Sometimes There Are Rats

By Zoot Sax

My name is Justin Bailey. My best friends are Matt and Wendy. We aren't the kind of people that stuff happens to very often. Usually, you can find Matt and Wendy at my apartment, getting drunk and playing video games. In fact, I would be surprised if you found them anywhere else on a weeknight. But that's not what this story is about. Well, that stuff happens too. But then there's other stuff. Stuff that usually doesn't happen to people like us. Stuff like murder. And there's a ninja. And an explosion at the Gummi Bear factory.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Lulu.com
• Release date: May 20, 2014
• ISBN: 9781312192232

Book preview

bears?

The First Chapter

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There were monkeys. These tiny spider-monkey things that were howling and throwing feces and masturbating. It was supposed to be some kind of documentary or something, but it looked more like porn. Bad monkey porn.

In the theater, sitting to my right, is a flaming homosexual named Matt. In an effort to promote gay rights he never uses words like homo, queer, fag, or gay. He likes the word sodomite; and he uses it whenever sexuality gets brought up in conversation. Matt isn’t enjoying the film either and is being loud and obnoxious so that everyone else will despise their film-going experience as much as he does.

Wendy, a film school dropout, is the reason we’re watching this God-awful film. She heard about it through one of her film school friends and after we leave, she won’t admit that she didn’t like the movie. Though the expression on her face shows otherwise. She wants the film to be good but even she, a film school dropout, can’t seem to grasp the importance of masturbating spider-monkeys. She’s obsessed with a boy named Donald and will talk about the movie with him.

Or she would have. But I get us thrown out of the theater after I light a cigarette.

Before she has a chance to see the film again, Donald gets hit by a truck carrying stolen wheelchairs that’s being chased by five police cars.

Apparently, it was all over the news.

Matt views Donald’s death as a good reason for the three of us to get drunk.

"It’s not like you actually knew him, he tells Wendy. Weren’t you just stalking him?"

I wasn’t stalking him! She argues, taking a shot of whiskey, straight from the bottle.

You followed him to work. I point out, taking the bottle from her hand. You knew where he lived and you never said anything more than ‘hello’ to him.

So? She says. Without adding anything, she creates little room for debate.

Matt grabs the bottle from my hand.

It was a piece of trash anyway. He gulps down a mouthful, and doesn’t clarify.

What was trash, Donald? I ask. Taking the bottle from him. Donald was trash?

Donald wasn’t trash! Wendy defends. She pulls what is the last cigarette from her pack and tosses the empty box down the hill side.

Not Donald. Matt explains. The movie was trash. Donald was a sodomite.

Wendy slaps him, almost knocking him off the hood of the car we’re sharing.

He is not! She shouts.

Not anymore. I add as the bottle gets passed to me.

It’s true. Why do you think there were so many confused young boys at his funeral? They all had a taste of Captain D.

Fucking fags. Wendy hisses.

You know he only gets more excited when you talk like that. I say, taking a swig from the bottle and handing it to Wendy.

Oh yeah. I’m fucking dripping. Matt slurs out.

After a few moments of silence, Wendy adds:

I can’t believe he’s dead. That’s so… just weird.

I can’t believe what a bad fucking movie that was. I say.

Once we finish the bottle, we decide to leave our drinking spot: an overlook up in the hills where most people go to contract STDs in their cars. At night, looking down on all the city lights, it’s so pretty.

Who’s driving? I ask.

Who’s the more sober? Matt asks.

Let’s flip for it. I say, and we all reach into our pockets for coins. On the count of three we all flip the coins; two quarters and a nickel, as high as we can.

Since I’m the only one who catches a coin, I have to drive.

On the way down the hill, back into the city, Wendy opens up dialogue with what can only be described as a Wendy quandary.

Is it cummed or came?

What the fuck are you talking about? Matt asks letting down the window and sticking his face out of the car.

I’m talking about cum. You know, like, ejaculate. Sperm. Man juice.

So, I’m confused… I stammer out.

Okay, when a guy is about to cum, he’s ‘about to cum.’ When he’s cumming, he’s ‘cumming.’ So what is it when he’s done? Would you say he ‘cummed’ all over the place or he ‘came’ on everything?

