Smashed, Squashed, Splattered, Chewed, Chunked and Spewed
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Idjit Galoot has a problem. He escaped from his master's house for a brief romp around town, seeking out easy targets such as bitches in heat, fresh roadkill and unguarded garbage cans. When he returns to his house, the aged basset hound discovers that his master has packed up their belongings and moved to Florida without him. "Smashed, Squashed, Splattered, Chewed, Chunked and Spewed" is the story of Idjit Galoot's ne'er do well owner and his efforts to work his way back to the dog that he loves. Along the way, Idjit's owner encounters Christian terrorists, swamp-dwelling taxidermists, carnies, a b-list poopie-groupie, bluesmen on the run from a trickster deity, and the Florida Skunk Ape.
told us that it was a hoax, a creature created by some jokester. “Those are pretty funny.” “Ain’t nothing funny about it.” At the back of the room, sitting near the fireplace, sits a man who looks just like Arnette. His thick beard covers most of his face. The sad moustache hangs down over his mouth, obscuring it, the opening only apparent because the whiskers blow out slightly with his breath as he talks. “Those jackalopes is some fucked up, mean little critters. You get gored by one and you’ll
blown through and we’re still here. Get up, you’ve got to get moving. You know, dogs to catch, people to do and things to see. Miles to go before you sleep, yadda yadda yadda.” Buddy’s beard has grown out to what would be two month’s worth of facial hair for most men. “Get up. I’ve got some shit to show you.” “Yeah, come on,” says Pervis, or maybe Arnette. I can’t tell. “You need to get moving. Buddy here has told us about your hound dog. You need to get back to that old fleabag.” The brothers
man. Not into anything kinky. He didn’t want to go dooty on my face or in my hair or anything, like some of those guys. He agreed to give me some, but he did it in the bathroom stall, without me watching. He said he can’t go if somebody’s watching. Anyway, that man left a big ’un in the bowl for me. I was gonna get it with my fish strainer that I use. But, out of habit, he flushed. I was devastated. But it was meant to be a double-flusher and he left just a little bit behind. That lone doo-doo
concentration. People who don’t know me well enough might say I’m delusional and paranoid, but they’re just out to get me. I don’t know what happened to my brain. My doctors can’t tell me. All I know is that I’m different. Sometimes it seems that my shit’s fucked up, but I don’t know how. I’ve heard that Ecstasy eats holes in your brain. Maybe that’s what happened to me. Maybe the holes were filled in with crazy. But like I said, I can’t bitch. Me and Mom are moving to Florida. Mom’s cool, I have
and talk to her. She doesn’t answer. My mind goes fuzzy. I hear footsteps and sirens above me just before I pass out. The ambulance smells like dog. I come to and my vision clears. I look to my left and see Jack the dog in a gurney beside me. The EMT’s are working feverishly on him while I lay in my own gurney, neglected and in pain. “Good God!” I say. “Are you transporting a dog in your ambulance.” One of the paramedics gasps at the sound of my voice and turns in my direction. “Oh! Oh!