beginning. "Dan?" "yeah, mother?" "bring me a deep-sea diver type. bit fat around the belly. blue eyes, medium hair on chest, balding before his time, slightly stoical, cancer of the throat. that-s a deep-sea diver. anybody knows what a deep-sea diver is. now bring one, mother." "o.k., shithead." Bagley yawned. Danforth unclamped one. brought him forth, stood him before the desk.. his tag said, "Barney Anderson." "hello, Barney," said Bag. "where am I?" asked Barney. "SATISFACTORY HELP AGENCY." "boy, if you two ain-t a couple of greasy-looking mother- fuckers, I ain-t never ever seen none!" "what the fuck, Dan!" "I ran him through 4 times." "I told you to tighten those screws!" "and I told you some men have more guts than others!" "it-s all a myth, you damn fool!" "who-s a damn fool?" "you-re both damn fools," said Barney Anderson. "I want you to run his ass through the wringer three times," said Bagley. "o.k., o.k., but first let-s you and me get straight." "aw right, for instance-ast this Barney guy who his heroes are." "Barney, hoose yr herows?" "well, lemme see - Cleaver, Dillinger, Che, Malcolm X, Gandhi, Jersey Joe Walcott, Grandma Barker, Castro, Van Gogh, Villon, Hemingway." "ya see, he i-dentifies with all LOSERS. that makes him feel good. he-s getting ready to lose. we-re going to help him. he-s been conned on this soul-shit and that-s how we get their asses, there ain-t no soul. it-s all con. there ain-t no heroes. it-s all con. there ain-t no winners - it-s all con and horseshit. there ain-t no saints, there ain- t no genius - that-s all con and fairytale, it makes the game go. each man jut tries to hang on and be lucky - if he can. all else is bullshit." "aw right, aw right, I dig your losers! but what about Castro? he looked pretty fat, last photo I saw of him." "he subsists because the U.S. and Russia have decided to leave him in the middle. but suppose they really put the pack on the deck? what can he draw to? man, he don-t hold enough chips to get into a decaying Egyptian whorehouse." "fuck you two guys! I like who I like!" said Barney Anderson. "Barney, when a man gets old enough, trapped enough, hun- gry enough, weary enough - he-ll suck dick, tit, eat shit to stay alive; either that or suicide. the human race ain-t got it, man. it-s a bad crowd." "so we-re gonna change it, man. that-s the trick. if we can make it to the moon we can clean the shit out of the shitbowl, we just been concentrating on the wrong things." "you-re sick, kid, and a little fat around the belly. and balding. Dan, shape him up." Danforth took Barney Anderson and rang and wrung and screamed him through the wringer three times, then brought him back. "Barney?" asked Bagley. "yes sir!" "Who are your heroes?" "George Washington, Bob Hope, Mae West. Richard Nixon, the bones of Clark Gable and all the nice people I-ve seen at Disney- land. Joe Louis, Dinah Shore, Frank Sinatra, Babe Ruth, the Green Berets, hell the whole United States Army and Navy and especially the Marine Corps, and even the Treasury Dept., the CIA, the FBI, United Fruit, the highway Patrol, the whole god damned L.A. Police Dept., and the County Cops too. and I don-t mean -cops,- I mean -policemen.- then there-s Marlene Dietrich, with this slit up the side of her dress, she must be near 70 now? - dancing up at Vegas, my dick got big, what a wonderful woman. the good American life and the good American money can keep us young forever, don-t you see?" "Dan?" "yeah, Bag?" "this one-s really ready! I ain-t got much feeling left, but he even makes me sick. make him sign his little contract and send him out. they-ll love him. god, what a man-s gotta do to just stay alive. sometimes I even hate my own job. that-s bad, ain-t it, Dan?" ******* "sure, Bag, and as soon as I send this asshole on his way, I got just the little thing for you - a touch of the good ol- tonic." "ah, fine, fine-what is it?" "just a little quarter-turn through the wringer." "WHAT?" "oh, it-s fine for the blues or for extemporaneous thinking stuff like that." "will it work?" "it beats aspirin." "o.k., get rid of the asshole." Barney Anderson was sent down the stairway. Bagley got up and walked toward the nearest wringer. "these old gals - West and Dietrich, still flashing tits and legs, hell t don-t make sense, they were doing that when I was 6 years old." "nuttin-. stretchers, girdles, powder, lights, false flesh cover- ings, padding, pudding, straw, horseshit, they could make your grandmother look like a 16 year old." "my grandmother-s dead." "they could still do it." "yeah, yeah, I guess you-re right." Bagley walked toward the wringer. "just a