Hey kids! It’s time once again for “FuknPunch”, the Unemployed Child Care Clown” far-out fiction sample! Sure to tickle your funny boner!

An ‘excerpt’, a ‘snippet’ (in no discernable order) from the forthcoming “PHARMACIDE” by The Grim Reverend Steven Rage. Dig:

Three-point-Two:

Pender moved up to the counter and told her his name. Pender handed her his driver’s license for ID and this month’s coveted prescription from Dr. Fox. He had no clue as to who Dr. Fox was, or even if there really was a genuine Dr. Fox. All Jon Pender knew was that each month Hannah Bergh gave him a prescription for synthetic heroin, written by Dr. Fox, and each month he filled it. Lately, she’d also been giving him a variety of additional pills. He took them all. They subsidized his monthly usage enough to where he always had a nice drug collection at home.
Pender found he couldn’t look at the frightened tech, or anyone else for that matter.

Damn it. I should have never gone to that interview.

Three-point-Three:

Dr. Jon Pender’s home all through his medical school and most of his clinical training was a tiny, spotless studio guest cottage. The small cottage sat behind a two-story 1930s era home in the fashionably historic Encanto district.
Pender’s home was thickly and thoroughly shaded year round by three stately oak trees. Nearly a dozen smaller Chilean mesquite and Chinese elm trees were also scattered around the nice property, adding additional layers of shade. It was peaceful and quiet all the time and Pender just loved it.
The DesMartins, an elderly couple that owned the property, stayed in the main house when in town. They wintered here in PHX, summered in their other home up north in Minnesota, and traveled in between. The couple had no children and therefore, no young grand kids running around, bugging the hell out of Pender. Half of the year the whole place was his. The DesMartins felt much better having the nice young doctor living on grounds and watching the place for them. It was the perfect place to live.
The cottage was only a few scant miles from both the medical school and St. Anthony. Most important, the DesMartins showed exceeding kindness by making sure the rent was low enough for Pender to afford. He had to live off the nine hundred Notes a month stipend he received as part of his Civil Service contract.
Pender walked through the front door of his quaint, but very snug domicile. He hung his coat on the rack by the light switch. He flipped it on and the room was sprinkled with the yellow light of two table lamps. The two combined were just enough to shed light on almost the entire cottage.
Pender went to the immaculate kitchenette. He left not so much as a single dirty dish lying around. He retrieved a diet soda from the refrigerator. The spotless tile of the kitchenette and the scrubbed pine of the living quarters perfectly complimented the floor to ceiling book shelf. It was also clean, devoid completely of dust and scattered papers. The shelf held many books, but they were all quite medical or scientific in nature. Placed firmly right up to the edge of the shelf there was an old roll-top style desk. It was also spotless.
The cottage could not boast a television, or stereo. It had one clock radio. The fold out couch-bed was currently encased in the room’s only comfortable piece of sitting furniture. Pender never entertained guests, so the arrangement was well suited for his needs.
Pender went back into the living area and placed his gym bag on the floor. He sat for a moment on the couch and briefly closed his eyes. The pain from his knee was getting progressively worse.
Pender could not afford to take the time off from his residency program to go through surgery and rehab for his knee. He would have to join another class and wait for an opening, which could be anywhere. No, he’d gut it out with the pain killers and keeping active.
Pender just wished to God the Tylenol with codeine would kick in. Then maybe he could think about something, anything, else.
I need to take a second one, he thought. Pender gently placed his left heel on the scratched oval pine coffee table. He leaned forward and with a grimace began massaging his knee.
Pender extended his leg and stretched it as far as he could. The noise his knee made was crushing empty peanut shells. Whenever Pender humped the stairs at St. Anthony his knee would double-crack with every upward step. It was embarrassing when he wasn’t alone.
He returned his leg to the table and massaged it anew. It was pissing in the wind, though. Nothing he did seemed to help. Only hiding the throbbing beneath the mask of pain pills gave to Pender any semblance of relief.
Pender was concerned with his growing use of such strong analgesics, but only as it pertained to his career. He could never write his own prescriptions. That would spell trouble with a capital BUTT that rhymed with FUCKED. No physician wanted that kind of disciplinary scrutiny.
His personal physician was making overtures of cutting down and eventually offing his supply all together. He tried not to panic. In response to this growing threat, Pender began squirreling away as many pills as he could. But he could see the bottom of the bottle and it was making him nervous.
Definitely, he decided. I’ll take one more, just to make sure the pain doesn’t get in the way of my interview.
Pender stood. He trudged to the bathroom at the rear of the cottage. He opened the mirrored medicine cabinet. Pender shook out another T3, thought about it, and shook out another. He downed the two pills with a paper cup of tap water. Pender sighed as he ran the shower. He stripped off his clothes, and with his knee still cracking and popping and hurting, he stepped under the tepid stream of water.

Pender arrived at the parking lot of the research wing of St. Anthony for his interview with time to spare…..” end excerpt.

'click' image for hyperlink to Amazon. Paperback and Kindle editions. Dig it.

‘click’ image for hyperlink to Amazon. Paperback and Kindle editions. Dig it.

'click' on Smiley for our Facebook Page. MorbidbookS. Where Everything Bleeds.

‘click’ on Smiley for our Facebook Page. MorbidbookS. Where Everything Bleeds.

Advertisements