“Zero F*cks Given” (Scene 0)

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”.

Once upon a time in Buffalo, NY…

The waitress flashed some eye-popping cleavage as she delivered lunch orders to a table of three college students.

Bob, a college senior, glared at his friend Zabka and said, “Who the fuck orders a salad?” He dropped his fork, clanging it on the table for dramatic effect. “No good story ever starts with, ‘So, I was eating a salad…’ But here you are eating a fucking salad.”

After handing out their second round of drinks, the waitress pulled down her red and black checkered shirt and adjusted her cowboy hat. “Y’all need anything else, boys?” she asked.

Zabka looked up at her and replied, “Naw, Sugar-Tits… Unless ya got a twin sister?” The look on his face was one part self-amusement and two parts severe hangover.

Daggers shot out of her eyes. “My name ain’t Sugar-Tits — it’s Wendy.”

“Like the fast-food joint?”

She stared at his face, wanting to punch it, and was pleased that someone had already taken the liberty. She commented, “Nice shiner. You should put some ice on that,” and moseyed away in her cowgirl boots and denim shorts.

The ring around Zabka’s left eye was swollen and dark purple. “Ice?” he mumbled. “I don’t need ice. Pussies need ice. Right, Bob?” He stabbed his fork through lettuce and a cherry tomato, and with a shaky hand brought it to his mouth. He had to concentrate to not drip any dressing on his cheap suit.

Magnum, their housemate, said, “Just so you know, calling women things like Sugar-Tits, and stuff like that, is offensive. It’s inappropriate to comment on their body parts.”

Zabka looked at Bob with an expression that said, Can you believe this guy?

Reflecting on Magnum’s bizarre and unexpected outbursts concerning women’s feet yesterday, Bob shrugged and took a swig of his beer.

Magnum said, “And like Bob was saying earlier — no good story ever started with, ‘So, I was eating a salad…’”

Zabka chewed, his face scrunched, pondering those words of wisdom. “Yeah, but what if I was tossin’ some chick’s salad?” He raised his eyebrows. “That’d be a good start to a story, right?”

“It sure would… except you’re not.” Bob threw his polyester tie over his shoulder. “Anyway, if we don’t have a blast today, it’s your goddamn fault.” He attacked his greasy cheeseburger, devouring half in one bite.

“Whatever.” Beads of sweat were on Zabka’s forehead. His skull was pounding.

“You look like shit. Did you throw up in the bathroom?”

“No…” Zabka took a sip of his Bloody Mary. “But I wish I had.”

Magnum felt compelled to share, “Well, I feel great.”

Bob replied, “Yeah, Magnum. That’s cuz you’re a freak of nature.”

As buddies do, they called each other by their nicknames — Zabka, because his doppelgänger was William Zabka, the blond actor in The Karate Kid whose character is an arrogant prick; Magnum, although younger and taller, for his bushy mustache, naturally tan skin-tone, and likeness to the TV private investigator; and Bob, the jovial moniker for Robert. And although it was 1993, they looked like they forgot to leave the ’80s.

Bob said to Zabka, “Come on, you need more than a salad. We have a big day ahead of us.”

“I’ll eat what I wanna eat.” Zabka grabbed an olive from his drink and tossed it at Bob, hitting him between the eyes.

Bob wiped tomato juice off his face. “Asshole.”

“Listen, I couldn’t make it to the gym, so I’m eating light.” Zabka flexed his arm and made a muscle. “You don’t get a ripped body like mine without sacrificing every once in a while.” He looked at his friend. “And Bob, you could stand to lose a few pounds. So don’t give me any shit.”

Magnum asked Zabka, “Seriously, why bother? You know today’s gonna be a repeat of last night… you’re gonna drink a hundred beers again. What’s the use?” He was also wearing an off-the-sale-rack suit and popped a new roll of 35mm film in his Kodak compact camera.

