Sabre's Call is my forthcoming novel. Imagine if... Jane Austen's dialogues crashed into Samuel Beckett's avant-gardeness; Lewis Carroll had a
fetish for sugared piss and bestiality; the Marquis de Sade married HP Lovecraft and had lots of weird literary babies...
The book chronicles an interior sexual apocalypse that starts with the death of god and a small family stuck with the task of keeping Satan in his bondage (he is the form of a cat), who slowly fall down a rabbit-hole of madness, depravity sadism and surrealism. Still, a vicious strain of perverse humor rife with parodies and allusions runs throughout, coupled with an Alice in Wonderland nonsense-type philosophy. Here is a small piece from it:
He pulled himself up from where he had fallen on the driveway. As he straightened up and looked around a fuck-bright shock wave cut through him, disorientation jitterbugging viciously and threatening to throw him down to the ground once more. Then he saw that what had changed.
The world was multi-colored and misshapen; a real-life Picasso painting on bad crack, fizzling and sparking in obscene skilless hunks. His grandmother's car was blown up to the size of an eight-legged elephant with epilepsy. Its grill winked down obscenely at at him, hinting at Ballardian perversions. The neighbors house had been neglected during the painting and was nothing but an empty white box, sad as Goldilocks walking through a ghetto. The trees were either thick and spreading or line-thin and lollipop-topped. Overhead, gill-gasping cunts opened and closed, spilling out toothy light as the drifted languidly by through the geometrically patterned sky.
"This isn't real," whispered the reeling boy to himself. He grabbed his head and shook himself. "You aren't real!" He yelled at a small vagina that was sniffing around his arm. It looked at him angrily, furrowing its brow above an angry clit. With annoyance it snapped at his elbow, taking a little chunk of his skin with it as it flurried away. "Maybe this is realer than I thought..." said Matt, trying to stem the flow of blood from his wound as glanced after the flying vag.
His original goal had been to reach the neighbors house and get help, but he had a feeling that, given the current circumstances, he might not find the help he needed.
"I don't know that until I try though," he said to himself, his eye on a passing purple and gold flea that was playing leapfrog with a cubist bullshead on the front lawn. Sidestepping a group of albino-blue blue that were playing hopscotch on the drive, he walked towards the simply drawn house. Matt noticed that the artist had purposefully left the colors on the house blank. Maybe he thought it was some deep, meaningful statement, though Matt in artistic distaste.
He stepped nervously up onto the porch, gazing at the tall door lined into the house. Lightly, he knocked on the door with two taps of his knuckles. He was a little disconcerted to hear the knobby-knocking of hooves approaching from inside the house. Matt heard a scraping at the other-side of the knob, and the door was flung open upon a dark space smelling strongly of malt.
"Ah, we've been expecting you," said a deep, soleful voice, and a small wrinkled cow stepped out of the gloom. She raised a crumpled horn to her bovine lips and started blaring out Elvis. "Ya aint nuttin' but a hound dog! Ya aint neva caught the clap and ya aint no friend of mayne!! Everyone make way for the MASTER!" She made a deep, shuffling bow, ostentatiously kicking away and olive-shaped cat that had been munching happily on a rat.
Matt looked fearfully into the dark door as the sound of huge, clomping feet made their way through the house towards him. A huge beast lurched from the shadows and Matt gasped. The creature was covered completely in shaggy brown hair, his eyes bulbous and yellow, hiding beneath a wide heavy brow. A pickle-shaped nose fell above thick, sausagey lips, broken by two large tusks poking up from them.
"Sweetums?" Asked Matt with a shock of recognition. "Sweetums from Sesame Street?" The monster sighed, rolling its yellow orb-eyes.
"Please, " he said in a gravelly growl. "I was from the Muppet Show you twat. I couldn't take Sesame Street... Big Bird was too open about his crabs, Snuffeluffagus couldn't keep his trunk to himself, and Linda... let's not get into Linda's collection of kiddie porn. 'Today's show was brought to you by the letter P for pedo' and all that stuff... And by the way, its not Sweetums anymore. It's Mr. Nipples now."
"But I don't..." Matt glanced over the monster's huge chest.
