Home Page Photo

The Big Stupid Review

Archives

American Dream Serialization (Early Chapters)
Introduction to Jim Chaffee's Studies in Mathematical Pornography by Maurice Stoker
Introduction to Jim Chaffee's Studies in Mathematical Pornography by Tom Bradley
Studies in Mathematical Pornography: American Dream Title Page by Jim Chaffee
Studies in Mathematical Pornography: Chapter 1 by Jim Chaffee
Studies in Mathematical Pornography: Chapter 2 by Jim Chaffee
Studies in Mathematical Pornography: Chapter 3 by Jim Chaffee
Studies in Mathematical Pornography: Chapter 4 by Jim Chaffee
Studies in Mathematical Pornography: Chapter 5 by Jim Chaffee
Studies in Mathematical Pornography: Chapter 6 by Jim Chaffee
Studies in Mathematical Pornography: Chapter 7 by Jim Chaffee
Studies in Mathematical Pornography: Chapter 8 by Jim Chaffee
Studies in Mathematical Pornography: Chapter 9 by Jim Chaffee
01-01-2015
Modern Tragedy, or Parodies of Ourselves by Robert Castle
01-11-2014
Totally Enchanté, Dahling by Thor Garcia
01-04-2014
Hastini by Rudy Ravindra
The Satyricon of Petronius Arbiter Volume 5 Translation by W. C. Firebaugh
01-01-2014
Unexpected Pastures by Kim Farleigh
10-01-2013
Nonviolence by Jim Courter
The Satyricon of Petronius Arbiter Volume 4 Translation by W. C. Firebaugh
07-01-2013
The Poet Laureate of Greenville by Al Po
The Apocalypse of St. Cleo, Part VI by Thor Garcia
The Satyricon of Petronius Arbiter Volume 3 Translation by W. C. Firebaugh
04-01-2013
The Apocalypse of St. Cleo, Part V by Thor Garcia
The Apocalypse of St. Cleo, Part IV by Thor Garcia
The Satyricon of Petronius Arbiter Volume 2 Translation by W. C. Firebaugh
01-01-2013
The Apocalypse of St. Cleo, Part I by Thor Garcia
The Apocalypse of St. Cleo, Part II by Thor Garcia
The Apocalypse of St. Cleo, Part III by Thor Garcia
The Satyricon of Petronius Arbiter Volume 1 Translation by W. C. Firebaugh
10-01-2012
DADDY KNOWS WORST: Clown Cowers as Father Flounders! by Thor Garcia
RESURRECTON: Excerpt from Breakfast at Midnight by Louis Armand
Review of The Volcker Virus (Donald Strauss) by Kane X Faucher: Excerpt from the forthcoming Infinite Grey by Kane X Faucher
01-07-2012
Little Red Light by Suvi Mahonen and Luke Waldrip
TEXECUTION: Klown Konfab as Killer Kroaked! by Thor Garcia
Miranda's Poop by Jimmy Grist
Paul Fabulan by Kane X Faucher: Excerpt from the forthcoming Infinite Grey by Kane X Faucher
01-04-2012
Operation Scumbag by Thor Garcia
Take-Out Dick by Holly Day
Patience by Ward Webb
The Moon Hides Behind a Cloud by Barrie Darke
The Golden Limo of Slipback City by Ken Valenti
01-01-2012
Chapter from The Infinite Atrocity by Kane X. Faucher
Support the Troops By Giving Them Posthumous Boners by Tom Bradley
01-10-2011
When Good Pistols Do Bad Things by Kurt Mueller
Corporate Strategies by Bruce Douglas Reeves
The Dead Sea by Kim Farleigh
The Perfect Knot by Ernest Alanki
Girlish by Bob Bartholomew
01-07-2011
The Little Ganges by Joshua Willey
The Invisible World: René Magritte by Nick Bertelson
Honk for Jesus by Mitchell Waldman
01-04-2011
Red's Dead by Eli Richardson
The Memphis Showdown by Gabriel Ricard
Someday Man by John Grochalski
01-01-2011
I Was a Teenage Rent-a-Frankenstein by Tom Bradley
Only Love Can Break Your Heart by Fred Bubbers
10-01-2010
Believe in These Men by Adam Greenfield
The Magnus Effect by Robert Edward Sullivan
Performance Piece by Jim Chaffee
07-01-2010
Injustice for All by D. E. Fredd
The Polysyllogistic Curse by Gary J. Shipley
How It's Done by Anjoli Roy
Ghost Dance by Connor Caddigan
Two in a Van by Pavlo Kravchenko
04-01-2010
Uncreated Creatures by Connor Caddigan
Invisible by Anjoli Roy
One of Us by Sonia Ramos Rossi
Storyteller by Alan McCormick
01-01-2010
Idolatry by Robert Smith
P H I L E M A T O P H I L I A by Traci Chee
They Do! by Al Po
Full TEX Archive
Side Photo for The Big Stupid Review

