Kitchens are good for suckable stuff, bakelite spoon handles and pyrex thermometers and marble pestles. Forty seconds later we had a new plan. I was their toy bad guy, their boygirl, their bogeygirl, no front teeth, smudge on the edge of every camp snapshot, always tearing around under a cracked, white-hot roof of blond hair. I leaned down and picked it up and squinted into the black. And in my dream there they were, her wizardly breasts, two lovely round custards, wet and slick, with their brown nipples pointing up like fuses. For a second my eyeballs froze in their molds. The weasel showed a commendable lack of interest in their existence.
No, that argument was lame, for none of us Bug Motels exactly wanted out of here. My husband wanted to cheer me on by volunteering as my solo audience. I lit one for each of us. No two characters sound the same. Me neither-I, er, just kinda like you. We rolled in malted milk balls, canned potato sticks, cheese and peanut butter crackers, pretzel rods, you name it.
I narrowed my eyes at Ottie. Anyhow all of a sudden her teeth clamped down hard, so hard on my fingers I wanted to howl out loud and I could hear myself howling, far far away. Where had I left my own cigarettes and my 250-wrapper Mr. For some reason old Emily loved me at first sight. You the sorriest-looking raggedy-ass girl-boy ho I ever see and that white fuzz on you arms scare a hound dog off a gut wagon. Even when you live in the bughouse, life needs a mission. Probably I was still whimpering a little.
Not that yall buddies who put her down the laundry chute needs to know anything about where she done been ended up at. She was looking at him, he was looking at us, I was looking at her and she was wearing red-for she had wrapped back up in her red thing as fast as she could yank it out from under me. Reggie done cured your bug-eyed self, or was you shucking the whole time? He forgot about our mission. I backed gluily towards the door, but thank godzilla, doctor weasel clamped a hand around my ankle in time. Oh, God, Jaimy Gordon is so good at it. Now I knew who it was in the raspberry bush.
Then I heard an exotic, familiar squinch, and taking my chin to the floor I saw, on the far side of the bed, the silver sandals of Doctor Zuk, who had just heavily shifted her weight. She had to get over thinking about men that way. And now she screamed bloody murder, and soon she really was bleeding from banging her head over and over against that pipe, bong bong bong. Anyway it was Doctor Zuk who got me out, and then the fuddy dreambox mechanics kicked her out right behind me. He was not as gentle as usual and I could tell he was displeased.
Locked away, the Bogeywoman meets the beautiful, mysterious Doctor Zuk, a woman psychiatrist from somewhere east of the Urals. But I could never believe in my love of camp again: my love was out to get some girl, I was a wolf in evergreen camp shorts and gimp lanyard, looking for live feed I could catch. This mother had taste Merlin regarded as sugary, it is true. This coma is defunct, you cured, I Dr. Thirty yards into it a small and dented blue trailer sat on concrete blocks in the woods. Her head was nicely framed in the toilet pipe, wreathed in and out with tongues of platinum hair.
. What you ever did for me, young woman? I have never except that once driven away a scared girl with a stray hand across the border. For some reason she seemed to be hissing. At first I had sumpm-even if it put me in the bughouse-with Lou Rae Greenrule. This object sat in one corner like a trashcan, and as I stared at it, a cockroach the size of a Tonka toy poked its head out of the left shin and looked around.
I mean, her head was still stuck all this time in the toilet pipe. Among the most effective applications of musical efficacy in this book occurs when music is shared among those that simply pay attention and accept music on music's terms. I threw back my head and gasped for air and accidentally caught sight of Emily in the mirror over the sink. Big Bear, Wood Wiz, Upside Down Day, Lake Sci, and Evening Pro. This is on equal display in Bogeywoman and Skylark for example.
He would fart on in, another hopeless case in the department of la beauté since the first and last chance of a body is in the walk, if you know what I mean-sort of spreading through the door like a farty dollop of batter because of his bottom-heavy duckfooted walk. That swelling bodice Karoline von Etzen, for instance, who wrote the Alsatian cookbook-what a stepmother she would have made. On the wrong side wrong because I knew at once that this was the end of camp were cows, cows of a pale brown the exact tint of used tea bags, with the same dark melancholy shadings along their edges, ringing their ears and their great brown eyes. As if any tough girl in paradise, any girl whose life was worth saving, would wear noseclips! Must think she the queen or sumpm. Oughta be shamed of yall selves. She had appetites-I could tell.
Ottie by now had thrown away whittle-peg and jackknife and was wrestling me back. Remember when we sailed our pinnace down Missionary Lake to claim the lost chunkagunk for-for la beauté? In the black elevator, sweat started to trickle under my dirty bangs. A few seconds later she had scrambled back up and I could see, from the wrung necks of a couple spurges, that was the way she went. As for me, as long as I was here, I took my job to heart of being a bughead-for I saw right away that the others were better at it than me. Ursie Koderer knows herself to be a monster—doomed to be different from other girls—very different.