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Grundish and Askew
Grundish and Askew
Grundish and Askew
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Grundish and Askew

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Strap on your athletic cup and grab a barf bag. The Dr. Reverend Lance Carbuncle is going to kick you square in the balls and send you on a wild ride that may or may not answer the following questions: what happens when two white trash, trailer park-dwelling, platonic life partners go on a moronic and misdirected crime spree?; can their manly love for each other endure when one of them suffers a psychological bitch-slap that renders him a homicidal maniac?; will a snaggletoothed teenage prostitute tear them apart?; what is the best way to use a dead illegal alien to your advantage in a hostage situation?; what's that smell?; and, what the hell is Alf the Sacred Burro coughing up? Carbuncle's latest offering, Grundish and Askew, ponders these troubling questions and more. So sit down, put on some protective goggles, and get ready for Carbuncle to blast you in the face with a warm load of fictitious sickness.

Reader Views 2009 Literary Awards, First Place, Humor Category -“This book could easily be the sleeper of the year...”

Reviewer Magazine - “...an imaginative, almost hallucinatory tale of madness, traveling and free spirits doing what they want.”

The Daily Loaf -“Think of those grungy, maggoty knuckle-dragging villains in Carl Hiaasen and Tim Dorsey novels. Those morons are *%#*ing Osmond family teasippers compared to the crew Carbuncle has created.”

LanguageEnglish
Release dateApr 15, 2011
ISBN9780982280010
Grundish and Askew
Author

Lance Carbuncle

The Dr. Reverend Lance Carbuncle was born sometime during the last millennium and he’s been getting bigger, older and uglier ever since. Carbuncle is an ordained minister with the Church of Spiritual Humanism. Carbuncle doesn’t eat deviled eggs and he doesn’t drink cheap beer. Carbuncle doesn’t wear sock garters. Carbuncle does tell stories. Carbuncle’s stories are channeled through a pathetic little man who has to work a respectable job during the days in order to feed the infestation of children in his house. Carbuncle's first novel, Smashed, Squashed, Splattered, Chewed, Chunked and Spewed, and his recently released Grundish and Askew are sold through Amazon.com and Barnesandnoble.com. More reviews of Smashed, Squashed, Splattered, Chewed, Chunked and Spewed, and Grundish and Askew can be found on Amazon and Barnesandnoble.com.

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Rating: 4.032258064516129 out of 5 stars
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  • Rating: 5 out of 5 stars
    5/5
    It's been a long time since I listened to a book in one sitting, but I could not set "Grundish and Askew" aside. Without a doubt, it is one of the funniest books I have ever read. Grundish and Askew are two friends who are outlandish, socially inappropriate, and irreverent. I loved them, and knew them well by the ending of the novel. Askew, whose family lineage has graced prisons for a couple of centuries, has simply bought one too many tickets to ride the crazy train, and just never got off. And Grundish,....well, I believe there is a whole lot more to Grundish. I'll let you decide for yourself.Lance Carbuncle (now that's funny) has a writing style that reminds me a lot of Hunter S. Thompson. Carbuncle has more wit than Thompson, but also has that same gift of being able to create those flamboyant, unorthodox, flawed characters that draw you in without effort or thought.The narrator was an exact match for this novel, and was character consistent. Impressive.This book is graphic and the swearing is endless.. but somehow appropriate. It accurately reflects the characters and their way of life.Reader, don't be overwhelmed by the reviews. It's ok. Just jump on the crazy train. Hunter S. Thompson would be the first to say, "Buy the ticket. Take the ride."
  • Rating: 4 out of 5 stars
    4/5
    Mr. Carbuncle's reviews of his own books read like something a brilliant adolescent boy raised on Beavis and Butthead and Quinten Tarantino might have written. The humble, multi-layered, self-praise really caught my attention in a kindred spirit kind of way.So I made the leap of faith and bought one of his books. I don't regret it and actually plan on buying another copy to send to a friend.If you haven't read Of Mice and Men then I would suggest you do or at least see the movie before reading this. If not it will still be fun but the ending won't be as "touching".Just a couple comments. This is bizarre, scatological, meta writing. Not something you pick up at an airport before you hop on a jet. It's not deep, you don't need to intensely concentrate or even be all the way sober or awake to read it but it is not your average summer blockbuster. It's a modern day retelling of Mice and Men, that includes ghostly talking dogs, white trash main characters, and some great informational footnotes. I LOL'd many times and often found myself reading out of the book to gross those around me out or just blow their minds.As with most "experimental" stuff I read I thought it could have been a little shorter but really I took forever to read it (because I've been writing a lot myself) so it may have been affect of reading it over 2 months.
  • Rating: 5 out of 5 stars
    5/5
    I sing the body poop-centric.

