The Acid House

  — DOLLY PARTON!

  — That fuckin slut... ah knew it. . . whae else?:

  — Anna Ford ... n that Madonna . .. bit jist the once ...

  — SCUMBAG! BASTARD! YA DIRTY FUCKIN PRICK!... Ye ken whit this means!

  — No the shite, Doe ... ah cannae eat yir shite . ..

  — Ah'm gaunny shite in your mooth, Boab Coyle! It's whit wi baith want! Dinnae deny it!

  — Naw! Don't shite in ma mooth .. . don't... shite in ma mooth ... shite in ma mooth ... SHITE IN MA MOOTH!

  Boab saw it all now. While he was mechanically relieving himself upstairs by skillessly poking Evelyn in the missionary position, his parents were trying to cram the three-piece suite up each other's arses. The very thought of them have a sexuality had repulsed him; now it shamed him in a different way. There was one aspect, however, where it was like father, like son. He knew he could not trust himself to see his mother's shite. It would be too arousing, that succulent, hot sour faeces, all going into his father's mouth. Boab felt his first conscious twinges of an Oedipus complex, at twenty-three years old, and in a metamorphosised state.

  Boab sprang from the wall and swarmed around them, flying in and out of their ears.

  — Shite . . . that fuckin fly . . . Doreen said. Just then, the phone went. — Ah'll huv tae git it! Boab. Stey thair. It'll be oor Cathy. She'll jist pester us aw night if ah dinnae answer now. Don't go away. She undid the belt, leaving the dildo in Boab's senior's arse. He was at peace, his muscles stretched, but holding the latex rod comfortably and securely. He felt filled, complete, and alive.

  Boab junior was exhausted after his efforts and retreated back to the wall. Doreen grabbed the telephone receiver.

  — Hiya Cathy. How are you doin, love? . . . Good . . . Dad's fine. How's the wee felly? . . . Aw, the wee lamb! N Jimmy . . . Good. Listen love, wir jist sitting doon tae oor tea. Ah'll phone ye back in aboot half an hour, n will huv a proper blether. . . Right love . . . Bye the now.

  Doreen's reactions were quicker man the weary Boab's. She picked up the Evening News as she put down the phone and sprang over to the wall. Boab didn't see the threat until the rolled newspaper was hurtling towards him. He took off, but the paper caught him and knocked him back against the wall at great speed. He felt excruciating pain as parts of his external skeletal structure cracked open.

  — Got ye, ya swine, Doreen hissed.

  Boab tried to regain the power of flight, but it was useless. He dropped onto the carpet, falling down the gap between the wall and the sideboard. His mother crouched down onto her knees, but she couldn't see Boab in the shadows.

  — Tae hell wi it, the hoover'll git it later. That fly wis a bigger pest dun young Boab, she smiled, clipping on the belt and pushing the dildo further into Boab senior's arse.

  That night, the Coyles were awakened by the sound of groaning. They went tentatively down the stairs and found their son lying battered and bloodied, under the sideboard in the front room, suffering from terrible injuries.

  An ambulance was called for, but Boab junior had slipped away. The cause of death was due to massive internal injuries, similar to the type someone would sustain in a bad car crash. All his ribs were broken, as were both his legs and his right arm. His skull had fractured. There was no trail of blood and it was inconceivable that Boab could have crawled home from an accident or a severe kicking in that condition. Everyone was perplexed.

  Everyone except Kev, who began drinking heavily. Due to this problem, Kev became estranged from Julie, his girlfriend. He has fallen behind on the mortgage payments on his flat. There are to be further redundancies at the north Edinburgh electronics factory where he works. Worst of all for Kev, he is going through a lean spell in front of goal. He tries to console himself by remembering that all strikers have such barren periods, but he knows that he has lost a yard in pace. His position as captain, and even his place in the Star line-up, can no longer be considered unassailable. Star are not going to be promoted this year due to a bad slump in form and Muirhouse Albion almost contemptuously dismissed them at the quarter-final stage of the Tom Logan Memorial Trophy.

  SNOWMAN BUILDING PARTS FOR RICO THE SQUIRREL

  The silver squirrel undulated across the yard and scuttled up the bark of the large Californian Redwood tree which overhung the rickety wooden fence. A tearful little boy in sneakers, t-shirt, jeans and baseball-cap watched, helpless in torment as the animal moved away from him.

  — We love you Rico! the boy shouted. — Don't go Rico! he screamed in anguish.

