“So what is the problem?” I sob, hiding my face in my hands in shame.
“Fraulein, please, no blubbering. You know how that turns me off. It brings out my mean side.”
“I am sorry mein Fuhrer, but I don’t know what to do. How can I make myself pretty for you?”
“You need to find this beauty and get her head, my darling dumpling.”
“But who is she, where is she?”
“She is very near. I can see her on the surveillance cameras. She appears to be lost. Perhaps she is a refugee of the savage Quadling rebel lands. I will never forgive myself for allowing them to secede from the Oz Reich.”
I am relieved there is a solution but I am so hurt he thinks I am less pretty than this foolish girl. I will get her head and then mein Fuhrer will love me again even more than before.
“Yes, get her head, my pet, and then we can play some fun sexy games with her headless body. You can put on some latex and leather and put different objects inside each other for me.”
I get a sudden rush of wetness between my legs the moment he starts talking dirty.
Mein Fuhrer and I love collecting our dolls.
Sometimes I take their eyes and put them inside myself. Sometimes I fill their vaginas with explosives and sew them shut as they scream and cry but can’t move and then I masturbate for him as we watch them explode.
It is a beautiful thing.
These moments bring us closer together. Intimacy is what keeps a relationship strong.
“Of course, mein Fuhrer. I will get her head and then I will do despicable things to her body and to mine for your pleasure. I will do anything you ask me to, even if it hurts. Because my pain is your pleasure. I love you, mein Fuhrer.”
I kiss the mirror and run outside to look for this damnable beauty who has ruined my day.
***
It is already getting dark and the sky is streaked with pink and purple and aquamarine. My rose garden is thriving. My gardeners genetically enhance my roses so that they grow to the size of cabbages and smell twice as strong. My rose garden is my pride and joy.
I walk past the fountains; the largest has three gorgeous Valkyries posed in the center, spouting through their upturned mouths to the heavens as the spray slides down their hard stone breasts. Their stone wings are crisscrossed between each other.
Maybe the trollop is in the labyrinth. I hate to go in there. I still don’t know what is in the middle. It is a secret and I hate secrets. I have never cared enough to look. I have heard rumors about it being a sort of death trap for intruders or enemies of the state, though I myself have never put it to such use.
I go toward the labyrinth. It is quite spooky. I go deeper and deeper in and the hedges get higher and higher. When I am about midway through, I hear a weeping sound and my heart jumps.
This must be the girl. I rush faster through the hedges and I see a young creature with long flowing black hair. She is crumpled on the ground and I would not have seen her if I had not been looking for her. She is a puddle of shadow in the darkness.
I walk up tentatively. “Child? Are you lost?” I ask her in my sweetest possible tone.
Her sobs subside but she remains frozen like a frightened animal.
“I am Eva, Queen of Oz, and you are in my gardens,” I add, a little more sternly.
At this, the girl gets up and turns her pale and tear stained face towards me.
I lose my breath for a minute. She is utterly dazzling. Her eyelashes are long and thick. They don’t seem real but they clearly are. Her eyes are round and beautiful and dusty blue. They are frightened and full of life. Her lips are impossibly red rosebuds and her cheeks are pale round blooms.
She does not look like she is wearing a spot of makeup and yet her coloring is impossible. Of course, these days everyone is surgically and genetically modified to be more beautiful, but this girl seems different. There is no artificiality about her beauty. She could have grown in my rose garden. She looks fresh as a springtime flower.
She stands there, her arms limp at her sides, looking a strange combination of dejected, feral and apologetic. She’s wearing a mud stained satin nightgown that is shredded, wet, and torn throughout.
“I am sorry Your Majesty! I did not realize this was your...”
She stops, realizing she is not a good liar and I say, “It is all right, darling! Don’t be frightened. Come with me. I will get you some dry clothes and a hot meal.” I hold out my hand to her and smile sweetly.
She looks relieved and wipes the snot from her dirty and tear stained face.
“I am so ashamed to be seen in this state, my queen. I am truly mortified, Your Majesty,” the girl adds quietly with her head down as she walks toward me.
