Mrs. Vegas’s eyes gravitated toward the towel; her soft longing was affecting me... I swallowed my suspicion, pretended I had lost my memory, and accepted the bride in my arms.
Welcome to the serialized story of Mr. Harmless Bullet! For the audio version - scroll down. Genre: satire, absurdist comedy, adult humor (16+)
Do you remember the words of Henry Miller? “Life's wildest moment—she kneels on the sidewalk. Everything else she does is lies, lies, lies.” This is how I felt—used by every woman I’ve met so far, especially by Mrs. Vegas.
Did I find Qi, or did I not? That, my friend, is the tricky question...
All I could remember was a sensation of the night on my skin, and Ms. Break de Roof with a satisfied smile on her face, dressed like a surgeon in the middle of a critical operation, repeating, “Clamp with II, clear with III, breathe in on my count… Mrs. Vegas, we can lose him at any time.”
Just the thought of that conversation made me shiver like a leaf. And then, suddenly, Auntie Cactus’s voice came from behind the curtain, “Poor doc, you should give him an injection of prussic acid, darling. Or anything, really.” Her harsh and ugly cynicism was the last thing I remembered about the day I visited Mrs. Vegas’s palace.
Now, let me tell you, I don’t know how it feels to be unconscious, but I sure know how it feels to be wet. When I opened my eyes, I was lying in the bathtub, naked, with a mask on my face, razor in hand, and an expensive watch on. I bent forward, found a towel, and with a sigh of relief, began to examine the room.
Three doors, five windows. What happened? And which door is the way out of this hell?
The middle door opened. A big woman with a pink nose dressed as a queen approached my bath and, with a mellow smile, like an intoxicated flute, announced, “Hullorr, Mista Beeard! I’m so glad I found you arrlive.”
All right, all right, don’t worry. Just close your eyes and count to five—she’ll be gone. I thought.
“Who are you?” I asked after a few hasty breaths.
“Ms. Divine Madness, a special arrr-gent of Cut & Infect. You might have trrrouble remembering me; you crllashed from the third floor last night.”
The pictures of yesterday arrived in some kind of broken vision board quality: at first, the blue screen hadfallen on my head but didn’t kill me; then, I heard Mrs. Vegas and the second assistant’s whispers, who spoke about “moving the body,” “nobody could ever know because nobody has ever seen his face,” “he might have died, anyhow, of shock, after the night with Auntie Cactus,” and at the end, the memory of the giant iron hippopotamusthat had been thrown at me by Mr. Beard’s blurred shadow.
As the bathroom atmosphere thickened with panic and despair, Ms. Divine Madness became increasingly aware that I needed help safely getting out of the bath.
She slipped one hand into the water and opened her glittering dress with the other. It wasn't just the raw desire that surged through my body in that second; it was the feeling of power. Every cell of me blazed with thirst. But talking with a special agent is not always easy… After all, the woman was six-feet-three plus, broad and strong in proportion.
“Would you like us to do a postmortem?” Ms. Divine Madness asked.
“With whom?”
“With Mr. Harmless. He died in your bed yesterday. Your soon-to-be wife, Mrs. Vegas, told us that he fiiiinally found Qi, which ended his rrr-life. So trrllagik!”
I coughed. “I think I remember that name. Please, he doesn’t need a postmortem; Mr. Harmless has suffered enough.”
“What an amazing perrrsona you are, Mr. Beaard! The kindest governor everrr! You know the storrrry of every visitor in our town, don’t you? You really do care,” the big woman chirped in my ear.
No, I didn’t care. My hands twitched, screaming to run themselves over those luscious shoulders, to slide my tongue into her wet orifice, to touch the curves of her muscular waist. My sleepy spindle woke up and began to drool with anticipation, dreaming of entering her athletically built fountain of passion.
After a couple of minutes, I dropped to the floor, exhausted by the incredible speed of the special agent from Cut & Infect.
“I admire your speed qualities, Ms. Divine Madness! But I have to rush home… I mean, to visit the widow of Mr. Harmless. She’s probably wondering what’s happened to her husband… and I have to visit the clinic. Soon. Today… Now? We must save as many victims of LKED as possible!” I said.
“Ah, I envy how your mind works—purrlle brilliance. But don’t be too naïve; you can’t save them all. And it's absullld that you have to do this kind of thing—visiting widows, listening to their cries, feeding their hungry mouths. You are the king, don’t you have an assistant for that?”
“What an idiot I am!” I laughed nervously. “Of course, I can send Ms. Break de Roof. Still, I’d like to end the problem with LKED. What about the modern research of that fellow, mmm… Anthony Lee Phillips?”
“What? You hated him! He was a strrrange man… not that smarrllt, though, because he ended up dead. You hired my arrrgency to kill him.”
”Right. Of course, I did,” I trembled in disgust.
