Read Online Full Frontal Fiction by Jack Murnighan - Free Book Online Page B

out. And why would he find out? Because everybody saw you either leaving, sucking face or actually doing it with the weird, over-tan guy with the tattooed forehead, and of course all the products in the world will not restore you to “clean” or “fresh.” A word about relief: This product does not support the idea of “do-overs,” as when playing pool and missing the ball entirely, in which case certain women feel the right to call out “do-over” and shoot again without penalty of any sort. We consider this cheating. Therefore, it doesn’t make it better if, on the night in question, your regular boyfriend was off “taking some time to think about things,” which means, as we’ve learned in earlier sets of instructions, that he’s off thinking about how badly he wants to dump you and start “seeing” one of your very stacked friends. Who knows? Maybe he would have stayed if you hadn’t drunkenly turned yourself over to the first unwashed mouth-breather who made suggestive comments about the shape of your ass. But it’s too late, there shall be no do-overs, and you’re destined to remain pathetic, manless and a known slut. You will be largely ignored by your social circle, with the exception of certain guys in shiny shirts who’ve begun to stare openly at your inadequate breasts. You may start to fantasize while walking or driving around, grief-struck and miserable, about a fresh, clean start where everything is suddenly crisp and blank, like bleached bed sheets, newly washed chalkboards, refinished floors—the ultimate do-over. These instructions have this to say about that wish: Ha! You should be so lucky. Let’s face facts, little lady. It’s girls like you who force us to include warnings like Do Not Administer Orally. We’re not going to let you out of this one that easy.

The Finish Line
    BY DENNIS COOPER
    Dear Dennis,
    I was glad to hear from you, don’t worry about it. Whatever fucked-up shit came down between us, it doesn’t matter anymore. I don’t even remember what the problem was. People change, that’s right. I figured you were off doing your own thing and didn’t remember me. I’ve fucked so many people over, I don’t expect anybody to give a shit. I’ve been in AA off and on for a couple of years, and they make you think about what you do, and so I’m better about not going over people’s boundaries, like they say. I’m sorry for being a shithead a lot of the time back then. I make people into my dad, and then I have these big expectations that are just stupid. I wish I didn’t do that, but I still do. I just fucked up this thing with a guy here in Portland, although I have to say the guy was as much of an asshole as me. I don’t have anybody right now, and I get fucked up when I’m alone. I was clean for four months, but now I slipped and everything goes to hell when I’m using. So your letter came at a good time, because I’ve been feeling like nobody gives a fuck. I’m sleeping in my van right now because I don’t have anywhere to live, and I’m getting tired of it. I was doing pretty good for a while there. I got married to this woman, Carla, and we had a daughter. I was with her for about a year and a half, and that was a good time in many ways, but I couldn’t play it the way she wanted me to play it, so she kicked me out. That’s over. She has a restraining order against me, which I deserve because it got kind of crazy toward the end. I don’t know if you want to hear all this shit. You seem to think I’m somebody special, and you always did, no matter how much I fucked you over, which is why I loved you like I did. But it hasn’t worked out that I’m so special. That’s probably why I was such an asshole to you, because you thought I was so special, and I knew I wasn’t, but I wanted to believe it, so I