Uschi! (5 page)

And
Dragonslayer
. Can’t forget that one. It was ’80s fantasy greatness, too. Peter MacNichol was the tits in that thing.

“I love the fuck out of this movie,” she said. Somehow she was aware without ever looking away from the flickering screen that Denny was now in the room and standing off to the side of her, silently watching her. The dead girl had some voice to her. It was all bubbly, giggly late ’50s or early ’60s Hollywood sex kitten. Denny loved it. Made him feel like he was dating Joy Harmon or Joi Lansing. “Dude, this cyclops boy we got in this show—his name is Rell and carries one big ass trident—let me tell you, he’s got his act together good and proper in ways mere simple folk like me and you can’t even begin to understand.”

There she was. She really did exist. Weren’t no desperate fantasy produced from a sad and lonely imagination. His one and only zombie love. He just had his dick inside her, and she seemed to enjoy it quite a lot. Ah man, can it possibly get any more wonderful than this?

“Come over here, lover. Sit next to me. I like having you near.”

Denny obeyed, but apparently Uschi didn’t approve of the distance he put between them on the sofa, because the second he settled, she scooted herself over real close, knees touching and her head coming to rest on his shoulder. They remained that way through the remainder of the movie. Both of them wishing they owned a Glaive and thinking on all the cool business they could do with such a styling weapon. They even managed to get a touch emotional when the brave and noble Rell came riding to the rescue and sacrificed his life to aid his friends.

Show over and the videocassette tape rewinding, Denny announced he was hungry and asked if Uschi cared to join him for dinner.

“You know, like, maybe on a date?”

“I could eat,” she said, coming up off the couch. “But before we hightail it on out of here, how about I go ahead and give you the gift of a righteously fine titty fuck?”

She didn’t even manage to get the magic words “titty fuck” entirely from her mouth before Denny’s tool in his underwear was already becoming hard. He craned his head back to look up into her Berni Wrightson illustrated face. “I … ah, I believe I could tolerate a something such as that, sure.”

Uschi went down on her knees to position herself between his legs. Denny hustled to get his manhood out as fast as humanly possible. He was swollen big and stiff, eager to erupt. She spat egg yolk yellowy saliva in her hand a couple of times to collect enough to lube herself up with. She cupped her green tits and mashed them together, elbows out and arms folded in like chicken wings, and accepted Denny into her everything’s bigger in Texas cleavage. Looked like she swallowed him whole, it was so deep in there. Uschi pumped Denny, and when the end was at hand she offered to allow him to cum on her face. He declined, believing a something like that was porn film tacky and maybe even a share degrading to women. A simple, classic protein pearl necklace job was fine for Denny Gleeth.

They made their way to the Dairy Queen not long after that endeavor was concluded. During the ride they sang along with the Scandal hit “The Warrior” playing on the El Camino’s radio. Every time Patty Smyth went “Bang! Bang!” Uschi and Denny would make six shooter pistols out of their hands and shoot them off over their heads. A great time was had.

A breeze blew through the parking lot, summer warm and stinking of the trash Dumpster behind the place, serpentine twisting and turning as it moved through the pitch dark shadowy spaces between trucks and cars and stirring up the stray bits of litter about. A flattened and tire treads imprinted plastic nachos bowl, thick with congealed cheese, fashioned an ugly husking sound as it scraped the asphalt and came toward Denny as determined as if it had ideas of attacking him. He deftly avoided it and opened the door to his car and climbed in behind the steering wheel.

“Hell, you weren’t gone long at all.” Uschi had in his absence removed her seatbelt and rolled the windows down. She was wearing a direct from the Fredrick’s of Hollywood catalog a waist-length cotton candy pink baby doll nightie that hung off the points of her magnum chest like a theater curtain. Before leaving home she’d cleaned herself of Denny’s bodily fluids and freshened up her makeup. She was looking relaxed and comfortable, just taking it easy, and leaning back in the seat and an arm resting outside the window.

Dangling from the rearview mirror was a classy foam rubber shrunken head and glued to the top of the dashboard a Kenner original Chewbacca action figure, complete with a tiny crossbow blaster rifle in his hands. In the lower right corner of the rear windshield was a sun-faded decal of one of those sexy Coop devil girls, voluptuous and brandishing a sexually aggressive smirk.

