Smokey Mountain Breakdown

I've officially moved downstairs for the time being--until the guy comes to fix the AC or the first freeze--whichever comes first. I can't sleep up there in the heat with the door closed and if I leave it open, the giant hornets come in the bedroom.

I go up to bed the other night and they were everywhere, swarming all over the lights, in the bathroom--it was like a horror movie. And it was an insomnia night where I'd finally gotten the urge to sleep at 4 a.m. It called for drastic measures. I went down and got the big vacuum cleaner with the hose attachment. Then I had to suck them out of the air. They are so big that they can fly against the suction so you have to hit them just right to pull them out of the air. All the while the rest of them are buzzing around like hummingbirds. I vacuumed 15 of them out of the bedroom. So. I give up. I'm downstairs on the couch where it's cool. The upstairs is now closed off.

Next place I live--fewer types of wasps and hornets please.

I have a big chuck of Porn and Donuts for you today. You'll see why--there's a gag that I can't break up. And this is the end of the bit I have written. So from here on out--The HOT Light will be on--all new, all hot, all steaming fresh Porn and Donuts.


*********************


“So who’s your friend?” Lucius growled through a mouthful of doughnut.

Kellie looked at him in warning.

“So is this your cousin?” The cop asked, looking at Lucius.

Lucius poured more sugar into his coffee, shredding the packets open. He was up to six at this point. He picked up his spoon and rattled it around in his cup.

“Yes!” Kellie said as she directed a surreptitious kick to Lucius’ calf. “Luke, this is our cousin Jack. He’s related to us through Uncle Jimmy’s second wife’s nephew’s son. You know, the one who calls square dances?”

Lucius looked blankly at her. First, because she had called him “Luke” and secondly, because he had no idea what she was talking about. He was concerned she identified this cop as a cousin.

“Hi, I’m Jack Hensley." He laughed. "I don’t get it either how the womenfolk keep track of who’s related to who.”

Lucius gave a small shrug and finished off the rest of his doughnut. He took a slug of coffee to wash it down. He realized he had used too much sugar, but he did not want anyone to notice. Some of it splashed in the white saucer when he slammed the cup down.

“Hey, Luke,” Kellie turned to him saying, “Jack here says there was a robbery down the street and get this--they made off in a Krispy-Kreme truck. Isn’t that a hoot?”

Lucius stuck one of the apple-filled in his mouth to give him time to think. The cinnamon and powdered sugar stuck to his upper lip and the hot filling burnt his tongue. He dropped his head and looked at the cop from the corner of his eye.

“Yeah, the dispatcher said this idiot had a blow-up sex doll attached to him.” Jack laughed. “That’s not something you see every day,” he sniped.

Lucius’ face flushed with anger and embarrassment. He poured out half of the too sweet coffee into his saucer and waved the waitress over to top his cup up.

“Yeah, well, maybe there was a reason. Like maybe he couldn’t help it. You know, he mighta planned it that way.”

Kellie gave him her “shut up” look.

Jack cocked his head, frowning at Lucius. “You think?”

Lucius pushed his plate of doughnuts away. He was pissed at Kellie for chatting this cop up. “Have you got the money? I’m going to go ahead and pay the bill.”

Kelly pulled a few bills from her pocket and handed them to Lucius. “Here you go. But I’m going to finish my coffee before we go.”

“Fine.” Lucius stood abruptly. He started to move around Kellie’s stool, but his foot had become tangled in the strap of her duffle bag. He scrambled to gather his balance but sprawled across the black and white floor, sliding across the slick surface. The bag followed him as far as it could, before hanging on Kellie’s footrest. The zipper broke open from the strain and a few fat wads of bills spilled onto the floor.

Kellie looked down and said, “Oops.”

Officer Jack Hensley knelt to retrieve the bag before he registered what he was seeing. When he did, he looked up and locked eyes with Lucius.

Kellie’s foot connected with Officer Jack’s forehead shoving him off balance. He tumbled back on his butt. Lucius scooted backwards on his rear and Kellie jumped to her feet, heaving the bag up on her shoulder.

“Lucius--get up and run!” she yelled.

Jack reached for his taser. Lucius feared he was going for his service revolver.

“Kellie, go!” Lucius staggered to his feet.