quarter turn now. can I trust you?" "you-re my partner, ain-t you, Bag?" "sure, Dan." "how long we been in business together?" "25 years." "so, o.k., when I say a QUARTER-TURN, I mean a QUAR- TER-TURN." "whatta I do?" "just slip your hands in the rollers, it-s like a washing ma- chine." "in there?" "yeah, here we go! whoopee!" "hey, man, remember, just a quarter of a turn." "sure, Bag, don-t you trust me?" "I gotta now." "you know, I been fucking your wife on the sly." "you rotten son of a bitch! I-ll kill you!" Danforth left the machine running, sat down behind Bagley-s desk, lit a cigarette. he hummed a little tune, "lucky lucky me, I can live in luxury, because I-ve got a pocket full of dreams-I-ve got a pocketful of dreams-" he got up and walked over to the machine and Bagley. "you said a quarter-turn," said Bagley. "it-s been a turn and a half." "don-t you trust me?" "more than ever, somehow." "still, I been fucking your wife on the sly." "well, I guess it-s all right. I get tired of fucking her. every man gets tired of fucking his own wife." "but I want you to want me to fuck your wife." "well, I don-t care but I don-t know if I exactly want you to." "I-ll be back in about 5 minutes." Danforth went back, sat in Bagley-s swivel chair, put his feet up on the desk and waited. he liked to sing. he sang songs: "I got plenty of nuthin- and nuthin-s plenty for me. I got the stars, I got the sun, I got the shining sea-" Danforth smoked two cigarettes and went back to the machine. "Bag, I been fucking your wife on the sly." "oh, I want you to, man! I want you to! and ya know what?" "what?" I-d kinda like to watch." "sure, that-d be o.k." Danforth went to the phone, dialed a number. "Minnie? yeah, Dan. I-m comin- over ta fuck ya again. Bag? oh, he-s comin- too. he wants ta watch. no, we-re not drunk. I just decided to close shop for the day. we-ve made it already. with the Israel-Arab thing and all the African wars, there-s nothing to worry about. Biafra is a beautiful word. anyhow, we-re coming over. I want to bunghole you. you got those big cheeks, jesus. I might even bunghole Bag. I think his cheeks are bigger than yours. keep tight, sweetie, we-re on our way!" Dan hung up. another phone rang. he picked it up. "jam it you rotten motherfucker, even the points of your tits smell like wet dogturds in a Westerly wind." he hung up and smiled. walked over and took Bagley out of the machine. they locked the office door and walked down the steps together. when they walked outside the sun was up and looking good. you could see through the thin skirts of the women. you could almost see their bones. death and rot was everywhere. it was Los Angeles, near 7th and Broadway, the inter- section where the dead snubbed the dead and didn-t even know why it was a taught game like jumprope or dissecting frogs or pissing in the mailbox or jacking-off your pet dog. "we got plenty a nuthin-," they sang, "and nuthin-s plenty for we-" arm and arm they made the underground garage, found Bag-s 69 Caddy, got in, each lit a dollar cigar, Dan driving, got it out of there, almost hit a bum coming out of Pershing Square, turned West toward the freeway, toward freedom, Vietnam, the army, fucking large areas of grass and nude statues and French wine, Beverly Hills- Bagley leaned over and ran down Danforth-s zipper as he drove. I hope he leaves some for his wife, Danforth thought. it was a warm Los Angeles morning, or maybe it was after- noon, he checked the dashboard clock - it read 11:37 a.m. just as he came. he ran the Caddy up to 80. the asphalt slipped underneath like the graves of the dead. he turned on the dash t.v., then reached for the telephone, then remembered to zip up. "Minnie, I love you." "I love you too, Dan," she answered. "is that slob with you?" "right beside me. he just caught a mouthful." "oh, Dan, don-t waste it!" he laughed and hung up. they almost hit a nigger in a pickup truck. he wasn-t black at all, he was a nigger, that-s all he was. there wasn-t a nicer city in the world when you had it made, and only one worse when you didn-t have it made - the Big A. Danforth hit it up to 85. a motorcycle smiled at him as he drove by. maybe he-d call Bob later that night. Bob was always so funny. his 12 writers always gave him those good lines. and Bob was just as natural as horseshit. it was wonderful! he threw out the dollar cigar, lit another, ran the Caddy up to 90, straight at the sun like an arrow, business was good and life, and the tires whirled over the dead and the dying and the dying-to-be. ZYAAAAAUUUUM! === THE FUCK MACHINE it was a hot night in Tony's. you didn't even think