Dinner Bell for the Dream Worms

by Jason Wuchenich

  He pushed out another fart with such force that the trumpet raised a few inches, and then nestled back down upon his glans. With hands on his hips, he proudly walked outside to meet his bride-to-be. The arachnids began to play.

  * * * * *

  Mildred and her poop collector stood to the right of her daughter, giving a loving grin as Lemmy slowly walked out. Lemmy could make out a few tears meandering down Geraldine’s cheeks as he made his way down a grassless walkway leading to the blossoming altar. The women were both wearing their clothespins and both thought it strange that Father Lobus didn’t bother to inquire about such strange adornments. Once his eyes sat on Lemmy, immediately blessing himself with the sign of the cross, Lobus erupted into an indistinguishable series of verbal splutterings. As Lemmy walked, his twitching erection coughed up beautiful music, bathing the ears of the three spectators in a touching lullaby. He farted again; it was a forced, small burst of air. The trumpet slid up, then back down his oversized member. Neither woman noticed the fart as the sound was overshadowed by the luscious music escaping his penile shaft and their sense of smell was safe. Lobus, however, caught wind of the noxious fumes and spontaneously regurgitated, heaving torrents of vomit into his open Bible, creating a soppy bookmark.

  Lemmy stood next to Geraldine and took her hands in his. The soothing choirs escaping his dick-hole brought father Lobus’ attention back to the ceremony, albeit with much light-headed confusion. Mildred saw the pallid, green-tinged expression on the Father’s face and reassured him that a quick ceremony would be perfectly acceptable.

  “If you don’t mind, I think that might be best, my child,” he strained to utter.

  “Oh, that would be perfectly alright with me. How about you, my love?” said Geraldine.

  “It would benefit my heart, most assuredly, to be united with thee as hastily as the father can muster,” Lemmy replied. He flicked his belly again and the glorious melodies subsided.

  Father Lobus reluctantly wiped the vomit from his Bible with his cincture and began a ceremony that ended in less than five minutes – a minute and a half of it was spent with the father vomiting once again and regaining his composure. Lemmy and Geraldine kissed for the first time as husband and wife just as Lemmy began to fade.

  “My deepest apologies, my Geraldine. I’m in need of nourishment, lest I fade. I must partake in the consumption of your most generous mother’s fecal remains.”

  “I’m not only her mother now, my boy, I am yours as well. But I’m dreadfully sorry, Lemmy, all of my bowel movements have been harvested for your presence this morning.”

  “Don’t worry, my dear. I think I could squeeze some out – this corset has pressed upon my innards and I feel the need to void myself. You lie on down in the grass and I’ll squat over your mouth,” Geraldine offered.

  A transparent Lemmy did as he was told and Geraldine squatted over his face and positioned her crinoline to align an opening with her anus. Lemmy adoringly watched his wife’s palpitating shit hole as it struggled to pass a bulbous turd. He watched it stretch and then close tightly, severing the log from her flesh. It plopped straight into his mouth and Lemmy began to chew, finding it particularly unaromatic. Not having anything to wash Geraldine’s feces down with, he lovingly asked her to urinate. As she voided her bladder into the mouth of her vanishing husband, Father Lobus – as woozy as he was – found this disgusting display of love shockingly arousing. Mildred noticed the erection poking out from his alb, which he quickly hid with his soggy bible. As Geraldine’s chewy shit reached his almost-invisible stomach, Lemmy released a deafening fart and his body instantaneously solidified. Lobus retched and heaved, choking on polluted air. A blood vessel burst within his head from the strain and the Father tumbled over dead. Almost as if on queue, the arachnids began playing a jolly tune.

  Above the waves of ardent seas

  A breeze doth blow and shakes the trees

  It brings the mighty to their knees

  Above the ardent seas.

  They both stood up and, with arms linked, walked into the house.

