D.B.Tarpley's Amazing Ass Blog-7/24/18

Greetings and salutations people and peoplettes. The biggest problem with being a nobody is getting people to read your material. My closest friends even seem to have trouble finding time to read my material. The only thing I can think to do is post it free here. I consider myself to be a fairly decent short story writer. And this is one of the better ones. So sit back, pull your pants off, relax, DON'T BLINK, and enjoy this free piece of product I created a while back. A true example of capitalism at it's worst...

“Only those who risk going too far can possibly find out how far one can go.”

T. S. Eliot

EVERYBODY KNOWS

Ackerman had a plan.

It is the only reason I can see he is allowed in the house to begin with. He is skinny and pimply… by no means a winner with the ladies. But he always comes through with a plan in a pinch. Every house has to have their brains. I know I will never be filling that slot. Not only does the spot already belong to Ackerman; I am just a legacy. I am nothing special.

I am nothing special at all.

But Ackerman had a plan.

Most professors at C.P.S.U. know it is coming, not this plan in particular but some sort of plan. Prank Week is a tradition and most allow the fraternities their petty victories. It is a play wherein all the actors feign surprise between backhanded snickers. And most professors take it all on the chin with a congratulatory pat on the back.

Professor Quimbly, however, is not most professors.

But still and yet Ackerman had a plan.

The unspoken rule of thumb is that one professor be ‘adopted’ by one house for one prank to be pulled somewhere between the seven days of the allotted week, the fourth week of every fall semester. It is a big game on a little field. I never saw the precise point but since joining the house their views and excitements have by proxy become my own.

The professor has to know that Gamma Kappa Fi drew his name, (there are few secrets in the world we occupy) but his pride is such that he believes no one will dare tempt his anger… his almighty and preordained wrath. Professor Quimbly is not just part of the system… the system is a part of him.

But Ackerman had a plan.

So here we all sit - a classroom full of duplicitous individuals. The field is obviously not completely comprised of Gamma Kappa Fi but there are enough of us in here to appropriately organize the fold. After all, this is a grand school tradition. And everybody knows that grand school traditions must and will be recognized.

Quimbly sits behind his desk glaring at us all with his ever present scowl. It is hard to tell if the scowl is more intense with the onset of Fraternity Prank Week because the scowl is always there. And it is always intense.

There is a flurry of papers as the sealed test packets are passed down the aisles, desk to desk, student to student, hand to hand. The hand which passes me mine is owned by Sally Kweller. It is a lovely hand. Five long lovely digits ending in tasteful yet pretty auburn nail polish. I have admired Sally from afar since the first day of class.

She winks as she hands me the test. I know it is because the moment is here, that the prank is upon us. But I like to think there is more to it than that, a kinship which possesses the potential to blossom into fondness… and then perhaps, dare I say it, love.

“Alright my lovely little sheep! On my mark, open your packets and begin this travesty. You have one hour to finish which, take it from me, will not be enough for the majority of you future welfare recipients! To which I simply say this… tough titty!”

A gnashing of teeth.

His voice sounds as if he has been gargling with sandpaper… that or French kissing Harvey Fierstein. I am sure he practices intimidating himself in the mirror well into the wee hours of the morning. He probably tells himself that his curmudgeonly demeanor adds to the charm and character of the university. He more than likely assumes we secretly crave the structure and discipline he provides our lives. If so, he overestimates our capacity for the appreciation of such.

We are not that complex.

His arrogance adds to our zeal and excitement for the golden opportunity which currently presents itself. It is an honor to participate in this grand tradition; a grand tradition which now spreads out before us like a virgin’s legs on prom night, offering us all her most precious gift. It is a gift we are about to devour like a reheated plate of last night’s leftovers.

“Aaaaaaaaaand…” The old man looks at his watch and lets the moment linger… a reality show host on elimination night. “… Begin!”

There is a flurry of activity as we all pop the seal and quickly look at the first question on the paper before us. The first question is the key. There are four versions of the test with four keys. Each version has a different first question. All we have to do is identify the correct first question and then copy the correct key from the Xeroxed key code we all have up our sleeve. Every single one of us feverishly colors in our dots with reckless abandon, racing to be finished as quickly as possible.

