When I got home from the slaughterhouse I heard strange noises coming from the bedroom. I pushed the door open and was astounded to find my wife on the bed being screwed by a walrus.
“Hey!” I yelled. “What the fuck is going on in here?”
The walrus didn’t appear to hear me, and if he did he just took no notice. He merely continued pounding his giant frame against my wife’s insignificant body. I caught her eye, and she silently nodded in the direction of the bedside dresser, where I spotted two crispy ten dollar bills. My nerves relaxed at once.
“Well I guess that’s okay then,” I muttered in a much calmer tone.
I crept away and gently closed the door behind me, then, after a quick visit to the kitchen, I sauntered into the lounge and flopped on to the settee I don’t remember owning with a packet of crocodile toenail flavoured potato chips and a root beer. As I snacked I watched the blank television screen, absorbed in its murky aura.
In the bedroom I could hear the bedsprings taking a battering, and some minutes later a wolfish howl shattered the walls of the apartment. The walrus had had his fill of my wife. Presently the door was pulled open and the walrus stomped into the lounge. He was absolutely huge, around eight feet tall with hundreds of whiskers around his burly snout. He glanced at me before collapsing into the armchair with an almighty crash, destroying the chair in the process.
“You destroyed the fucking chair!” I cried out. I was obviously flipped out, not used to being in the presence of a walrus.
The giant creature took out a packet of Yeheyuans and lit one, arrogantly exhaling large plumes of smoke all around and into my eyes.
“Who said you could fucking smoke around here?” I yelled.
The walrus gazed at me for a few seconds, then sneaked out a cloud of smoke in the direction of the budgie’s cage.
“I find your overuse of the F word seriously distressing,” he said in a gruff voice.
I was taken aback. He was capable of human speech!
“You’re capable of human speech!” I exclaimed.
“So? Is that surprising?”
“Well yes it is.”
“How come?”
“Because you’re a fucking walrus!”
“Well what were you expecting? We’re not all growls, grunts and whistles, you know. Got any more root beer?”
I shook my head. I did have some more root beer to be truthful but I didn’t want to give the walrus any because he appeared to be a supercilious twat.
“Actually,” he continued, “I’m surprised to discover humans are capable of speech.”
“Why? That’s how we communicate.”
“And that’s how we communicate too.”
I watched as the walrus scratched his left tusk with his foreflipper. He truly was an ugly bastard.
“You’ll be telling me next that you all have names,” I mumbled sarcastically.
“Yes we do! Mine’s Reg. What’s yours? If indeed humans have names at all.”
“Of course we fucking do!”
The walrus tut-tutted and waved his flipper at me. “That F word thing is a real problem with you.”
I realized that he was getting the better of me and it was showing. I had to use my wits and relax. I gulped some root beer before answering him.
“Reg is an unusual name for a walrus,” I said.
“Have you ever been introduced to a walrus?”
“No.”
“So how can you say that?”
He had me. What a bastard!
“My name is Dumbfuck,” I told him.
“That’s an unusual name for a human.”
“Have you ever been introduced to a human?”
He grinned, showing me his collection of evil-looking teeth. “You got me there!”
I settled back on to the settee I don’t remember us having and crammed a palmful of potato chips into my maw. The walrus – Reg – finished his Yeheyuan and lit another.
“So, Reg,” I said, more confident now, “what brings you around here today then?”
Reg looked me straight in the eye and said, “I came around here to shag your wife.” Then he blew a wadful of cigarette smoke right up my nose.
“Cool,” I replied, trying to appear nonchalant about the fact that he’d been humping Mrs Dumbfuck. “How did you find out about her services?”
The walrus fumbled around beside him and after a few seconds produced a small card from within the folds of his thick skin. He handed it to me.
READY AND AVAILABLE AND SEXY AS HELL ITSELF
CALL FOR A GOOD TIME
044 777 808099
ASK FOR AMARYLLIS
Amaryllis! So that was her first name!
“I guess you found this lying around the bog somewhere, huh?” I asked.
“The bog? The bog? What do you think we are, neanderthals?”
“No, I just thought…”
“You just thought we were a bunch of uneducated heathens, didn’t you?”
“No! Well, yeah I did. Sorry.”
“Typical.”