  * * * * *

  Lemmy lasciviously licked the piss-shit that settled on his lips and pulled the trumpet out of his penis. A hefty stream of precum that glimmered like a thick strand of freshly woven silk connected the trumpet to the end of his willy. Geraldine sucked on the end of the trumpet and then on the end of his arm sized cock until her cheeks were swollen with pre-ejaculatory fluid. Lemmy thought to himself thou hast finally achieved thy elusive endeavor – her soul is thine for all eternity. He threw her onto the bed and the udders rippled, bobbing her up and down. He ogled her body like a wild beast, tearing at her corset with suddenly grown talons. Small horns sprouted from his forehead and a devilish grin garnished his face. Geraldine gave a look of horror and shrieked for her mother as she inched back in her bed.

  “My sweet Geraldine, I must inform you, your mother is under a deep lust spell. She is outside humping the corpse of that Father Lobus. I’m afraid she is completely oblivious to the rest of the world.”

  “Lemmy, you don’t look like yourself…what’s got into you?” As her cheeks began to crinkle and her eyes started to squint in vain attempts at squelching a torrent of tears, her clothespin slipped off her nose. To her surprise, there was no odor akin to malignant fart smell, but more along the lines of a pile of decomposing bodies. She didn’t feel the need to regurgitate but instead felt very light-headed and faint. She staggered as she knelt on the bed and reticently fell on her side. “Lemmy…”

  Lemmy quickly mounted her, shoving his enormous penis inside her enormous vagina and began thrusting deeply. Only half-conscious, Geraldine looked down at her belly and saw the rhythmic gyrations of his member raising her flesh. It crept higher until she felt it burst through her cervix and into her uterus. She gasped as she watched it perforate her intestines. Lemmy made his penis even wider and felt the constraints of her pelvic bone crack and give way. It got so wide and deep it was mashing her rib-cage to splinters with each powerful plunge. Geraldine’s eyes began to glaze over and let out a last breath of air – her lungs squashed from the inside, forcing the air though her mouth. Lemmy impaled his penis to where the tip of it was aligned with her esophagus and let out a deluge of semen that gushed out of Geraldine’s open mouth. She was dead. Lemmy suddenly felt a tap on his shoulder. “Would you mind terribly if you took that monstrous thing out of me?”

  Lemmy looked behind him and saw the spirit of Geraldine. “Why of course, my love. Thou must understand, taking thine life was the only way for us to share eternity – for I am immortal, and now so art thou.”

  “I must say, a little warning would have been appreciated,” she said understandably miffed.

  Lemmy began to withdraw his penis from the corporeal remains of Geraldine – blood, pulp, and semen leaking from her mouth. A jovial tune began to play from the inside of Geraldine’s carcass.

  “The minstrels now reside within thee,” Lemmy said.

  “That’s not very comforting given the circumstances, Lemmy.”

  “Come, let us not start eternity with hostility. Thou art my love, now and forever – mine…all mine…forever.”

  Lemmy faded with a triumphant grin, only visible to the spirit of Geraldine who was now eternally his.

  “Well, now what are we to do? What about mother?”

  “Try not to worry over the living, you will find they are trivial.”

  “Trivial?! That’s my mother! And your mother too, I might add.”

  Every relationship is bound to have their difficulties, he thought as their astral bodies walked towards time without end.

  THE END

  Skank Clusters for Sale

  PROLOGUE

  Channel 36 will resume its regularly scheduled programming after this special documentary.

  Skank Clusters were manufactured by a Mexican corporation called ‘Bien-Bits’ and seasonally harvested by company-groomed professionals. Skank Clusters grew on vines in bun
ches, just like grapes, but no fruit sprouted from these vines; instead grew beautiful, succulent skanks. The skanks wore radish-flavored mascara and make-up, were adorned with the shortest of boysenberry-flavored miniskirts, the tightest of root beer-flavored halter-tops, and were, of course, pantiless. Each cluster was sprayed with a uniquely flavored perfume – no two clusters exactly the same. Their long, curled fingernails, meticulously painted, clicked as they bickered amongst themselves. Even though the skanks were only as big as a pen cap, their voices were loud and shrill. The annoyance of hearing incessant phrases such as, “Oh no you di’ent, girfren,” was a very small price to pay considering how wonderful they tasted.

