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    Daisy & Bobby
    Daisy & Bobby
    Daisy & Bobby
    Ebook245 pages3 hours

    Daisy & Bobby

    By John Locke

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    About this ebook

    Last year, Bobby Cujo took his life savings to Baton Rouge, intending to buy a used fork lift. On the way, he stopped at a diner and witnessed a bus load of pilgrims crowding around a partially-eaten Moon Pie that looked “exactly like” John the Baptist. Recognizing divine commercial opportunity, Bobby purchased the Moon Pie and drove to the Congregation of Celestial Worship, where he bribed a sketchy priest to register it as an authentic religious artifact.

    Now Bobby charges True Believers to view his Moon Pie, and supplements his income by allowing medical students to poke and prod his naked body. His existence—such as it is—changes the morning he meets the mysterious Daisy Pepper, who looks “exactly like” Emma Roberts.

    PRELIMINARY REVIEWS:

    “Locke’s Daisy & Bobby made me laugh out loud a dozen times and held my interest throughout. Start it early in the day, or you’ll be up all night.”

    “If you like the Fargo TV shows you’ll love Daisy & Bobby. This is a funny, quirky novel with outrageous characters.”

    “You know those politically correct “Book Club” books that take 50 pages before anything happens? This is NOT like that! John Locke literally had me hooked after the very first sentence! (Who else in the world has the guts to start books like this?)”

    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherJohn Locke
    Release dateJun 17, 2017
    ISBN9781937656126
    Daisy & Bobby
    Author

    John Locke

    John Locke kommt 1632 im englischen Wrington zur Welt. Nach dem Besuch der Westminster School in London studiert Locke bis 1658 in Oxford. Zwischen 1660 und 1664 lehrt er dort Philosophie, Rhetorik und alte Sprachen. Sein enzyklopädisches Wissen und seine Studien in Erkenntnistheorie, Naturwissenschaften und Medizin bringen ihm früh die Mitgliedschaft in der Royal Society ein. Als Sekretär und Leibarzt des Earl of Shaftesbury ist Locke in Folge der politischen Machtkämpfe in England gezwungen, ins holländische Exil zu fliehen. Erst 1689 kehrt er nach England zurück und widmet sich auf seinem Landgut seinen Studien. Im selben Jahr erscheint anonym Ein Brief über Toleranz, der die ausschließliche Aufgabe des Staates im Schutz von Leben, Besitz und Freiheit seiner Bürger bestimmt. Die hier formulierten Ideen finden in der amerikanischen Unabhängigkeitserklärung ihren politischen Widerhall. Lockes Hauptwerk, der Versuch über den menschlichen Verstand, erscheint erst 1690 vollständig, wird aber vermutlich bereit 20 Jahre früher begonnen. Es begründet die Erkenntnistheorie als neuzeitliche Form des Philosophierens, die besonders in der französischen Aufklärung nachwirkt. Locke lehnt darin Descartes' Vorstellung von den eingeborenen Ideen ab und vertritt einen konsequenten Empirismus. Aus der theoretischen Einsicht in die Begrenztheit der Erkenntnisfähigkeit ergibt sich für Locke die Forderung, daß sich weder ein Staatssouverän noch eine Glaubensgemeinschaft im Besitz der allein gültigen Wahrheit wähnen darf. Der mündige Bürger, der in der Lage ist, kritisch selbst zu entscheiden, wird konsequenterweise zum pädagogischen Ziel Lockes. John Locke stirbt 1704 als europäische Berühmtheit auf seinem Landsitz in Oates.

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      Book preview

      Daisy & Bobby - John Locke

      1.

      WHEN DAISY PEPPER met Bobby Cujo, she was standing eight-deep in a line of medical students waiting to stick their fingers in Bobby’s asshole.

      Moments earlier, he’d been on his back, buck naked on the examination table, with his knees in the air, legs spread apart, as the doctor instructed the twelve men and women to gently probe Bobby’s gonads with their thumb and forefinger to feel for abnormalities. Afterward, he rolled over and assumed an ass-up position with his face and upper torso pressed against the table. As one student after the other dug into Bobby’s anal cavity attempting to locate his prostate, the guy in front of Daisy sneered, "Can you believe this guy? What a loser!"

