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”.
At the front of the house, in the large foyer area off of the living room, Bob was busy putting a white plastic-tablecloth on a folding table. Magnum came in cradling a bunch of liquor bottles to stock their makeshift bar.
Zabka was pacing the kitchen, yelling on the phone, “Like I said three times already, we need two of them! One blonde and one brunette. And for god sakes, make them decent looking.” He pulled his scalp. “I know this is a tall order, but dig a couple up.” He listened to the response on the other end. “Yes, for the last time, they have to wear that! It’s non-negotiable! This is our buddy’s goddamn bachelor party!”
Magnum said to Bob, “Sounds like Zabka’s takin’ care of business.”
“Yeah, he’s very tactful.”
Zabka hung-up the phone and went to touch-base with his friends. “Good news — our entertainment is all taken care of. They’ll be here in ninety minutes. Everything else almost done?” He inspected their work. “Earl and his buddies will be showin’ up soon.”
“Wa-lah.” Bob swiped his arm through the air over their jerry-rigged bar. “Take a look.”
There were two bottles of cheap tequila, one bottle of a generic-brand vodka, and the essential bottle of Wild Turkey. Zabka reviewed their progress and said, “I hope this isn’t it. We need beer, more booze, ice, cups, and shot glasses. A few limes and some salt wouldn’t hurt either. Come on, guys!”
“Relax,” Bob replied. “I spoke to one of Earl’s friends earlier. He assured me they’d bring beer, ice, and limes.”
Magnum said, “We got a few more bottles of booze. I’ll grab ’em and the salt. Bob, grab the cups and shot glasses.”
Zabka picked up the bottle of Wild Turkey, unscrewed the cap, and, for some reason, sniffed inside. His eyes watered, and his throat constricted. He then lined up three shots of their favorite Kentucky bourbon. When his friends returned, he said, “Let’s get this party started!”
They clinked their shot glasses and took them down.
Bob’s face puckered and he shook his head. “Fuck! That never gets any easier.”
Zabka smiled. “It’s the devil’s drink.”
“Speaking of Satan… kinda.,” Bob began. “Can we talk about the operation he’s running out of our attic?”
“Yeah, seriously what the fuck?” Magnum added.
Zabka said, “They say, ‘Do what you love and the money will follow.’ Well, he’s doing just that.”
“Those lights in there are blinding.” Magnum shielded his eyes.
Bob shook his head. “Yeah, that’s not gonna help our electric bill. Fuck.”
“And the sheer volume of plants… I’ve never seen anything like it.”
“Yep. He’s got a fucking plantation up there — a goldmine. But do you think he’s dumb enough to smoke all the profits?”
“Man, Cheech & Chong couldn’t smoke that much dope.”
“Have you met his friends?” Zabka asked. “They could very well be Cheech & Chong and their extended families.”
Bob said, “I was just happy no one jumped out at us up there.”
Magnum shared what he was thinking at that time. “I was bracing myself for a perverted monkey attack or something like that.”
“What the hell is a perverted monkey attack?” Zabka asked.
“I don’t know. But the way things went down today, it coulda happened.”
Bob nodded. “True story.”
The sun was setting when there was a knock at the front door. Zabka was the closest, so he took two steps and opened it.
Earl was waiting outside with his best-friends from high school, his father, and his fiancé’s father. They appeared to be inbred hillbillies from Kentucky, but that’s just how everyone looked in Newfane, NY — a small town in the sticks, forty-miles north of downtown Buffalo. Two members of their crew resembled Darryl and Darryl, the mute brothers from the TV show Newhart, and held more provisions for the festivity.
“Hey, Earl! Hey, guys! Come on in!” Zabka gave his buddy a big hug and welcomed them all inside.
After a quick round of introductions, everyone grabbed a drink and Bob put on some tunes. The guys spent time getting acquainted and shared stories about their summers.
Earl and his dad, Mr. Pickleback, both wore eye-glasses and clearly shared the same genes. They were short and stout and looked like bowling balls with legs. While chatting with Magnum, they absorbed the menagerie of furniture in the house and paid compliments to the “really nice decor.”