of fucking. just drink cool beer. Tony coasted a couple down to me and Indian Mike, and Mike had the money out. I let him buy the first round. Tony rang it up, bored, looked around - 5 or six others staring into their beers, dolts, so Tony walked down to us. "what's new, Tony?" I asked. "ah, shit," said Tony. "at ain't new." "shit," said Tony. "ah, shit," said Indian Mike. we drank at our beers. "what do you think of the moon?" I asked Tony. "shit," said Tony. "yeah," said Indian Mike, "guy's an asshole on earth he's an asshole on the moon, makes no difference." "they say there's probably no life on Mars," I said. "so what?" asked Tony. "oh shit," I said, "2 more beers." Tony coasted them down, then walked down for his money. rang it up. walked back. "shit it's hot. I wish I were deader than yesterday's Kotex." "where do men go when they die, Tony?" "shit, who cares?" "don't you believe in the Human Spirit?" "a bagga bullshit!" "how about Che? Joan of Arc? Billy the Kid? all those?" "a bagga bullshit!" we drank our beers, thinking about it. "look," I said, "I gotta take a piss." I walked back to the urinal and there, as usual, was Petey the Owl. I took it out and began to piss. "you sure got a little dick," he told me. "when I'm pissing or meditating, yeh, but I'm what you call the super-stretch type. when I'm ready to go, each inch I got now equals six." "that's good then, if you ain't lying, cause I see two inches showing." " I just show the head." "I'll give you a dollar to suck your cock." "that ain't much." "you're showing more than head. you're showing every bit of string you got." "fuck you, Pete." "you'll be back when you run out of beer money." I walked back on out. "2 more beers," I ordered. Tony went through his routine, came back. "it's so hot, I think I'm going crazy," he said. "the heat just makes you realize your true self," I told Tony. "wait a minute! you calling me a nut?" "most of us are. but it's kept a secret." ? "all right, saying your bullshit is straight, how many sane men are there on earth? are there any?" "a few." "how many?" " out of the billions?" "yeh, yeh." "well, I'd say 5 or 6." "5 or 6?" said Indian Mike. "well, suck my cock!" "look," said Tony. "how do you know I'm nuts? how do we get away with it?" "well, since we are all insane there are only a few to control us, far too few, so they just let us run around insane. that's all they can do at this moment. for a while I thought they might find some place to live in outer space while they destroyed us. but now I know that the insane control space also." " how do you know?" "because they planted an American flag on the moon." "suppose the Russians had planted a Russian flag on the moon?" "same thing," I said. "then you're impartial?" Tony asked. "I am impartial to all degrees of madness." we became quiet. kept drinking. and Tony too, began pouring himself scotch and waters. he could. he owned the place. "jesus, it's hot," said Tony. "shit, yeh," said Indian Mike. then Tony began talking. "insanity," said Tony, "ya know, there's something very insane going on at this very minute!" "sure," I said. "no, no, no-I mean right HERE at my place!" "yeh?" "yeh. It's so crazy, sometimes I get scared." "tell me all about it, Tony," I said, always ready for somebody else's bullshit. Tony leaned real close. "I know a guy's got a fuck-machine. no crazy sex magazine shit. like you see in the ads. hot water bottles with replaceable cornbeef pussies, all that nonsense. this guy has really put it together. a German scientist, we got to him, I mean out govt. did before the Russians could grab him. now keep it quiet." "sure, Tony, sure-" "Von Brashlitz. our govt. tried to get him interested in SPACE. no go. a brilliant old guy, but he just has this FUCK MA- CHINE in mind. at the same time he thinks he's some kind of an artist, calls himself Michelangelo at times-they pensioned him off at $500.00 a month to kind of keep him alive enough to stay outa the nuthouses. they watched him a while, then got a little bored or forgot, but they kept the checks coming, and now and then an agent would talk to him ten or twenty minutes a month, write a report that he was crazy, then leave, so he just drifted around from town to town, dragging this big red trunk behind him. finally one night he come in here and begins drinking. tells me that he is just a tired old man, needs a real quiet place to do his research. I kept putting him off. lotta nuts come in here, ya know." "yeh," I said. "then, man, he kept getting drunker and drunker, and he laid it down to me. he had designed a mechanical woman who could give a man a better