Eggh!

Heidi Hanel, Andrew J. Schroeder, Lorena Knight

 

Discovering Darla
Heidi Hanel

“You stupid son of a bitch!”

Doug flinched as the crystal vase sailed past his head and shattered against the wall.

“Kelli! That was my grandmother’s!”

“Yeah, well, she’s dead!”

“I’m sorry, sweetie!” His voice began to catch, and the lump in his throat finally gave way to sobs. “I was going to tell you, I swear!”

“When, on our 50th anniversary?” Her anger swelled. She shoved him backwards with all of her weight. He slammed into the couch. It hit the wall behind him with a mighty thud.

Doug held up his arms, afraid she would start throwing punches. “I’m so sorry – really I am!”

“No, sorry is what you say immediately after the fact and then promise that it will never happen again. It’s a little late for sorry! You know, you’ve done a lot of really stupid things, but this takes the cake - no, it takes the whole fucking bakery.”

“I didn’t mean to hurt you, honest. And I still love you! I couldn’t keep it in any longer. I thought you would want me to tell you the truth.”

He had intended to tell her. He wanted to share it with her so bad, but the timing was just never right. Perhaps there was no good timing for something like this.

“Yes, the truth would have been nice – before we got married! Telling me a year and a half later that, not only have you been wearing my panties, you’ve been wearing them to a gay night club where you’ve been dressing up as Darla, queen of the fucking south side isn’t exactly the right course of action!” She took a deep breath to calm herself. “You know, I knew something was up when you started shaving your legs and chest. I should’ve trusted my gut…”

She sank down onto the coffee table and ran her hands through her hair. She wanted to strangle him, but she wanted to hug him and hold him all the same. “Doug, I love you, too, but I can’t pretend that nothing’s changed. You know that, right?”

She looked up at him for any sign of recognition but found him only sniffing the air. “What the hell are you doing?”

“Do you…smell something?” His nose and forehead wrinkled up as he continued sniffing.

“Don’t try to change the subject.”

“I’m not! Come over here and take a whiff.”

Kelli crossed over to the couch and inhaled deeply. A faint but disgusting odor filled her nostrils. “Oh, dear God – Doug, what is that?”

“I don’t know. It’s like…rotten eggs and old hot dogs and road kill all in one.” He blanched at the thought of all three together. “Where do you think it’s coming from?”

He turned and peeked down the back of the couch. Kelli got on to her knees and looked beneath it. The smell knocked her backwards and she began gagging.

“I think it’s under the couch. It smells a lot worse down there, and I think I saw something.”

Doug retrieved a flashlight and a broom and swept it beneath the couch. “Oh, no, Kell…” The broom emerged from beneath the couch bringing with it the stiff body of a once-fluffy calico cat.

Kelli gasped and covered her mouth and nose to keep out the rancid smell of the decaying feline. “Mr. Whiskers! I didn’t even notice he was missing!”

Doug wiped a tear from the corner of his eye. “I didn’t, either. We are such horrible parents!” He clenched his fists and wailed.

“Oh, Doug, don’t be so dramatic. He’s just a cat.” She fought to hold back her own tears. “I’ll go find a shoebox. He deserves a proper burial.”

Doug nodded and managed to reduce his crying to a few sobs and sniffles. From down the hall, he heard crying. He followed the noise and leaned against the doorframe of their bedroom. Kelli sat on the floor outside the closet looking for a shoebox large enough for Mr. Whiskers, her shoulders shaking every few seconds from the sobs she could no longer hold in. Doug stared at her, unsure if she was crying for the cat or the shoebox in her hands. It held black pumps in size 13.

 

Moving Stinks
Lorena Knight

THUMP . . . THUMP . . . THUMP . . . Jim’s backpack smacked against him as he ran down the alley. Each time it slapped his back Jim swore it pushed him inches ahead of where his puny body would otherwise take him. This idea comforted him as he noticed the sound of Brodie’s footsteps getting louder. That could only mean one thing: Brodie and his gang were about to pound him one final time before he moved out of this damn neighborhood.

He lost count of the titty-twisters and wedgies he had suffered at the hands of Brodie and his band of idiotic worshippers. Last week, when they found out that Jim was moving, they really let him have it and sent him home with a split lip and one eye swollen shut. Jim knew that once Brodie caught up to him, he was as good as dead.

“You can run Jimmy,” Brodie teased behind him, “but you can’t hide, you little pussy! I’m gonna give ya a goodbye gift.” Brodie’s cronies laughed hysterically as they began to close the gap between them.

Jim tried to speed up. He stepped on a large rock and fell forward, landing face-first into a slide across the rocks that ripped open his cheek.

Brodie pulled Jim up and threw him against a chain-link fence. “Hey Jimmie, you little sissy, where’re ya goin’? I’m about to give you a going away present you’ll never forget!”

Brodie’s pals grabbed Jim’s arms and held him in place. The first hit landed in Jim’s rib cage, causing a small trickle of urine to escape. The second hit landed square on his nose, causing his eyes to water, and the urge to piss became uncontrollably stronger. Jim couldn’t think of any way of getting out of this.

