Piss and ChampagneA Story by Ron SafariA savage satire on commodity fetishism and sexual exploitation. Super pimp Master cat goes to view the ultimate collection and gets more than he bargained for.Master
Cat, understated in black cloak, pink satin Stetson and jodhpurs, paid the cab
driver and turned to face the ruin of the Pickled
Pig. He rapped on the vault door. Curdy let him in. "So
what you got for me?" asked Master Cat. "More
f***s for your bucks," said Curdy. They
walked through the remains of the pub. Old fruit machine, beaten out of shape
by the punches and slaps of disgruntled punters. Chairs and tables piled
up. A musty blanket covered the wreck of
optics behind the bar. They went into the cellar, which reeked of stale ale,
urine and cigarette smoke. He switched the light on. Three undulating mounds
lay under heavy tarpaulin. Curdy pulled
the nearest one away. A child with a grossly distended head and a tapering,
elegant swanlike neck, angelic eyes and a soft pursed mouth. "He's
a beauty," said Master Cat, running his fingers through fine black hair. "I'll
take him." Curdy
swept off the second cover. A young male Thalidomide victim. "I
thought this s**t had died out..." "Well
this boy shows it's still in the system. Anyhow, retro's cool." The
boy did not have arms attached to his shoulders. A withered hand, on either
side in graceful symmetry, fluttering in tandem like desiccated bat's wings. "There's
not much I can do with him. If he was an amputee it'd be different. Like this,
I don't know." "I
told you before, it's a job lot. All or nothing." "Well,
if I'm gonna make a loss on him the rest had better be good." They
went further into the darkness. Curdy flipped on a light. A form under the
dirty blanket wriggled. Curdy whipped it
off. Master Cat recoiled shaken. A pretty young woman's head was attached to a
snakelike trunk, scaly and ulcerated. "What
the f**k's that?" "Novelty,
I admit. Hey, but a player like you..." "Why's
its body like that?" "Adapt
or die," Curdy shrugged. "Christ…how
do you use it…there's no genitals." Curdy
rolled the creature on its back. "There's
a navel a bit cuntish." Curdy
rolled the creature onto its stomach. "And
some sort of aperture between the shoulder blades. It s***s and pisses out of
it. My little white whale I call her." "Where
did you round these up?" "I
didn't. They were bequeathed to me." "Some
legacy." "So?" "That,"
said Master Cat pointing at the Angel, "is class. This," he swept and
arm in the direction of Thalidomide kid, "I can use, but this," he
sank a toe into the soft flank, "I mean, think disease." "Novelty." "What?" "She
screams violation with a big v." "How?" "It
all goes on in here," said Curdy tapping his temple. "If
you say so.” "You ain't seen the ne plus ultra yet." "Eh?" "Wop
for the best, I think." "Bring
it on then." There
was a door in the far wall. Curdy went over to the old record player. A sassy brass
section reverberated around the cellar. A gorgeous black hermaphrodite, ebony
skinned, generously bosomed, diamond hand nightstick penis, sashayed in on a
pair of stalactite heels. Master
Cat deep swallowed. "Curdy...she's
sensational." The
hermaphrodite smoothed down Master Cat's wing collars. He looked astonished and
was visibly shaking. The hermaphrodite was breathily parting its lips near
Master Cat's left ear. "I'll
invoice you," said Curdy, pausing on the stairs, the shadows hiding his
disgust.
© 2012 Ron Safari |
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Added on December 11, 2012 Last Updated on December 11, 2012 Tags: Satire_horror_exploitation_fanta AuthorRon SafariManchester, North West, United KingdomAboutMy favourite writers are Thomas Ligotti, Dennis Cooper, Henry Green and Celine. I've had a number of stories published in the small presses which tended to be hard edged transgressive and experimental.. more..Writing
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