fuck than any woman created throughout the centu- ries! plus no Kotex, no shit, no arguments!" "I been looking," I said, "for a woman like that all my life." Tony laughed. "every man has. I thought he was crazy, of course, until one night after closing I went down to his rooming house with him and he took the FUCK MACHINE out of the red trunk." "and?" "it was like going to heaven before you died." " let me guess the rest," I asked Tony. "guess." Von Brashlitz and his FUCK MACHINE are upstairs at your place right now." "uh huh," said Tony. "how much?" "twenty bucks a piece." "20 bucks to fuck a machine?" "he's outdone whatever Created us. you'll see." "Petey the Owl will blow me for a buck." "Petey the Owl is o.k. but he ain't no invention that beats the gods." I shoved over my 20. "so help me, Tony, if this is some crazy kind of hot-weather gag, you've lost your best customer!" "like you said earlier, we're all crazy anyhow. It's up to you." "right," I said. "I only get 50 percent, ya gotta understand. the rest goes to Von Brashlitz. 500 buck pension ain't much with inflation and taxes, and Von B. drinks schnapps like crazy." "let's make it," I said, "you've got 40 bucks. where's this immortal FUCK MACHINE?" Tony lifted a partition of the bar, said, "come through here. take the stairway to the back rear, just go up there, knock, say, 'Tony sent us'." "any door #?" "door #69." "oh, hell yes," I said, "what else?" we found the stairway. walked up. "Tony will do anything for a gag," I said. we walked along, there it was: door #69. I knocked: "Tony sent us." "ah, do come in, gentleman!" here was this old horny-looking freak, glass of schnapps in his hand, double-lensed glasses. just like the old-timed movies. he ap- peared to be having a visitor, a young thing, almost too young, looking flimsy and strong at the same time. she crossed her legs, flashing all the bit: nylon knees, nylon thighs, and just that tiny part there where the long stockings ended and just that touch of flesh began. she was all ass and breast, nylon legs, clean blue laughing eyes- "gentleman, ---my daughter, Tanya-" "what?" "ah, yes, I know, I am so-old- but like the myth of the black man with the ever-huge cock, there is also the myth of dirty old Germans who never stop fucking, you may believe what you wish to. this is my daughter, Tanya, anyhow-" "hello, boys," she laughed. then we all looked toward the door which was labeled: FUCK MACHINE STORAGE ROOM. he finished off his schnapps. "and so- you boys came over for the best FUCK ever, ya?" "Daddy!" said Tanya, "must you always be so crude?" Tanya recrossed her legs, higher this time, and I almost came. then the professor finished another schnapps, then got up and walked over to the door labeled FUCK MACHINE STORAGE ROOM. he turned and smiled at us, then very slowly opened the door. he walked on in and came out rolling this thing on what looked like a hospital bed on wheels. it was NAKED, a clod of metal. the prof rolled the damn thing right out in front of us, then began humming some rotten song, probably something from the German. a clod of metal with this hole in the center. the professor had an oil can in his hand, poked it into the hole and began punching in quite a quantity of this oil, meanwhile humming this insane German song. he kept punching the oil in, then looked back over his shoul- der and said, "nice, ya?" then he went back to work, pumping in the oil. Indian Mike looked at me, tried to laugh, said, "god damn- we've been taken again!" "yeah." I said, "it seems like it's been 5 years since I been laid, but I'll be damned if I'll stick my cock into that mound of hard lead!" Von Brashlitz laughed. walked over to his liquor cabinet, found another 5th. of schnapps, poured a goody, sat down facing us. "as we in Germany began knowing that the war was lost, and the net began to tighten---down to the final battle of Berlin-we knew that the war had taken on a new essence---the real war then became who was to grab the most German scientists. If Russia got well, I don't know how it really came out- numerically or in terms of scientific brain-power. I only know that the Americans got to me first, snapped me up, took me away in a car, gave me a drink, put pistols to my head, made promises, talked madly. I signed every- thing-" "all right," I said, "so much for history. but I'm still not going to stick my dick, my poor little dick into that hunk of sheetmetal or whatever it is! Hitler must have really been a madman to nursemaid you. I wish the Russians had gotten to your ass first! I want my 20 bucks back!" Von Brashlitz laughed, "heeeheeeheeehe-it