- American Dream Serialization (Early Chapters)
- Introduction to Jim Chaffee's Studies in Mathematical Pornography by Maurice Stoker
- Introduction to Jim Chaffee's Studies in Mathematical Pornography by Tom Bradley
- Studies in Mathematical Pornography: American Dream Title Page by Jim Chaffee
- Studies in Mathematical Pornography: Chapter 1 by Jim Chaffee
- Studies in Mathematical Pornography: Chapter 2 by Jim Chaffee
- Studies in Mathematical Pornography: Chapter 3 by Jim Chaffee
- Studies in Mathematical Pornography: Chapter 4 by Jim Chaffee
- Studies in Mathematical Pornography: Chapter 5 by Jim Chaffee
- Studies in Mathematical Pornography: Chapter 6 by Jim Chaffee
- Studies in Mathematical Pornography: Chapter 7 by Jim Chaffee
- Studies in Mathematical Pornography: Chapter 8 by Jim Chaffee
- Studies in Mathematical Pornography: Chapter 9 by Jim Chaffee
- Modern Tragedy, or Parodies of Ourselves by Robert Castle
- Totally Enchanté, Dahling by Thor Garcia
- Hastini by Rudy Ravindra
- The Satyricon of Petronius Arbiter Volume 5 Translation by W. C. Firebaugh
- Unexpected Pastures by Kim Farleigh
- Nonviolence by Jim Courter
- The Satyricon of Petronius Arbiter Volume 4 Translation by W. C. Firebaugh
- The Poet Laureate of Greenville by Al Po
- The Apocalypse of St. Cleo, Part VI by Thor Garcia
- The Satyricon of Petronius Arbiter Volume 3 Translation by W. C. Firebaugh
- The Apocalypse of St. Cleo, Part V by Thor Garcia
- The Apocalypse of St. Cleo, Part IV by Thor Garcia
- The Satyricon of Petronius Arbiter Volume 2 Translation by W. C. Firebaugh
- The Apocalypse of St. Cleo, Part I by Thor Garcia
- The Apocalypse of St. Cleo, Part II by Thor Garcia
- The Apocalypse of St. Cleo, Part III by Thor Garcia
- The Satyricon of Petronius Arbiter Volume 1 Translation by W. C. Firebaugh
- DADDY KNOWS WORST: Clown Cowers as Father Flounders! by Thor Garcia
- RESURRECTON: Excerpt from Breakfast at Midnight by Louis Armand
- Review of The Volcker Virus (Donald Strauss) by Kane X Faucher: Excerpt from the forthcoming Infinite Grey by Kane X Faucher
- Little Red Light by Suvi Mahonen and Luke Waldrip
- TEXECUTION: Klown Konfab as Killer Kroaked! by Thor Garcia
- Miranda's Poop by Jimmy Grist
- Paul Fabulan by Kane X Faucher: Excerpt from the forthcoming Infinite Grey by Kane X Faucher
- Operation Scumbag by Thor Garcia
- Take-Out Dick by Holly Day
- Patience by Ward Webb
- The Moon Hides Behind a Cloud by Barrie Darke
- The Golden Limo of Slipback City by Ken Valenti
- Chapter from The Infinite Atrocity by Kane X. Faucher
- Support the Troops By Giving Them Posthumous Boners by Tom Bradley
- When Good Pistols Do Bad Things by Kurt Mueller
- Corporate Strategies by Bruce Douglas Reeves
- The Dead Sea by Kim Farleigh
- The Perfect Knot by Ernest Alanki
- Girlish by Bob Bartholomew
- The Little Ganges by Joshua Willey
- The Invisible World: René Magritte by Nick Bertelson
- Honk for Jesus by Mitchell Waldman
- Red's Dead by Eli Richardson
- The Memphis Showdown by Gabriel Ricard
- Someday Man by John Grochalski
- I Was a Teenage Rent-a-Frankenstein by Tom Bradley
- Only Love Can Break Your Heart by Fred Bubbers
- Believe in These Men by Adam Greenfield
- The Magnus Effect by Robert Edward Sullivan
- Performance Piece by Jim Chaffee
- Injustice for All by D. E. Fredd
- The Polysyllogistic Curse by Gary J. Shipley
- How It's Done by Anjoli Roy
- Ghost Dance by Connor Caddigan
- Two in a Van by Pavlo Kravchenko
- Uncreated Creatures by Connor Caddigan
- Invisible by Anjoli Roy
- One of Us by Sonia Ramos Rossi
- Storyteller by Alan McCormick
- Idolatry by Robert Smith
- P H I L E M A T O P H I L I A by Traci Chee
- They Do! by Al Po
- Full TEX Archive
The Apocalypse of St. Cleo, Part II
By Thor Garcia
In which our heroine builds noses, is raped, beaten and left for dead in the street.
