Featuring Alessandro Minoli and Janet
Fucking Medicine Man. Fucking dumb old hippie buzzard! Telling me shit I could have told myself 100 times. I’m not a fan of voices or vocal qualities, so I hate when I have to listen to shit that I don’t need reverberating inside my head. Hear someone talk for too long and it just makes you want to hang yourself from a fucking lamppost.
Words might as well smell like farts, because to me they sound like them. We might as well shit out our mouths. And that’s double true for Medicine Man. His mouth smells like hot-baked mustard skin. Not even Janet can take the smell, and dogs love a good garbage hole. And here he is, this fucking smelly piece of shit, about to win the most useless information award.
“It was Shit Bird.”
OF COURSE IT WAS SHIT BIRD!!!!!!!!!!!!
But Shit Bird wasn’t behind it. Shit Bird couldn’t plan out putting his fucking shoes on. He definitely knows how to squeal, though. He’s the best at it. Medicine Man gave me a piece, and I’m gonna shove it up Shit Bird’s ass until his breath smells like gunpowder and he squawks on whoever put him up to it.
Here we are at the dump hut, the worst house I’ve ever seen. It’s got Shit Bird’s shitty touch all over it. He always leaves the door open, so we walk in. That’s the thing about people. They’re one thing, and then they’re the opposite. Here we got a guy who has the biggest yellow streak there is. He’d skip town if you just pointed at him the wrong way. Yet he always leaves the door open. A part of him must want to die! It wants the fear to end! I don’t mind making that happen. I don’t mind taking it all the fuck away.
Inside, there’s nothing anywhere. A real emptiness. No character at all. A house for a true coward who’s just waiting to run again. Don’t want to leave anything behind, so the perfect answer is to not have anything.
Janet and I walk down the hall. I can hear the worm snoring. It’s a weak snore. The fuck can’t even sleep with backbone. We enter the bedroom. Smells like cum and farts.
His face is so peaceful. Makes me want to vomit. This prick gets peace? He tries to ruin my life, and then celebrates with comfy dreams.
I raise my gun. Should I just kill him right now? Shit, I bet that would feel great. Watch that peace end and send him hurtling into oblivion—screaming in terror, straight to fucking hell.
I cock back the hammer. You would have thought I shot the gun right next to his ear, ’cause the toad jumps, pulls his gun, and grabs my fucking beard (which sucks, but at least it’s not my toupee). Shit Bird’s not as weak as he looks. But I’ve got my little ace!
“TEAR HIM APART, JANET!”
Janet sinks her teeth into his arm. He drops the gun. Then comes the face. She tears it up like an unpaid bill. He’s screaming. I’m loving it. So relieved that I get to hear screams instead of bullshit words, and he’s such a great screamer. It’s like he went to school for it. He should scream more. People would like him better. Janet holds on to his cheek. My girl always knows what to do.
“My face! My fucking beautiful face!”
“Trust me, Shit Bird, you look better!”
“Get this fucking bitch’s teeth out of my cheek!”
“She will. Whether she takes your cheek with her is up to you.”
“Why are you doing this?!”
“I’m trying to teach the dog reconstructive surgery. Why do you think, Shit Bird?”
“You think I set you up!”
“Good guess.”
“It wasn’t me. I mean, I did it but I didn’t know. I mean, I knew but I didn’t want to. I was forced! He forced me!”
“Who forced you, Shit Bird?”
“He did!”
“Who’s he?”
“Don’t make me!”
“Oh, I won’t make you. But Janet will!”
I don’t even need to command her. Janet knows. She rips his stupid cheek off like he’s a Mr. Potato Head.
“Now tell me who did it before Janet makes you look like a fucking chimp victim!”
“I’m deformed!”
“You were already deformed! Now you just look more the part. Who the fuck did it?!”
“I can’t tell you. HE’LL GET REALLY MAD AT ME!”
“I’M REALLY MAD AT YOU! AND SO IS JANET! WHO WAS IT?!”
“DEAD DICK!”
“Dead Dick?”
“DEEEEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAAAD DIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIICK!”
Dead Dick? Dead Dick’s… dead.
Check here for previous installments of Toupee, Brett Gelman’s novel about baldness, disgusting depravity, and being on the lam.