is just my little joke, nien? heeeheeeheeeheee!" he shoved that mound of lead back into the closet.slammed the door. "oh, heheeehee!" had a bit more schnapps. Von B. poureed another schnapps. he really put them down. "gentlemen, I am an artist and an inventor! my FUCK MACHINE is really my daughter, Tanya-" "more little jokes, Von?" I asked. "joke nothing! Tanya! go over and sit in the gentleman's lap." Tanya laughed, got up, walked over and sat in my lap. a FUCK MACHINE? I couldn't believe it! her skin was skin, or so it seemed, and her tongue as it worked into my mouth as we kissed, it was not mechanical - each movement was different, responding to my own. I was busy at it, ripping her blouse from her breasts, working tangled; we somehow got to standing - and I took her standing up, my hands reaching down, spreading her asshole as I pumped, she came - I could feel the throbbing, and I joined. it was the best fuck I had ever had! Tanya went to the bathroom, cleaned-up and showered, dressed-up again for Indian Mike. I guess. "man's greatest invention," Von Brashlitz said quite seriously. he was quite right. then Tanya came out and sat on MY lap. "NO! NO! TANYA! IT'S THE OTHER MAN'S TURN! YOU JUST FINISHED FUCKING THAT ONE!" she didn't seem to hear. and it was strange, even for a FUCK MACHINE, because, really, I had never been a very good lover. "do you love me?" she asked. "yes." "I love you. and I am so happy. and- I'm not supposed to be alive. you know that, don't you?" "god damn it!" screamed the old man, "this FUCKING MA- CHINE!" he walked over to this varnished box with the word TANYA printed on the side. there were these little wires sprouting out of it; there were dials, and needles that quivered, and many colors, lights that blinked on and off, things that ticked-Von B. was the craziest pimp I had ever met, he kept playing with the dials, then he looked at Tanya: "25 YEARS! damn near a lifetime to build you! I even had to hide you from HITLER! and now- you try to turn into a mere and ordinary bitch!" "I'm not 25," said Tanya, "I'm 24." "you see? you see? just like a common bitch!" he went back to his dials. "you've put on a different shade of lipstick," I said to Tanya. "you like it?" "oh, yes!" she leaned over and kissed me. Von B. kept playing with the dials. I felt that he would win. Von Brashlitz turned to Indian Mike. "it's just a minor kink in the machine. trust me. I'll get it straight in a minute, ya?" "I hope so," said Indian Mike, "I've got 14 inches waiting and am twenty bucks down. "I love you," Tanya told me, "I will never fuck any other man. If I can't have you, I won't have anybody." "I'll forgive you, Tanya, for anything that you do." the prof was getting pissed. he kept turning the dials but noth- ing was happening. "TANYA! It is time for you to FUCK the OTHER man! I am- getting tired-must have a bit of schnapps-be off to sleep-Tanya-" "ah," said Tanya, "you rotten old fuck! you and your schnapps, and then nibbling at my tits all night, so I can't even sleep while you can't even raise a decent hard! you're disgusting!" "VAS?" "I SAID, 'YOU CAN'T EVEN RAISE A DECENT HARD!'" "you, Tanya, will pay for this! you are MY creation, I am not yours!" he kept turning his magic knobs, I mean, on the machine. he was quite angry, and you could see that, somehow, the anger gave him a vital brilliance beyond himself, "just wait, Mike. all I have to do it to adjust the electronics! Wait! a short! I see it!" then he leaped up. this guy they had saved from the Russians. he looked at Indian Mike. "it's straight now! the machine is in order! have fun!" then he walked over to his schnapps bottle, poured another goody, sat down to watch. Tanya got off of my lap and walked over to Indian Mike. I watched Tanya and Indian Mike embrace. Tanya worked Indian Mike's zipper down, got his cock out, and man he had plenty of cock! he'd said 14 inches but it looked more like 20. then Tanya put both her hands around Mike's cock. he moaned in glory. then she ripped the whole cock right out of and off of his body. threw it to the side. I saw the thing roll along the rug like an insane sausage, drib- bling little sad trailets of blood. It rolled up against a wall. then stayed there like something with a head but no legs and no place to go-which was true enough. next, here came the BALLS flying through the air. a heavy, looping sight. they simply landed upon the center of the rug and didn't know what to do but bleed. so, they bled. Von Brashlitz, the hero of the America-Russ invasion took a hard look at what was left of Indian Mike, my old beer-drinking buddy, very red on the