Father Bill arrived home with a new bottle of whisky and a bag of greasy bacon. Ah, the wonderful things of life. The freshly-shaven patriarch had begun dancing at the prison, both strip-teases and slow-dances with some of the inmates, and the guards quite enjoyed the show and had chipped in with tips for special requests. But that was not all: Cleo may have lost her job at the rat-braining factory, but Shamela had lately begun work at Jorge's Grande Le Whoure Parlour & Grille® downtown, and so even more money was coming in.
Yet expenses remained stubbornly high inflation, of course, plus the global rich had continued to pillage and corrupt at a furious rate and of course whisky, bacon and whore-dresses are not cheap and so the family remained nearly as poor as ever.
To add to matters, the Blumps were also now the proud parents of a sixth child, a girl they had named Sheraton Morgana Charmin Rapunzel Hagar Blump, who had entered the world last month.
"Where's my bacon!" Shamela thundered from the bed. She was already dressed in her frilly pink dress with black dots and was now pulling on her orange vinyl boots. It was nearly time to head to the brothel.
"But," stammered Cleo, "but I'm hungry, too!"
"I'm sorry, me lassie, half a slice of greasy bacon is all ye shall get," said Father Bill, pouring himself another whisky. "Sweet Shamsie here must work all day and all night - at the Call Center, Cleo. The Call Center, as you know, where she helpfully respondeth to help-calls from the courteous customers in India, China and Madagascar, who would like replacement parts and advice for their radiators, garden hoses, model airplanes and turtlenecks. Innit right, love?"
"Ah, it is thus. Thus good Shamsie needs her bacon-calories," continued Father Bill. "'Tis also a happy potion for her skin it giveth her a lustrous, comely glow, which is of crucial importance in call-center labor, as is well known. Thus saith the experts. I know, yes, me know, me darlings aye-aye, there be many a smiling mouth to feed here in this happy family. Things are not yet perfect, not totally. Yet they are closer, and we are indeed lucky - the luck of the Lord is upon us. I hope you understand, me love."
"Oh, arrgh!" stammered Cleo.
Mother Magda nodded with pride. Shamela farted.
Father Bill poured another tall glass of whisky. Darn, he thought the bottle was going fast. Why didn't they make them bigger? Just a little? It was going to be a long time until tomorrow, when he would be able to get another. Unless, of course, he decided to go down to the liquor store tonight and do a dance. The police always enjoyed a good midnight dance, no mistake there. But then Bill was apt to be late to work at the prison in the morning, and the prison gentlemen so did frown on tardiness.
Round and round went the circle. Oh, it was complicated.
Cleo pouted in misery. It wasn't fair! Everyone was against her!
As destiny would have it, the next day Cleo answered an advertisement via the internet and was hired on at Ye Olde Nose Shoppe, located at the Shoretowne Mall & Recreation Centre. Nose-work is traditionally a difficult business, of course, but being a naturally creative sort, on her second week Cleo came up with several nose redesigns, winning the admiration of the proprietor, Sir Kermit Crabtree Longfellow Gillespie McGree, Esq. whom, it must be said, had admired the young and busty blond Cleo ever since she had summoned the temerity to answer his advertisement.
"Yes, the banana and fruit bowl is a splendid touch, absolutely splendid," said Sir Kermit, who had not been laid by his wife, Philomena, in 19 months. "Indeed, I daresay it is a classique. And the maroon feather on this Turkish model is much better than the mint, much. Very lovely. Dear Cleo, would you mind accompanying us on the morrow, where we shall visit several establishments in an effort to sell our nose-goods?"
Cleo, as one may imagine, was suitably honored to be presented with the opportunity. She so did like the mustachioed Sir Mr. Kermit McGree even if he did appear as if he had just swallowed a small bird.
At one of their first stops the next day, at a mauve stucco Rococo bungalow redolent of a recent remodeling, a crowd of teenage girls began to bicker and slap one another over who was entitled to which nose. There were many noses choose from, but only a select dozen had been redesigned by Cleo, and these were among the most sought after. In any case, the noses sold extremely well and all of Cleo's models were snapped up by the greedy girls. Her redesigns had been a success! It augured well for her future at Ye Olde Nose Shoppe.
