NSFW: If you don't like over-the-top, gratuitous violence-for-the-sake-of-violence violence, you may not like this story. But, it is quite funny if you're into that sort of thing.
Chelsea Lynn Howard had been engaged to Chestnut Barlow for approximately two months, three days, twenty-two hours and thirty-four minutes when she cheated on him for the second time. As for the first man, the police were not concerned with his whereabouts and neither am I. This is the story of the second man: the unfortunate Harvey Bottomsworth. Harvey Bottomsworth stumbled upon Chelsea Lynn Howard at what could only be described as a train wreck of a bar, The Hindenbeer.
It was a slow night, unlike most. Usually Chelsea dashed around the crowded bar, sloshing beer from her tray of drinks onto the crowd of assembled addicts, but tonight she leaned against the end of the bar, her jaw rolling as she loosened her remaining teeth on a piece of Bazooka bubble gum. Her only table had already cashed out and the bartender-- One-Armed-Cal-- was easily handling the alcoholics seated at the rotting bar.
Cal used the stump of what used to be his right arm (lost after an unfortunate infection to his favorite heroin injection site) to shove a poorly shaken martini to the man whose bare ankles stuck out of his large trench coat. There was a woman next to him who did not have a drink but did have an infection in the hole in her neck. She eyed the man on the other side of her (the one flicking cigarette ashes into his wine glass) as he paused from his task to sip from the concoction. The woman scratched at the hole in her neck, she wanted one of his cigarettes.
Chelsea had taken her ring off at the beginning of her shift as usual. She didn’t want to lose the tips. Besides, Chestnut didn’t mind. A few rubs under a table, a quick bend in a short skirt, or sometimes she’d let a guy take a spin behind the dumpster out back for a few extra dollars. More money meant more drugs for the both of them, so why would Chestnut mind what she had to do for it? Besides she liked feeling wanted, and just Chestnut would never be enough. “Whatever makes you happy,” he always said, his drug-addled brain had never fully understood the concept of fidelity.
As odd as it may seem to those who respect the long held tradition of marriage as a bond between two people, allowing Chelsea to sleep with other men was not the result of a lack of respect for commitment on Chestnut’s part but rather the result of a brain too small to understand that Chelsea Lynn was only engaged to him because of his tendency to pay the water bills on time and his small meth lab in the back of their trailer. Chestnut’s love for Chelsea was stronger than his love for himself. He put her before himself in all ways. His wedding vow to her would be to forever make her happy, and if he could not fulfill this promise fully he was fine allowing another man to do the job. Chelsea, on the other hand, was just happy to have a steady supply of meth and someone to hurt anyone who disrespected her.
She pulled a strand of the gum out of her mouth twirling it around her finger as she leaned against the bar. She’d noticed the man at the end of the bar glancing at her every few seconds, the one in the cut off jean shorts sprawled out with his leg up on another stool like he owned the place. She couldn’t help but blush, as one of the man’s hairy testicles protruded from the edge of the shorts; he winked. Chelsea didn’t think anything of it. She was used to men looking at her like that. They loved the way she piled up her hair in a bump on top of her head (little did they know it was held up with half a pound of hair spray). She always kept just a hint of lipstick on her teeth- so they could lick it off and she knew men thought her muddy brown lazy eyes were chocolaty and warm. Her curves always caught their attention; she imagined they wanted to hang onto her love handles and watch the stretched out heart tattoo on her lower back go up and down. She knew they thought her smile was mysterious and coy, they didn't know she didn't smile with her teeth because she was missing three, but then again that was three more than most girls in town.
one of the man’s hairy testicles protruded from the edge of the shorts; he winked
Finally the man stretched out at the bar slurred out, “Hey Foxy. That your natural color?”
She flicked a lock, truly a dreadlock, of bleached-out hair over her shoulder, ready to deliver the scornful smirk she usually awarded customers that dared to hit on her without tipping. But her smirk was frozen as her eyes finally met the speakers’. She had always had a soft spot for men with eyes, and he even had both.
“Usually this slow in here?” he wiped some white powder from his nose. “I’m new in these parts.”
She casually undid her apron from around her shapeless waist, allowing him to catch a glance of the stretch marks exposed by her too small uniform. She set the apron down on the bar and began to examine her hands, tinted orange from drugstore tanner.
“No, just tonight. Not too upset though, don't want to work. There’s better stuff I could be doing” She finished cleaning some gunk out from under her chipped, sparkly nails, mimed smoking a joint and looked up at him.
He had dark sunken eyes overshadowed by a thick, overgrown unibrow. His nose was hooked and prominent with a large booger perpetually hanging from it. His face had that look of a man who’d hit rock bottom: grimy and unshaven. He was out of shape, and had neither seen a doctor nor a dentist in years. In short he was pretty ugly, yet for some inexplicable reason her interest in him was not only peaked but extraordinarily intense.
