Dreaming Bodies (standard:humor, 1433 words)
Author: Austen Brauker	Added: Oct 05 2010	Views/Reads: 2666/1749	Story vote: 0.00 (0 votes)
A rotund Ottawa Indian drives through a dream with a giant talking cake roll as a passenger.

Click here to read the first 75 lines of the story


The chocolate Swiss laughed until it cried. The wind was fluttering its
wrapper as they went faster, giving Turd a whiff of sugar through the 
cab. He was heavily lusting. 

“Just a small bite.” he thought. 

It swelled again. 

“Here's another one.” 

It turned to face him. The logo across the front on the treats clothing
was getting bigger. 

“Two monks go to a hot dog vendor. The guy says, ‘what'll ya have?' And
a monk answers, ‘One with everything!' ” 

It cracked itself up again, rousing the same response. The pleasant
scent had become intoxicating and it made Turd speak without thinking. 

“What about the other monk?” he asked, trying to divert his own
attention from the epiphany of pheromones, which were running 
unchecked, leading him closer toward an unsanctioned action. Saliva 
rode behind his teeth. 

“What do you mean?” 

The thing stopped laughing abruptly. 

“You said there were two monks.” He giggled. “Why was the other one in
the joke?” 

Turd didn't care about answer to the riddle. He just wanted to see it
naked. 

“Sometimes there has to be a witness.” It stated dryly. 

The speed limit read 95 and Turd was standing on the seat, looking under
the top of the steering wheel to drive. The cake roll had swollen to 
the point of bursting. It's top mass was wedged between the dash and 
ceiling. It lit another cigarette. Turd clicked the cruise control. 

“So how do you feel about product labeling?” It asked between puffs. 

They went through a series of sharp curves, squealing the tires through
the turns. 

“Product labeling?” asked Turd, confused, feeling like a circus midget. 

“Yeah, you know, a list of things that make a roll like me what I am:
sugars, fats, vitamins--although I don't have many of those myself. Got 
a lotta calories though.” 

It seemed proud. 

Turd was standing on the bottom of the steering wheel now, with his arms
outstretched to reach the top, his belly pressed at the center, about 
to beep the horn. There was barely enough room for the cake roll 
anymore, and it still smelled so horny good. If only Turd's hands were 
free to partake. 

The voice boomed louder, it sounded like it was getting angry. 

“How would you feel if you had to wear a visible label of all the things
that you were, all your constituents for the world to see. A diagnostic 
separation of your worth, on a billboard!” It tapped on the dash, 
awaiting a response. 

“I wouldn't like that.” Turd's answer was like a tiny mouse. 

“Damn right you wouldn't!” boomed the cake. 

It was almost deafening. The charismatic roll was going to blow up. The
speed limit went to 105. Turd crawled over to the cruise control and 
pulled the acceleration switch toward him. The motor raced faster, 
breaking his concentration for a moment from the loquacious snack. 

The unhealthy entity wasn't finished yet. 

“How about this.” 

It took on a different voice for a minute, like it was reading a list of
ingredients. 

“Turd. A fat Indian driving too fast on an unknown road, talking to a
giant Swiss-roll with a nicotine habit!” 

It reached over and grabbed him by the collar like a mob boss, laying it
all on the table. 

“I know what you've been thinking about, Turd, almost this entire trip.”


The truck was swerving from one side of the road to the other. 

“Don't think that I'm stupid.” 

There was an edge to it now, close to psychotic. 

“My filling. You've wanted to eat me since you laid eyes on me! Do you
want to know what it's like? Do you want to taste my creamy center? 
Well, now you will! Eat me! Eat it out! Eat me from the inside out!” 

It swallowed Turd in one bite, drowning him in angered sugar. The tires
squealed. A speed limit sign symbolized 115. 

The Swiss Cake rolled from the vehicle before it crashed. Its wrapper
was on fire as it came to rest at the side of the embankment. The thing 
seemed stunned. The truck flew off the road and exploded in a nuclear 
mushroom cloud, which sent a wall of radioactive hurricane fire 
hurtling outward at the speed of light. The cake roll withstood it for 
a moment but then hardened like an overcooked S'more. Its skin was 
flaky charcoal but underneath was a warm magmoidal heart. 

Turd burst from the middle at full size, covered in a layer of chocolate
cake and soft icing. He happily licked himself off, tasting good all 
over. 

He awoke and stood up involuntarily, forgetting where he was. 

Turd smacked his head into a storage counter above him. Pots and pans
rattled with the bang. A bag of Big Chief granulated sugar fell from 
the shelf and exploded on the floor. The crystals hissed as they 
escaped the bag with twenty seconds of snake-rooted memory. A wide-eyed 
Turd realized he was awake and at the old woman's shack. Dog was 
tossing wood on the fire. It was only a dream, though he could almost 
still taste the inorganic gorgonoid heart. The bump on his head helped 
him get back to sleep. 


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