As Sir Mr. McGree counted the earnings, the excited Cleo decided to take a walk around. She was intrigued by the establishment's soft, misty air and the peculiar, musky stench. She wandered down a narrow hallway and paused to examine a large framed picture of what looked to be a tall tower. But, ah uniquely, there were no windows on this tower. Instead, a number of scantily-clad females had climbed atop two immense, shrub-encumbered boulders and were hugging and kissing the base of the tower, or attempting clamber up it. And instead of the mysterious antennae which sprout from most towers, a narrow spume of stars spurted in flowing, decorous waves from the top of this skyscraper, falling on to the heads and smiling faces of the scantily-clad, heavily-bosomed females below.
Cleo heard voices coming from a room a bit further down the hall. She crept along and peered in.
To her shock, she saw her older sister Shamela sitting on a couch between two other girls. Shamela was naked! and so were the two other girls. All three girls were fondling and licking their nipples, or attempting to cover them with lipstick. An older, red-faced man wearing a bowler sat in a chair across from them, nodding his head.
The man cleared his throat and stroked his mustache. He coughed daintily before addressing a scantily-clad woman who stood to the side of the couch, holding a bullwhip.
"My madam, most dearest," said the gentleman, puffing from a cigar, "something is, um, how to say?…is, um…well, indeed, they are so lovely. But I wonder, good madam, have you anything - well, how to say - what's the word these days? - er, anything younger? Merely a wee bit, you understand. For health reasons exclusively, my madam - for me heart, kidneys, small intestine and liver. Per my physician's recommendation, I assure you."
"Still younger, says ye?" responded Nan "Honey Tits" O'Flanners, the chief operating officer.
"For health reasons, madam, I assure you," said the gentleman, who was the esteemed financier, harmonica player and philanthropist George Harold Washington
William Henry Jefferson III. The venture capitalist had recently been lauded on television and in the newspapers for making several tens of millions through selling much-needed defective helicopter rotors to the military during the war and anti-narcotics effort.
Nan O'Flanners' breasts slapped gently against her waist.
"Why, good sir," she said, a touch impatient, "there is not one here present more than fifteen-and-a-quarter. Why the youngest, the lovely Ovaltina to your left, turned 13 only last week!"
"Aye, but yes," continued Nan O'Flanners, "your health must necessarily be top priority, fair friar. And I do reckon, fine sir, that competition is very fierce this time of year…"
"Please, if I may, my courteous madam of the mostest, allow me to assure you that I am prepared to pay top American dollar," replied George Harold Washington Henry Jefferson III, puffing his cigar and stroking his harmonica. "I do not and shall not stint when it comes to matters of health and healthy well-being. Health is wealth, my dear lady, and no price is too high for one in my, ahem, position. I beg of you, madam, from the tiniest pinnacle of humility."
Shamela saw the blushing Cleo in the doorway. She leapt from the sofa and rushed nakedly across the room.
"What are you doing here?" whispered Cleo. "Daddy said you were at the Call Center. And where are your clothes? And who are these people?"
"Aw, Cleo!" whined Shamela. "They pay such good money. And it's easy. All you gotta do is close your eyes, just like when father is drunk. Then it's like a car comes into your garage to park, but can't get the angle straight, and then finally the engine conks out with a little explosion. It's nothing, sis, it's over before you know it. Then you have enough money for a big oatmeal chocolate-chip cookie and a clove cigarette. And sometimes they even buy you a beer after."
"Um, hello?" said "Honey Tits" O'Flanners, walking toward Cleo. "Hello, hello? Well, look what have we here. Why, here looks a younger one. Come over, my dear, don't be shy. How old are you?"
"Turned f-f-f-f-fourteen in October," said Cleo.
"Yes, my dear, come closer," said George Harold Washington Henry William Jefferson III, whose nose, Cleo noticed, was about the size of a shrunken grape. "Lift up your dress, if you might. Ah, dear me. Let me see those blond legs. 'Tis only for my bladder, you understand, me lovely. Me troublesome prostate, yes."
Finding herself the center of attention, with everyone's eyes fixed upon her, Cleo felt paralyzed and drowsy. She had never before felt so weak. She did exactly as she was told.
"Oh, yes indeed," said George Harold William Washington Henry Jefferson III, inhaling his mustache and stroking his harmonica. "There is a God now I have the incontestable proof, overweeningly. I have long, long insisted: Every man who knocks at the door of a brothel is merely searching for God. Hunting for his merry maker. You see, yes? This, I have often thought - nay, I have long insisted. And now I have come to a brothel, and yes, I have become a believer. Thus saith the Scripture…"
"I-I-I-I-I-I'm sorry, but I must go now," said Cleo, ashamed. "I only came to sell noses."