Magnum filled them in on the crazy events that happened earlier that day, which they had a hard time believing.
The drinks were flowing, and everyone was laughing and enjoying themselves.
One of Earl’s Darryl-looking friends was, oddly enough, actually named Darryl. He asked Bob, “So, how did you and Earl become friends?”
“It was freshman year,” Bob replied. “We all were living in the same dorm in the same hall. I was roommates with Magnum — we were friends in high school. Earl and Zabka were put in the same room, and they became friends.”
“So your friendships just naturally happened?”
Bob chuckled. “No, not exactly. When I first met Zabka, I thought he was the biggest dickhead of all-time. Then, as I got to know him better, it became clear that he is the biggest dickhead of all-time.”
Darryl wasn’t sure how to react while Bob laughed. He said, “Well, obviously your impression has changed.”
Bob shook his head. “Not really.” He smiled. “I just understand who he is and find amusement in it. You have to take a different approach with a guy like him — look below the surface. All that said, I love ’em. He’s one of my best friends.”
“Okay, so back to you and Earl. How did you two become friends?”
“Right, sorry, I was getting there. One night, we were all hammered at a dorm-room party, singing, and making a ton of noise. The thing was, we weren’t supposed to be having parties and were essentially chased out by the dorm police. We didn’t want to get in trouble, so we fled into the stairwell after telling them to ‘fuck-off,’ and ran down the stairs. Zabka was leading the stampede and yelling some shit back at me — I think he said, ‘Hey Bob! Take out your tampon and run like a man!’ Something like that. Anyway, I saw one of those 55-gallon metal drums that we used for garbage, picked it up sideways, and flung it down at him.”
“Oh shit!” Darryl yelled. “You went Donkey Kong on his ass!”
“Yep! It crashed against the wall over his head and scared the shit outta him. Anyway, Earl was nearby and told me that it was about time someone did something like that. We bonded a little bit at that moment and have been good friends ever since.”
“Love the story!”
Bob spotted Zabka and said to Darryl, “Speak of the devil. I need to go talk to him.”
Bob walked over and pulled Zabka aside. “Did you know Ema’s dad was coming?”
“Mr. Reid? I didn’t not.” Zabka took a sip of his beer. “I always assumed the fiancé’s father would stay away from the bachelor party… sorta like an unwritten rule.”
“Yeah, I thought the same thing… I’ve never been to one before.” Bob shrugged. “And Earl’s old man is here too. This all feels very taboo.”
“Well, I don’t give a fuck. On with the show.”
“Yep, on with the show.” Bob walked halfway up the stairs that overlooked their gathering, and Zabka turned the music all the way down. All eyes were now on Bob.
“Gentlemen!” Bob began. “It is with great honor that we celebrate our good friend Earl’s special day! Now, you probably think I’m referring to his wedding tomorrow… but I’m not. I’m talkin’ ’bout tonight!” He raised his beer. “Earl’s muthafuckin’ bachelor party!”
The group hooted and hollered while Zabka whistled loudly with his fingers.
Bob continued, “Earl, we all pitched in and got you a little something. Zabka, if you would be so kind, can you go get it?”
“Of course!” Zabka hustled to the back of the house and into his room. When he returned, he was holding a two-foot by four-foot piece of cardboard. We walked up the stairs next to Bob.
Bob held one hand to his chest as a gesture of sincerity. “Earl, you’re about to embark on the journey of a lifetime with Ema. Knowing that, and knowing her, helped us choose the perfect gift for you both.” He looked at Zabka, giving him his cue.
Zabka flipped the large piece of cardboard around and held it up for everyone to see. There, professionally printed on a large piece of paper and glued to the cardboard was, what appeared to be, a bank check. It was for the sum of “Ten-thousand dollars” and made out to “Earl and Ema Pickleback.” A rather nice gesture, that is, until people saw where the money was to be put to use, which was “For Tits.”
