The Bighead (17 page)

“
Well, ya ain’t gotta look
at it, brother,” Balls proclaimed, with that devil look’n his eyes.
At the same times, what he done was he whipped out his buck an’,
lickety-split, had the blade ta that redneck’s throat, he did, an’
were bendin’ him over with his dick still out. “No sir, ya ain’t
gotta look at it, but what’cha do gotta do is drink it,
huh?”

And damn if that there
redneck didn’t drink outa that toll-et like a thirsty hound
dog!After which Balls cut his throat anys way. Filled that
toll-et
right up
with that fella’s blood, he did. Then’s there were that time,
shee-it, coupla years ago? Some white trash chick they’d picked up
thumbin’ the Route. She’s kicked Balls a good one in the rocks,
so’s Balls’d smacked her a better one in the noogin with his
hickory pick handle. When she woked up, her feet was tied to’s a
tree, an’ her hands was tied to the back bumper, an’ Dicky popped
the clutch. Arms popped right out her shoulders, but Tritt Balls?
Naw, he weren’t quite satis-er-fied with that. “Dicky,” he
hollered. “Git the hacksaw out the toolbox,” whereupons Balls
per-seeded ta saw offs her legs too. Then he humped her hard in the
dirt, he did, jibin’, “Hail Dicky! I’se bet I’se the first fella in
town ta fuck a torso!” They chucked the arms’n legs in the woods
when he were through. Then there were this other time last spring,
they’d pulled of the Route so’s Balls could hang hisself a
moonshine piss, an’ he spied a jeep, one’a them fancy Jap 4
runners, ands down a ways there were a tent an’ campsite an’ such.
Past the ridge a piece, a fella an’ his squeeze was fishin’ fer
bass off Kohl’s Point, they was. City folk, they looked like. The
dude had one’a them snort city-queer haircuts with no sideburns,
and were wearin’ shorts anna button shirt, fer God’s sake, an’
loafers with no socks, which was about the queerest thing Tritt
Balls ever did see. Nice milkers on the chick, though. Plump, they
was, an’ about the size’a the honeydews at Wally Eberhart’s stand,
an’ Balls could plain see she wore no bra ’neath that pussified
Shephard’s College t-shirt she wore. “Looks like a coupla happy
campers ta me, huh, Dicky?” “Whys yeah, Balls,” Dicky agreet. The
dude spun at once, droppin’ a perfectly good Zebco Lancer with
brass works right smack dab inta the water. “Look, guys,” he
stammered. “We don’t want any trouble.” Now, Balls, he was a big
boy, he was tall’n strong, an’ he could put some serious
ooompah-pah behind that fine vennered hickory pick handle of
his.
Ka-CRACK!
came the sound as the business end swooshed a greaat arc
upside that yuppie, city-queer head. “How’s that fer some trouble,
City?” Balls politely inquired. The dude lay smack dab flat on his
back an’ got ta twitchin’ real bizarre, half his city-queer head
caved in, and City’s squeeze got ta screamin’ right off, watchin’
her fellas twitch like that. Tritt Balls smiled like a great big
Hallerween pumpkin, he did, ’cos, see, there were just somethin’
about hearin’ a gal scream that got him hotter than woodstove at
full tilt, and when Balls got a stiffer, he’d turn right
imaginative. So’s his shucked his big buck ands showed it to the
gal, grinnin’. “You git right on down there, sugar plum,” he said
nicely to the gal. “We wants ta see you do the mouth job on City
Boy here.” “Feller-ay-shee-oh’s what they’se call it in the city,
I’se think,” Dicky offered up some wisdom. Now this college gal had
some really fine blond hair cut perfectly striaght ’bout ear-level,
an’ bangs, which were kinda cute inna queerified city kinda way,
an’ if there were one thing about Balls, it were that he
really
liked blondies,
an’ neithers of ’em could quit ganderin’ that fine plump pair’a
milkers on her. “But-but-but…he’s
dying!
” she protested through insane
hitching sobs. “Ain’t no matter ’bout that, li’l lady. Just you git
on down there an’ do it.” Dicky pulled down City’s
yuppie-jocko-homo sports shorts ta his knees, an’ the kid kept
twitchin’ away real fierce like, blood squirtin’ out his cracked
head. “That’s right, git right on down there ’cos, see, if ya do a
good job then we’se might let ya live,” Balls artick-er-lated,
waving that big buck. It were amazing the things folks’d do at
knifepoint if they’se thought it’d save their lives. “And git that
’dickerlous queer-ass commie college t-shirt off so’s we can gander
yer tittes whiles yer doin’ it.” The blond girl obliged, she did,
and then, shore enough, she began to assume Balls’ demented
request, mouth-loving away a country mile a minute like a reg-lar
trooper as City’s entire body continued to vigorously convulse via
the massive nerve damage and cou-counter-cou subderal hematoma
inflicted by that big hickory pick handle. Now, this were a sight,
all right, City twitchin’ whiles his big-titties commie-college
girlfriend did the suckjob on his limp pecker. Balls an’ Dicky
laughed it up real good, they did, right up until City bled out an’
died. Somehow, it weren’t fun no more, what with the cessation of
City’s head-trauma convultions. Dicky whipped out his bone an’
began ta wank, ganderin’ the gal’s milkers, while Balls dropped
trow an’ did her dogstyle in the dirt, eventually spoogin’ all over
that big beautiful commie-college-gal backside’a hers. She gots ta
screamin’ again real fierce once they started ta work on her with
their bucks. “I’se said we
might
let ya live,” Balls explained the newfound
discrepency to her screaminng-blubbering-shuddering face as he
sliced long deep purdy lines down her belly. Then, guffawing, he
got ta carving on her girlyworks, and that really put some jump in
her, and thens he scalped her. “Aw, what the hail?” he remarked
next an’ began laughing like ta wake all the dead outa Bell
Cemetery. Dicky’d finished wanking and were now pulling a good long
pee inta City Boy’s dead face whiles Balls sliced those big titties
right off the college gal. He placed her scalp atop City’s head and
stuffed them big severed titties up under that queer-ass
city-faggot Christian Dior button shirt’a his, wailin’, “‘Magine
the look on the poor fucker’s face who finds ’em, Dicky! A gal’s
hairdo an’ titties an’ a
pecker
hangin’!” Yes sir, Tritt Balls Conner were on a
roll that day! Before headin’ back on up ta the ’Mino, he dropped a
good-sized healthy farmboy meat’n potato bowel movement on what
remained’a the gal an’, a’corse, wiped his crack with that
commie-college shirt’a hers. Yes sir, big fun it was they had that
day.
Big
fun.

