In den 70ern trugen wir Parkas und Hirtentaschen, wir schrieben auf Recycling-Papier und die Bücher, die wir lasen, waren frei in ihrer Sprache, frei von politischer Korrektheit und manchmal ausgesprochen geschmacklos. Craig Kee Stretes Roman „Uns verbrennt die Nacht“ (im Original „Burn down the night“ – http://www.christoph-endres.de/cks/books/burn_down_the_night.pdf) zum Beispiel ist eine Aneinanderreihung von Drogenkonsum und Fahrten durch Los Angeles mit einem Ich-Erzähler und einem fiktiven Jim Morrison, rund um die Geschichte einer missverstandenen Vergewaltigung:
„We get back to the party and I go in to get my coat and my car keys while Morrison waits
The party is still riding high. Looks like a Hieronymus Bosch painting based on ideas by the
Marquis de Sade. Party’s got louder, more violent, ugly.
Lots of motorcycles outside. Looks like the bikers have landed.
The bloody-haired girl who had been throwing up on the door as we went out is being
dragged into one of the bedrooms by four tough-looking guys in biker gear as I walk in. Her
shirt’s already ripped off. Skinny little ribs and little-girl breasts. Maybe she’s thirteen years
old or fourteen. She’s screaming hysterically but nobody pays much attention to her.
Some party she’s having, if she survives it.
My coat is in one of the bedrooms. I go round the beginning of a fight. Rave to push away
some drunken chick with infected pimples who wants to sit on my face while I’m still
standing up. Get to the bedroom, look for my coat and discover a bunch of naked people are
lying on it.
Lots of enthusiastic groping but not much accuracy. Bed is just too crowded.
A pretty little surfer girl wearing nothing but a tan puts her arms out to me, inviting me in, as
she feels me tug on the coat that’s under her ass.
I move back to avoid her arms and she slips off the bed, hits the floor head first and vomits all
My coat comes free and I back out of the room.“
„There is a big bump under Sandy’s T-shirt. That bump is Morrison’s hand. The squeeze that
I sigh. Stare back out the front window. Not going to get the good time this time around. I
look over at Gail the Whale for a second and turn away quick before I go blind.
I wind up with two joints, put them both in my mouth and take a hit that destroys my chances
of ever becoming an opera singer. Inside of my throat feels like a scratched record. Maybe I’ll
get lucky and pass out.
I feel something creeping up my leg. Feels like a tarantula wearing overshoes trying to give
me a knee massage.
I look down and a hand that’s probably been a tradition with sailors since 1946 is creeping up
toward my better half“
„Gail’s got her hands off me, concentrating on getting us through the curve in one piece.
A leg appears as if by magic across my left shoulder. A soft, warm girl’s leg. I figure they’re
doing Numbers 17 through 26 in the Kama Sutra.
Hot leg brushes across the side of my face, like touching a live wire. I almost got to sit on my
hands to keep them from grabbing onto the leg and dragging it up front. My pants are so tight
on me my eyes are swimming.
Somehow we whip through the curve, still on four wheels, straighten out and ride into another
one. Driving is tricky here, takes her mind off me.
A cop car goes by going the other way. Morrison groans. I quietly go mad. I’m hornier than a
hot rabbit with socks on.
A very married looking couple in a blue car pull up level with us as we slowly dip into
another turn. Mr. and Mrs. Straight America.“
„I feel something wet in the middle of my chest, something wet creeping down and getting
inside my underwear. Gail crushed my beer can and I’m getting Miller High Life on my
I feel my face getting red as all the air squishes out of me. I try to push her away and she tries
to kiss me.
„Let’s find a bed.“ I can’t hold her off. She kisses me and I choke, half a can of beer trying to
come up from my stomach and say splash to the floor.
„Gonna pass out,“ I say and try to fall down. She releases me and I start to collapse on the
floor. But she gets a death grip on one arm and begins dragging me off. Hard to pass out when
you’re being dragged, one arm threatening to come out of its socket.
„Help!“ I try to pull free, try to resist, but I’m too wasted and she’s stronger than truck-stop
Somebody hands me another can of beer as she drags me across the room. Some wise-ass.
„You better drink it,“ a long-haired freak advises me. „Looks like you’re gonna need all the
help you can get.“
We’re almost across the room, almost to the hallway that leads to the bedrooms. I am trying
frantically to get away. I grab hold of a tall guy with beads and a black beard. Grab him by the
leg as I am dragged by. „Help!“ I say, pulling him over on top of me. „I’m being raped!“
He’s unsympathetic. He takes one look at Gail the Whale and beats a hasty retreat, throwing
my arm off.
„Better you than me,“ he says.
In desperation, I put one leg between Gail’s legs, trying to trip her. She hits my leg, damn near
breaking it, and I fall on my face, hard. It doesn’t slow her in the least. She’s dragging me by
one arm like I am a six-foot sack of cotton.
„Tote that bale, lift that barge!“ says the bearded bead wearer, an unnatural-born comedian. A
couple of people are looking at me, laughing. Terrific. Just arrived at the party and already I’m
a social success. Shit!