Where had we procured the key codes?

Ackerman’s plan.

Stephen Tobias Richmond, also known as Richey Rich, was known by yet a third name to the majority of his frat brothers… a name first bestowed by his fellow campers at the bible camp he had attended when he was fourteen.

‘Donkey Boy.’

It is a badge of honor, and anyone who has ever seen the identifying characteristic would be hard pressed to call him anything but. Stephen played an integral part in Ackerman’s plan.

Most professors have offices from which they counsel students and maintain the appropriate paperwork and lesson plans for their varied and sundry courses. Quimbly’s office contains a bare desk, a phone and two chairs. He only opens it for the minimum number of required office hours as mandated by C.P.S.U. policy. It is well known that he hates the students as much as we hate him... which may account for the fact that while most professors work out of their office he chooses instead to carry his work back with him into his domicile.

Enter Donkey Boy and an attractive but largely neglected Mrs. Quimbly.

You may be saying this seems a bit extreme for a prank, that this enters an arena far and beyond anything so simple as the word ’prank’ would indicate. And you would be correct in that assumption. But as Big Brother and house president Larry ‘Bobcat‘ Bender would say, “It’s all about presentation, little dick (that is what he called new guys like me.) And effect is everything.”

Agree or disagree with this thesis, I would have to say that the overall effect of our collective endeavors is nothing short of astounding. If there ever was such a thing as ‘perfection’ present on this rock we call the planet Earth this was it.

If Ackerman had the plan…Bobcat provided the polish.

Once it is clear that everyone is finished and all eyes are looking up, by my watch this is 6 minutes after Quimbly’s announcement, Bobcat stands.

“A gift, from the gentlemen of Gamma Kappa Fi!”

Quimbly’s eyes shoot up from the paper he has been reading.

Larry Bobcat Bender walks down directly and with great purpose, (it is with almost military precision as if to the tune of a march, something I would have found hysterical if I were not immediately invested in the ritual at hand), and approaches the professor’s desk. He produces a miniature boom box from his back pack and hits play.

((Awell everybody’s heard… About the bird… B-B-B-Bird bird bird… B-bird’s the word… awella bird bird bird… bird is the word…))

One by one we all walk down in formation and lay our test on his desk with our middle finger proudly extended to the sky.

((Awella don’t you know about the bird… welllllll everybody knows that the bird is the word…))

One by one, 67 perfectly answered tests are laid on his desk and I swear that the man never blinks once. I do believe I see his lower lip tremble ever so slightly but then again I may just be seeing things.

((bird bird bird - B-Bird’s the word))

And to top it all off, for what is cake without icing but merely old bread, as the last student places their test on the desk and Bobcat grabs his boom box to leave he reaches into his jacket pocket and pulls out a pair of Mrs. Quimbly’s panties, which he then gently lays on top of the pile.

((ahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh-bahbahbahbahbahbahbahbahbahbahbahbahbahbahbahbahbahbahbahbahbahbahbahbahbah- M-mow-mmow - bah bah M-mow-mmow - bah bah M-mow-mmow - bah bah M-mow-mmow))

Some might suggest that placing the panties on the pile is a step too far. I would say that it is impossible to go to ‘Far’ when you already live there. ‘Far’ is a place Bobcat proudly calls home...

To his credit Quimbly never blinks once. But you can see it in his eyes… the crushing defeat that happens to all of us at least once in our lives. All he has seen and all he has done have not prepared him for this moment. The light in Bobcat’s eyes is by contrast a remarkably evil thing to behold.

It hits me that this may be the first truly evil thing I have ever witnessed in my life, and that I have played a part in making the moment occur. But then we are out and there are cheers and jubilation and my analysis of the situation is washed away in a sea of good will. I have to smile. I am a legacy.

In the midst of this fracas Sally’s arms find their way around me and her lips grace my cheek. It is fast and it means nothing but in that second the fact that it means nothing escapes my young and dazed brain.

“Wow! What was that for?”

“Nada Jim, THAT (she points back at the classroom) was choice!”