She pulled her hunk of stiff hair into a ponytail, a move she used to inspire thoughts of raunchy hair pulling in the mind of the viewer.
He smiled, revealing a set of his own not so pearly whites, “I can imagine a girl like you needing to relax once in a while,” and unfortunately for Harvey, they were in bed within the hour.
Of course it wasn’t in an actual bed. They hadn’t even left the parking lot of The HindenBeer. It was in the front seat (he had been too stiff to slide into the back seat and too lazy to get out of the car) of his 1967 Chevy Impala.
“Let’s just go get a room at the motel across from the casino,” Chelsea moaned. She pretended not to know the name. Her back kept slamming into the steering wheel; it was quite painful.
“I don't wanna spend money on a chick I just met,” he panted, “besides, I don’t have much longer to go.”
He was correct. But their quick interaction was not cut short due to his lack of stamina but rather by his beeper. He checked it and nodded deeply as if the number flashing on the screen had some hidden meaning.
She was confused and upset. How could he have been so rude? He didn't want to spend money on her? Shouldn’t she desperately entrance a man like that? He should desire her more than he’d desired any other woman he’d ever had in his life, because of course she assumed a man like that would never have been able to get a woman more beautiful than her. Her jaw still hung down, her mouth wide open in shock revealing her rotting teeth as she tried to puzzle together why he didn’t want her anymore.
Harvey waved his hand in front of her face, “Hey lady, I have to go!” He chuckled and muttered under his breath, “Women shouldn’t have their mouth open unless my dick is in it.”
She stumbled out of the car. She had to sit down on the curb to shake her head a few times before finally wandering back into the Hindenbeer (returning from her “smoke break,”). She wished she’d brought a couple lines or something stronger.
Cal stood behind the bar filling out a crossword with his shaky hand, and the few customers left at the bar barely noticed the sheet white Chelsea. She didn’t have a single table for the remaining two and a half hours of her shift. She spent the rest of her time twirling her gum around her finger while examining her reflection in the mirror behind the bar.
She went over her face inch by inch. Perhaps her ears had grown. Maybe he’d caught sight of an emerging gray hair, or worse, knew she had to dye it to combat them. But after her examination she concluded that he was an idiot. There was no other explanation for why in the world he would not be interested in her. She was perfect, or least that's what she told herself. Chelsea didn’t take insults well, especially not from men, and to Chelsea, not wanting her was the biggest insult of all.
She cried on her walk home, ignoring the whistles and jeers passersby called out to her. Her cheap mascara dripped down her face, cutting thick black trenches through her caked on face. Chelsea fantasized about Harvey, his white ribbed tank top, the way it was stretched slightly off his belly, the dark dusting of hair along the yellowed edges of the tank. She imagined combing through his thinning hair and tracing the line of his double chins with her fingertips.
She imagined combing through his thinning hair and tracing the line of his double chins with her fingertips.
The trailer Chestnut and Chelsea shared was on the outskirts of town.They had parked the trailer in the front yard of Chestnut’s parents’ back when their plans of traveling as performers had fallen through and they simply hadn't moved it since.
Chestnut had met Chelsea back when she worked at The Boobie Bungalow. He thought she had a great career ahead of her as a dancer. He’d told her, “Between my head for the business and your body for the business, we could have it made.” The Dancing Bare would be a traveling venue combining the strip club and the circus into one. There was really only one act so far, in which Chelsea would simultaneously take off her clothes and dance with a live bear. They’d gotten cut short in planning when Chestnut found out catching a live bear was a lot harder than he’d originally thought.
Catching a live bear was a lot harder than he'd originally thought.
Chestnut had been camping out for almost two days when he finally saw a bear. He was so high on LSD and the crank hits he kept taking that he barely realized a day had passed. He’d surrounded the tent on all sides with bear traps (an idea that turned out to be very problematic when Chestnut tried to pop a squat). The scent of the raw hunk of flesh clinging to the metal trap (that had once been attached to Chestnut’s behind) reached the nose of a certain woodland creature. But sadly Chestnut, who was in too much pain and too high, did not realize until he brought it home to Chelsea that this was in fact a raccoon and not a bear. And so there they were, in their rusty trailer in front of Chestnut’s parents’ house.
When Chestnut heard her steps crunch up to the trailer he didn’t bother to brush the white powder off his nose and rushed to meet her at the door. Even in his cross faded state he could tell something was wrong as soon as she walked in. She was a mess. He grabbed her as she collapsed into his arms letting him dip her back as if she’d fainted.
