The Dysfunktionals

[cancer]

PART ONE


“Will you stop making all that fucking racket, Spunk Rag?” her mother Meredith demanded from the top of the basement stairs. But Spunky just kept at it, banging the lifeless infant on the workbench.

“I can’t, ma!” Spunk Rag called without a pause in her actions.

“Well what the fuck are yah doing down there anyway, huh?”

“Nothing! Shit!” she said frustrated and slammed the dead baby down on its back once more with such force that when its head hit the wood blood bubbled out from its nose.

“If you’re fucking that baby up,” Meredith started, stomping down the steps, “I’m just going to kill you! And Jesus Christ, you are!” Meredith threw her hands up, “just what the fuck is your problem? Why are you doing that again?”

“I don’t know, hey why don’t you get off my goddamn back! So what, I got bored! I tried to take care of the little fucker but it wouldn’t stop crying and crying and crying!” Spunk Rag proceeded to pick the baby up by its shoulders and started slamming it down again.

“So you’re just throwing it down on that table over and over again like a fucking retard?”

“If I hit it hard enough maybe something good will happen, maybe it’ll give me some change—these things have to be good for something.”

Meredith moved in, “You’re such a dumbass, Spunk Rag. Of all the abortions I’ve had in my life, Lord Christ why couldn’t you have been one of them. I should have had you sucked out of my pussy right into the fucking trash because that’s just what you are.”

“Fuck you, mom!”

“No, Spunky, it’s true. You’re such an unappreciative little cunt I should kill you right here and now. That’s the third baby this week! Do you think they’re easy to find, you child?! Do you? Do you know what your fucking father and I have to go through to get you these babies and you just kill them the same day? And it’s always the same story, ‘No, I really want one this time, I wont kill it, I just want to play’. But again and again you brutalize them, you kill them! And it keeps getting worse! You’ve taken infants! Little infant girls that had their whole lives ahead of them, and what did you do, missy?” Meredith, irate, tapped her foot waiting for an answer.

“I think I let her take a nice nap, fed her and burped her. Hugged her… well then I did fuck her,” Spunk Rag stated as a matter of fact.

Meredith’s husky voice fluidly spat off, “And just how did you fuck that poor little infant baby girl, Spunk Rag? Tell mommy.”

“Well first I was just kissing on her softly, slipped her the tongue; a baby girl’s mouth is very sexy to tongue. And then I moved south, undid her diaper and just sort of played with her little pussy a little bit. I wet my index finger and gave her a circular clitoral massage… just enjoyed her beautiful little hairless three month old pussy. Then I started to eat her out, I let my tongue out onto her small infant pussy, rubbing up and down on it with the top end of my tongue flatly against it. Every now and again I’d play with her little baby nipples and maybe stick the tip of my tongue into her little pussy hole while still putting a little pressure on her clit with the upper end of my tongue. She really seemed into it. I gave really good head that day.”

“Yeah and then what happened, you bitch! You baby murderer!”

“Well I think she got off, I was doing it for like an hour so yeah. But when it came time for her to return the favor, that’s when things got a little out of control. I tried riding her face, putting her between my legs and rubbing its mouth on my pussy, but nothing worked.

“The ungrateful cunt, after all I did for her. I figured I’d try again though, give her another chance. So I decided I’d fuck her pussy hole. Only being a three month old I figured I’d be the first one to help her experience the pleasure of deep vaginal penetration, so that made me excited to the point where my panties were soaked because my little eleven year old pussy got so super wet even thinking about the gift I was going to give her.

“So I sucked my middle finger wet for lube, set her on her back and got to work. Palm up, I inserted my finger into her little pussy and just massaged around in there; her infant pussy was super tight, but real wet. I shoved in as far as her little snatch would allow and started the come-hither-motion to induce a G-spot orgasm. I had the tip of my finger right under the Skene’s gland, that ball of tissue that lies in the deep southern regions of a girl’s pussy, and rubbed it off. She seemed to enjoy this but I could sense from her cries that it wasn’t enough. I decided to up the ante a bit and throw some tools into the mix. So then… there was a sort of accident. I thought she could handle a knife. I put some lube on it and inserted it into the baby’s pussy. She didn’t bleed that much… at first. But, hey, it was turning me on so I couldn’t help getting a little carried away. I pretty much fucked her pussy up, it was a big mess and I felt horrible; honestly, I felt terrible. But then she would not stop crying and crying and crying and you know how much that shit gets on my nerves. I tried to stop, let her take a nap and maybe she’d get over it, I thought. But she wouldn’t shut the fuck up for two seconds and oh the bleeding! It just got out of control; it was driving me fucking insane. She just kept bleeding and bleeding and bleeding, blood fucking everywhere!

