the Living Dead , The Cannibal Brain, Revenge of the Basement Trolls, Morgue Vampire Tramps Find Temptation at the Funeral Home , and he stopped reading the titles when he thumbed back to Humanoid Rat Eats Indiana.
“Sounds interesting,” he tittered. “I wonder what a rat looks like in a 1973 film. And why does it eat Indiana? Why not Los Angeles or Newark or some drugged out city that deserves to be infested with people-eating rats?”
He placed the first reel into the projector and shut off the lights, then relaxed in the chair and waited for the film to begin. The scene opened with a semi-truck rig winding down a back road. The film was lower quality, perhaps shot in eight millimeter—Super Eight—and the night hues were so dark it obscured any fine definitions of trees or the truck itself. Two men were in the rig, both with mutton chop sideburns. The audio was dubbed, though it was an American movie. A rock tune he didn’t recognize played on the radio, a cross between Ted Nugent and Credence Clearwater Revival. The two were dressed in black denim body suits like housepainters even, though the side panel of the truck read “Sewage Disposal Unit.”
“Harvey, what’s your wife like in bed now that she’s pregnant?”
The other—he assumed was named Harvey—smoked a joint and passed it to his co-worker. “Man, Christy hasn’t given it up ever since her periods stopped. I think she resents me. Hell, she was happy in college while I paid the bills and put food on the table. Now that she’s not burning her bra and panties anymore and dropped out of school, she’s turned into a real bitch. She eats all day and watches television. It’s like she’s lost her ambition to please me.”
“She didn’t resent you when you were puttin’ the blocks to her,” Travis added with a sharp laugh of righteousness. “She’ll get over it. Once the idea of a becoming a parent sinks in, she’ll pursue a sex life again. Maybe with you, maybe with someone else…”
“Hey, fuck you, man.” Harvey stole the marijuana cigarette back and sucked in a hard toke. “Ah, I think it’s the cannabis that’s really doing her in. Her grades sunk below C average after a fellow student introduced her to her mind, if you know what I mean.”
“Hell yeah.” Travis pulled out a baggie from his side pocket. “Man, these late night drives bite the big one. It takes this groovy shit to take the edge off.”
“Is that coke in the glove compartment?” Harvey’s eyes lit up. “Let’s snort it, pal. Nostril napalm!”
Travis produced a mirror from the glove compartment under the stash and cut it with a folded up road map. The shot panned to the rig taking a sharp turn and passing the gates with a faded sign reading:
DO NOT ENTER
WATER TREATMENT FACILITY
RAW SEWAGE
Harvey complained, “It smells like my grandma’s farts—maternal farts, you know?” He pinched his nose with his thumb and index finger. “That facility smells worse than what’s in the back of our rig, and that’s saying a lot!”
“Do you know what we’re hauling?” Travis challenged the man, snorting a track down the mirror and toot-toot-tooting in delight. “Ah, that’s what I needed, partner. Yeah, Bert didn’t tell you what’s really in those barrels we’re driving.”
“The line master doesn’t tell me anything. He said I’d get overtime pay for driving this on short notice through Indiana to Wisconsin. That’s all I needed to know. Pay me money. I fucking drive.”
Travis let the secret out. “It’s agent orange sealed air tight in those barrels. A factory in Wisconsin refines it into a powder they can put into missiles.” He put his hand over his heart. “Don’t you feel patriotic? We’re sending it to help our fellow soldiers overseas.”
It was Harvey’s turn to snort the toot. “I pledge allegiance to the flag— hell yeah! ”
The semi-truck picked up speed, and when it did, the front wheel struck a
“Sounds interesting,” he tittered. “I wonder what a rat looks like in a 1973 film. And why does it eat Indiana? Why not Los Angeles or Newark or some drugged out city that deserves to be infested with people-eating rats?”
He placed the first reel into the projector and shut off the lights, then relaxed in the chair and waited for the film to begin. The scene opened with a semi-truck rig winding down a back road. The film was lower quality, perhaps shot in eight millimeter—Super Eight—and the night hues were so dark it obscured any fine definitions of trees or the truck itself. Two men were in the rig, both with mutton chop sideburns. The audio was dubbed, though it was an American movie. A rock tune he didn’t recognize played on the radio, a cross between Ted Nugent and Credence Clearwater Revival. The two were dressed in black denim body suits like housepainters even, though the side panel of the truck read “Sewage Disposal Unit.”
“Harvey, what’s your wife like in bed now that she’s pregnant?”
The other—he assumed was named Harvey—smoked a joint and passed it to his co-worker. “Man, Christy hasn’t given it up ever since her periods stopped. I think she resents me. Hell, she was happy in college while I paid the bills and put food on the table. Now that she’s not burning her bra and panties anymore and dropped out of school, she’s turned into a real bitch. She eats all day and watches television. It’s like she’s lost her ambition to please me.”
“She didn’t resent you when you were puttin’ the blocks to her,” Travis added with a sharp laugh of righteousness. “She’ll get over it. Once the idea of a becoming a parent sinks in, she’ll pursue a sex life again. Maybe with you, maybe with someone else…”
“Hey, fuck you, man.” Harvey stole the marijuana cigarette back and sucked in a hard toke. “Ah, I think it’s the cannabis that’s really doing her in. Her grades sunk below C average after a fellow student introduced her to her mind, if you know what I mean.”
“Hell yeah.” Travis pulled out a baggie from his side pocket. “Man, these late night drives bite the big one. It takes this groovy shit to take the edge off.”
“Is that coke in the glove compartment?” Harvey’s eyes lit up. “Let’s snort it, pal. Nostril napalm!”
Travis produced a mirror from the glove compartment under the stash and cut it with a folded up road map. The shot panned to the rig taking a sharp turn and passing the gates with a faded sign reading:
DO NOT ENTER
WATER TREATMENT FACILITY
RAW SEWAGE
Harvey complained, “It smells like my grandma’s farts—maternal farts, you know?” He pinched his nose with his thumb and index finger. “That facility smells worse than what’s in the back of our rig, and that’s saying a lot!”
“Do you know what we’re hauling?” Travis challenged the man, snorting a track down the mirror and toot-toot-tooting in delight. “Ah, that’s what I needed, partner. Yeah, Bert didn’t tell you what’s really in those barrels we’re driving.”
“The line master doesn’t tell me anything. He said I’d get overtime pay for driving this on short notice through Indiana to Wisconsin. That’s all I needed to know. Pay me money. I fucking drive.”
Travis let the secret out. “It’s agent orange sealed air tight in those barrels. A factory in Wisconsin refines it into a powder they can put into missiles.” He put his hand over his heart. “Don’t you feel patriotic? We’re sending it to help our fellow soldiers overseas.”
It was Harvey’s turn to snort the toot. “I pledge allegiance to the flag— hell yeah! ”
The semi-truck picked up speed, and when it did, the front wheel struck a
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