Christ Pisses His Life Away (Chapter Three)

1 If any of this ever gets written down then I hope they get their facts straight.

2 How long have I been hanging here for? 3 Damn, it’s hot. And my bladder’s on fire. I’m in agony and I can’t scratch myself. 4 When the legionnaires offered to put me up for the night, I didn’t think they quite meant like this. 5 It’s small wonder that I hate wedding banquets now!

6 Bottomless throats. Sateless stomachs. I had no chance. 7 Who could meet that kind of demand? No one, that’s who. 8 None of them could have cared less for the happiness of newly marrieds. All they wanted was a holiday in Cana to brown the brow, and round after round of my patented Holy Spirit to fill their swollen bellies. 9 Self righteous, narcissistic guzzlers of dwindling decorum. Every last one of them!

10 I guess it’s my own fault really. 11 Maybe I shouldn’t have pressed my apostles to water down the whizz, but by god was my tallywacker beat! It was ready to gasp its last, you could say. 12 How many baths did I manage to fill? Who knows? 13 All I do know is my bladder’s as pulverised as a palm frond after a locust convention.

14 And Judas… What the hell, Judas?! What were you thinking? 15 You know you can’t hold your liquor, so why did you drink the merchandise? 16 ‘But whosoever drinketh of the water that I willst giveth unto him shallst never thirst!’ you declared. And you declared it to the whole damn gathering! 17 ‘But the water that I willst giveth unto him willst becometh in him a well of water springing up to eternal life!’ 18 And then you pissed all over the High Priests. Marvellous. Just marvellous. 19 I can’t take you anywhere. I should have left you out the back to calculate our profit margin.

20 And that’s the problem, isn’t it, Mr Iscariot? You play well with numbers, but not with other human beings. 21 Yes, reading ledgers is an important skill, but so is being able to read facial expressions, you sot! Could you not see how livid they were? Utterly hopeless!

22 And why, oh why, did I let you spread those rumours about my so-called ‘miracles’? 23 ‘This will drum up more business,’ you said. ‘More clientele means more tongues at the tap,’ you said. 24 So you had me walking on water, feeding multitudes with a fish finger and two breadsticks, raising people from the dead, and erecting underwater bridges for molluscs fleeing Jewish persecution. 25 Lie upon lie upon lie upon… well, that last one was just plain weird.

26 Dying is not fun. 27 I think I’m dying. Am I dying? Is this what that feels like? 28 I know how to pass water but I’ve not experienced passing from life before, so I can’t definitively say. I don’t think I want to. 29 Still, I keep passing out, so I’m disconcertingly aware of my own mortality. That cannot augur well for my immediate future. 30 Death. Can’t say I’d recommend it.

31 The pain is shocking in its unrelenting intensity. My entire body’s a buzzing mess. 32 How can there possibly be this much blood? I can’t breathe. 33 The tirade I’ve composed in my head escapes as a truncated wheeze. ‘Thanks for nothing,’ is literally all I can muster. 34 Yes, God, thanks for nothing. Just sit there like you always do, and do nothing.

35 First, my carpentry business folds. 36 Then I discover that I can piss wine. 37 Then some opportunistic, money-grubbing ‘followers’ come along and exploit me for all they can get. 38 This involves a clever marketing campaign that promises the public magic shenanigans and quaff-worthy wazz while they’re being entertained. 39 I become said public’s darling. 39 Judas then goes and defiles some elite, paying customers with his own subpar wee while they’re drinking my diluted wee, 40 and then flees with the rest of the apostates at the first sign of trouble. 41 That’s when said public breaks up with me, and the High Priests begin baying for blood instead of my formerly one hundred percent honeyed liquid. 42 What next? Oh, that’s right. Death. Praise Elohim. 43 I’m of a mind to come back and haunt the bastards.

44 I rue the day my pecker piddled on Peter. Sorry. Simon.

by TETIANA ALEKSINA & TONY SINGLE
© All rights reserved 2017

Christ Pisses His Life Away (Chapter Two)

1 How is it that I can heal, but not make them shut up…

2 ‘Peter! Look! He’s waking!’

3 ‘My name isn’t Peter. Why do you keep calling me Peter? I’m Simon!’

4 ‘No, dude. I’m Simon. You’re Peter.’

5 ‘No, I’m jolly not!’

6 ‘Hey, man. Chill! 7 We can’t both be called Simon. Otherwise we’d be Simon and Simon. 8 How would that work?’

