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Pussy on the Mark - Short Story by Jeff Bagato

Stolen stories translated into new language—a language never before spoken—never to be spoken—the unspoken present time. Immediate words exist before signs. All language is past time. All past time is dead time. Language of past is language of future. Pussy is the language of the present. Pussy is a language of stolen words that are no longer words.

This is the story of Doom Pussy and the war against cock time language.


Staying in Touch

Doom Pussy settles in at the bar between Nails and Smash, accepts the drink they immediately offer.

“‘Bout time you got here.” Nails slurs his words ever so slightly. “We was just thinking about moving to the next bar.”

“There isn’t another bar for miles—out on the next base in fact,” Doom Pussy reminds him. “You’d have to cut through a lot of cock country to get there.”

“Don’t I know it. It’d be worth it, though.”

“Need a change of scenery,” Smash mutters.

“Not to mention working up an appetite for those new drinks,” Nails adds.

“Or the extra cocks on our hatchet lists.”

“Which is most important—fresh drinks, new scenery, or dead cocks?” Doom Pussy asks to fill the space between sips.

“All three,” Nails says passively.

“Think you’ll still head out?”

“In a minute,” Smash manages around a mouthful of whiskey, his preferred imbibable.

“Don’t think you can stop us,” Nails says, on the offense.

“Wouldn’t stand in your way. But I won’t be joining you. Too much trouble to move now. More than that, I can match your kill count from here.”

Smash and Nails laugh into their shot glasses. “Spoken like the Doom Pussy we know and love,” Smash remarks.

“Since you fellows won’t be staying, you don’t mind if I get some eats, do you?”

“Not at all,” Nails says.

Doom Pussy waves Joe the bartender over, asks for a hamburger and fries. Nails uses the opportunity to request another round. “One for the road,” he explains.

The men wait until Doom Pussy gets her plate and sit through a couple more rounds, just to be sociable.

In the middle of a bite deep into her hamburger, Doom Pussy holds up one hand to pause the big gorillas in their bragging and lying. When she has their attention, she jerks an upraised thumb in the air as a pointer.

Rumble in the distance, building in intensity. Shocks felt a thousand miles away. A huge quake they could feel even here.

Doom Pussy finishes chewing, swallows. “That quake was mine.”

Nails and Smash are dumbfounded. “How’d you do that?”

They had to sit through another long bite, feeling the tail end aftershocks of the big blast far away. “Got a whole new system,” Doom Pussy starts. “Long distance quakes—timed release. Lay your bombs a mile deep, spread out across as large an area as you want. Return to base, kick back with a cold one, and wait for the energy.”

She bites off a fat corner of meat and bun. “You know how a population scatters and deserts an area during an attack. It hurts our ultimate count. But with timed release bombings, there aren’t any warnings. No time to thin the population before a blast. The shit goes off and you’re in business one hundred percent.” She takes the final portion of the sandwich into her mouth.

“That’s really something,” Nails enthuses.

“The lady’s still got it,” Smash concurs. Both of them had forgotten all about their earlier plans.

Doom Pussy gets comfortable on her stool with a double bourbon on the rocks. The night was young and the party wasn’t going anywhere.


Menace

fun to lie on the ground fucking the stars, my cunt open—

naked you don’t—

naked you don’t worry—

terror in the night sky I am

coming

coming down

coming down—

your best value—

sale goods treatment plans—

up yours cocks—

breathing this last breath on stars—

coming

coming down,

dreaming—flying down, arms

spread, I’m living my dream,

dreams are real—

arms spread—

flying down coming down—

arms spread—

cunt spread open



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