Jack pulled the taser from his belt and pointed it at Lucius. Kellie lifted the duffle bag and brought it down on the cop's head at the same moment he fired the taser. The probes missed Lucius, sinking instead into the cop’s thigh and calf. Jack floundered and jerked on the floor and the weapon fell from his hand.

Kellie picked up Lucius’ bag from under his stool and threw it to him. She hopped over the prone cop and sprinted to the door. She turned and hissed at Lucius, “Come on!”

Everyone in the shop stared at them, their eyes wide and frightened.

“Yeah, well,” Lucius said, pointing at the twitching cop, “that’s not something you see every day, is it?”

He made a small salute to the people in the shop and joined Kellie in the parking lot.

"Okay, let's get out of here." She said scanning the vehicles parked there.

"Wait a minute." Lucius turned away from her and dashed back inside the shop.

He ran over to the cash register, stepping over the cop, and laid a hundred dollar bill on the counter.

“Keep the change.” He smiled crookedly at the waitress who remained frozen in the same spot, a coffee pot in her hand. Lucius turned and looked down into Jack’s eyes. He stabbed his finger at the cop. “You ain’t my damn cousin, Sport. And you know what? I think. I think a lot."

I was still upstairs doing my morning reading when Betsy called. I was pondering the weird dream I had in which snakes fled the light of a basement to congregate in the diningroom. I wish my dreams were more useful. Usually I remember them and ask myself, what am I supposed to do with this? And I'm trying to finish the last 100 pages of Murakami's Wind-up Bird Chronicles because Greenville County, TN public library needs their copy back.

I miss the call, but listen to the message. Betsy is on her way over with roosters. I had to listen a few times to get the rooster part. We'd talked about this but hadn't made plans. I guess she reached roosterus maximus and having caught the little bastards was bringing them directly over.

I'm okay with this. I'm quite happy. But I make it clear from the get-go.

"You do know--things get eaten here."

Not by me--though that has happened--but by the gentle woodland creatures. City folks have absolutely no idea how freaking savage nature is. I'm down to two guineas from the original six. They came up when they heard the roosters.

I love the sound of roosters in the morning. I like hearing them scratch around outside and watching the squabbles they inevitably get into. Even fat, placid standard roosters scrap now and again. Chickens really are like little dinosaurs. When they run you can see the movement and gait that you just know--because you've seen dinosaur skeletons--that the dinos must have had. When they fight, they rear their heads back and fan their hackles--puffing their breasts out. I like watching roosters. I like having them in the yard.

Ready for a little Porn & Donuts?

Lucius sat on the bed with his legs crossed and his bony knees poking outwards. He was nude and Kellie was in the shower. He heard her tuneless humming as he dialed his mother’s phone number on the cell phone. The phone rang and he waited for someone to pick up. The TV was showing the local news. He muted the volume.

“Hello?’ His mother’s voice trembled through the line. Lucius' shame made him queasy.

“Hey Mommy, it’s Lucius. I just got your letter.”

“Baby! It’s so good to hear your voice. I knew you’d come to the rescue.”

Lucius heard his mother call out to someone else in the house, probably his sisters, “It’s your big brother, and he’s going to help us!”

Lucius swallowed hard. He meant to come clean with his mother but the more she talked, the more spineless he became.

“Momma, Momma--you got to listen to me.”

“My own baby boy, comin’ to our rescue. When are you going to be getting here? I’ve got your old bedroom fixed up with new curtains and bed sheets and everything.”

Lucius cast his eyes down. He suddenly was aware of his nudity. It felt wrong talking to his mother without any clothes on. He grabbed a corner of the stiff hotel bedspread and covered himself.

He looked upwards as if the courage for truth would rain down on him from the stained popcorn stucco ceiling. He settled for more time.

“Momma, you got to give me a few days…maybe a week. I’m caught up in the middle of something right now.”

“Oh, Honey. We sure do need you. The funeral home keeps calling the house and I just don’t know what to tell them.”

“Momma, you just tell them I’m on the way. I promise. I’m coming. I’m going to fix this.” His eyes strayed to the television. A commercial for Los Tavernos Mexican Grill featured a blond man in a ridiculous sombrero backed by Mariachi band.

“Momma, the truth is, I’m out of the country. I’m in Mexico right now. It’s going to take me a while to get out of here.”