  The squirrel scrambled deftly up the tree. At the sound of the boy's despairing voice he stopped and looked back. His sad brown eyes glistened as he said, — Sorry Babby, I have to go. Some day you'll understand.

  The small creature turned and launched itself along a branch, catching onto another, disappearing into the dense foliage of the woods behind the border of the flimsy fence.

  — Mommy! young Bobby Cartwright shouted back towards the house. — It's Rico! He's going, Mommy! Tell him to stay!

  Sarah Cartwright appeared on the porch and felt her chest tighten at the sight of her disconsolate son. Tears welled up in her eyes as she strode forward and held the boy to her. In a breathless, sugary voice she said wistfully, — But Rico has to go, honey. Rico's a very special little squirrel. We knew that when he came to us. We knew that Rico would have to go, for it's Rico's mission to spread love all over the world.

  — But that means Rico doesn't love us, Mom! If he loved us he'd stay! Bobby screamed, inconsolable.

  — Listen Babby, there are other people that need Rico too. He has to go to them, to help them, to give them the love they need, to make them realise just how much they need each other. Bobby was not convinced. — Rico doesn't love us, he whimpered.

  — No Babby, that's nat it at all, sugar-pie, Sarah Cartwright simpered, — the greatest gift that Rico ever gave to us was making us remember just how much we loved each other. Remember when Daddy got paid off from the plant? We lost our home? Then your little sister, our little Beverley, was run over, killed by that drunk Sheriff? Remember how we all fought and yelled at each other all the time? Sarah Cartwright explained, tears rolling down her cheeks. Her face slowly broke into a smile, like the sun rising triumphantly over dirty grey clouds. — Then Rico came. We thought we'd lost each other, but with Rico's love, we came to realise that the greatest gift we had was our love for each other. ..

  — I hate Rico! Bobby snarled, pulling away from his mother and running into the house. He mounted the stairs two at a time.

  — Babby, come back .. .

  — Rico left us! Bobby shouted miserably, slamming his bedroom door.

  — Switch that fuckin telly oaf! Ah've telt yis before! Oot n play! Maggie Robertson snapped at her children, Sean and Sinead. — Watchin fuckin telly aw day! Daft wee cunts! she half-laughed, hay-sneered as Tony Anderson's hand slipped under her t-shirt and bra and roughly grappled her breast.

  Young Sean switched off the television and looked up at her, a briefly uncomprehending but fearful expression frozen onto his face. Then it relaxed again into dead apathy. Sinead just played with her broken doll.

  — Ah said oot! Maggie screamed. — AH'M NO TALKIN TAB MASEL, SEAN, YA DAFT WEE CUNT!

  The children had become inured to her normal level of screaming. It was only this hacking, throttled noise that drew a response from them.

  — Gies a bit ay peace yous two, c'moan, Tony pleaded, rummaging in his chinos' pocket for change. All he could feel was his erection though. — C'MOAN! he shouted in angry exasperation. The children departed.

  — C'moan doll, get thum oaf, Tony said with urgency but no passion.

  — N yir tellin ays ye wirnae wi hur last night?

  Tony shook his head in a gesture which was intended to convey exasperation but only came across as belligerent recalcitrance. — Ah fuckin telt ye! Fir the last fuckin time: ah wis doon the snooker wi Rab n Gibbo!

  Maggie held his gaze for a se
cond. — See if you're fuckin lyin . . .

  — Ud nivir fuckin lie tae you, doll, you kin read ays like a book, Tony said, sticking his hands up her skirt and sliding down her panties. They were stained with discharge from the combination of a severe UTI and a non-specific sexual disease, but he scarcely noticed. — Ye ken whit's oan ma mind now, eh? Extra fuckin sensory perception n that. A right fuckin Paul Daniels you, eh . . . he gasped, undoing his trousers, allowing his constrained gut and erection to fly freely into space.

  Bob Cartwright tapped gingerly on the bedroom door. He felt a sadness lie heavily around his heart as he saw his son Bobby junior lying face down on the bed. He pushed onto a corner of it and said softly, — Hi sport, room for another? Bobby junior grudgingly shuffled along. — Hey pitcher, still sore about Rico? Huh?

  — Rico hates us!

  Bob senior was somewhat taken aback by his son's vehemence, in spite of the warning from his wife, Sarah. He sat back and thought for a while. He'd kept a brave face on, but if the truth be known, he'd sure miss that little guy too. After taking a sad few moments to consider the depths of his own pain, Bob senior began, — Well, you know, Babby, sometimes it maybe seems like that, but Babby, let me tell you, folks, well, they got a habit of doing all sorts of things for all sorts of reasons, some of which we don't rightly know about.