“Tusk, tusk, child. None of that! You have nothing to be ashamed of. We all need a helping hand here and there,” I say as I smile encouragingly and take her trembling hand in mine.
My heart warms to her despite myself. This is the girl who is more beautiful than me in the eyes of mein Fuhrer. I can see why. Her alabaster skin is pure and unblemished. Her eyes are the eyes of a child—wide and frightened. She looks like she is just at the age that people get the surgery. Is it possible she has not actually gotten hers yet? Is it possible a mortal born is this perfect looking?
The warmth turns to cold envy in my heart and I become excited thinking about putting sharp objects inside her virgin pussy and puckered pink anus and making her bleed like the red rose that she is. She might be a virgin rose, but I have many thorns to play with.
I picture stuffing her pretty mouth with our juiciest plums, making her eat until she vomits and cries and making her eat some more as the Fuhrer eggs me on and teases her.
He will tell her she is a good girl and then tell her she is a bad girl. He will make her eat my shit and then tell her she is a pig. He might even tell me to bring in the royal bestiary and make all the animals fuck her by turns until she screams or dies, whichever comes first.
Oh, she will be a good girl and she will give me her pretty head so that the Fuhrer will love me best.
We walk the rest of the way up to the castle in silence. The dew kissed grass drenches my suede boots. I am still in my riding outfit. I love my horses. Besides shopping and pleasing mein Fuhrer, horseback riding is my favorite thing to do. I spend hours on my favorite horse, Ariel. She is a pure white horse who is sweet and smart as a whip. I can shift in my seat and she knows I want to slow down. I can tap her ever so lightly with my heels and she will take off at a jaunty gallop.
When we arrive at the palace I can see she has never seen something so grand and I smile to myself. She will be easy to control. She is entirely out of her element. I lead her up to the tower with the magic mirror. We walk up the stone spiral stairs. The room is high with many windows.
“Oh! This is beautiful!” she exclaims as she twirls in a circle and then rushes over to each and every window to look outside.
I walk over to the last window and open it. I can see the half-moon reflected on the ocean shore, glittering like watery diamonds dancing on the surf.
“This room gets the sea air. It will do you good. You are a welcome guest. It gets lonely here for a queen.” I smile sadly at her and meet her big blue eyes for a second.
Visibly disarmed by my honesty, warmth and kindness, she is at a loss for words and simply nods and whispers a muffled, “Thank you.”
She notices the large mirror against one of the walls and glides up to it.
I smile. “I see you have noticed my magic mirror.”
She looks over at me, wide eyed.
“Do you want to see what is inside it?” I ask her softly, drawing closer.
She nods her head and keeps staring at it with her big glassy eyes.
“Mirror, mirror, on the wall, who is the fairest of them all!”
Mein Fuhrer appears. His sharp eyes dart toward me and then to the beautiful stranger.
The girl looks from him to me and back at him with a stra
nge new awareness in her eyes. I smile and walk toward her slowly.
“Child, I am afraid your time has come. You see, you are to be my new head. Mein Fuhrer thinks you are prettier than me but not for long.”
She looks at mein Fuhrer and her eyes light up. They are a strange electric bright blue. They are spinning like pinwheels and making clicking noises. Her head jolts from side to side and she walks straight towards me and embraces me.
“Launching Operation Valkyrie in 10. 9. 8 . . . ” The girl who is not a girl counts down.
“Oh no, Eva, we have been found!”
I see the eyes of mein Fuhrer fill with fear.
I hear mein Fuhrer scream as the girl’s head explodes.
My hands and chest blow off in a mess of red glitter, wires, and fluids exploding with her parts.
“Goodbye Eva.”
“Oh, mein Fuhrer,” I sob as I cough up blood and wires.
I fall to the floor. Mein Fuhrer mouths the words “Eva, I love you . . . forever,” just as the magic mirror explodes into a million shards of broken glass.
DOPE
They say they saw little green men on the moon.