“So where do you all live then?”
“Testicle Valley.”
“Testicle Valley? Wow! That place is so cool! Only rich dudes live around there, don’t they?”
“That’s right.”
“So you’re rich then?”
“Sure am. My father is the deputy governor of Tennessee.”
“Jesus Christ!”
“Sorry, never heard of him.”
I finished my root beer and farted loudly. I started to wonder how long Reg was going to stick around, as I was desperate to masturbate, having spied the delectable Miss Bab hanging around the foyer when I entered the apartment block.
“So, er…” I said slowly, “is this your first time with a human female?”
“It is,” said Reg with a sly grin.
“Aren’t there any hot walrus chicks down in Testicle Valley for you to shag?”
Reg chuckled. “Testicle Valley is full of hot walrus chicks, but you know what it’s like, we all fancy a change now and then.”
“That’s so sexist,” I said.
“You think so? I bet if you got the chance you wouldn’t say no.”
At once I thought of Miss Bab and I knew exactly what he meant. “I guess so,” I murmured.
Reg began to scratch his tusk again, producing a grating noise that was as irritating as hell. “What about a walrus chick? Would you fancy it?”
I almost retched at the idea. All that horrible thick dirty skin, and the hundreds of whiskers, and the protruding tusks.
“You must be joking!” I yelled.
Reg laughed. “You don’t know what you’re missing.”
“Really?”
“Yes. Walri are very sexual creatures, you know.”
“No shit.”
“It’s true.”
The walrus reached behind the armchair and swung a holdall over his shoulder, and proceeded to unzip it. I gazed on, keen to learn what he had inside his bag. I spotted a copy of The Kafka Effekt by D Harlan Wilson, and next to it a small pocketsize paperback in lurid colors of pink and yellow. He handed it to me and I scrutinized the title.
HOT SEX TIPS
(WALRUS EDITION)
“I don’t believe it!” I gasped, but upon flicking through the book and glancing at the various graphic examples of sexual walrus antics I started to believe it alright.
“What do you think?” asked Reg.
“It’s sick!”
He guffawed in front of my face. “You wouldn’t say that if you were in the sack with a hot sexy steaming walrus babe!” He then glanced at the grandfather clock in the corner. “Hey, I gotta go. I have an appointment with my chiropodist.”
I looked at the size of the claws on his inner flippers and groaned. If anyone required a chiropodist it was this dude. He climbed to his foreflippers and waddled down the hall and out of the door, without even a word. The apartment seemed so quiet without his presence. I pondered over this strange encounter, until I realized that I was still holding the Hot Sex Tips book in my hands. I opened it up and began to read. After the second page I had a burning erection.
In and out, in and out, in and out. Isn’t that the way? And it feels so lovely, doesn’t it? I slid my penis in and out of the hole and experienced a feeling so exquisite that I almost fainted with delight. My nude body was sweating heavily as I performed the deed. I could feel it coming on, the climax. Gallons of sperm creeping through my testicles. Well, a little bit at least, but it felt like gallons.
And then it arrived.
I can never describe that feeling. My white stuff pumped out as I still slid in and out, then it became so unbearable that I just held it inside. I left it there for maybe half a minute until the orgasm subsided and I got my breath back. Then I placed my arms around my lover and leant forward.
“How was it for you, Doris?” I whispered.
Doris replied with a growl, a grunt and a whistle, and when she kissed me her whiskers brushed all over my face.
Four days later and I was in the apartment searching for my copy of Stranger on the Loose by D Harlan Wilson. I was just about to strangle the budgie when someone knocked at the door.
My journey to the front door was laden with hazards, but then so is life so I wasn’t too stressed about it, and besides I had plenty of prescribed tablets to assist me. I pulled the door open and came face to face to face with two cops. A shudder tingled through my bloodstream and caused my nostrils to quiver a tiny morsel. I was terrified that I had been branded a pervert after my trip down to the bog with Doris.
“Mr Dumbfuck?” snarled the first cop. He was wearing shades. So was the other cop. I wasn’t wearing shades.
“Just Dumbfuck. I’ve never been called Mr before.”
The second cop was humming a tune under his breath. I was certain that I recognized it, and after a few seconds I was pretty damned sure of the title.