floor, flowing from the center - Von B took the highroad, down the stairway- room 69 had done everything but that. and then I asked her: "Tanya, the heat will be here very quick- ly. shall we dedicate the room number to our love?" "of course, my love!" we made it, just in time, and the stupid heat ran in. one of the learned then pronounced Indian Mike dead. and since Von B. was a kind of U.S.Govt. product, there was a hell of a lot of people around - various chickenshit officials - firemen, reporters, the cops, the inventor, the C.I.A., the F.B.I., and various other forms of human shit. Tanya came over and sat in my lap. "they will kill me now. please try not to be sad." I didn't answer. then Von Brashlitz was screaming, pointing to Tanya - "I TELL YOU, GENTLEMEN, SHE HAS NO FEELING! I SAVED THE DAMN THING FROM HITLER! I tell you, it is nothing but a MACHINE!" they all just stood there, nobody believed Von B. it was simply the most beautiful machine, and so-called wo- man, they had ever seen. "Oh shit! You idiots! Every woman is a fucking machine, can't you see that? They play for the highest bidder! THERE IS NO SUCH THING AS LOVE! THAT IS A FAIRY-TALE MIRAGE LIKE CHRISTMAS!" they still wouldn't believe. "THIS is only a machine! have FEAR! WATCH!" VonBrashlitz grabbed one of Tanya's arms. ripped it completely off her body. and inside - inside the hole of her shoulder - you could see it - there was nothing but wire and tubes - coiled and running things - plus some minor substance that faintly resembled blood. I saw Tanya standing there with this coil of wire hanging from her shoulder, where the arm used to be, she looked at me: "please, for me to! I asked you to try not to be too sad." I watched as they ganged her, and ripped and raped and tore. I couldn't help it. I put my head down between my legs and cried- also, Indian Mike never got his 20 bucks worth. some months went by. I never went back to the bar. There was a trial but the govt. exonerated Von B. and his machine. I moved to another town. far away. and one day sitting in a barbershop, I picked up this sex mag. here was an ad: "Blow up your own little dolly! $29.95. Resistant rubber material, very durable. Chains and whips included in package. A bikini, bras, panties. 2 wigs, lipstick and small jar of love-potion included. Von Brashlitz Co." I sent him a money order. some box number in Mass. he had moved too. the package arrived in about 3 weeks. very embarrassing. I didn't have a bicycle pump, and then I got the hots when I took the thing out of the package. I had to go down to the corner gas station and use their air hose. it looked better as it blew up. big tits. big ass. "whatcha got there, pal?" the gas station man asked me. "look, man, I'm just borrowing a little air. don't I buy a lot of gas here, huh?" "o.k., that's o.k., you can have the air. I just damn well can't help wondering whatcha got there-" "just forget it!" I said. "JESUS! look at those TITS!" "I AM looking, asshole!" I left him there with his tongue hanging out, then threw her over my shoulder and made it back to my place. I carried her into the bedroom. the big question was yet to come? I spread the legs and looked for some kind of opening. Von B. hadn't completely slipped. I climbed on top and began kissing that rubber mouth. now and then I reached for one of the giant rubber tits and sucked upon it. I had put a yellow wig on her and rubbed the love-potion all over my cock. It didn't take much love-potion. maybe he'd sent a year's worth. I kissed her passionately behind the ears, stuck my finger up her ass, kept pumping. then I leaped off, chained her arms behind her back, there was this little lock and key and then I whipped her ass good with the leather thongs. god, I gotta be nuts! I thought. then I flipped her over and put it back in. humped and humped. frankly, it was rather boring. I imagined male dogs screwing female cats; I imagined 2 people fucking through the air as they jumped from the Empire State Building. I imagined a pussy as large as an octopus, crawling toward me, wet and stinking and aching for an orgasm. I remembered all the panties, knees, legs, tits, pussies I had ever seen. the rubber was sweating; I was sweating. "I love you, darling!" I whispered into one of her rubber ears. I hate to admit it, but I forced myself to come into that lousy hunk of rubber. It was hardly a Tanya at all. I took a razor blade and cut the thing all to shit. dumped it out with the beercans. how many men in America bought those stupid things? or then you can pass half a hundred fuck machines in a 10 minute walk on almost any main sidewalk