She jumps for joy and bounces ahead of me.

I keep forgetting I am ‘Jim’ to Sally. Jim is not my name but she has called me Jim ever since I first said, “Allow me to introduce myself. My name is Jim Steele.”

I don’t know why I said it. Perhaps it was an effort to dazzle her with a cultural reference from my favorite piece of literature. But it could have easily been something as simple as me blanking on my own name. Either way Sally missed the reference and so I would forever be ‘Jim’ to her.

I don’t mind much. Stronger relationships have been built on greater lies.

“You coming to the h’zee tonight?”

“I wouldn’t miss this party for the world.”

Surely the world includes something greater than our meager fraternity party, but I understand the sentiment. After a flawless victory like the one just now deftly executed by the gentlemen of Gamma Kappa Fi celebrating seems warranted… no… seems nothing short of necessary.

A mandate.

A wink.

A flip of perfection in the form of female hair.

I swear the breeze from that flip sends the aroma of her hair wafting my way. I want to breathe deeply from the pillow she sleeps on.

She looks back over her shoulder.

“I want to introduce you to my roommate, Olga. I think you two will hit it off. I’ll bring her by the house tonight.”

Have you ever seen the air slowly leak out of a balloon with a long, high-pitched whine?

It is simple physics.

Wanting to introduce me to her roommate means wanting to hook me up with someone other than herself.

Bobcat sees me looking after Sally as she walks away and claps me on my back.

“Out of your league little dick. That tail is too tall.”

He laughs. It is metallic to my ears.

I laugh. Not because I think his assessment of my chance with Sally is spot on or that my desire is foolish. I laugh because it is expected. I laugh because I am a legacy. It is a hollow sound I make.

I trail the pack as Ackerman is hoisted up on brotherly shoulders and thrown into the air.

“Acker-man! Acker-man! Acker-man!”

I find my own lips wrapping around the words. They taste bitter in my mouth.

It is time to party.

I arrive at the house 2 hours early to put up decorations and set out refreshments with the other newly sworn members. We are not rushes but most of us still live in the dorms. Only the upperclassmen get the privilege of enjoying the luxury of the house as the privilege had previously been denied them and the privilege would one day be denied by us.

It is this great circle of entitlement which my father demanded I enter once the moment for attending college embraced me with its lukewarm ex-lover’s pat on the back.

“Why do you want me to join the fraternity?”

He looked at me as if I had questioned the validity of the virgin birth.

“I was in the fraternity.”

He turned his back. It was all that would be said. The discussion was over. As if everybody knows the ‘why’ of the matter.

I was finished speaking. The silence involved in this act pinched the back of my throat closed and applied enough weight to choke any words I thought I might need to expel. It was over.

I stared at the back of the man’s head I had loved since before I knew words, knowing I would only ever feel hate for him all the moments I was to know him yet.

His hair was perfect.

Ackerman and I roll the last keg into the living room.

“That should about do it Crabtree.”

Again, not my name. Not my first. Not my last. But somehow it has crept into Ackerman’s lexicon… kind of a play betwixt us. It doesn’t make us close… no closer than most at least. But it is still something only he and I share. It is name-rape. But more on the consensual side if that sheds any light on the matter.

“Looks like a party Habbenshire.” I always call him something different. It is my effort to impress, my attempt to measure up to the great Acker-man. I think that somewhere deep down he appreciates it.

Way down deep.

“Nice try Crabtree.”

“Whatever Schleplehoffer.”

I have to admit that one felt nice.

As the crowd begins to arrive Bobcat appears among us like a thief in the night.

“You two little dicks put on your game faces. I don’t want one single member of the brotherhood going home with a dry pecker tonight… not tonight.”

We all hop to and mock salute but I realize it is a sincere command. Our dicks speak for all of Gamma Kappa Fi entire. Our semen leaves its mark on the world.

I see Sally and a girl I can only assume is her roommate at the door and make my way through the throng. She waves as I approach.

“Jim! Hey, over here buddy! This is my roommate. This is Olga.”

