“Zero F*cks Given” (Scene 7)

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”.

On Winspear Avenue near Main Street, there’s a quaint bungalow-style home. Nicki O’Shea entered through the front door, her silky, black hair tied back in a ponytail. Her roommate, Tracy Cohenstein, was sitting Indian-style with her feet tucked under her thighs, mediating on the living room couch. Nicki dropped her book bag in the kitchen, grabbed a Seagram’s Golden Wine Cooler from the fridge, and skipped into the living room.

Tracy opened her eyes and said, “Hey, what’s going on?”

“It’s Friday, baby!” Nicki twisted off the cap of her fruity adult beverage. “Summer school classes are killing me, so we’re goin’ out tonight and gettin’ fuuuuucked up!” She took a big swig.

“I don’t know.” Tracy pulled on her knees. “I’m not sure I’m in the mood for that.”

“Why not? Ya ain’t gonna get laid sitting around here, that’s for sure.”

“I don’t, necessarily, wanna ‘get laid.’ That’s kinda your modus operandi.”

“True, but come on…” Nicki put her drink down. “You can’t tell me that watching all that porn doesn’t get your juices flowin’.” She made a circle with her left thumb and index finger, and poked her right index finger in-and-out of the hole.

“I’m not watching it.” Tracy bit her nails. “It’s a job.”

“Well, it’s a great job. The only better job would be starring in it.” Nicki took another sip of her wine cooler. “Anyway, think about going out. We’ll hit Third Base — first round’s on me.”

“Alright, I’ll think about it,” Tracy said begrudgingly.

“Good.” Nicki left and went into her bedroom. A couple of posters decorated the walls. Over the headboard of her bed was the Guns N’ Roses Appetite for Destruction album cover — a hint of what she wanted to any man who might join her. Taped to the wall near her dresser was an Animal House poster of John Belushi in the block-letter “COLLEGE” sweatshirt with a stupid, confused look on his face.

Nicki wanted to decide on her outfit before making dinner, so she went into her closet, pulled out a few tops, and laid them on her bed for inspection. She then flipped on her radio and the live version of U2’s “Party Girl” was playing, which fit her mood perfectly. She danced as she removed her top and bra, and put her hands in the air. Her nineteen-year-old breasts bounced with such beauty and grace, they’d make a grown man weep.

She slipped on her favorite — a hot pink, low-cut option which made her jiggle and pop in all the right ways — and smiled at herself in the mirror. If this doesn’t get me some major dick tonight, I don’t know what will.

Scene 6 | Scene 7

“Zero F*cks Given” (Scene 6)

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 pressed his heel between the naked trespasser’s shoulder-blades, keeping him prone on the floor. Bob and Magnum stood nearby, scratching their heads.

“Where the hell is Satan?!” Zabka yelled. “I want to know who this fucktard is!” He pushed his foot down harder. “Where in-the-fuck did you come from?!”

The deviant wriggled — his angry screams muffled by the soiled sock in his mouth.

“Goddamnit! Shut-the-fuck-up when I’m asking you a question!” Zabka kicked the guy in the spleen.

Magnum raised his hand. “I gotta question. Does this plastic-sex-doll-thing count as a woman in the house? It does, right? And like, shouldn’t we write this down somewhere official? For record-keeping purposes?”

Bob massaged his chin. “Yeaaah… so now sounds like a good time to lay down some contest ground-rules.” He leaned against the door entry. “The first rule — and probably the most important — is the woman must have a pulse. Sound reasonable?” He waited for them to nod in agreement. “The second rule is that someone else must be here to confirm it. I’m not sayin’ I don’t trust you fuckers, but I don’t trust you fuckers.”

Magnum raised his hand again. “Like, how strict are these rules? Take this hypothetical for examp… garrr…”

Two arms were wrapped around Magnum’s neck from behind. Panic shot from his eyes and a gargling scream rang from his throat. Compared to his tall stature, the tiny person on his back looked like a big baby. He buckled forward, twisting 180-degrees, and fell backward, squashing his choker on Zabka’s prisoner.