“I’ll name that tune in three!” I screamed.
The cop seemed alarmed that I knew the tune. “Name that tune,” he said.
“The Blower’s Daughter by Damien Rice.”
“Correct!” said the second cop, and proceeded to exchange high fives and not-so-secret underground slaps and thumb-rubs with me. The first cop didn’t appear too pleased with all of this.
“What’s all this shit?” he blasted.
His partner seemed rather sheepish and became silent at once.
“Never mind all that game show shit,” continued the first cop. He then delved into his jacket pocket and produced a crumpled snapshot, which he thrust in front of my nose. “Have you seen this walrus?” he yelled.
I gazed at the photograph. It was an image of a walrus all right, and I immediately thought of Reg, although I couldn’t be sure it was him because walri all look the same to me.
“Walri all look the same to me so I can’t be sure it’s Reg,” I blurted.
“Reg?” said the first cop. “Who’s Reg?”
I was trapped, well and truly, so I was forced to tell them about the visit of Reg the walrus to my apartment, but I didn’t tell them about him having sex with Mrs Dumbfuck, no way.
“Did Reg have sex with your wife at all?” the cop enquired.
“What? Don’t be preposterous!” I lied.
“If you say so,” the cop said. He then hesitated for around 3.33333 seconds recurring. “Do you have a copy of Stranger on the Loose by D Harlan Wilson?”
“Why do you ask?”
“Because we’ve received reports of a walrus visiting apartment blocks all over Beantown making off with copies of Stranger on the Loose by D Harlan Wilson and having sex with the female of the house if the opportunity is there.”
I became speechless and in shock. What a bastard! I vowed never to trust a walrus ever again. I explained to the cops that my copy of the book was missing and that Reg must have been responsible. They didn’t write anything down, they didn’t even take out a notebook. Neither did I for that matter.
“I did notice that he had a copy of The Kafka Effekt by D Harlan Wilson in his bag,” I told them.
Immediately the two cops began to blubber. Streams of tears fell from behind their shades, so severe that they were gushing as if from a faucet, and in no time at all they were standing in a large puddle that was increasing by the tenth of a second.
“Thank you for your time,” said the first cop, and then they were off, marching down the hall as though they had left the oven on at home.
“Wait!” I cried. “Why does Reg want all these copies of Stranger on the Loose by D Harlan Wilson? What’s going on?”
But they didn’t respond, instead they galloped down the stairway and out into the street. I slammed my door like a mad thing and reached for my jacket. I had to go down to Testicle Valley and find out what in the Devil’s name was going on with Reg and these books.
As I passed the window I glanced out and spotted the two cops approaching their car, which was parked across the street. They weren’t crying any more; in fact they were laughing, like two spectators at an Andy Kaufman concert. And then they reached up to a spot at the centre of their foreheads and pulled their skins down. They actually tore off their cop-skins and stepped out of them. They weren’t cops at all! They were uncops. I had been fooled, because they were both walri, nine feet tall with huge tusks and hundreds of vibrissae. And as they squeezed into the cop car and sped off I myself started to blubber like a sick hound.
I caught the next tram to Testicle Valley, my nerves awash with anguish. I gazed through the tram window as it cruised downhill into the valley. The place was swarming with walri, thousands of giant brown-furred frames lumbering around the streets. I reckoned there was no way in Hell that I was going to find Reg around this place.
When I stepped off the tram my feet sank into a pool of mucky brown water. I studied my surroundings and discovered that everywhere there was six inches or so of water, and the walri were sloshing around in it as they went about their daily business. My trousers were already soaking and it wasn’t very comfortable but I was determined to locate this conniving walrus.
As I trudged through the many streets I noticed that the whole of Testicle Valley was a working shrine to the irrealist writer D Harlan Wilson. I passed 4 Ellipses Street, Kafka Effekt Square, Irreality Corner, D Harlan Wilson Place, and several others. Placards, billboards, posters, flyers, and advertising boards provided information on D Harlan Wilson books like Kafka Breathing Sock Puppets, The Kafka Effekt and Stranger on the Loose. There was information on book signings and personal appearances and physical interviews and online chatrooms. And yet, as much as I respected and admired the writings of this particular author, I still had to discover the whereabouts of Reg the walrus.