Everyone’s mouths dropped open and there were a few awkward giggles. The room went silent as they peeped at Ema’s dad out of the corners of their eyes.
The father of the bride read the check and said, “For tits?” He squinted. “Does that say, ‘For Tits’?”
Bob gulped audibly. The air had been sucked from the room.
Ema’s dad continued, “You guys really had the audacity to write my little girl — my angel — a check ‘For Tits’?” He gave Bob and Zabka a death-stare. “Well, that’s mighty sweet of ya, cuz she’s ain’t got no tits!” Then he laughed hysterically, which lightened the mood, and the rest of the party joined him.
Zabka yelled, “Earl! Get your ass up here and accept your gift!”
Earl climbed the stairs as the crowd chanted, “Speech! Speech! Speech!” Zabka handed him the check, and he and Bob went down to the bar.
Earl hushed the crowd and began, “I want to thank you all for coming tonight…”
“That’s my son!” Earl’s dad yelled. “He’s an idiot!”
Earl shook his head. “Thanks, dad. I appreciate that. Maybe slow down on the booze.”
His father raised his glass to toast him.
Earl smiled. “As I was saying… I want to thank you all for coming tonight. To have my best friends, my dad — who made me the idiot I am today — and my new dad — who’s got a great sense of humor as you all can tell.” People laughed and proud smiles were on Mr. Pickleback’s and Mr. Reid’s faces. “It truly…” Earl got a little choked-up. “It truly means the world to me. But most of all, I’d like to thank…”
A knock at the front door turned everyone’s heads.
Magnum got excited and jumped for the door. “I got it!”
The door swung open, and two Girl Scouts stood at the entrance. These weren’t girls, however — and they certainly weren’t Girl Scouts. They were women beyond their adolescent years, and to say they were rough around the edges was putting it nicely. Behind them was a large man in a black leather trenchcoat that not only resembled Mr. T — with a mohawk, gold chains and earrings, the whole nine-yards — but was just as intimidating.
Magnum’s expression showed that he was pleased enough with the delivered “product” because they were “Buffalo skinny” a.k.a. “not obese.” He did have reservations about the Mr. T character and what his role might be in the festivities.
The platinum blonde was chomping gum and at the same time stretching part of it and twisting it around her finger. The other had her brown hair in pigtails and some notable bruises on her knees. Both were busting out of their green tops and wearing miniskirts. Their sashes were embroidered with smutty, merit-badge patches, and their troop number — the quintessential Troop 69.
The blonde said, “Hey, boys. We’re selling our cookies. Interested?”
Zabka yelled from the back of the party, “Hell yeah! We’d love to eat your cookies!”
“Entrée.” Magnum ushered them inside and shouted, “Boom! Two women in the house. They count for me!”
Bob turned to Magnum. “You sure about that? Zabka is the one that got them here. We’ll mark ’em down for him.”
“Goddamnit!” Magnum was steaming. “Technically, I’m the one that got them in! I get credit!”
Earl stepped in. “Can we settle whatever-this-is, later? I’d like to enjoy my last hours of freedom.”
Bob slapped him on the back. “You’re right, we’ll focus on that.”
“Anyway, nice job on the hookers.”
“We’re not hookers — we’re strippers,” said the girl with pigtails.
Earl shrugged. “What’s the difference?”
Bob added, “You gotta point,” under his breath. Then to everyone, he said. “Everybody, please move to the living room. Let’s get this party started!”
There were two well-worn couches on both sides of the room, and a large, vintage, cathode-ray tube television in the front. Zabka pulled a few folding-chairs out and set them up in the back. The girls had a duffle bag and set up in the middle as the guys gathered around and took their seats. The muscle stood in the background, watching, with his arms folded.
Bob yelled, “Hey Magnum, set the ambiance!”
Magnum dimmed the lights, then walked up to Mr. T with a big smile on his face. He said, “I bet you just looove it when a plan comes together, right?”
Mr. T answered his A-Team comment with a death-stare that could kill a weak man.
Magnum scurried for his seat next to Bob.
