Fiction on The Fort Erie Dave Times

The Rise and Fall of Shitty Pete

Thu, 16 Jun 2011 13:46:25 +0000

Quick story about this one day a few weeks back. It was getting late and I’d just arrived back at the house. My unremarkable erection and I had been spending a few hours at the local supermarket trying to lure a 17-year-old cashier into my car. With the promise of killer weed I actually got her outside. At that point I revealed that there was no weed. She was visibly upset so I consoled her by directing her attention to the misplaced dick hole I’d made in my sweatpants. You see, it was 3 inches too low and the only thing visible was some upper thigh stretch marks and the tip of a single pube. Probably best that she ran away just then because I was about to unzip my red satin hoody to reveal the homemade ‘PUT YOUR SHITTER ON MY SPITTER’ mesh tank top that hid beneath. It probably would’ve sealed the deal, but we’ll never know and by never I mean next Wednesday when I’ll give it another shot.

Cigar cutter

Wed, 30 Jan 2008 16:44:49 +0000

In a former life I was a cigar cutter living on a remote mountainside in Europe. Everyday I’d have a basket of berries and cheese delivered to me. Having no digestive system, I told the delivery boy “No thanks” and asked that he not waste his time visiting me. He acknowledged that he understood, but each day would return as though we’d never had that discussion.

A few years went by and I felt my springs weakening from age and lack of use. I decided it was time for one final cut.

1969

Wed, 23 Jan 2008 04:05:36 +0000

Back in the Summer of ‘69 I got into a fight with a girl. I wouldn’t say I’m proud of it, but it was pretty awesome. Right when she thought she had me, I headbutted her. Knocked her out cold. Her Mom came over and started hitting me with a broom just as I was about to start pissing on her daughter’s stiff teenage frame. She was right to do it.

The Amusement Park - Part Two

Mon, 12 Nov 2007 04:44:30 +0000

With a variety of roller coasters to choose from, we go to the first one we come upon – “The Bat.” A ride that first drags you backwards up a ramp, lets you go until you end up forwards on a parallel ramp where you stop. You’re then let go to experience the same track backwards. We line up for the ride in quite a lengthy straight line which winds and winds until we are herded into twenty or so lanes where we wait for our turn to have some fun. To diffuse any anxiety about the ride, we talk and joke to one another. When the coaster pulls in and thuds to a stop, I quickly examine the looks on the riders’ faces. They vary from small children almost in tears and full of regret to grown men either laughing at the pitiful ride or faking this very well and using all their strength to avoid regurgitating in front of everybody. I run to my seat and hop in. I pull the rubber brace over my head and press it to my chest. I assume and hope that there is some form of metal at the core of the rubber or else its purpose is unclear. As the ride commences, we are pulled backwards and up a steep slope. I decide to take off my glasses and hold them like a vice. The coaster reaches the top and clicks to a stop. The riders hear and feel the brake release and we all hurdle towards the base of the incline. I am ashamed to admit that by this time I have closed my eyes and now only know the ride as a series of jerks and bumps. With each sharp turn, I picture one of the constructors of this evil pleasure device being too lazy to go to the ground to pick up a rivet vital to the stability of a supporting pillar. Oh, sure, he saved some time, but this thing’s about to bend like a twist tie. Then, we stop and I know that we must travel backwards. The sequence of physical distress is reversed but with the added element of having my face mangled by the force of gravity. The ride is over. I slap on my glasses, fogged by the sweat of my hands and try to mould my hair into some semblance of what it was like before. I seem to be the only one visibly staggering down the exit ramp. At the bottom, I’m greeted with the surprise that they took pictures of all of us during the ride. That’s great. There is physical evidence that I had my eyes closed. After some mocking by my so-called “buddies,” we decide to grab a bite to eat.

The Amusement Park (a 12-year-old story written by an 18-year-old halfwit) Part One

Sat, 10 Nov 2007 21:20:30 +0000

It’s early in the morning. It would be completely unbearable if it weren’t for the fact that all sense of fatigue and lack of power are drowned by feelings of excitement and anticipation. Summer has taken hold though just three weeks old and the day of school and intense heat is now ruled by the latter. Each day is filled with the search for a new way to entertain one’s self, and one is never disappointed. For, during these couple months of the year, kicking a pop can around town is a suitable replacement for productively attending school for the remainder of the time. Today, however, a notable event will be taking place. We take a trip to an amusement park. The park of all parks, Canada’s Wonderland.

Isn't he a dreamboat?

Wed, 12 Sep 2007 00:49:33 +0000

One day I was eating marshmallows from a garbage pail when out of one of the mallows crawled a house centipede. In the past I’d always erased these critters quickly, but I’d just gotten over a nasty bout of food poisoning and his charismatic gaze melted my weakened heart.

It told me the story of a snowy December afternoon when it watched Back to the Future for the first time. Mischievous little guy had snuck into the theatre where he cozied up to a fat man’s Kodiak and fired up a Dunhill. I asked him if he shared my feelings that BTTF was one of the best movies of all time. He said he couldn’t agree more and we shared a smile.

The Mildly Impressive Three (MIT)

Wed, 28 Feb 2007 19:57:50 +0000

STEELFACE

My name is Steelface. I’m 23 years old and I work as a janitor at the City’s Underground. I wipe up your toilet seat drippings and your secret under-bench earwax. My boss Jane once told me I look like a “can of smashed assholes” and I’ve never recovered. The only thing that gets me out of bed in the morning is that I recently discovered that I’m indestructible. Let me clarify: only from my neck up can I not be hurt. Take a knife to my midsection and I’ll fold just like any of you assholes. So please, if you’re gonna shoot, aim high.