LAUGHING WITH GOD

I made heavy love to her. As heavy as it can get. My mother always said love weighs as much in gold or diamonds. I never really understood that. When she fell asleep, I strangled her with a piano string. It seemed appropriate at the time. The red neon light that came in through the motel window gave the moment a sordid touch. Dramatic, to say the least. What a cliché. I kissed her on the forehead and took a chocolate Jesus from the nightstand drawer. I placed it on her chest and watched it melt. Did you know the human body drops one degree every hour after Death? Well, now you do.

I had a dream about Death last night. What an entrance! Fabulous! She levitated down the stairs where her prom date awaited. He put a corsage around her wrist and then she cut him in half with her sickle. Right through the waist. She made herself a necklace with his intestines and danced to Frank Zappa. Death, she can be such a bitch sometimes. I woke up laughing and got up fast. I get light-headed when I get up fast and I like it. Why do you think that is? I had maggots for breakfast. Fagot maggots, like a dove. I saved some for Death, just in case she stops by. I wouldn’t want her to get me on an empty stomach. That would be unsavory. She hasn’t though, stopped by.

What’s this I hear? It’s the church bell. Is it six already? I guess so. Time plays tricks on perception. I should get ready for church. God expects me to be on time. But I won’t, not this day.

“My boy, you smell sweet, like cheap wine.” Those were the words she whispered in my ear. I remained quiet for a minute, meditating. It’s true, I am somewhat… fermented. “Get drunk on me” I said, and she obeyed. Just like that. No questions asked. Dirty old tramp.

Oh, don’t brood. She got what she deserved for being unholy. Fine, that’s a bit much. Here’s where God come in with His sick sense of humor. It’s all about shit and babies. They are expulsed from consecutive holes and come out with a push. You see the joke in that, don’t you? God makes me laugh. God and Death both. But I digress; the point is nobody is holy. People are but feces. They walk around leaving their stench in the air. They are immune to it, but I’m not. My airways are clean.

I should cut her in pieces and make soup for the hounds. No, that’s too much trouble. I’ll just leave her be, naked on the bed. The chocolate Jesus didn’t melt completely. His face is trapped between her wrinkled breasts. He’s disgusted, I can tell. I bet He would rather be crucified again than have sex with this mother. Me? I’m nobody’s savior. No cross for me, thanks.

Do you know what a 9 mm shot does to your head at close range? Neither do I. That makes to of us then. I don’t think anyone will bother. I better write my epitaph before blowing my brains out. I’ll keep it simple, three little words: Shit and babies. That’s right, shit and babies. God will understand and He will laugh. And I will laugh. Laughing with God. That must be Heaven.