    What is Grundish & Askew? Well, the human body is quite grundish at times and definitely askew. After all, we all get sick, we all eventually get old and die (unless we’re crushed by a large object before it’s really time for us to go…and such events are, perhaps, uber-grundish). This book purports to be a buddy story, about two downtrodden fools, but I think it’s more of a meditation on all the fucked up shit that makes us physically tick. It’s reminding us that we are animals, human animals, yes, but animals with body parts that go bad, organs that spring leaks, and even minds that can’t be controlled with will-power. In many ways, we are helplessly at the mercy of Mother Nature. Alzheimer’s might be in our genes. Or perhaps a grapefruit-sized tumor is preparing to burst from our neck. Grundish & Askew slaps us around a bit and says, hey motherfucker, you ain’t some kind of flying spaghetti-monster angel, you’re made out of dirt. It’s a reminder well deserved given all the self-help pabulum that people turn to when the going gets tough.

    Carbuncle’s bodily theme is communicated through the quite amusing story of two white trash lowlifes committing semi-accidental murder (repeatedly) while on the run from the pigs. Is it well told?...absolutely. Very funny and with sincere, solid characters. It’s a great adventure story. In fact, I felt the story was so well written, that the occasional footnotes that were “from the author,” giving a slight post-modern spin on the book, were unnecessary and detracted from the narrative itself, which rocked like Molly Hatchet. Yes, you need a bit of a stomach to appreciate this, but any reader willing to step out of her ivory tower and get down in the muck will love it. Highly recommended.
  • Rating: 4 out of 5 stars
    4/5
    Imagine if Kurt Vonnegut found an unpublished John Steinbeck novel and gave it a rewrite. Then imagine in a drugged out haze Hunter S Thompson found it and rewrote it again, this book is what you would get. Losers Grundish and friend since childhood Leroy Askew can't seem to catch a break. Askew who has never raised his voice as long as Grundish has known him, goes into a killing rampage. Hiding from the law with Askew's Aunt, they get deeper and deeper into trouble. WOW. Greta way to spend an afternoon in the sun.
  • Rating: 5 out of 5 stars
    5/5
    This book is amazing and not for the faint of heart.This is the first time I have ever read a dark comedy fiction. I didn't think this book would be able to pull off something like this and boy was I wrong.This book is balls to the wall, gritty, straight forward, full speed, dark comedy fiction. I am now in love with a new genre. I never thought i would care so much about two characters in my life. They were so in depth and you followed them so closely that you were actually hoping they achieved this simple dream of hookers, weed, and yacht on international seas.I also loved the part when the book knows its a book. It takes big BIG balls to critique your own novel during your own novel. This author knows what he is doing and does it well. when I have the time and the money I am getting the previous book before this.Normally for a good book I would give a 4.5 but i give this a full 5. If i could... I would give it a 9. This book keep me intrigued, laughing, and several times my mouth dropped. I recommend this book to everyone.... except those who are sensitive. No way on earth you are going to make it through this book.
  • Rating: 5 out of 5 stars
    5/5
    It's a dark, disgusting comedy. And I liked it. It makes an impact, which is rare. I found myself pondering over it throughout the day. Read the book. You may love it, you may hate it. It might make you throw up a little. But it will make you think. Mostly, 'What the Hell?' But that's a good thing.Also, there are footnotes. I love footnotes and these are awesome.
  • Rating: 4 out of 5 stars
    4/5
    I received this book as part of the LibraryThing Member giveaway. The book came with a warning that it is not for faint of heart. I was a little skeptical about reading such a book as I usually don't read such genre but I guess i am a little glad that I did.There is some serious graphic description of stuff that is better left undescribed. I guess the entire story was kind of worth it but I am not sure I have the stomach for another one of these.In any case, people who subscribe to such a genre will find it a good read.
  • Rating: 3 out of 5 stars
    3/5
    Disturbing, wild and random. Im still not sure if I like this book or not. Very nice ending and the story kind of sticks to a person. I almost always find a few lessons in the books I read and this one is no different. Thank you for writing this book, hopefully it will change a few wayward people out there.
  • Rating: 5 out of 5 stars
    5/5
    I appreciated the warning about the appropriateness that came with this book. It definitely needed it. The characters are disgusting, their actions are appalling, but I just couldn't put the book down. It's repulsing, but impossible to look away from. I thoroughly enjoyed the author's notes in the back of the book. I'll definitely be on the lookout for other books by this author. Although this book was disturbing, the ending was beautiful. The love between the characters is almost tangible. It was a disgusting, but beautiful story. This definitely makes it on the list of my favorite books.
  • Rating: 3 out of 5 stars
    3/5
    I won this book from the Member Giveaways on Library Thing.When entering to win this book on Library Thing, there was a warning that this book was not for the faint of heart. That was absolutely correct! While this book bordered on the disgusting, it strangely made me want to read more. It is a fast paced read and was certainly anything but boring. While it was very strange in many parts of the book, it all came together very nicely and the flow of the book made sense. The ending was well thought out and made sense with the rest of the book. I do not recommend this to anyone who gets squeamish or offended easily, but for those who can handle it the book might be an interesting read!