9 ‘Then why don’t you change your name? Pick something else you like.’

10 ‘I like Simon!’

11 Oh, great. I think I may have come to in a storm water drain. It’s not the most dignified way to greet a new day. 12 I stir, the muck and piss swirling around me, it adding shame to the pounding behind my eyes. 13 Ugh! I feel like carpenters have set up shop in my forehead, 14 and my mouth feels like a donkey’s arse.

15 I murmur, ‘Shut up, will you? You both are bleating like old nanny goats!’ 16 They look at me, shocked, but I don’t care. 17 ‘You do realise it’s possible for people to share the same name, don’t you?’

18 The second Simon looks at the first Simon with the expression of a goat that’s been goosed mid chew.

19 ‘Hm. I suppose so,’ says the second Simon grudgingly.

20 ‘Yeah…’ allows the first Simon. ‘Check out Judas and Judas. I guess they cohabit just fine.’

21 ‘I’m Jude, you dingbats. JUDE. It’s not the same thing at all!’

22 ‘I thought you were called Thaddaeus.’

23 ‘Shut up, Iscariot.’

24 Oh my god! Why do they go on like this all the time? It’s like they can’t help themselves. Maddening! 25 Did I really hire this bunch of simpletons? I must have been drunk! 26 Oh, that’s right. I was drunk…

27 ‘Don’t tell me to freaking shut up, you great protruding camel toe!’

28 ‘I think you need some knuckle bread! Shall I give it to you?’

29 ‘I freaking dare you to give it to me!’

30 Oh, isn’t this just fabulous. 31 They look like they’re almost ready to fight. Always with the fighting! 32 At least I know what can be done to soothe them. I sigh. I get to my feet. I unzip my pants.

33 ‘Elohim be praised!’ gasps Bartholomew. He’s always gasping over stuff. He’s a gasp whore. He’ll gasp over clipped toenails if you give him half a chance. 34 ‘Jesus is about to make more wine! Thank you, O Master!’

35 ‘Yes! Share with us your Holy Spirit!’ chimes Philip.

36 These self-titled ‘apostles’ crowd around me, hands cupped and reaching. All twenty-four of them! 37 God, did they double overnight? It’s getting weird around here.

38 ‘Hey, you know what?’ says Matthew, a considered look on his face. ‘We should market this. People would lap it up!’

39 How like a tax collector. Always trying to monetise everything.

 

by TETIANA ALEKSINA & TONY SINGLE
© All rights reserved 2017

Christ Pisses His Life Away (Chapter One)

1 I hate everything.

2 I’m standing here with a banging headache, pissing into an open storm water drain. Yes, we have those, even though it never rains here. 3 Actually, that’s not strictly true. It’s raining right now. Does not my amber stream arc so brilliantly in the sunlight? 4 And am I not doubled over with a sudden fit of the giggles at this? Oh, how pretty! 5 Oh, goddam. Shit. My head!

6 So, I’m trying to draw with some extra twirls. 7 And then I gaze with admiration at the acheiropoietic image I’ve made on the wall. 8 I’m so engrossed in this urine street art that I don’t notice an old tatterdemalion who happened to be sitting right in the line of fire. 9 Well, I notice now. He’s soaked, and he stinks. 10 I’m debating whether or not to apologise to the old dero. 11 And why am I still able to use big words like acheiropoietic and tatterdemalion when I’m clearly pissed?

12 God. Questions without answers. Life’s full of them. 13 Like, why is my carpentry business failing? No one wants to buy stools around here. 14 Am I expecting too much? 15 To have people want stools instead of parking their cheap arses on the ground with the donkeys’ own stools?

16 ‘Tasty! Splash some more down here, dude!’

17 Okay. 18 It seems my moral dilemma has resolved itself and that miracles do happen after all. 19 Praise… Elohim? Is that what I’m supposed to say at this juncture? 20 Here in the mud and the piss and animal shit, I’m wondering why someone would deliberately want to gargle down my number ones. Maybe it’s a fetish. 21 The man puts out his hand, then changes his mind and holds out an alms box instead. 22 But my bladder is empty now, so I give him an apologetic shrug instead. 23 His look of expectation sours.

24 ‘What good are you then?’

