GLASS SOUP by Jonathan Carroll (funny books to read .txt) 📕

He watched a pretty woman with a perfect ass walk by. Her name was Ursula. He thought for a moment about whether he wanted to go to the trouble of entering her life. She liked the color periwinkle and to be fucked hard in funny locations—like on the kitchen table, or over the trunk of a car. He could not see into Ursula’s future but he could see everything there was to see about her now.

“Hey Romeo, did you hear me? Do you want to go to bed with me or not?”

“Take it easy, willya? I was trying to work out whether it’s possible for us to get together today, but I just can’t do it. As soon as I get back to town I’ve got to go to a very important meeting that’ll probably last a long time. Otherwise I’d happily peel grapes for you all afternoon, Mrs. Vaughn.

“How about tomorrow? I’ll bring some Viagra so we can really have a lonnnng party.” He knew she would say yes but only after pretending to think about it a moment or two. Because she didn’t want him to think she was too easy. Women were so predictable.

“Can we go to a hotel? I love going to hotels with you. It makes it feel so much more dirty.”

He decided to get off the phone now and find Ursula. Why did it seem like every other woman in Austria was named Ursula? Who would even consider naming a daughter that? He had about an hour before he had to meet Leni. More than enough time to make contact with Urrrrsula. Her ass was just too good to miss. Without missing a beat, speaking again into the telephone, his voice was a perfect mixture of sex, glee, and great good humor. “Flora Vaughn, we can go to any hotel you like.”

Feed Me to Your Sister

“Just because I’m silent doesn’t mean I have nothing to say.”

“I understand that. Continue whenever you’re ready.”

“Just so we’re eye to eye on that matter.”

“Eye to eye. No problem.”

Simon Haden looked at his seventeenth bowl of chocolate pudding and abruptly pushed it away.

Broximon waited politely for Haden to continue but he didn’t. They were seated at a table with Volin Poiter, Seaburg Rasnic, Tyree Meza, Duryee Grenko, Mescue Rell, and Sneekab. Or rather, Haden was seated at the table, Broximon was sitting on the armrest of his chair, and the others were on the table because these others were houseflies. Once to amuse an eccentric woman he was trying to seduce, Haden had named every fly that landed on their table while the couple ate at an outdoor restaurant. Now these flies had returned to visit.

“The hell with her!” one said in fly-speak. But since this was his death, Haden was able to understand.

“That’s right,” said another fly with hearty gusto. “Who needs her?”

Haden dismissed the statement with a flick of his spoon. “That’s easier said than done. Plus the fact there’s obviously nothing I can do about it anyway, being dead and all.”

The flies knew more about what was going on than Haden did, but weren’t about to tell him anything. No way. They had trouble enough, just being dead flies. Instead, they turned their many eyes to Broximon who knew the secret too. They wanted to see if he would spill the beans.

Haden had called Broximon to say that he was stuck. The little man didn’t know what Simon was talking about but nevertheless took his discomfort as a good sign. At least it meant Haden was thinking about things, which was a marked improvement. Brox could not believe that someone who’d experienced a breakthrough as big as Simon’s could be so lethargic and unmotivated afterward. It was as if Haden was resting on his laurels and had no desire to move forward with his new knowledge and insight. But what laurels? He was only at the beginning and had such a long way to go.

“She haunts me, Broximon. How is that possible here? How can you be haunted when you’re dead? Huh? And it’s even more so now than when I was alive. She’s completely under my skin. I don’t understand that. It makes no sense.”

Broximon looked at his highly buffed two-tone shoes. Pretty damned sharp shoes. “Have you seen her here?”

The flies buzzed a little louder. Things were getting interesting.

Haden was thinking too hard about her and didn’t really hear the other’s question. “What?”

“Have you seen Isabelle since you’ve been here?”

Something in the way the question was asked brought Haden to attention. “No. Why?”

Broximon reached down and brushed nonexistent dust off the tip of his shoe. “Well, you must have dreamed about her when you were alive, right?”

Haden spluttered, “Uh yeah—about five thousand fucking times.”

“Then there you go, Simon: she must be around here somewhere if you dreamt about her so often back then. This is your world—that’s what it’s all about.”

“I’ve never seen her here,” Haden said defensively, as if he’d been too dumb or unobservant to notice the obvious. But what Broximon said made real sense: some version of Isabelle had to be here because this was Haden’s world. It was made up of bits and bytes that had stuck in his mind when he was alive. And Isabelle Neukor had certainly stuck in his mind.

“Maybe you should go looking for her, Simon.”

Almost as one, the flies stopped buzzing for a moment when Broximon said that. Was he giving too much away?

Grudgingly, Haden asked, “Yeah well, this is a big damned place, Brox. Even if you’re right, where am I supposed to start looking for her, in the Yellow Pages?”

Broximon wanted to say You really are an idiot, Simon but that would have been counterproductive. Yet the longer he spent with this man the more he was convinced that Haden was an idiot.

He was spared having to say anything because just then Mrs. Dugdale came marching around the corner. She wore yet another