  • Rating: 5 out of 5 stars
    5/5
    This book is about two very dysfunctional brothers with a very strong brotherly relationship. I found the book to be very graphic and unnerving at times. This is not a book for those with sensitive feelings.However, the story is captivating as are the characters. My favorite character was Turleen and she is a supporting act. The story is a sort of violent Thelma and Louise but much more captivating. The author has written a very compelling story of how bad life can get if there is an occurrence that lets the mind slip a bit out of phase.I recommend this book for those not faint of heart. It is a good somber read.
  • Rating: 5 out of 5 stars
    5/5
    I’m taking a different slant to reviewing this novel. Too much of the pullit-surprise awesomeness would be exposed and you really should take the cult-fiction journey naked.Grundish and Askew is an unconventional 5-star novel that rules its own genre with tenacity and confidence. Nothing is off the table or taboo here. You’ll get language, violence, grossness (I think I just made that word up) and dysfunctional characters that will make your weird relations appear normal. Scary!Interestingly, a fantastic revenge is inserted mid-way through the novel when the author addresses a previous critic’s comments and shoves them in the mouth of a character. For this, I get on my knees and bow whiling chanting god-like phrases. Presto, the pretentious, bloated, pompous windbag is instantly infamous! In the indie literary world we’ve named this type of reviewer Nestor Maronski (see Facebook, Twitter and Bestseller Bound for details). Yep, go ahead and Google it!Lets examine. “If this is a novel, it seems to me that the author has just speckled it with bizarre characters, footnotes and profanity, hoping that the shock value will be enough to carry the story."I could not disagree more! The characters are symptoms of our own stereotypical ideologies. As a society, we’ve come together to create Grundish, Askew, Turleen and collectively provide the setting, and behaviors of their neighbors. It’s the most honest reflection of contemporary thinking. Is it shocking, in your face, blunt and downright offensive? Yes, and that is the beauty of the story. Shall we continue…back to our favorite critic. “…But, the book’s most painful flaw is its lack of any thoughtfully crafted deeper meaning or unifying theme.” I can not directly comment on the previous story for which this addresses, but in Grundish and Askew there is undoubtedly several deep and meaningful themes and if a reader misses them, a hex on you! So, what are these delightful themes? I’ll give it a shot by brainstorming a few off the top of my cliché head. * Friendship (the bromance is outstanding)* Family (what is a family and then of course, loyalty to Turleen)* Economic limitations: culture, race, geography and education * Crime and justice- role of juvee, prison and revolving door* Ageism * Mental health and illness, dependency, and co-dependency * The value of life and death…blah, blah, etcetera. The comedic attributes do no lessen the greater importance of the message. In fact, ironically, it enhances the seriousness and the message(s) the author are conveying. The most obvious example is presented in the repetitive story Grundish tells Askew whenever they face separation. It begins, “Guys like us, you know, the ones that work the shit jobs and scrape by, are the loneliest guys in the world. Can’t keep jobs. Don’t fit in. They ain’t got nobody in the world that give a sideways $@*! about them…” Here’s the sign, the big whooper, the deeper meaning, the theme and/or thesis statement. This is the psychology behind the literary curtain as it pertains to this creative story. NEXT! Wingbag continues: “The characters are outright unlikable and the author fails to provide us with a point as to what, exactly, he is trying accomplish.”Unlikeable? I believe that depends on each readers own experience. You might not like them, but unless the wizard forgot to give you a heart I’m certain most can sympathize. The end game of a character is not to make readers like them – how lame would that be? Characters are often devices utilized by authors to communicate. In this case, a talking donkey works perfectly. Characters may manifest in many forms spreading the spectrum from fuzzy-feel-good or horrifyingly disgusting. Alrightly almighty douche, moving on…."To be fair, it also cannot be said that this book is completely without any talent or redemption."By far this is a unique, creative, inventive, character-rich, language exploring, boundary breaking and imaginative book. In my singular opinion, the author is incredibly talented, daring and unapologetic. *Note: I am not related, previously befriended, or paid by the author to state this, but if he becomes rich I might claim to be a long lost third-removed cousin by marriage.Wait for it…this is my favorite part of the review and the kick’em while they’re down death blow: "The editing is not awful. BUT…” POW! Suckerpucnch! The EDITING? Really? All I can say is see footnote: [regarding made up words] author is attempting to help move words in the direction of standardization, if for no other reason then to irritate snooty vocabulary police.” My response to the final nugget and to all who include such nonsense in a review, “Oh Nestor Maronski I thought we killed you in Cutting The Fat by Maria Savva and Jason McIntyre (Google it, then buy it).