“Oh Chestnut!” she shrieked, fanning her forehead.
"Honey Poo,” Chestnut crooned, he painted soft kisses across her cheekbones, licked up the mascara streaks from her cheeks and sucked gently on her nose. He kissed her roughly, their tongues swirling deeply into one another's mouths. He coughed slightly, gagging on something in his mouth. He plunged a grubby finger deep into his throat and pulled out a rotting, green tooth that didn’t belong to him. He laughed and Chelsea smiled, her grin another tooth short. He kissed the tooth and whispered, “Another part of you that is completely mine.”
It was only when she didn’t smile at this glorious display of affection that Chestnut realized something was off, “What’s wrong, sugar lips?” He clutched his acne covered chest as if he could physically feel the pain she was in. Whatever had hurt her, hurt him too.
Ever since Chestnut had started seeing Chelsea he had been a changed man. He’d cut down his drug use to only one or two hits a day. His heart swelled with pride at how happy Chelsea had been for him when he’d told her of his plan to start cooking meth. It was recently after this that he asked her to marry him. He felt so much happier, healthier, more alive, but that could’ve just been the heroin. The coke took the edge off of his withdrawal from her when she was at work and when she came home, no matter how many hickeys covered her neck, the sight of her even calmed the bugs he felt crawling in his skin.
When Chelsea told Chestnut about the man at the bar his fists clenched and his jaw tightened, his teeth grinding unconsciously. The rage seeped through Chestnut, latching its claws into the very sinew of his being. His lazy eye rolled in its socket and his arms tightened around Chelsea so much she squealed. Emotions swirled through his mind like a toilet bowl going around and around. In his head the voices screamed at the man in the bar. How dare a man brush Chelsea Lynn Howard off his shoulder like she was nothing more than an insignificant fly buzzing in his ear! Chelsea Lynn was not the type of woman to easily forget, let alone insult her worth. Chestnut took the man’s rudeness as a personal attack. To Chestnut, acting as if Chelsea Lynn was not good enough was worse than a dealer shorting him. To Chestnut Barlow this was a heinous crime.
To Chestnut Barlow this was a heinous crime.
His anger at the thought of someone hurting her overshadowed any trace of a thought that he could be angry at her. The way he saw it, if sleeping with other men (or women) made her happy then she should do it. That was all he wanted, to see that toothless little grin of hers. He would do anything to keep that beautiful, greenish smile on her face. Besides, he kind of liked thinking about her with other people. The thought of Chelsea with another man excited his perverse mind but even that image faded as the fury took over.
Chelsea wiggled a little in his arms until he was forced to loosen his grip on her fat rolls and he began stroking her tangled hair, reassuring her that it would be alright. He sat his pimply chin on her shoulder. His left eye twitched slightly and his lazy eye had finally stopped rolling and it started unfocused at the wall. He barely moved when Chelsea Lynn broke their embrace to find the secret stash of crack she’d shoved in one of the mouse holes in the trailer.
Chestnut remained in the front of the trailer, he stood for a while unmoving, unblinking. Then slowly he began to tear the already existing holes in his tee shirt open larger exposing more of his mark-covered chest. His hands clawed at his own arms, his cheeks, his neck as he stood there staring at the peeling walls. Chestnut thought he could feel the bugs crawling in his skin, awoken by the anger boiling his blood. He did not return to their fold out bed for several hours and by that time Chelsea Lynn was passed out or just too stoned to move when he climbed in next to her. There were deep ruts and scratches all over him the next morning. His face and ears were still as red with anger as the fresh wounds along his arms.
Harvey Bottomsworth was a very unfortunate man. He was unfortunate to have chosen The Hindenbeer bar and unfortunate to have flirted with the aging crack addict waitress Chelsea Lynn Howard. It was unfortunate that Harvey was an asshole and an idiot but even more unfortunate was how he returned to The Hindenbeer the following evening. Sure, the beer was flat and the place smelled of cheese but that waitress wasn’t terrible at giving head and she didn’t seem as crazy as most of the chicks he’d been screwing. Besides, how could one more round with her in his Chevy hurt?
As soon as Harvey walked in Chelsea Lynn was all over him. “Can I grab you something to drink?” She crooned as she leaned up against his beer belly, “This one’s on me if you do me a little favor later.”
Harvey loved the slutty ones. The work had already been done. He didn’t really care that the cause of the girl’s willingness to get into his bed was probably some ex boyfriend with quick fists or even an “overly affectionate” father. Yes they were screwed up, loose and probably a little diseased but he was a forty-seven year old drug dealer with body odor and rotting teeth, could he do better?
