suit to skim just above the rushing rocks, where I plucked a dozen rare blue orchids. I pulled my chute at about two hundred feet and just before I landed my harness caught in the branches of a macadamia tree. I fought six chimpanzees and a snake on the way down, rolled on my landing, punched a Nazi, made out with a Penthouse Pet, and gave her the flowers.

Then I had a smoke and ate half a cow. My name is Rock Hard. I’m a professional stunt man. Give me some weed.

Really, break it out or I’ll break your nose. Yes I’m fucking serious. I’m a stuntman. I do that all the time. You better hope I don’t want some cocaine after you get me high because you don’t look like you can afford it.

Ah, yeah, that’s better. Watch this. I’m gonna take this joint you rolled and light it in that fucking volcano over there. Just hang on, I have to take off my shoes and make out with that Pet one more time. Just for about ten minutes.

I should actually take off my shirt, too, because the last time I lit a joint with bubbling magma my shirt caught on fire and I had to put it out with spit. And that wasn’t all that easy, because I was hanging from a hot rock by my steel-toed boots and bracing myself against the wall of the vent with my fingertips so I had the joint in my mouth the whole time. I had to wait for a big blast of gas afterward too, so that I could do a backflip out of there, because by the time I put my shirt out, I was only hanging on by one toe. My boots had melted and my socks turned instantly to ash. So, I’ll be right back.

Hi, I’m back. Have you seen that Penthouse Pet? Sorry, but I didn’t smoke that whole joint by myself. I shared it with the chief of this cannibal tribe because he showed me how to avoid the fire ants on the way back. That volcano was pretty far away. I ended up walking into the world’s largest nest of fire ants. At first it was okay, because I just dared them to try and bite my stuntman feet, but then about six million actually did. I started getting a little dizzy and since they had crawled all over me and were biting everything, even my eyeballs, it became annoying.

I ran really fast for about three miles, but couldn’t shake the ants. So, using my quick thinking, I remembered that wasps and ants hate each other. I started beating on every wasp nest I could see. Luckily, thousands of wasps came out in a cloud to find out what was going on and started stinging the shit out of me. But they were also stinging ants. And some ants were jumping off of me to attack the wasps. I stripped off all my clothes so the wasps could get the ants. Don’t worry, I kept the joint between my lips. And didn’t even get it too wet.

When all the ants were finally dead, I noticed I was right beside an ancient stone pyramid. I couldn’t see a door and the trees were really tall all around it. The wasps were stinging the shit out of me, so I just punched through the granite. The tunnel I made was pretty small and as I was sliding into the pyramid, the wasps got scraped off me and some were smashed or choked on rock dust. In about ten minutes, I had punched my way through the whole pyramid. I was a little dusty and naked, but nothing was stinging me.

Some idiot had crashed his hang-glider into a tree and it was just sorta hanging up there with his rotting body. I kicked down a different tree and chewed the wood into a folding extension ladder. Then I climbed up and snagged that hang-glider.

I had to improvise a launching device, so I wrestled a hippo and fed it poison berries. When the corpse bloated up in the sun, I used it like a trampoline and launched myself into the air. I flew all the way to the volcano, and ditched the hang-glider.

I threw a vine that I’d attached to my ankle after I made the ladder and fought an acid-spitting-leopard, and hooked it around a rock so I could swing down into the caldera and light the doobie.

And that worked great. But when I swung out toking, those cannibals were there, and I had to prove my manhood by beating twenty of them in a dick-wrestling competition. After that we were buds, and the chief told me how to get back while we finished your doobie.

Well, it’s been fun, but I gotta go rescue some kids from some burning buses. You haven’t seen that Pet, huh? I’ll find her. Got any cocaine?


Kevin Shamel works for Eraserhead Press. He is the author of Rotten Little Animals, Island of the Super People, and Porn Land (forthcoming). He studied the art of stunt with Grant Page, star of the early 80s Australian blockbuster film: Stunt Rock.

4 responses

  1. Great story, Kevin! I especially like how he never lost that doobie :) You almost make me want to write a story from the Pet’s point of view!

    May 26, 2012 at 1:47 am

    • Kevin Shamel

      Thank you, Cori! You should do that. :)

      May 26, 2012 at 10:03 am

  2. I’ve never used the word “rollicking” before in my life, but by god, that was a rollicking good read!

    May 28, 2012 at 2:42 pm

    • Kevin Shamel

      I’ll take “rollicking”. Thanks, Kevin!

      May 29, 2012 at 12:25 pm

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