But then yesterday, I was reading a little bit in the precious few moments before I had to get ready for work and it started. There was a scene in which the protagonist uses a rather disgusting method of poisoning on his mother. The relationship between this fellow and his mother, affectionately known throughout the text as “the Hagbeast,” is somewhat strained. They have a relationship that, let’s just say, pushes conventionality.
So I decide that this shit is a bit too much for it being so early in the day and put it down. I get up and head for the shower.
This is the part where, if you are my lovely wife, you stop reading. Kristin, I am quite serious. All this will be to everyone else is a weird, kinda creepy little anecdote. To you, it could be life changing. To assuage any fears, it has very little to do with me. Very little. I just want to write this down so that, should I meet this Stokoe fellow at BizarroCon, I can tell him why his book made me sick.
So, for the rest of you (and likely for Kristin, too, as I doubt she heeded my warning. Hi, Babe!)…..
I walk up to the tub and push aside the glass door. My eyes are immediately attracted to some movement. I look down and see a centipede running laps in the tub. He looks fuckin’ crazy.
I’m not scared of bugs. I don’t even care if they walk on me. The used to be a spider who lived in my previous vehicle who would spin webs in my windshield. I’d talk to him throughout my commute and never did anything when he landed on me.
So, I feel there’s some need for explanation here. They’re going to be spoilers, but I’m going to write them in Morse code so that you can easily skip over them if you don’t want to read them.
There’s a handy Morse code detranslator here.
1) - .... .. ... / —. ..- -.— / ..-. . . -.. ... / .... .. ... / —- .— -. / ... .... .. - / - —- / .... .. ... / — —- - .... . .-. .-.-.-
2) .... . .——. ... / —. —- - / ... —- — . / ..-. ..- -.-. -.- .. -. —. / -.-. —- .— ... / - .... .- - / .- .-. . / - .- .-.. -.- .. -. —. / - —- / .... .. — .-.-.-
3) - .... . .-. . .——. ... / .- / .-.. —- - / —- ..-. / ... . -..- / .— .. - .... / .- -. .. — .- .-.. ... —..— / -.. . .- -.. —..— / -.. -.— .. -. —. —..— / .- -. -.. / .- .-.. .. ...- . .-.-.-
There. Anyway, on we go.
So, I stand there wondering what to do. The centipede seems perturbed and, as I suggested before, a bit nuts. I realized fairly quickly that he must have come up the drain. So, logically, I decided that he’d like to go back down the drain. Moving him outside was unreasonable because I had no tools with which to remove him and because he was really pale and would probably burn easily.
So I turn the water on, hoping to usher him down the drain with the toilet brush. Instead, much to my dismay, when I turn the water on, he bolts toward it like he’s just so far gone he can’t think anymore. It’s like centipedal auto-erotic asphyxiation. He’s running happily to his doom. So I’m all, what the fuck?! and he’s gone.
For some reason, I start to feel bile rising in my throat. I force it back down, pull the faucet thingy, and get into the shower. The water sprays down and, for a moment, I start to feel okay. I’m willing to dismiss what I’ve experienced.
But then it happens.
Like a charmed cobra rising from a basket, this creepy fucker, antennae (or whatever) a-flailing, rose from the depths like a comparably small leviathan. The worst part, I think, was that he appeared to be rising in ecstasy, like he was rising to meet god.
If I hadn’t seen it, I wouldn’t believe it. He was able to raise the bulk of his body straight up until he finally collapsed on the drain cover. He clung to that for a while as he caught his breath.
And then he charged me.
I kicked him and he went flying back toward the drain. Then I jumped from the tub, silently (like a ninja). He resumed his laps, crazy bastard that he was, using the force of the pounding water as encouragement. I picked up the toilet brush and, after a few tries, sent him spiraling down the drain. I plugged it and stared for ten minutes as the water rose over my ankles, waiting for that scary motherfucker to come swimming at me. With all those legs, I shudder to think of how good a swimmer he must have been.
After I finished my shower, I was a fuckin’ wreck. I felt like throwing up. It was all too much. Because when I was able to stop thinking about the centipede, I kept thinking about number one (see Morse code).
These two occurrences can not be considered apart from one another. Both this book and that insect (or whatever) were forged by a sick creator from the same material. If angels are made from love, these things are made from disgust and the way it feels before you throw up.
P.S. I’ve never before been able to do this and feel like I’m completely telling the truth, but…
Naked Lunch + Fight Club + Animal Farm = Cows
Book tags: cows, epub, download, epub, matthew stokoe