Stuart and James heard this and exchanged a quick glance.
Stuart said, “Good to know.”
“Very good to know.” James emphasized.
Out of sight of everyone, Stuart's hand caressed James's ass.
Oblivious to this act, Jimmy was back to grunting, “Oh for fuck's sake.”
“Relax man,” Mort told his friend. “Do what I do and just assume pussy will not be anywhere near your future. Especially this week. Besides, I've got to focus. I came up here for some peace and quiet to get some writing done.” Yes, Mort was back to writing again. And why the hell not? What the hell did he have to lose? He had given up trying to impress anyone so he may as well go back to doing what made him happy. Writing during the day, then masturbating in bed, crying and then falling asleep.
It was kind of his routine and he liked it, he supposed. At least when you know you’re at rock bottom, there isn’t that pesky hope to come along and fuck you up. It had gotten so bad, Mort had actually caught himself fantasizing about masturbating….
“Right,” Jimmy said sarcastically. “Your writing… Let me know how that works out for ya, Danielle Steele.”
“That's the best writer you could come up with?”
Andie took off exploring the house, then climbed to the top of the stairs and yelled down to oblivious Dave, who seemed to be focusing his attention on the fireplace, for what reason, even he doesn’t know. “C'mon Dave, lets stake out our room!”
Our room. Who was she kidding? She was a woman in her prime teenage years, with needs, and if she didn’t call dibs on Dave, she might be left with Mort or Jimmy. She shuddered at the thought.
“Hello,” she said, “Earth to Dave!”
Dave laughed, snapping out of his daze of the fireplace, then looked up at Andie. Score. “Be right up.”
Andie did a little excited hop then opened the nearest door to peek inside. Into Sarah’s ear, Dave whispered, “We’ll find a room, too. Don’t worry, there is enough Dave to go around.”
Sarah’s eye-roll was so powerful it almost gave off sound. She turned and walked away without saying a word, pretending she didn’t hear…or hoping she didn’t hear.
“Hey,” Dave called after her. “Did you hear me?”
Without looking at him, Sarah mumbled, “Yeah. I guess I heard you.”
“Come on, baby. They don't call me Big Dick Dave for nothin'.”
Sarah snorted a laugh. Who the hell does this guy thinks he is? She has hung out with these same assholes more times than she could count and never once had she shown any interest in him. What did he think; a weekend in the woods was some sort of horny formula?
Men.
The only thing she could think to say, the only thing that would hopefully end this conversation as quickly as possible, was: “Yeah… We'll see.”
Dave took off towards the stairs.
She instantly regretted it when she realized that Dave took the we’ll see part literally…as in she will see why they call him Big Dick Dave.
Goddamn it.
“See, what I need to do is start hanging out with a really fat chick.” Jimmy announced this brilliant plan to the only person willing to listen to him. You guessed it. Mort.
Mort, who wasn’t aware there was a conversation involving him going on, remained silent. Soon, he realized that that was, in fact, a plan on Jimmy’s part and if he didn’t hear the plan out…well, there was no way he wouldn’t be able to not hear it. He gave in.
“Okay, I'll bite. Why do you need to start hanging out with a really fat girl?”
Jimmy said, like it’s a real no brainer and his dumb fat friend shouldn’t even have to ask, “So people will start to maybe doubt Madeline and think I have a big dick.”
Mort was silent for as long as possible before sighing and giving in once again. “Okay. Why not?” he said, more to himself than Jimmy. “Why will people think you have a big dick because you're hanging out with a fat girl?”
“It's pretty obvious, dude. The bigger the mountain the bigger the cave.”
“I'm not sure that's the way it works-”
“Right. Then explain why black guys dig the fat white women?
“That's a mystery Sherlock himself can't crack, my friend.”
“Exactly. So, it's gotta be true. What's the name of their DUFF?
“I think that might be racist,” Mort said, again more to himself than his friend.
“The DUFF. What’s her name?”
“Huh?”
“The girls...who is their designated ugly fat friend? You know the one I'm talking about...The fat one...”
“You mean Andie’s cousin?”