“Oh. Well. Okay.”

As they said their goodbyes, Kellie came out from the shower. Her towel was wrapped around her waist and her hair was plastered in places to her neck. Droplets of water beaded on her skin like they were sitting on a new paint job. Lucius felt the wrongness of looking at his naked cousin while talking to his mother. He felt a deep sense of relief when he hit the “end” button on the cell phone.

Kellie snapped the towel from around her waist and began drying her hair. She bent from the hips and shook her hair over her face. Her breasts bobbled back and forth under her.

“You know,” she said from underneath the veil of towel and hair. “I think I have an idea.”

She stood up, shifted her weight onto one leg, and tilted her head to the right.

Lucius looked at her, seeing only her nakedness. It was hard to concentrate with her shifting around, her flesh and bones jiggling here and jutting out there. He tried to think of something that would allow him to hear her while she was like that. He squirmed around underneath the bedspread.

She whipped the towel around herself, tucking it under her armpits and across her breasts and bounced down on the bed beside him.

“I think we need to pull a heist.”

Okay, so sue me. I took a break. I felt guilty about it, but I sort of needed some off-blog time.

Anyway, not much going on. Just waiting for my toe to scab over so I can sheare the sheep. Bless their hearts. They hide out in the cool shack all day and spend the evening grazing. Got to get that fleece off of them in this heat--as soon as I can stand to wear my boots.

Today's installment of Porn and Donuts had salty language and adult situations. Just a warning. These sorts of people use salty language and engage in adult situations. So don't read if it offends, M'kay?


***************************

Back in the room, he sat on the unmade bed and turned on the bedside lamp. When he opened the letter, the odor of White Shoulders escaped, making his eyes water. It smelled like home.

He sneezed a few times before reading: Dear Lucius, I’m so sorry to bother you at work, but it’s been a long time since I heard from you. I’m afraid I have some bad news and the family needs you. Your Granddaddy Otis has passed away. We aren’t sure what to do as he didn’t have no life insurance. I told your sisters we may have to bring you back to help take care of the arrangements since you are the onliest one in the family that could afford to help with the burial and the monument costs. Please call as soon as you get this letter. I’m sorry to have to pull you away from your busy life as a record producer, but we need you here to help pay for Papaw’s funeral. Eight thousand dollars should do it.

His mother scrawled her name, dotting her “i”s with little hearts.

Lucius felt ill. He had lied to his family for years, telling them he was working on the “next big thing” in country music. His family back in Jolo, Kentucky did not questioned why he never sent any money to them, visited in his Mercedes or invited them to stay at his spacious country mansion.

He stared at the letter until Kellie came back. She strolled into the room with bedroom eyes, her pupils dilated. She had crushed one of the oxycontins and snorted it on the way home.

“Good news!” She had an odd combination of dopiness and jitters that comes from snorting enough semi-synthetic opioid in a few seconds to last an entire day. “I got enough cash and oxys to last us a week! And I went ahead and paid Rupert the rent, so he’s happy.”

She crawled on the bed and sat with her legs wrapped around him, spooning into his back with her breasts. When she got no reaction, she rubbed the crotch of his jeans and nuzzled his ear.

“So who shot your dog, honey?”

“I’m in a heap of trouble, Kellie.” Lucius handed the letter over to her.

She took it and lay back on the pillows to read.

“So, your Mommy thinks you have eight thousand dollars to give her.”

“Yep. She thinks I drive a Mercedes and have a big house too.”

“Oh, crap.” Kellie seemed to straighten up and tense when she looked at the return address.

“Oh, crap is about the gist of it.” Lucius hung his head. “Where am I gonna get eight thousand dollars to pay for Granddaddy’s funeral? My momma’s gonna be crushed if she finds out I’ve been lying to her all these years. But what could I tell them? That I clean up poop at a Wild West Dinner Theater? And I cain’t even hold onto that job? Oh, Sweet Jesus, what am I gonna do?”

“Oh, crap.”

Lucius looked up and scraped his fingers across his scalp. “Yeah, you said that already.” He said, turning to look at her.

“No--what I mean is--well, if I’m reading this right--Lucius--” Kellie folded the letter and put it back in the envelope. Her hands shook slightly as she met his eyes.

Lucius stood up and faced her. He stamped on the stained carpet. “What? What, for God’s sake?”