Magnum rolled over and saw that his assailant was, by his estimation, from China. He was wrong — the correct country was Thailand. “Who the fuck are you?!” he screamed while jumping up from the floor. Identifying the person’s gender wasn’t straightforward either, and Magnum felt it was a coin-flip as he watched him or her laying there sucking air and wheezing. The scene was odd, but in his mind, the oddest thing was that this Asian had red hair.

Zabka yelled at the newest intruder, “How many more of you maniacs are gonna jump outta the woodwork?!” He used his foot to keep both of the strangers down.

The gender-neutral Thai yelled, “You fucka! You no belong!”

Bob shook his head. “What a fuckin’ debacle. Are we sure we’re even in the right house? This is some messed-up shit.”

A faint noise came from above — like someone strumming an acoustic guitar. Instinctively, they looked up and followed the sound through the walls while it made its way down the rickety stairs. Slowly, as it got louder, they recognized the riff from “Locomotive Breath” — gin gin gin gin… gin, gin — being repeated over and over again.

Magnum anticipated a rumble, put up his dukes, and bounced around in circles like Bluto Blutarsky outside Dean Wormer’s office. He whispered, “Who’s next? Bring it.”

Bob was in red-alert-mode and thought to himself, This imbecile ain’t sneaking up on us. He grabbed the naked guy’s boombox and prepared to hurl it if needed. He moved backwards and bumped into a sink. Why the hell is a sink here?

Zabka applied additional pressure to the Thai’s sternum while making the shhh-signal.

Quietly, they waited.

A guy wearing only black boxers entered the room — his eyes as red as the devil’s, hair the color of a cherry, and skin as pale as a corpse. He saw the ambush awaiting him and, after a noticeably delayed reaction, ceased playing the riff. His skin turned pink.

Zabka, Bob, and Magnum lowered their guard.

Bob said, “What the fuck, Satan?! Who are these guys?! And why are they in our house?!”

Satan laughed like a snake, “Sss, sss, sss,” if it were possible for a snake to get stoned and laugh. Being from Chickasaw, Alabama, he spoke slowly in a southern drawl. “Oh, I see you’ve met our summer roommates.” He pointed at the genderless Asian. “That’s Narong Poon.”

“Ping pong ding dong, what?” Magnum asked.

“It’s Narong.” Satan then pointed at the naked guy underneath him. “And the dude you tied up — very creatively I might add — is Darren Parlay.”

Bob queried, “And when exactly were you planning to share this information with us?”

“When the time was right… which I guess just happened.”

Zabka took his foot off of the captives and said, “These fuckers are damn lucky I didn’t send ’em to the emergency room.”

Narong sprung to his feet.

Magnum pointed his chin at Narong. “Is this one, a dude or a chick… or a combo-deal? I don’t even know what’s going on here.” He waved his hands around. “And how does it have red hair? It’s oriental. Can someone please explain this midget clown?”

Narong got on his toes and still fell way short of getting in Magnum’s face. “I man! What you, fucka?!” He spat a loogie that nailed Magnum between the eyes.

In shock, Magnum wiped off the sticky saliva and punched Narong in the mouth. “Take that, Ronald McFuckhead!” He shook his hand in pain as his knuckles began to bleed.

Bob scolded Magnum, “Hey, you can’t go around punching dwarfs in the fucking face.”

“Why the fuck not?!” Magnum was steaming hot.

Bob shrugged. He then looked at Satan and asked, “So what are you doin’ with the rent you’re collecting from them? I assume you’re collecting rent, right? We’ve all been paying our share this summer even though we’re not up here.”

Satan took off his acoustic guitar and set it down. “Don’t worry, fellas. I’ve been putting Darren’s money into an account that I’ll use for our utilities until it runs out. That work?”

“Darren’s?” Bob asked. “Why not Narong’s?”

“Because Narong is our roommate.” Satan laughed again like a stoned snake. “He’s a theater major from Chiang Mai, Thailand.”

“What the fuck?” dropped out of Zabka’s mouth. “Our roommate?”