  — If Rico really loved us, he'd have stayed!

  — Let me tell you a story, Babby. When I was a kid, prabably nat more men your age, maybe just a lill bit older, mere was one guy who was my hero. Thet was Al 'Big AT Kennedy.

  Bobby's face lit up. — The Angels! he screamed.

  — Yeah sport, that's it. Al Kennedy, the best goddamn pitcher I've ever seen. Phoo-ee! I remember that World Series when we were up against the Kansas Royals. It was Big Al who came through for us. Those Royals hitters fell one by one. STRIKE ONE!

  — STRIKE TWO! Bobby squealed gleefully, mimicking his father.

  — STRIKE THREE! Bob senior roared.

  — STRIKE FOUR! Bobby yelped, as father and son gave each other the high five.

  — I'll give you strike four! C'mon sport, lets give it the seventh-inning stretch!

  They sang in a lusty chorus:

  Take me up the ball game

  Take me up to the crowd

  Buy me some peanuts and crackajacks

  I don't care if I ever get back

  and it's root root root for the Angels

  if they don't win it's a shame

  cause it's one, two, three strikes you're out

  at the old ball game!

  Bob senior felt gooey inside. That one always got the kid going. — Thing was, son, he said, his face focusing into grim seriousness, — Big Al went away. Signed up for the Cardinals. I said, if Big Al loved us, he wouldn't have gone. God, I hated Al Kennedy, and every time I saw him on TV, playing for the Cardinals I used to put this curse on him: Die, Big Al, I'd say, die, you lousy punk! My pop would say: Hey son, take it easy. There was once I got real mad, started screamin at the box about how much I hated Big Al, but the old man just said: Son, that hate's a funny old word, one you wanna be a Utile careful bout usin.

  — A few days later my dad brought me some newspaper cuttins. I got em here. Always kept these cuttins, Bob senior said, putting them down in front of his son. — Don rightly expect you to read all these now, sport, but lemme tell you, they told me a story, a very special story, Babby, one which I've never forgotten. It was about a school-bus crash in St Louis, Mo. One little fella, why, I guess he drew the short straw in the whole goddamn affair. This little tyke was seriously ill, in a coma. Turned out thet this kid rooted for the Cardinals and his hero was none other than Big Al Kennedy. Anyway, when Big Al heard about this kid, he cut short a hunting trip in Nebraska and travelled back down to St Louis to be by the kid's side. Big Al said to this kid: Listen champ, when you get outta here, I'm gonna show you howta pitch, ya know? Bob senior explained. — Then something incredible happened, Bob senior said softly and dramatically.

  Bobby's eyes opened wide in anticipation. — Waht Ded? Waht?

  — Well, son, Bob senior continued, swallowing hard, his Adam's apple bobbing, — that little kid opened his eyes. And something else happened. Guess what?

  — I dunno, Ded, Bobby junior replied.

  — Well, I guess I kinda opened my eyes as well. You know what I mean, Babby?

  — I guess.. .the young boy said quizzically.

  — What I guess I'm tryin to say, son, is just cause Rico had to go don't mean that he ain't thinkin of us, that he don't love us; it's just that maybe there's somebody that needs him a whole laht more then we do just now.

  Bobby junior thought about this for a bit. — Will we ever see Rico again, Pop?

  — Who knows, son, perhaps we will, Bob senior said wistfully, as he felt a hand touch his shoulder softly and he looked around and met the open, watery eyes of his wife.

  — You know Babby, Sarah Cartwright spoke with wavering emotion, — everytime you see somebody with the light of love in their eyes, you'll see Rico, cause there's one thing you can be sure of, honey, if there's love in people's eyes, it was Rico that put it there!

  Sarah looked at her husband who smiled broadly and put his arm around her waist.

  He'd been at her now for five minutes and his attention was starting to wander. Bri and Ralphie would be down the Anchor now, their names up for the pool. It was prize money night. As he thrusted, he saw the balls shooting from the tip of the cue, ricocheting off the cushion and rattling softly into the pockets. He had to dump his load into her soon.

  Tony poked away as hard as he could and he felt himself so close, but yet so far from that relief. He reached across the coffee table which was adjacent to the couch and picked up the burning cigarette. He arched his neck back and took a long puff and thought of images of Madonna on the singles collection video.