“So I… got a little pissed, you know I have anger problems. I threw her down and started coming down hard on her little pubic bone with a ball pin hammer… too I figured that caving her shit in would maybe numb the pain of the knife incident we had. Oh I was just an emotional mess, I felt mad I felt anger and then rage… and then I blacked out, I think I took the hammer to her whole body—even her head.”

Meredith grabbed her daughter by the shoulders and shook her violently, “Yeah! And the motherfucking stains still won’t come out! Asshole! That was new carpet! No more babies, period! N-O-M-O-R-E-B-A-B-I-E-S. Shit!”

“Yeah, well maybe if you let me keep some of the money I make I’d be able to entertain myself and wouldn’t have to have babies!” Spunk Rag shouted.

“I swear to God, Spunk Rag, if you weren’t such a lucrative little hooker you’d be dead by now. But you just wait you little bitch, you’re eleven now… in a couple years when no one will pay a dime to fuck that pathetic excuse for a pussy I will kill you! Now give me this fucking thing!” Meredith haphazardly picked up the baby by its neck and chucked it at the concrete floor. It hit face down with a thud and instant blood splatter.

“You want to see how to fuck a baby up, Spunky?! I’m a vet!” Meredith screamed and picked up the dead body, holding it up to Spunk Rag. “Here!” dangling in the air she held it single-handed, her free index finger pointing down over the baby’s soft spot. She locked eyes with her daughter before thrusting downward, her long painted fingernail penetrating the baby’s skull until it was buried to the knuckle. She worked her finger around in head guts and after a moment pulled her finger out and sucked it clean. In frenzy she set it down hard and widened the hole with objects of varying girth until the hole was big enough that she pried the baby’s skull apart with her bare hands.

She scooped out a handful of brain and shoved some in her mouth, “Mmmm! Tastes good!” She rubbed what fell out all over her neck and chest; she started to moan in sexual delight. “Fuck! I’m horny now!” she grabbed an axe and chopped off the baby’s arm at the shoulder, hitched up her dress and shoved the rough end of it into her pussy until only the hand was visible, at which point she started to fuck herself with the whole severed arm, pushing it in and out deeply by gripping its hand as blood and cum dripped from her pussy down her thighs.

“Jesus, ma, I gotta fuck! My pussy’s really wet now!” Spunky exclaimed and threw all of her clothes off. They both set up on the table, Spunk Rag dipped her hand in the baby’s head and lubed up her pussy with the blood. She scooted her ass closer to her mom’s pussy and shoved the hand end of the baby’s arm into her own. They pushed back and forth either end of the arm into each other’s pussy holes while licking the blood of each other’s fingers.

“Fuck! Fuck! Fuck! I’m cumming!” Meredith screamed, blood running from her mouth.

“Shit, fuck! Me, too! Ahhhh!” Spunky yelled in ecstasy, her eleven year old pussy quivering in the most primal form of extreme satisfaction. They discarded the arm and sat there exhausted in a puddle of blood next to the armless infant.

“I love you so much, Spunk Rag. I didn’t mean any of that shit I said before, you’re a great daughter.”

“I love you too, mom. But do you think you can cum again? I wanna see you crush its skull some more by riding it with your pussy.”

Meredith smiled ear to ear with a big bloody grin, “I can always cum again, baby.”

