Funky Gorilla Fist – Chapter 1


OPENING STATEMENT

This is not a forward, prologue, or anything else you may expect to find at the beginning of a book. So, opening statement is the best I can come up with outside of maybe, Warning Label.

I was told by a good friend, after he had read just the first few chapters, that “This is the type of book that Bukowski would have put down, to go on to a lighter read.”

While the names, places and dates have been changed to protect……….me, it is, after all, a work of fiction.

Sort of.

Lets just say that I took years of “research”, gave it some sort of continuity and found the alternate universe, parallel timeline of what could have been my story.

A story that doesn’t have a moral, carry any weighty social commentary, doesn’t posses any special philosophy, or higher message.

It is just a look back at what one life could have become had it continued unchecked.

I think it would make a colorful addition to Stuff Dudes Like.

 

Anthony Pepe

 

funky

CHAPTER 1

 

“Get me a beer while you’re up.” Jennifer pops her head back around the

doorjamb, “Light me a cigarette.” Chris reaches over to the nightstand for

the smokes, puts two in his mouth and lights them both.

He hears the toilet flush as he surveys the room. Laying on the bare mattress he notices

that the sheets and pillows are nowhere to be found at the moment.

There is a broken lamp, two beer bottles, some makeup and lotions, and a tennis racket

pushed into one corner of the room. There are the splintered remains of one of those Papasan or

Mamasan chairs, I guess in this case it was definitely a Papasan because it made a distinct

“Popping” sound when they fucked their way through it.

Well, it is pushed off to the other corner of the room, sticking up like the inverted rib cage

of some cow that died in the desert a hundred years ago.

The mirror over the dresser is hanging like a diamond from one nail, and even from clear

across the room he can see the tangled mess of face, hand and ass prints on the glass.

He laughs to himself, for even he can’t figure out how the ass prints got on the mirror, but

he wonders what the ass prints on top of the black lacquer dresser must look like.

“Now this is what a bedroom is supposed to look like.” He laughs and takes another drag

off of both cigarettes as Jennifer enters the room.

She is naked, still a little sweaty, bite marks pepper her neck and chest. There are some

small bruises on her thighs that resemble fingerprints. The rug burns on her knees are so bad they

are beginning to weep the light pink mix of blood and serous fluid that would usually accompany

second degree burns from, let’s say, fire.

Hot coals.

Electric stove.

Car cigarette lighter.

She is carrying two beers in each hand and kicking a pillow into the room as she enters.

“Where’d ya find that,” he asks. “In the hall,” she says as she takes a swig off of both

bottles in her right. hand then dribbles some on her self, chuckling as he says, “ We never even

made it into the fucking hallway.”

She hands him the beers and he notices her back is bleeding a little in a few places as she

bends to pick up the pillow.

“That lamp did a number on your back.”

“And you’re bleeding all over my wall, put this behind you” She hands him the pillow,

takes one of the smokes from his mouth and settles in on his lap as he props the pillow behind

him.

“I asked you to light me a smoke, not smoke it for me.” she finishes the first beer and

puts the butt in the bottle, leaning forward to put it on the nightstand.

“It’s not my fault you took so long,.” chugging the remains of his first beer and following

in turn with the butt. She lifts up a little to allow him to turn and place his bottle on the

nightstand. As she sits back down on his lap, he slips, full, right back inside of her. They both

smile but pretend not to notice as they drink.

“So, what do you want to do tonight? Catch a movie, go dancing, take a ride to the

beach?”

She leans forward, takes the beer from his hand, drops it and hers off the side of the bed,

grabs him by his hair, whispers in his ear, “Shut up and fuck me,” and pulls him over on top of

her.

 

– Anthony Pepe

TWITTER: @AnthonyMFPepe
FACEBOOK: anthonyfpepe
EMAIL: FunkyGorillaFist@hotmail.com