of America - the only difference being that they pretended that they were human. poor Indian Mike. with that 20 inch dead cock. all the poor Indian Mikes. all the climbers into Space. all the whores of Vietnam and Washington. poor Tanya, her belly had been a hog's belly. veins the veins of a dog. she rarely shatted or pissed, she had just fucked - heart, voice and tongue borrowed from others - there were only supposed to be 17 possible organ transplants at that time. Von B. was far ahead of them. poor Tanya, who had only eaten a little - mostly cheap cheese and raisins. she had had no desire for money or property or large new cars or overexpensive homes. she had never read the evening paper. had no desire for colored television, new hats, rain boots, backfence conversation with idiot wives; nor had she desired a hus- band who was a doctor, a stockbroker, a congressman or a cop. and the guy at the gas station keeps asking me, "hey, what happened to that thing you brought down here one day and blew up with the air hose?" but he doesn't ask anymore. I buy my gas at a new place. I don't even get my hair cut anymore where I saw that magazine with the Von Brashlitz rubber dolly sex ad. I am trying to forget every- thing. what would you do? === SIX INCHES The first three months of my marriage to Sarah were acceptable but I'd say a little after that our troubles began. She was a good cook, and for the first time in years I was eating well. I began to put on weight. And Sarah began to make remarks. "Ah, Henry, you're beginning to look like a turkey they're plumping for Thanksgiving." "Ats right, baby," I told her. I was a shipping clerk in an auto parts warehouse and the pay was hardly sufficient. My only joys were eating, drinking beer and going to bed with Sarah. Not exactly a rounded life but a man had to take what he could get. Sarah was plenty. Everything about her spelled S-E-X. I had really gotten to know her at a Christmas party for the employees at the warehouse. Sarah was a secretary there. I noticed none of the fellows got near her at the party and I couldn't understand it. I had never seen a sexier woman and she didn't act the fool either. I got close to her and we drank and talked. She was beautiful. There was something odd about her eyes, though. They just kept looking into you and the eyelids didn't seem to blink. When she went to the restroom I walked over to Harry the truckdriver. "Listen, Harry," I asked, "how come none of the boys make a play for Sarah?" "She's a witch, man, a real witch. Stay away." "There's no such thing as witches, Harry. All that has been disproven. All those women they burned at the stake in the old days, it was a cruel and a horrible mistake. There's no such thing as a witch." "Well, maybe they did burn a lot of women wrongly, I can't say. But this bitch is a witch, take it from me." "All she needs, Harry, is understanding." "All she needs," said Harry, "is a victim." "How do you know?" "Facts," said Harry. "Two guys here, Manny, a salesman. And Lincoln, a clerk." "What happened?" "They just kind of disappeared in front of our eyes, only so slowly--- you could see them going, vanishng..." "What do you mean?" "I don't want to talk about it. You'd think I was crazy." Harry walked off. Then Sarah came out of the lady's room. She looked beautiful. "What did Harry tell you about me?" she asked. "How did you know I was talking to Harry?" "I know," she said. "He didn't say much." "Whatever he said, forget it. It's bullshit. I won't let him have any and he's jealous. He likes to badmouth people." "I'm not concerned with Harry's opinions," I told her. "You and I are going to make it, Henry," she said. She went to my apartment with me after the party and I'm telling you I've never been laid like that. She was the woman of all women. It was a month or so later that we were married. She quit her job right off, but I didn't say anything because I was so glad to have her. Sarah made her own clothes, did her own hair. She was a remarkable woman. Very remarkable. But, as I said, it was after about 3 months that she began making these remarks about my weight. At first they were just genial little remarks, then she began to get scornful about it. I came home one night and she said, "Take off your damned clothes!" "What, my darling?" "You heard me, bastard! Strip!" Sarah was a little different then than I had ever seen her. I took off my clothes and underwear and threw them on the couch. She stared at me. "Awful," she said, "what a lot of shit!" "What, dear?" "I said you look just like a big tub of shit!" "Listen, honey, what's wrong? You got the rag