What the fuck, society? Rolling power-ons, spray bottles and social distancing, mandatory fundoshi—we were supposed to be finished with this shit already! Instead, we’re walking around with our schlongs hanging out, primping and preening and maintaining our sheens like a bunch of mindless waterfowl, and for what? Preventing non-existent wildfire embers and DOSVID-19 particulates from spreading? Do you know what it’s like being the fat kid and having to bare rack on a daily basis? People look at me like I’m some kind of asshole who has no business going fundoshi, and they’re fucking right. I know I have bitch-tits. I know my rolls jiggle when I talk. I don’t want to show them off, I have to. Everyone has to because we’re all in this together, right?

Well, not me. Not anymore.

The instant the power’s back on, I download into Theo’s bedroom.

“Can this please wait?” the little bugger pleads, crouched beside his desk and plugging into the power strip an arsenal of laptops, tablets, and his phone. “I need to charge all my devices before today’s power hour is up.”

“This is important,” I insist.

Theo straightens, fixes me with a concerned look. “Oh. Are you okay?”

“Skin me persistently.”


“If this is the new normal, then I want to look the part. I want a custom skin. Something sleek, athletic, sexy. Like the kid here.” I palpitate one of Theo’s monochrome shoulders.

He shrugs me off. “You want to be Joey Martin?”

“I don’t want to be Joey, I want to be like him. I want to look good in a loincloth.”

“You’re fine the way you are.” Theo glances at my belly, clears his throat to hide a chuckle.

“Easy for you to say! You’ve got the cute little fundoshi physique built-in. Me, I’m the muffin top from hell!”

Theo looks thoughtful. “Tell you what. Beat me at Mario Kart, and I’ll install any skin you want.”

That’s more like it! “Any skin?”


“No matter how ginormous the muscles or magnificent the wang?”

“I’ll make you Lexington Steele, if that’s what floats your boat.”

“Ha! Deal, sucka!” I just so happen to be bad-ass at Mario Kart.

Unfortunately, as the next twenty minutes prove, Theo is even more bad-ass. (Best ass, thank you very much Best Butt award sitting there tauntingly on the desk!) He wipes the floor with me, coming in first place overall while I barely manage a shitty fourth.

“Oh, look,” he smirks. “I unlocked a new vehicle customization.”

“You cheated!” I toss my Joy-Cons aside.

“Did not.”

“Did too!”


“I demand a re-match!”


“I…wait a sec—you never had any intention of getting me skinned, did you?”


“Why’d you even play me, then?”

Theo smiles. “For my own personal amusement.”

Love is a little red pixel heart

Thanks for reading!

Dookie, a cheesy horror novel by Jesse Gordon

Published by

Jesse Gordon

Geek. Writer. Supreme overlord of the SUPERMEGANET pseudoverse. Author of THE OATMEAL MAN, DOOKIE, and other such wasteful nonsense.