Otter Boy: The Novel — Chapter 2

Fresh off the recent publishing of Not Bukowski, Brian is at it again, this time releasing chapters of his new book Otter Boy: The Novel online. Enjoy! And feel free to comment on what you think will happen next!

The toothless, meth whore was just that… a toothless, meth whore. She needed a fix. He needed a fix.

She coughed hard and spit up a little when Otter Boy came in her mouth. He was happy she was toothless.

Otter Boy laughed to himself as he said “Hey, what’s crackin’…. whore?” Ironically his hands were on his chest but his mollusk was long drained.

Otter Boy had become a dick.

Otter Boy was born in one of those Great Lakes cities that died when all the jobs for stupid people moved to other countries. He wasn’t always called “Otter Boy” but his real name isn’t that important now that you have “Otter Boy” stuck in your melon. Trying to remember a Jim Yarnowski or a Bill Szarpa would be useless after the awesomeness of a name like “Otter Boy.”

So yeah, his city was dead just like in that Pretenders song.

His earliest memory from there was being dressed as a tiger for a Halloween parade at the nursing home where his grandfather was. It was long ago enough that the costume was just some nylon suit, too short for him. It had one of those plastic masks you couldn’t see out of and that had air holes that cut your nostrils.

Some Asian Princess marched with him through the halls as they passed patients who were busy wetting themselves or coughing loudly. There was no candy… not even any free pills.

He didn’t score with the Asian Princess. He doubted she actually was Asian and figured her as a redhead; one who had as much trouble breathing as his 5-year old self. Besides, his older life experience told him to avoid redheads.

His parents went to get the car and left him with his grandfather. Grandpa smelled.

A lot.

And badly.

He smelled like… an old man.

An old man who had recently been molested by a walrus.

Not being able to breathe well didn’t help. He decided to leave. Papa yelled after him, calling his name.

“Otter Boy! Otter Boy! Come back!”

(Remember? We don’t care about his real name so just lighten up and go with it.)

Otter Boy got in the elevator and pushed the number 5 for his age. The doors stayed open. He pressed it again. He was too young to realize he was on the fifth floor already.

His parents passed by and did a double-take at the tiger in the elevator. They got in with him and his Dad smacked him the back of the head. “Don’t do that again, ya stupid tiger.”

When he got home, he had little cuts on the edges of his nose from the stupid mask.

When he woke up today, he had little scratches on his hips from the toothless, meth whore.

(You’re right if you are thinking that you shouldn’t keep reading. Otter Boy was not likable in Chapter 2.)

Did you miss Chapter 1? Go here.

Brian is the author of this post and of the just released book Not Bukowski, which many of you schlubs don’t own yet.

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Originally published at BRIAN GERARD (LEWANDOWSKI).