  It's no even thit Madonna's a bigger fuckin shag thin a loat ay the fanny roond here, bit whit she dis is dress up. Burds roond here ey dress the fuckin same; each day ivray fuckin day. How ur ye supposed tae cowp somethin thit looks the same ivray fuckin day? That's whit fanny like Madonna understand, yuv goat tae dress up fuckin different, pit oan a bit ay a fuckin show . ..

  They were together, Madonna and Anthony Anderson, joined in a mutual coupling of shimmering, sensual, passionate love-making. Not a million miles away, Maggie Robertson was giving her man, Keanu Reeves, the most exciting time that Hollywood star ever had. He was about to come, and although a long, long way from climax herself, she was pleased, she was delighted, that she had been able to please her man so . . . that was satisfaction enough because that fat hoor could never have turned him on like this. . .

  Then Keanu/Tony saw the face pressed against the window-pane, staring in, watching them, watching him; his stiff jaw, his dead eyes. As his penis grew limp, those eyes filled with passion, for the first time. — SEAN, GIT AWAY FAE THAT FUCKIN WINDAE, YA DURTY WEE CUNT! YOU'RE FUCKIN DEID BY THE WAY! GUARANTEED! THAT'S FUCKIN GUARANTEED, SEAN, YA DURTY WEE CUNT! Tony ranted as his limp dick spilled out of Madonna/Maggie.

  Springing up, and pulling on his jeans, Tony stormed into the stair and headed into the back green in violent pursuit of the children.

  — This is terrible, Mr C. switched off the television. They shouldn't have this on before nine o'clock. C'mon, sport, he looked at Bobby, — time for bed.

  — Aw pop, do I have to?

  Yep, you do, sport, Bob senior shrugged, — we could all use some shut-eye!

  — But I wanna watch The Skatch Femilee Rabirtsin.

  — Listen Babby, Sarah began, The Skatch Femilee Rabirtsin is a horrible programme and your father and I agree that it's not good for you . . .

  — Gee Mom, I like The Skatch Femilee Rabirtsin . . .

  They were diverted from their discussion by a scraping sound which came from the window. They looked out and saw a squirrel on the ledge.

  — Rico! they shouted in concert. Sarah opened
the window and the animal scampered in and ran up Bobby junior's arm, perching on his shoulder. The young boy stroked his friend's warm fur lightly.

  — Rico, you came behk! I noo you'd come behk!

  — Hey buddy, Rico laughed, lifting up his paw and giving Bobby junior the high five.

  — Rico ... Sarah simpered, as Bobby senior felt a spasm of emotion rise in his chest.

  — I thought to myself, the squirrel said, — there's a lot of good work needs doin, so I'd better get me some help.

  He turned his head to the window. The Cartwrights looked outside and could see hundreds, or perhaps even thousands of squirrels, their eyes glowing with love, and ready to spread that love across a cold world.

  — I wonder if one of those squirrels will go and help the little Skatch boy n girl on the television, Bobby junior thought out loud.

  — I'm sure one of them will, Babby, Sarah simpered.

  — Don't hold your fuckin breath on that one honey, Rico the squirrel muttered, but the family failed to hear him, as they were so consumed with joy.

  SPORT FOR ALL

  See that big skinny gadge wi the tartan skerf? Big Adam's aypil hingin ower the toap ay it? Ah'm jist gaunny huv a wee word wi the cunt.

  Whit d'yis mean leave urn? Ah'm jist spraffin wi the boy, aboot the game n that, likesay.

  Hi mate, been tae the rugby? Murrayfield, aye? Scotlin win, aye?

  Fuckin sound.

  Hear that Skanko? Scotlin fuckin won.

  Whae wis it thi wir playin, mate?

  Fiji. FIJI? Who the fuck's that?!

  FIJI? Some fuckin islands ya doss cunt.

  Aye?

  Aye, well we're jist some fuckin islands tae these cunts, think aboot it that wey.

  It's right enough though, eh mate?

  Still, wir aw fuckin Scotsmin the gither, eh mate?

  No thit ah ken much aboot rugby masel. S'a fuckin poof's game if ye ask me. Dinnae ken how any cunt kin watch that fuckin shite. It's true though, it's aw fuckin queers thit play that game.

  Yir no a poof ur ye, mate?

  Whit d'ye mean leave um? Jist askin the boy if eh's a poof or no. Simple fuckin question. Mibbe the cunt is, mibbe eh isnae.