The most remarkable thing about my spindle is that it never listens. It makes its own decisions: such as rubbing itself over every inch of Ms. Divine Madness's belly while I spoke to her.
Yes, I was tired; I needed to sleep very badly, but all I did (like the dumb doll) was restlessly pull Ms. Divine Madness's hips closer and closer to me. Finally, I gave up! I pressed myself against her ripe dates and slid my greedy spindle between her thighs. Ah, what a feeling!
Suddenly, it all stopped. The bride of the house, somewhat astonished, stood in the doorway. She produced a sharp knife from her pocket and furiously asked Ms. Divine Madness to leave the room immediately.
“You are a monster! Today is our wedding!” Mrs. Vegas groaned once the half-naked special agent had left the bedroom.
I shifted restlessly upon pillows on the floor, and said: “If I have rightly understood, we aren’t married yet. Well, I suggest that…”
“I didn’t mean it; all I just said, Bu…,” Mrs. Vegas paused. “Ha, I don’t seem able to think normally today; I forget things and go blank for hours, darling Beard. Don’t you?”
Her sweet voice alarmed me, but I nodded.
“A wife is not a structure of bones, who follows house rules and serves delicious sex each night, but a wish, a dream, a tiger behind bars, or all of these together!” Mrs. Vegas pressed herself against me.
I knew I was being offered a dangerous gift — her two witchy, perky balloons were looking straight at my face, telling me, “We know what you want, go ahead, take us.”
But something inside me screamed, "Be careful with this irrational, kooky woman!"
Mrs. Vegas’s eyes gravitated toward the towel; her soft longing was affecting me, too. I swallowed my suspicion, pretended I had lost my memory, and accepted the bride in my arms.
WANT TO LISTEN?
Bullets Adventure Chapter 31
0:00
/439.1183673469388
I’ve been poking around in No Clue Land website, moving things, adding things, and generally pretending I have some plan... Three new DEPARTMENTS have appeared: TRAPPED IN FLESH (a tribute to the weirdness of having a body), WRITERS UNDER OBSERVATION (notes about writers and writing styles), SOMETHING HAPPENED (serialized fiction: crime or comedy).
Newsletter - sends once a week or bi-weekly (it will be mostly about health - from Trapped in Flesh Department). Side effects may include mild discomfort, and the sudden urge to Google your own organs or new words.
Explore the chaotic, absurd, and provocative world of Witold Gombrowicz, one of Poland’s most distinctive writers, known for his themes of immaturity, masks, form, and social rebellion.
Sometimes a minute feels like forever, especially when you're chillin' in a hammock with Mrs. Tamara GRRR Diablo Thrill of the Balance de Razor Perditis Yo Legarto
Welcome to the serialized story of Mr. Harmless Bullet! For the audio version - scroll down. Genre: satire, absurdist comedy, adult humor (16+)
Written with the Tristan Tzara method - read about it here
Complete story, chapter by chapter:
CHAPTER 31. IN THE TEETH OF LOST MEMORY
Do you remember the words of Henry Miller? “Life's wildest moment—she kneels on the sidewalk. Everything else she does is lies, lies, lies.” This is how I felt—used by every woman I’ve met so far, especially by Mrs. Vegas.
Did I find Qi, or did I not? That, my friend, is the tricky question...
All I could remember was a sensation of the night on my skin, and Ms. Break de Roof with a satisfied smile on her face, dressed like a surgeon in the middle of a critical operation, repeating, “Clamp with II, clear with III, breathe in on my count… Mrs. Vegas, we can lose him at any time.”
Just the thought of that conversation made me shiver like a leaf. And then, suddenly, Auntie Cactus’s voice came from behind the curtain, “Poor doc, you should give him an injection of prussic acid, darling. Or anything, really.” Her harsh and ugly cynicism was the last thing I remembered about the day I visited Mrs. Vegas’s palace.
Now, let me tell you, I don’t know how it feels to be unconscious, but I sure know how it feels to be wet. When I opened my eyes, I was lying in the bathtub, naked, with a mask on my face, razor in hand, and an expensive watch on. I bent forward, found a towel, and with a sigh of relief, began to examine the room.
Three doors, five windows. What happened? And which door is the way out of this hell?
The middle door opened. A big woman with a pink nose dressed as a queen approached my bath and, with a mellow smile, like an intoxicated flute, announced, “Hullorr, Mista Beeard! I’m so glad I found you arrlive.”
All right, all right, don’t worry. Just close your eyes and count to five—she’ll be gone. I thought.
“Who are you?” I asked after a few hasty breaths.
“Ms. Divine Madness, a special arrr-gent of Cut & Infect. You might have trrrouble remembering me; you crllashed from the third floor last night.”
