Happy Turkey Day!!!! from:
*`!THE HOLD!`*
Issue 12 Thanksgiving Day, 1998
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Copyright 1998 by Shadow Wall Press. All Rights Reserved.
Published Wheneverwefeelikeit by Shadow Wall Press
Contributors:
Scott C. Dragoo
Caitlin Collins
Sonja Lamoore
Columnists:
Dolomite
Cait Collins
Editor: Daev
RANTING
Welcome all to this special Ranting. This one goes out to all ye young Pilgrim lads who have recently done the deed of the beast-with-two-backs with any young Indian maidens. God bless ye for your efforts, though they still are paled in comparison from the exploits of the legendary Sir Dolomite. But bless ye still. But a devil's curse upon thou that sups on turkey this Thanksgiving.
Now why doth I have such a problem with thou eating turkey on this hallowed event ye may be pondering? Because, such a hallowed bird commit no such crime against you or your kinsfolk. Hath he been with yon wife? Hath he been stealing your chickens away for his carnal pleasures? Hath he been trying to slip you his little giblet in thy arse? If he did that last one, ye be a pervert! Such talk on saving yonder bird is worthless if ye have enjoyed his giblet in ye's arse. Pervert, ye is naught but a pervert and should bask in the unholy light with thy devilish master in the far corners of Hades for all eternity for such matters upon the face of this earth; which is filled with non-turkey fucking, giblet passing, McDonalds loving, God fearing (more or less) peoples of all creeds.
If thou answered no upon all of these few questions, then I hope thou hasta very good excuse for thy turkey devouring ways. I bet thy says that yonder bird tastes good, hmmm? Or maybe thou's excuse be more along the reason of the resistance's drug injections at the turkey processing plant? That is a very excusable response to my pointless pondering. That damn resistance hath gone too far in its brainwashing attempts at recruiting our few able colonials to fight against our British brothers for the mere reason of a few taxes. If ye be paying another shilling for ye's stamp, doth it bother you? It should not. Nay, you should rejoice that that is all that ye pays for the protection of the single greatest nation's protection. Now these damn resistance fighters wish of you to take up arms and follow the likes of Washington, who is a pedophile for those of you that were wondering, and fight the brave British trying to get some monetary payback for the protection they give us from the Indians, French, and … uhh… others.
Join me in my fight against the villainous efforts of the resistance. The next time you see one of them, tar and feather them. We'll teach them to fight our protectors and poison our turkeys. Then we will steal their wallets so that these minor taxes are even more minor. And if you find that George Washington, leave him to me. I owe him one for his violation of my turkey's arse. I warned ye! He beist thy biggest pervert mine eyes hath seen. Damn pedophile.
So that be all for this special Ranting. Be sure to swallow, not spit. No one likes a spitter. It's just not natural.
Dolomite
THE FORUM
Bent over backwards
cold marble shock against naked skin
a mist of steam surrounding the room
our names printed in the mirror
unconscious with want
and need
and desire
rivers of sweat mixed with droplets of luke warm water
running down his spine
fingers drawing on skin, intricate circles, teasing
soft and slow
suddenly violent
passion unbridled uncontrollable
two bodies becoming one
unable to identify what belongs to who
Does it really matter?
rocking back and forth
Force and urgency
Hair sending tickling shivers down arms wrapped around whatever they could grab at the moment of complete exhilaration
Out of breath and satisfied we slide into the bubbles letting the water heal and relax
we whisper dreams and hopes and romantic saying that will never come
true into each other ears
Until the bristles of an unshaven face against my neck start the scene
over again.
Sonja Lamoore
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**by the night of the moon**
we were young teens
with curiosities
my older sister and I
shared a bedroom
upstairs on the north
side of the house.
7 p.m.
bedtime
lights out!
no talking!
so we sat as quietly as possible
legs overlapped indian way
on her bed next to
the window and
we whisper'd about
people in the
neighborhood.
she said things like:
"I wonder what
so-and-so looks like
when they fuck?" and
I held my hands
tight over my mouth
so mom
wouldn't hear
me laugh and I
whisper'd back:
"what about that
ugly old man
across the street who
we're supposed to
'stay away from'"
he'd be there waiting,
watching young girls with
new boobs and
skirts hiked up to virgin asses
walking home from
school
his wicked wife
bent over and wrinkled
continually shouting and
screaming for no
apparent reason but about the way
he flung holy socks and
underwear and
things called moo-
moo's over the rusty wire
fence surrounding the back
yard ---
air drying in the sun
for everyone to see and
a car would pass and
stir up dust that way and
she'd throw a fit:
"if you hung them on the
clothes-line like I told you…"
hollerin' and on and on!
