Christmas on Crack (12 page)

“Discharge?
Sure, I’ll discharge all over you if you keep doing that, just.. .oh god, don’t
stop.”

Double
drops off before that battery can pull him up with the others, and just as he
does so he hears a crackling whirr as Happy Companion Buddy Bear crawls up to
the pile with Dr. Itoi riding on his shoulder.
“Nippon saiko no!’
the doctor hollers as eye-rolling
Buddy Bear swipes at the hussy huskies on top and tries to scoop some batteries
into his mouth. Barkode snaps her mouth out to bite at Buddy Bear’s nose and
instead hits his mouth, the bite softening into a long and passionate electric
kiss. Several other doctors have torn open the Elder God Eggs and aborted the
greasy-skinned monster babies in order to stuff more batteries inside of them,
and several others have taken giant scalpels from the Plastic Surgeon Playset
to slice up the hussy huskies, stopping as soon as they realize that more
wounds equal more penetration spots for batteries.

The
pile begins to thin out with sinewy wires and tendrils and globs of acidic
jissom still connecting them. Double rolls under the warm and sticky
connections, seeing the busted bodies of batteries cracked from overheat and
hurrying himself along to the thoughts that Amp and Discharge can become the
same way. As he keeps asking them, another battery says, “Discharge? Fill me
with that stuff!” and the next one says “I like going inter-brand too,
sweetheart, but I don’t know any Amp.” Soon, however, he feels tendrils
constrict him and stop his rolling. “You need to stop teasing me like that,”
says this battery, “Alka doesn’t play that game.”

Double
fills with scattering panic as his tendrils reach up to knock away those of
Alka, though Alka only takes Double’s tendrils and sucks on them. “So my little
bottom Double has decided he wants to play rough, too?” he says before filing
his own tendrils down to thin needles and plugging them deep into Double’s
howling body, the ends pulling up and tearing along his skin while tongues
lick around the wounds. “Bleed for me,” he says, mounting Double and feeding
the ends into each other next to all of the other batteries’ connections to
him. In a brief moment, Double notices that Alka’s connections have become so
thick and heated that Alka’s own ends have begun to melt. “But go ahead, punch
me back a little. Bite on my limbs.” Double’s body jerks into convulsions as he
goes limp feeling another orgasm rippling through his body, fluid flowing from
his wounds and his ends, and had he been human there would have also been
blossoming tears. “C’mon, give me something new. I wasn’t craving you for
nothing.”

In
the midst of Double’s overheating body, he seizes hold of a thought from the
night before, from when he and Discharge were talking. “You want to try
something new?” Double moans.

“Surprise
me.”

Double
takes a burst of strength to twist his body around so that the same-ends match
up. “You got it!” he barks, and soon thereafter Alka’s body slows down to break
the hurting connection between the opposite ends. Alka’s melting poz-ends and
neg-ends connect to the same ends of Double’s. Double holds on tight and
thrusts away, feeling both the pleasant warm of sex and the sour warm of
self-satisfaction well up inside him. For added measure, he reaches several
mouths to Alka’s backside to lick both of his grainy assholes.

Alka
twitches, his color beginning to drip off of his body. “Jesus,” he groans, “how
can you swing that way? It’s just...it’s just...” Alka falls out of the pile’s
interior with Double holding on. After he lands and Double continues to shag
his life away, his body curls up and molds to mush among the other slaughtered
batteries. Soon the other batteries are falling away, “Party foul” rippling
through each one as their tendrils retract, their supple breasts and firm pecs
mold back to flatness, and their aligned ends detach

from
each other in wet pops.

The
other batteries roll away from each other, some in groups, some alone. Double
rolls up to the solitary ones and interrogates them in the same way. “I’ve had
enough discharge for this year’s Christmas, thank you.” “Amp is that one over
there. Don’t bother me, you bisexual freak.” Double ignores that last part as
he feels warmth well up inside him, and with a cheer-hearted boost of speed he
rolls up and tackles Amp. “I thought we would lose each other!” he says with a
kiss.

Amp
giggles and reaches a small tendril up to rub Double’s bellies. “Truth is that
I had already kind of given up to Alka by the time you did that. A lot of
batteries don’t get to die in orgies as massive as that one, no matter how many
power-sucking toys come under the tree.”

Double
sighs, saying, “I know, and I don’t think I could find anyone who can fuck
quite like Alka can, but.” he reaches a full limb over Amp and continues, “but
that was Alka, and he just didn’t care. I care about you.”