Jimmy snapped his fingers. “Yeah, her! What's her name?”
“I don't advise this at all.”
“What, why?”
Another sigh from Mort. Another story of failure and disgrace. “I tried to get with her once. I figured she'd be the grateful type, ya know, take what she could get?”
“She’s not?!” Jimmy asked, stunned.
“No. Girl is a total Garbage Boat too, dude. She's been surrounded by hot woman for years that she has diluted herself into thinking she is hot and not the low-caliber Rancor Keeper that she truly is. She feeds off the hotness of those around her like a Dementor feeding off souls and uses that power to justify her being a complete hag to anyone nice enough to try and toss her a bone. Alison is her name.”
Jimmy smiled. “Yeah, Alison. Do you still have her number?”
Mort rolled his eyes.
“What about the fat bitch that’s not fat anymore?”
Mort just stared straight ahead.
“Come on, dude, you know who I’m talking about.”
Mort did. “Jasmine.”
“Yeah! Jasmine! I talked to her once and wasn’t a dick. Now that she’s thin she’ll probably want to repay the kindness. Right?”
Jasmine had, for most of her life, been a beast. Now, however, she was thin and had like a million Instagram followers following her and her ‘journey’ as she put it. Mort hated her.
“Dude, she lost some weight because she had surgery. She’s got all these Instagram followers who think she is so inspiring but it’s all bullshit. Bitch literally had to have surgery to stop shoving food down her disgusting gullet. Please tell me how that is inspiring?”
Jimmy ignored him. “Do you have her number?”
“Dude, trust me, you don’t lose two-hundred pounds in less than a year and instantly become sexy. Trust me. All that skin has to go somewhere and you can only tuck it into Spandex for so long. Eventually it has to come off and she’ll end up looking like a half-melted wax statue of John Goodman.”
“Oh! What about that girl from last year that was in our math class…the one with the short hair and the voice so husky it could pull a dogsled?”
“Giselle?”
“Yeah! Giselle! She was nice!”
“She’s a lesbian…”
“What? Really?”
“Dude, she wore a tuxedo to the prom…”
“Damn it! What about your cousin, then, the one who looks like her face caught fire and someone put it out with a screwdriver?”
“Dude…”
Dave knocked on an upstairs bedroom door and got no answer. “And?” No response still so he moved to the next door and knocked again. This time he got a response then opened the door and walked in with the swagger of that cartoon cat from the sixties or seventies, the one whose name he couldn’t remember.
“Sup babydoll. Where we gonna get jiggy wit it tonight?”
“We need to find the biggest bedroom. Granddaughter of the owner gets special privileges. And you're mighty confident of yourself, aren't you?”
“Please, you totally said Let's pick OUR ROOM...Singular. You know you want dis.” Dave grabbed his crotch just in case the subtlety of want dis was lost on poor, simple Andie.
“Oh brother,” Andie said with a sigh as she squeezed past Dave to exit the room. The last d
oor on the second floor was all that was left to check out. She walked to it, opened it, flipped on the light and said, “Bingo.”
“What?” Dave said, trailing behind her.
“Found the master bedroom.”
“Sweet.”
Andie ran back to the upstairs railing and yelled, “Found our room! You all better stake claim or else you’ll be sleeping on the floor next to Mort and Jimmy!”
Mort and Jimmy looked at each other. “Hey,” Mort said, defeated.
“Lousy cheap bitch,” Jimmy mumbled before quickly switching gears. “Hey!” he said, much louder and clearer now, “I don't know about you guys, but after being in that cramped van for so long, I sure could use a nice, refreshing dip. We passed a lake coming in. Whatta ya say?”
Sarah smiled, she actually smiled, and said, “Yeah, that actually doesn't sound half bad. Let me get my bikini out of my bag.”
With just a smidgen of sarcasm, Jessica squealed, “Bikini scmikini, we're out in the middle of nowhere. No one is around. Let's skinny dip!”