yea, we doubted they
fucked at all any longer.
then we wondered about
the ones on the
driveway side,
we knew they did it, but did they
still…?
her being heavy with child
and the couple who
moved in next door on this side
yea, yea, we knew they did
they reeked of love and smiles and
twinkling new wedding bands
though in a few years they'd
be like the rest of them
soon we had the
entire neighborhood
in the
back woods amongst ivy poison green moss wild ferns and stuff and
mosquitoes biting
bare bottoms
all tangled together
that way and
we'd hear mom
on the phone talking
about scandals and gossip
columns and
the famed
movie stars of Hollywood
wanting each other before their time's up.
then them
mom and dad
they didn't seem the
type
could they do such
nasty things? and
we started laughing -- out loud
and louder and then it came;
her voice filled with ferocity:
"IF YOU DON'T GET THE HELL
TO SLEEP, I'LL BE
UP THERE WITH THE BELT...!"
an hour
later
in our own bed
both of us
blanketed to the chin
in quiet
beams and night breezes
by the night of the
moon
closing our minds
once again.
©cait collins 11.18. 98
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**lucky Dick**
"today I have to go to
the salon and get my hair
dyed. grays, those damn
grays sneaking in and
I need a trim…"
she said.
"…and I have to see my
manicurist. look at these
nails. chipped, broken and
they need polish…"
then she spread her hands and
fingers apart and slapped them
down on the kitchen table
for me to see.
quickly lifting them again along
with my cup of coffee and
took a sip while going on:
"…then the tanning parlor;
look at me, do you see any
color left…?" she
asked.
I shook my head no,
lit a cigarette and looked out at
the pouring rain beating
against the window.
"…and I made an ap-
pointment with doc
Baker to pick my pills
up and I
have to stop
at the market and get
things for dinner. you're
not going to be here to-
night, are you? I have
plans with Dick..."
we were both newly
divorced
not three months and
we shared a small
third floor apartment
in town then
she lit a
cigarette and it hung
from the left corner of
her mouth, almost catching fire
to her long wavy black hair as she
rambled and
scrambled about gather-
ing stuff together like a
madwoman and I sipped,
puffed and
shook my head no.
"...and I have to stop at
the post office and pick
mail up on the way to the
mall. there's a makeup
seminar at Macy's.
they do your face
free: eyeliner, shadow,
make your lashes longer
and darker; they pluck and
pencil your brows,
moisturize and
powder your cheeks and
nose, paint and gloss
your lips. you should go
too. plus you get to keep
the products they use on
you. then I thought I'd buy
a sexy nightie while
I was there, what do
you think:
a lacy teddy,
something long, sheer and
flowy,
leathered
crotchless undies...?"
she asked.
I didn't have time enough to answer
through her excitedness so
I shrugged my shoulders.
"…christ." she said. "I have to
stop at the liquor store, get some
wine and I think I have
enough time to go to the gym,
get back, shower, shave my legs and
cunt and have dinner ready by 8 and
I hope I don't forget the candles.
this is a special night, our
first date!"
she crushed the cigarette out
twisting it with her thumb into the
middle of the ash tray and
while heading for the door
she turned and said to me:
"you'll have to meet Dick and
tell me what you think. and
by the way,
what are you going to do tonight?"
"well," I said. "I already think Dick's
the luckiest guy in the world,
as for me
oh, I think I'll go anywhere and be
myself."
©cait collins 11.20.98
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Tootsie
My great grandmother was a beautiful woman
old and wonderful
her wrinkles molded millions of cookies
I remember that smell in her big house
when I drive by that 2 story white house
I still smell those wonderful cookies
nothing since has tasted so good
I remember the toys you got me
they were the greatest ones I remember
your gifts were always the best
no matter what they were
you climbed those stairs
and made me cry
when you fell and hurt yourself
when you finally died
Ive never missed anyone like I have you
I could still cry that your no longer here
and the fact you are gone
you loved us so much
and I hope you know
in the star sky
how much I loved you and how you still touch my soul
to this cold day
goo
smell Me
cait collins
foreplay: since it's Thanksgiving, I thought I'd write about the after affects. these are a few of my favorite things so, stuff this!
quote3: author unknown: me
o.k. thanks a lot to whoever invented thanksgiving dinner! we're all now completely overfull; can't move, can't fuck, can't masturbate. you call that something to be thankful for? I'll have a cigarette, shit it all out later and think about the morning after.