Book preview

Grundish and Askew - Lance Carbuncle

GRUNDISH & ASKEW

A Novel

by

Lance Carbuncle

Smashwords Edition

* * * * *

Published on Smashwords by:

Vicious Galoot Books, Co.

412 East Madison Street, Suite 1111

Tampa, Florida 33602

Grundish & Askew

Copyright 2009 by Lance Carbuncle

www.lancecarbuncle.com

All rights reserved. Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the prior written permission of both the copyright owner and the above publisher of this book. For information, address Vicious Galoot Books, Co., 412 East Madison Street, Suite 1111, Tampa, Florida 33602.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, media, and incidents are either the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of various products referenced in this work of fiction, which have been used without permission. The publication/use of these trademarks is not authorized, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owners.

Smashwords Edition License Notes

This ebook is licensed for your personal use only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each person you share it with. If you are reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then you should return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the author’s work.

* * * * *

TABLE OF CONTENTS

Prologue

1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11 | 12 | 14 | 15 | 16 | 17 | 18 | 19 | 20 | 21 | 22 | 23 | 24 | 25 | 26 | 27 | 28 | 29 | 30 | 31 | 32 | 33 | 34 | 35 | 36 | 37

Chapter the Last

Muchas Gracias

Excetra

Endnotes

* * * * *

The fat and fiery center of the solar system paused and squatted itself directly above the souped-up El Camino as Grundish pulled off of the paved road and onto the overgrown gravel path winding into the woods. Askew, Grundish’s copilot, navigator, sidekick, best friend, and punching bag, glanced behind them down the empty paved road, and then up at the growing, whirring form in the distant sky. Neither of the men saw the bullet-riddled No Trespassing sign that the owner of the property posted. That’s because the sign wasn’t there anymore. It was stolen the night before by a minivan full of drunken teenagers whose final haul included a stop sign, two blinking orange lights from barricades, a Stoner Road street sign, and a mailbox shaped like a manatee. The driver of the van, a troubled boy with one ear, thought the sign would look cool on his bedroom wall. Not that the sign would have stopped Grundish and Askew. Their intrusion on the private property was just one more transgression committed in the name of self-preservation. Ripping down the road at full throttle, the El Camino left a plume of dust and unfinished business in their wake.