Her dilated pupils made her look sexy, Lucius thought. He was briefly distracted by their moist glassiness.

“No, uh--Lucius, finding eight thousand dollars, a Mercedes and turning you into a record producer isn’t the worst of our troubles.”

Lucius stood there looking at her.

Kellie sucked her bottom lip. “Lucius, we’re first cousins.”

Lucius collapsed into the chair next to the window. He put his head in his hands and groaned.

“Jesus. I’ve lied to my Momma and I’m fucking my cousin. I’m going to hell. I’m just going to hell.”

Kellie produced a bottle of oxys and handed it to him.

“Here. Crush up one of these. It’ll make you feel better.”

I almost forgot today's installment!

I got caught up writing a story I've had percolating in the back of my mind for some time. I did it for The Flash Factory over on Zoetrope. It's a good place to work out first drafts and they give me a weekly prompt that sometimes pulls these stories I keep tucked away in hidden folds of gray matter forward. Anyway, one reviewer already picked up that the story was begging to be longer and I'll probably expand it. Maybe even beyond flash format, but the limit was 750 words.

Anyway, the story I got caught up in today was tailor-made for Anne Johnson. It's about an Appalachian kid who comes home from Tibet to die and has his best friend take him to the summit of Clingman's Dome for a sky burial. Yes, Anne--it's a thinly veiled buzzard worship story. Anne has like a buzzard costume she dresses up in. Crazy about them she is.

Lest you think it unbelievable that a Cocke county native might be in Tibet--we do have world class mountain climbers from here who've been there. Read about them in the paper--Appalachian folk get around. We got opera singers too. So there.

I almost subbed a story to a London group that does readings but the thought of London actors trying to wrap their mouths around this dialect gave me the shudders. The only person there I know who could handle it would be Buffy Holt, and damn--she should be reading her own work. I'm actually quite pleased I've gotten the jump on subbing to journals before Buffy--umm--cause--she's going to wipe the floor with me when she starts subbing. She's my favorite Appalachian writer out in the blogosphere.

Well, let's check in with Lucius and Kelly, shall we?



They stayed at the Happy Mount Hotel, a seedy strip motel, where Lucius kept a room. The neon sign had burnt out in spots so at night it flashed, “Happy Mo--Ho--”.

The cache of sixty hydrocodones did not last long. Kellie held the bottle of hydros to the light and gave it a shake. It was time to get back to “work”. She made a few calls and prepared to take off for the hills in the beat up Fiesta to pay a few visits to some old folks. Lucius kissed her before she left, pulling her to him.

“Baby, you knows I love you!”

“You be good, while mamma’s gone.” She grabbed his crotch and left him standing there, twitching.

Lucius watched some TV in the room. Damn, he loved AFHV. He liked to watch the bits where guys got hit in the nads. Damn, he thought, they just never saw it coming.

With his mood restored and the promise of his girl coming back with some drugs and money, he wandered over to the manager’s office. He had not checked his mail in a few days.

Rupert Mims reclined behind the shabby counter topped with cracked green linoleum. He had dozed off to the buzzing whine of the NASCAR race on his small television set. NASCAR memorabilia decorated the walls with a special place of pride given to a large portrait of Dale Earnhardt with Jesus. Jesus towered in the background with his arms out, embracing the grandstand and track of the Indianapolis Motor Speedway. Dale stood in his racing regalia in front of Number 3. The caption read, “God’s Own Driver, The Father, The Son and The Intimidator”.

Lucius banged on the counter. Rupert gave a snore like a chainsaw failing to start and blinked up at Lucius through eyes buried in the fat of his cheeks. He tugged his shirt down to cover his wide expanse of furry belly and rocked his chair up from a reclining position.

“What’chu want, Lucius? You got some money for me I hope?”

“Not yet, but I’ll have it in a few hours. It’s on the way!”

Rupert gave a snort. “Well, it better be. I can’t keep giving you extra time; it’s not fair to the other tenants who do pay on time. I got a few working girls who’d be glad to have that room of yours.”

“Don’t worry, Rup! Look, have I got any mail?”

Rupert shuffled under the counter for a moment and came up with a bunch of junk mail and one letter.

“Here you go. L. Mantooth Productions…is that you?”