The blonde addressed the room, “Alright, gentlemen! Are you ready to have some fun?!”
Enthusiastic cheers came from the audience.
The woman in pigtails asked, “Before we get started, which one of you is the bachelor?”
Everyone pointed at Earl.
Zabka rubbed his head and messed up his hair. He yelled, “This fuckin’ idiot!”
“Perfect!” yelled the blonde. “So, I’m Candy. And this here,” she held out a hand toward her fellow Girl Scout, “is Chastity. But believe me, she’s anything but.”
Bob commented, “Oh, we can tell.”
Chastity took over. “Here’s how things are gonna work. We dance for tips. The more tips we get, the wilder we become. Understand?”
The men nodded their heads.
Magnum inspected her 7-inch clear stiletto stripper shoes and yelled, “I wanna see your feet! Show us your feet!”
“Um, that can be arranged later with a nice tip.” Chastity picked up her bag and reached inside. “And if we are feeling really wild, and you guys pool together a big stack of cash, we’ll play with this together.” She whipped out an XXL, black double-ended-dildo.
Zabka yelled, “That sucker’s bigger than Mandingo’s!”
Earl’s eye grew wide as saucers. “Holy fuck! I gotta see what crazy shit they do with that!”
Candy smiled. “Now that’s the type of enthusiasm we’re looking for!”
“There are also extras we can talk about later,” Chastity added. “Ya know… if you want to have your own personal good time.” She put the dildo back in the bag and grabbed a CD. “Can someone put this on?”
Bob took the CD and brought it to their stereo system. He popped it in, pressed play, and hustled back to his seat. The first song began with some record-scratch effects, then hard drum beats. He immediately recognized it was “Buffalo Stance” and boosted the equalizer’s bass — its red lights bounced up and down.
Magnum whispered in Bob’s ear, “Hey, do you think these chicks are real Girl Scouts? Cuz they look like they’ve been driven around the block a few times. And why the heck did Zabka order a dude? He’s scary.”
Bob shook his head and chuckled to himself.
The Troop 69 girls danced and took each other’s sashes off, then worked both sides of the room while unbuttoning their shirts. Chastity eye-fucked Darryl while unhooking her bra. Candy did the same to Earl as she took off her top.
Darryl felt like he was watching in slow-motion, and as Chastity’s funbags fell out, so did the word “titties” fall out of his mouth. He gave Bob an elbow-nudge and said it again — “Titties.”
“Yeah, man, I see ’em.”
Chastity unzipped her skirt in the back and slid it off, unveiling her Girl-Scout-green G-string. She circled her hips seductively. Darryl had taken out a couple of bucks, so naturally, her attention was drawn to him. He folded the bills and put them between his lips for her to come get. She held her breasts from the sides and leaned in to take her prize. While smothering his face, his nose deep in her cleavage, she shook her fleshy-delights much to Darryl’s pleasure. Upon completion, she pulled the money out and then released it from between her tits, dropping it to the floor.
Magnum dangled a dollar, and she side-stepped his way. She leaned in and gently stroked his mustache, her lips an inch from his. Her flowery scent was intoxicating, but all he could think about was one thing.
“Are you gonna take off your shoes soon?” Magnum asked. “I gotta see your toes… your naked toes.”
“Get a lap dance later, darling,” Chastity replied. “We can work something out.” She took the dollar from Magnum’s hand.
But before she could move on, he stuttered, “Umm, excuse me.”
“Yes?” she replied.
“I’d like some change.”
“What?” Her face twisted. “Are you serious? You gave me a dollar.”
Bob’s head dropped and he covered his eyes.
“Yeah, I know.” Magnum continued. “I just feel like I didn’t get the quality of service that Darryl did, ya know?”
Chastity gave him a death-stare. “What are you telling me? You want a fuckin’ quarter back or something?”
“Actually, fifty-cents would be fine. It’s only logical.”
“Listen, asshole! My name is Chastity, not Charity! You can go…”
Bob cut-in before things could get worse. “Thank you so much, Chastity. Keep the dollar. I’ll handle this.”