Mephisto and Me

By Lily Edwards

Jaboticaba tree, Brazil

I don't want the phone to ring. It's fuckin cold outside. Wet too. Shitty weather for whoring.

Lonely guy Sunday. Lonely guys want the girlfriend experience. I don't mind, I'm good at that. I'm kind. If they fall in love with me I feel pretty bad and refuse to see them again. My manager thinks I'm crazy, the ones that fall in love are cash cows, but I can't do it. It's unethical.

If, however, they assume that the feeling is mutual and that I am truly in love with them, that's when I want to punch them in the neck. Hard. But I don't.

My heart is private. They can fuck off if they are arrogant enough to assume that I want them anywhere near it.

I want to cancel my shift. Again. My leopard print suede stiletto's with the killer heals will get all crusty in the rain. I should have sprayed them with that waterproofing stuff; that's what a grown up would have done. That's what my mum would have done. That's what I would have done back in my other life. I bought some on my last dry mouthed compulsive spending binge in Queen St mall. I think its still in one of the shopping bags by the front door with the rest of the crap I thought I needed; six pairs of Brazilian style knickers in dark colours so the stage makeup I use on my bits to hide the scars from picking at ingrowns wont show up too much, $278 worth of vitamins and protein powder because I forget to eat, a bunch of software to help me with my thesis (which I won't get round to loading onto my computer, but it dulls some of my self loathing for being an academic sham).

I bought a couple of overpriced puppy toys too which I've given to Buddy but he much prefers to play with my dirty knickers.

I shouldn't let him do that.

Stained glass window, Fazenda Sao Jose, Santa Rita do Passa Quatro

But I do.

Poor hound, I'm like one of those sad unstable single mothers who keeps her kids home with her because she's lonely. If I wasn’t so goddam agoraphobic these days I’d take him to puppy pre-school. That's what I intended, planned to do when I got him. He was my prayer for a normal life. A life, be in it! kind of life that involves regular walks in daylight.

I can't cancel my shift. Three years ago I would never dream of cancelling a shift. I was a highly skilled professional. A Geisha. Man handler. No drugs. God I must have sounded like such a naïve wanker. I would sincerely bleat out the same rehearsed line to clients, receptionists and other girls; "I treat this career with the same level of professionalism as I would any other job, that's how I stay sane. Why do I do it? … It's ridiculous to ask an escort why she does it; she is among the most highly paid professional women in the world."

I was a pretentious tosser but I did really believe what I was saying. By industry standards I was as pure as the driven snow.

The shelf life of a hooker isn't long and I'm unraveling at an alarming rate. But still I can't abide being branded with the "Whore Stigma." I've somehow become a tragic cliché and I know this in my guts but my pride can't stomach the possibility that I could be so grossly misunderstood. I'm not that girl. I'm a real girl.

So when my phone starts ringing in my hand I brace myself and greet the perky little chicks at reception with an upbeat "Georgia speaking." I'm trying to sound like I've just walked in from the gym.

Actually I haven't left this bed in four days except a couple of times to piss and eat a bowl of crunchy nut cornflakes.

There's a loaded ice pipe on my bedside table but I've lost the will even for that. I am keenly aware of its presence though, and somehow this hasn't felt like cold turkey because I've known its there, known eventually I would answer the phone that keeps on bloody ringing and then I would need it. I've been playing chicken with myself.

It's my last point and I need to either use it to go to work so I can buy more or I need to stay in this bed till I don't notice the pipe anymore.

It's the staunch older receptionist, Dawn. Shit. I’m not good with authority. I used to be their best girl; the receptionists all wanted to work on my shift because they knew I would always pull extensions on the executive jobs and their commissions would be sweet. Driving back from a double with a new girl I felt like an elite spy.

Goats drinking from the pool, Fazenda Monte Bello, Santa Rita do Passa Quatro