I entered my umpteenth street, and noted that my ankles and lower legs were aching due to splashing along the six inches of grimy water. On every corner there were groups of male and female walri, lots of teeth clacking and bell clanging noises striking the air. It was no good; I had to make some enquiries. Glancing around, I spotted a walrus sitting on a bench by the roadside. I approached him, noticing he was cradling a half-empty bottle of Jim Beam in his right foreflipper.
“Good morning,” I said.
The walrus appeared startled. “Holy D Harlan, I didn’t know humans could talk!” He studied the Jim Beam bottle in his flipper, and then tossed it into a nearby trashcan. “I ain’t touching that shit again, that’s for certain.”
“Do you know where I can find Reg?” I asked him, ignoring his dilemma.
He glared at me, his tusks quivering and a sticky goo oozing from inside his large mouth. “Who is Reg?”
“He’s a walrus.”
My plea was ignored, instead the walrus tottered across the road. I wasn’t pleased at his total disrespect and seriously contemplated banging my head against the nearest wall. However before I could do this a voice called out to me.
“Hey, human,” said a tiny calf walrus who was maybe six feet from me, leaning against the window of a haberdashery store.
“What is it?” I said.
The calf came over to me. I guessed that this was a young female, although I couldn’t be sure.
“I know where Reg is,” she told me.
“Fantastic! Where can I find him?”
“Do you mean Reg the undertaker or Reg the underhand market trader?”
I thought for a couple of seconds. Upon deducing that Reg was in no way an undertaker I replied, “Reg the underhand market trader.”
“Well I guess he’ll be at the market then,” she said, pointing her foreflipper in the direction of a bright alleyway that was littered with incoming and outgoing walri.
“Cool, thanks a lot,” I said, and proceeded to spatter my way across the road.
“Wait!” yelled the calf. “What’s in it for me?”
I regretted my thoughtlessness. “What would you like?”
“Got any worms? Gastropods? Cephalopods? Crustaceans? Sea cucumbers? Or any other benthic invertebrates?”
I was confused. “Er, I guess not.”
The young walrus kicked up some water and toddled off along the sidewalk. I felt incredibly guilty at not being able to reward her for her assistance. Still I couldn’t do anything about it, so I made my way across the street and into the bright alleyway.
Upon reaching the other side I entered a busy market area, littered with stalls of many varieties. Walri were everywhere, in fact I hadn’t encountered any humans at all since arriving in Testicle Valley, apart from a scattering of Japanese tourists armed with digital cameras and handheld video recording devices.
As I walked through the market I observed that once again the main theme was D Harlan Wilson. I passed a stall devoted entirely to selling copies of Kafka Breathing Sock Puppets, another consisting of his works in audiobook format, a further one selling his short stories as mp3’s, files transferred directly into personal minidisk and mp3 players.
The hustle and bustle was overwhelming me, but I persevered, passing stall upon stall of D Harlan Wilson related material. Every walrus looked identical and so locating Reg was becoming increasingly difficult, and I had almost given up on finding him when I sniffed a smell that I recognized immediately, that of Yeheyuan cigarettes. I gazed at the source, a gigantic creature standing by a booth containing thousands and thousands of copies of Stranger on the Loose by D Harlan Wilson. I marched up to him, an angry expression on my face and my trousers stinking of dirty water and walrus shit.
“Reg, you bastard!” I screamed at him.
He appeared taken aback and curled back in shock. It was definitely Reg, I knew it. He nervously took a huge drag of the Yeheyuan and belched out a massive plume of smoke into the air.
“Dumbfuck,” he said, “what brings you here?”
“You stole my copy of Stranger on the Loose!” I yelled. I was furious and it showed, as all the walri in the immediate vicinity stopped to observe what was happening.
“Stole your copy? Never! But if it’s a new copy you want I have plenty,” he said, gesturing at the thousands of books that surrounded him.
“Bullshit! I want my copy back now!”
“Wait,” he said quietly, noticing that everyone was witnessing this exchange of views. “What gives you the idea that I stole your copy of Stranger on the Loose?”
So I told him, the whole dang story, about the two uncops that visited my apartment and explained what a sad bastard Reg really was. He listened intently, and as I told him all I knew I began to hear whistling coming from behind me. I turned around, recognizing the tune that pervaded the air over the market.
