Entire Contents Copyright ©2004 All Rights Reserved.
sept.  2003

the cabal


ask Yeti


chi chi
j. tyler blue
bryan e.
blem vide













"the confrontation of aesthetics..."
a production
Bet You Can’t
Dude Wallers

I was at sea again. My oldest daughter decided on a pricey liberal arts college and my youngest needed braces. Six-figure job and these kids were still too expensive. But I love my girls so I went back out – doubled up my ship time.

We were somewhere off the coast of Brazil performing a geological survey. We were looking for rocks that point to oil.

We spend weeks at sea. The job is difficult but we’ve all been doing it a long time. There are no women on the boat. Boredom sets in quickly. So we drink, play cards and snort coke to pass the time. When we go to shore to refuel and take on supplies we try to forget the boredom. So we drink, fuck whores, and snort coke to impress ourselves with our job. Doubling up on ship time sometimes leads to a major chemical dependency. Most of us have been in one 12-step program or another. But I’m careful now. I only snort coke on land – off the smooth tan bellies of teenage whores.

Of course, this means a lot of money spent on wasted blow because some falls off onto the sheets, some clots up with sweat, and some gets trapped in belly buttons. But it keeps me from needing it. Regimented lines whacked out on a mirror make you focus on them too much. They will own you in no time.

We were all sitting there in the galley – fifteen of us. There were three card games going. I was breaking even but this wouldn’t do. I needed extra money. There was nothing I could do about the high cost of college except put off retirement a couple more years but it would sure be nice if I didn’t have to give up my vices to pay for those fucking braces.

The braces cost $2500 – about 2 weekends worth of tight teenage company and the blow to pole away on it good. My baby’s teeth were fucked up but I needed to be able to relax if I was going to keep working this life-sucking job. If I didn’t get those teeth fixed, my brown-skinned wife would surely kick me out. Then my alcoholism would be full time. I would spend more on whores – and with the whores comes the dreaded marriage to cocaine. An affair is one thing but marriage will kill a guy.

So, like I say, we were sitting there in the galley playing cards. I was breaking even and getting bored. I suggested we do something to pick up the pace a little and I bet the dealer ten bucks that the next card he flipped would be a jack. It was a three and my ten bucks were gone. But spirits picked up. The guys saw the quick transfer of money and there was a collective "fuck poker" as the cards were dropped and side bets began to fly.

One guy pointed at another and pointed to a half-empty bottle of rum and said, "Bet you can’t finish that in 5 seconds." The challenge was accepted and $100 changed hands. Guys were taking on all kinds of dares. I tried to piss in an empty bottle from 5 feet away and covered the galley floor with yellow fluid. That cost me $250. I got it back when the fool who accepted my challenge to swallow the contents of an ashtray couldn’t hold it down and added to the mess on the galley floor. There was a race to see who could jerk off the fastest - $1500 changed hands. The chief geologist fished his dick out of his pants and bet no one would suck it. Someone smacked him on the head with an empty and he slumped over unconscious. Fucking scientists – we’re not faggots on this boat and we sure as hell don’t need to go there, not with the boredom we face.

I was down about 20 bucks but something like $6000 had passed through my fingers. The money for my baby’s braces was here I just had to get hold of it. I needed a big score. I needed a bet I couldn’t lose. If I did it right, I would have enough money to fix my little girl’s teeth and have my cock shined for a week by two prime quality prostitutes when we got back in to Rio.

Bill was the biggest, meanest guy on the boat. Not one guy aboard was insane enough to fight him. He had everyone’s respect. Once in Kazakhstan he literally tore a guy’s arm off and beat him with it. The guy had grabbed the girl Bill was with and Bill got all chivalrous. We got Bill out of there before he killed the guy but things were pretty ugly. Later Bill admitted he was surprised the guy’s arm came off so easy. He figured there must have been something wrong with the guy. Bill had himself checked by the ship’s doc to see if he had been exposed to leprosy. "No," the doc said, "you’re just a strong, mean son of a bitch B ill."

Bill was mean. He was holding most of the money in the galley. I figured there was about $4500 in his hand.

I walked up to Bill and said, "Bet you can’t shit on my face." He started gurgling up a loogie. "I said SHIT Bill, not SPIT," I explained. Bill looked puzzled for a second. He looked at the wad of cash in his hand and smiled. It was clear he liked the idea of shitting on another man’s face. Bill was mean, but he was respectable. If he lost he would pay without argument.

The rest of the guys had gathered around us now to see what the bet was going to be. Bill asked "How much?"

"Four thousand," I replied adding "And I’ll cover all side bets too that say that Bill here can in fact shit on my face." There was an additional $2500 worth of bets. I stood to walk out of this holding six and a half thousand dollars I didn’t have before. All I had to do was make sure Bill couldn’t shit on my face.

Bill asked, "How are we going to do this?" I explained that I would lie down on deck and Bill would be allowed 15 minutes to squat over my face and try and shit on it. I was not allowed to move my head to dodge a falling turd. I could not use my hands in any way. I told Bill that if his dick touched me at all, I would slice the motherfucker off and quick drew my knife. Bill knew that knife; it got us all out of Kazakhstan alright. Bill looked around. The guys approved of the rules. Bill smiled again and peeled off $4000 in hundreds from his wad. He bellowed, "Are all bets covered?" And a cheer rose from the guys in the galley. Slipping on piss and puke we stepped over the fallen scientist and made our way up to the deck.

The fresh air did me good and I took in a few big lungfuls before I lay down on deck. Bill paraded around like a prizefighter. Someone gave him a cigarette to loosen his bowels. Bill said he hadn’t crapped for two days – though he had to go since lunch. He removed his pants and moved his hairy ass into position about ten inches above my face. The guys were cheering, every one of them wanted to see shit land on my face. It would be good to take their money.

To shit you have to relax a little. That’s what I had going for me. I had to keep a close eye on Bill’s asshole. At first it was puckered up tight but the clock was ticking and Bill would have to relax soon if he was going to chase that money.

About three minutes into the event Bill’s sphincter shifted a little. The knot was coming untied. I waited. I watched. Bill’s butt hole was just about open…. And then it was. I blew a hard puff of air right on Bill’s loose sphincter and it reflexively clinched back up. He yelled, "Arrgh!"

There were just over ten minutes left on the clock. I hoped to god I could keep Bill’s sphincter reflex working. I had to be patient and not over-stimulate his asshole, otherwise the reflex would be overridden, I’d be out several thousand dollars, and 4 or 5 big processed meals would be deposited on my face.

Nine and a half minutes left on the clock – Bill’s asshole unclenched again. I blew. Bill’s hole puckered back up and my face was still clean. 8 minutes – same story. Bill was straining now. He was really trying to force the turd out. He wiped his brow. At 6 minutes, the turd tried to peek out again and I puffed the brown bastard back in. Bill was getting mad. I was worried his legs would fatigue from squatting and he would fall on me. Bill’s back door tried to open 4 more times and I slammed it shut each time. Finally, somebody yelled, "Time!"

Bill stood up, laid the money on my chest and said, "Damn!" Then he went below to take a crap. Cheers shot up all around as I got to my feet. I collected on all bets. I was happy. My face was clean, my baby’s fucked up teeth were going to be fixed, and I was going to celebrate when we got into Rio in a couple days.

vol. ii, issue vi
dec. 20, 2004