Mort sighed quietly, his worst fear, skinny-dipping. Skinny-dipping is great when you’re skinny, not so much when you’re, well, Mort. And to make matters worse, Stuart and James were around and would, obviously, put poor Mort to shame. It’s bad enough when you’re self-conscious alone, but when there is stark contrast to your fat ass, it makes things nearly unbearable.
He supposed he could just go down to the lake with the gang and not swim. He could stay fully clothed on the sand, or maybe even swim with his clothes on. But is that really any better? A fat guy swimming in a t-shirt isn’t hiding anything. In fact, it’s almost more pathetic.
A shirtless fat guy at least gives off the impression that he maybe has a little bit of confidence in himself, but a fat guy swimming in clothes says that not only is he a tub of shit, but that he is ashamed of it.
Stay clothed. God, what was he thinking? He would end up looking like Fred Durst in that Tommy Lee video for ‘Get Naked’, when every single person in the video was naked except ol’ Freddy Boy.
Poor Fred Durst. Not only was he in a music video with the naked human kickstand Tommy Lee, but they wanted him to be naked as well.
Mort would have kept his clothes on, too.
Jimmy was oblivious to his portly friend’s reservations about nudity and nudged Mort hard in the ribs. “What’d I tell you, son! That canned tuna is as good as ours!”
“I dunno, man. Me and anything involving the word skinny don't really go too well together.”
Fucking Stuart finally opened his big dumb sexy mouth and said, “We're always down for a little skinny dipping. Isn't that right, James?”
James, in his gruff, man’s-man voice, said, “Always.”
If Mort had thought it couldn’t possibly get any worse for him, he was about to be proven horribly wrong. Both Stuart and James dropped their pants. Straight dropped, to the floor, exposing their massive dongs to everyone.
Jimmy’s jaw unhinged and his mouth fell open, his eyes glazed over. “Fucking really?”
Mort, who was used to the worst somehow always getting worse, just stared for a moment. “Now that's just not fair.”
To make the most out of a horrible moment, Mort did what he does best and cracked a joke. To Jimmy, he said, “Macaroni, meet Costco Spaghetti.”
Mort wasn’t sure, but he was almost positive he could see tears forming in Jimmy’s eyes.
You sure look purdy tonight.
Good. This makes Mort a little happier.
Jessica, in awe, walked over to Stuart and linked her arm around his, then rested her head on his bicep like it was some horrible, lumpy pillow or stuffed teddy bear. “Let's go for a swim.”
Jimmy was pissed. “The fuck are those guys still doing here, anyway?”
“Yeah,” Mort said. “They don't even have to hang around fat girls. Aren't hitchhikers supposed to catch a ride then fuck the fuck off?”
“Yeah, not stay and steal our women. Someone gonna die!” Jimmy, thinking for a moment before producing brilliance. “Hey, I've got a better idea! Pants up! Pants up, everyone! It's late and will be getting dark soon and we don't have any food. We passed a market a few miles back. Whatta ya say we hold off on the nudity and go do a little shopping. That beer isn't going to supply itself. The lake will be there tonight and tomorrow and I'm pretty sure our friends need to be going soon...” He looked straight at his two new enemies, “Right?”
“Actually,” James said, “we've got nowhere-”
Jimmy didn’t give a shit about the answer and interrupted. “Yeah, that's fantastic. Let's go to the store. C'mon. Everyone's going.” He looked up to the second floor and called out to Dave and Andie. “Hey! Come on, we're going to the store. We're all really impressed with your room, now let's go.”
Sarah, her smile already gone and her face back to the normal bitchy glare, said, “Alright, store, swim, whatever. Let's just go.”
Jessica was less than thrilled with this plan. Suddenly beer doesn’t seem that important to you when you’ve got two dicks the size of your forearms dangling on both sides of you. “You guys go. I'll stay here with Stuart and James.”
Jimmy’s fists clenched together so hard his fingernails dig into his palms. “Motherfu-” Another stroke of pure brilliance. “Nope, no one is staying behind and flaking on the bill. Plus, I don't think Andie would trust two strangers hanging out in her uncle’s place without her here, so yeah. And I'm pretty sure I said pants ON! The fuck? Can't believe I've had to say that three times now.”