“I should hope so. Nickel-n-dime shit ain’t gonna make us go wild.” She advanced to the next guy.
Bob said to Magnum, “Come on, man. You can’t be pullin’ crap like that. Understand?”
“No — no buts. Just be cool.”
On the other side of the room, Candy was taking care of each guy, one-by-one in a similar fashion. The two fathers were getting special attention because of the extra money they had to burn. Zabka spanked her and told her she was a bad girl before throwing a whopping three bucks in the air for her.
Bob emptied his beer down the back of his throat and got up to get another. He grabbed four extra and handed them out before sitting down.
The girls went for another round, but this time together. They called it “Double your pleasure, double your fun.” It also had an implied addendum — “Double your tip.” After that, they let everyone know that they were offering lap-dances for five dollars a song.
Bob quickly raised his hand and summoned Candy over. Normally, Bob wouldn’t be able to spend money on something like this — not because he didn’t want to, but because he didn’t have much — but Magnum had given him a crisp Abe Lincoln and told him to do it. Bob said to Candy, “Is it true? Are blondes more fun?”
“I think so.” She smiled seductively at him. “But you’re gonna have to tell me after we’re done.”
“I’ll definitely fill out the evaluation form.” He smiled back. “Hey, would it be cool if I put a song on for you to dance to?”
“Absolutely, sweetheart. Knock yourself out.”
Bob cupped his mouth and spoke into Magnum’s ear, telling him what to go play. Magnum thought his selection was perfect and he jumped up to complete the task.
The music stopped and the room waited in silence as Magnum switched out the CD. He put in 1984 and pressed fast-forward until reaching the sixth track. The speakers blasted Alex Van Halen’s rapid-fire drum pounding and it sounded like a motorcycle engine.
At first, Candy wasn’t so sure how to dance to the song, but then her body began to move as she mimicked Bob’s head-banging. While she was no stranger to head-banging, this wasn’t the type she’d normally be able to charge thirty bucks for.
Bob slapped his lap, a clear invitation for her to commence. She turned around and slid her peach-shaped ass into his crotch as the guitar wailed. The beat of the music was so fast that Bob couldn’t control himself and it overtook him. He grabbed her hips from behind and their animalistic waltz took hold. Bouncing and thrusting. Thrusting and bouncing. A magical routine that would’ve made Fred Astaire and Ginger Rogers hang up their dancing shoes for good.
Magnum turned their “mating ritual” into a fantasy involving Tracy Cohenstein in his head. When the chorus came, Magnum sang his own version along with it — “Got it bad, got it bad, got it bad. I’m hot for Tracy!”
Bob flipped Candy around so she faced him, and he motorboated her tits with such vigor, he shook himself silly. He then moved her to the floor as “Hot for Teacher” neared its crescendo. Lying on her back, she looked up at him with a submissive look in her eye, begging to satisfy. He stood tall above her, shaking his beer bottle with his thumb over its mouth, as David Lee Roth cried, “Oh my god!” Then, at exactly the right musical moment, he removed his thumb and released a spray of white foam all over her naked, writhing body.
When the song ended, everyone was clapping and their jaws were on the floor.
Zabka yelled, “Bravo! Bravo!”
Even the girl’s handler, the Mr. T look-alike, was impressed. He stopped the music, knowing it was time for a pause.
Bob gave Candy his hand and helped her up from the floor. He asked her what she thought.
“That was incredible,” she replied. “The best lap-dance ever.”
“It was great for me too.” He handed her the five. “You get high marks from me on your evaluation form.”
“So do you! I’m not sure what’s wetter…” Her grin turned devilish. “My tits or my panties.”
Meanwhile, Zabka and Chastity were in the corner, engaged in, what looked like, some kind of heated negotiation.
Chastity was twirling one of her pigtails while Zabka said to her, “Look, I’m obviously not a cop. See where you are? You’re in a college house. So can we dispense with this talking-in-code bullshit? I don’t want to eat your Samoas or bang a box of your Peanut Butter Patties or what-ever-the-hell… for god sakes, I just want my dick sucked. How much for that?”
