by: John Wayne Comunale
“Maybe this isn’t the best time to mention this,” I said just before squeezing the trigger, “but I’m your brother.”
I know he heard me too. I could see the weight of my flippant confession smack his flat forehead and reverberate recognition through his eyes in the brief moment just before the bullet ripped his head apart. The wound opened the back of his head wide and exploded out with the sweetest tasting strawberry jam. It was the same strawberry jam our mother made for us, although separately since neither of us could know the other existed.
For quite some time, mother was successful in keeping up this charade, and while she was always able to keep my brother in the dark, I had figured it out quite some time ago. The thought of having to share mother with someone, especially someone I couldn’t see or interact with in any way, drove me insane with rage. I didn’t realize how intense my wrath could be until after the first incident. The fact that I didn’t even feel bad about it made me realize it wouldn’t stop until he was dead. I had to kill this unknown being bound to me by blood along with anyone who got in the way.
The first incident I had no memory of, but it was told back to me with vivid details via eyewitness accounts. Mother had just gone, and I knew she was going to him. She was going to feed him the strawberry jam. She was going to dote on him now. The last thing I remembered was a heightened feeling of anger that rose from my feet to quickly overtake me. That’s when I stopped remembering. That’s where I went blank.
Apparently I was inconsolable.
Apparently I swelled with strength.
Apparently I killed them all.
Mother came home and found us all like this, and she knew the jig was up. Like a boulder hanging by a thread, it was only a matter of time before I snapped and destroyed everything she’d worked so hard to build. She didn’t try to reason with me because I was far beyond the point of reason. I didn’t care about mother’s work or the importance thereof. I just cared about finding this secret brother of mine and destroying him.
I cared so much about killing him that when I killed her, when I killed mother, I didn’t even care. It wasn’t about her anymore. It was about him.
Finding him wasn’t hard since I was led by an unknown force desperately driving me to succeed. Hacking my way through those who surrounded him was just as easy and forgettable as the others. He was confused and cried out for mother with fear in his voice. I delighted in knowing his cries were in vain. He looked like a puny, extra-needy and helpless version of myself. He was despicable and I felt no remorse for what I did, and I still don’t.
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. You can listen to his podcasts here. John Wayne is an American actor who died in 1979.
Submit your bizarro flash fiction at FlashFictionFridaySubmissions@gmail.com.
Today’s installment of Podcastlandia presents another episode of JOHN WAYNE LIED TO YOU, where Old Man Comunale has a senior moment and accidentally deletes the episode. Not to worry, it was reposted and you can listen to a brand new story and John Wayne’s recap of BizarroCon 2017.
And as a bonus, a new podcast has been created by Lucas Mangum and his lovely wife Jean! The Mangum Show will review shows and movies, plus guests, readings, interviews and more! Check it out here. You know you want to. Just look at them adorable faces.
And finally, horror writers Brian Keene, Lesley Conner, Mary SanGiovanni, Damien Angelica Walters, J.P. Sloan, and our very own weirdo Eric Hendrixson all appeared on the latest episode of Eating the Fantastic.
John Wayne Comunale and Grindhouse Press have released another specimen of literary evil, Death Pacts and Left-Hand Paths. But you don’t have to take my word for it…
What sort of podcast shenanigans are our weirdos getting into?
First, Leza Cantoral’s GET LIT WITH LEZA features Troma director Salem Kapsaski talking about his recent film, Spidarlings, which is a punk horror musical full of drama, Drag Queens, deadly spiders, & lesbian romance. It has to be seen to be believed. It is surreal, beautiful, and romantically grotesque.
Then there’s JOHN WAYNE LIED TO YOU, the definitive record of John Wayne Comunale’s too-weird-to-be-true existence. And that’s not all, because Comunale’s latest book from Grindhouse Press, DEATH PACTS AND LEFT-HAND PATHS is now available! Get it at amazon.
Who doesn’t love evil floating heads. Not you is the answer to that question. Here’s an exceptionally evil specimen with news that you can preorder John Wayne Comunale’s DEATH PACTS AND LEFT-HAND PATHS on Amazon (officially released on Oct 3rd).
Coming this October from John Wayne Comunale and Grindhouse Press is the tongue-twisting title DEATH PACTS FOR LEFT HAND PATHS!
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.
“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.
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.
Submit your bizarro flash fiction to FlashFictionFridaySubmissions@gmail.com.