Grundish thought about his promise to his friend. He thought about how he loved that man, although he would never say it in such terms for fear of sounding like a fag or something. It wasn’t like that, though. It was just that Askew was always there for him, and likewise Grundish for Askew. Life always seemed less interesting when the two were separated. Grundish thought about times they had shared, and laughs, and fights, and drunken nights. Grundish thought about how Askew would have done anything for him. Grundish thought about how he was going to shoot his best friend in the back of the head.

* * * * *

1

Eastern State Penitentiary was the first true prison to be built in the world. On October 2, 1829, the day that it opened, Cotton Askew was the first person to go through the intake procedure. He was the first person to be placed in a cell; a solitary confinement room made of cement and lighted by a single overhead skylight, the Eye of God. Cotton never bought into the idea of being watched by The Almighty through that small glass pane above him. If he did, he would have feared eternal damnation for the acts he committed to get himself thrown in the dank isolation chamber. Upon completing the institutional intake procedures, Cotton was given the designation of Inmate #1. It was the only time in his life that he was first at anything. Before his incarceration, Cotton did manage to marry a desperate and slightly daft woman who was happy to take his name and bear him a son, Bartholomew. And with the birth of his son, Cotton kicked over the first domino in a chain reaction of bad luck and bad decisions on the part of his descendants.

Bart Askew was raised fatherless and by a perpetually drunk sot of a mother. The few lessons that he did learn came from the village men who visited his mother late at night. And they weren’t the sort of lessons that would help him develop into a well-adjusted young man. Like his father, Bart picked up the bulk of his life experience when he was introduced to life in Eastern State. Like his father, Bart did manage to wed and father a child before being incarcerated for a thirty-year stretch.

And so it went from father to son – an unbroken chain of Askew men each begetting a son and then going off to prison as if it were some proud tradition. It was not at all uncommon for three generations of Askews to be incarcerated in the prison at the same time. The devastating cycle continued and probably would have gone on indefinitely had the penitentiary not closed down in 1971.

Darrell Askew was the last of the Askew men to know Eastern State. One year before the joint was closed for good, Darrell was granted parole and given another chance at life. When the front gate clanked shut behind him, Darrell made two promises to himself: one, he would never allow himself to be penned up like an animal ever again; two, his son was going to break the Askew curse.

My old man sat me down when I was seven years old and told me about prison[1], sixteen-year-old Leroy Jenkem Askew told Grundish. "And there ain’t no fuckin’ way I’m ever getting inprisoned. He put the fear of the hoosegow in me."

And what’d he say that’s turned you into such a bitch? asked Grundish who sat in Askew’s stained bean bag, paying more attention to scraping grayish mung from beneath a toe nail.

He told me some shit that made my asshole pucker. I mean, do you know what it’s like to be locked up?

Now that’s a stupid question, snapped Grundish. You know that I do.

Yeah, but you was just sent away to juvee a couple a times and to that rehab instead of jail. I’m talking the big house, man. What do you know of that?

Nothing but what I seen on the movies, Grundish waved the nail file in front of him, dismissing Askew’s concerns as if waving away the scent of a mildly tangy fart. It can’t be any worse than that shit. And I dealt with all that in juvee. Shit, once I had to fight off a group of four kids who wanted to pop my cherry. I beat ’em all down. Weren’t nobody was gonna try to ass-fuck me after that. I’d do the same in the clink. You just gotta know how to handle yourself.

That’s easy for you to say. You’re a big mother fucker. You can kick ass. It wouldn’t be that easy for me. Look at me, Askew said, rubbing his pot belly and putting his hands over his chest, wiggling the fat. I’m sixteen and I already got man-titties. They’d love that in prison. My dad told me that young guys in there get turned out right away if they can’t stick up for themselves. He knew a guy that got reamed so much that his swollen bunghole looked like a donut, and that was just the guy’s first week in there. I’d be some big black guy’s bitch getting pimped out for cigarettes and hooch. I can’t have that shit. I ain’t like you, I couldn’t defend myself. And even if you’re not a punk, you still have to watch out for some asshole trying to shiv you or shake you down. And then there’s the guards. My dad said they’re as bad as, if not worse than, the inmates. I cannot do that kind of time. I’d rather die.

