Oliver Benjamin
“I couldn’t have done it better myself,” the doctor marveled.
“You sick fucks!” Colin yelled, addled and pacing behind them,
unwilling to gaze upon his wounded mocha dick.
“Congratulations,” the doctor beamed, “That is a pretty good
circumcision you’ve got there. ”
“Really, what are the odds?” The tall one said.
“This was surely a mandate from God,” said the third one.
Roy slowly looked down at his consecrated member and sighed
with some relief. He tilted his head skyward and said, “Noware you
happy?” This caused the Jews some discomfort, but it was not God he
was talking to. He was addressing his other dead father.
Roy hobbled off to a nearby hospital to have his dick stigmata sewn
up while the others carried on setting up for the party. The Hasidic
Jews had brought with them a big box of kugel and some
Maneishevitz wine. These three were clearly not very orthodox in
their orthodoxy. They had no idea how profane this evening’s shindig
would turn out.
A crowd of visitors arrived, though they were not an ideal
clientele: They were all homeless folks, led by the man who shared a
tipple with Yak. Their arrival coincided with Leona bringing out the
first batch of baked goods, and then disappearing with all of it
immediately. The Jews, fearing the abrupt disappearance of all their
kugel secreted the tray back into the garden, where Niles and Colin
were getting high and Martin was doing jumping jacks. Bennie and
Leona, on the front lines, suspected that things had taken a turn for
the worse. The only guests so far were Hasidic Jews and the
homeless. Archetypal wanderers of the world, they were hardly the
type to bring in repeat business.
By the time Roy came back an hour and a half later, no one else
had turned up and the vagabonds had consumed all the food they
had prepared. Bennie was in the corner killing another rat for
sacrifice to San Simon, who could not be happy with the festivities
thrown in his honor. Already his wooden lips were overflowing with
remnants of banana bread, booze, guts, and cigars. It had all
collected in a puddle on the floor underneath him and Bennie had to
shoo away a homeless fellow who had been trying to fashion a spleen-
on-banana bread sandwich.
After a couple hours, Roy returned and he made a beeline for the
garden, festively illuminated with Christmas lights and Javanese
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