 

[cancer]

PART TWO


Paul Dysfunktional sat naked, catatonic, isolated between the bare walls of his den. He hadn’t blinked; the cigarette he lit had burnt down unsmoked and was burning the inside of the still fingers that held it tight between them. He didn’t think or smell or taste or feel, the droll of the sinister washer-dryer coming from the laundry room down the hall didn’t break wind the cilia of his inner-ears. He was…

But then a thought, more of a feeling really, a singularity penetrated him and shook him from his mental dormancy. Kill. Destroy. The opposite of giving life was taking it. Images; blood, thick and red and replacing the waters of the Earth’s seas. And with blood the carnage of necks agape, ripped throats with tissues and cartilage and bone fragments speckled with chunks and shards of matter that were never intended to be exposed, to be on the outside of a person.

My family, he thought, they’ve killed and fucked another baby. He started to rock back and forth, mumbling, “Spunk Rag is a whore. Fuck… cunt. Cunt wife, fucking bitch cunt wife. They fuck, they fuck, theyfucktheyfucktheyfuck—they fuck! I’m gonna kill, I’m gonna kill. They fuck, they fuck and fuck and fuck each other and babies and men and boys and strangers. I don’t fuck… I never fuck, I never fuck. Fuck! Fuck! Fuck! FUCKFUCKFUCKFUCK!”

He jerked up, the chair flew out from behind him and he thrashed and tore at the air and himself and violently kicked and punched and hit his head against the wall. He ripped his dick out and tugged and punched it, “FUCKING WORK SHIT!” He flailed madly and clawed at his dick, screaming profanities at it. He tried to get it hard, he tried and tried, sticking it in one of the holes in the wall he made and thrusting it in and out.

“Fuck!” his rage peaked when he ripped through drawers, scouring them for something sharp. He found a pair of scissors and in frenzy jaggedly cut his penis and testicles off. His genitals dropped to the floor along with the scissors, he threw his arms up and leaned back and let a long shout out in relief as blood showered beneath him.

Now he had to kill, he had to in order to release everything. In cutting off his genitals Paul was relieved of his masculinity… now it was time for revenge. He had to quench his thirst for other people’s blood, his thirst for the same power that oppressed him.



“Voila!” Spunk Rag exclaimed holding a hand-mirror in front of her mother to let her see the makeup she applied to her face.

“Beautiful work, Spunky!” Meredith complimented while posing for the mirror. “I always wanted to experience the life of a street hooker, and what a better way than with my talented daughter. I’m a whore innately and with my little girl showing me the ropes we will have no hard time hustling some fucking pervert John out of a baby!”

Spunk Rag and Meredith had hit rock bottom with their addiction for raping, killing, and then raping again infant humans. But they were naïve; they didn’t think they had a problem. In fact, it had turned into what they thought was a positive habit for both of them; they bonded.

They were mother and daughter, on the prowl in the night, strutting up and down the hilly inner-city streets. Up and down the littered sidewalks, they approached single men regardless of age or ethnicity while they howled and rubbed their pussies and licked their lips at them. They zigzagged the blocks, running into the road in their high heels to expose themselves to oncoming traffic.

They were mother and daughter, on the prowl in the night; and they’d get what they were looking for.



A young girl, six or seven, roaming the empty park in the middle of the night? She enjoyed a good swing, loved the feeling of her blonde hair being swept back and forth by the wind on her way up and on her way back, enjoyed the bubbling and waving of the fabrics that adorned her. She was a thoughtful child, meditating and pondering life’s meaning all the while she would swing. She had her whole life ahead of her; the possibilities of a rewarding career, the inevitability of future loves and heartbreak, the hope of a meaningful family life, the excitement and wonderment of all the special moments life could have to offer that would lead to knowledge, self-discovery, tolerance, and the underrated abilities to just be content—and in abundance. She would live a long and fulfilling life and then go peacefully onto the great hereafter with profound acceptance.

“Come here you little cunt!” Paul, whose naked body was covered in dry blood, growled as he pushed her off the set in mid-swing with great force. She moaned but was completely stunned having found herself facedown in processed chunks of wood. She didn’t have time to let out a shriek before Paul was wrestling on top of her.



Spunk Rag looked up from the car she was leaning in on and motioned to her mother who was across the street that they had a scored a hit. Spunk Rag got in the passenger seat of the vehicle.

She turned to the driver, a middle-aged man who was fat and balding but well dressed. “So you’re going to finally fulfill your dirty little fantasy huh? A mother and her little daughter that you’ll get to stick your pig dick into. Well, let me see that money, fucko.”

