Mr. Gaspers was making a gay snuff film...

pg 43


Mr. Bunny was worried that he was turning into Zach Braff.

He was crying real tears on a motel bed.

Mr. Chilifarts held him and spoke to him in comforting tones, as though he were a baby.

"No, no....you're not becoming Zach Braff. Shhh. Hush."

Mr. Chilifarts giggled when he heard himself pronounce the word "Hush."

Mr. Bunny was staring at the wall now, and reached out for a kleenex on the night table and wiped away some of his real tears.

They were both extremely drunk.

They were both in shirtsleeves and had been in black suits which now hung over frightening orange chairs.

They had just come from a wedding.

It was so late at night, even the night didn't know if it was morning.

Mr. Bunny had even gotten laid so these tears were really uncalled for, Mr. Chilifarts thought.

But.

Mr. Chilifarts wondered if someone at the wedding had said that to Mr. Bunny. About Zach Braff.

"People can be so cruel," Mr. Chilifarts thought and then passed out.

Spooning Mr. Bunny.

Both of them asleep with their danced-out wedding shoes on.




pg 44



They were driving again.

The carrot car felt like a beautiful island today.

The sky was a Prozac blue. The clouds were so big and fake.

They passed Mr. Gaspers who was making a gay snuff film in a canyon.

They shouted and waved at Mr. Gaspers, who smiled and waved back.

"Do you want peanut butter and jelly again?" Mr. Gasper's boyfriend asked him.

"Yes. But cut off the crusts this time," Mr. Gaspers said.

"You forgot to cut off the crusts last time."




pg 45.


They were calling the credit card company from Mr. Bunny's hotel room.

They had to cancel one of the cards.

Mr. Bunny had just been assaulted by a transsexual hooker.

He kept saying "You can't realy tell through that squirrelly little peephole in the door, you can't really tell...all I saw was hair and makeup..."

Mr. Chilifarts stared at him like an English critic looking at a Kerouac novel and said "Yes."

Just then the real hooker arrived.

The motel door was wide open.

"Oh, no!" she said in the cooing tones of an Avon lady when she saw Mr. Bunny holding a makeshift ice pack, a jerry-rigged Glad bag, to his bloodied forehead.

She gave Mr. Bunny the lowdown while rubbing his knee.

Apparently, the transsexual hooker gangs around those parts had been intercepting calls to the legitimate agency and showing up instead at local motels and rolling clients.

The transsexual hooker was racing to the makeup store even as Mr. Chilifarts was canceling the card for Mr. Bunny.

She was happy and righteous.