The Snake Kid

Dead Planet XCVI

The Snake Kid

“A cephalopedalis.
Well. How nice.”
—Philip K. Dick,
The Man in the High Castle

I was pretty skeptical at first—skanky rumors were always circulating in the Red Light District as usual. I discounted them as nothing more than just some more juicy horror story hearsay. I yawned in kitschy disbelief.

Then I met one. It was a “stormy, rainy night” as the story goes. I was coming home from the Zero slightly tipsy—hardly drunk though.

It was a Saturday night—the Tokyo fag-noir slick rainy streets were sullen & moody as usual. I was walking down the alley to my place—taking the fire-escape up there. Cause the elevators weren’t working late at night anymore.

I stopped to light a cigarette. It’s then I noticed it—I was being followed. By somebody or something. I had this uneasy feeling that I was being stalked—it sent goosebumps up & down my nelly spine....

The hair on the back of my neck—bristled & stood straight up. The last time I felt that way—was the time I got rolled by the Octopus gang. A lowlife bunch of Yakuza wannabe punks. They hated mutants—and faggots too, of course.

“Gotta light?” the kid said.

I turned around & there was this gorgeous number in a trench coat. He had shades on even at this time late at night. But I could tell he had really strange slit-like snake-eyes starring at me—I could tell because they glowed in the dark.

I flicked my Bic & he steadied my hand—I was shaking pretty bad because I was so nervous. No surveillance cameras in the back alleys—making them perfect setups for crime & murder. But by then I didn’t have time to run. Besides the kid was kinda cute.

He was smoking some kind of weird Hong Kong “funny joint.” He blew it in my face—exhaling it in a long series of smoky ghostly circles of lust. He didn’t need a light—he needed something else.

Before I knew it—I was higher than a kite too. That Hong Kong weed was dynamite—must’ve been laced with opium probably. I motioned to the kid to follow me. Down the alley & up the fire escape. Into the darkness—since the electricity had been cut off. To save bucks—since Fukushima.

Up in my dumpy apartment—I lit the faux Liberace Vegas candelabra—all the Tokyo queens had them for tricking late at night, coming home from the bars. I fixed a couple of drinks—without asking him what he wanted.

“S-s-s-s-s-s…” he whispered in my ear.

“Does that mean you like me—or you’re gonna kill me, huh?” I asked, smirking.

The kid smiled. He let me see this long snaky forked tongue—it came slithering outta his mouth. He had these tight cruel lips—he was so new-born & vulnerable. Just outta the vats. He wasn’t used to smiling. But I could make him smile...

We stood there in the kitchen—totally amazed at first. I’d never seen a guy with a tongue like that—of course, I’d heard rumors about Fukushima snake boyz by then. Everybody had. This was before I really started getting into it. Enough to take a chance on love...

I was easily seduced though—he was my first Snake Kid. His tongue was at least a foot long, forked at the end & quiveringly pink. As if he were smelling me out—you know, the way snakes check out their prey? He got it halfway down my throat & I tried to keep it together. It was hard though...

“Don’t I know you from somewhere?” I said sipping my tequila. Trying to make a joke of it all. Surely it was just my stoned imagination—like I surely hadn’t felt that obscene snaky thing tickling my tonsils dontchaknow? The tequila tried to make me forget—Johnny Walker was scarce these dayz. I wished I had some though...

The kid just shrugged—he was good at it. He played it low-key—but he was definitely tres radioactive hot stuff. Probably just in from Fukushima was my bet.

“I remember,” I said to myself. “It was that kitschy Mexican flick outta the Sixties—you know don't ya, “Brainiac.” Directed by the famous cult director Chano Urueta—known as “El Baron del Terror” the brain-sucking vampire from hell?”

The kid just shrugged.

“You know,” I continued, trying to loosen up the conversation. “About that fiendish reincarnated Baron—who comes back outta the past to get even with all the relatives of the guyz who burned him at the stake back during the Inquisition. What a fuckin weird flick, man!!!”

The kid just shrugged. He narrowed his eyes though—checking me out to see if I was for real. For some reason I amused him, made him feel different, funky.

I fixed us another drink. Yeah, it was an awesome horror flick—garish, flamboyant, even baroque. Kinda like what was going on now. Impossible yet appealing in that satirical Mexican trashy kitschy way of dishing American juvenile drive-in sexploitation movies way back then.

I looked at the kid—he looked at me. I was wondering to myself like what the fuck was under that mysterious trench coat of his? He wouldn't take it off. Suddenly there went that long, skanky tongue again—flicking in & out. Nervously checking me out. Jeeze, how creepy. It turned me on to no end. This gotta be a dream I said to myself.