Yeah. You may be right, agreed Grundish as he wiped the nail file on the bean bag. Prison...ah hell, even jail, would probably be more than you could take. So then why you always doing things that could get you in trouble?

"Because even though I’m mischevious, I don’t get caught, said Askew, smirking. And it was true. Of all of the many stunts he had pulled, nothing could ever be definitively pinned on him. Seriously, though. I can never go to prison. And you’re my best friend, right?"

Yeah, right.

Then you gotta make me a promise, said Askew.

Anything, Bro. What?

Never let me get sent up.

Now how in the hell am I supposed to be in control of that? Grundish shrugged and dug in his ear with the nail file. I can do my best to keep you out of trouble. Help you not get caught. Shit, I’d even help you dispose of a body if it came down to it. But how am I supposed to keep you from going to prison?

You could kill me if it looks like, and I mean for sure looks like, I’m going to get caught for something I done that’s bad enough to get myself sent away.

Well, God damn, Askew. Why don’t you just make sure you don’t do shit that will get you sent away?

"I’ll try. Sure as shit I’ll do my best. But I done tol’ you about my family history. My daddy, my grandpappy, his daddy before him, excetra, excetra. It’s a curse. It don’t matter if I want to do something. I’m practically bound to screw up eventually."

Well don’t. Just plain and fucking simple, don’t, answered Grundish. And then you don’t have to worry about it.

I’ll do my best. But, you gotta promise me, Askew begged. I’m serious.

I promise, all right, said Grundish, laughing a little. If you really fuck up, and it looks like you’re gonna get caught, I’ll pop a cap in the back of your big ugly dome.

I’m serious.

I’m serious, too.

You’re not shitting me?

No. I wouldn’t shit you, Askew. You’re too big of a turd and you’d probably give me bloody hemorrhoids.[2]

So you swear that you would do it if I am going to get sent away?

Yeah, I swear, answered Grundish, rolling his eyes and waving the nail file in front of him in the sign of the cross.

And, said Askew, with a somber tone equal to that of family members discussing a loved one’s terminal disease, don’t let me back out on it.

What do you mean?

"I mean don’t let me change my mind. I’m telling you now that if I realize that you are going to kill me, I’ll probably beg you not to do it. I’ll tell you I would rather go to prison. I’ll cry like a bitch. Don’t listen to me. Exspecially then, because I will turn cowardly. Do what I’m asking you now. End it for me before they take my freedom."

All right. All right, replied Grundish. Would you stop talking about it as if it really is going to happen?

You promise?

I promise.

You swear?

I fucking swear! Now would you stop talking about it?

* * * * *

2

The bluish ink on his arms tells the tale of Grundish’s numerous terms of incarceration. The first tattoo, an upside-down cross on his left forearm, was inked by a twelve-year old stick-and-poke artist named Squid in a level three juvenile detention center. Not that Grundish was particularly religious; he just thought the cross looked tough. Looking tough was a good thing for a fourteen-year-old who was confined in close quarters with a mixed bag of deviants, psychopaths-in-training, and lost causes. And while the other punks were indelibly marking misspelled words on themselves with paper clips and a mixture of cigarette ashes and toothpaste, Squid was piercing the flesh on Grundish’s left forearm with a sewing needle wrapped in string and dipped in Indian ink. The distinction, though slight, was apparent in the superior quality of Squid’s work.

I once fucked a horse, Squid bragged matter-of-factly as he dipped the needle in a bottle of ink and resumed his work on the cross.[3]

A horse? Bullshit. I’d think you’d have to be pretty tall to bone a horse, Grundish challenged, and you’re not exactly Lurch from the Addams Family. The logistics of boning Mr. Ed seemed quite involved to Grundish. He supposed that it was more likely that Squid was just trying to sound crazy so that rumors would start and people would be tweaked out, see him as some sort of twisted freak, and leave him alone.

You don’t have to be tall, you dumb cock-stain. You just need a full feed bag, a stool to climb up on, some good balance, and a gentle horse.

