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Flash Fiction Friday: Fuck You Very Much

by: Ira Rat

I wonder if there will be enough air in here to last the next few hours. The guys who built this fucking thing said so, but how would they know? It’s not like they would ever come down here and test it, bet their lives their calculations were anywhere near reasonable. I couldn’t imagine any of those geeks closing the lid on themselves and being lowered six feet into the ground.

It’s not like they even strapped down a monkey in this metal tube just to see if the damn thing came out the other end alive.

What about the meth-toothed freaks who helped seal this thing, should I trust them to ever have done a carnie-level job with this? It’s not like they went around burying people in tubes full of oxygen tanks every day.

What if this thing isn’t properly sealed? How would I know? The air could just be seeping into the ground around me as I lay her in this metal coffin with just enough air to get me through this alive. Or at least that was the plan. What if just enough seeped out so I run out of air minutes before they dig up this fucking thing ?

My last few minutes of air going out to the worms. Do worms have lungs?

I know I shouldn’t have trusted that fucking cocksucker Gary. He’s probably arranged it so I will die down here. Can you imagine the money he’d make selling the story?

The Great Pizzali dies during magic “stunt.” Great fucking stunt, the door didn’t even open.

The tabloids would buy that shit in a heartbeat. You know how those vultures are. My dead fucking body will make the cover of those four-color horror rags.

I’ve seen the way he looks at Sarah. He’s probably planning on fucking her on top of this casket when they pull me out dead. Motherfucker. Never trust someone with your life when there’s more money to be made from your death.

Damned if I’m not too late to realize this little scheme of his. Jesus, here I come. Could you give Gary cock-cancer for me over this? I know he’s trying to off me. Why else would he have suggested this stunt? It’s not even like it’s a big draw these days, ever since that masked dick-bag ruined it for the rest of us.

What kind of world do we live in, that a bastard like that can spoil our craft on network TV, while yours truly down here is stupid enough to risk his life doing a blown gag for a hundred-odd slack-jawed pudding heads?

Fuck you, Gary.

Fuck you very much.

Where’s the air going? I wonder if it’s getting pushed down by all this carbon dioxide that I’m spewing? What if I hold my breath?

Fuck… didn’t work, smells like a Frito died and evacuated its bowls in here.

How much longer do I have, anyway? Maybe I should have bought a digital watch before all this. The second hand on this thing seems to be going at one-third speed. Enough time to play with my prick? I wonder if anyone would notice the jizz-stain on my tux if I cracked one out right now?

TAH-DAH! “Look at the magnificence! The splendor!” If only the trap door would have let me out of here by now, I could be back at the hotel three-fingers deep into that blonde with meth teeth that was giving me the eye.

Now that would go down in the history books right next to Houdini’s exploding stomach.

What a dick that guy must have been. Before he turned up, this was a pretty chill job. Find a card, pull a rabbit out of a hat. I wouldn’t have to be six feet under just to prove that I could pull off a grade-school stunt. Meanwhile, I’m down here and I think my watch has stopped.

I hope some Halloween he’ll make contact from beyond and say that he is sodomized by a train of demons on a daily basis. That would show that Hungarian pole-smoker.

I think I can hear digging, but it sounds too far away to get to get six feet in the next few minutes.

Was Houdini Hungarian? I can’t remember. I should look that up, if I survive. Gary better have finalized those contracts. If I’m doing this for nothing, I’m going to fuck him on top of this casket so horribly that he’ll wish it was a train of demons.

I was supposed to be out of here ten minutes ago, at least that’s what it said before my watch started acting up. They were supposed to digging if I wasn’t out twice that long ago. I see dirt starting to sift through the cracks. Maybe that is digging I hear, but it sounds more like laughing.

________

Ira Rat is an artist, musician, and writer from Ames, Iowa. A member of Neon Lushell, Tape Ends, and Vicar Elm, his first collection of visual art “i’m sorry mom” is now available. His debut novella, Sliced, is soon to follow. You can check out his art and music at www.irarat.com or follow him on Facebook.

 ________

Send your weird little stories to flashfictionfridaysubmissions@gmail.com.

