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Kindle Notes & Highlights
by
David Wong
Read between
March 26 - March 26, 2021
The first thing I saw when I opened my eyes was four ventriloquist dummies, where they had been propped up around my face so that I’d find them staring down at me when I woke. I thought the things were creepy as hell, and Amy knew that, which is why she had put them there. She is a monster.
It was a painting of a clown that the previous owner had insisted was cursed (that is, the painting was cursed, not the clown, unless he was, which is entirely possible). “Cursed” turned out to be a ridiculous exaggeration, though. What was happening was the painted clown’s mouth was slowly changing shape with time, as if it was silently mouthing words. I don’t doubt that if you set the painting in front of a time-lapse camera for a few months and hired a lip reader to examine the results, it would turn out the clown was saying something very creepy or even profound. Maybe it’s a prophecy.
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C) an “emergency,” and those right there are sarcasm quotes.
The last such call I had gotten from him was two weeks ago. It was just a few seconds of ambient party noise, before I heard John’s voice say, “What’s that sound? Everybody quiet, I—Ha! Hey Munch, check it out! I farted so hard it dialed my phone!”
If you’re saying we should give it to the government so they can mimic its witchcraft or whatever to make better body armor for the military, I’m thinking you trust the government way more than I do.
(for reference, at the end of this book I have included an index of which religions are true and which are false—there are some real surprises).
I’ve never understood the panic over monsters. I mean, which would bother you more, finding out your grandfather had died in a painful industrial accident, or that his head had been neatly snatched off his body by some giant, leathery winged horror? Dead is dead and in the latter case, he didn’t feel a thing. So why should the monster be the one that gives you nightmares, aside from the miniscule chance that one day your grandad’s chewed-up eyeballs might get shit onto your windshield on your way to work? Also, what if you kill your “monster” and it turns out it’s like a werewolf situation,
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John said, “I think this case is a screaming clown dick.
How many bites do you have to take out of a shit sandwich before you figure out it’s shit?
We were all in John’s black Jeep Grand Cherokee, the hood of which was entirely covered by an airbrushed mural of Satan holding an ax, chopping the head off of a naked woman above the words EZEKIEL 23:20.
The first time, Dave didn’t even flinch, he’s like, ‘You wanna see the real monster, it’s standing right in front of you, bitch.’”
(and who wants to go to court over the issue of whether or not Hell itself counts as an “act of God”?).
An eternity spent swirling in a stew of ravenous, perverse appetites free of all restraints. Their torture is that they forever consume but are never satisfied, your torture is that you are forever consumed.
We sloshed through the standing water—I had never bought rain boots because I knew that it would immediately stop raining the moment I did—
No answer from inside the building, or at least none that could be heard over Mr. Bon Jovi insisting we have to hold on to what we’ve got and that it doesn’t make a difference if we make it or not.
“Yeah, I’ll ask. Wait, does that mean she can get into my phone any time she wants?” “Only way to find out, put a bunch of pics of naked dudes on there and see if you can detect a change in mood afterward.”
Hey, I was thinking about the argument we had yesterday, and having slept on it I’ve decided that you are even more wrong than I thought you were then.” “Looks like you need to sleep on it some more.”
“Oh,” I said, “and I just want to let you know that I’ve completely forgotten your birthday next week, because I’m a man and thus care nothing about your feelings.” “Oh, okay, thanks for letting me know ahead of time.”
If you understand how this sort of thing could work, please write down your explanation with as much clarity and detail as you can, then throw it in the trash because who gives a shit.
As I wandered, I came upon what looked like a floating worm. It hovered about three feet off the ground; at its base was a pile of coiled loops that led up to a twitching bulb the size of a football, then a single segmented tube that extended upright until it ended in an opening. It turned toward me. At the top was a human mouth—the “worm” was a disembodied esophagus and digestive tract, ending in the bundle of small intestine. At the bottom it possessed an anus and, in the front, a six-inch-long erect penis.
“Today you are you, that is truer than true. There is no one alive, who is youer than you”
I snapped back into my own body and found I was in fact straddling John. In my hand, instead of a scalpel, was a pink dildo. I was pressing it against his chin, as if trying to slice it open. John meanwhile was cramming something into my face, something that was crumbling against my jaw. We were splashing around in an inch of dirty water.
“Venus Flytrap. I woke up and John and I were having a dildo battle.”
We will live and die according to how we interpret the unfamiliar. All of human culture is nothing more than that very process, playing out again and again.
The monster that just flew out here was not made of papier-mâché and pipe cleaners.
He’s been hanging out with Nicky for more than a decade and I work so hard to avoid her that she hasn’t even appeared in this story yet.
Next to the window was an inspirational poster depicting a bunch of bees crawling over a honeycomb above the words, TEAMWORK KILLS THE WASP.