  After making headlines in nationally distributed newspapers and gaining more attention on the nightly world news, Skank Clusters quickly outgrew the small, local grocers and were snatched up to be sold by corporate grocery chains across the globe…

  * * * * *

  "You are what you eat, you know,” Raster said.

  “That’s just an awful cliché,” Tuggy replied.

  “Ever notice how all clichés are true?”

  “Just let me eat my Skank Clusters. You don’t have to eat them if you don’t want to. I think they’re delicious.” Tuggy proceeded to pluck off a skank. A small squirt of blood the size of a 10-gauge needle sprung from the top of her head like silly string.

  “Ay, you loco gringo, wasa fucksa matter wit chu?” the squirmy skank hissed.

  “Oh you look so good my rascally little bambina. I’m gonna eat you!” Tuggy taunted.

  “Don’t play with your food, just eat it,” Raster parentally disapproved.

  Tuggy pulled up the skanks tiny miniskirt and gave her a lick with the very tip of his tongue.

  “You cheap mudafucka, yous best be payin fa dat,” said the skank as she tried to swat-claw the enormous fingers away from her bloody hair. But it was too late, Tuggy tossed her into his drooling mouth. The first bite was always his favorite – it was the initial crunch followed by the pop of juicy goodness that doused his tongue in a tidal wave of flavor.

  Tuggy worked the graveyard shift at an adult novelty store called the Soggy Mess in a dodgy area of town three nights a week. There he would bring his old coffee can full of Skank Clusters and munch away, happy and alone. Sometimes he would engage in skankish behaviors with them, such as smoking crack he scored off the local street dealer and blowing the smoke in their faces or persuade them to have sex with each other, paying them with change from the register. Of course he would devour them later and return the change so his till would even out at the end of his shift. Tuggy didn’t outwardly appear to be the kind of consumer that Skank Clusters would appeal to. He loved black metal, specifically suicidal-depressive-black-metal, or DSBM as it was called for short. He was always wearing black, and ritualistically applied a thin layer of white corpse paint on his face every day. He was a cutter, too. He would isolate himself at parties and as everyone else around him socialized, he would grab a bottle of vodka and sit in the corner, cutting his arms with a razorblade he kept in his wallet. It really was a sight to see, this black metal guy, always with a cluster of skanks trying to scramble out of his pocket. He rarely partook in the squabbling that was typical upon their purchase, as one might expect, for he was far too grim for such frivolous banter, but at times, when he felt playful, he would accommodate such juvenile tendencies.

  Raster was his best friend, although Tuggy would never admit it – it wouldn’t be grim to do so. Raster was just a plain guy. He wore blue jeans and worked as a carpet salesman and was more into movies than music. He loved rare action movies and had a huge collection of action DVDs that took up a lot of space in the apartment the two of them shared.

  Raster was not fond of alcohol. Back in high school, Raster got wasted on Goldschläger, waking up naked and alone. When he went to take the morning piss, he stopped to look in the mirror. That’s when he saw the dried, flaking blood around his mouth and cheeks. He checked for lesions, but found none. The recollection of a plump red head from the previous night came to him. He remembered going down on her moments before he fell off the bed and passed out. That was the night, he deduced, he received his ‘red wings’ – eating a girl out while she’s on the rag. Raster never drank after that night.

  Their mothers were best friends before they were born so they grew up together, attended the same schools, and basically considered themselves brothers. Raster was a vegetarian, so he would never consider eating Skank Clusters.

  “Wanna watch Ultra Warrior since we’re both off today?”

  “Nah, but we can watch Thunder Warrior II,” Tuggy bargained.

  “I’m cool with that.”

  Tuggy sat slumped on the couch with a cluster of chirping skanks in his lap and a bottle of cheap vodka by his side. Raster turned on the TV and reached for the movie. As he was about to pop in the DVD, Tuggy noticed the local news channel.