      We all serve in our own way, she replied.

      He probably served time in prison. Probably gets off on it, the guy said. Then he added, You’re hot. Want to meet up afterward?

      I’ll say no, this time.

      Now, as the last student removes his latex glove and tosses it in the trash receptacle, Daisy peeks over her shoulder and catches Bobby motioning her to come closer. She ignores him, exits the door with the others, then doubles back and sneaks into the room. When Bobby sees her, he smiles and says: You know what they call the guy in medical school who finished last in his class?

      Tell me.

      Doctor.

      Though she fails to laugh, he pronounces her heart-stoppingly gorgeous and asks if she’ll do him the honor of joining him for lunch.

      You’re kidding, right?

      Not at all. And the best part is I’m available.

      What are the odds? she deadpans.

      Strange but true. So, what do you say? By the way, I’m Bobby Cujo. He extends his hand.

      Daisy Pepper, she says, staring at his hand without accepting it. "Just to be clear, you’re asking me on a date? After what just happened in this very room?"

      Bobby retracts his hand and says, "I realize the odds are slim. But if I didn’t at least ask, I’d regret it my whole life."

      So, she says. This is it. This is what it feels like.

      What do you mean?

      I’ve finally hit rock bottom.

      Think about it this way, Daisy: all the pressure’s off. You’ve already seen me naked.

      There’s that.

      Say yes to the date. It’ll be great. You won’t be sorry.

      What do you usually tell them?

      Who?

      The girls that ask, ‘What do you do for a living?’ What do you say?

      I tell them I’m a medical consultant for every major hospital in South Louisiana, and I teach aspiring doctors and nurses how to identify internal illnesses. I tell them my services are in such high demand every hospital within 100 miles has my number on speed dial.

      Does that work?

      He grins. Like you wouldn’t believe!

      There can’t be much money in getting finger-fucked by medical students.

      Eleven bucks an hour.

      You say that with pride.

      Why wouldn’t I?

      You allowed twelve men and women to molest you twice in eight minutes. That’s… She uses her phone to do the math. A dollar and forty-six cents? Could that be right?

      Not remotely. See, it doesn’t matter if it’s only eight minutes. They have to pay me for the whole hour. To put it another way, I’m getting an hour’s pay for eight minutes’ work.

      "Do you enjoy it?"

      "With you I did."

      Well, that’s creepy.

      He laughs. I saw you earlier in the parking lot. You’re not from around here.

      What gave me away? No mud flaps on my rental car?

      That, and your voice, and every single thing about you!

      Is this your way of asking what brought me to South Louisiana?

      He nods.

      I wanted to do something different this year for fall break, something I’d never done before. After considerable thought, I narrowed my options to strolling through the falling leaves in Central Park, and digital sodomy, bayou style.

      And here you are. I’m honored. Was it everything you hoped it’d be?

      And less.

      This isn’t my only job, you know.

      Thank God! What else do you do?

      I’m a curator.

      You mean like in a museum?

      More like a shrine. I own a one-of-a-kind religious artifact. People come from all over the world to see it.

      Which artifact is that?

      I’ll tell you at lunch. You get off at noon?

      Actually, I’m free right now. I’m not a med student. I was just blending in, trying to get away from someone. A guy.

      Is he still here?

      Nope. Long gone. I could have left an hour ago.

      Why didn’t you?

      Are you kidding? Where else could I get free medical training?

      He gives her a look. You stood in line to finger me?

      I did.

      "Why would you do that if you didn’t have to?"

      I pride myself on being open to new experiences.

      2.

      TWENTY MINUTES LATER, at lunch, Bobby brings it up again: I can’t believe you sexually assaulted me.

      "You get paid to be sexually assaulted! You’re like a hooker, only cheaper."

      She removes the toothpick from the top of her hamburger bun and uses it to spear a french fry. Then flicks one end and watches it spin like an airplane propeller. Flicks it a couple more times, pops it in her mouth, swallows. Then says: Technically, you were gangbanged.