Suddenly, he was hit with a stroke of genius as Brodie’s fist closed in on his face once more. With no hesitation, Jim pissed in his pants and let a giant fart rip through his jeans. Immediately, a great wave of uncontrollable, belly-shaking laughter took over the boys. An onlooker would have thought these kids were friends sharing a joke.

Jim continued to fart over and over again until he thought his sides would split

“Cut it out, fungus,” Brodie said, “I can’t breathe! God, it smells horrible! What the hell have you been eating, nerd?” Brodie said between gasps.

“Your Mama’s cooking,” Jim replied matter-of-factly and turned his back to Brodie as if to run away.

Brodie stopped laughing and grabbed the back of Jim’s jeans. “You little dweeb. I’m gonna give your stinky ass the biggest wedgie of your life!”

Awesome, Jim thought, it’s working.

Brodie screamed like a little girl as he pulled his hand out from Jim’s pants and saw it covered in crap. Jim, seeing Brodie staring at his shit-covered hand, jumped at the chance to slap his arm and christened Brodie’s cheek, nose and lips with warm, smelly shit.

“What the hell did you do, you weirdo?” Brodie mumbled and spit, trying not to let the crap get into his mouth. “You freak! I can’t believe you shit in your pants!”

“Yeah? Well I can’t believe you have my shit in your mouth,” Jim spat back.

“You freak!” Brodie screamed. “You sick freak! I’m gonna tell my mom what you did!

“Oh yeah?” Jim said calmly, “well your goons here are gonna tell everyone at school that I shit in your face!”

“You wouldn’t dare!” Brodie said as he looked at his friends. They gasped and stepped away from him. Then they broke into a run, laughing as they got further away.

Jim stepped closer to Brodie feeling brave, “You can kick my ass now if you want to, but I’m never gonna forget that I shit on you, and I have witnesses.”

“Asshole!” Brodie yelled while wiping his face, “I’m glad you’re leaving!” He turned his back to Jim, and walked away—defeated.

Jim’s walk home was the stinkiest, most uncomfortable, yet satisfying walks of his life. Doug was coming over later to help them move, and Jim couldn’t wait to tell him the story. As for Brodie, Jim knew he wouldn’t be back and he was right about one thing; this turned out to be one going away gift that he would never forget.

 

Mr. Whiskers Strikes Back From Beyond The Shoebox Grave
Andrew J. Schroeder

Doug slowly approached Kelli, who was still holding his secret (and dead cat-sized) shoebox, unsure if she’d allow him to get close enough to try to comfort her for the loss of Mr. Whiskers. She didn’t. He did, however, get a face full of rotting carcass. Kelli made to swing at Doug a second time when the tail snapped and Mr. Whiskers fell limply to the floor with a thump and a roll, the roll being Mr. Whiskers’ head, which had become detached from the impact.

“Augh, honey! What the shit?!” Doug yelled, attempting to find the proper response to such an attack.

“What? It’s your fault he died!”

“My fault? He was your cat!”

“You’re the one who doesn’t like pussy anymore.”

“I do too, dammit! I didn’t go to that bar for the men. If I didn’t love women, I wouldn’t bother to dress like one, would I?”

Like the Native Americans, Kelli was able to make use of every part of the killed beast that was Mr. Whiskers. Severed cat heads make for excellent baseballs, which was soon evidenced by the gigantic lump on Doug’s unconscious head.

* * *

When Doug awoke, he found himself dressed in Kelli’s bluest Sunday best; the black high-heels, pantyhose, striped dress (blue), a bonnet (also blue), and, judging by the peculiar snugness, a thong to boot. Kelli was sitting next to him on the couch with a first-aid kit and blue nail polish. She only had time to paint half of his fingernails in before he woke up.

“I guess the fumes made you come to,” she explained.

“Why did you do all this? Why don’t you hate me anymore?”

“I never hated you. I just hadn’t had a chance to add in these new pieces to the puzzle of you in my head. When I saw you laying there knocked out, all the warm feelings you’ve always been able to make me feel came back. I realized how ridiculous it was to fight something that can’t be fought, and so I wanted to do this for you. I gave you all my blues, since it’s your favorite color and all. Do you like?”

“The thong, too?”

“The thong, too.”

Doug sat up and whispered into her ear while embracing her, “Kelli, thanks for reminding me why I love you.”

After a moment, Kelli pushed him away and stood up.

“What? What’s wrong?” Doug asked.

“We’re late as it is, Darla. We made a promise to go help Penny box up some stuff before her big move.”

* * *

Pulling into Penny’s driveway, they watched as she sprayed down her son, Jim, with a hose.

As Kelli got out of the car, Penny said, “Oh good, you’re here. If you came any sooner, you’d have likely just turned back home because of the smell. I hope that’s Doug in the car with you, because Jim has been dying to tell him about, um, his adventures today.”

“Oh yeah! I was so rad!” Jim started. “See, Brodie and the other guy’s were chasing after me and calling me a—”

Doug had stepped out of the car, still wearing the feminine finery.

“Penny, Jim, meet Darla, the lovingest husband a girl could want,” Kelli announced. After some silence and blank stares, she added “Oh, just roll with it. He can take off the heels when it’s time to carry the heavy stuff.”