to worshiping him, as it is generally considered icky to eat his sperm. Given the choice, most people would elect the option of turning themselves into stone over guzzling a load of Coniraya’s fruity jizz.
Zotz is a giant bat-like being. The cave god. Foamy candies are named after him. He commanded as little respect as Coniraya once his people’s civilization disappeared.
After losing all potential worshipers, Coniraya mostly passed time by appearing to mortal women and having sex with them. He still liked to trick the ladies into eating his sperm and impregnating them. Zotz prefers straight up intercourse with mortals and is a prolific breeder. Occasionally his offspring are still discovered living in caves, malformed, demented and mentally impaired – the best known being the dolt-child known to most as
Bat Boy
who is widely considered to be a hoax created by a tabloid newspaper.
All clichés aside, the Fast Food Gods really were watching over Askew. The drive-through cashier at Barry’s Big Beef Palace is a sickly-looking boy named Simon. His face is blighted with lumpy acne and a variety of pointy metal things stuck through the fleshier parts. He lisps to Askew, “that’ll be four theventy-nine, Thir.” Simon’s lisp is not the stereotypical homosexual affectation. It is more the I-have-my-tongue-pierced-and-I-have-a-self-imposed-speech-impediment kind of lisp. The lingual barbell clicks against Simon’s chipped front teeth as he talks, making Askew cringe.
Askew hands a twenty-dollar bill over to Simon and receives $55.21 in change. Before he can even begin to pocket the overpayment, Simon hands out a large bag packed to the top with burgers and fries and every kind of greasy deep-fried morsel Barry’s Big Beef Palace has to offer. Flashing a big chipped smile and knocking tiny fragments off of his teeth with the barbell, Simon tells Askew, “thank you, Thir. Pleathe come back again.”
• • •
Zotz and Coniraya look down on their work. And it is good. They smile upon Askew and wish him well. “Do you wanna make a grill cook hock a loogie on a cop’s sandwich?” Coniraya asks his colleague.
“No. I think I’d prefer to go down to Earth to get some poontang,” says Zotz. “You feel like tag-teaming a mortal hottie?”
“Yeah,” smiles Coniraya, “I think we’ve done enough work for today. Let’s do it.”
“Groovy,” says Zotz. He flashes his pointy bat-toothed smile and stretches, spreading his wings. “Please just don’t try to get them to eat the sperm fruit again. I hate having to kiss them after they’ve had that in their mouths.”
8
Askew studies the sanguineous meat juice seepage that has soaked into the carpeting around the daypack Grundish left sitting on the floor before falling asleep. “What the fuck? It smells like raw meat in here.”
Grundish stirs, abruptly stands for a moment, his hand to his head, his vision tunnels down to a pinpoint and a load of head-rush dizziness kicks him right between the eyes. Gravity grabs onto the back of his shirt and yanks hard, dragging him back into his broken recliner. “
Ugghhhhh
,” Grundish exclaims, his hand still slapped to his head, trying to push down the rhythmic throbbing in his temples.
“You better eat something. You can take care of the mess later,” says Askew, evaluating his friend’s condition. “I knew you’d be in bad shape so I stopped off and bought us a feast. Even used all my tips on it,” he lies, handing Grundish a bag of unidentifiable fried nuggets. “I was thinking of you, Buddy. Have a bag of mystery nuggets.”
Grundish stares at the greasy breaded morsels. The nuggets stare back at Grundish. Neither knows what to make of the other. In an effort to understand the fried lumps, Grundish bites one in half and studies the piece. “This one looks like sausage but tastes like ham,” he says, still chewing his food, and pops the remaining fraction of a nugget into his mouth to
Zotz is a giant bat-like being. The cave god. Foamy candies are named after him. He commanded as little respect as Coniraya once his people’s civilization disappeared.
After losing all potential worshipers, Coniraya mostly passed time by appearing to mortal women and having sex with them. He still liked to trick the ladies into eating his sperm and impregnating them. Zotz prefers straight up intercourse with mortals and is a prolific breeder. Occasionally his offspring are still discovered living in caves, malformed, demented and mentally impaired – the best known being the dolt-child known to most as
Bat Boy
who is widely considered to be a hoax created by a tabloid newspaper.
All clichés aside, the Fast Food Gods really were watching over Askew. The drive-through cashier at Barry’s Big Beef Palace is a sickly-looking boy named Simon. His face is blighted with lumpy acne and a variety of pointy metal things stuck through the fleshier parts. He lisps to Askew, “that’ll be four theventy-nine, Thir.” Simon’s lisp is not the stereotypical homosexual affectation. It is more the I-have-my-tongue-pierced-and-I-have-a-self-imposed-speech-impediment kind of lisp. The lingual barbell clicks against Simon’s chipped front teeth as he talks, making Askew cringe.
Askew hands a twenty-dollar bill over to Simon and receives $55.21 in change. Before he can even begin to pocket the overpayment, Simon hands out a large bag packed to the top with burgers and fries and every kind of greasy deep-fried morsel Barry’s Big Beef Palace has to offer. Flashing a big chipped smile and knocking tiny fragments off of his teeth with the barbell, Simon tells Askew, “thank you, Thir. Pleathe come back again.”
• • •
Zotz and Coniraya look down on their work. And it is good. They smile upon Askew and wish him well. “Do you wanna make a grill cook hock a loogie on a cop’s sandwich?” Coniraya asks his colleague.
“No. I think I’d prefer to go down to Earth to get some poontang,” says Zotz. “You feel like tag-teaming a mortal hottie?”
“Yeah,” smiles Coniraya, “I think we’ve done enough work for today. Let’s do it.”
“Groovy,” says Zotz. He flashes his pointy bat-toothed smile and stretches, spreading his wings. “Please just don’t try to get them to eat the sperm fruit again. I hate having to kiss them after they’ve had that in their mouths.”
8
Askew studies the sanguineous meat juice seepage that has soaked into the carpeting around the daypack Grundish left sitting on the floor before falling asleep. “What the fuck? It smells like raw meat in here.”
Grundish stirs, abruptly stands for a moment, his hand to his head, his vision tunnels down to a pinpoint and a load of head-rush dizziness kicks him right between the eyes. Gravity grabs onto the back of his shirt and yanks hard, dragging him back into his broken recliner. “
Ugghhhhh
,” Grundish exclaims, his hand still slapped to his head, trying to push down the rhythmic throbbing in his temples.
“You better eat something. You can take care of the mess later,” says Askew, evaluating his friend’s condition. “I knew you’d be in bad shape so I stopped off and bought us a feast. Even used all my tips on it,” he lies, handing Grundish a bag of unidentifiable fried nuggets. “I was thinking of you, Buddy. Have a bag of mystery nuggets.”
Grundish stares at the greasy breaded morsels. The nuggets stare back at Grundish. Neither knows what to make of the other. In an effort to understand the fried lumps, Grundish bites one in half and studies the piece. “This one looks like sausage but tastes like ham,” he says, still chewing his food, and pops the remaining fraction of a nugget into his mouth to
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