Cartoons in the Suicide Forest by Cantoral Leza

Author:Cantoral, Leza [Cantoral, Leza]
Language: eng
Format: azw3, epub
Tags: QuarkXPress, ebook, epub
ISBN: 9781945373459
Publisher: Bizarro Pulp Press - JournalStone Publishing
Published: 2016-12-23T05:00:00+00:00

FIST PUMP

The music pounds in my skull. I feel the multicolored trickle of my senses spilling out of my ears and down my neck. You don’t come to the Smushbox to fuck around. The beats are hot and if the light show doesn’t melt your retinas, you are in the wrong place. Blowpop Reds shift into Mr. Freeze Blues, and Killer Bee Yellows screech and melt into Bruise Me Magentas.

There’s people fucking in the bathrooms, doing lines off razor blades and the Fist Pimp Van is parked outside tonight. I’ve come for one reason only: to meet Big Ru and his boys. Big Ru holds court in his usual corner, surrounded by his bruisers. People pay big for a kiss from one of these bad boys.

I am scared but I am ready to face his whole crew. I’ve got a plan. It’s wrapped in tin foil and it’s burning a hole in the back pocket of my leather pants. I had to maim a few people to get it, but it’s totally worth it. People kill for a taste of Deadly Black Snail Pussy. Or, as it’s known on the street: Slime Puss. Even Heroin dealers won’t touch this shit with a ten foot pole.

As I work my way through the throbbing wall of sweat and bodies, my heart races and my lips parch.

They flash their big white smiles, like sharks at midnight. Their diamond collars gleam against their chocolatey necks. I’m shaking and sweating as I near the power pack. These dogs are always hungry. When I get close enough I know they will smell me right away.

“Hey baby! You got something for Big Ru?”

I smile and inch closer. Big Ru laughs a booming huge laugh and his belly bounces. His teeth are gold capped and his shades reflect my pale face back at me. Nodding, I waste no time and lean in to his ear, almost nuzzling it, and whisper, “Black Snail Pussy.” His eyes light up like a marquis and he signals a nearby waitress. “Bring this young lady a glass of Mud Rain.”

The waitress flashes me a withering stare with her one good eye. “Yes Mr. Ru. Comin’ right up.”

“Here, sit by me.” He pats the seat beside him, which is already being hastily vacated by “Angry” Bill Montoya, the Peruvian bodybuilder.

Big Ru takes out a huge cigar and puffs pensively for seconds that seemed like centuries. “So, do you mind if I ask how you managed to score Snail?”

“If I told you I’d have to kill you.”

His eyes grow wide and the whites stretch from end to end. Then he breaks out in a roar of laughter that startles me so bad I jump in my seat.

“I like this bitch! She’s got balls!” he laughs heartily and orders another round of drinks for everybody.

The Mud Rain hits me hard and by my third I am not sure if I can stand on my own. When we finally leave the club I am being carried out, like a rag doll, buoyed up by a guy on each arm.

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