Magnum stood tall. “Wait a second, I got issues with that. I knew you had someone lined up, but this guy? Asian-Rick-Astley? Really? This fucker attacked me and spit in my face, and now he’s living with us?!”

“Hey, he’s either our roommate or everyone pays more rent.” Satan waited for a response.

“Well, there’s no way I can afford that,” Bob was quick to admit. He raised his shoulders and put his palms up. “So I guess he’s our fucking roommate.”

“Yeah, I’m kinda in the same boat,” Zabka added. “And by that I mean, I spent alotta money riding around on boats down in Hilton Head, so I’m a little strapped for cash.”

“So we gotta live with two gingers?!” Magnum’s eyes bulged. “What the fuck?!”

Everyone else nodded their heads.

“Fine.” Magnum was exasperated. “I don’t approve, but fine.” He jabbed his finger at Narong. “You best not jump on me again.”

Satan shrugged as though to tell him, “No guarantees,” before he returned to his original question. “So, are you guys cool with using Darren’s rent money toward utilities?”

His official housemates gave affirmation.

Zabka said, “As long as, in essence, we’re getting paid outta this — I’m good.”

“Yeah, I look at it as much-needed beer-money,” Bob added.

Zabka took the sock out of Darren’s mouth then slapped his bed twice. “This is my mattress… I better not find any jizz on it.”

Darren, still hogtied, lifted his chin off the floor and looked up. “No, no, you won’t. There’s none, I swear.” He worked a few sock fibers to the tip of his tongue and blew them out. “Now can you please untie me?”

“I’m sicka lookin’ at ya — so yeah, I can do that. And then you’re gonna take all your shit outta here and move into Jimmy the Italian’s room upstairs. You understand me?”

“Loud and clear.”

“Good.” Zabka grabbed Darren’s bound wrists and ankles and untied him.

Darren quickly grabbed his belongings and left.

Bob pulled Magnum outside the room and said to him, “Hey, all that shit was crazy, but I really need to talk to you about something — in private. It’s kinda important.”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa,” Zabka said to them. ‘Where do you guys think you’re going?” He took a scrap of paper out of his wallet.

Bob turned his head to him and said, “I need to talk to Magnum about something.”

Zabka shook his head and waved his hand no. “Yeah, that can wait. I’m gonna call Rebecca. Magnum, go get a sheet of paper and mark her down. Put her on the board right now. This is as good as done.”

“I’m not getting a sheet of paper,” Magnum replied.

“You know what? Even better.” Zabka picked up his house phone. “You need to watch this.” He punched in the digits and began to pace the room. “Listen and learn.” The curly cord stretched away from the phone base.

The phone rang a couple of times before a female voice answered, “Hello.”

“Hey, Rebecca! How are ya?”

There was a pause. “Zabka?” she asked.

“Yeah, of course it’s me. Who else would it be?”

“I haven’t heard from you in month. Not once.”

There was heat coming from the anger in her voice and he could feel it. “I, I’ve been very busy… come to think of it, for like a month. I was traveling. I told you, right? That I was going on road trip.”

“No, you never mentioned it,” she replied.

“No, yeah, I told you. Something’s wrong with your memory. Well, the good news is — I’m back! I’m back in Buffalo and can’t wait to see you!”

“Yeah, that’s not how this works.”

Bob elbowed Magnum and they laughed. They could tell this wasn’t going well.

Zabka felt his chances of playing with her enormous fun-bags slipping away. “Listen, I can tell you’re not happy, so how about letting me make it up to you?” For Zabka, this was desperation-mode. “How about you grab one of your Penthouse Letters and bring it over here? Remember how much fun we had the last time? I sure as hell do. This time you pick the story, and I’ll do it to you. Whaddya say?”

The silence on the other end of the phone seemed like an eternity. “Don’t call me.” Click.

Zabka pulled the phone away from his ear and stared at it. “What the fuck?”

“Should I go get that paper now?” Magnum asked. “Mark it down?”

Bob chimed in, “What exactly did we watch and learn here? How not to get a chick over here?”

