State of the Union


This story appeared in Horror Sleaze Trash in September 2015 under the byline of Ted DeCalb and Leonard Cockshut. After the original zine shut down, I moved it here. For the record, I think animal cruelty, even cruelty towards fish, is revolting. But I also think literary magazines that ban stories about it are pretty dumb.

Senator McMitchell had just finished sodomizing a 20-pound Japanese bull carp when the emergency line rang. It was his aid, Fiona Apple.

“What?”

“Jared Fogle just called.”

“Are you serious?”

“Are you still fucking fish?”

The senator wiped the detritus of the toddler-sized fish anus off his deflating prick. Ah, the stench of piscine rectal cavities! On the floor at his feet the fish’s guts leaked out its man-sodomized anus and onto the senator’s Hoosier Power suede house slippers. The fatally raped fish burbled and mewled in a vaguely human voice.

Just like a fucking democrat, snickered the senator. He went to his fishing closet and brought back a crossbow.

He shot his phone.

It was only noon. The meeting with the Electricity Board wasn’t for another few hours. The senator went to his aquarium.

Only piranhas and neons left, for fuck’s sake.

Fiona hadn’t been to the pet store in weeks. He’d never had sex with a piranha before, obviously. A neon was out of the question. He called his aid back. Fiona picked up instantly, as if she’d never even hung up.

“Fishing trip?” the senator asked.

“Hold on.”

Fiona Apple came into a balloon and tied the balloon. She shut off Discovery Channel Great Ape Week and said, “I told you I’m not covering for you anymore.”

“What did Jared Fogle want?”

“A lawyer. A good one.”

“Meet me at the lake house in an hour. Bring plenty of balloons.”

When she met Senator McMitchell at the lake, Fiona Apple never knew what to expect. Once it was a 300-pound sturgeon. Once a box of Portuguese sardines. All she could do was watch. And cum into balloons. She pulled up her panties, found her transparent purse, and rolled away in the Honda Civic.


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Senator McMitchell stood naked on the shore next to his Potomac canoe grinning like a black bear’s ass. He’d caught another mammoth sturgeon. He lifted it up for Fiona Apple to see.

She could already see it.

“Your wife called while I was on my way here,” Apple said.

McMitchell put the giant fish down to scratch his hairy balls.

“I told her you were handling the Fogle case,” Apple went on. “She said she called the office and you didn’t pick up. She thought it was suspicious.”

“I shot the phone.”

“She wants a divorce.”

“From me?”

You fish-fucking dipshit.

“Fogle’s ex-lawyer, Elberger, is a progeriac and all he eats are roast beef and pimiento subs,” Fiona Apple said, checking her notes. “Elberger is the new Subway poster boy. A progeriac who lived to 50 eating Subway roast beef and pimiento sandwiches.” She looked up at the senator, who was holding a whale harpoon with an eight-armed mail-order octopus dildo for a tip.

“Have you heard a word of what I’ve said?” she said.

“The Subway fat man,” said Senator McMitchell. “I remember him vaguely.”

“He’s worth almost 50 million, and he endorsed you, and his lawyer’s left him. He needs your help.”

“So what?”

“Juries hate kiddie pornographers.”

The senator squinted at his aid. Fiona Apple was just 5-foot-2, but she had a well-toned body. The senator wondered how supple her little brown anus was, how far into Fiona Apple he could stick his mud python. He imagined it stretching and snapping back like a latex swim cap.

“If you don’t give Fogle the jury he’s looking for, he’s going to spill the beans about your hobby.” Fiona Apple nodded at the buck sturgeon with the prolapsed anus writhing in the mud. The senator had almost forgotten about the fish.

How does Fogle know? Senator McMitchell was going to ask, but then he realized. Fiona Apple, his trusted advisor, had betrayed him. And for what? He’d never touched a hair on her head. He’d sent her mother Christmas puddings and her father and uncles alligator skin boots and Thai massage vouchers. He’d massaged Apple’s feet himself. Was Fiona Apple in love with him? the senator wondered. Jealous of his fish fucking?

“Turn around, senator.”

Whatever the truth was, it was too late. Apple was aiming the harpoon with the eight-tentacled dildo tip at him.

“What do you want?” the senator asked.

“I want you to turn around. And if you open your mouth again, I’m going to gum rape you with that sturgeon.”

Senator McMitchell showed his back to Apple.

Fiona Apple said, “Billy Apple.”

The senator almost turned around.

“Remember the name?” Fiona Apple said.

“Vaguely.”

“You met him at this lake house five years ago. You were drunk. You’d just fucked a swordfish, a grouper, and a live mako shark, you sick motherfucker. You couldn’t tell the difference between a fish anus and a—”

What, thought the senator, what could she possibly be talking about? Then it dawned on him.

“You’re completely insane,” Senator McMitchell said. “I never fucked a fish named Billy Apple.”

Fiona Apple held the cocked harpoon low, sighting and re-sighting the senator’s juicy red anus nestled within his sagging grey buttocks. She pulled the trigger and the octopus dildo disappeared with a monumental sucking noise up Senator McMitchell’s asshole. The senator quivered for a moment. He chuckled madly, then collapsed. Then his head exploded as the eight tentacles of the octo-dildo wiggled and grasped at the pink mist of blood settling upon the still-gasping sturgeon.

“My brother,” Fiona Apple said. “Billy Apple was my brother.”

At that very moment Fiona Apple’s mobile phone rang.

It was Jared Fogle calling to say he didn’t need the senator’s help anymore. He’d managed to destroy his entire child porn collection by himself.

Covered in the senator’s intestines and vital fluids, Fiona Apple watched the shreds of the senator’s transmogrified anus drift into the mud like Mardi Gras confetti. Which reminded her of all the balloons she’d brought along. Which reminded her of the poor sturgeon.

“What do you want, Jared?” Apple said.

“My Extreme Dalmatian Porn Anthology,” Fogle said. “I can’t find it anywhere.”

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