The beautiful summer sun shone down from the sky as Maddie's small feet passed over the freshly cut grass. Gentle notes of the wedding march played over the speakers hiding under a flair of flowers on the altar. Though she had to keep her eyes on her steps to keep from tripping over her wedding dress, she could not keep her eyes off of Trevor in his smashing tuxedo, its black and white matching his dark eyes and beard against his skin.

This was no easy feat: the veil obscured her already impaired vision, now even worse because she hadn't put in contacts, her exquisite shoes were cumbersome, and there was her father to worry about. Tradition holds that a father should lead his daughter to the altar and give her away, but today, it was Maddie who was leading dad forward, step by clumsy step. Only half way to the priest, and Maddie thought she was going to be intoxicated from the drafts of alcoholic breath coming off of dad.

Even worse was the fact that every time dad had to wipe tears from his face, he lurched to the side, as if thrown off balance by the motion of his hand. Maddie tried to ignore the stares of her family and Trevor's family, convincing herself that those were looks meant for her, in awe of how beautiful she looked. But nothing could mask the sneer from her mother's and step-father John's faces.

More than a few of the wedding guests looked unfazed. Those would have been uncle Frank and Maddie's cousins, Alex and Mike, who had been celebrating with dad until the wee hours of the morning. Mike was, mercifully, passed out, whereas Alex's head bobbed back and forth to the tempo of the wedding march, his eyes nearly bleeding from the THC he had ingested at breakfast. The groomsmen were equally as wrecked, victims of Trevor's bachelor party. Luckily, Maddie's bridesmaids had done a good job of disguising their hangovers and trysts with make-up and perfume.

“Careful, daddy, there's a step,” Maddie whispered as they reached the altar. Dad fumbled, and turned back, taking a seat next to his ex-wife.

N.P. YuggothSeptember 28, 2015n.p. yuggoth, stiff fiction, wedding, fiction, phil collins, against all odds, marriage, rockComment

An Erotic Evening With The Juggernaut by N.P. Yuggoth

Ginger's blood is pumping. It feels as though the veins in her temples could explode. She holds Sandy's hand gingerly as they skip off to the bathroom. The restaurant is bumping tonight, as it is Taco Night.

But Ginger has something else besides tacos on her mind. Actually, she does have tacos on her mind, but not the Mexican dish. And she's not going to be feasting at the grand buffet made up of thrice reheated meats and stale tortillas out in the dining room. No, she will be chowing down in a sordid stall in the ladies' room. Dear, innocent little Sandy is going to learn a whole new meaning of the term Taco Night.

N.P. YuggothJune 13, 2015stiff fiction, fiction, juggernaut, n.p. yuggothComment

Cruiserbound by N.P. Yuggoth

The doorbell rings twice before Huey builds up the energy to push himself out of his seat.

"Goddamn it, I'm coming!" he shouts, reaching for his cane as he stands on wobbly legs. To think that someone is interrupting his Saturday afternoon gets Huey cursing under his breath. Fall is all about relaxing and getting away from the world, but today has been anything but. Earlier, he had the Jehova's Witnesses banging on the door at a quarter past ten, then he had to see his daughter off to college. Then help his fucking wife load her baked goods in her goddamn Volkswagen.

"Can't a man get any peace and quiet around here?" he grumbles and lets out a series of racking coughs. He had been looking out at the bay until that damn doorbell started ringing. The whitecaps on the deep blue were lulling him to sleep, and the shadows were starting to stretch across the hardwood floors when...

N.P. YuggothMay 27, 2015n.p. yuggoth, fiction, short stories, cruiserboundComment

The Continuing Adventures of Bill Top, Private Dick (#1) by Frank Maloney

As I open the door, the stench of stale beer and decade old cigarette smoke compels a tear of joy to well up in my left eye. Being a man of principle, I refuse to let it fall and wipe it away with the sleeve of my long, black wool coat. I move towards the decrepit wooden bar, noticing only two other patrons in the establishment, seated at opposite ends of the aforementioned bar. I remove my frozen leather gloves and dirty old ushank, wipe away the thin film of snot that has accumulated on my upper lip, and take my place in the middle; equidistant from the two other men. A large man, the barkeep, turns around to face me, his fat mug is greasy and--despite the frigid temperature--doused in sweat. “You wanna da-ring?” he asks in a barely audible Eastern European accent. “Yeah, yeah, thanks. Gimmie your cheapest beer and a shot of Malort.” “No Malor here,” he says. “Well, just the beer then,” I reply, not bothering to mask my disappointment and fury. No Malort? In this fucking city? The barkeep hands me a can of Pabst Blue Ribbon and says, “Tha-ree dollar.” I shoot him a perturbed grimace. “Three fucking dollars for a can of PBR?” “Tha-ree dollar,” he grunts again, holding out his calloused and grimey hand. I pay the fat fuck; no tip.

We repeat this exchange ten or twelve more times. Being well on my way to good and drunk, I recall that I entered this particular watering hole with a purpose. What was it again? Couldn’t be the lost dog I was hired to locate for Mrs. Adams, though maybe he is in here. “Baxter!” I shout--or slur--leaning back on my barstool and goofily turning my head from left to right and back again. I burp and hiccup at the same time, resulting in that almost yacking sound so familiar to drunks. I swallow the sour taste it leaves. No sign of the mutt. I order another PBR.

Frank MaloneyDecember 23, 2014bill top, frank maloney, fiction, stiff fiction Comment

The Second Cumming by N.P. Yuggoth

She was undressing me. I tried unlacing my shoes, but that turned out to be too formidable a task for my bumbling fingers. Razzie lit candles. Not just a few, but dozens. A huge portrait of Jesus adorned one wall of her living room. One of those Passion of the Christ type things, with the crown of thorns, and blood all over his face. More Halloween than Christmas or Easter.

Somehow, she got me into bed. I was lying naked on that bed, and she was trying to get me ready to copulate. Some guys are able to perform with a BAC of .20, but I'm not one of them. I've got to give Razzie major props: she tried. She tried really hard. But nothing happened. I only stopped her because I felt her trying to put a finger up my ass.

N.P. YuggothOctober 31, 2014stiff fiction, halloween, short stories, story, fiction, n.p. yuggoth Comment

Taste testing the forbidden fruit.