Hello Devilfish! by Ron Dakron Read Free Book Online

finds a breast lump and becomes—a better person! Hah—what she actually morphs into is a chop-shop freak—with a narrative woven from very wooly clichés. Hope it keeps her toasty—who’s gonna date some hag with one fun bag? These god-awful cancer books frost my balls—all these slipshod tomes about battling for your teensy life—with an uplifting message! Listen, fighting the Big C is like wrestling a freight train— I approached the diesel beast like a friend, not an enemy. Maybe it had something to teach me—a lesson in love and laughter? Or maybe how to rip a skull into screaming paste. Hello Stage 4! All your squamous are ours. Who cares about your spiritual journey—how enlightened was that bacon you scarfed at breakfast? Maybe Mr. Pig thought that slaughterhouse hook was gonna lift him to heaven too. A heaven filled with knives and bright screams—Hello Devilfish!
    Lover, you’re not my lover, shhh. Never give up on our hopes and dreams. But for sure give up on trouncing Squidra—she was in manic chaos mode. My chaos, mine! Though hopefully some Stryker jets would make puréed calamari from her ginormous butt any second. Hey, it ain’t the 1950s—you bipeds can pretty much snuff anything . Except a Hello Devilfish! Who’d probably better skedaddle—’cause here they come! Three stealth bombers that slice night into sonic pasta—and then plop like graphite meatballs when Squidra zaps them with her orange eyeball lasers, bzzrt, bzzrt, her suckers pulsing like firefly swarms, her tentacles lashing out like a pink asterisk. Whoa! I can haz death burger?
    Cool—could Squidra actually pull this off? Could she wreak total Armageddon? Let’s hear more twinkly noises! As smacked hotels shred into glass flak under Squidra’s FX tentacles—grrr, grrr—she’s stealing my rampage! Mine! Hmmm—so why am I standing here like a dazed popsicle while doom and mayhem rain around me? Um, ’cause wherever I am is where doom and mayhem reign. ’Cause eeek—a chubby squid is after me! Just me. Honest. Plus fucko—she just spotted me again! I can tell by her goofy grin. “Here, Demon Fish,” she coos and schlump—schlump—schlump oozes closer till I feel her septic breath. “That’s bizarre,” she sniffs me, “you’re a walker—but you smell like him. Explain.”
    Hah—could I ever explain her whack passion? I doubt it—I left my DSM-VI at home. But maybe Squidra was my fated mate—what was that my mom used to screech? You get the spouse you deserve—now help me devour your father . She yelled that right after she bit daddy’s head off, him thrashing like a tased frog, all us stingray spawns lapping up his muddy blood—memories, memories. Whee! I’m a thing you should rub. A lot. While I’m on my back. No, lower—hah—as low as me crawling through a drainpipe right now. Why? ’Cause evil Squidra’s on my trail! I got a date with death—and death’s a total porker. “Come here, leetle changeling,” Squidra tosses riprap at my drainpipe to ferret me out—eeek! Uh oh—am I headed like my whipped dad for an undersea buffet? Or even worse—torrid nooky? “Hey—hey you ,” Squidra blocks my drainpipe escape with her slinky tentacles, “why you smell like my boyfriend?”
    â€œI’m not your boyfriend— geeraa !” I scream what should be napalm spit—but just drools out like bum juice. “Aha,” Squidra’s oozy eyeball seals my drainpipe, “it is you! You’ve turned into a toy!”
    â€œWe don’t want you playing with us,” I scuttle back asswards.
    â€œYou’re shrunk ,” she slips a tentacle around me.
    â€œUm no, ma’am—you’re mistaken—no Devilfishes here,” I hug pipe rust, “Mr. Stingray died. He dead!