Lucius frowned and accepted the letter. “Yeah, that’s me.”

He looked at the return address. “Yep, it’s from my Momma.”

“Well, good,” Rupert said, “It’s nice to see your old momma writes you now and again. Just make sure you have that rent money in here by tonight.”

Lucius nodded and left the office. He felt a bit of dread as he always did when his mother contacted him.

I didn't wake up until 1:00 p.m. today. I had some help...namely in the form of 3 elavils that I took. My sleep cycles have reversed recently. I have a history of that during highly creative periods. When I was in college, I had the reputation of the person most likely to be up in the very wee hours of the morning. Not because I was partying, but because I'd just be up. It's not really insomnia, though I sometimes call it that. But I did need to sleep. I felt pretty crappy yesterday.

So, I'm up to part six of Porn and Donuts. I've finally gotten to the "donut" part. I'd like to remind everyone that I've had this story plotted out for months and that the donut thing was in no way inspired by this story. Indeed, it was inspired by an entirely different high speed chase involving a Krispy Kreme donut truck. It was just very serendipitous that a guy with the name of Whitelightning got drunk and stole a donut truck and led police on an 80 mph chase through the streets of Madison, Wisconsin while I was writing my story.

I will completely vouch for the fact that Krispy Kremes are delicious when you are wasted and they make great coffee so it's the perfect place to go to try to sober up. Stealing the van is a bit over the top though. Dude! 80 mph? Not even Lucius and Kellie would push a step van to those speeds. If I had written it like that it would have been completely unbelievable.

So, there is a new installment of "Porn and Donuts" up on Editred if you are interested. Though, it's a bit anticlimactic now that this idiot actually did go steal a donut van.

The van lurched forward into the street and the jolt threw him into the back of the van. Lucius landed heavily on his rear and sat there confused in the back of the violently lurching step van. A palette of chocolate-iced crème filled fell on him. One of the boxes spilled open smearing Lola’s front with icing and crème.

He picked up a blob of crème from Lola’s nipple and sucked it off his finger. Kellie looked back briefly and snorted at him.

“Lucius! Now might be a good time to…uh…disengage yourself from your…friend... there while I’m getting us out of here.”

Lucius considered the problem of Lola’s attachment to him and decided the best way to deal with it was to remove her garment. That seemed to be the root cause of the issue in that the transparent synthetic material seemed to catch on everything. He squeezed Lola out of the teddy with some difficulty. The task required that he bend her in startling and unexpected contortions. He could see why some men might find her irresistible.

In the year of our Lord 2007, December 1.

It is Day Four here in the remote wilderness where we find ourselves. It is inhabited by strange beings of a feathered clan that we are unfamiliar with.


I have tried in vain to discourse with them and learn something of their strange language. They seem to communicate in odd neck stretches, hisses and various honks.



Unfortunately, these natives are hostile. We have had to erect a barrier to keep them out. Even with much voltage coursing through the wires, they broach it and attack us, forcing us to flee for our lives.



I am forced to conclude that we may never be able to understand their language. Further I conclude, that they are dangerous…and possibly delicious.

We can only pray that help will arrive soon.

**********************************

New Porn and Donuts being served up hot and fresh on EditRed.

Mistress Mona’s Lingerie and Adult Emporium was tucked away on an industrial side street on the north side of Knoxville. It was the sort of place that you had to know was there. Mistress Mona kept a large selection of plus-size lingerie and a special section of fuck-me pumps in sizes up to 14DD in stock. The clientele was a mixture of drag queens, strippers, working girls and lately, some fairly straight-laced couples. The couples were the result of the proprietor’s most recent marketing brainstorm, an entire back room devoted to Christian marital aides called “The Grotto of Earthly Delight”.

Prominently over the door leading to the Grotto was a sign that said, “Please! Married Couples Only!!!”

The Red Claptrap of Death has been in the shop. I know, big surprise. So, when I rolled out of bed at around noon-thirty (Not lazy! Up till 4 a.m. editing! So there!), there was a message from Friend Scott asking if I could pick him up to go collect it. So, I picked him up and it was off to the preacher/mechanic he uses. Luckily, it was only the clutch cable and not the entire clutch.