The girl looks foreign. She is pretty. Her nose is larger than what I am used to but her almond shaped green eyes more than make up for it. They stand out against her olive skin and jet black hair. Her hair is tied back with a red silk scarf; huge gold hoops adorn her ears. She looks like a gypsy.

Most guys wouldn’t glance twice at her but I see something. Something different. Something beautiful. Something…

Primal.

“Hey! How are you? You look like a gypsy!”

I strive to speak over the crowd.

Still,

Why did I say that?

“That’s because she is silly.”

They both laugh.

“You’re shitting me.”

I take their coats.

Olga smiles but remains silent.

“Her family sent her over from Romania. Her English is broken but she understands you OK… here,”

Sally pulls us both over to the couch and sets us down.

“Talk to her Jim. I am going to mingle. Don’t worry Olga, Jim here is a riot. Catcha later Masturbators.”

She waves and is consumed by the crowd.

I look at Olga.

She looks at me.

Something is expected.

I know not what.

“Well Olga I’m glad you could make it out to our little shindig here.”

She smiles slightly.

Ackerman swings by with a couple of beers and is gone just as fast.

“Thanks Grimwalden. “ I holler in his repose.

I pop my cap and raise my bottle in the air.

“Yes indeed, quite the celebration tonight.”

I am speaking more to myself than to her.

She sips her beer.

“Pardon?”

“Yes?”

“Why celebrate?”

“What?”

I am confused.

“Why for do you celebrate?”

“Oh.”

It is a confusing question, as if anyone ever needed a reason to party. Everybody knows why. It stumps me for a moment. Even through the crowded room I can see Big Brother Bobcat in the corner stirring something into the punch.

“Well Olga, you see it’s like this…”

I explain The Great Quimbly Caper in all its glory, from its tedious planning to its flawless execution.

“… And tah-dah! Party!”

I raise my beer and drink to her flat emotionless eyes. At least Sally has the common decency to display some semblance of excitement.

“Jim?”

“That‘s not my name.”

“Jim why you here?”

I look around. What kind of a stupid question is that? This is my fraternity. This is my party.

“To celebrate.”

“No, why you at school?”

I think.

I think hard. This girl is making no sense. I wish Sally would come back.

“I am here the same as anyone else… to get a degree.”

“That is not why I here.”

“Oh really.” I take a long swig of my beer. I hear myself talking and I can’t believe what I am hearing. I am about to say something that only an asshole would say. And I cannot stop myself.

“Then why don’t you tell me why you here sweet cheeks?”

“Pardon?”

“Why are you here?”

She looks amazed, as if she is explaining something a five year old should know.

“Jim this school.”

I nod my head, just stopping shy of saying ‘duh!’

“Jim, I come school to learn.”

My nodding slows as I see where she is going.

“You cannot learn if you cheat.”

I look at my beer. I want to explain to her how the real world works. Out of the corner of my eye I see Sally and Bobcat talking.

I feel anxious and uneasy.

“You are pay to go this place, correct?”

I look at the floor and say nothing as the party spins around my dizzy body. In the background somewhere a black man is exclaiming how easy it is for him to get laid as a heavy beat goes BUMP, BUMP, BUMP and white boys throughout the room mouth his words with great emotion.

They all ‘feel it’ deep down in their soul.

“You are pay to cheat yourself?”

I want to vomit.

“Jim, you pay to cheat yourself and you celebrate?”

I need to stop her. She is right, this odd foreign girl with the pretty eyes; But I have to silence her. Only. My brain will not think of the correct words.

I open my mouth and speak.

I speak without thinking.

“I wrote something. Would you like to hear it?”

“Pardon?”

I pull a wrinkled piece of paper out of my pants. I had hoped to be reading this to Sally.

“It is nothing special, just a poem.”

Sometimes I write poems. They are for nobody but me. They mean nothing.

Olga sits silently as I read.

“I call this one,”

“‘The Dodo.’”

“Dodo relishing synthetic night.

Light crackling in muted vividocity.

Go-go losing weight before jaded eyes.

… so-so.

And it seems that his dreams,

Once lived in the same poorly painted zip code.

Form being nine/ tenths possession in the mouth of the law

So. So.

