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

Missile

By Jason Jordan

Megan and mouse

Lodged in my backyard is a bomb. Well, perhaps missile would be a more accurate term. This must be a mistake. I don't have any enemies – at least none with access to a fighter jet. Nevertheless, there's a missile in my backyard, so I continue to stare as the sun beats down on us both. Then I wonder why I hadn't heard it earlier when it burrowed its way into the earth.

There's nothing else to do but inspect it, because if it didn't explode on impact, then it must be a dud. I walk slowly towards it like I'm sneaking up on someone whose back is turned, all the while eying its dull gray paint. I can't tell which kind of missile it is, but it does have fins, similar to what I've seen on rockets and sharks.

"Nothing's going to happen," I say aloud to reassure myself. "If it didn't blow up when it hit the ground, then it's not gonna blow up if you get close to it. I mean, c'mon. Don't be an idiot." I tiptoe until I'm able to squat beside the missile to get an up-close view, and it's apparent that not only do I not call the police, who would probably then summon the bomb squad, but, rather, I must in fact dislodge the missile myself. Still, it's a task that calls for more than one person since it's wedged in deep, and getting it unstuck seems difficult.

Once I glance around to make sure neighbors haven't noticed it yet, and haven't noticed me noticing it, I walk inside all casual-like and make my way down to my closet where I store my dad's old Marines stuff. I don his jacket and vintage helmet he got off eBay – you know, the kind they used in World War II – and march into the room where we keep the cats.

Megan and mouse

"All right you worthless fucks!" I shout upon entering. "Line up you devil dogs!" Secretly, I think it annoys them when I call them dogs. Or maybe I just imagine it does. Biscuit, the oldest of the three and the only one who's all black, is lying down, sunning herself by the window and looks up at me with her big green eyes as if to say, What do you want this time?

"Get your lazy ass over here before I have to kick some motherfuckin' ass," I say. She raises, stretches, and hops onto the bed separating us. "That's better," I say. It is then that The Grey One, who is partially white, emerges from the pile of shit that's stored in the room, and walks over to me. I tell her, "Get yer ass up on that bed right now." She concedes with a meow.

The Black One, who is also partially white and the heaviest at an even 20 pounds, is at the food bowl eating one of her several meals per day. I simply point at the bed and she knows what to do.

"Your mission – should you choose to accept it, and you will accept it if you know what's good for you – is to extract the missile from the ground," I tell Biscuit, The Grey One, and The Black One. With the combined efforts of the four of us, we should be able to dislodge the missile. One by one I place harnesses on each of us so we can extract the bomb like strongmen tow semi-trucks.

I'm holding the reins but as soon as we get out of the backdoor, Biscuit darts off like a horse out of the starting gate, dragging her reins behind her.

"You damn cat!" I yell. The fatter, lazier Ones simply watch their mother race around the front of the house until she escapes from view. "I guess the three of us is enough for the job." I tie each of our reins around the missile itself in hopes that the fins on the back will support our lines. Otherwise, they'd just slide off.

After turning to face the remaining troops I see they're both lying on their backs absorbing the sunlight. Their eyes are closed, and it's obvious they're relishing this whole event, which, to them, is known simply as going outside.

"Lotta damn help you all are." I hear the sirens and my first instinct is to run, so I take off for the house, and when I begin sprinting, so do the cats, but we're all caught on this stupid missile and we aren't making much progress. We can feel it give a little with each pull, and we continue struggling because untying our reins would probably take longer. The sirens are getting louder and so quickly that I figure it's all or nothing at this point – no turning back.

The sirens reach the corner, which means the cops are definitely in the subdivision now and close to my house. As we pull with all our might, I glance around to see who might've tipped them off. And when I see old Ms. Jenkins, my next-door neighbor who's peering out her window while talking into a cordless phone, all I can do is grimace before I resume staring ahead, pulling harder than ever.

Megan and mouse

We've done it!

"Stop!"

I fall to the ground.

"Don't move!"

I stand back up.

"I said don't move!"

I pick up my helmet.

"Hands behind your head!"

I leave my hands at my sides.

"On the ground now!"

I continue to stand.

"Be smart about this, and no one gets hurt, son."

"Isn't it weird about this missile landing here?" I ask, intimating a rhetorical question. "Having to watch out for bombs just seems so…foreign. I mean, I'm an American. This is America." Whether I will submit to the police and do as I'm told, or begin walking with the missile and cats trailing behind, I have not yet decided.

Either way, I foresee this ending badly.

© Jason Jordan 2007

Megan and mouse