“She doesn’t get it.” Zabka tossed the phone on his bed. “She’s a bit of a spitfire, so this’ll take a couple of days, maybe, to clear up and help her understand the error of her ways.”

“Sure, Zabka. Sure it will. So, what was she upset about?” Bob asked.

“Oh, I don’t know, something about not calling her for a month…” Zabka rolled his eyes. “Blah, blah, blah… women can be so irrational. They can turn anything into a major event.”

“Can I ask, why you didn’t call?”

“Listen, I was on the road, very busy, lots going on, no real time to have a phone conversation. Lots going on. You know what I mean?”

“No I don’t,” Bob replied. “What’s the real reason?”

Zabka huffed. “Fine. If I called her, then there would be expectations of more calls, which would mean more of my time… and then, who knows, maybe there’d be other expectations. It could just snowball. To be honest, I don’t need the hassle.”

“I see.” Bob stroked his chin. “Thanks for letting me inside your mind. Now it’s crystal-clear to me how you think.”

“Enlightening, right?” Zabka asked rhetorically. “Hey, maybe I should invite her to Earl’s bash tomorrow.”

“No, no, no.” Bob shook his head. “That’s not a good idea — unless your intention is to really piss her off. Hell, even Magnum knows you don’t invite a woman to a formal event at the last minute.”

Magnum had a stunned look on his face, as though he’d been hit in the head with a brick.

“Shifting gears,” Bob said to Zabka. “What I’m really interested in is what that Penthouse Letters thing was all about.”

“Oh, yeah, that’s a good one. So, Rebecca has a subscription, and one day I came over and she was reading it.” Zabka’s smile projected that he was delighted with himself. “She read some story about a girl who put ice in her mouth and gave this guy a BJ. Anyway, we reenacted it, and it was fucking awesome.”

The phone started to make an annoying quick-tone that kept repeating, and Zabka hung it up.

“Well, this whole thing was educational and definitely worth our time…” Bob said, “but I really need to talk to Magnum. So, we’re gonna go now.”

Bob and Magnum moved to the living room in the front of the house and sat on a couch that was older than they were. They had become really good friends when they played on the high school baseball team together.

Bob took a deep breath, blew out fluttering his lips, and cut to the chase. “As you already know, the last few years have been pretty shitty for me. After my parent’s divorce and having to leave Union College because of money issues related to that. Then transferring here… well, I’ve pretty much been on my own. Paying tuition, rent, for my car, for food — basically everything with loans and crappy jobs here and there.”

“I’m sorry, buddy. I didn’t realize that.”

“Thanks. Yeah, I haven’t really told anyone.” Bob hung his head. “Sorry to drop all this on you, but I just need… I hate to ask this…” He looked up. “I just need a little help with rent for the next few months until the loans come in. Would you…”

“Done,” Magnum replied before he finished asking. “I got you covered.”

“Thank you. I really appreciate it.”

“Don’t think anything of it. Okay, let’s go put our bags away and set up our rooms.”

At the end of the previous school year, they haphazardly moved their belongings from their house on West Northrup to this house. So, their bedrooms were basically used as storage units and left unorganized.

They got off the couch to head up to their rooms. The staircase was a bit unusual because of the two separate flights that went up to a landing halfway-up. They took the flight closer to the living room — the other was toward the kitchen in the back. The landing had windows looking outside and, in the other direction between the two separate flights down, stairs up to a large, square, hallway-type room in the center of the second floor. Off of that were two bedrooms in the front, two bedrooms in the back, a bathroom on one side, and a doorway to an attic stairwell on the other side.

Bob and Magnum had left their luggage in this antechamber when they heard the commotion coming from Zabka’s room. They picked up their bags and went to their rooms — Bob’s in a back corner, and Magnum’s in the opposite corner in the front.

Magnum swung open the door to his room and found Narong, combing his ginger hair, in front of a makeup mirror. It’s an understatement to say Magnum wasn’t happy. “Chinaman!” he screamed. “What the hell are you doing in here?!”

Bob turned around and came their way. “Hey, he’s from Thailand, remember? Let’s try not to be offensive.”