After serving him six beers, two shots of Wild Turkey and a few under the table gropes Chelsea Lynn followed the stumbling man to his car. Unfortunately for Harvey, he was just intoxicated enough to decide Chelsea was finally worth a drive somewhere. He enjoyed Chelsea Lynn’s continued gropings on the way to her trailer.
When they arrived at the trailer the drinks were really getting to him and he barely made it up the stairs inside without Chelsea’s assistance. Despite the weight of his beer belly, the drinks had still gotten the best of him.
“You know what I love?” Chelsea Lynn whispered, tracing his ear with a slobbery tongue.
Harvey had no response other than a deep belch.
“Shower sex.” She proceeded to drag him down the tiny hallway to the cramped closet of a bathroom.
Once inside the bathroom Chelsea accidentally lost her hold on Harvey’s arm allowing him to flop onto the mold crusted floor. His head lolled on his neck as if he were a broken bobble head doll and as he fell it smacked, with a sickening squelch onto the empty toilet paper holder.
Chelsea giggled as she plopped down on top of Harvey, perching over his lap. “We’re going to have so much fun together, aren’t we?”
Harvey managed a weak, non coherent moan and his tongue protruded from his mouth.
She hopped up from his lap, quickly, but not quickly enough to avoid the stream of vomit that flew from Harvey’s mouth. Horrified, and dripping in a mixture of stomach acid and beer Chelsea stood up and screamed, “CHESTNUT.” Then Chestnut entered the bathroom.
Then Chestnut entered the bathroom.
He wore nothing but a white ribbed tank top and steel toed boots. Harvey was slumped against the wall, his face smashed against a wad of hair that was stuck to it. Chestnut shoved him over the toilet, sending his forehead slamming into the seat. For a moment Chestnut paused, staring at the back of the man’s bloody head and then Harvey broke his trace, this time sending a waterfall of barf into the toilet.
Chestnut slammed his boot against the back of Harvey’s head cracking his open mouth down on the edge of the mildew covered toilet seat and it only took a few more strikes to completely shatter Harvey’s jaw. Chestnut then pulled Harvey’s head backwards by his hair, examining the small array of broken teeth that had managed to stay in his mouth. He smiled slightly and then turned to face Chelsea, scratching at a sore on his cheek. “Get on top of him.”
Chelsea looked at Chestnut for a brief second, her brows furrowed in confusion and then she obeyed, straddling Harvey’s barely conscious form, leaning over the toilet bowl, and propping herself up against the tank. Chestnut’s arms wound their way around her waist, he placed one hand on top of Harvey’s head, and the other he poised over Chelsea’s, on the handle of the toilet.
With the first flush Chestnut pushed Harvey’s head deep into the puke filled toilet water. Immediately Harvey’s seemingly weak, lifeless body began squirming in resistance. A pitiful gurgling came from the bowl of the toilet as Harvey fought for breath. Together, Chestnut and Chelsea flushed and kissed as Harvey’s squirms grew more and more urgent. Chestnut, egged on by the buckling of Harvey’s squirming body and Chelsea’s naked body, was getting harder and harder. He finally shoved it in her ass he lost hold of Harvey momentarily and he cried out, “Holy fuck, Please!” Chestnut grabbed Harvey’s hair harder, ripping a chunk out before slamming it back into the lot. He started off slow, thrusting with each flush. He tried to convey his love for Chelsea with each strike of his partially flaccid penis. Chestnut’s nuts slapped against Chelsea’s ass. He cried out in pleasure, assuming the wet slurping noise was from Chelsea’s butt and not the man drowning in the toilet and he forced Chelsea’s hand down on the knob faster.
Assuming the wet slurping noise was from Chelsea's butt, and not the man drowning in the toilet
The water in the toilet bowl swirled round and round, growing into a continuous swirl as they flushed faster and faster. Harvey’s struggles became weaker and weaker and blood followed the water trailing into the drain. He was still alive. He had just given up; he couldn’t fight the pain anymore; waterboarding was more than he could handle. Perhaps a stronger man could have continued the struggle to escape but Harvey was not a strong man. He was an unfortunate man.
It took quite some time to fully finish off Mr. Bottomsworth and when Chestnut finally emerged from the bathroom he was sweating heavily, his knuckles swollen from clutching Harvey’s hair.
Chelsea Lynn lay partially dressed on the cot they called a bed and Chestnut went to her. She smiled up at Chestnut and reached out towards him. Chestnut joined Chelsea in bed wrapping his arms around her, nudging her awake as he spooned her. He nuzzled her greasy hair and peppered her neck with kisses. She didn’t open her eyes as she murmured: “Is it done?”
Chestnut Barlow nodded as he said to his fiancée, “The water bill is going to be high again this month.”
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