"Don't see any nipples? Well, that's what's so special about them- they're hidden, look." The monster pulled up a section of his chest. He pointed to two indentations on the inside of his chest. "See here and here? You can't tell from the outside, but they are most assuredly THERE. And see, the thing is..." he leaned in, conspiritorially-close, "I'm not supposed to have them. I'm not one of the anatomically-correct or even DETAILED muppets. So, I take pride in them and say Mr. Nipples it is."
"In that case, of course," said Matt.
"But of course, I'm also known as Nicko, but you'd have to OD to get that one. But passing over that and my nipples... please com in, we've been waiting all day you."
"No, I think you have a mistake. I just came in to get help..."
"Nope, no mistake, come in." Mr. Nipples pulled Matt into the house, and the reek of malt intensified dizzyingly.
"So... is this your house?" ASked Matt, casting around for conversation as he followed the monster through the house's dark interior. Matt had the distinct impression that they were walking down halls that stretched farther than the small house could possibly accomodate.
"Oh no, this is Jack's house," said Mr. Nipples, glancing over his shoulder at the boy, "He built it."
"Oh. I didn't know that."
"Of course you don't, why would you?" Mr. Nipples was diverted by a squelch from a room to his right. He stopped. "Hey, you've met the cock that crows in the morn haven't you?" He turned to Matt, one huge eyebrow lifted.
"No, I'm afraid I haven't," said Matt.
"Oy, cockie!" Said Mr. Nipples into the room. "Come out here and meet him- he's finally showed up!"
A giant penis bounced out of the room and bowed to Matt. "Very pleased to meet you, dear sir," it said through the mouth-slit in his head with a plummy British accent. He hiccoughed and a little dribble of golden semen slipped out. "'Scuse I," it said, sucking the juice back in. "Sorry I can't stay and chat, but I've heard there is a lady all forlorn around here somewhere, and I've found that nothing plucks women up like a big prick. I'll have to get to know you some other time." He extended an oily pubic hair and Matt shook it politely. The penis bowed once again and bounced away.
"Aways coming and going, that one is," remarked Mr. Nipples. "He does seem to be more lax lately... probably not getting enough exercise."
"He seemed fine to me," said Matt, glancing back over his shoulder as he and the monster continued to walk.
"Yeah, well, you love every dick you see, ya little cockgobbler," said Mr. Nipples not unkindly. Matt reddened. "Here we are now... the Friar is waiting for you in there."
"What Friar?" Asked Matt, but Mr. Nipples opened the door and shoved Matt into a brightly lit room. He stumbled upright as the door slammed behind him. He saw that somehow his clothing had been become ripped, tattered and torn away in places. Nervously, he looked up at a tall, blad, smiling man wearing a clerical collar, a mini-skirt and nothing else. A long pale cock fell from under the skirt. "Are you the Friar?" Asked Matt.
"You bet your thweet ath I am!" Lisped the man, popping out his hip and causing his cock to sway. "Thaven and thorn, and I'm here to marry YOU thweet cheekth!"
"No, I'm sorry you must have a mistake," Matt backed up a little, reaching behind him for the doorknob. He noticed yellow roving eyes in a painting of a pirhana watching him and realized Mr. Nipples hadn't left.
"Thereth no mithtake," said the bald Friar. "You like little boy ath, and it jutht tho happenth that I do ath well! Now get tat TENDER li'l hole of yourth over here thith inthtant!" The man made a move towards the boy.
"NO!" Shouted Matt, whipped the door open with a quick move, and was out like a shot. He got a brief glance of Mr. Nipples, hard red cock in furry paw, pulling away from the holes in the wall he had been staring through.
"Whereya going? Things were just getting good!" He yelled after Matt, but Matt didn't stop. He twisted his way through the long hall, passing a door on his right behinf which came the tortured screams of a woman he took to be the maiden all forlorn being served by the English Penis. He burst through the front door and swatted at a large fly that flew at him.
"Aye, whattsematta w'ich 'oo?" It called after him, raising two clubbed arms and shaking them at Matt who kept running. He wanted to get back to his grandparent's house to think, to come up with a plan, to figure out WHAT TO DO NEXT. A, said a sneaky voice in his head, but will you even be safe there?
"I don't know," said Matt. "I DON'T KNOW!"