So’s now they was both
sittin’ in Chuck’s Diner, still bored shee-it-less, havin’
thereselfs
big
plates’a hash’n eggs, wonderin’ what they’se was gonna do all
day, ’cos it were still mornin’ right now, it were. Chuck’s were
Luntville’s greasy spoon, good grub fer a good price, but there
weren’t hardly no one here now, just some ol’ duff havin’ coffee’n
donuts up the counter, ands this big fat cracker chick with ratty
hair, in flip-flops, shorts, anna t-shirt big enough fer Dumbo the
Elephant. She were eatin’ her second plate’a hash’n eggs herself, a
reg-lar machine, she were, but Balls’n Dicky didn’t pay her much
mind on account’a she were so fat, like her buttcheeks was hangin’
over each side’a her stool like a seed bag sittin’ there, an’ she
hadda gut on her likes a cow. Insteads, Balls ignort her,
reflecterin’ ta hisself. “Hail, no shine runs, no ones ta mess
with, shee-it. What we gonna do today, Dicky?”

“
Dunno,” Dicky replied, his
mouth steady fulla hash’n eggs. Chuck’s Diner, they shore made some
great hash’n eggs.

“
I’se mean, I
hates
bein’ bored, Dicky.
We’se lively young fellas, we is, yet we ain’t got nothin’ ta do on
such a fine mornin’ as this.”

Dicky nodded in agreement, shoveling
another fork’a hash in his yap.

Balls leaned forward, “An’
I’se kin tell ya, Dicky, I’se so fuckin’
horny!
My dog’s been hard since I git
up. Shee-it. I’se
swear,
I could fuck this plate’a hash’n eggs.”

Aw, don’t do that!
Dicky Caudill thought. There weren’t no
putting
nothin’
past Tritt Balls Conner.

“
Hail, I coulds even diddle
that fat gal sittintg up the counter.”

Dicky’s eyes swelled.
“
Her?
You gots ta
be shittin’ me, man! She’s as big as a house!”

Balls crimped his nose at the
suggestion. “So’s what. What we’ll do is we’ll wait tills she’s
done etin’, then I’ll’se sweet-talk her inta the ’Mino!”

Shee-it,
Dicky thought.
We don’ts
need this shit this early in the mornin’.

But wait they did, ’cos the
gal ordered
another
plate’a hash’n eggs!