Amp
gropes up a mound of Double’s flesh and gives it a kiss, then soon after says,
“Wait, what about Discharge?” Double feels the new warmth cool down as he takes
his limb off of Amp and tugs him along with the ends of his tendrils. “Follow
me, we need to find him!” He rolls faster and faster, questioning each and
every fleeing battery while Amp catches the ones that slip away. Each and every
answer, to Double’s sinking hope, relates to discharge as electric current and
not Discharge as the battery.

He
then freezes at the loud sound of the front door opening and heavy feet walking
into the house. “Shit!” he hisses at Amp. “We need to hide. Quick, let’s get
under the couch!” And the two of them roll to just a few feet near

the couch
before the footsteps land in the living room.

“There
he is, Reverend Wallace,” says a drawling man. “That’s the demon bear we told
you about. And lookit that, he’s kissing that dog toy full on the mouth!”

“Lordy
lordy,” says Wallace as he picks up Buddy Bear and Barkode and pulls them
apart, the slime of the other batteries trailing out of their mouths as the
batteries fall. Wallace then looks toward the doctors lugging their egg sacks
back on their gurneys, and walks over to the surge protector to disconnect
them. With all of that done, he turns toward the man and sighs, “The devil just
tried to make a lustful mockery of Christ’s birthday. Mr. MacConaughey, the
best thing for you to do is to take all these horrid toys and throw them in the
garbage. Toss the batteries too.”

“I’ll
never doubt your word, Reverend,” says Mr. Mac- Conaughey as he picks up the
hussy huskies, the doctors and patients, the surgery set, and Buddy Bear to
throw them all away. His son and his daughters whine and complain about each
toy falling in the trash, but he shakes his head and goes, “We’re getting you
better toys than these. Stop your bitching.”

Double
and Amp stand still as Mr. MacConaughey begins to pick up handfuls of
batteries. The two of them hug each other one more time and resume shape as another
man enters from the opposite end of the room.

“Thank
God I can snatch a few,” whispers the man as he stuffs them into his pocket and
pulls himself back up to his feet. With a frustrated drowsiness lingering in
his head, the man thinks,
Uncle Ralph is going to need a whole lot of T.V. and booze
to get through the rest of this holiday, and if I’m going to lose out on some
free new remote batteries then my name isn’t Uncle Ralph!

“What’s going
on?” Amp asks, pulling closer to Double. “I don’t know,” says Double, accepting
Amp into his limbs. Then as the thought of Discharge dawns on him again, his
comfort falls to pieces as he is left stroking Amp and feeling his own body
turning numb. “I’m sorry, Discharge.”

*
   
*
*

At the
end of the night, Uncle Ralph is back at his own house, having helped his
brother throw away the rest of the batteries and pick out new toys for the
kids. In front of him sits a boxy television playing “It’s A Wonderful Life.” A
twelve-pack sits next to him, depleting by one can for every half-hour. In his
hand is an old remote, and in the old remote are Double and Amp.

Double
runs several tongues along the length of Amp’s body and pumps his body back and
forth as the ends slide in and out of each other. This thought occurs to him:
“You know, maybe Discharge will have a blast when he gets to the landfill. I’ll
bet there are many batteries there if so many humans throw them out.”

Amp
sucks on the tongues and rubs Double’s back. “Let him have them, as long as I
can have you. Merry Christmas.”

“Merry
Christmas.”

Betty
and I were on our way to Daddy’s house to spend the holidays with him when a
blizzard practically wiped the highway off the map.

Betty
is my twin sister. She’s the tall, skinny one. I’m the short, fat one. Daddy
calls us the two most fuckable cunts in this cold country. I think he just
misses Mama, who succumbed to tuberculosis last year.

Now,
we wouldn’t have gotten so lost if Betty pulled over and let the storm pass.
She’s so impatient and stubborn, she kept on driving even though polar bears
in this region are notorious for preying on stranded, nubile elves such as us.

“Betty,”
I told her, moments before she crashed the car into Santa’s reindeer barn, “if
Daddy don’t give your anus an aneurism this Christmas, I’ll tear my tits off
and feed ‘em to the penguins.” Then we busted through the side of the barn and
ran over poor Rudolph.

At
first, we thought maybe we’d driven into one of those big factories where they
farm reindeer for their meat and fur. Then Rudolph, that red-nosed
son-of-a-bitch, started bleating like a baby seal getting raped by narwhals.