The man was skimming through his cash when Meredith startled him getting in the back of the car. “Let’s see some money,” Meredith demanded as she lit up a cigarette.

“Here, here… 200 dollars right?” the man offered his cash.

Spunk Rag snatched the money and scowled, “And another 200 asshole you ain’t getting this pussy for nothing!”

As he handed Spunk Rag the rest of the money Meredith let out a big sigh of smoke and asked, “So what do we have to do to this fuckhead, Spunk Rag?”

“You got a family, man?” Spunk Rag got onto business and asked.

“Uh, yes actually.”

“You got any kids, how old are they?”

“My wife and I actually just had our first baby. It’s a little baby boy, he was born premature but he’s starting to gain some weight. He’s 8 weeks.”

Spunk Rag reached back and borrowed her mother’s cigarette. “Man, you got a wife at home, a little fucking baby, seems like you got a pretty good job from looking at your car. And you’re out here, trying to fuck a mother and her eleven year old daughter. You’re a real piece of shit, man, I like you.”

“Well, it’s not all that simple,” the man became flustered. “Ever since the baby everything has just, it’s just been fucked up. My wife wont stop crying because the baby’s sick and the baby’s sick so it don’t stop crying. There’s all this pressure at work and I’m doing twenty things at once. My father died last year, had a fucking heart attack, so that’s working on me. I just, I don’t know what to do, I don’t know why I’m doing this.” The man buried his face in his hands and started to sob, “I’ve always had a problem. Always. And you approached me, I just… I can’t do it. I’m sorry. You can keep the money.”

“You damn right I’m going to keep this money,” Spunky said coldly and firmly, and when she did the man recoiled his hands and averted his eyes to the gun she was holding on him.



The young girl struggled to get away but there was no use, Paul was simply too powerful for her, his lust too deep. He turned her over on her back, through tears and bleary vision she looked up to him as he pulled back his right arm. His fist eclipsed the moon and in an explosive moment came down to crush the right side of the girl’s face.

He dragged her broken body over to a picnic table and through her on top of it. She lay upon the table motionless, still breathing but barely through the blood that bubbled in her sinuses and flowed down her throat. Her body started to fail her, her chest was jumping sporadically when her levees broke and suddenly thick bright red blood flowed freely from nearly every orifice of her head. At about the moment that she would only have a few unconscious minutes left to live Paul started straddling her oozing face, rubbing his massive genital wounds in it so hard that he started bleeding freely again. He hooted and hollered and growled as a champion of the ultimate sexual achievement.

He threw her over his shoulder and ran naked from the park. He hit the streets before long, streets that were populated despite the hour. He was moving quickly for home where he would further indulge himself, every time one of his feet hit the ground the dead girl’s head would bob and the blood from her face hit the pavement with a splat.

Through the city he ran, hopping fences and coursing through backyards. And then he had company. His hunt for satisfaction, his strive toward relief had turned into a pursuit by the law.


“What are you doing? Don’t point that at me!” the man cried.

“You’re going to drive us to your house. That’s what you are going to do, no questions asked,” Spunky instructed.

“But why—“

“Eh—obey.”



Paul’s body was starting to feel the loss of blood. He tossed the dead body off his back and caught his breath for a moment in someone’s backyard… he could hear the wind of a chopper’s slicing through the air in the distance. Exasperated, he leaned over and looked into the mangled face of his victim. She was nothing to him, not anymore.

He struggled to move on, but did so out of necessity. He was almost home.



Spunk Rag burst through the front door of the man’s home, Meredith pushed him from behind to the floor beside Spunky. His arms and legs were bound by rope. The man’s wife, in her white fluffy robe, stood in the kitchen ahead of the hall in plain sight of what completely shocked her and jolted her sense of reality into the surreal.

“Nice place!” Spunk Rag shouted. “You pay the rent here too cunt? Where’s the fucking kid?!”