‘Let’s get crackin Castle, before our captors get back.’

Daisies growing in shit.

Fat bird ignores it has ceased to exist.

So what?”

She looks at me mutely. I can’t tell if it is with confusion or profound understanding that her eyes greet mine.

Either way…

“Excuse me.”

I get up and leave Olga sitting by herself on the couch. I don’t know why I do this. I don’t know anything anymore.

Where am I going?

I slowly walk up the stairs and leave the slobbering crowd behind me. They suddenly all look like babbling idiots… these brothers of mine. I turn and look down over the writhing throng. I stumble backwards up the stairs as my head spins.

The BUMP, BUMP, BUMP of the music drives my body.

I reach the top and stop.

I am looking at collective conscience, one huge whirling mass, an organic globule.

Olga, alone, stands out in this mass of twitching bodies and smiling faces. She looks at me with solemn eyes from the couch, stark against this sea of refuse.

I wave and turn down the hall. I have to leave it all behind. If only for a moment I have to leave the pain behind. I turn a corner and enter a psychotropic nightmare.

Strobe lights flash across the upstairs lounge. A digital projector has been set up and on the far wall a movie plays. The huge image of a windup toy penis with feet hops across a desk. Over the speakers a deep voice sings,

“Everybody knows the dice are loaded,

Everybody rolls with their fingers crossed.

Everybody knows that the war is over,

Everybody knows that the good guys lost.”

In the middle of the room, on her knees is Sally Kweller. Her eyes are half open and her tits hang out of her shirt as Bobcat’s penis slides in and out of her mouth. There are three guys standing in line behind him with their dicks out.

Bobcat sees me standing there and waves me over. Sally faintly recognizes me and makes to turn away but Bobcat holds her head firm. He makes her look at me as she sucks his cock.

Something…

Something wet…

Then the door banishes the image from my sight, my fist on the knob.

BUMP, BUMP, BUMP…

I run into the bathroom and just miss the toilet as I explode over cold sterile emotionless tile. I vomit for what seems an unbearable length not caring where it drips. What is there to care about?

What now?

I did not do that. I did not take part. I am not involved with these things going on around me. I am not. I did not see what I know I saw. I can’t say that I did.

Splashing cold water on my face I see Olga standing in the door looking at me. I momentarily freeze before regaining some small portion of something akin to composure.

“Sorry, I’ll just be a minute.”

“Jim?”

More liquid cold violently crashes into my eyes.

But the image remains.

“That’s not my name.”

“Jim?”

I look up.

“Yes Olga?”

“Jim I feel sick.”

I see she is holding a mostly drunk cup of the punch by the kitchen… the punch I saw Bobcat stirring. She doesn’t look too good. Her skin is nearly white.

“OK, here…”

I grab her hand and lead her down the hall. I find an empty bedroom and lead her in. I close the door behind us then lead her to the bed and set her down. She can barely walk.

This is not who I want to be. I do not want to be the guy in this position.

As soon as Olga hits the bed her head lolls back and she rolls flat on her back, spread eagle.

The spiked punch…

I had heard others so greedily laugh about it. I had laughed too, thinking about all the lightweight freshmen trim which would grow lightheaded and easier as the night progressed. I listened to the stories and I have to admit… the greed was in me.

But this is something else.

This is something more.

I look down at the pretty girl lying prone beneath me.

Olga’s chest rises and falls under heavy breath. Her blouse has risen up to just under her heaving breasts. I can see the curved bottom of her white bra beneath. They rise and fall with the coming of the tide.

The smooth bare skin of her flat belly from her blouse to the top of her skirt is a thing of beauty. It looks hot and hard like an iron skillet. There is a solid ridge down the middle indicating tight svelte abs beneath softest flesh.

I want to stop.

I beg myself to stop but my finger reaches out and traces the line from just under her breast to the top of her skirt and perhaps a smidge further. I feel something quiver underneath.

Sally knew what she was doing.

This is what I keep telling myself.

There was something wet.

This is what I have to tell myself.