Stuart and James both shrugged then finally, finally, bent down and pulled their pants up. How those giant salami rolls fit into jeans is a mystery that perhaps only Jesus himself knows.
Jimmy, still annoyed, perhaps more now than ever, said, “Yeah, I'm also going to require shirts. Sure, we're all really impressed but no one in this house has ever fucked their own sister so we're all going to be wearing shirts. No hillbilly formal wear allowed. Deal?”
Stuart looked down at Jessica. “What's his problem?
Jessica giggled and made a small macaroni shape with her index finger. Jimmy's face went from annoyed to angry to kill-yourself sad then back to angry. Mort shrugged his shoulders then fished out his wallet, checking how much cash he had. “Come on, man. Let's go.”
Jimmy, still in angry mode, practically yelled, “LET'S GO!!!” Then, quieter, “Shit, man…” Then to Mort, “Hey Mort, how do you circumcise a hillbilly?”
Mort shrugged. “I dunno, man. How do you circumcise a hillbilly?
“Kick his sister in the jaw.”
“Heh.”
After much dicking around, jibber-jabbering and some mild complaining, everyone finally loaded back into the Camp McClane van, Mort and Jimmy trying desperately to not be sandwiched in back with the man meat, but once again, losing out. This was no treat for Stuart and James, either, mind you.
The van backed out of its parking space, Dave still driving, and headed back out the way it arrived.
Annoyed that there might be more kids to strategically take down, Carl jumped to his feet when the proximity alarm began to yelp and climbed up the ladder in his hidden underground fortress to peek his head out. In the distance, he could see that the van was gone, and feeling satisfied that there were no more people arriving, he closed the trap door and climbed back down.
His little hidden fortress of doom was nice and all, but not nearly as nice as the main house where he was used to sleeping. The sofa and beds there are plush, if not a little old, but it sure beat the soiled hobo mattress he had down there.
Sure, he could have moved a bed from the house down to the fortress, but honestly it didn’t seem worth the hassle. It had been a long time since anyone had wandered into his territory, and even then, they were always quickly dispatched lovers who demanded little-to-no effort from Carl and his amazing killin’ skills.
But still, even for someone who couldn’t really feel pain, comfort was still a definite plus
. It’s like sending your beloved grandmother off to the old folks home…even though she’s near-death and annoying as fuck, you still want her to have a decent bed.
Carl looked back and was just about to sit back down when Professor Puffinpants sidled up to his leg and started purring.
“Fine,” Carl said, “we can go right now.” He scooped the cat up in his arm and climbed the ladder again, throwing open the hatch with his left hand and setting Professor down on the dirt above with his right. Then he climbed out, sighed, and set off walking towards the guest cabins.
They walked the short distance, past the main house, to the first in a row of several guest cabins. Carl dug in his pocket, removed a key and unlocked the door. They both stepped in and Carl flipped the light switch. The light bulbs flickered to life then popped, throwing the room back into darkness.
“Aw nuts.”
From his back pocket, Carl removed a flashlight and shined it around the room. His arsenal. There was a duffle bag sitting on one of the beds that Carl grabbed and unzipped. From around the cabin he began picking out his weapons; an extension cord, wooden mallet, rope, belts, razor blades, PVC pipe, netting, and of course, the trusty machete.
From his feet, Puffinpants purred.
“Come on, babygirl, looks like we’re taking this to go. Remind daddy to get a light bulb, okay?
Purrrrr.
Back in the underground fortress, Carl emptied the duffle bag out onto the dirty floor and sat Indian style next to it.
Was Indian style still the right thing to say? Well, I guess if you can have a football team called the Redskins you can say Indian style, so fuck it.
What to do this time, what to do this time. Hmmm. He eyeballed the PVC pipe and the net and had an idea. He smiled like one of those stupid ugly nerd kids in front of a new bullshit Lego set and began piecing together a net gun.
BEEP BEEP BEEP!
That goddamn proximity alarm again? There is no way they could be back by now. No way no how! Unless… unless they forgot something.
Did I remember to close the cabin door?
Camp McClane Page 6