They were having lunch on that muggy summer day in a restaurant-bar called The Steer. Located near the University at Buffalo’s city campus, it was popular with students from Long Island. Its dark wood interior and the large bull’s skull and horns that hung on the wall gave the place its western vibe. A country pop-song by Billy Ray Cyrus started playing in the bar.

Magnum commented, “I’m so sick of this song. It’s on the radio all-the-damn-time.”

“Achy-Fuckin’-Breaky Heart?” Bob was physically agitated. “This sucks donkey-balls.”

Zabka said nonchalantly, “I’d Achy-Fuckin’-Breaky that guy’s nose if he was here.”

“Why? I figured that tard was your idol. Why else would you have the same stupid mullet?”

“Cuz I make it look cool,” Zabka replied. “To be honest, I could get up and line-dance to this shit and make it look cool.”

“Oh god, please don’t.” Bob closed his eyes and shook his head. “But seriously, Zabka, why’d you make us come to this hellhole? I hate this fucking place.” He watched a group of girls in matching sorority shirts and with matching nose jobs, chat up the bartender. “Oh, that’s right… because you’re sniffing around for Tracy Cohenstein.”

Magnum’s eyes grew wide as he thought about the last time he saw Tracy the previous school year. It was the end of spring semester their Junior Year and she was sunbathing in her backyard. He was perched in a tree with binoculars.

Zabka put his fork down. “Screw you, Bob. Stop trying to stir the pot.”

“Who, me?” Bob placed his hand over his heart. “I would never.”

Zabka shook his head. “Yeah, never.”

Bob was undoubtedly stirring the pot. “You two fucktards were ridiculous yesterday. Like, over the top.” He gulped down some beer and shoved a fist full of fries into his mouth. “Hey, remember the last time we came here? The bouncer tossed some douchebag into the street.”

“Oh yeah, that was hilarious,” Magnum responded. “No offense, Zabka, but I’m shocked that’s never happened to you.”

“Someone’s got the balls to try to throw me out?” Zabka scoffed. “Ha. That’s a good one.”

Bob commented, “Actually, I’m shocked Brewer didn’t toss you outta The Base last night. You were a walking-talking-stumbling shitshow.”

Zabka had a crooked smile. “They’d never — they love me. We own that bar.”

Magnum shook his head. “Everything… and I mean everything… was a fiasco yesterday.”

Bob added, “Fiasco isn’t quite the right word. It was a… clusterfuck.”

“Yep, one giant clusterfuck.” Zabka felt his black eye impulsively.

“I’m mentally scarred by several things I witnessed.” Bob shuddered. “Actually, can we please just talk about something else?”

“Sure. How about hangovers?” Magnum finished his beer and raised the bottle. “Thank god for hair-of-the-dog.”

“More like shit-of-the-dog. Dog shit — that’s what I feel like. So no, I don’t want to talk about hangovers.”

“Okay, then how about the Bills?” Zabka asked. “Their second preseason game is today.”

“Come on, I thought we were changing subjects.” Bob rubbed his temples. “The Bills are the NFL’s version of a hangover. They lost against Detroit last week. Fuckin’ Detroit!”

“Relax,” Zabka told him. “It’s preseason — means nothing. The team’s rusty and, most-likely, partying a fair amount. I’m sure things get a little wild down in Fredonia during training camp. No big deal.”

“To be frank, Buffalo is done,” Magnum stated. “They lost the last three Super Bowls. They’re done. It’s all about Miami this year. Go ’Phins!”

Zabka picked up his fork. “Fuck Miami, and fuck Marino.” He then speared a piece of chicken with his next helping of salad. “Shouldn’t you root for a Hawaiian team, Magnum? Oh shit, that’s right — there isn’t one!” As he gnawed on the meat like a piece of gum, his face slowly turned green. He spit the chicken on the floor and inspected its pink flesh. “What the fuck?!” He dry-heaved. “It’s fuckin’ raw!”