Took her awhiles ta et it all, it did,
but when she were done, she hopped off that stool like a pallet’a
mason blocks, she did, an’ thens she started ta walk
out.

“
Hey there’s purdy lady!”
,Balls exclaimed. “Looks like yous leavin’ the same time we is!
How’s ’bout we give ya a ride ta where yas going?”

Her fat blubber face smiled, as though
she were real complimentered by Balls referrin’ ta her as “purdy,”
an’ she just said “Whys shore, boys!”

That were all it took. No sonner than
ten minutes’d passed, Dicky were pullin’ up the El Camino inta
another dell, right by the river. Balls had already smaced the fat
gal out with his homemade jack, an’ they’se lugged her outa the
’Mino, they did. “Hail, Dicky!” Balls pointed out. “She plumb
weighs more’n yer bigblock 427!”

“
That she does,” Dicky
agreet, haulin her acrost the dell. What they done then was Dicky
stood her up, an’ Balls tied her upright ta a tree. He tooks a
quick pee onner feet an ’structed Dicky, “Git my hickory pick
handle, Dicky!”

Dicky did so, an’ passed said hickory
pick handle ta Balls, who stood there chucklin’, waitin’ fer the
fat gal ta come fully to. “Hail, Dicky! As much as she et at the
diner, I’ll’se bet she got enough inner gut ta fill a hog
trough!”

“
Bet she problee does,
Balls,” Dicky hesitantly agreet.

An’ when she came fully to, Balls
reeled the pick handle back way far and—

whap!

—
socked her reals hard in
the belly. Made a sound like slappin’ a hefer, it did! Once he did
it, an’ twice an’ then a third time, an’ on that third time, her
fat face turnt white, an’ she lurched forwart as far’s her ropes’d
permit her, an’ she just
cut
loose
, she did, throwin’ up like a reg-lar
gusher rights there in the dell. Out all them viddles came up
bigtime, they did, blowin’ ’least three foot out her yap acrost the
leafs. An’ it were a
lotta
food!!

“
Hail, Dicky! ’Chew see all
that puke she blowed!”

“
That I did, Balls,” Dicky,
none too pleased, accented.

“
Hail! Lookit all them
hash’n eggs she blowed out her mouth! Cain’t quite believe it! She
done et herself enough fer
ten
fellas!”

“
That she did, Balls,”
Dicky repeated.

Balls rapped her in the
belly one more time, an’ that erped out the last’a it. Her
puke—shee-it!—it flew out her mouth four er five feet this time,
an’ landed with a wet
whap!
in the dirt.

“
A fuckin’ elephant, she
is! Got enough space inner belly ta hold a whole load’a hootch fer
Clyde Nale, she does. A fuckin’ fat cracker vol
can
o, she is! But…” Balls chuckled
dark. “I feels kinda bad, dee-privin’ her’a all them good viddles
she paid fer. Guess we’se better let her et it all back up,
huh?”

Balls, then, cut her down with his
buck an’ pushed her face down ta that big plume’a puke, just like
that whore he’d made eat her own shit, holdin’ the knifepoint to
her eye. “Et up all that puke, honey, et it up an’ swaller. Ain’t
nothin’ but hash’n eggs. Problee tastes better second time
around!”

She ate it up, gaggin’, she
did, and it were
a lot
of hash’n eggs. “Ses what we done, ya hog?” Balls said. “We
done let ya et the same meal twice!”

When this fat gal was done eatin’ up
her puke, Balls whipped his dick out. He held it rights up ta her
face ands said, “Suck it now, slim. Sucks it good!”

She had some fiest left
inner, Dicky hadda give her that. After pukin’ up a storm an’
takin’ five er six whaps in the belly from Balls’ pick handle? Ands
then bein’ forced to
eat
her own puke? It were a women of resilence who
coulds say, after alls that, “You stick that dirty cracker dick in
my mouth, an’ I
swears
I’ll bite if off!”

Guess she were a feminist. Tritt
Balls, well, he didn’t like no fat splittail sayin’ such ugly
things ta him, no sir! Not one bit. “Dicky!” he wailed. “Git the
pliers out the toolbox!”

Graonin’, Dicky did so.

Balls, then, pulled out all her teeth
with them Sears Craftsman pliers, he did.

“
There, ya fat cow!” Balls
celebrated. “Nows ya cain’t bite nothin’!”

He tunrt her over in the dirt, an’
brownholed her right there, humpin’ her backside hard till he
shot’a load’a peckersnot right up her tail. Then, what he did was
this, he flipped her right back over an’ wiped his shit-smellin’
dog right in her face.