Great white teeth tore into dark seal flesh. Flash of anguish, spray of blood, watery silence.
"Ha! Look at 'em!" Gus yelled. "No mercy! Right to the throat! I like these fish!"
Gus had the deluxe satellite package. He hired local kids to keep his roof dish clean and open to signals. Yet despite the numerous channels on offer, Gus kept his TV tuned to Channel 58. Always.
If someone watched another channel, then changed it back, Gus could tell. "Keep your goddamn mitts off my remote!" he'd rant. "I'm a Channel 58 man!"
Channel 58 gave Gus all the entertainment he desired. Animal carnage. Trucks on glaciers. Alien abductions. Bounty hunters. Ghost chasers. Exploding appliances. But what most thrilled Gus were the food porn pig outs. Two shows featuring husky men, one who ate a-n-y-t-h-i-n-g, the other shoveling mounds of meat and fat down his throat while being cheered on and timed, sent Gus into hysterics.
"Hoo, those fat fucks can eat! Imagine what their shit looks like!"
Gus was happy. But when he switched to an HD flat screen, Gus found religion.
Channel 58's images boasted Wonderland precision, a bright alternate reality encased in black plastic. Even the ads seemed created by God. Gus sat mesmerized. He muttered non sequiturs. He began to miss meals. He put off going to the bathroom. Friends and family tried to rouse him, but Gus would nod them off, his unshaven face and unwashed body crusty and rank.
Now, you're probably expecting Gus to die or lose his mind or some other HD-related atrocity. But he didn't. One day Gus simply rose from his stupor, shaved, took a dump then a shower, cleaned his house and fixed a filling meal. Sitting down to relax and digest, Gus clicked on his TV and went to Channel 59. Macaws screeched while suburbanites bragged about their real estate profits.
Gus smiled and said nothing. This new life held promise.
Sonia loved rabbit meat and Jesus. Her thin blonde frame seemed brittle, but was solid. He felt that the first time they fucked. Sonia nearly broke his dick as she pounded him on top. Her large brown eyes burned into his. She mingled prayers with sex talk, craving salvation and multiple orgasms. The acid she put in his wine left him helpless. Sonia's features fluctuated as she thrust her claws to the ceiling. The rabbits wrestled in their cages; her Boston Terrier snorted and panted its approval. Candle flames rose, the flamenco guitar music accelerated. Sonia was both conductor and priestess, her flickering shadow reaching through time.
That's when he decided, no more personal ads.