      What do you mean?

      There were twelve of us.

      "The others were doing their job. You were molesting me."

      She spears another fry, spins it and says, "We all molested you, Bobby. The only difference is I didn’t pay for the privilege."

      Not to make a big deal out of it, but yeah, they paid a quarter million bucks for med school, and you didn’t.

      "Are you honestly trying to define sexual assault to a woman?"

      Maybe I need to since it’s any unwanted sexual advance perpetrated on a person without their consent.

      "I see. Oddly, I don’t recall you saying no, or asking me to stop. What I do recall is me asking if you enjoyed what happened, and you said you did. With me."

      "Right. Well again, I’m not trying to turn it into a thing, I’m just saying there’s a double standard: if an unauthorized guy stuck his finger up a woman’s ass, she could sue him for everything he has."

      Do I really need to explain why that could never happen?

      Please do.

      Women don’t have prostates.

      Funny. My point is, I help people.

      That’s great. Can we move past this now?

      Of course. Do you find me attractive?

      She arches an eyebrow.

      Reason I ask, you fondled me when you didn’t have to, then you came back to the room to meet me, and now we’re having lunch.

      She pushes the toothpick lengthwise through a french fry, holds it up and rubs it gently with her thumb and forefinger as if simulating masturbation, then puts it in her mouth and slides it in and out as if simulating fellatio. Then she pulls the fry off the toothpick, holds it from the bottom end, and watches it droop, causing Bobby to ask, Is that supposed to be my dick?

      Daisy says nothing. Just stares at the sad droopy french fry. After a moment, she flicks the tip just hard enough to send several grains of salt flying through the air, symbolizing…well, you get the picture.

      Bobby says, If you’re trying to use psychology on me, it won’t work.

      Yes, she says.

      Yes, what?

      I find you attractive. Want to fuck?

      His eyes go huge. "Yes, of course! I mean, do you want to?"

      No. I was just trying to gauge your level of interest. I mean, I wouldn’t want to spend time with a guy who thinks I’m un-fuckable. Why do you shave your balls?

      Huh?

      I couldn’t help but notice you were completely shaved. Why?

      Women like it.

      I don’t.

      Why not?

      It’s dangerous.

      When he laughs, Daisy says, I’m serious. Shaving down there is dangerous. Especially your balls.

      Why?

      She gives him a look. Are you sure you want to hear this at lunch?

      I can take it. Please: proceed with your lecture.

      Very well. The skin on your scrotum is filled with folds and wrinkles, which trap enormous quantities of bacteria. Every time you shave you’re risking a cut. And even the smallest cut can result in bacterial infection.

      Which is why they make antibiotics.

      Yes, and that’s fine, provided you don’t wind up with Fournier gangrene.

      What’s that?

      Flesh eating bacteria on your balls.

      Whoa!

      It can happen, believe me. And if it’s not caught in time it can kill you. And if it is, you know how they fix it?

      Tell me.

      They have to surgically remove all the skin from your balls.

      Jesus!

      Exactly. So, stop shaving your balls, Bobby. Ever done prison time?

      Excuse me?

      It’s a simple question.

      Are you talking about prison time or jail time?

      Either.

      Both.

      She does a double-take. Really?

      He nods.

      What did you do?

      Hired a bad lawyer.

      You can’t go to prison for hiring a bad lawyer.

      You can if you kill him.

      Her eyes go big. "You killed your attorney?"

      Accidentally. He was strangling my mother at the time, and I hit him. I didn’t realize he had a brain tumor.

      Why was he strangling her?

      He found out she was sleeping with men for money, and it didn’t sit well since he’d bought her a house.

      Your lawyer was your mother’s boyfriend?

      Fiancé. So anyway, they sentenced me to 31 months in Angola for involuntary manslaughter, but I only served two weeks.

      How’d you manage that?

      Hours after my sentencing, the prosecuting attorney was caught falsifying evidence in two cases that took place years earlier. So, the state vacated all his convictions, starting with the most recent, which was mine.

      Lucky you. How much money do you need?