The fiendishly infernal Baron would seduce his prey—and stick his long snaky forked-tongue down deep into their brains, piercing the base of their skulls where the reptilian brain resided. Then the fiend would suck & slurp with his long rubbery icky serpent tongue—all the gooey soft succulent brains outta his screamy victims. Mostly chicks...goodlooking ones. But some guyz too...

All of this was running thru my over-sensitive hyperactive mind—kinda like a “sudden fiction” fantasy. It was the way I had of reducing the terror & horror of living in doomed Tokyo after Fukushima—trying to make a sudden short story now & then outta the whole thing. A sick satire, I know—but it got me through by day to day.

Then, there it was again—the kid’s slithery snaky tongue checking me out. But this time it kept slithering all the way down—down the inside of the kid’s trench coat & out between his legs. It was the biggest, most evil-looking tongue I’d ever seen. It crept down the edge of the sofa & onto the floor.

“The last mutant guy I had—was a studly albino Iguana kid,” I said to calm my nerves in the surreal situation I found myself in. Again the kid just shrugged—sipping his drink. It’s then I realized he wasn’t hearing anything I said—his ears were plugged with earplugs & he was listening to some weird dubstep music from London. It had lots of base—and he obviously liked it.

The kid spread his legs—and started unbuttoning his trench coat. It reminded me of a scene outta that campy, kitschy “Cobra Island” Grade-B trashy flick—with that exquisite Venezuelan bombshell Maria Montez. Worshipping this simply huge King Cobra monstrous Snake—and having all these naked screaming male lovers thrown into the flaming pit of this huge continually-erupting Volcano.

Suddenly I felt awfully denuded & nakedly vulnerable—like Sabu in “The Thief of Baghdad.” Having rubbed & masturbated the magic lamp—until finally it had a wet dream and began ejaculating the Evil Genie into existence. I had three wishes to save my fucking ass—my first one would be to get the fuck outta there.

The kid just smirked at me—I really can’t blame him. I was a real fruitcake—I seemed to live in a constant state of kitschy Grade-B movie horror & fake fantasy.

I kept trying to snap outta it—my eyes were bulging out. The kid let me see everything. Like he wasn’t wearing anything under his trench coat. Not even a pair of pants or shorts or even a jock. His military boots were knee-high—the trench coat went down to his ankles.

I sat there stoned & totally amazed—hypnotized by his young male Lizard beauty like a doomed bird by a snake inching closer & closer. He was covered with these shiny snake-scales that glowed iridescently in the Tokyo night. His muscular physique & flat stomach coiled & uncoiled like an adolescent Anaconda deep in some Amazonian humid swamp. His penis was this huge Gila monster. And it had beady eyes lookin' at me...

“You Fuckushima guyz are really something,” I said.

He must’ve read my lips—because he nodded & smiled. He was in his own world—higher than a kite. The trench coat was so filthy & rotten it virtually just rotted off him, shedding like some discarded, useless snakeskin on the floor.

The Snake Kid kept coiling & uncoiling—like some mutant kind of half-human half-lizard boa-constrictor. He’d completely distended into his Snake Kid alien avatar existence—lithely stretching himself & expanding his muscular body like the beautiful genetically-engineered serpent-wonder that he was. A huge thick Snake with two arms & two legs—and a manly Marine-style buzzcut that made him appear even more macho male & streamlined.

I’d heard it thru the Yakuza grapevine—the Jap Elite black budget Snake Shock Troops had been grown in underground vats secretly under the nukes. They were part of NWO hidden agenda for covert endgame times—and it wasn’t gonna be pretty.

The Snake Kid had been part of a cold-blooded, ruthless, alien-enhanced, back-engineered Klone Army from Hell—like Herr Doktor Pretorius announced in “The Bride of Frankenstein.” Except something went wrong…

The nefarious plan for world conquest—had been rudely detoured & sidetracked by the Fuckushima fiasco. Internecine warfare had broken out among the nasty NWO factions—things got down & dirty. HAARP & Earthquake weapons—had been turned around & used at their former allies, zeroing in on Japan. An Illuminati bitch fight was going on—between Big Oil, Big Nukes, Free Energy, Big Anglos & Asians, Big conflicting Spheres of Influence.

But all that came to an end—with the Fuckushima Fuck Up. The Jap Lizard Army rebelled—the Yakuza Faction got pissed off. Hidden agendas—fell apart. And now there were these young Lizard runaways & escapees—fleeing to Tokyo, Bangkok & Hong Kong. So much for the Old NWO—but what was next?

I didn’t know—and I didn't care. I didn’t wanna know anything. All I wanted to know was this kid—this cute Python Diva kid. This Snake Boy all erect like a Cobra & stretched out on my sofa giving me the eye. Oh baby—it was the Evil Eye that made me do him. And did I have the Snake blues bad a week later...when he said goodbye & left for his Bangkok rendezvous with his buddies.

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