Something wet on her face…

Was it a tear?

or…

There is a half drunk beer on the nightstand by the bed. I don’t know why but I pick it up and pour a small slow stream onto Olga’s belly. Her stomach is so flat that it pools for a brief second before rolling in tiny rivulets down all sides. I bend over and lick the beer out of the fine line in the middle of her abdomen. Again I sense a quiver beneath.

Olga’s body is responding to my advances.

This is what I tell myself.

Bobcat’s words ring in my ears,

“I don’t want one single member of the brotherhood going home with a dry pecker tonight… not tonight.”

If you can‘t beat them join them, and join them I have.

There comes a point…

This is expected.

Who is she to make me feel bad for the choices I have made.

Choices?

When was the last time I made one of those?

She looks as if she is having trouble breathing. Her skirt looks tight.

I pull her skirt down just past her ankles and drop it to the floor. Somewhere in the back of my mind I think this is the right thing to do. Something I read or saw somewhere. She is wearing white cotton panties which match her bra. They are wet from the trail of beer.

Dare I?

I lean over and play with the hem of her panties… a finger on each side, slowly sliding them back and forth just under the edge of the fabric.

Do I really want to do this?

She moans.

I sense the passion awakening within her. This is not my choice. This is our choice.

What am I doing?

Small movement catches my eye from underneath the fabric of her underwear.

She is out cold.

Did she just raise her pelvis?

This is not the person I want to be.

I don’t think so.

This is not who I am.

The panties stretch outward again and I release the material.

What the fuck?

I sit up to a fully prone position.

This stops now. I am not like the others.

Did…

Did her panties just move of their own accord? Something wriggled…

Something under fabric.

Of this I am quite certain.

The instinct to run overwhelms.

What happens next is both fast and vivid. It is a dream and I am stuck in a world of mud. Unsavory visions assault my every known sense.

If I am to believe my eyes…

Olga’s body rises tense in a half arched inverted handstand as both arms and legs lift the torso to its fullest inverted extension. Pincer like jaws where her vagina should be rip open the panties and clamp down on my extended wrist. Simultaneously, four hairy spider legs bloodily rip their way out of her beautiful sides, two on either side, and her previously prone head lolls up with now dead eyes. A pointed section of lower abdomen juts out past her lips and shoots my about to scream mouth full of hot, sticky webbing.

If I am to believe my eyes…

I feel nothing beneath my neck as mind numbing poison courses through my body from the bite and paralyzes every quarter of my flesh. I see yet do not feel the jaws of her snapping pussy tear open my abdomen with several surgically precise bites, and I sense the entire creature leap to the ceiling with my upper half in its ‘mouth?’ and promptly glue my gore to the surface.

It then hops down and in as equally fast a fashion it brings my lower half up to rest, secure beside the other on the ceiling. The entire attack takes no more than ten seconds.

There is a knock.

“Crabtree, you in there?”

Ackerman!

I can still hear sounds.

The vagina glares at the door. The vagina glares at me.

“Bobcat wants you. “

The creature is scuttling out the window and up the side of the house. I sense more than see this. I don’t know how.

The poison coursing through my body somehow links its thoughts to mine. There is something alien in my head… something ancient. I see the Olga/spider crawl up the side of the building as her head lolls upside down bobbing in its wake, bouncing off the brick. And something about this image is more horrifying than anything I have previously witnessed.

If my mouth were not glued shut I would scream fresh.

My body is ripped open… pulled apart in the middle like a cheap fast food package, only instead of ketchup some other nasty red. Both halves of my still living corpse are glued to the ceiling by the nasty white stuff which squeezed out of her mouth. My intestines hang to the floor like sloppy slick party streamers at Satan's birthday party.

Wide eyed and paralyzed I feel brute force as Ackerman stumbles into the room and trips over my innards, grabbing at the hanging ropes for purchase until his fingers slip and he crashes into the mess of a floor.

The urge to shout “Butterfingers McBain!” Overwhelming.

I feel pressure as my ropey innards tug at what remains of my guts and I scream long and silent, inside the prison of my frozen face. …Madness.

The silent scream… a silent laugh.

I should have known.

I know.

Even as I pretend I don’t

I know.

Everybody knows.

THE END

Have an amazing ass day.