| ZYGOTE IN MY COFFEE.COM |
| ***BIO*** I was born in Cleveland Ohio in 1981. With a name like mine you are
either born rolling in a pile of old money, or the progeny of coal
miners and bourbon swiggers. My father sold pot to put me through
Montessori school. That's the extent of my privilege.I am a mid-west writer regardless of where I live. I currently live in my car. krdeluge@hushmail.com |
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| © 2008 zygoteinmycoffee Ink. |
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| Pissing in the Jug |
| by Kurt Remington |
| The sun was hot. It was so hot that I had my shirt and shoes and
off and had rolled my shorts up between my balls and thighs. I looked like a sun burnt fool driving through the desert in a puffy blue diaper, smoking little cigars and hacking into the dead air. The red desert of New Mexico turned shit brown past Phoenix and I was still soaring until four lanes dropped to two and I found myself bumper to bumper in the god's country or whatever the hell. The breaks screech and rats and owls screech and lizards spit dust all around the damned earth that is as dry as I am. I tip the warm gallon over my head, look up at the sun and let the excess dribble over my chin and red chest and belly. Ease off the break to roll another five feet and we are back to the weight. 30 minutes and another half gallon later, my dumb body needs to be rid of the well water that I've swallowed. The wind is nowhere and the air is nowhere and the desert is brown. I'm wading in exhaust in this desert. Going nowhere. I've gone from dried snakeskin to fat bloated bladder hanging in the smog and I need release. But there is no pullover or rest- stop. There is no end. It is a line of sedans and semi trucks from here to the Pacific, weaving through brown hills and rock until we hit the salt breeze. Fuck, though, I'm back to thinking of water with my swollen wet lips and my belly and the bladder. If I can't urinate, I'd better at least explode soon and get over the pain from the pounds of white lifeless piss chugging along down there. Enough is enough. The cars have stopped again. I swallow the rest of the water and toss the plastic gallon cap into the back seat. It's my sweaty cock in one hand and the jug in the other. But the jug is a big motherfucker, too big to squeeze below the steering wheel. I let go of my cock and the jug and reach around the wheel to pick it up higher. It goes up but not enough. It's my bladder that's in the way and that isn't going anywhere. So I crunch the jug down between my bare legs and jam the fucker up under the steering wheel. The wheel jerks, the tires turn, and my heart leaps when I save the car from rolling into the semi-truck to my left. But wait. the semi.towering so that the grizzled trucker in the pilot's chair has been watching and chuckling at my struggle. He has front row seats to my catastrophe. "Sonofabitch," I'm cursing to myself. And the sweat is pouring and the cars and the piss are sitting in the sun and the trucker laughs but there is no going back now. So I clutch the jug between my knees and reach back for the blanket in back, throw it over, the nightmare "sonofabitch.sonofabitch" Now my cock is ready.so ready that it takes some real effort to stuff the thing through the jagged lip of the plastic jug. "oooooh." I'm wheezing through my teeth and it's ripping into me and it's nothing but the purest of all hells before I finally release and let the poison drain.drain.drain. I breathe for the first time in minutes. Pull the jug out from under my deflated torso and set it on the floor to my right. Toss the blanket back into hell. The semi is up ahead, the cars are still there and I am a warm tube of toothpaste baking in the sun. |
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| Sept. 2008 |
| 110 |