“I Am The Walrus by the Beatles!” I cried.
I then spotted two walri standing next to the stall opposite Reg’s. They were selling copies of The Kafka Effekt in the same way that Reg was selling Stranger on the Loose, thousands of them stacked all over the place. One of them gave me a claw up sign, indicating that I had named that tune correctly.
“Who are they?” I asked Reg.
“Oh, that’s Ted and Bob. They are absolute bastards. They’d do anything to make life hard for me. Bitter rivals, you see.”
I understood everything now. They were the two uncops, it was obvious, and I told Reg this, after which he exploded in rage.
“I’m gonna kill those guys!” he yelled.
“No, don’t do it!” I said. “It’s not worth it. Don’t you know that killing a walri carries the death penalty here in Beantown?”
It was way too late. Reg had already grabbed a shotgun from under the counter and was splashing his way over to Ted and Bob. He proceeded to blast holes in them both until they lay dead in the bloody water. Bob’s final death-groan was to the tune of Michael Jackson’s Smooth Criminal, but under the circumstances I declined to name that tune.
Pretty soon the cops arrived, and when they did I ran around grabbing at their foreheads and faces in an attempt to strip away their skins and expose them as uncops, but they were genuine officers of the law and beat me off with their batons. They handcuffed Reg and before they bundled him into their van he managed to get close to me and whisper, “Hey, Dumbfuck, by the way. Doris is pregnant.” Then the cops zoomed off and I was left speechless and numb. In the confusion I managed to sneak a new copy of Stranger on the Loose into my jacket pocket and crept dolefully away.
When I got home from Testicle Valley I heard strange noises coming from the bedroom. I tugged open the door and was astounded to find my wife on the bed being screwed by a giant silverfish.
I wasn’t taking any shit this time over. I snatched my shotgun from under the bed and blew a multitude of holes in the creature until it fell off Mrs Dumbfuck as dead as Bob and Ted. My joy was shattered by my wife’s disturbing shrieks.
“You crazy man!” she screeched. “Don’t you know that killing a giant silverfish carries the death penalty here in Beantown?”
ONE YEAR LATER
Reg was sitting at the table with a dozen hot dogs and six cans of root beer in front of him. He was smoking a Yeheyuan and devouring the goodies at the same time. My knees were trembling and so were my nerves.
“How’s the calf?” he asked after a few seconds.
“Matthew? He’s fine. Doris is fantastic, she’s like a mother to him.”
“She is his mother, you dummy.”
I let out a tense chuckle. “Oh yeah she is.”
It was raining outside, the clouds as black as tarmacadam. I watched Reg gulp down another root beer and toss the can across the room.
“You never did tell me,” I said. “What is it with D Harlan Wilson? Why is he so popular among the walrus community?”
Reg licked ketchup from off his left tusk as he wolfed down a hot dog. “Well, it’s like this, Dumbfuck. It’s not just walri that are appreciative of the offbeat literary genius that is D Harlan Wilson, and it isn’t just humans either. Beavers, otters, termites, spiders, dragonflies, aardvarks, ducks, lemurs. In fact, every living creature is fanatical over his obvious writing talent. He’s like a god to us. You know, like David Beckham is.”
The door opened and I almost leapt off my chair in fright. Two prison guards entered, tall and ugly. They glared at me.
“Time’s up, Dumbfuck,” said the uglier of the pair.
I said nothing as I got up and approached the door. The guards grabbed me roughly by each arm and as they escorted me out of the room I turned back to Reg.
“Who’s David Beckham?” I asked.
Then I left him to his last meal of hot dogs and root beer.
We passed the gas chamber on the way back to my cell. It was a terrible haunting place and I hated it. Then I was shoved into a corner and the guards beat the shit out of me, and then pushed me into my cell. I was aching all over, but I managed to crawl across the floor and snatch a hold of the prison bars, poking my nose through the small gap between them. At the end of the corridor I spied the guards. I observed as they reached to a spot at the centre of their foreheads and unzipped their skins. They were unguards! And I yelped as loud as I was able when I discovered that underneath the skins they possessed the bodies of two giant silverfish.
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