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Las Vegas Mutantz From Hell!
a non-fiction horror story
by The Pusher
>>> A CULT Publication......1988 <<<
-cDc- CULT OF THE DEAD COW -cDc-
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Author's Note: The following events occurred when one of my mom's friend's
daughter came from Las Vegas to look at colleges in my area. (Like NYU)
Day 1- I was excited. Why? Well, an older girl from Las Vegas was coming to
stay at my house and she was sleeping in the room right next to mine.
(Just like it happens in all of those cheesy 1-star teen flicks). A night of
stiff board banging was anticipated (more like, "was wished for"). Anyway, I
was listening to the Suicidal Tendencies ("Two Sided Politics" was the song),
when I heard a knock on my door.
"She's here."
I jumped out my room and looked into the room next to mine. She was...
a... FUCKING HAM!
My jaw dropped to the floor. About five feet tall, fat, ugly, and a face
that looked like someone threw paint at her through a screen door. This was
not a girl I wanted to ball, much less look at. I mumbled a feeble "Hi" and
went to sleep right away.
Day 2- I awoke the next morning with positive thoughts. Adam, you just had a
nightmare last night. That's not the girl. Five minutes later when I saw her,
I realized that she was a nightmare. A living, breathing, three dimensional
nightmare. At the breakfast table, Mom and I had the following conversation.
"Adam, I want you to take Heidi around town today."
"Forget it! I'm going to the mall."
An hour later. Town.
I'm wearing my trenchcoat along with sunglasses so no one can recognize
me. As I show her around town (where I live, "town" is just one street of
stores), making up lies as I go along ("See that lake? The police found a
decapitated baby in there last year."), two friends of mine see through the
disguise and come up to me. They ask me who the girl right behind me is. I
say I have no idea. They actually believe me until she comes up to me asking
"Where's the post office, Adam?" (Where's the post office? What kind of
question is that?) My "friends" say bye and walk away. Laughing their asses
off. At me. When we get home, I get a call asking about my "girlfriend". So,
I go up to my room, and finish playing my Suicidals tape. (Remember, I left
off at "Two Sided Politics.") Heidi knocks on my door.
"Turn it off."
"What?"
"I said turn it off! I can't watch T.V. with that noise blaring!"
"Hey, why don't you-"
I would have loved to finish my sentence, but my dad walked in.
That night, I thought of ways I could kill her.
Day 3- "No way! Screw that! I showed her around town, now you do something
with her. I'm going to Mark's."
An hour later. At the tennis court. With Heidi.
It seems she loves tennis and I happened to be the only available player.
Anyway, she's out there with her 200 dollar tennis outfit, and super-duper
Wimbeldon pro racket. And I've got Nike basketball shoes, a ratty pair of
shorts, my Circle Jerks "Golden Shower of Greatest Hits" shirt which has a guy
peeing against a wall, and some cheap racket I dug out of the basement. What
happened is this: she hit a high lob into the air, and rushed up to the net.
I thought: here's my chance! I'll slam the ball into her face and kill her.
The ball came down. I swung. And missed.
"You could use some lessons."
"And you could use a mask."
Her bitchy stares were welcomed.
After the game...
"I've been on a diet for the past two months. Don't I look thin?"
What could I say?
"No, you don't.
That night, I was playing some DK, when she entered my room.
"How can you listen to that noise?"
"Oh, what do you like?"
"U2."
"U2. Major talent there. My dick knows more chords than The Edge."
"I would need a microscope to see your dick! It's probably an inch long!" (Been hanging out with the 6th graders, eh?)
"And I guess an inch seems real small, when you're used to foot-long
cucumbers."
"Geek!"
And she stormed out. That was the last I saw of her. I left early the
next morning for a six-week trip around the country. Before I left, I wrote
down all of this so I could write a file when I got back.
Somewhere in the Southwest, I called home and found out she got into an
incident with a skin in Greenwich Village. Seems she spent the whole day
crying. Exactly what happened, I'll never know.
Biafra in '92!
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Behavior Modification.....806/793-9462 The Dead Zone.............214/522-5321
Demon Roach Underground...806/794-4362 Dragonfire Private........609/424-2606
Question Authority........715/341-6516 Pure Nihilism.............517/337-7319
Tequila Willy's...........209/526-3194 The Metal AE..............201/879-6668
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(c)1988 cDc communications by The Pusher 12/30/88-93
All Rights Worth Shit