The Beginner’s Guide to Bizarro Fiction

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Like zines? Then you need to get The Beginner’s Guide To Bizarro Fiction, a new zine by Ben Fitts profiling great writers in the bizarro scene. Email doomgoat666@gmail.com if you are interested in receiving a copy.

New Release: Triple Axe

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Jesse Jinx is a porn star. She has dreams of starting her own adult film production company where she and the other actors will be treated more fairly. But there won’t be a production company if she can’t come up with the money—or if there aren’t any porn stars left. A deranged killer is on the loose, targeting adult entertainers, and choking them to death with a weapon that leaves no trace of itself. When the authorities refuse to help Jesse and her two closest friends, the three women decide to take matters into their own hands . . . with axes. As their colleagues fall one by one, they have a plan to stay alive—and they’re ready to hatchet!

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New Release: All Hail The House Gods

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“A joy-ride of a read, Stone has created a compelling morality tale that’s moral lies somewhere in tomorrow’s déjà vu. Funny, sad, stunning in its imaginative realization, Andrew J. Stone’s new novel is as topical, timely, and telling as a Freudian slip.” —Laura Lee Bahr, author of Haunt and Angel Meat
“Andrew Stone writes like a laser beam shot out of a unicorn horn. His books will alter your brain in the best possible way. If an LSD Bible had babies with a hand grenade poetry collection, you’d get what Stone can do. He’s dazzling.” —Brian Allen Carr, author of Sip and Motherfucking Sharks
Long live the House Gods! Author Andrew J. Stone (The Mortuary Monster) envisions a unique dystopia where harmony and happiness means feeding our children to sentient, human-eating houses. Can the House Gods be defeated? One family is about to find out . . .

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New Release: Scummer

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A filthy barfly haunts the bar down the road. He lives off the leftover dregs of the patrons’ beers and spent cigarettes he finds on the ground. He may be living in the trunk of someone’s car. His name is Scummer. He’s mysterious and elusive. He’s unbound by inhibitions and you want to be just like him.

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New Release: Neverday

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For almost 20 years, Carlton Mellick III has been writing some of the strangest and most compelling novels the bizarro fiction genre has to offer. Described as one of the top 40 science-fiction writers under the age of 40 by The Guardian and “one of the most original novelists working today” by horror legend Edward Lee. In his 57th book, Neverday, Mellick has created a dystopian horror tribute to time loop stories in the tradition of Groundhog DayEdge of Tomorrow and Happy Death Day.

Karl Lybeck has been repeating the same day over and over again, in a constant loop, for what feels like a thousand years. He’s been stuck in this endless cycle for so long that he doesn’t remember what his life was like before time stopped moving forward. He doesn’t remember his parents’ faces or what he used to do for a living. The only reason he remembers his own name is because it’s printed on his Oregon State driver’s license.

When a woman named January enters his life, Karl learns that he isn’t the only one trapped in the time loop. In fact, the majority of the population has been repeating the same day just as he has been for hundreds of years. While Karl was hiding isolated in his suburban home, a whole new world was being built just outside his door. Society has adapted to repeating. Strange laws have been implemented. A new memory-based currency has been put into place.

But there’s something not quite right about the new repeating government. Karl doesn’t understand why those in charge have no interest in trying to fix their situation. He doesn’t doesn’t understand why going into the neverday–that time period that only exists if you stay awake all night to avoid repetition–is considered the worst possible crime that anyone can commit. With the help of others who share in his suspicions, Karl plans to find out exactly what is being hidden from them, even if it destroys the very fabric of their society forever.

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New Release: Cockblock

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After the daily grind at their jobs all Sonya and Callie want is to enjoy a quiet night out together at a new restaurant. But making it to their reservation is proving to be a challenge. A few men on the street near their destination verbally assault them. And the situation quickly escalates into a nightmare. Once within the safety of the restaurant the two women discover it’s not just the men outside who’ve lost their minds, men everywhere have gone insane. And they believe they’ve found the origin of the mayhem. A radio in the kitchen is playing a hate filled message against women and it’s being delivered by the President. There’s only one way to stop the men from attacking women and logic tells them they need to terminate the chaos at its source.

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