  “Hey, wait. They’re talking about Skank Clusters.”

  “What else is new?” Raster realized he grabbed Thunder Warrior 1.

  “No, there’s some weird shit going on, check this out!” He turned the volume up on the remote.

  NEWS FLASH:

  What started as an innocent culinary explosion that took the nation by storm has unexpectedly turned structured government into a virtual Sodom and Gomorrah. ‘Skank Clusters,’ were first introduced to small local grocers along the American border and soon spread like a tasty, undiagnosed cancer; infecting the world with a potentially incurable anarchy. Top governmental officials, including world leaders and politicians, have been caught on camera participating in outlandish behaviors. In the following clips, we see the president standing on Pennsylvania Avenue wearing a mini skirt and flashing passing cars. Here, we see the British Prime Minster sitting in a parked car with a group of what appear to be transvestites, engaging in homosexual oral copulation. And in this censored clip, we have a home video of the King of Saudi Arabia and a harem of foul-mouthed concubines participating in an orgy that would rival the ancient Romans. The Vice President of the United States, who is a self-proclaimed vegetarian, has declared a state of national emergency and has issued forth a ban of Skank Clusters effective immediately. Here at Channel 36, we will keep you informed of the latest findings.

  Tuggy turned off the television and sat in silence, gulping down mouthfuls of vodka.

  “I knew those damned Skank Clusters were bad news,” Raster said. “This is going to be the end of the world as we know it!”

  After he choked down the vodka, Tuggy plucked off a small handful of skanks and quickly ate them, still staring unflinchingly at the screen. “What are we gonna do? How will we get our Skank Clusters?”

  “Well, they’re illegal now, so you better be careful, Tuggy.”

  “I gotta get some air.” He stepped outside onto the balcony and sneered at the bright sun. From the third story apartment, Tuggy could make out plumes of smoke in the distance. He tried to imagine life without the delectable taste of those bitchy treats that him and so many others indulged in. It was an unfathomable thought. Tuggy reached in his wallet and pulled out a razor blade and quickly dragged it against his arm, again and again. He watched his blood rain down and puddle on the cement of his downstairs neighbor’s porch.

  “Raster!” Tuggy yelled from outside, still transfixed on his trickling blood.

  “Yeah?”

  “I need to go grab my paycheck. Can you give me a ride down to the Soggy Mess?”

  “What about Thunder Warrior II?”

  “It’ll be here when we get back. I want my cash. Maybe we’ll stop off and get some Clusters from somewhere.”

  “Don’t think so. We’ll get your check and some grub, but I’m not gonna be your enabler, Tug.”

  “Fuck,” Tuggy grumbled to himself. “Fine, let’s just go.” He went back inside and slugged down some vodka and grabbed the store keys.

  “Damn it, man!” Raster said as he saw Tuggy’s arms. “You ne
ed to stop…”

  “YOU stop! Let’s just go! Christ!”

  “Alright, but we’re watching that bloody movie when we get back.”

  * * * * *

  Jonxie was a shy introvert who rarely went outside and lived with her twin brother, Junk. They were Swedish, tall, trim, and blond. Junk was more comfortable in dealing with the public, although for the most part, he detested people in general. He thought of himself as superior.

  They never knew their parents, didn’t speak a lick of their native tongue, and only knew fragmented English. Their days were spent rolling around on mattresses that covered the floors of their flat, speaking Sanskrit, and feeding each other Skank Clusters, which were delivered by a nearby grocer. Daylight charged through floor-to-ceiling windows, illuminating the inside of their home with a soothing and heavenly mystique. Jonxie was also hopelessly in love with Junk. Any sexual advances she showed him were usually responded to by indifferent compliance. He loved her deeply and treated her with tender care but sex was just not of any importance to him - it had nothing to do with the fact she was his sister. However, he would make sure she was completely satisfied.

  “Tvayi snihyaami, my brother,” she often told him.