"For real?

Fuck yeah, for real. And don’t act like you wouldn’t do the same given the chance, said Squid as if it were a completely reasonable option to couple with a barnyard animal.

Was it at least a girl horse?

Of course it was a girl. Squid squinched up his face in disgust. What? You think I’m a homo or something?

He doesn’t think about Squid when he looks at the faded cross on his forearm. He doesn’t think about juvenile detention, the devil, fighting, or fending off forced sodomy. Nor does Grundish give a thought to the fact that he was innocent of what he was locked up for while the true perpetrator, Askew, was free. That kind of shit didn’t matter to Grundish, and he would have done it all again for his best friend. Instead of all of that mess, when he looks at the cross on his forearm, Grundish thinks about horses unfettered by saddles, bridles, bits or tack, frolicking in verdant fields.

Grundish was fifteen when he violated probation by failing a piss test. Instead of juvenile detention again, Mrs. Grundish was able to convince the juvenile court judge to put her son into a long-term drug rehabilitation center for teens. At six-foot-three and 220 pounds, Grundish was intimidating to the staff members. The kids in the rehab who were from out of town all lived in what the program called foster homes. The homes were actually the houses of other kids in the program. As a newcomer, Grundish was not allowed privacy and was under tight security at all times. Due to his size, he was assigned to the care of group member Scott Flannigan. Scott was nineteen years old and the largest of the kids in the group.

At the end of his first day at Straight, Inc., Flannigan stuffed his fingers down the back of Grundish’s jeans and his thumb through the back belt loop. With a tight grip on the back of the pants, and one hand clasping onto one of Grundish’s arms, Flannigan walked Grundish out to the parking lot of the rehab. He stuck Grundish in the back seat, closed the door, and got into the driver’s seat.

Fixing his rearview mirror on Grundish’s face, Flannigan told him, Don’t even try to escape from the car. The child locks are on, and the only way out is through me. Grundish could see Flannigan’s mouth in the mirror. He had a smile like a mouthful of broken gravel. The smell from the rotting teeth, like the breath of a sick dog, permeated the car. Despite his tough talk, Flannigan was terrified at the thought of having to try to keep the big kid in his back seat from escaping. There was something in the demeanor that told Flannigan he didn’t stand a chance if Grundish wanted out.

Don’t worry, mumbled Grundish, I ain’t got nowhere to go. It’s here or juvee. I figure I’m better off putting in my time here. I get to live in a house, eat nice home cooked meals, and sleep in a clean bed. Whatta we have to do? Go into that building everyday and listen to them preach to us about the evils of drugs? Drugs are bad, MMM-kay? I get it. I’ll do my six months here, keep my mouth shut, stay out of trouble, and go home.

Oh-ho-ho no, laughed Flannigan. It doesn’t work like that. This is a six month minimum program. That’s minimum. And there’s only been one guy who has completed the program in six months. Most of the kids here take at least a year to graduate. There are guys that have been here for over four years.

That night Grundish and Flannigan were locked into Flannigan’s bedroom. The plywood that was nailed over the outside of the windows kept out all of the natural light. The windows and closet door were bolted shut. When the bedroom door was closed, Mrs. Flannigan locked it with a deadbolt so that Grundish could not get out. Mrs. Flannigan was nice enough. She told Grundish to call her Mom. That just didn’t seem right, though. He had a mom with whom he was perfectly happy and not looking to replace.

His first day in group, Grundish was disappointed to learn that he was actually expected to participate in the discussions. When he had nothing to say, they made him stand up while different members of the group yelled at him. One pimple-faced, chipped-toothed thirteen-year-old stood directly in front of Grundish, poking him in the chest and screaming: You need to get honest. You’re a hurting little boy who is crying on the inside. You, Sir, have a drug problem. If you don’t deal with it, you are going to end up either dead or in prison.

No. I ain’t got no drug problem, Grundish said. It was true. He smoked a little bit of weed now and again and sometimes used the harder stuff if he was partying and somebody wanted to share their stash. But, Grundish was not chemically dependent. I’m just here so I don’t have to stay in juvee.