And out she rushed from the room to rejoin her nose-colleagues.
"Noses?" queried George Harold Washington Henry Jefferson III.
That evening, back at Ye Olde Nose Shoppe, everyone was in a celebratory mood.
"We sold 29 noses today and made 34.20 rubles in profit," declared Sir Kermit Crabtree Longfellow Gillespie McGree. He walked about the factory as the staff tidied up, pouring out glasses of pineapple brandy for all the females.
"You, Kieran, and you, Ms. Kwong, and you, Michiko, and you, Kashoggi, and you, Annie Wrinkle you may all go now. But Cleo, who made us such profitable nose redesigns, may stay. I wish to discuss with her a possible promotion and business opportunity. And in this recession, that is no small thing. A round of applause for Cleo! She shall be proud, and we most proud of her! An exemplary example of nose aptitude and fortitude. I hope you are all taking notes, ladies."
The happy group of nose-sellers cheered, chirped and clapped, congratulating Cleo for her achievement. Cleo blushed, stepped awkwardly from side to side. A few minutes later, all the other women had finished their aperitif and departed.
Cleo found herself alone. She looked about the factory floor - but Sir Mr. McGree had vanished.
The lights went off.
"Sir Mr. McGree?" said Cleo, her voice echoing off the walls.
But Sir McGree was not to be found.
Then he appeared, coming up to Cleo from behind with a burning candle in his hand…He was naked!
"But," Cleo pleaded, "but, Sir Mr. McGree, Sir Mr. McGree—"
"Listen to me, Cleo," said the esteemed nosetrepreneur. "Listen to me, Cleo, listen to me. Let it happen, my sweet, let it happen…Listen to me, Cleo, let it happen…"
Sir Kermit backhanded the young blond beauty. Cleo let out a small whine as she collapsed to the floor, stunned.
Sir Kermit knelt beside Cleo, lifted the hem of her dress and pulled down her panties. Cleo began to scream and writhe as Mr. McGree carefully poured the burning candle wax upon her virginal white thighs.
Cleo thrashed about, knocking around the Supplies & Blueprint Collation room. Boxes tipped over, stacks of noses toppled to the floor. Half-completed noses went flying. Noses bounced and rolled into the corners.
And for the first time in her life not counting, of course, her father and his former friends Cheadle and Chuck, who had had their drunken way with her when she was twelve and of course Ol' Nicklestone those few dozen times Cleopatra Hiawatha Torii Nivea Sofitel Blump was repeatedly penetrated by a male sexual organ.
Cleo flailed against the injustice, the violation, the imposition and when Sir McGree placed a stern hand across her mouth, she bit him. The bite was painful, but did not stop Sir McGree from taking his chosen task to completion. He bent the girl over and slapped frenziedly at the back of her head and neck, snarling and cursing. He moved her to the left, moved to her to the right. He grabbed hold of her nipples and squeezed with all his might.
"Yes, then, well, I look forward to grazing again upon your enchantedness on the morrow, my dear," said Sir Kermit, walking the tattered waif to the door. "Thank you for the fine nose-work. And your milky breasts and feathery hips. And fine, fine ass. You leave me a man most happy and fettle-free. We shall have another roundabout on the morrow, I reckon, so do not tarry, me love. And I do thank you for the successful noses."
Cleo said nothing. The door closed behind her. She was alone on the street.
A rock was laying in the gutter. Cleo picked it up and hurled it through the darkened window of Ye Olde Nose Shoppe. She began to cry.
Times were tough oh dear, they were hard. Cleo still hadn't found a new job. But hope, and hunger, endured.
One mid-February afternoon, Cleo and little starving Jeremy Blump were out begging for rags to sell when they came upon Shuggie Sheridan's Taco Stand. They hadn't eaten but half a slice of greasy bacon between them in the last six days, and the aroma of Shuggie's Spicy Avocado, the Tangy Steak Surprise and the Bahai Bonanza not to mention the new spicy-hot Mazatlan Mango Bacon Crunch nearly made them blind. They huddled in the alley and made a plan.
Cleo walked up to the stand and posed, just inches from the proprietor, Shuggie Yankovich Bartlett Stankovich Hoople Sheridan. She blinked and saucily flaunted her eyelids at the ambitious tacopreneuer, who hadn't had sex with his wife, Penelope, in four-and-a-half years.
