Key West author Reef Perkins shares more of his hilarious book,

Screwed, Blu’d

and Tattooed

by

Reef Perkins

***Pinhole, Texas***

(Click here for previous chapter)

The recently coupled couple arrived in Pinhole on feet. The only entrance not locked, blocked or cocked was the front door of the local church, The Holy Order of the Shrivelled Penance. The temple was a small adobe hut with a red Mediterranean-style roof and a crude cross made of dismembered, plastic pink flamingo parts. Blu peeked through the beaded door. A dark-robed sister blew candles on the altar. Brittle pieces of tile, mud and the occasional depleted pistol round dropped from the ceiling at odd intervals. Nearby, between the pews, another dark robe picked up spent .45 cartridges and used condoms, all apparently the remnants of the last service.

A tottering nun, wearing a boa made of hummingbird feathers and sporting six-inch heels, approached. “May I be making of helpings to you? My name is Sister Bruce, the Elder.” The sister’s lack of tits and deep voice puzzled Blu.

“Fruit of the Loom,” Beth muttered softly.

“Pickle smoker,” Blu bleeped in affirmation.

Beth took the lead, “… Ah Sis, this here’s Blu, the Yunger, and I’m Beth the ah …”

“Beth.” Sister Bruce repeated her name over and over with a lisp. He couldn’t stop; he kept saying “Beth, Beth, Beth, Beth, Beth …”

“HEY, SNAP OUT OF IT, DICKWEED!” Beth squawked with a piercing fierceness. Then, with a contrite smile, she looked the now-focused Elder in the eye. “Ah, look Sis, we’re screwed and need some help.”

“Screwed?” Sis snapped out of it. “Oh … Si … Oh my! Yes! But, here in deez place of many holes, it is only when the little big finger, on the clock, makes to pass the cinco hora that eet is time to do the, ah … deed. You need place to, ah …”

“Grassy-ass sister, mighty obliged.” Blu chimed.

Sister Bruce quickly cleared a few crosses and whips and made space for the couple near the altar. It looked remarkably like anyone of a thousand Florida Keys Tiki bars. Things were looking up. Sister Bruce held her hand out and rubbed her thumb and index finger together. It was the old sticky booger move. “So much for the blessing,” Blu mumbled and palmed Sister Bruce a crisp, green, twenty. Money green was the most beautiful color he had ever seen. It was the color of Beth’s eyes when she looked at lettuce. Sister Bruce gave him a pamphlet describing the church’s history, holy mission, sewage plan and a membership application to join the Holy Order of the Shrivelled Penance. He also got a free communion drink card.

It was an interesting scene, but Blu was tired and didn’t bother to read the pamphlet or get the drink. His mind raced, but he forgot to put it in gear. Thankfully, Beth poked him with her soft finger and he moved toward the altar. He could still feel her eager body against his.

During the night Blu dreamed of hairy chicken legs. Beth dreamed of snakes. After a few hours sleep, Blu awoke and knew it was time to move on.

Check out time came earlier than expected.

Two centuries earlier, The Holy Order of the Shrivelled Penance had been allotted four “especial” sheep by the reigning diocese. And, lo, those sheep begat other sheep and the current flock of begattees were trained to perform holy yoga every morning near the sacred altar. Blu and Beth were in their hallowed space.

The flock milled nervously about. Blu stood too quickly and passed a sacred wind. The sheep bolted for the door and baa’d for mercy. Blu and Beth watched Sister Bruce tackle one of the escaping flockers by the ankles. With heavenly devotion Sister Bruce held on and was dragged into the street.

Beth fanned the air, “Yoga, again?”

“Not really.” Blu finished a gulp of wine from a gold-plated goblet near the pulpit/wet bar. It was good, dry dirt, Cabernot with a hint of dust and donkey dung, Blu noted. He grabbed a couple of skinny white crackers and a monogrammed napkin for Beth. “Damn considerate if you ask me,” Blu cracked, “Better than the typical Holyday Inn.”

Beth sighed and popped a wafer.

They headed for the door with dry wafers stuck to the roofs of their mouths. Blu tried to say hoof “oof, oof,” but failed. Beth wanted water, but couldn’t speak. They were surrounded by low humidity. Her tongue, tired from trying to get the wafer unstuck, began to slip out. Blu was fighting his own battle with a wafer as a faint bell echoed through the holy chamber and a different sister appeared. “Hello chosen ones, I am Sister Todd, a Being of Light.” Sister Todd twisted her moustache and approached with a clergy-like slink. She spun around and bowed, facing away from them. “Quaint,” Blu thaid thoftly to Beth, “must be what they believe in.“

“No thhit,” Beth tongued in turn.

Sister Todd executed a perfect one-eighty in her desperately tight spandex garb with the familiar “zephyr window” in the rear. It looked like a bad habit to get into. Sister Todd straightened and wished them good luck, but instead of waving goodbye, she launched a well-manicured hand toward Blu, palm up. Blu noted the platinum Rolex on her thick wrist. “Musth be palm Sunday.” Beth rolled her eyes. Another green one passed into oblivion. Blu got a free condom from Sister Todd but could not bring himself to envision what the “sisters” would do with his money. But he did.

The wafers wouldn’t give up; they needed water. Blu took Beth’s hand and stepped into the town square. Ringworm Circle, Pinhole, Texas – Pop. 8E4. They headed for a community water trough, head-butted a couple horses aside and stuck their faces in tepid, horse-slobbered, water.

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About the Author

Captain Mark T. “Reef” Perkins is a marine surveyor with a colorful past. From commanding a 150-foot 300 DWT US Army diving ship off Vietnam to smuggling in the Caribbean, Reef Perkins has become a living legend. A graduate of both the US Army Engineer Officer Candidate School and the US Navy Salvage Officers School, he’s a man comfortable in or out of the water. Raised in rural Michigan, Reef now lives in Key West where he can get his feet wet. He is the author of the bestselling memoir, Sex, Salvage & Secrets.

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Screwed, Blu’d and Tattooed copyright © 2013 by Reef Perkins. Electronic compilation/ print edition copyright © 2013 by Whiz Bang LLC.

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This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, businesses, companies, events, or locales is entirely coincidental. While the author has made every effort to provide accurate information at the time of publication, neither the publisher nor the author assumes any responsibility for errors, or for changes that occur after publication. Further, the publisher does not have any control over and does not assume any responsibility for author or third-party websites or their contents.

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