Out of the front room and down the hallway, managing to get to my feet at least. We approach
a door, the downstairs guest bedroom door, and she tries to open it.
Saved! She lets go of my arm and bangs on the door.
„Hey! We wanna use the room! Finish up in there!“
A muffled shout comes back through the door.
I start creeping away, on tiptoe, backing away ever so softly. Somebody runs into me,
me forward and I collide with Gail’s back. She thinks I’m trying to give her a hug and she puts
an arm around my neck and gives me an affectionate squeeze. Almost swallow my tongue.
The bedroom door opens up. A fat guy and a thin guy hurry out. The fat guy is dressed in a
Sears and Roebuck plaid shirt, Montgomery Ward plaid slacks, and has hickeys all over his
neck. He’s also dead drunk and limping bow-legged. He comes out first, stumbles past
muttering something that sounds like „Incrediburble!“
The thin one, smelling like a brewery vat, staggers uncertainly in the doorway. Has to lean
against the door frame to keep from diving forward on his nose. He’s got a long-haired wig
hanging at a crazy angle on his head. He stares at us, eyes barely focusing, and steps sideways
through the door, stretching the fabric of his dress with his knees.“
„He looks back at me, I suppose wondering what the hell I could possibly see in her. Looks at
me, looks back at her, then looks back at me and says, „Well, lover boy, if you’re strong
enough to mount the human elephant here, you’re probably so hot I’d have to pay you for it.“
He’s staring at my crotch. „You’d have to be hung like a moose to get through the first layer of
„Get out of the way, you… faggot!“ says Gail, really pissed off.
He reaches out and grabs one of her skyscraper breasts, pinching it to see if it’s real. He
bounces the end of it in his fingers. „Honey, you’ve either got a camel sitting on your chest or
you pulled into a gas station to get air in your tires and got it in the wrong place.“
Gail slams his hand away, karate style. She screams at him, kung fu style. Stepping into him,
she knees him in the crotch, redneck style, and clips him in the jaw, lumberjack style, as he
folds up in a genitals-probably-crushed style.
He smashes back against the wall. She karate chops him twice, slamming him violently
against the wall.
He doesn’t know what hit him. He slides down the wall slowly, bony knees pushing up the
dress until it splits. Almost in slow motion, he slips over sideways, out cold and not knowing
how lucky he is.
Gail, the fattest SS trooper in the world, doesn’t even look at him. „Lousy fag,“ she says and
drags me into the bedroom.“
„Gail stumbles forward. „Hoooooooornyyyyyy!“ she says, bellowing like a pitchforked cow
and raising her arms, trying to grab us. She misses us by about four yards. She doesn’t look
too healthy. She looks like somebody who just lost a sledgehammer fight.
„What’s wrong with her?“ I ask, moving back to get out of her way. She seems in danger of
falling over on me and breaking my bones.
Morrison is pushing on her chest, pushing her back against the bed. The bedpost groans under
Jim holds up one hand. „Downs.“ He spreads his fingers, numbering them. „A handful of
them in the can of beer. She’s just entered Phenobarbsuburbia!“
„What are we taking her clothes off for? You’re not really gonna… gonna…“ It’s too horrible to
Morrison straightens up, puts his hands on his hips and gives me an unreadable stare. „Didn’t
you hear this beautiful specimen of blushing girlhood proclaim she was horny?“
„“You wanna get laid?“ asks Morrison conspiratorially.
„Me?“ He seems astounded. „Who? When?“
Morrison turns him around and aims his head toward the bedroom door. In front of it a tall
blond girl stands talking to a couple of guys. She’s a hot looker. Long wicked legs trying to
burst a hot little miniskirt that just barely covers the central goodie. Two high breasts like
baby ducks pushing against a thin tie-dyed T-shirt. She’s got to be all of six foot tall and sharp
the way only California girls can get.
„See that girl over there?“
Our friend nods idiotically.
„Well, she’s horny,“ says Morrison. „She wants you.“
Our newfound friend giggles. „You’re putting me on,“ protests Booze Boy. „She wouldn’t
„That’s one,“ says Morrison, with that wicked laugh of his. „Only forty more to go.“
„Morrison opens one eye, leans forward with a confidential air. „Listen, he’s horny for you and
he’s afraid he won’t be able to keep his hands off of you. He’s afraid he’d grab you or
something and maybe make you wreck the car.“
„Son of a bitch!“ I say and try to swing at Morrison, who ducks behind the blonde, dissolving
into laughter again. The glib bastard!
„You gotta be kidding! Still horny!“ She looks really shocked. „You’re incredible! You was
all over me last night! Jesus! I never had it so many times in my life! It was like there was ten
Gail has the dangerous look of a convert who’s just met God, personally. She gives me an
affectionate look, a loving look that makes the hair stand up on the back of my neck.
She says, „Honey, I don’t think we could make it even if you wanted to! We made it so many
times last night I’m so sore I can hardly move!“