      For what?

      Your dream. I mean, you obviously have some sort of master plan, or you wouldn’t be offering your ass for eleven bucks an hour. What are you working toward? What’s your dream?

      You’ll laugh.

      Probably, but tell me anyway.

      I want to own the #1 tourist destination in the state.

      Based on your artifact?

      Yeah, but that’s just one item. I’ve already got dozens more, waiting to be certified.

      Tell me about the one you have.

      It’s something you need to see.

      Why?

      It’s one-of-a-kind.

      Where is it?

      In my trailer.

      She gives him a look.

      He says, I’m not a rapist, or anything.

      "Or anything? What does that mean?"

      It means I’m not dangerous.

      She eats another fry before saying, "I think you are dangerous. Because not once have you asked about the guy I was hiding from this morning, and that tells me you’re not afraid of him."

      Should I be?

      She holds his gaze several seconds. How long does it take to get to your place?

      From here? Fifteen minutes. Why?

      I never thought these words would come out of my mouth, but…take me to your trailer, Bobby. Show me your shrine.

      3.

      AFTER BOBBY PAYS the bill, Daisy follows him in her rental car past Billeaud, onto 96, and half-way to St. Martinville, where he abruptly turns left onto a gravel road that leads to a broken-down trailer park where she notices something she’s heard about but never seen: laundry hanging on clotheslines. When she parks her car beside his and climbs out, a hard-looking woman approaches Bobby and says, This has to stop.

      What does?

      My girls gettin’ fat. It can’t go on.

      It’s just two or three bites.

      "Times twenty-four, times four days a week. And they’re swallowin’ them bites. Bottom line, it’s over. We’re done. Come get your shit. She looks at Daisy. Who’re you?"

      Daisy Pepper.

      "Pepper?"

      Daisy nods.

      You a movie star?

      No ma’am.

      Yes you are, you’re Emma Roberts! I’d know you anywhere. You could be covered in mud, you’d still be Emma.

      I’m truly not, Daisy says, but thanks for the compliment.

      Where you from?

      Cincinnati.

      I mean, where were you born? And don’t tell me it weren’t Rhinebeck, New York, famous for arts and culture and tree-lined streets and charmin’ bed and breakfasts where you can rest your head on feather pillows after a relaxin’ day of stress-free shoppin’ in specialty boutiques.

      Daisy’s eyes grow large. "How did you know?"

      Same way I know your birthday’s February 10, 1991. You’re Emma Roberts.

      Daisy looks around, then whispers, You can’t tell anyone.

      "Your secret’s safe with me, Emma. And I won’t even ask what you’re doin’ hangin’ out with this low-life piece of trash, ’less you’re scoutin’ locations for a hillbilly movie or lookin’ for his wayward brother, Jake. And if so, he ain’t here. Ain’t stepped foot on this dung pile since their mama died, Lord rest her soul."

      Bobby says, I’ll fetch the product in twenty minutes.

      Make it five. And bring cash, this time.

      She starts to leave, then looks at Daisy and says, Why’d you shuck your duds in that movie we rented last week at the Red Box?

      It was essential for moving the plot forward.

      Essential, huh?

      Yes, ma’am.

      Well, it set my girls into a strippin’ frenzy. They raced through the VFW in their underpants till Mindy Theriot took it to a whole new level and showed both sides of her privates to a room full of colonels. She furrows her brows with disapproval. You need to be aware of the consequences your movies have on normal folk.

      I’m sorry. Is Mindy okay?

      She is now, but it took two exorcisms, and the priest says if she don’t get another one by middle school she’ll be the queen slut in high school, just like her ma. Did Bobby tell you about my Girl Scouts?

      No ma’am.

      Don’t be stupid, young lady.

      Excuse me?

      Don’t get caught up in his vortex. Get in your car, drive back to Hollywood, and put this man in your rear-view mirror. He ain’t right in the head.

      Are you referring to his shrine?

      I’m referrin’ to the whole damn deal! She turns at the sound of tires on gravel 50 yards behind them. "Speakin’ of which, it appears you got a fresh car full of rubes.

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