“Yeah, they’re pretty good here about quick service,” Denny said. “Listen, I hope you don’t mind, but I just went ahead and got you the same thing I got for myself.” He reached into the bags and handed her food to her. He made sure to also give her plenty of the paper napkins the waitress had thoughtfully provided them. “That’s a double meat cheeseburger with mustard, large order of onion rings, and a large Dr Pepper. You said whatever I wanted to give you was fine. Is that fine? I didn’t let you down, did I? Sorry if I did. I can go back and get you something else if you prefer. I swear I don’t mind doing so. Tacos. How about some tacos? They make a pretty ninja killing cool taco here. Would you like that? The hot sauce, truth be told, they give you in them little squeeze packets ain’t particularly the best. Tepid and not spicy enough for my tastes. I’m a Pace picante sauce man myself. But the tacos are quality enough to go without the sauce and your mouth won’t feel like it’s missing a thing. Man, why didn’t I for once in my life think and get you tacos. Honey, I’m so sorry. I’ve gone and disappointed you.”

“That’s okay. Honest. I’m more than happy with what you’ve brought me. No need to go apeshit. You don’t need to be so eager to please me. I’m delighted already with the way things are and I don’t anticipate them taking a turn for the worse any time soon, best thing.”

Best thing was her pet name for Denny. Not sugar pie or honey darling or baby love. Uschi called him best thing. He’d asked why that particular term of endearment, and she didn’t miss a beat and smiled right at him big and butter pecan ice cream sweet and told him, “Because it’s what you are. You’re the best thing to ever happen to me. That’s you—my best thing.”

He’d never heard a woman talk like that about him before. What a spectacular creature this Uschi was. Beautiful, vivacious, sex skilled as quality as any five grand for the whole night Dallas whore. However, this rationalizing and conversing in full and coherent sentences was off putting. Certainly not what George A. Romero had prepared him for. This was an extra feature Denny had no recollection of requesting the devil install in her. Never for a moment did he think he would receive a lovely walking dead companion he could hold long and meaningful conversations with.

Not that Denny was all that accustomed to long, meaningful chitchat with anyone. Especially a girl.

“Made her a feisty bitch. Gave her plenty of personality.”

That was what Satan in the microwave warned only moments before he cut out. Was this what the devil meant? She certainly was feisty when it came to the lovemaking. And talking like she did sure was a strong indicator for plenty of personality. Or could be it was her brain and the special ingredients that went into its construction that gave her the gift of dialogue?

Oh well, Denny figured, don’t be looking a gift horse too thoroughly in the mouth. He was getting a kick out of Uschi just the way she was. Yep, it was decided, personality was a good thing in a Satanic homemade zombie girlfriend.

Uschi indulged in a diminutive, ladylike bite of her cheeseburger, chewed slowly, lips pinched tight together, swallowed, and immediately came to the conclusion that this alone weren’t going to get the job done. “Needs more seasoning.”

Denny had an onion ring halfway to his mouth when he stopped and said, “I brought some ketchup.”

“’Fraid that won’t have the kick I’m yearning for, either. You know, while you were gone I happened to have my head out the window for a moment and caught a whiff of a certain something I think is exactly what my burger is missing.” She set her food on the dashboard and then opened the door. “Be back in a flash.”

“What? Where are you going?”

Two spaces away from the El Camino was a parked dark 1979 Chevrolet Celebrity—that’s where Uschi was going. She got along in a quick Little Annie Fanny hop that caused all the sweet parts on her to bounce and sway in the sexiest ways imaginable. Her buoyant ultra platinum hair fanned out around her liberated from a graveyard face as four-inch-high platform shoes clomped on the pavement like a trotting horse’s hooves. Uschi reached into the Celebrity’s left rear tire’s wheel well. She grinned from ear to ear when she found what she was questing for, tugged until it came loose, and held it close to her as she hustled to return to the car.

“Don’t worry,” she said when spotting the reaction on Denny’s face to what she had brought back with her. “I’m fairly halfass confident I know what I’m doing.”

