This excerpt is from Dave Lundy’s new novel, “Zero F*cks Given” (still in development) — the prequel to the bestselling comedy “Squish the Fish: A Tale of Dating and Debauchery”.
Zabka pulled his car up next to the girls and slowed down so they were going the same speed. He shouted to his friends over the loud rock music, “No more pedestal!”
The ruckus turned the girls’ heads in their direction.
Zabka looked over at them and shouted along with the chorus, “But she loves my cock! — Loves my cock! Loves my cock! Loves my cock!”
The girls’ faces vomitted.
While Zabka wooed them — clearly an admirable moment — Magnum snapped a photo of the girls for posterity sake.
Bob took a closer look and thought they might be regulars at Third Base.
Incredibly pleased with himself, Zabka gunned the engine and took off down the road.
“What the fuck was that?!” Bob jammed his finger on the button to turn off the music. “I can’t believe you did that!”
Magnum was animated. “That was awesome!”
Bob continued to read Zabka the riot-act, “In my mind, you’ve been a poster-child for ‘not giving a fuck.’ But that was some next-level shit.”
“Whaddya mean?” Zabka asked.
“I guess what I mean is, you typically keep your composure around girls… not around everything else though.”
“Let me tell you, the conversation we had a minute ago… was eye-opening. No chicks in the house?! Are you kidding me? Seriously, are you fucking kidding me?! Enough is enough.” Zabka played drums on the steering wheel with his fingertips. “We’ve been overly polite to girls — above and beyond — and where has it gotten us? Nowhere.”
Magnum said, “No offense, but those girls didn’t exactly eat up your courtship.”
Bob added, “Personally, I’m shocked they weren’t fighting each other to give you their digits.”
“Were they throwing themselves at our feet before?” Zabka asked with eyebrows raised. “No. And if we keep doing the same thing over and over, are we gonna get different results? No. That’s called insanity. I buy girls drinks — nothing. I compliment them — nothing. I’m sick of it. It’s time to mix things up.”
“At the core, you do have a valid point… and not to sound lame or anything, but don’t you think your new approach might have been a touch off-putting? And could use, maybe, a little refinement?”
“That’s your problem, Bob. You give a fuck… and for no reason. We don’t know those girls.”
“You’re wrong. They might be Base chicks. We might run into them at some point!”
“Even better.” Zabka stopped at a streetlight. “Look, you can try the Don-Juan-thing if you like. I’m done.”
Bob shook his head. “You’re crazy.”
“I’m crazy?!” Zabka was frenzied. “Out of the three of us, we had one hook-up last year and no women in the house! No valid women at least. That’s terrible! And I’m crazy?! Okay.”
Bob scratched his head and began to wonder if his friend was right.
Magnum asked, “What’s the plan for tonight?”
“Plan?” Zabka said. “I gotta plan… to get laid tonight!”
“Oh, come on.” Bob chuckled. “What plan? Get some girl love-drunk on your charm? Like those girls in the car? Or just straight-up drunk?”
“No… even though I could pull-off the charm part… what I’m gonna do is call Rebecca.” The light turned green and Zabka eased on the gas. “For a chick, she’s super cool.”
“Yeah. I was up here taking a class earlier in the summer and we met and started banging. I wasn’t even really trying, it just kinda happened — which, I guess, goes to prove my point.” Zabka licked his chops. “And, she’s got some tig-ol’-bitties!”
Bob clapped his hands and rubbed them. “Dude, let’s start things off on the right note. Get her in the house! Or has she been already?”
Zabka had to think about it. “Shit. No, she hasn’t. She always tells me to come to her place… and on her face… she loves a taste! Ha-ha! Damn, I’m good!”
Bob and Magnum shook their heads and rolled their eyes.
“Anyway,” Zabka continued. “I’ll tell her to come over, and I’ll get the job done. I haven’t seen her in a month, so she’s gonna be super pumped to get my call.”
They passed the Grover Cleveland Golf Course — named after the former mayor of Buffalo and ex-President of the United States — and crossed Bailey Avenue.
“Hey, look!” Zabka pointed. “There’s South Campus.” He honked the horn twice. “We’re officially back in Buffalo!” Something he said didn’t sound quite right to him. “No, the Buffalo. We’re officially back in the Buffalo! And daaamn it feels good!”
