The Meaning of Fuck

by
Shane Kellerman


     Pring stepped from the forbidden wormhole, exiting at Broadway and 37th Street. The inhabitants stared at him. They were large, repulsive creative with two holes centered medially in their faces.
    "Why don't you get some fucking clothes on?" one shouted. Pring's translation-crossponder blinked red on "fucking."
     The meaning of "fucking" made Pring curious.  Staring at his palm-computer, he brought up diagrams, and explanations. "Believed to be pleasurable," it said.
    He couldn't imagine how it was done or could be. Baffled, he attempted it by straddling the exhaust pipe of a bus waiting for a traffic light. He got a warm abdomen and a face full of smoke for his trouble.
    Now dubious regarding the accuracy of the computer information, he stood on a park bench at the corner of 39th Street and gave a speech detailing his confusion. Someone threw a can of beer at him.
    He was sucking the beer off his fingers when an Opposite stopped. She wore a red dress, stiletto heels, and had enormous bumpers on her chest.
     "Twenty-five bucks you can try me out," she said.
     "What is bucks?"
     "Moolah, cash, dough."
     Finally Pring comprehended. He had no money, but would give her a month's supply of brain candy.
     She took him to a hotel.
     "What's with this creep, Lola?" The desk clerk scowled at Pring.
     "Hey," she said, "if I don't mind a guy with eggs for feet, why should you?"
     She took Pring to a room with a picture of a Same with sideburns on the wall. It said, "Fondly, Elvis."
     Lola got undressed. She was deformed with frightening mountains on her torso and jungle grass below.
     "You ready?" she said.
     "Are we in love?" Pring asked.
     "Short of brains too, eh creep? Come over here."
     He sat beside her on the bed, his feet not reaching the floor. She examined him.
     "Well how are we supposed to if you haven't got one?" she said.
     "One what?"
     Lola explained. With some embarrassment Pring said he would use his thumb.
     "No problem." Lola started laughing.
     Pring stood beside the bed and used his thumb.
     "That's not the right place," Lola said. "That's my belly button."
     "I don't understand."
     "I'll call Wilbur and he'll show you."
     A minute later the desk clerk came in the room. He took off his clothing, and Pring watched as Lola and Wilbur did a strange human thing. It was very ugly Pring decided although it also made him laugh.
    Suddenly Lola's alarm-watch sounded.
     "That's it, boys, got to go. Girl's got to earn a living."
     Pring watched her dress. She had an edible wart on her right elbow.
     "I would desire a kiss," he said.
     "Don't be crazy! Whores don't kiss."
     After she left, Pring stepped back in the worm-hole. His thumb was swelling and turning green. Certain he was in love, he put it in his mouth.  If he understood correctly, the thumb would grow large and eventually give birth to smaller thumbs.
     "Then I will be a father," he thought proudly, as he exited the worm-hole where blue rivers shine in the midnight sky, feeling somewhat ambiguous as to whether he really wanted such a bizarre creature to become his child.
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