Nikanor Teratologen - Assisted Living - A Novel

I dropped after, since the shit was only up to my knees.

— How’s it going, durchleuchtigste? I asked and licked his johnson clean.

— Whoredevil, he snorted and laboriously got his skinny legs beneath him, don’t bother faking it. It’s like intelligence. An old geezer has got a certain something that tells him when someone else is being a smartass. He shuffled off through the mess andkicked up a shrieking thalidomideboy, who he then ground to a pulp beneath his commandoboots.

— If we’ve learned anything, analnutjob, it’s to give them hell. But now I’m going to call to Paul. Something else might hear and come to suck our cockblood dry, of course, but that’s a risk we’ll just have to take.

Grandpa used his nicest voice.

— Oh Paul! Paul, it’s me! Here to tell you that Grandpa from Hebberschhåle hasn’t forgotten you! We had the same headmaster, don’t you remember?

It was silent as God’s conscience.

— Were lost in space and have some goodygoods for you! Grandpa lied.

Something came hurtling out of a corner, but it wasn’t Paul. A shitfaced bitch stumbled clumsily up to Grandpa and embraced him. She was bald and blind and had snapping cunts over her whole flabby body. Hydrocholoricacid dripped from every whore-hole. She was dead, but wouldn’t admit it. Her hornjuices were stickier than life itself.

— Mammaa-a! Grandpa squealed and shimmied like an epileptic. He tossed his head and ground his hips, but she only clung harder and reached for the fearstiffened, cerisehued salami sticking out of its flannelholster.

I knew I had to do something then and there; if I didn’t, my Grandpa would be lost. I found a crossbar and tried to pry the thing loose, but it was stuck tight as a chastitycork in a baby’s ass. The cuntlady had got her hand around Grandpa’s bacon and was licking her chops, trying to decide which hole was the hungriest. Meanwhile, Grandpa was clutching his heart and watching his checkered life flash before his eyes like an ultraviolent pornobio. I pried the crossbar loose just as the oldbag was about to stuff Grandpa’s junk into an especially rude-and-crude hole right above her navel. I swung and drove the crossbar straight into the back of the whorebeast’s head, so that the two six inch spikes sank deep into her brain. She hissed, loosened her grip, and I was able to pull Grandpa free. She swayed and collapsed and we splashed away through the barn’s innermoat. There were at least four different directions to choose from, though, and we were lost in no time. Grandpa’s asbestic lungs were whimpe ng like scalded lemmings, and finally he slipped, arms waving wildly, on some cuddlehungry spermgobbler.

— Aah boy, he sobbed, chasing away the lipmasseur, she was just ghastly. I haven’t been that submissive since the Christmas I lay with my broken cock in a Lappish hut and Uno Taikon forced his way in through the backdoor.

He looked at me and those terrible eyes were wet with emotion.

— You may be a hoyden and small as a girl down there, but there’ll always be a place for you up Grandpa’s exhaustpipe. You might be as useless as a lightningbolt in a woodpile, but when it’s a matter of life and death, you get the job done. You’re like a pinch of snuff up God’s hairy nostril, he finished and told me to unpack the licoricerolls.

— You’ve got to have some fire in your guts if you want to play with devils, he exclaimed as he dunked a roll in turpentine. That frontloader should’ve been stripped with a woodplaner! But this sour flame’s still smoking, you know, Bejn-Burman won’t makeglue of me yet. Now take some of the edge off your hunger, this is so good it melts in your mouth.

We didn’t dare smoke after our snack, but just toddled along like two rawthighs on their way to Golgotha. Rotten cadavers made insolent advances and a facultyparrot burped up a lecture, “Well-to-do Wankers in an Everyday, Dirty Little Swedish Industrial Community.” But then I saw a light weak as a mother’s love glinting from a narrow hallway off to our left. We tippytoed along and swallowed our tongues to stop from breathing. Then we peeked through a crack in the door.

Paul Holm lay on a Judebag with his eyes shut. A Mangalitza pig, the bones of its lower back jutting against its flesh, humped him like a jackhammer.

— Oh, ohyeah, Paul shrieked unconvincingly.

The purebred boar was old and timid and had lost all its finesse. Its twitching flesh was covered in sweat, but Paul’s haughty face wore a look of complete dissatisfaction. No matter that the pig’s cock was doggedly hammering his persnickety asshole. He was as unmoved as if he were offhandedly wanking off to Yanni. Suddenly he whipped around and dug his thumbs into the boar’s eyes. The animal jerked and squealed like a sourwoodfire and then went limp. Paul grabbed a pitchfork and rammed it into the pig’s soft belly, and the fleshyfuck bawled, like the first time Down-in-the-Mouth Märta sucked babooncock in the People’s Park. The pig’s rancid snout snapped blindly, but Paul dodged like a bellydancer. Then the captivating old geezer grabbed a gaslamp and brought it down on the pig’s twisted back, causing the animal to burn like a Christian at the stake. It tossed and shrieked like a grandmaon a zombiecock. Soon the fire died away, leaving a pile of sooty, smoldering bacon. Paul hawked, spat, and then pulled on a pair of khaki shorts and a yellow shirt. After that, he sat down on a bag of Khrushchevbran and lit a tallow candle and a Gitanes. Making the sign of the swastika, Grandpa stepped forward, devastatingly handsome in his soiled cryptsuit.

— Nilapadhana, he chanted in a dark voice, his eyes burning like quasars.

Paul looked up, his gaze soiling everything it touched.

— You still alive? he whispered rudely.

Grandpas nod was like a doll’s.

— Why are you lurking around in my barn?

— I’m so fond of you.

Paul’s laugh was smooth as a cadaver’s caress.

— Cut the bullshit! he chirped. Anyway, I prefer a cock up the ass.

— Too bad you fuck pigs!

— Bo-Lennart humped so bad it’s just as well he’s dead, Paul said and tore out a blackened hunk of flesh from his lover’s smoldering corpse. He took a bite but spit it out again quick. Then he snuffed out his ciggibutt, stood, and took a step toward Grandpa. All at once they were hugging and kissing with filthy, gyrating tongues. When Grandpa tried to grab his ass, though, Paul broke it off.

— Not now, he mumbled.

Grandpa wiped his forehead with a piece of Jesus’s shroud.

— Damn but it’s hot in here, little gaffer, he complained.

— The animals thrive on it like a cunt in the sink, Paul said. But sometimes you have to rake a few of them over the coals, otherwise they get all strepto-leninistic.

Paul was sweet and delicate as a fairy. His long, silky white hair, which framed an ascetic doperface, was smoothed back. Those old nostrils began to vibrate, though, when his arrogant eyes found the corner where I was crouching.

— I know the smell of a sickly child, he muttered.

— That’s just my boy. Hes real handy with his mouth.

— So that’s how it is, smiled Paul. Come out so I can see you, don’t be afraid. I just love little boys.

I crept forward with my balls retracted and my heart in my throat. When I reached Paul, I curtsied and bowed and then stood there with downcast eyes. All I got for my pains, though, was a knee in the jaw that sent me rolling.

— Satan’s smelly cunt! Paul gurgled, What a pasty little colt! If you weren’t Grandpas boy, I’d carve your eyes out!

— And I’d ask the Lord to protect me for the sake of Virgin Mary’s vaginitis, I threw out.

Paul scratched one of his many liverspots and smiled.