There is a moment of silence as we ponder her dilemma.

So this is what you use your brain for? I ask. Trying to figure out the past tense of cum?

I mean really, Wendy, even I don’t think about cum that much. Matt adds, pulling himself back inside the car.

This isn’t a question of cum. She explains. It’s a question of proper English.

Well, Matt says, if you’re worried about being proper shouldn’t you not being using cum to begin with? You’d say ejaculated, wouldn’t you?

Actually, I point out, "if you were really being proper, you wouldn’t kiss and tell. No matter where he came…"

Another moment of silence.

… or cummed.

Cummed just sounds weird. Wendy concludes. That’s all I’m saying.

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

The Second Chapter

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

The next day I awake with a headache. A bad one. The kind of headache that makes you grit your teeth and pull at your skull.

Not a fun way to wake up, to say the least. As soon as I can move, I reach for a bottle of aspirin.

I pop two of the pills into my mouth and use what’s left in a glass of tap water to wash them down.

But as I’m swallowing, there’s a knock on the door and I jump. Without completely swallowing the pills, they start to dissolve in my throat.

And holy Jesus fucking Christ, it burns.

I can already tell, just from the knock, it’s Wendy. Wendy pounds on the door as if aliens are inside doing sick alien things to her little sister.

If she had a little sister.

Usually, after she comes over, I receive an angry letter or phone call from some other tenants in the building.

Then she shouts, Justin! Open up, it’s me! Wendy!

One time, I got a letter from someone who lives three floors above me. Wendy’s personal best.

She had the letter framed and displays it like an award when she has company.

She says if you rub it, it brings good luck.

I stumble out of bed, desperate to get to the door to stop this pounding outside my head, since I’m still dealing with the pounding on the inside.

The pounding is so distracting that I fail to realize that I’ve pulled on my pants backwards. This failed observation stems from the fact that I don’t remember ever taking my pants off the night before.

I'm so out of it at the time, I can't even tell you how I managed to button and zip them.

I open the door and Wendy shoves past me and collapses onto my couch, with one hand she keeps a lock of her own hair in her mouth.

Your pants are on backwards. She says.

What? I ask.

She points with her hair.

Your pants. They’re on backwards.

I look down and see that she’s right.

I’ll deal with them later. I say What’s going on with you? You look like a cheerleader.

No… I got gummi bears in my hair. She says, sucking at the tip. I’m too lazy to wash it.

I stare at her, unofficially asking for an explanation.

"Okay, so last night, after we killed that cat, well I guess it was really you who killed the cat since you were driving. Anyways, after you killed the cat I realized that I was hungry. But for some fucked reason I didn’t say anything and I realized after you dropped me off that I should’ve said something ‘cause then we all could’ve gone to a diner or something and I wouldn’t have had to walk. Not that it’s really a long walk, but it’s dangerous for a girl like me to walk the streets drunk and alone."

Yeah. I say.

"So I went, well, walked all by myself. And along the way, I stopped at a gas station to get gummi bears because… well, just because.

Since I’m still in the process of waking up, I yawn.

Fuck you, I was drunk and wanted gummi bears. But I didn’t eat them right away because I was going to the diner. Oh yeah, while I was in the gas station these dumb-ass, born-again Christians gave me a pamphlet, which I’ll show you in a second, and asked me if I found Jesus. And I was like, ‘no.’ That’s when they gave me the pamphlet and said that Jesus is swell or something like that. I think they were going to ask me for money or something but I left before they had a chance to.

And I say, Yeah.

So I go to the diner and get my usual: home fries and a bagel. And there’s all these high school dropout, redneck, pieces of shit gawking at me like I’ve got a monkey hanging from my face.

She pauses so I take the opportunity to ask:

So how did the gummi bears get in your hair?

She thinks a bit and says:

I don’t know. It was like that when I woke up.

I give her the most spite filled look my face can make and say:

You son of a bitch.

I’m thirsty, she says helping herself to my kitchen.

All I got is Diet Cream Soda. I say, And tap water.

You fucking suck. Go shopping. She shouts.

No. I shout back, but I’m still too tired to think of anything clever to follow it up with.

Wendy returns from the kitchen with a bottle of Diet Cream Soda and plops down back on the couch.