“The Buffalo?” Magnum asked. “I don’t quite follow.”
“Come on, man. The Buffalo… the one, the only. There’s no other place like it.” If Zabka was capable of getting sentimental, his expression and tone at this moment were as close as he’d be to showing it. He smiled proudly. “The best goddamn place in the world.”
UB’s South Campus was built in the 1920s and is home to classic, ivy-covered, academic buildings. About a mile later, they took a left on Winspear Avenue — the street that borders the bottom of the city campus — and arrived at their house. The roof over the front porch was covered in bird shit, and the paint on the siding was chipped badly. The lawn looked like it had never been mowed and was covered with yellow dandelions. To top things off, a rat had torn into a bag of garbage and made an impressive mess near the side door. All things considered, it was one of the finer looking college houses on the street.
Bob smiled. “Home sweet home.”
Zabka pulled the Camero into the driveway and drove straight into a pothole, scraping the car’s front bumper. “Fuck!” he yelled.
“Relax,” Bob said. “I’m sure your precious pussy-magnet is just fine.”
Zabka drove behind the house and parked in the backyard. He jumped out of his car, squatted in front of it to inspect the damage, and rubbed the bumper. “It’s not bad. She’ll be alright.”
“Phew,” Bob said as he opened his door. “Thank god for that.”
Magnum climbed out from the backseat. “You think Satan’s here?”
“I don’t see his piece-of-shit car, so probably not,” Zabka replied.
The three of them pulled their bags out of the Camero and walked to the side door of their house. Zabka unlocked it and they walked in. Immediately, an odor hit them — the type of skunky air that lingers at a reggae show.
Magnum said, “It definitely smells like Satan lives here.”
Inside, to their left, a set of stairs went down to a scary-looking basement — the laundry and a spare-room were down there. They followed another few stairs straight up to the hallway between the kitchen and living room. The tatty interior of their living quarters helped strengthen the case that the place should be condemned.
Bob and Magnum took a right and went to the stairway to the second floor.
Zabka turned down the small hallway off the kitchen and headed toward his bedroom. Another bedroom was across from his and both doors were closed. As he got closer, he heard a strange noise that sounded like a cross between a chirping squirrel and someone rubbing a balloon. He paused to listen and see if he was imagining things. He wasn’t.
Zabka opened the door expecting to find a rodent, but he walked in on something far worse — a young man in the nude, holding a blowup doll’s hips, going-to-town in “her” backdoor — an act that even Zabka found to be perverse. The plastic squeaked from one last thrust.
Like statues in a Mexican-standoff, the dumbstruck stranger, his plaything, and Zabka didn’t move — their eyes locked in the most uncomfortable three-way imaginable.
The doll’s lifeless mouth was agape — its red lips in a tight circle.
Slowly, thunder clouds formed in Zabka’s stare — and for this unfortunate fuck, that meant the forecast called for doom.
The doll-fucker panicked, screamed bloody-murder, and kicked Zabka smack-dab in the nuts.
Curled-over in pain, Zabka’s balls were thumping like the bass in an Ice Cube song. He looked up and said two-octaves higher, “You picked the wrong nigga ta fuck wit,” and karate chopped the doll free from the pervert’s engorged appendage.
The intruder covered his crotch and stammered incoherently.
At that point, Zabka was done being friendly. He swung a left-hook and nailed the guy in the eye.
Bob and Magnum heard the commotion and came rushing down the stairs. When they arrived, they found Zabka standing over the naked guy, hogtied with a deflated French-maid doll, with a dirty sock shoved in his mouth.
Magnum’s head was spinning, looking for danger.
Tension released from Bob’s body. “Zabka, is there something you want to share? Trust us, we’re not judging.”
Magnum relaxed and said with a half-smile, “Yep, this is a judgment-free zone.”
The two friends looked at each other and nodded their heads vigorously.
“No judgments whatsoever,” added Bob.
Zabka responded, “I found this dickhead in my room gettin’-it-on with blowup-Betty. I don’t know who the fuck he is, but we’re about to find out. Either the easy way… or the hard way. That part’s upta him.”