Friday, February 20, 2009

Miller Time Metamorphosis

By Bub

Demetrius got ready to go out to Miller Time. It was Thursday night – Karaoke night. He never sang karaoke. He left that to the faggots and the bitches. When his buddy Buzz would be all fucked up and scream out a version of Fat Bottom Girls, Demetrius would hoot and crank one hand in a circle in an approximation of what he imagined enjoyment looked like. He sprayed a generous portion of Axe body perfume down the front of his pants and directly onto each of his nipples. He then put on his party shirt, the one with shiny black and purple vertical stripes, placed his pointer and middle fingers next to each other, parallel, kissed the tips, and touched them to the mirror roughly where the corner of his right eye had been reflected. He was ready to Go Out. The smell of pussy was in the air, and he was a pussy-hound fresh on the scent. He had no idea that the transformation within him had already begun.


He closed the driver side door to his 2006 GMC Envoy XL as something urgent struck his memory. “I forgot my truck-nutz,” he said to nobody. He went back inside, grabbed the Awesome Fuckers, threw them onto the hitch, and got back inside the vehicle in one fluid series of motions. He started the engine. The radio came on:

I can feel my life is changing, Changing. I can feel my heart is jaded, Jaded. Left the sticks, Left the stones, Words don't hurt, Mend the bones. I can feel my life is changing.


“I fucking love Mudvayne,” Demetrius thought aloud. He pulled out of the driveway, turned on his head lights and drove into the dark.

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Doolin was waiting in his driveway when Demetrius pulled up. He started speaking before Demetrius opened the car-door.

“Hey D, where the fuck you been man? I’m almost too high to even go out. ALMOST!!!”

“What the hell are you yellin' about?” Demetrius said as he turned off the radio and shut the door.

The look in Doolin’s eyes at the sight of him said that he would not be answering this question.

“Fuck, man” Doolin said in a grave tone “Someone must’ve spiked my shit yo. It looks like you’ve got fucking antennas or some shit coming out of your head. I must’ve smoked some angel dust or something.”

“Heh!” Demetrius chortled “Then we’re about to have a great fucking time! Pack a hitter of that stuff before we go.”

“Alright man, but this is seriously kinda weird.”

Doolin packed the hitter and handed it to Demetrius. Demetrius lit it and began sucking in before turning back to the SUV and entering while holding his breath. Doolin got in as well. Demetrius exhaled exaggeratedly and Doolin let out a nervous laugh.

“Those fucking antennas look real, dude, like life-like or something, like in a movie, Independence Day or whatever, Hancock.”

“You are a riot, kid,” Demetrius said as he had heard adults say the phrase growing up. “I don’t have any fucking an-TANN-as, you stoned-ass fucker.” But indeed he did. And he would know this if he hadn’t recently punched out his rear view mirror when he missed a squirrel he had swerved to hit. They pulled away from Doolin’s house and headed towards town, towards Miller Time. Demetrius grabbed a USA Gold cigarette from a pack wedged between the sun-visor and the ceiling. He held it out toward Doolin like a fencing sword.

“No thanks” Doolin muttered without looking in Demetrius’s direction.

“Whatever man… fucking an-TANN-as… dipshit”

They rode the rest of the way in silence.

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By the time they got there The Change was almost complete. Doolin had glanced over at Demetrius several times during the ride there and had noticed his friend becoming increasingly vermin-like, but for the sake of his own credibility, chose to keep quiet. He looked out his window instead and thought about how crazy the stalks of corn looked.

Demetrius now had the body, head and legs of a cockroach, but the arms of a human. He felt nothing change, and was unaware of his circumstance.

He parked his car next to another car that had just pulled in. When trying to exit, Demetrius’s door hit the door of the car in the next parking space which had opened at exactly the same time.

“What the fuck man, what’re you some kind of…” The passenger from the next car shouted before catching a glance of Demetrius. Once he did, he tried to compute the information but couldn’t. His brain seized up as if to say it was all over, there was nowhere to go, anymore. He was a roof-top worker, had been in the sun all day and this incident made his skin feel sunburned. After a very long pause he whispered the only word his subconscious could force out, “…nigger.”

Demetrius intended to express his feeling deeply injured at being incorrectly labeled a derogatory racial epithet, but could only produce a rattling hiss, not unlike that of a rattlesnake, but with a chorus of locusts amplifying the noise. When he made this sound the tortured look on the tanned gentleman’s face let Demetrius and Doolin know that something incredible was occurring. The racist jumped back into the car and began crying. Doolin and the driver of the other car took off, running for their lives.

Demetrius stood still a moment, confused. Then he held his arms out in front of him, saw the bristly paws where his hands had been, and understood the situation. He was a cockroach now. And it was going to be much harder to score some pussy.

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