***(Editor’s Note: This short story was written when I was 21 for Ishmael Reed’s short fiction class at U.C. Berkeley. First time published.)***
Bulbus and Rotunda’s Anniversary
By Wajahat Ali
In a land not too far away, in a time not too far back, there lived a simple loving couple in a simple cottage house celebrating their fiftieth marriage anniversary quite simply.
“Silence your undulating phallus, Succubus! Thou art the most vile, reprehensible, ungodly, irretrievably ugly, debased, bestial creature that I have ever laid my fair eyes upon,” shouted Bulbus lovingly, as lovingly as he could in his thick brogue towards his lovely wife of fifty years, Rotunda.
The Succubus just sat there and laughed her usual demonic laugh, probably summoning all the powers of her evil, dark relatives from Hell against me. Laughing at me with a piercin’, shriekin’, banshee laugh of hers which sounds like two mutated goats in heat fornicatin’. The laugh that’s like a dagger ripping through my flesh. Flashin’ those putrid teeth of hers, which resemble jagged rocks painted yellow and fungus green. I am forced to listen to her inhalin’ and exhalin’ with each monstrous nostril. I’m amazed that air can even escape that thick maze of nostril hair. Snortin’ her laughs and rubbin’ her belly like a well kept sow, the Succubus sneers at me with those oil black, reptilian eyes of hers, mostly covered by large flaps of eyelid fat.
Fat. A very descriptive word. The three letters F-A-T combined together basically describe the bovine that is my wife. A behemoth, stout bovine with uncombed, coarse greyin’ hair on the head…and other places, mind you, standin’ on what appears to be two inverted bowlin’ pins that I like to call her legs. My God, look at the size of those! But, hopefully, if the angels are by my side, I won’t have to gaze upon them ever more after tonight.
“Oh, shut yourself up, ya no-good, bald plated, impotent, flatulent son of a thievin’ whore. At least my phallus undulates, as it should, unlike someone’s I know. Hmmm? What’s that? Cat got your tongue? Probably has pecked your pecker as well. Probably played a little diddle on that tiny fiddle. Probably played a doodle on that limping noodle. Probably picked a berry that wasn’t that hairy,” scoffed Rotunda lovingly, as lovingly as she could, towards her beloved husband of fifty years, Bulbus.
Fecus, as I like to call him because his entire body permeates a terrifyingly, mind numbin’, odious odor, sits there on his oak chair where his GI-gantic arse has left a permanent groove in the wood. He’s red with anger –as usual. Oh, how I love it when I get him riled so. It just tickles me pink. Ah, one of those feelings that make a lady feel alive again.
But then I see that pathetic, hulkin’ slob of a man, my soul aches with disgust again. The ogre grovelin’ away at the turkey – my turkey! Even eatin’ the bone with his three good teeth. A pity. The creature with the tinier brain eatin’ the creature with the larger brain. How unfortunate – a word that perfectly describes the man, and I wouldn’t even call him that but I’m feelin’ generous today, that happens to be my husband. He usually sits on his arse groove because his pregnant belly conveniently hangs over his belt, almost conveniently coverin’ his family jewels.
The added weight from the front end is almost, but not quite, counterbalanced by the heavin’ sacks of gravy that I like to call his arse on the back end. It would be enough to balance both sides, however one must take into account his saggin’ man-breasts that push the scales in front and cause his height to decrease by about 5 inches. It’s convenient for him though; at least he can lick off some of his spilled food from his collars. Speaking’ o food, I actually tried makin’ the turkey somewhat tasty tonight – thought he might as well enjoy the last few licks he’ll ever have.
“This turkey tastes like somethin’ the devil himself crapped out!” complained Bulbus vehemently. “Oooooh, God Forbid, the Succubus could’ve made somethin’ edible for once. Why don’t you use some of yer black magic voodoo potion and ask yer relatives from Hades for a tasty recipe?” asked Bulbus in a sneering, sarcastic way that only Bulbus could.
“Oh, quit yer yappin’! You wouldn’t know the difference considering yer obscene lack of personal hygienics,” retorted Rotunda. “Now why don’t you shut yer balls for once and quit complainin’ ya three toothed, hairy, incompetent wolverine. Eat yer food and don’t mess up my anniversary party,” demanded Rotunda in a snide, condescending, emasculating way that only Rotunda could.
“Patience, Bulbus, patience,” Bulbus told himself. “Just tolerate that banshee’s screams for just a tad bit longer, and then sweet, heavenly silence shall be yours for eternity. All I have to do is act cordial and nice for a moment and propose a toast. I’ve done that before, I recall….where was that? Ah yes….the time I sold my humanity and soul to Satan and married his bride, the Succubus!!! Argh! I’ll try not lookin’ at her directly, lest her Medusa-face makes me vomit her wretched excuse of a turkey- dinner, and instead propose a toast.”
“Don’t inhale for the next two minutes,” Rotunda coached herself. “Try to bear his noxious odor for a little while longer, just a few more minutes take in the fumes of ugly and then ye can finally be free. All I have to do is smile and propose a toast, and unnatural elements shall take care of the rest. Smile, I remember I did that once, ah yes, right before I gave my chastity and purity away to the obese, baldin’ anti Christ himself!!! Just smile and propose a toast.”
“I prop -,” started Rotunda.
“I prop –,” started Bulbus.
“Oh, please you first, my…fair lady,” gushed Bulbus biting his lips in an attempt to hide his childlike glee.
“Oh no, no, no umm brave err most umm non-obese prince, you first,” pleaded Rotunda. Averting her eyes from Bulbus and dry hacking in response to her false words.
“Well, if I must. A-hem. Let me begin To Rotunda, the most eloquent…loving…and healthy…very, very healthy wife a man like me could ever have. I propose a toast to you and our…oh so happy, happy 50 years of marital bliss…and hopefully many more years to come.”
“And to you, Bulbus, my…oh…so charming…fragrant prince…you have pleased me…in ways…. that no man ever has…nor can. I, in return, propose this toast to you and our…oh so happy, happy 50 years of marital bliss…and hopefully many more years to come.”
Rotunda and Bulbus both drank from their respective goblets, looking at each other all the while. Both hardly able to contain their happiness as they imagined their new lives and new beginnings. As their lips and tongues caressed the sweet wine, Rotunda and Bulbus, eyes on the other, momentarily recalled a brief, fading flicker of happiness both felt on the day of their marriage. After the moment faded, both the goblets fell to the ground, and Rotunda and Bulbus began their new journey together.