In the darkness you can touch yourself but then the lights flash bright and the little green men put cold hard objects into your orifices. They drip milk into your eyes. They fill you with their sperm until it comes out of your eye sockets. Their long fingers explore your body to see what it can do. They fill your holes with electric rods and liquids. They watch you squirm and scream and squirt. They probe your anus. They have the courtesy to use lubricant. The lubricant jelly feels cold and wet like a frog licking your asshole—they’re reaching into your anus to see if you hid your soul in there.
***
So I am at a party in Brentwood, near Santa Monica. You know the neighborhood. It’s where O.J. Simpson stabbed the living fuck out of his wife’s fake boobs along with her plastic fantastic lover back in the golden 90s. Now Nicole’s ex- BFF Kris Jenner is whoring out her brood for TV ratings. The brood she made with one of O.J.’s defense lawyers.
And here she is in all her living glory, snorting lines of cocaine off Justin Bieber’s cock. That woman is the kiss of death. Her first husband is dead and her second husband rejected his very cockness and turned himself into another fuckdoll. But Justin Bieber doesn’t care who is snorting coke off his cock as long as someone is snorting coke off his cock.
I’m just rolling and rolling and rolling. I’m dancing and I feel like I will never be tired or need to eat or sleep again. Everything seems beautiful for one eternal sunshine moment. Waves of pleasure rolling over each other and over me. I am an ocean fuckpile. This moment is my soul. I am empty and full of this love juice. I don’t need to fuck to feel the fuck inside. I am the fuck. I am the fuckness.
I wake up, fried from rolling on ecstasy all night and I stumble over the half-naked bodies, beer bottles, piles of drugs, discarded underwear and party hats that lie strewn all over the floor. Has it been weeks, or one long night?
I have no idea.
I feel dazed and hollowed out to my core like someone took a melon baller to my soul. I am awake and I want to see the tangerine dream bleeding on the trees outside. I rub my eyes and look around through my melting lashes at all the happy drunken babies glittering in yesterday’s glamour, drool caked on their painted lips, eyeliner smudged over raccoon eyes. Party animals snoring off yesterday’s cocaine apocalypse.
The sky is streaked pink and orange like a beat-up Mardi Gras queen. The porch overlooks a giant canyon.
I lean myself over the railing like a Dali melting clock. I swear my arms are dripping in big glowing fiery clumps down to the trees below. I gaze over the chasm of the canyon, smoking a cigarette. The smoke feels like fresh pine mountain air in my lungs after all the sweat inside. Ahhh . . . .sweet sweet nicotine.
I notice a slight motion in the distance. I rub my eyes and I blink them hard and see it is a white creature that looks like a horse running along the other end of the canyon. It stops for a minute and I get a good look at it. I stare at it like it is an algebraic equation written tiny on a blackboard. I read it back and forth, tip to tip. Tail to horn. It can be nothing else. Somehow, of all the impossible things this is running around Brentwood Canyon at 6 a.m.
It is a white unicorn.
I run back inside to get my camera.
By the time I find my camera and run back outside the unicorn is gone. There is something else in the canyon instead. It is a massive craft hovering above, making absolutely no noise and not moving, just hovering there in the California morning fog. A bright and blinding light suddenly beams out from beneath it. I cannot scream and I cannot move a muscle. I am paralyzed as the light pulls me up into a giant spinning saucer, with neon green lights twinkling around the rim, like a decked out disco sombrero that Joan Rivers and the fashion police would toss into the drunk tank.
I lie there numb and look at the lights spinning inside. My back is up against a metal slab and many hands are reaching at my clothes. Their hands are cold and clammy. They peel off my underwear and my t-shirt and pour a pink goo over my entire body. They rub and smear it in.
I try to struggle and scream but I cannot. I am floating above my own body, watching their hands touching it. Their eyes are huge and black and their skin is green. Their heads are massive in proportion to their bodies and their fingers are long. One of them puts its finger inside my vagina. It keeps going in deeper and deeper as if it will never stop. I feel the tip hit the opening of my cervix and my abdomen begins to contract with waves of intensifying cramps.