“No!” the woman cried and made a dash for her bedroom where her baby was crying. But Meredith lunged out from behind Spunky into a ferocious sprint to stop her. By the time the woman was almost to the top of the stairs Meredith wasn’t far behind her, but when they hit the hallway of the home’s second story she was on top of her. They struggled, both on their bellies. Meredith had a hold of the woman’s foot and started to scale her leg grasp by grasp. The woman pushed her bedroom door open and the baby’s cries grew more audible. And just as the woman laid eyes on the crib that held her baby boy the blade of a knife was buried into the middle of her back by Meredith.

The woman made a terrible gasp; Meredith ripped the knife out and plunged down again and again making new holes all over her back in quick, deeply penetrating stabs. “No!” she shrieked and cried while Meredith kept butchering her. She whimpered, “Danny” and shouted “NO!” as she bled and jolted this way and that with each crunch of the blade that tore through the skin and bone of her back and then slid into her softer tissues.

There was a great stomping through the house then, and it drew closer and louder and went up the stairs. Spunk Rag heard the baby’s crying, which had gotten out of hand as far as she was concerned. Spunky had blood on her too as she locked eyes with her mother who was on her knees across the hall with a knife in her hand and a butchered body lying in front of her. The baby wouldn’t stop crying.

“That fucking baby wont stop crying, mom,” Spunk Rag said calm but stern. “I’ll give it something to cry about alright,” and with that she marched across the hall, picked up the woman’s dying body and snatched the knife from her exhausted mother.

“You pain in the ass, fuck, you!” Spunk Rag screamed as she propped the woman against the crib and made her face the baby. She leaned in, “Say goodbye to your baby, bitch,” she said coldly. She got behind the woman and started to saw through her neck with the knife. The blade hit a rather hard part of her throat but Spunky put some elbow grease into it and crunched through. The woman started making odd heaving noises as the blade cut deeper into her neck, destroying her vocal chords and esophagus. And then at an instant her jugular was cut and a river of blood sprayed down, covering her crying baby.

Spunky dropped the woman and picked the baby up out of the crib. She held the preemie by its sides firm and screamed at it as it cried, “Now you’re fucking cunt mother is dead, you little prick! Dead just like you and your little fucking pervert father will be!” She started shaking the baby violently, the blood of his mother that drenched him dripping off. She shook the baby so long and hard that it let out its few last cries (cries that he couldn’t even hear as a result of the hearing loss brought on by severe brain damage) with blood gushing out from its nose and ears.

The baby was dead and Spunk Rag dropped it to a thud. Meredith crawled over in a murderous drunken haze, pointed at her daughter and said, “Now you’re gonna cut that baby up into about eight pieces, we’re gonna fuck it and I’m gonna eat his dick. You’re gonna cut up that bitch’s pussy and eat it and then we’re gonna fuck.” Meredith pulled up next to the baby and slumped down beside it, lit up a cigarette, and looked into her daughter’s eyes. “I want to enjoy this, Spunk Rag. We might die tonight, but I wanna cum.”


Paul was in hot pursuit, he could hear the same cop’s feet that had been following him for rows of backyards brushing through grass not too far behind. He hid in the darkness, his back against a tall wood fence waiting. The cop’s noisiness drew closer until he hit the fence. As soon as the cop landed over Paul was on top of him punching him in the back of the head. They wrestled, all of their hands struggling for the cop’s gun, and then Paul overpowered him. Paul hovered over his defenseless foe with the gun in his hand. He didn’t hesitate to end his life; more police could be heard coming his way.

A spike in energy hit Paul after his shot rang out across the neighborhood; he pushed forward and ran as fast as he could, naked and bleeding with gun in hand. He rushed passed the pool and the gazebo toward the angel statues and the end of the lawn. He swung a hard left passed the side of a townhouse and ran through the grass and nearly hit a telephone pole as he leapt onto the grainy pavement of the hard black street. The police were only blocks behind him with their engines growling and their sirens crying.

He made his way down the middle of the road limping for his wounds when a car came screeching a block behind him. The headlights painted his bare back yellow as the car flew toward him.



“Jesus fucking Christ! This is bad! This is really bad, Spunky!” Meredith yelled out, terrified, as her right foot stomped down on the accelerator even harder.

“How could this happen?!” Spunk Rag cried as she looked back through the rear window at the blue lights raging and ringing behind them. “No one saw it!”

