The inimitable Gary Indiana has started a blog, which he is updating maniacally with random postcards, maps, pieces of ephemera, license plates, essays on Kiyoshi Kurosawa and Pasolini, and what appear to be installments of short, bonkers fiction. The latest:
The tall young man who arrived that morning at the stroke of nine at the Director’s office, Peter Huxley, concealed his nervousness so adroitly that the Director’s assistant, a dire-minded individual named Grisby, conceived an immediate antipathy: too young, he thought, too naïve for the assignment. But then, Grisby thought–for he knew his own instincts were often wrong–perhaps this Huxley lad might just fit the bill…
“I take it Peter the Director will see you in a couple minutes,” Grisby told him. “Please have a seat, if you care to, he’s on the blower but I’m sure he’ll have gotten off any minute.”
Actually, Grisby thought grimly, the blower was on the Director, a Miss Helmholz from Homeland Secretariat angling for a promotion or a transfer, under the Director’s desk, and she was not, technically speaking, Blowing, but Sucking Avidly.
A red light beamed on Grisby’s desk. Morning blow job complete, he surmised.
“Peter Huxley,” the Director smiled a curdled, thin-lipped smile as the youth, ushered in by Grisby, crossed the office and shook his hand. “Please, take a pew.” The Director, half-standing, paused. He realized that a drop of his seminal fluid had escaped the eager maw of Winona Helmholz and created a wet spot on his Boxer shorts. He’d hurried her, in fairness to the poor wench, propelling her out of his office by the secret door concealed by his revolving bookcase, on which many volumes of the Third and Fourth Homeland Security Acts stood ranged like sentries against the twin menaces of terror abroad and anarchy within the very borders of the US of A.