A Bit Off the Mark (RB Vs. The Shadow God, Chapter 2) · 3:06pm Jun 27th, 2022
Previously, on The Shadow God:
Tennis!
And now:
The chapter has a new POV: Craig's previously mentioned friend, Mark. And it begins with the narrator summing up his character again:
He was fascinated with two things and two things only. Sports and girls. Though, he wasn’t very good at either. His coordination was a little off in one and he lacked knowledge in the other. Regardless of the way anyone viewed it, he was in bad shape.
Young Mark was left only to dream of such things. Stardom in sports and sex with a gorgeous bombshell (such as Kristy) was something he had yet to achieve.
You may have noticed by now that the narrator has an interesting fixation on sex, and not having had sex. I'm sure that doesn't reflect in any way on our Mr. Rayburn.
It does get pretty gross, though.
Amid his six years with the best friends in the world, Mark had yet to get laid. It didn’t seem that difficult to him when he saw some of the most gorgeous girls with some of the ugliest guys. That right there told him that he had a chance. He just needed to find the right woman. Craig and Todd had told him there wasn’t such a thing, that pussy was pussy no matter how you got it.
“Start low,” Todd had said. “You shouldn’t be out there trying to find a nine or ten. You should go with the twos and threes. Someone who will screw you for free.”
“How big is your dick?” Craig asked him.
“About six and a half,” Mark replied.
“Lie. Tell them it’s nine.”
This is some real pick-up artistry shit. Stuff like this makes me glad I don't have any interest in such things. And I'm not just saying that because Mark's dick is bigger than mine.
Anyway, we escape the narration and focus in on Mark, who has just returned to his home. He has a quick exchange with his mother about dinner, and then goes to his room and...
“Yeah,” said Mark, running down the short hallway to his bedroom, closing and locking the door behind him. He lifted up his mattress, pulled out the latest edition of Playboy and flipped to the centerfold. “Oh, you look so beautiful, darling!” he said, unzipping his pants. “Why don’t you tell me again how you want my big, huge, nine-inch cock?”
Yeah. He does that. Then he jerks off. Thankfully, we are spared the details.
Mark is bored. He flips through the channels on the TV a few times, finds nothing to watch, and then gets an idea. He pulls a box out from under his bed and rummages through it. It contains things typical of a lad in his twenties: A journal. Old tests. Baseball cards.
Oh. And a loaded revolver.
It was a .38 Special. Its silver barrel gleamed from the sunshine glinting in from the window. He turned it over in his hand like it was an old lost treasure from an ancient pirate. Mark had bought the gun downtown in a bar at a bargain price of only one hundred dollars.
Mark, you see, really likes guns. Really really likes them. His parents, however, are, quote, "anti-gun", so he had to buy this one under the table. By which I mean illegally.
But Mark isn't satisfied with his revolver. No, he wants something a little more powerful. But he doesn't have the money; he spent it all on the revolver. So he does what any responsible young lad of twenty years old would do, and steals the money from his mother's purse.
He had never stolen anything from his mother before, and he had to admit that he felt bad for doing it. But he had to have a new gun, a bigger gun. He would find a way to replace the money … somehow.
What a healthy and well-adjusted thing to do. Here's something to think about, though: the book states that it cost Mark a hundred dollars to buy his current gun, and I think it's fair to assume that whatever gun he purchases next will cost more. But Mark steals, quote, "the stack of bills she had stashed away in her pocketbook". Which leads us to wonder: who the heck walks around with over a hundred dollars, in cash, in their pocketbook?
We cut to Mark sitting behind the driver's seat of his car (a 1990 Grand Am, if you were wondering, because yes, it is specified). He drives to the bar where he got his gun and pulls into the alley beside the bar. There's a whole thing where the bar's bouncer, Sledge, leads him to the owner, Ridley's, office. Mark is very nervous and feels out of place. Ridley, on the other hand, has three girls hanging off of him. Y'know. As you do.
“Now exactly what type of gun are you looking to buy?” asked Ridley.
It was the thought of a new gun that relaxed Mark. “A black .44 Magnum,” he said smiling.
Mark concerns me. A lot.
Also concerning is that Ridley doesn't seem to be interested in cash:
“No,” Ridley said to Mark, grabbing the blonde around the waist and pulling her to him. “Diane here says that you would make a good soldier."
“I’m not talking about the military, Mark.”
Mark? How did he know his name? He hadn’t told him or Sledge. Just what in the hell was going on?
“I’m talking about being a soldier for me,” Ridley continued.
“It’s a program that you’re not supposed to understand, Mark,” said Ridley. “We’re a family here and our sole job is to destroy the weak on this planet.”
Like I said. Concerning.
Mark is concerned, too. He wants to get his gun and get the heck out of there.
And then Ridley tells him this:
“Besides that,” said Ridley. “The fringe benefits are awesome.”
Fringe benefits? Suddenly, Mark’s attention perked. “What do you mean, ‘fringe benefits’?”
A look of commiseration entered into Ridley’s eyes. “What the hell do you think I mean?” He paused, and then said, “Free pussy, man!”
Ridley was really starting to ring Mark’s bell now.
“You tell me that you’re going to follow me and you could be fucking these girls in the next ten minutes.”
And Mark says:
“Where do I sign?”
Jesus.
Instead of grabbing a pen, Ridley grabs a... "small pointed object", which he drags across Mark's palm, leaving a bloody gash. Ridley directs Mark to drip blood onto a blank piece of paper, and then has him sign it. Then, Ridley grabs Mark's hand and begins chanting, and like, really dude? You should have left ages ago. Pick your dick up off the floor and GTFO.
Anyway, they finish their little ritual. Mark gets his gun.
Mark looked at the object lying on the desk. It was a black .44 Magnum. But before he could pick it up, the three girls were already on top of him, passionately devouring his body.
Whatever Mark had gotten himself into, at that moment it seemed quite worth it...
I wish they were actually devouring his body. A fitting end, I think it would have been. Oh well.
After a scene break, Mark wakes up in bed at home. He has no idea how he got there, and at first he wonders if any of that was real. But then he finds his magnum in his pocket, and realizes the truth.
He also notices something else: the letters "TSGA" tattooed across the knuckles of his right hand. Now, I'm going to challenge you. Go down into the comments and guess what "TSGA" stands for. Go on. I'll wait.
Done? You better be.
Mark finds a business card, and the answer is revealed:
On one side of the card were the same letters that were inscribed on his knuckles: T-S-G-A. On the other side, the card read: “This card is presented to Marcus Scott Williams, an official member of The Satanist’s Group Association. May you serve Satan well, and may you keep His dictations.”
Mark is shocked. Shocked.
Then, he notices something. A blue light coming from the door to the basement. Unlike Craig, he is not frightened by the light; in fact, to him, it seems welcoming.
So he enters the doorway... and disappears. Ooo. Spooky. And that's where the chapter ends.
See you tomorrow.
Man, at the point he pulled out a playboy, I immediately had opinions about the author's age and level of vanilla.
This story is a window into the author's psyche.
I would appreciate a set of blinds.
On Friday at the grocery store, I watched a man pay for his groceries with three -- wait, no, make that four -- $100 bills. And there was definitely more cash in that wallet. <.< So someone does.
The Shitty Guy Association! :D
oh my fucking god
Credit where credit's due, this seems more interesting than the previous two stories you've reviewed so far. Which is all I can say for it.
5668540
Yeah, so far I’d agree. I’d also say it’s the most competently put together of the trio.
Which worries me, because it means there must be something coming up to make it worthy of the title of ‘worst book ever written’.