“Don’t you see?!” Meredith yelled as she steered the wheel of their victim’s stolen car, “after we fucked we went down stairs and we had left that fucking guy down there!”

“Yeah, and we killed him!”

“I didn’t think of it but his cell phone was lying out beside him—open! He must have called the fucking cops, man!”

“Ah, shit!” Spunky hissed and turned back to look at the police cruisers trailing them.

Meredith careened around the corner into a residential street, her palms so sweaty it was hard for her to grip the wheel. And then out of nowhere, “Oh Fuck!” she exclaimed.



Paul hadn’t gone down without a fight, no, he had fought them till the end. The whores, the scum, the trash, the fuckers who did this to him, even the cops. He stopped running, it was his time. He turned around to face the car that was closing in on him and anticipated the hit. He was already numb, he wouldn’t feel a thing.

But then the car that was set to knock him into oblivion with the force of two tons and 70 miles per hour came to a screeching halt. My family, he thought.

“Paul! Get in quick, the cops are after us!” Spunk Rag shouted out the window. Paul quickly ran to the car and got in the back. The Dysfunktionals sped off into the night with the police gaining on them fast.

Paul held his genitals and rocked back and forth in newfound agony, “Agghh, my dick!”

“What happened to your--” Spunk Rag started but was cut off by her father’s gruesome display. “Jesus Christ, dad. You cut your fucking dick off, what the fuck is wrong with you?”

“And the cops are after me; I killed a kid and ran around with it.”

“Yeah, us too.”

“Oh my God, my dick hurts where it used to be,” he howled.

“We’re almost home, guys,” Meredith broke her silence, “the cops are coming though. We’ll have to get in as fast as we can and barricade ourselves in the basement.” Meredith’s eyes were daggers and her aim was true. Her driving was fast but not reckless, very efficient. She barely moved her lips but spoke calmly and articulate. “We will probably die tonight, but we’re not dead yet. We’ve had our problems but we’ve still shared love. If we go, we go together. And we’ll be together, forever.”

“I love you, mom and dad. Thank you both for having me,” Spunky said sharing her mother’s sentiment. Paul had already slipped into unconsciousness by then, as they tore through their lawn and came to a halt before their front door.

“Quick now, quick! Let’s get the fuck in here!” Meredith commanded as she and her daughter sprang out of the car. She slung open the back door and grabbed her husband and threw his arm over her shoulder. Spunk Rag had gone ahead inside, waiting at the threshold for her parents who were limping toward her as fast as they could. The patrol cars were visible now, two of them ripped around the corner with an army more behind them.

Once inside the house they shut the door and locked it deadbolt and all and sprinted toward the other side. Spunky ran to the basement door and opened it. Meredith was still supporting Paul’s unconscious body when they hit the stairs. Spunky saw it coming when her mother lost her bearings and both of her parents fell and tumbled down the flight of stairs and hit the basement’s smooth and cold cement.

“Mommy!” Spunky cried as she locked the basement door. She rushed down, skipping every other step, to check on her parents. She shook her mother, “Ma, are you okay?”



“Well, well, well. Look who it is!” a grotesque voice came from the far side of the basement to Spunk Rag’s horror. She knew that voice, it haunted her since the only time she ever heard it… when she was three at the last Dysfunktionals family reunion. It was the last time she heard it for a reason, but it penetrated her being then. His presence was more horrifying than any cop, than any scoundrel or sadist that ever lived. And now the police could be heard with their muffled banging on the front door and shouting into the bullhorns.

“It’s you’re old fucking uncle. Your Unkle. And hasn’t it been a long time since—hey!” he shouted to her as she scrambled off the ground and tried with every fiber of her being to get away from him and head toward the police. But there was no use; he clutched her with his monstrous hands and threw her against the wall.

“You think you’re going to just run away, is that it? IS THAT IT?!” he shouted. O, he was a terrible man. His face was that of an eyeless pig, an eyeless pig with a devilish snout and constant foam running from its mouth. He had no eyes, he didn’t. But he had a blade, a long and sharp blade.