With great fanfare, Cleo sighed and collapsed. She rolled over, a delirious-looking nipple protruding from her cockroach-eaten blouse.
"Oh, Lord," said Shuggie Sheridan. "The poor lass. Me helpeth she needeth."
Shuggie tossed his grease-spattered spatula and knelt before the scintillating blond temptress. As he did, the lively sprite Jeremy ran over and began piling paper-wrapped taco after paper-wrapped taco into a burlap, along with a number of toasty butter-soaked churros wrapped in plastic and several plastic envelopes of chili-cheese fries.
By the time Shuggie had finished groping both of Cleo's breasts and pushed a cilantro-sodden hand between her legs, it was too late little Jeremy was off and running. Shuggie put the breasts down and attempted to chase after Jeremy but by the time he realized there was not much chance of catching the little bugger, and had decided to return to the breasts Cleo was herself up and running. Shuggie started after her but it was far too late. The proprietor was forced to watching those lovely blond buttocks churn away from him down the refuse-strewn alleyway.
The courageous Blump children had done it! They raced down the alleyways and thoroughfares, thinking how they'd soon be crunching into some of Shuggie's finest spiced meat taco treats.
But Fate, as Destiny would have it, hadn't signed off on the plan. The youngsters went left when they should have gone right, and instead of Spicy Avocado heaven, they found themselves in the midst of what some might call a political rally. The police had formed a cordon around a small group of unemployed, drug-addicted, poor and hungry protesters and were beating them bitterly and mercilessly.
"FREEDOM!" the protesters meekly chanted. "FREEDOM! JOBS! DEMOCRACY! UNIONS! SOLIDARITY! STOP ATTACKING FAMILIES! LIVING WAGES! FOOD FOR HUNGRY! NO WAR!"
A contingent of black armor-clad officers swept forward in flying-wedge fashion, bashing dozens of protesters to the ground and causing others to scream and attempt to flee.
"PEOPLE WHO OBEY THE LAW HAVE NOTHING TO FEAR," boomed a voice from loudspeakers mounted on the tops of black tanks. "ALL RIGHTS OF THE LAW-ABIDING WILL BE RESPECTED - GO HOME - GET BACK TO WORK. IF YOU RETURN TO WORK, YOUR RIGHTS WILL BE RESPECTED - YOUR IMAGES ARE BEING PHOTOGRAPHED AND ENTERED INTO DATABASES FOR FURTHER REVIEW - GO BACK TO WORK IMMEDIATELY - REGISTER TO VOTE - VOTE TO CONFIRM YOUR COMMITMENT AND REGARD FOR THE SYSTEM - THE SYSTEM WORKS FOR THOSE WHO WORK WITH THE SYSTEM - PAY TAXES AS REQUIRED BY LAW - SUPPORT YOUR ELECTED LEADERS AND MILITARY - SUPPORT YOUR ELDERLY - NO HARM WILL COME TO THOSE WHO WORK - ALL RIGHTS OF THE LAW-ABIDING WILL BE RESPECTED - YOUR IMAGES ARE BEING PHOTOGRAPHED AND ENTERED INTO DATABASES…"
Jeremy, taco sack in hand, slipped through the police barricade but Cleo was not swift enough. Several police descended upon her in fury. The bountiful blond received a club blow to her shoulder, two rapid strikes to her head, and finally a blast to her chest from an electrical zip-gun. When the police officers finally withdrew, Cleo was stepped on and kicked by dozens of stampeding protesters.
"We're not gonna take it!" a protester shouted, meekly, as he scurried out of the square.
A black helicopter swooped from overhead, blasting the area with 23 rounds of tear gas and burning marshmallow. Fleeing protesters, struck by the marshmallow, paused frozen in mid-air before collapsing to the concrete.
"PEOPLE WHO OBEY THE LAW HAVE NOTHING TO FEAR," boomed the voice from the loudspeakers. "ALL RIGHTS OF THE LAW-ABIDING WILL BE RESPECTED - GO HOME - GET BACK TO WORK - IF YOU RETURN TO WORK, YOUR RIGHTS WILL BE RESPECTED - OBEY THE LEGAL LAWS - COMMIT TO THE SYSTEM AND THE SYSTEM WILL COMMIT TO YOU - FOOD IS THE PROPER REWARD FOR THOSE WHO WORK…"
It would be more than a year before Jeremy and Cleo would see each other again.
to be continued
This is an excerpt from the short story collection Only Fools Die of Heartbreak to be published by Equus Press later this year
© Thor Garcia 2013