Magnum replied, “You think I give a shit?! This is ridiculous!” He noticed that Narong had set up a loft and put a poster of the Cats musical on the wall. “What the fuck?! You stole my room?!”

Narong put his brush down. “I like room, I take room.”

NO! This is my fucking room!” Magnum’s head looked like a pus-and-blood filled pimple. “What’d you do with my shit?!”

“Satan and me move stuff in attic.” Narong pointed at the ceiling. “You go up. Nice and warm up there.”

“You know what? Fuck this shit! You’ve been livin’ here,” Magnum waved his hands around, “I don’t want this room anymore.” He stormed out.

Bob asked, “So, you’re gonna take a room in the attic?”

“Yeah, why not?” Magnum had calmed down. “I bet I’ll like it up there. I can escape the shenanigans.”

Bob laughed. “Yeah, good luck escaping! I have a feeling that’ll be damn-near-impossible this year.” He stopped at the door to his room. “Can you hold on a second? In case I need backup? Lord knows what’s behind this door.”

“If I were a betting man, I’d guess a donkey show. But only one way to find out.”

Bob held his breath and opened his door with trepidation. After surveying his room, he said, “Coast is clear. No squatters and, most importantly, no donkey show.”

Magnum turned and grinned. He grabbed his luggage and took it up to the attic. At the top, there were two doors. The one to his new bedroom was open, and the other was padlocked shut and had a sign taped to it. The sign was written in chicken-scratch with a green crayon and looked like the work of a five-year-old. It said, “Entry prohibited! Darkroom. Photo development.”

Magnum noticed a bright light coming out from under the door and lowered himself to the floor. He tilted his head and peered through the crack. Befuddled, he stood back up and yelled, “Satan!”

Scene 5 | Scene 6 | Scene 7

zerofucksgiven

“Zero F*cks Given” (Scene 5)

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”.

Chad Stanwick had the type of face you wanted to punch — handsome, yet with a permanent smirk that screamed “douchebag.” He was also the type that never missed an opportunity to boast about being from Newton, Massachusetts — an affluent Boston suburb.

The previous spring, he won the Sigma Alpha Mu presidency by mercilessly berating the incumbent, Billy Schmear. “Do we have tha best pahtees anymore?! Do we hook up with tha hottest chicks anymore?!” he yelled to his fraternity brothers during his campaign. “The an-sah is no! And who’s fault is it?” He pointed at Billy Schmear. “Ms. Pap Schmah’s, that’s who! He’s ta blame! And only I, Chad Stanwick, can fix it!”

The start of fall semester was only a few weeks away, and Chad was standing inside his fraternity house near the corner of Winspear and Bailey Avenues. The place was huge and in shambles — warped hardwood floors, cracked ceilings, and walls soiled with who knew what. It was his duty to ensure the house was impeccable before for the Sammys — the name they called themselves — had their inaugural bash that year.

There was a double-knock on the front door. Chad popped the collar of his pink Polo and turned his New England Patriots hat around backward. He walked stiffly like a lobster-tail was lodged up his rectum, to the door and pulled it open. Outside, there was a man holding a clipboard, and Chad said to him, “Hello, what can you do fah me?”

“Hi, I’m John. We were hired to fix up your house. I’m the foreman.” He glanced at his paperwork. “Are you Chad?”

“Yes, I am indeed Chad — tha president of Sigma Alpha Mu. I’ll be telling you and yaw crew what ta do.”

The foreman raised an eyebrow. “Uh, it doesn’t work that way.”

“Tha fuck it doesn’t. I’m from Newton and I know better than anyone how ta get this place in tip-top shape.” Chad looked at Pablo, Miguel, and Jose, who were leaning against a big white pickup-truck and smoking cigarettes. “Round up yaw hombres,” he circled his finger in the air, “and let’s get ta work.”

What a fucking prick, thought the foreman.

“The hahdwood floors feel like tha right place ta staht. Tear them out first. Then paint tha walls and patch tha ceiling. Got it?”