There are four of them. They look at each other in amazement at the depth of my cervix. They take a clear plastic tube and feed it into my throat. They insert another tube between my legs. A bright blue liquid that tastes like mouthwash streams down my throat and a bright red liquid that both cools and burns explodes into my vagina. They take a giant needle and inject it into the center of my belly button. The pain is beyond comprehension. My mind fragments as it tries to fathom it. This must be happening to someone else. This can’t happen. This isn’t happening.
I look over and I see the unicorn. It is also on a slab. It is unconscious and they are cutting into its white furry flesh with glittering surgical knives. They cut off the head. They cut off each limb. They cut into its gut and remove the entrails. They take each part and vacuum package it. They are filling up vials and vials of its bright red blood. It glitters and glows. They test it and test it but they cannot find the magic hidden inside and I cry and cry and cry. I am screaming inside but my mouth remains immobile.
They say it is the last unicorn. They are disappointed. They shake their heads. The last unicorn.
They grind up the horn. The sound of the bone saw shreds my eardrum. After what seems like hours of grinding and sawing and prodding, we arrive at our destination and I almost sob with relief.
They land the ship on the moon, with a soft thud in a cloud of moon dust. The ship enters a hangar that drops swiftly down several miles beneath the surface. There are endless laboratories and hallways full of test subjects and stolen aircraft technology that is being reverse-engineered.
The moon is a hollowed out alien base. There is no magic, only fear.
The unicorn is dead and the aliens are filling me with its blood.
I’m a bloody rainbow.
I can feel the blood of the unicorn inside of me.
I feel electrified.
My blood is a glittery, fiery mess, and my heart is going to explode.
I feel orgasmic.
I feel suicidal.
I feel like my brain is going to spill into the universe.
The unicorn is the death of my soul.
I am the death of the universe.
COSMIC BRUJA
Most dreams fade, but sometimes you have a dream that leaves an indelible impression upon the ridges of your mind, like footprints on wet sand. This is the story of one of those dreams, but in order to tell you the
story of the dream I need to tell you the story of my first acid trip.
I was on vacation in Oaxaca with my boyfriend at the time. He was a tall, blond, blue-eyed-Floridian who was a legit descendant of Billy the Kid. No joke. I looked up pictures and he looked just like him except better looking and more smiley.
I grew up in Mexico, in the city of Puebla, but when I was 12 my family moved to Chicago. I never realized the magic I was leaving behind until I left it. When I lived in Mexico all I saw was the poverty, the filth, the corruption. I saw all the things that were wrong and I was excited to leave. When my first Chicago winter came I plunged into a deep depression. I missed my friends, I missed the atmosphere. I missed the whole attitude that Mexican people have when it comes to family, friends, and life itself. There is such a sense of living in the moment, of showing the people you love that you love them, of soaking up and squeezing every moment of joy out of your life and your loved ones.
The second time I visited I was about twenty years old. My best friend from childhood found this beautiful spot in Oaxaca. It was on an arm off of land that basically felt like an island. On one side was the ocean and on the other was a beautiful lake. It was a paradise. It was the ideal escape from reality. The only time I saw cops was when they were escorting the beer trucks. People were smoking weed in full view. It was a small, modest area, but stunningly beautiful. We had freshly caught fish every day and stayed in wooden cabins with sandy floors. There was electricity but no plumbing. I took to pissing outside because the toilet was just a toilet fixture in a roofless tower with a deep hole full of lime inside. The shower was a cement room with a drain and open ceiling that had a basin that was full of well water. It was the most amazing bathing experience I have ever had. The air was hot and humid and the well water was icy and refreshing. There was a little bucket and you just scooped up the water and dumped it on yourself. Water never felt so much like water. Agua pura. Agua de la vida.
So it was in this tropical paradise that I decided to take my first acid trip. My boyfriend had done a lot of acid himself, so I felt like he would be able to handle me on my first time. He would tell me how he would roll while clubbing all night in Miami, and trip with his friends at Disney World.
Cartoons in the Suicide Forest Page 5