6 a.m., Black Friday…weeeee…the biggest shopping day of the year. you HAVE to be ready for the day after Thanksgiving. can't miss out on the 'marked up sales', now can we? and be there first thing or these god damn stores run out of those special gifts you're looking for.
so I drive to the local department store OR try to amongst the traffic that isn't usually here this time of the morning it'll only take a half hour to get to the same place that took no more than 5 minutes any other day. I swear to christ these people are ass holes; lined up at store doors waiting for opentime. some have been here since the wee hours of the morning, blankets wrapped tightly around them, trying to keep warm. and here's another idiot: me…driving around and around the parking lot for 20 minutes looking for a close place to park. so I get lucky, someone gives up and leaves, about a football field away and I fight horns, cuss words out of car windows and middle fingers for THAT particular spot. I pull in fast and I get the same thing when I start walking toward the store from those same people who are still driving around and around and I give them a smile and nose to the air! ha. ha.
the fiasco begins!
we're inside, bumpin' asses, arms, shopping carts, stepping on strange feet and faces. I'm among a store of packed morons: grabbing shirts, pants, coats, stereos, tapes, tv's, barbie dolls on sale, the original price marked down then up then down and they finally assume they have a bargain. and the Christmas music goes on over the loud speakers getting us in some sort of 'spirit': ~~fa~la~la~la~la~CODE 7, CODE 7, ladies dept…~fa ~la~la~la~la~CODE 7, CODE 7, old ladies dept~~fa~la~la~la~la~~…(now who do these stores think they're trying to bullshit? we all know those codes are imbedded into the music to deter thieves. listen. you hear the same code every 15 minutes or so…) now everyone hustles to ladies to see the commotion's. a young boy looking up a mannequin's dress. some dirty grins and he's embarrassed for a split second big fucking fa~la~la~la~la my asshole deal and now everyone's pushed and shoved together in ladies and some ignorant fuck cuts a loud leftover turkey and pumpkin pie fart. sounds like a wet foghorn; the kind that leaves splattered shit stains in yer underwear then everyone tries to scramble everywhichway at once. a major cart jam! clang push shove! the stench spreads. makes no difference where you go now. try to hold yer breath 'til the fartfumes deteriorates and wait it out. and we survive that.
alas! an hour later, everyone from the start is now jammed at check-out. 10 registers with lines of people as long as the store is deep; kids crying, nagging, pissing their pants. one screams out for mom and every mom in the store looks around, thinking it's theirs. an echo of "what what what what what… from every direction!" carts full of Christmas gifts candy ribbon balls and wrap; runny-nosed babies in the cartseat part sucking on candy canes licking dripping slippery snot.
I have time, I'm 6th in line. I check to make sure I have the things I need from THIS store: rubber window for mom and dad (check); electric spoon for sis (check); imitation red wool carpet remnant with lots of dots and white spots for brother Bill's entranceway (check); birds' beaks, ants antennae and coffee grounds fer Uncle Pete's vcr (check); chains and handle grips for some friend I call Ava (check); a rendition of Pee Wee Herman sucking on a G.I. fukcingjoe joystick figure (check …for my favorite ass hole of the year, also a collectors item); transparent crayons for Mikey (check); a wooden place mat (check; an extra, just in case); etc. etc…
the line moves up one spot in the last 15 minutes. it’s held up. I look ahead. the god damn ugly-fat assed checker with the stupid santa hat laughs holding a conversation with the person she's ALREADY waited on. the people in front and in are perturbed …I yell: "what's the hold up? Is there a problem? you know, I don't get paid for standing here like elfin dildo! I have other shit to do besides wait while you two talk about maybe who you fucked last night or who you might tonight ---if you get lucky!"
a round of applause from the others in line too scared to open their mouths and now the line finally moves quickly. I get to the girl. she just stares without a word I stare back …her stupid santa hat crooked like her teeth.
and I now on to the next store ---in the traffic in the music in the fucked up spirit in the Friday they call Black… just like everyone else.
SPpaaAAAaaaazzzzZZzz!
©cait collins Nov. 25, 98
The Rest of This Issue - lost