Atomic Artist and Other Groovy Tales by Floyd Jones - HTML preview

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A Really Revolting Romance

If you’ve ever ridden a rollercoaster ten minutes after eating five chili dogs and scarfing down an entire boxful of laxatives, then you know what José felt like when he was dating Helga. Sure, taking a dump in your pants while travelling upside down at 60 miles per hour is no fun, but the wonderful aftertaste those chili dogs leave in your mouth make it impossible not to go back for more.

Their first meeting was so romantic — like that old movie, Love Story.

(On second thought, it was probably more reminiscent of The Texas Chainsaw Massacre.) It happened on a cold and rainy Sunday in Detroit, at McDonald’s. A disgruntled employee had decided to secretly include a free cockroach with every hamburger, and before long everyone in the place was throwing up.

And then the alligators came in! Some damn fool who lived in the neighborhood had been raising them since they were just little lizards, and on this day he decided to take them out for a milkshake. Of course, what they were real y interested in was human flesh — and they got plenty of it!


Meanwhile, over in one corner of the restaurant, Helga was projectile vomiting, and with one particularly strong blast she managed to splash José right in the face — catching him in mid-yawn.

Intrigued, he asked for her phone number.

A week later, they went out on their first date together. Ah, it was glori-ous — the wine, the music, the gunfire (well, what do you expect at a rap concert?) Later that night they had sex. It lasted all of two minutes

— Helga finished first and abruptly ran off into the distance, cackling like a maniac.

This left José seething with anger. He felt so used. How dare she achieve satisfaction before him?!? Indeed, how was such a thing even possible given the ineptitude of his lovemaking technique, a technique that had left so many women unsatisfied in the past? And so at that moment he swore he would get revenge on her.

For weeks, José plotted and planned. He developed complicated schemes and devious devices (including the patented Sex-o-Matic®, which he later sold to Ronco for a considerable sum of money), all designed to lure Helga back into his bed, where he was confident that this time he would finish first.

And at last the time came when they were together in bed again. They writhed around passionately, and after almost thirty seconds. . Helga was finished again. Immediately she sprang up out of the bed, slipped into the circus tent she called a dress, and dashed out of the apartment.

Now José was furious!

Over the next few months, he lured her to bed at least a hundred more times, but always with the same result. Finally, he had had enough — it was time to end this relationship. So, one evening he walked over to her house and knocked on the door. “Helga,” he intended to say (in his thick Lithuanian accent), “we’re through. I don’t wants to see you no more.” Then he planned to quickly turn around and pass wind in her face.

But no one answered the door.


He knocked again, and still no one answered. After roughly five hours of continuous knocking, it occurred to him that she might not be home.

José never found out what happened to Helga that night, but one morning, many years later, he noticed her name in the obituary column of his local newspaper.

Now was his chance! Dropping the paper, he rushed down to the morgue, where he discovered that Helga’s body had already been cremated. Not about to let a little thing like that stand in his way, José grabbed the urn containing her ashes and hurried back to his apartment. Now, he thought, there was no way she could finish first!

And yet somehow she did.

José was never the same after that experience. He spent his remaining days working on his tan and combing his pencil-thin mustache... But actually, that was what he had always done, so really he was pretty much the same afterwards.

Which just goes to show that some people never learn.