on tonight?" "Shut up! Look at that stuff hanging at your sides!" She was right. There seemed to be a little pouch of fat on each side, hanging just above the hips. Then she doubled up her fists and hit me hard several times on each of the pouches. "We've got to punch that shit! Break up the fat tissues, the cells..." She punched me again, several times. "Ow! Baby, that hurts!" "Good! Now, hit yourself!" "Hit myself?" "Go ahead, damn you!" I hit myself several times, quite hard. When I was finished the things were still there, though now they looked quite red. "We're going to get that shit off of you," she told me. I figured that is was love and decided to cooperate... Sarah began counting my calories. She took away my fried foods, bread and potatoes, salad dressing, but I kept my beer. I had to show her who was wearing the pants in our family. "No, damn it," I said, "I won't give up my beer. I love you very much but the beer stays!" "All right," said Sarah, "we'll make it work anyway." "Make what work?" "I mean, get that shit off you, get you down to a desirable size." "And what's a desirable size?" I asked. "You'll see." Each night when I got home she'd ask me the same questionl "Did you punch your sides today?" "Oh, hell yes!" "How many times?" "400 punches on both sides, hard." I would walk down the streets punching at my sides. People looked at me but it didn't matter after a while because I knew that I was accomplishing something and they weren't." Things were working, marvelously. I came down from 225 to 197. Then from 197 to 184. I felt ten years younger. People remarked about how good I looked. Everybody except Harry the truck driver. Of course, he was just jealous because he never got into Sarah's panties. His tough shit. One night on the scales I was down to 179. I said to Sarah, "Don't you think we've come down enough? Look at me!" The things on my sides were long gone. My belly hung in. My cheeks looked as if I were sucking them in. "According to the charts," said Sarah, "according to my charts, you've not yet reached a desirable size." "Look," I told her, "I'm six feet tall. What is the desireable weight?" And then Sarah answered me quite strangely. "I didn't say 'desirable weight'," I said, 'desireable size'. This is the New Age, the Atomic Age, and most important the Age of Overpopulation. I am the Saviour of the World. I have the answer to the Overpopulation Explosion. Explosion. Let others work on Pollution. Solving Overpopulation is the root; it will solve Pollution and many other things too." "What the hell are you talking about?" I asked, ripping the cap off a bottle of beer. "Don't worry about it," she answered, "you'll find out." Then I began to notice, as I stepped on the scales, that although I was still losing weight I didn't seem to be getting any thinner. It was strange. And then I noticed that my pantscuffs were hanging down over my shoes---ever so slightly, and that my shirtcuffs were hanging down a bit over my wrists. When I drove to work I notcied that the steering wheel seemed further away. I had to pull the car seat up a notch. One night I got on the scales. 155. "Look here, Sarah." "Yes, darling?" "There's something I don't understand." "What?" "I seem to be shrinking." "Shrinking?" "Oh, you fool! That's incredible! How can a man shrink? Do you really think that your diet is shinking your bones? Bones melt! Rduction of calories only reduces fat. Don't be an idiot! Shrinking? Impossible!" Then she laughed. "All right," I said, "come here. Here's a pencil. Now I'm gonna stand against this wall. My mother used to do this with me as a kid when I was growing. Now put a line right there on the wall where the pencil hits after you place it straight across the top of my head." "All right, silly," she said. She drew the line. A week later I was down to 131. It was happening faster and faster. "Come here, Sarah." "Yes, silly boy." "Now, draw the line." She drew the line, I turned around. "Now see here, I've lost 24 pounds and 8 inches in the last week. I'm melting away! I'm now five feet two. This is madness! Madness! I've had enough. I've caught you cutting my pants legs, my shirt sleeves. It won't work. I'm going to begin eating again. I think that you are some kind of witch!" It was soon after that the boss called me into the office I climbed into the chair across from his desk. "Henry Markson Jones II?" "Of course, sir." "Well, Jones, we've been watching you carefully. I'm afraid you just don't fit this job anymore. We hate to see you go like this...I mean , we hate to let you go like this, but..." "Look, sir, I always do my best." "We kn