The pictures of yesterday arrived in some kind of broken vision board quality: at first, the blue screen hadfallen on my head but didn’t kill me; then, I heard Mrs. Vegas and the second assistant’s whispers, who spoke about “moving the body,” “nobody could ever know because nobody has ever seen his face,” “he might have died, anyhow, of shock, after the night with Auntie Cactus,” and at the end, the memory of the giant iron hippopotamusthat had been thrown at me by Mr. Beard’s blurred shadow.
As the bathroom atmosphere thickened with panic and despair, Ms. Divine Madness became increasingly aware that I needed help safely getting out of the bath.
She slipped one hand into the water and opened her glittering dress with the other. It wasn't just the raw desire that surged through my body in that second; it was the feeling of power. Every cell of me blazed with thirst. But talking with a special agent is not always easy… After all, the woman was six-feet-three plus, broad and strong in proportion.
“Would you like us to do a postmortem?” Ms. Divine Madness asked.
“With whom?”
“With Mr. Harmless. He died in your bed yesterday. Your soon-to-be wife, Mrs. Vegas, told us that he fiiiinally found Qi, which ended his rrr-life. So trrllagik!”
I coughed. “I think I remember that name. Please, he doesn’t need a postmortem; Mr. Harmless has suffered enough.”
“What an amazing perrrsona you are, Mr. Beaard! The kindest governor everrr! You know the storrrry of every visitor in our town, don’t you? You really do care,” the big woman chirped in my ear.
No, I didn’t care. My hands twitched, screaming to run themselves over those luscious shoulders, to slide my tongue into her wet orifice, to touch the curves of her muscular waist. My sleepy spindle woke up and began to drool with anticipation, dreaming of entering her athletically built fountain of passion.
After a couple of minutes, I dropped to the floor, exhausted by the incredible speed of the special agent from Cut & Infect.
“I admire your speed qualities, Ms. Divine Madness! But I have to rush home… I mean, to visit the widow of Mr. Harmless. She’s probably wondering what’s happened to her husband… and I have to visit the clinic. Soon. Today… Now? We must save as many victims of LKED as possible!” I said.
“Ah, I envy how your mind works—purrlle brilliance. But don’t be too naïve; you can’t save them all. And it's absullld that you have to do this kind of thing—visiting widows, listening to their cries, feeding their hungry mouths. You are the king, don’t you have an assistant for that?”
“What an idiot I am!” I laughed nervously. “Of course, I can send Ms. Break de Roof. Still, I’d like to end the problem with LKED. What about the modern research of that fellow, mmm… Anthony Lee Phillips?”
“What? You hated him! He was a strrrange man… not that smarrllt, though, because he ended up dead. You hired my arrrgency to kill him.”
”Right. Of course, I did,” I trembled in disgust.
The most remarkable thing about my spindle is that it never listens. It makes its own decisions: such as rubbing itself over every inch of Ms. Divine Madness's belly while I spoke to her.
Yes, I was tired; I needed to sleep very badly, but all I did (like the dumb doll) was restlessly pull Ms. Divine Madness's hips closer and closer to me. Finally, I gave up! I pressed myself against her ripe dates and slid my greedy spindle between her thighs. Ah, what a feeling!
Suddenly, it all stopped. The bride of the house, somewhat astonished, stood in the doorway. She produced a sharp knife from her pocket and furiously asked Ms. Divine Madness to leave the room immediately.
“You are a monster! Today is our wedding!” Mrs. Vegas groaned once the half-naked special agent had left the bedroom.
I shifted restlessly upon pillows on the floor, and said: “If I have rightly understood, we aren’t married yet. Well, I suggest that…”
“I didn’t mean it; all I just said, Bu…,” Mrs. Vegas paused. “Ha, I don’t seem able to think normally today; I forget things and go blank for hours, darling Beard. Don’t you?”
Her sweet voice alarmed me, but I nodded.
“A wife is not a structure of bones, who follows house rules and serves delicious sex each night, but a wish, a dream, a tiger behind bars, or all of these together!” Mrs. Vegas pressed herself against me.
I knew I was being offered a dangerous gift — her two witchy, perky balloons were looking straight at my face, telling me, “We know what you want, go ahead, take us.”
But something inside me screamed, "Be careful with this irrational, kooky woman!"
Mrs. Vegas’s eyes gravitated toward the towel; her soft longing was affecting me, too. I swallowed my suspicion, pretended I had lost my memory, and accepted the bride in my arms.
WANT TO LISTEN?
I’ve been poking around in No Clue Land website, moving things, adding things, and generally pretending I have some plan... Three new DEPARTMENTS have appeared: TRAPPED IN FLESH (a tribute to the weirdness of having a body), WRITERS UNDER OBSERVATION (notes about writers and writing styles), SOMETHING HAPPENED (serialized fiction: crime or comedy).
Newsletter - sends once a week or bi-weekly (it will be mostly about health - from Trapped in Flesh Department). Side effects may include mild discomfort, and the sudden urge to Google your own organs or new words.
All other posts you can check during the week.
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