“You’re going to kill me now, I understand. I’m not afraid anymore though, and wherever I end up after this is all over—I’m sure it’ll be a hell of a lot better than this place even if it’s no where. I’ve done a lot of fucked up shit in my life and I don’t care. I don’t care about anything, I never did. Not my parents, certainly not any of the assholes running around this fucking town. And I don’t care about myself. I fill my time and do it because I always thought it was better to live than to die. But I don’t feel that anymore and I’m glad I never played with fucking Barbie dolls!”

“So just do it huh?” Unkle sneered and wiped the foam off his face. “Okay.”

 

[cancer]

NOTE FROM THE AUTHOR

The art of letters is an art of communication. There is a definite relationship between author and reader, a very complex one. We’re on the same level; we’re both looking for something, trying to dig it out of nowhere. Even though my part in this might seem the more active one, make no mistake, you as a consumer of art are just as important. Any person who appreciates art is themselves an artist; a painting doesn’t come to life until someone goes to it and connects with it. And by that same token, they are not only connecting to an idea, but the author and, on some level, to humanity itself.

I don’t know if what I am about to write is art though, and I don’t care. Maybe it is art, maybe it is waste, I don’t know. But I can tell you, there is always a reason.

I will make no attempt to inject any moral underpinnings or heavy ideals into this. For me, this is an exercise, or maybe more accurately I’m exorcising a part of me.



I watched Pink Flamingos late at night with some friends of mine; we were all under the influence of LSD. I, in the act of putting on the film, chose everyone’s fate that night unapologetically. It wasn’t the first time I have subjected people to the darker side of things. I’ve always been inclined toward the subversive, to the perverse, and by most standards, the immoral. Why, I don’t know. There is always a reason. I tried to psychoanalyze myself after the experience, “why do I do this?” Am I simply getting off on other people’s reactions? Do I, with my well-balanced psyche and level-headedness (possibly due to my lack of negative experiences), have qualms with my inability to be moved by filth and “evil”, so much so that I need others to feel it in my place? That seemed to be the prevailing theory of the night, but I am not so sure.

We all behave in ways that whether we actually care to try or not, we do not fully understand. Two people whose work I admire are Freud and Kinsey. Freud for his theories on layered consciousness (the id, the ego, the super ego) and Kinsey for pulling out the rug from under people and pushing the paradigm of thought on sexuality. I, a person, function in society as one of over 6.5 billion people on the planet. I have a job, a wife, a small group of close friends, some family scattered about. But I am not what I seem, not even to myself. I am an organism, beyond how a person would like to think about themselves or those that surround them. There is no normal, there is only animal behavior. The Dysfunktionals, it is part of the bigger picture. I guess the only way I can rationalize it in my mind is by thinking, it is in my mind; the bizarre is the bizarre and it transcends gender, faith, age, or class; it exists in the minds of more people than we’d like to think. No one talks about it because they are too worried about how it looks, so most end up harboring guilt about not being normal.

Things happen in this world that is judged as awful. The Dysfunktionals is like condensed awfulness, more than likely somewhere at some time one or more of the “awful” acts depicted in it have really happened. Whether it is on the level of incest or lethal abuse of a baby or more simply murder, these things can and have happened in a very real way and have affected lives negatively. I’m sure making light of rape in a fiction would not entertain someone who had been raped, but I have never been raped so I write it. What does that say about me?

When people do stuff like lock their offspring in a basement dungeon and inbreed with them for 20 years we absolutely come down on them hard. When someone does something “unacceptable” in society we judge them and hand down their fate, almost take delight in putting their head on the chopping block and making a spectacle out of it (at Ted Bundy’s execution there was actually a crowd outside the jail and counted down the seconds to his death like the Ball was dropping on New Year’s). But no matter how much we condemn a person, no matter how hard we throw our stones at them, we still have to claim them. They are one of us, a part of humanity (it parallels nicely with the personal guilt we might feel about our own secret idiosyncrasies) and society at large is more than ready to suppress that.

Anything we can think or do is in our nature and that is something we must accept. All people are different, some people are heterosexual and some aren’t, some people are the type that can kill and some aren’t. I’m trying to be real here, if someone is trying to stab me I’m not going to like that person, I’m going to have much disdain for them. But objectively, I can’t call it evil or even wrong… it is a part of nature and a part that I can accept.