 

by TETIANA ALEKSINA & TONY SINGLE
© All rights reserved 2017

Teti-à-Tête (With Tony) #6

crumble-cult-210

Tati as TATI

crumble-cult-106

Tony as TONY

 

ACT 5 SCENE 3
THROUGH THE LOOKING HOLE

 

Set in the lounge room of a cosy three-storey tree house in an unspecified fantasy location.

TATI is sitting in a comfortable armchair. She is reading a book entitled ‘Unicorn Farts: How the Rainbow was Born’ with a serious face.

TONY wanders in, wearing a sandwich board advertising something called ‘Hole-in-the-Wall’. He turns to the reader (that’s you) and bellows…

TONY: You! Hey you! Yeah, reader! This is a hardcore sales pitch!

TATI: What the hell?

TONY: Buy our stuff! Buy it now! Buy it or die! (Well, everyone dies. Eventually.)

TATI: Tony…

TONY: Just goddamn BUY our stuff so we can get filthy stinking rich and avoid paying taxes like the top one percent! Yeah. Just… YEAH.

TATI: Tony.

TONY: Do it, man! And woman. Plural.

TATI: TONY!

TONY: What?!

TATI: This is shit and you know it. It wouldn’t even hook a dead fish.

TONY: Huh?

TATI: Take off that silly hairpiece, please. You’re not Donald Trump.

TONY: I’m only trying to spruik our new shop page.

TATI: Hole-in-the-Wall isn’t a fly-by-night pyramid selling scheme. It should be presented with dignity.

TONY: Fine. I’ll be boring then. Dear reader, Hole-in-the-Wall is our new shop page. You can find it here on Unbolt Me, and it features our first two eBooks. Eventually, we will have other stuff you can buy as well, but for now please do enjoy our literary offerings.

TATI: Amen.

TONY: Oh, and our books will help you to lose weight. Maybe even get rid of dandruff and carpet stains…

TATI: Tony! Are you an idiot? Do you want to be beaten for your shameless lies?

TONY: Frickin’ women. Can never make ’em happy. Not ever.

THE END

 

by TETIANA ALEKSINA & TONY SINGLE
© All rights reserved 2016

Teti-à-Tête (With Tony) #5

crumble-cult-210

Tati as TATI

crumble-cult-106

Tony as TONY

 

YOU’RE HOT, BUT PLEASE
DON’T PISS ON ME

 

Morning was never going to just light up the room and leave it at that. Of course not. It was always going to lance between the curtains like a sexual predator and violate her right where she lay. Like it had every other morning of her life. God.

Tati tilted her head off the pillow. She squinted at the fuzzy-edged glare floating at the foot of her bed. She hated that window. It was in the wrong place. It looked like a white supremacist. Her head plopped back.

I’d better get up.

The birds seemed to agree. Chirp! Bloody chirp!

Maybe later.

“Tati.”

Okay, now they’re calling me. A bit odd that.

“Tati?”

Hell! How do they even know my name?

“Tati!”

Oh, please fuck off, birds.

“TATI!”

She imagined them with zippers on their beaks. If only.

“TETIANA!”

“WHAT?!”

An orifice formed in the wall to her right, and disgorged a human-sized blob. With something approaching vague alarm, Tati swiveled her head. Oh. It was a door. Oh. A human.

“I’m sorry, your Highness. Have I inconvenienced you by entering here? This room made holy by the mere presence of your sacrosanct self? And does my existence diminish – nay, blight – your exalted self in some inexpiable and unfortunate way?”

She grimaced. “Shut up.”

“Forgive me. Is it that time of the month again?”

Bolt upright now, a fiery Tati jabbed an accusing finger in the human’s general direction. “Oh my god, Tony! How many times should I repeat that ‘that time of the month’ doesn’t affect mood?!”

Tati’s blanket had fallen away. Oblivious to the fact that she was now topless, she swung her legs right and planted both feet on the floor. It was too early to be dealing with his shit.

Tony plucked his eyes from the dust where they’d fallen and polished them on his shirt sleeve.

“Like the time I hit you with a chair by accident. And I apologised by the way.”

Tony popped his eyes back in their sockets. “Yes,” he said with a sour face, “and then you proceeded not to call an ambulance for me. I had to drag my sorry, damaged arse to the public phone booth.” Noticing that Tati hadn’t bothered to cover herself up, he looked away. “Come to think of it, why the hell don’t we have a landline?

“Do you cheat off?”

He blinked and looked back at her. “Oh. Now you’re changing the subject. Is that what this is?”

Tati yawned, stretching her arms wide, her chest all lovely and pointy. Red-faced, Tony looked away again.

