Do your homework Vivi.

Flash fiction dedicated to Chuck Palahniuk.

Major trigger warning! If you thought that Chuck’s short story, Guts, was too much to stomach, do not read this! It isn’t for you.  

Preface

Fortunately for me, at the time of writing The Ballad of Wuthering Descent, I was reading, re-reading, implementing and experimenting with the teachings and works of Chuck Palahniuk’s novels, Hindsight Story Nights, podcasts and online appearances, and most of all his 2020 writing guide / memoir and insight book, Consider This: Moments in My Writing Life After Which Everything Was Different.

So I thought I’d give Chuck’s beatnik transgressive style ago, in keeping with his hilarious Hindsight Story Nights.

God bless you Chuck Palahniuk, you brave soul. Thank you, I’d love to someday attend a Hindsight Story Night in Portland, Oregon, they look like a lot of fun!

The story below, titled Do your homework Vivi By M.W.Wolf is revolting and ungodly. Don’t read if your gonna moan about it!

Flash fiction

Do your homework Vivi.

‘Read Chuck Palahniuk,’ I say, as I click my knuckles, exhaling deeply, readying myself to teach Vivi a lesson. A real fucking lesson. A real good fucking lesson baby.

Student Vivi, she says, ‘which one? I’ve started the homework on Choke. I read chapter 14. It’s going to be a tricky one,’ she says, chewing her quivering dry lip as she googles Chuck Palahniuk books on her pink unicorn encased smart phone. ‘Where do I begin?’ she says, ‘Will I faint?’ she says, flashing me sexy eyes that says she hopes so. She’s a good student our Viv, I like her, with and without her clothing on.

I say, ‘All of it,’ I say, ‘Or as much as you can stomach,’ I say, picking up my fifth copy of Fight Club. ‘Start here,’ I say, tossing the worn, bloodstained book into Vivi’s bare lap. goosepimples line the pastel flesh of her inner thighs. My fingertip reads her skin nipples like braille. I don’t need to look down, bite marks map the way. Besides, I like going in blind.

I say, ‘Fight Club, oh yeah certainly Fight Club, but don’t talk about it,’ I say, painfully wincing. ‘Wipe the trolley,’ I say, dismounting Viv. That was quick even for a soppy pistol gunslinger like me. I snigger, sitting in my classroom with punched-out eyes and dried blood in big black crusty stains on my underpants. ‘Now get dressed and fuck off quick,’ I say. ‘Dave, my next student is into sex with books, and he’s barred from the library. This could get a little messy again,’ I say picking up a fresh, unstuck copy of haunted by chuck Palahniuk. ‘Ough, this could get very messy indeed. Oh And hurry up and do your homework Vivi,’ I say.

She says, ‘Choke, chapter 14, I told you, I’ve read it six times dear,’ she says pulling up her granny pants.

I say, ‘So what’s the holdup Vivi?’ I say, cracking open a fresh copy of haunted and caressing the pages. Trying to recall where we left off. Where we left off is where Dave ejaculated between the pages. I remember where we left off now, page 336, something about acts of oral sex with paying hotel guests.

‘Well dear,’ she says, lifting her tits from her belly button and folding them into her bra like origami. She says, ‘You know I’m 86 next week. It’s hard to find a man willing to have sex with me, let alone act out a risky sex scene in a chapel.’

I smile, placing my hand on her thin shoulder bone. I say, ‘Well improv Vivi,’ I say licking the flaky leather skin of her cheek. 

She says, ‘Oh Jacob,’ she says, clipping her tainted yellow bra strap, closing away her folded paper tits, which makes me think of a coffin lid closing.

 I’m surprised Viv’s tits haven’t turned to dust yet. I’ve noticed a rapid increase in skin flakes piling in her bra and a steady decline in folds of titty flesh. Viv’s been taking this private workshop for over a year now and hasn’t produced any writing of her own. I’m starting to think she only comes for the sex and the practical homework, which is set to build character. My homework setting rationale is, if my students act out the transgressive sex scenes in the books we read, they’ll better understand the writing.

Viv says, ‘I don’t know how to improv, and I wish you’d stop calling me that. Wait till I tell your mother.’ She says!

I say, ‘Don’t you remember, we spoke about this last week, and the week before, and the week before that,’ I say, reaching under her skirt and gripping her gelatinous arse cheeks. ‘Gelati-loose, Hippo-poo-poo-moose,’ I say, fingering her pants to the side and slipping my middle finger between her flesh-and-bone cheeks, which hang like empty plastic shopping bags riddled with blue worms.

I say, ‘Nan, it’s unprofessional of me to call you nan at work,’ I say, sniffing my nutty brown finger. I say, ‘Now go and do your homework,’ I say, pointing the smelly finger at nan’s nose. I say, ‘Or I’ll tell granddad Pat that you’re a bad student,’ I say, tasting my nan’s rusty rectum blood, then leaning in and tongue jousting the head off my nan.

I won the joust! Nan tasted like graveyard soil. How do I know what graveyard soil tastes like, you ask? Well that’s a sex story for another time. Pow! Ow!

I better go now, my next student, my mate Dave the Mortuary Assistant, has finished embalming that six-year-old local boy who fell down the well. Dave said the kid was special, he had ginger hair and a third thumb. What’s a boy like that doing fetching water anyhow? He was shortsighted too. No wonder he fell in, he was probably feeling around for the water level. Short site, long flight, much of fright, pants of shite. No wonder the water around here tastes like my nan’s rusty rectum blood.

Anyway, the funeral starts at 9am tomorrow morning. We’re not having an open coffin, Nan was a cat lady, they chewed her up real good. Anyhow, Nan was a big girl, but died of anal bleeding, lost a lot of weight between my first anal night class with her four weeks ago and when Sherif Samual found her drained body on Monday morning.

The good news is, I’m the Undertaker’s Assistant so I got us a discount on the used coffin. The Bad news is, Sherif Samual cancelled his subscription to watch my night classes. Ps, does anybody want to buy a fourth hand smart phone with a pink unicorn case, very few stains and a few cat hairs, apart from that, as good as new.

The End!