The chairs erupted in a sea of flailing arms. They called it motivating. In order to get called on, the kids shook their arms spastically above their heads until the group leader would shout out somebody’s name. Ken, the bearded leader strutting in front of the group shouted, What do you think of this little bop coming into our group and disrespecting us like this? Grundish didn’t even know what a bop was but he gathered it was a slam.

A skinny kid with a bad hair cut and a bubbling eruption of acne on his cheeks ran across the room and stood inches away from Grundish, looking up into his face and crying. You are a fucked up guy and you know it. You’re just as bad as me. When I was out there using, I would suck a cock just so I could get my fix. I didn’t even like the taste of cock. I just needed my drugs. I can tell that you’ve sucked a cock just to get high. How does that make you feel to know you swallowed cum just so you could get high? Ken just stood there in front of Grundish, shaking, crying, and staring up into his face.

I ain’t never sucked a dick, Grundish answered the hysterical cock sucker, real slow and low. Looking down at Ken’s teary snot-glazed face, all Grundish could think was I’m gonna snap this faggot’s neck if he tries to touch me. As if sensing his thoughts, Ken backed off and sat down.

Again the chairs shook on the floor and arms waved frantically in the air. Person after person stood up and screamed at Grundish. One after another they confessed their sickest acts and accused Grundish of having done the same: I shot my mother up and ate her out while she was unconscious; I killed a rabbit; I fucked my sister; I stuck a hair brush up my ass; I used to eat garlic so I would fart while my boyfriend fucked me up the ass; I worshiped Satan; I cursed God; I worked in a grocery store and used to piss in the pickle barrel; I used to beat off constantly until I came blood in the sink; I tried to kill myself; I cut myself; me and my friends used to jack my dog off and we were so fucked up in our heads that we thought it was funny; I hated my parents; I hated the world; I hated myself. Somehow they all thought that Grundish had done the same things. It wasn’t so.

These are some of the most fucked up people I have ever seen, thought Grundish. Sure, Squid claimed that he fucked a horse, but, Grundish never believed him. Each and every one of the deviants in the rehab was credible, though. This isn’t a drug rehab, he thought, this is a fucking psyche ward. It was on that first day that Grundish realized he would never make it through the program.

Two weeks into the stay at Straight, Inc., a new patient was brought before the group. Everybody but Grundish knew him. Everyone was pissed off. They all screamed at him as he stood still, smiling a beautiful happy smile, like he was in a better place. A place where people weren’t inches in front of his face with their sour breath, calling him names. The kid’s name was Buddy and he ran away from the program. Buddy was a big kid, too. The staff decided that Grundish wasn’t going to be a problem and sent Buddy home that night to the Flannigan house.

On the way home, Buddy and Grundish sat in the back of Flannigan’s car. Hey, man, what’s your story? Buddy asked Grundish and smiled that big goofy smile of his.

Hey, stop talking back there! Flannigan ordered. You know the rules, Buddy. You guys are not supposed to be talking to each other.

Fuck you, Flannigan. What’re you gonna do about it? Buddy challenged.

I’m gonna turn around, take you back to the building, and have you put in a time out room for a week, said Flannigan.

Good, laughed Buddy, that way I won’t have to see your stupid snaggle-tooth face. Buddy turned to Grundish, Seriously, what’s your story? You don’t look like a queer, or a fucked up junkie like most of the losers in group.

Grundish just shrugged. It was a talent he had, shrugging and not answering. He didn’t much see the point in getting involved with Buddy’s rebellion. He immediately liked Buddy but didn’t want any trouble. Just do your time and get out, he thought.

You know you’re not getting out of here unless you tell them what they want to hear, Buddy said.

Shut up, Buddy! Flannigan yelled. You’re in enough trouble already. Don’t make it worse.

I’ve been in here for two years now, and I don’t see myself being done with it until I’m eighteen and can sign myself out. You won’t get out of here unless you play the game. Oh, Buddy mocked, I was so fucked up and hated myself so much that I sucked a badger’s cock. Please help me because I can’t help myself. I’m powerless over drugs and need a higher power to help me. Wahhhh. I hate myself. Wahhhh, wahhhh, wahhh, fucking WAHHHH!

You know what we should do? Buddy continued,

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