“So what you’re saying is… you wanna donate to the Girl Scouts of America?” She waited for his confirmation with raised eyebrows.
“Yes, fine. I want to donate to the Girl Scouts of America.”
“That’ll be thirty bucks.”
“Whatever. Let’s go to my room.” Zabka held out his arm in that direction.
As they were leaving, Candy got the room’s attention. “Alright, everyone, listen up! It’s time to have a little bit of fun with our bachelor, Earl!”
His friends slapped him on the back while hooting and hollering.
She went to Earl, bent over, and put her hands on his knees. “You, my dear, have something very special coming.” She stood back up to address everyone. “But I need two things from you! Tips… and tequila!”
Bob jumped up to get the tequila while everyone else started throwing singles and fives, and even a few tens, in her direction. When she was satisfied that the pile of money had grown to the proper amount, she took a long, thin, glass test-tube out of her stripper-gear bag. Bob arrived with a wedge of lime and a bottle of fermented juice from the Mexican agave plant.
Candy told Earl, “I need your belt.”
“You need my what?” he replied.
“You heard me — your belt.” She held out her hand and summonsed with her fingers.
Earl’s buddy nudged him to comply while the rest of his friends clapped in unison.
“Do it!” Magnum yelled.
Earl stood up and removed his belt, which she then took it from him and said, “Get down on all fours.” She pointed at the middle of the room.
He followed orders while she folded the belt in two. She pulled the ends apart quickly and it snapped together, making a loud sound.
Earl’s face became flushed. His arms shook.
She circled him and slapped the belt into her palm.
He couldn’t help it when a couple of drops of pee came out.
Without warning, she pulled her arm back and whacked his ass with the belt. SMACK! “Are you a bad boy?”
“Um, I don’t know how to answer that quest…”
SMACK! She nailed him again.
He found his own reaction to be unsettling — part whimpering, part arousal.
Everyone was wide-eyed and silent. Bob took a tug from the tequila.
Candy said to Earl, “The answer is, yes. You are a bad boy!” She threw his belt in the corner and took his vacated seat on the couch. She put her feet and red pumps up in the air and slid her G-string off. She threw her panties at Bob and he caught them with the tequila bottle like a ringer in horseshoes. “Fill me up a shot,” she told Bob.
He did what she said and handed it to her.
She took it from him and held it straight-up by the tip above her head. With her neck tilted back, she brought the bottom seductively between her lips and all the way in her mouth without spilling any booze. She pulled the tube out and it was lubricated nicely with saliva.
Earl watched intently from the floor and wondered what was next.
Candy used two fingers to open-up her nether-regions, and slipped the tube all the way inside with a half-inch to spare. She barked a command at the bachelor. “Get your ass over here and take this shot.”
Earl crawled over until his face was practically smack-dab in her pink wet-bar. He took off his glasses, knowing he might not be able to get deep in there with them still on.
Bob said, “Hang on a second,” and handed him the lime wedge.
The wedge looked blurry to Earl as he took it.
“Hurry up,” she told him. “My pussy doesn’t have all day.”
Flustered, he squeezed the lime juice in his mouth, but a squirt went astray and nailed him in the eye. The acidic liquid was blinding.
Candy pulled Earl in by his hair, while his father watched with tears of joy.
A flash of worry entered Earl’s mind, that maybe, just maybe, Candy’s “box of sweets” might not be entirely STD-free. That’s when he decided to play this little game of Operation very carefully with just his teeth. As he went in, he heard the commercial in his mind, “But don’t touch the sides!” He went to clamp his chompers around the tube.
“Ouch!” Candy yelled while pushing him away. “You bit my labia!”
Bob thought he heard a record needle scratch. Everyone was frozen.
“You asshole!” She looked down. “I’m bleeding!”
Mr. T cracked his knuckles and stepped toward the bachelor.
The fear of Jesus was in Earl’s eyes.
Scene 7 | Scene 8