“Here less than twenty-four hours and already someone’s out to get Zabka.” Magnum shook his head. “Shocker.”

Their waitress heard the commotion and hustled over. “Is there a problem with your order?”

“A problem?!” Zabka’s adrenaline had spiked. “You’re goddamn right there’s a problem! The fuckin’ chicken ain’t cooked!”

“I’m so sorry. Let me take care of that and get you a new salad.”

“No! You will not do that! I’ll handle this myself.” Zabka stood up holding his plate, marched toward the kitchen, and slammed through the aluminum swinging-door. “Who the fuck made my salad?!”

The kitchen staff froze, alarmed by the madman with a black-eye.

Zabka scanned for the most-likely culprit and landed on the man who’d been chopping lettuce. “Hey, chico! Did you do this?!” His experience growing up as the only white kid in a Latino high school had kicked in. “Did you put raw pollo in my salad?!”

The Panamanian food preparer replied, “No, sir. I just make the vegetables.” His nervous eyes implicated his coworker — the guy cooking on the grill.

“I see.” Zabka turned to the cook. “So, it was you… Señor Fuckface, eh?” He walked over and dumped his salad on the Mexican man’s head. “Why’d you do this?! Tell me right now, or I swear, I’ll strangle your fucking neck!”

The guy gulped, fully believing Zabka’s threat. “Okay, okay. Some girl paid me fifty bucks to do it. Please don’t tell my boss. I beg you.”

“Some girl?!” Zabka looked around. “So where is this conniving little cunt? Keep talking and I might let you off the hook.”

“She was out at the bar.” He was shaking.

“Take me to her.” Zabka punched his palm. “Let’s go, motherfucker.”

Scene 0 | Scene 1


“Zero F*cks Given” (Scene 8)

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.”

“No problem.”

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


“Girl From Miami (Squish The Fish)”

Sung to the tune "Girl From Oklahoma" by Steel Panther
Tell me more!

steel panther zoom

Well, I bet you never guessed

When you got to the game

You’d be smashing through tables

And feelin’ no pain

Your boyfriend’s in the parking lot

Looking for you

He’s gonna find you when I’m done

Covered in Buffalo goo

Ooooh, Miami girl got all sticky

Silicone titties

Tramp stamp on your beaver?

Down in South Beach

You’re a wide receiver

What’d you have to do

For that field-access pass

Cuz I found a Marino jersey stuffed up your ass

Come on, Miami girl

Squish the fish all night

Checkin’ out your tailgate

Sure hope it’s tight

Dolphins gonna lose, ya know I’m right

Oooh, Miami girl, squish the fish all night

Yeah, that's it

Aaah, deflate my balls

Pinto Ron, ketchup n mustard

In the Hammer Lot

I can’t wait to do a

Bowling ball shot

Wings ‘n Labatt Blue

Is what they got

The only thing better

Is her mouth and her twat

Hey eyyy, who’s next ta fuck her

Whoa, whoa

Come on, Miami girl

Squish the fish all night

I'm part-a Bills Mafia

So please don’t bite

Here comes a batch-a blue cheese

It’ll taste alright

Oooh, Miami girl, squish the fish all night

In the AFC

There's a hundred billion wacko chicks, just like you

Hungry for dongs to screw

Come on, Miami girl

Squish the fish all night

Sneak in a dildo

Throw with all your might

Drunk near the railing

You fell outta sight

Oooh, Miami girl, squish the fish all night

Come on, Miami girl

Squish the fish all night

I'm part-a Bills Mafia

So please don’t bite

Here comes a batch-a blue cheese

It’ll taste alright

Oooh, Miami girl, squish the fish all night

Hey, Miami girl

Squish the fish all night

Zubaz’d in your end zone

Much to your delight

Dolphins gonna lose, ya know I’m right

Oooh, Miami girl, squish the fish all night

Come on, Miami girl

Squish the fish all night

“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 | Scene 8


“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


“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