Fresh off the recent publishing of Not Bukowski, Brian is at it again, this time releasing chapters of his new book Otter Boy: The Novel online.
Meet Otter Boy.
Fueled by fantasy but held back by reality.
The dude is kind of an ass…or is he?
Follow along as new chapters appear.
The crowd was loud and chatty. iPhones played iTunes. The sun shined and glimmered off the water and onto the sides of the building in cosmic, rippling patterns.
The gate slowly opened. Very slowly. It creaked. A few pool-goers looked up.
From the entry shadows he moved, so all could see. The chatting simmered down to a murmur. That murmur became wispy pronunciations of “It’s him. Look.”
He proceeded straight to the edge of the water as the crowd began to raise it’s voices as one with a chant of “Otter! Otter! Otter!”
Raising a hand, he silence the masses. He pointed at the water.
And then he jumped in, like one of those banana-hammocked, cliff divers in Mexico or somewhere exotic, narrated by a long forgotten voice from Wide World of Sports.
Perhaps Chris Schenkel would have paused to heighten the drama before he resurfaced… perhaps. The pool crowd certainly did on this day.
All that was left to be heard was auto-tuned music discussing the fineness of someone’s girl…most likely her booty and what should be done about it.
Then, he broke the surface and flopped onto his backside, in a perfect float. His hands came up from his sides, meeting in the middle of his chest, where they began to manipulate the air.
The air was a merely a pseudo-mollusk, being shelled. He was Otter Boy.
The pool people arose in another, roaring cheer of “Otter! Otter! Otter!”
It was all very magical.
Pushing himself up from the pool side, water dripping from his swim trunks and animalistic body, he smiled at a group of young vixens who were just returning to their loungers.
“Hey Otter Boy.” one of them cooed.
He wryly looked at her and gave his trademark phrase of “How’s it crackin’, babe?”
She giggled and blew him a kiss.
That’s the way it always was…
…or that’s the way he always imagined it would be.
Today, he was indeed by the pool. It was cloudy and quiet. A mosquito went to bite his nipple. The saggy nipple frightened the mosquito and it went on it’s way, looking for healthier blood.
Otter Boy let out a low belch and took another long sip of his warm beer.
She coughed hard and spit up a little when Otter Boy came in her mouth. He was happy she was toothless.
Otter Boy laughed to himself as he said “Hey, what’s crackin’…. whore?” Ironically his hands were on his chest but his mollusk was long drained.
Otter Boy had become a dick.
Otter Boy was born in one of those Great Lakes cities that died when all the jobs for stupid people moved to other countries. He wasn’t always called “Otter Boy” but his real name isn’t that important now that you have “Otter Boy” stuck in your melon. Trying to remember a Jim Yarnowski or a Bill Szarpa would be useless after the awesomeness of a name like “Otter Boy.”
So yeah, his city was dead just like in that Pretenders song.
His earliest memory from there was being dressed as a tiger for a Halloween parade at the nursing home where his grandfather was. It was long ago enough that the costume was just some nylon suit, too short for him. It had one of those plastic masks you couldn’t see out of and that had air holes that cut your nostrils.
Some Asian Princess marched with him through the halls as they passed patients who were busy wetting themselves or coughing loudly. There was no candy… not even any free pills.
He didn’t score with the Asian Princess. He doubted she actually was Asian and figured her as a redhead; one who had as much trouble breathing as his 5-year old self. Besides, his older life experience told him to avoid redheads.
His parents went to get the car and left him with his grandfather. Grandpa smelled.
He smelled like… an old man.
An old man who had recently been molested by a walrus.
Not being able to breathe well didn’t help. He decided to leave. Papa yelled after him, calling his name.
“Otter Boy! Otter Boy! Come back!”
(Remember? We don’t care about his real name so just lighten up and go with it.)
Otter Boy got in the elevator and pushed the number 5 for his age. The doors stayed open. He pressed it again. He was too young to realize he was on the fifth floor already.
His parents passed by and did a double-take at the tiger in the elevator. They got in with him and his Dad smacked him the back of the head. “Don’t do that again, ya stupid tiger.”
When he got home, he had little cuts on the edges of his nose from the stupid mask.
When he woke up today, he had little scratches on his hips from the toothless, meth whore.
(You’re right if you are thinking that you shouldn’t keep reading. Otter Boy was not likable in Chapter 2.)