We take the circuitous route through Lemon Gap to get over to Cosby. It is much easier on the vehicle than going over the Foothills Parkway. I drop him off and he gets the car and is gone before I can turn around. I try to take the circuitous route back home through Lemon Gap and get miserably lost, as per usual. I finally find my way back by following the signs pointing toward a local market that I at least know I can find my way back from. I didn't take my camera, so the getting lost experience was less productive than usual.

Anyway, I've been writing lots and lots. Today I got some more editing done. Whipped the first three parts of Porn and Donuts into shape. Mostly little stuff. I need to put those parts away for a week before looking at them again. And I have posted fresh Porn and Donuts up on EditRed. Readers only. Again, if you want to join the reader list, all you have to do is join for free and send me your ID. I've slapped an adult warning on it, since one of my readers is a precocious and very talented 13 year old writer. But it's really NC-17 for adult situations.

But yes...3500 words in and we are coming to the "Porn" part of the title. I promise that the "Donuts" will be forthcoming.

Kellie snapped the towel from around her waist and began towel drying her hair. She bent from the hips and shook her hair out and vigorously rubbed it. Her breasts bobbled back and forth under her.

“You know,” she said from underneath her moving veil of towel and hair. “I think I have an idea.”

She stood up and shifted her weight onto one leg and tilted her head to the right, the towel continuously in motion.

Lucius kept looking at her and her unabashed nakedness. It was hard to concentrate with her shifting around like that, her flesh and bones jiggling here and jutting out there. He kept trying to think of something that would allow him to hear her while she was all naked like that. He kept saying in his head, “Cousin Kellie, Cousin Kellie”, but it didn’t seem to be working. He squirmed around under the bedspread.

She finally whipped the towel around herself, tucking it under her armpits and across her breasts. She bounced down on the bed beside him.

“I think we need to pull a heist.”

I hope everyone is having a very happy Thanksgiving eve and week. I went into town to pay bills and do all that nice market day stuff. I dropped off the manuscript thus for for "Jo-Jo and The Chicken Boy" at the feed store. I'm going there Monday in hopes of talking to some cockers (usually when I write that it means cocker spaniels...but these are the chicken fighting folk). I've never attended a match and have just met the chickens at the markets so I want to get a real feel for what it is like to be there at a cockfighting bout. I don't even know if they have concessions at them. So that's the sort of thing I want to know. What does it smell, taste, feel like. Is it bright or dim? I'll probably go by the library and read more old papers.

When I was there last time reading about the floods, I came across an article about this old man who lived in a one room tar paper shack with his dog on Cosby Highway. The roof let the water just come down in sheets when it rained. One of the local men's groups was taking a collection to help him out. But for some reason, his story just sort of stuck with me. I think there will be a December story about him...or based on the idea of him. I wonder what ever happened to him? This was over 40 years ago.

I stopped by the vet to take care of the three bucks and change still owed on Fat Buddy. While I was there, a man came in with a sweet little old pug dog. I love pug dogs. There is something adorable about their ugliness and their very impracticability. Pugs just don't work right. I mean, they just aren't designed properly. Anyway, this man was a dead ringer for his dog. They looked so alike and I did have my camera in my car and I really wanted to take a photo. But I was struck by shyness and he was just dropping the old girl off there. She had a rhinestone collar on.

I'd like to wish all of you here in the States a very happy Thanksgiving. I'm cooking a ham. Try not to eat too much, and do save room for some delicious "Porn and Donuts". The third installment is up on EditRed.

Here's just a tad...

Rupert Mims sat behind the shabby counter topped with cracked green linoleum. He’d dozed off to the buzzing whine of the Nascar race he was watching on his small television set. The walls were hung with a variety of Nascar memorabilia with a special place of pride given to a large portrait of Dale Earnhardt with Jesus. Jesus towered in the background with his arms out, embracing the grandstand and track of the Indianapolis Motor Speedway. Dale was decked out in his racing regalia in front of Number 3 while Jesus towered over him smiling benignly. The caption read, “God’s Own Driver, The Father, The Son and The Intimidator”.

Lucius came in and banged on the counter. Rupert gave a snore like a chainsaw failing to start and blinked up at Lucius with eyes buried in the fat of his cheeks. He tugged his shirt down to cover his wide expanse of furry belly and rocked his chair up from a reclining position.

“What’chu want, Lucius? You got some money for me I hope?”