The foreman shook his head. “I recommend we do the opposite of that — work top-down. The reason is…”

Chad cut him off. “Listen, I don’t even do constahuction and I know more than you. I have a natuahl gift — it’s called this…” he pointed at his own head, “my big brain. And I don’t even do constahuction. So, ya want this job or not? There aw plenty of othah contractors that’d be happy ta take my business.”

The foreman looked at Chad sideways and seriously contemplated punching him square in the nose. Instead, he took a deep breath and said, “Doing it your way will add an extra week.”

“I don’t think so. You’ll get it done on schedule like we agreed or ya can vámonos tha hell outta here.”

The owner of the contracting company reminded the foreman of Chad — obnoxious, arrogant, and stupid — and he wouldn’t think twice about firing someone that lost him a job. Knowing this, the foreman caved and agreed to Chad’s demands. He stuck two fingers from each hand in his mouth and blew an ear-piercingly loud whistle. The workers grabbed their tools and walked to the house.

Scene 4 | Scene 5 | Scene 6

zerofucksgiven

“Zero F*cks Given” (Scene 4)

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.”

“Rebecca?”

“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.”

Scene 3 | Scene 4 | Scene 5

zerofucksgiven

“Zero F*cks Given” (Scene 3)

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”.

On the desk in Tracy’s office, there was a studio microphone, a set of headphones, a VCR, and a small, box-shaped TV. Tracy put on the headphones, which were large and covered her ears, and popped in the videotape she had been sent. Its title, “When Harry Ate Sally”, flashed on the screen.

A little frightened, yet very curious, she shrugged — Work is work. You see, Tracy had the type of voice that oozed sex. One time at synagogue, while reading a passage from the Torah, she managed to arouse ninety-percent of the congregation. Now majoring in broadcast journalism at the University at Buffalo, one of her audition tapes landed in the right hands and led to a part-time job doing voice-overs — actually, more like moan-overs — for pornographic movies.

Tracy watched Harry and Sally start their drive from Chicago to New York City. The atrocious acting, horrific dialogue, and road-head that followed was par for the course. She fast-forwarded the movie, watching the actors boink at high-speed like rabbits until she reached the famous diner scene — the one where Harry and Sally banter about women faking orgasms. Harry claimed that no woman has ever faked it with him, and then he proceeded to climb under the table to prove it.

In sync with Sally’s crescendoing orgasm, Tracy pounded the table and shouted her own version of “Yes! Yes! Oh! Oh!” into the microphone. When Sally finished and all eyes were on her, a woman at nearby table repeated the original line from the movie and told her waiter, “I’ll have what she’s having.” Naturally, the waiter was more than happy to oblige and, in a similar fashion to Harry, “serviced” the woman. Then, just like in real life, an orgy broke out.

Sally, now engaged in a threesome, said the dirtiest things during the rare times her mouth was phallus-free. Slurping and voicing-over these parts was easy for Tracy, but she recognized her muffled-gagging skills still needed some work. Fully immersed in the film, Tracy closed her eyes and genuinely moaned. She then had a worrisome feeling — not because of the unholy things being done to Sally’s holes, but because the two men sandwiching her onscreen-identity reminded her of Zabka and Magnum — an unexpected turn-on. She admonished herself, I’d never!

Tracy thought back to when they all lived in the UB Ellicott dorm. She remembered them partying and acting like idiots, but also being “nice guys” — maybe too nice.

While Meg Ryan’s X-rated doppelgänger was getting stuck more than a pincushion, the well-hung gentleman with a curly blond mullet — Zabka’s twin from the waist up — flexed his pecks. At the same time, another stallion’s face was buried deep between her legs, eating her Happy Meal. Upon completion, his head arose, exposing his glistening Magnum-like mustache. As the scene came to a dramatic, DNA-filled conclusion, the only logical recommendation from the Department of Public Health would’ve been to torch the diner.

Tracy stopped the video, took off her headphones, and wiped the sweat from her brow. Not having thought about Zabka and Magnum in a while, her feelings were conflicted. Whatever happened to those dimwits?

Scene 2 | Scene 3 | Scene 4

zerofucksgiven