What Uschi carried in her hands was a big ol’ chunk of soggy roadkill. The late remains of an armadillo, to be precise on the subject. At least the ass end of an armadillo, everything on the poor little shell wearing critter from the mid thorax on up having been reduced to a gooey jelly substance that must’ve left a considerably vile stain behind on the road when the speeding Celeb’s wheel squashed it. Stringy loops of intestines were forced through its dilated asshole. The solid tail end had gotten stuck between the treads strong enough to be lifted up into the wheel well, where it became firmly lodged in there. Couldn’t have been any more than a day dead. The odor it produced and filled the cab with was positively savage. The soft underbelly was showing signs of trapped gas bloat and covered in a coat of coarse, springy hairs the color of mildewed bales of hay.

Uschi picked out the gravel from the armadillo’s squished portion, and Denny started to get an idea of where this was going.

He put his own dinner aside. “You look like you might need help. Let me hold your cheeseburger open for you.”

“Well, looky there, you’re about as handy as pockets on a shirt. It does my heart good to see chivalry is not dead in Texas.”

Uschi plunged her hand inside the dead animal. She went deep because she figured that’s where the best stuff was hiding. The putrid mass she scooped out she liberally smeared over the lathered in mustard surface of her cheeseburger’s meat patties. When Uschi finished at that, Denny put the top bun back in place. There was a juicy sound as he tried to mash it all down to a reasonable dimension to accommodate his girlfriend’s mouth.

She began with another dainty taste test nibble, and then, after determining she had a winner, went wild hair up the ass devouring it in huge hungry shark chomps.

“Oh yeah,” she enthusiastically ejaculated around a full mouth. “That’s paradise between two slices of bread right there. Remember, best thing, when I happened to have my hand up in your ass? That shit from you I sucked off of my fingers was extras-special good tasting. I don’t know, maybe the Miracle Whip helped it along, but either way it sure was delicious. Good enough to have come from the Bluebell ice cream people. I didn’t think I’d ever come across anything that’d ever taste that super again. As a matter of fact, I’ve been thinking about asking a favor of you next time you happen to need to take a seat on a toilet. It’s a Cleveland steamer sort of talk I want to have with you. But that’s a matter we can discuss another time. Well, guess what? We got us a new champion in taste. I’m almost having me a sexual experience with this armadillo secret sauce. It’s that tasty on a cheeseburger. Hope you don’t mind me saying so. That doesn’t make you down on yourself, does it? Your shit’s still quality. That isn’t changing, best thing. But what I got here I got to call it like it is.”

“That’s okay. Say what you feel. I don’t mind. I can be surprisingly thick skinned when it comes to criticism on the taste of my crap. Glad you found something you like so well.”

They ate their dinner in silence for the next few minutes, until Uschi decided she didn’t care for the dull vacuum that was forming between them and made a play to get a bit of small talk action going on.

“So, what’s your favorite
kaiju
movie?”

Denny gave his living dead girlfriend a stare.
Kaiju
? That’s no average word. It was Japanese; translated to English it meant something like “mysterious beast.” This was what Japanese giant monster movies are often called in their native homeland. But here in America, it’s a term about as common as a chicken with an in-depth knowledge of the novels of Dan Jenkins. Only hardcore occidental fans, like Denny, ever used the word.

“Guess, uh, I’ve got to say
Mothra
is my current fave. Tiny women and good giant worms’ activity in that one.”

“Really, you like it that much?” said Uschi. “Personally, I didn’t feel Godzilla came off too well in that one. He seemed to me like a pussy, a real pushover, gets beat way too easy by the big butterfly. That’s not His Royal Majesty, the King of all monsters, we know and love.

“
The X from Outer Space—
now that’s the one that gets me wet in my womanly zone. The big bad in it, Guilala, he’s a living apocalypse from beyond our solar system that looks a serviceable amount like a cross between a plucked lizard-chicken hybrid critter and a 1970’s era official Joe Namath popcorn popping machine. And he destroys Tokyo real good.”

Weirdness piled upon weirdness.

“When did you see it?” he asked her. He kept his voice even and face impassive.

“Excuse me?”

“
The X from Outer Space
. Or any Godzilla movie. When did you see them? How could you have seen them? How do you know what
kaiju
means? How to work a VCR? Where I keep the Miracle Whip in my refrigerator and that it will make a passable asshole lubricant? Uschi, you’re less than four hours old. It shouldn’t be possible for you to know these things. But somehow you do.”