“Do you cheat off?”

Tony hissed through his teeth, “What the hell do you mean… ‘cheat off’?” The wall was suddenly quite fascinating.

Tati stood up. “Cheat off. Like in school.” She grabbed a top from the side cabinet. “What? Have you never peeked into someone else’s notebook?”

“No, I was a good boy. I was always very well behaved in school!” He kept looking at the wall. “In fact, I’m being a good boy now.”

“Really? A good boy? Then why are some of your poems so similar to mine?” Tati slipped her top on. “You can look.”

Tony swung his gaze back. “Why do I seem to be as perverted as you?” His eyes darted quickly to her top, ensuring that it was in place and covering all the right bits. “That’s what you’re really saying, isn’t it?”

“Perverted?!” Tati was so cute whenever she cocked her head. She was doing it now, her antennae tilting too.

Tony studied the wall.

“Are you blushing?” She gave a sly little grin.

“Oh, come on now! What about that Moses story? That was pretty sick!” He was flushing redder than a stop sign. It felt strange to be making such a passionate case to a wall.

Tati shrugged. Or tried to. “I wish not talk about dildos now.”

Tony stole another look. “Erm.”

“Yes, and about Pokémons too.” She began to look around the room for something. She wasn’t sure what. And it was kind of difficult to do with her cephalothorax fusing her head and shoulders together. Perhaps a neck massage was in order.

“Erm.”

“DO NOT EVEN THINK!” Claws on her hips, Tati leveled beady, critical eyes at him.

“But… that’s not possible!” spluttered Tony.

“Okay. Think.” She waved him off dismissively. “But something more useful than winkles and augmented reality.”

“Well, there’s that discussion group you were telling me about the other day. What if I pretend I don’t know about it so you can tell me like it’s a piece of news I haven’t heard before?” He gestured at the webcam high up in the corner of the room. “You know, for the benefit of our readers.”

Tati looked at the tiny electronic eye with a curious detachment. Tony never could tell what she was thinking or feeling at any given time.

“Yes.”

He pushed his case. “And it can be like a proper conversation so it doesn’t seem like the scripted advertorial it so obviously is. A spontaneous chin wag between friends. Like in real life.”

Tati looked at him and smiled. A warm smile this time. “Well… in short, Mooreeffoc was picked up as a Book of September in Book Club (Young Adult Edition) on Goodreads.” Her smile deepened. “It is good. Yes?”

“Oh my, oh me! Really? I did not know! Thank you for imparting this most crucial piece of data, Tetiana! Pray tell, what more regarding this noteworthy event should we be informed of, darling dearest?”

Tati’s smile vanished. What the hell? He thinks this is pantomime?

Realising how foolish he looked, Tony’s puffed-out chest deflated quicker than a balloon at an asthmatics convention. His arms drooped to his sides and he stepped from the bed that he’d unconsciously mounted just moments before. He could be quite “method” that way.

Mooreeffoc. September. Club. Young Adult. Goodreads,” Tati tutted. Through her mandibles. Her earlier smile had looked more inviting to be totally honest.

“Oh. Fine. It’s blatant sarcasm then. I see. Thank you so much.” Tony scratched his head, annoyed. “You’re not going to mention that our readers can follow various links within this text to join the Goodreads Book Club too? That they can join in on a discussion group about Mooreeffoc? That they can – for a limited time only – nab themselves a free copy right here? None of that?”

Tati shook her thick testaceous tail, ignoring this pointed yet somehow long winded remark. “Tony, get yourself busy!”

“Huh?”

“Book! Have you finished the cover for our other book? The new poetry book?”

“Oh, what, now we’re changing the subject again?”

Her tail was looking rather sexy though. He reached out to stroke it…

Morning lanced between the curtains like a sexual predator and violated him right where he lay. Like it had every other morning of his life. God.

Tony tilted his head off the pillow.

What the hell? Why did I dream that of all things?

He grimaced. “Good lord. I was about to have sex with a lobster.”

“What did you say?”

Startled, Tony whipped his eyes to the door. Tati was standing there. She’d heard everything.

THE END

 


N.B. For those who are still unsure of what we’re talking about, we’re trying to say: Don’t be shy! Let’s go! There are only five days left! Get your free copy of our first book ‘Mooreeffoc’! (Lobster not included.)

 

 

by TETIANA ALEKSINA & TONY SINGLE
© All rights reserved 2016