The Fox in the Garage Part 11: The Rake

September 10, 2010

Linda: Mark my words, Sam. The fox in the garage is asking for it. And it = torture. Then death. How would you torure a fox?

Sam: I wouldn’t.

Linda: I might sodomize him with a rake. I’ll shove the handle through his body and out his mouth and then I’ll roast him like a pig on a spit just for an excuse to have a party. We could start a fire pit in Gary’s backyard and have everyone over.

Sam: How is Gary?

Linda: Good. He said he’d come over and try to kill him for me, but he’s been too busy being Dayton’s hangbot sheriff. I don’t know what sort of pleasure he gets from walking around downtown swinging a tire iron. I don’t what he’s thinking about most of the time but you don’t have to understand your man; you only have to support him and surround him with love like you’re some sort of love fog.

Here’s why the fox is asking for it now more than ever: So the other day I come home, right? and I see the fox curled up asleep in the litter box. Terrence’s turds and clops of pissy litter were all around him. I said, Oh my God, you are so asking for it! Get out of there. He woke up and looked me in the eyes. His eyes are small and black. And I hate to say it but looking into his eyes makes me want to cuddle him because he’s such an adorable hellion.

So he wakes up. And guess what he does? He yawns. His mouth opens all the way. It’s way way open, like he’s a python unhinging his jaw to accommodate an antelope. And his tongue shoots out and it’s curved up with a string of spit coming from his gums and I say, You’re tired, aren’t you? Fine. You can stay in the litter box, but if Terrence needs to piss or shit, you need to leave. You got me? Hey. I’m talking to you. Yes you, you adorable beast. If Terrence comes over and needs to go, you need to go. If you don’t go when he wants to go, well, I don’t know what will happen but it’s not going to end well. See that rake over there? The one hanging on the pegs. Take a good look at it because that rake’s going through you if you don’t leave the litter box when Terrence needs it. It will go in your butt and through your guts and out your mouth. Or maybe in your mouth first and then out your butt. Do you have a preference? If I were having a rake shoved through me I would opt for ass first, no question. What about you?

Sam: In the mouth, I suppose.

Linda: I wouldn’t deal well with it going down my throat, scraping against my windpipe and then puncturing a lung. Would it puncture a lung? Or would it bypass the lungs completely and poke a hole in the stomach first?

Sam: It would scrape.

Linda: Put the rake in ass first and you have a higher chance of being dead or unconscious by the time it reaches your throat. Imagine the coroner’s report: Linda Lauper, 1984-2010. Cause of death: rake through the guts.

Maybe I’d rather take the rake up my ass because that’s the way I feel about Gary. I mean, his dick. When we’re in bed he always tries to put it in my mouth and sometimes I say OK, but if I’ve had a long day or if I can feel a cold coming on, there is no way he’s getting it in my mouth. I would let him more often if he wasn’t so forceful about it. He won’t just lay there and let me go to work. He needs to grab my hair and treat my mouth like a vagina and pound away. He’ll try to get the balls in too, and if I’m real drunk or it’s his birthday, I’m game. But on any old day, that is way too much for your average homegirl.  The first time he face-fucked me it was kinda fun, but will he be fucking my face every night? No way. In his dreams maybe. I’ll take it in the butt any day over one of Gary’s face-fuckings.

Sam the mailman: Listen. I really think you should let me call animal control. I’ll even pay for half of it.

Linda: I love how you pretend like I didn’t say all that nasty stuff about Gary and that we were only talking about the fox in the garage. It’s like you hear what you want to hear.

Sam: Maybe you’re right.

Linda: Everyone in Dayton so uptight about sex. It’s stupid. In other cities they have sex meet-up groups, I think, and tons of sex shops and you can find someone in a park and just start fucking them there.

Sam: Where can you just start fucking a stranger in the park?

Linda: I read a story online about a guy in Copenhagen, in Denmark, who would walk around in the parks and talk to random girls and then after he’d get to know them he’d fuck them, right there in the park. He got famous from this. If there were people around, they’d go in the woods. Isn’t that sweet?

Sam: Why is it sweet? I think it’s creepy.

Linda: It’s sweet because he’s not a pussy and will actually talk to strangers. And then if they hit it off, bam, they’ll fuck in the woods. Most guys today are the exact opposite, unless they’re drunk. The average guy today would never walk up to a girl in the park and ask her about her day, or where she got that dress, or if she’s in school or has a job or whatever.  They need to get over themselves and start talking to girls again.

Sam: Maybe you’re right, but the problem is that if I talk to a random girl in the park then she knows I’m only talking to her because I want to have sex with her. If I say Where did you get that dress? I might as well say Will you have sex with me? They can see through that. And then I’m a creep who’s creeping in a park, like that Danish guy.

Linda: Maybe some girls want to be taken in the woods.

Sam: So I should ask a lot of girls about their dress and one might want to me to take her in the woods?

Linda: If one of those girls was me then yes. If I weren’t with Gary. I’m not a cheater.

Sam: You’re saying that if I would’ve have seen you in Carillon park a month ago and asked you about your dress then you would’ve wanted me to take you in the woods and have sex with you on the dirt and branches and stuff?

Linda: Depending on my mood, yes. That’s the other thing you have to watch out for. Those girls in Denmark, their hormones must have been asking for it real bad.

Sam: Speaking of Gary, is that his Bengals jersey you’re wearing?

Linda: It is. Most of my clothes are missing. Stolen, probably. I dropped ‘em off at the laundry and went out for a quick bite and an hour later they were completely gone.

Sam: That sucks, I’m sorry.

Linda: There’s a chance I’ll get them back, though. A really cool hangbot who works at the laundry is on the case.

Sam: Do hangbots make good detectives?

Linda: I guess we’ll have to find out.

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