Glamourpuss by Christian McLaughlin

Author:Christian McLaughlin
Language: eng
Format: mobi, epub
Published: 2019-07-07T04:00:00+00:00

​Yolanda’s blubbering rendered her incoherent. And not just to people away from the TV, under their boyfriend’s bed: “Take a breath, hon. How many, Yolanda?”

​“Thirty-six. Three dozen cookies, Richard. Wahhhhhh!”

​“And now look at you on that scale! 168 pounds! You’re beautiful, Yolanda. Say it with me. You are a beautiful person.”’

​“I — oh, it’s just so hard for me…”

​“Say it, Yo-Yo!”

​“I am a beautiful person!” Now I wanted to see Yo-Yo’s transformation. Richard had pulled me in. “I couldn’t have done it without Deal-A-Meal!” Barney was moving around the living room. Had I inadvertently made a telltale noise? Then I heard what sounded like a tape being inserted into a VCR. Dead silence for a beat, then cheesy generic synth-pop blared forth. Was Barney actually going to work out to a Richard Simmons video? No… this music was too cheap and awful for even that. It was like… porn — Oh, no.

​Sudden silence again. As if he were fast-forwarding to the good part. Then, a heinously fake Southern accent taxing already very bad — and very fruity — “acting”: “No way! You tryin to suffer-cate me with the damn thang? I ain’t suckin’ nuthin’!”

​“Then bend the fuck over, dude! This is bogus!” demanded his considerably more skilled but still terrible co-star. It was stupefying. He'd had Nick’s buffet of sensitive undraped manhood laid out before him in this bed a few minutes ago. To hell with that — instead, cue up the cruddiest porn on the market for a tacky private (he thought) beat-off sesh: Barney Gagnon, Tout Seule. The actual live sounds of which were luckily drowned out by the video: wall-to-wall Casio score, cranked-up groans and moans on a loop, and more dialogue (“I wanna ride you like a surfboard!”), some of which I got to hear repeated, when Barney scanned back to watch some especially stimulating moment again. Or again and again — depending, I could only assume, on the volume and/or destination of the loads in question.

​Finally, the ring I’d been waiting for. “God-DAMN-it!” Barney bellowed, in a shocking and unprecedented display of giving-a-shit about something. He silenced the smutscape and answered the phone, which Nick had cleverly left in close TV-proximity. “Hello?… What?!… Yeah, I see it.” Giant weary sigh. “Alright! I’m leaving now,” he snipped. He hung up, presumably grabbed something, then stomped out of the house.

​I made myself wait through a count to 30 before emerging and making a mad dash to the toilet for a racehorse-piss. I ascertained I had all I’d arrived with, then headed for the front door, pausing only the briefest of moments to press the VCR’s Record switch, instigating total erasure of Bitch Skank-It Bungholes. How careless of Barney to have jabbed the wrong button on that remote. He’d really be kicking himself later.

​When I got home, one of my messages was from Nick: “If you’re hearing this, it means you made it home. Hope you’re not too mad at me to see Last Exit to Brooklyn this week.

Download

Copyright Disclaimer:
This site does not store any files on its server. We only index and link to content provided by other sites. Please contact the content providers to delete copyright contents if any and email us, we'll remove relevant links or contents immediately.