It’s hardly worth the effort, but I put a pair of muffs over Jan’s frizzy head. Then, full of purpose and with the power of a half-dozen honey buns flooding my veins, I surf the information superhighway, my digital maw missing nothing and no one.


Timeline posts.


evil_ernie> Darklord > lets game fucker


Status updates.

evil_ernie> Darklord > where u at

evil_ernie> Darklord > daaaaaaarklooooordddd


Food porn…

…porn porn…

evil_ernie> Darklord > can u send?

…cat memes…

evil_ernie> Darklord > sas going sup

…something on The Daily Angel Web site about Asia Afrodesia deciding to name her forthcoming baby l33t_master, after “the only man who could ever really satisfy me…”

…lumberjack…sawing wood…

…lousy Czech…can’t burn the midnight oil for shit…

…I’ll show him…how it’s done…sleep is for…the dead…

blink-blink go my eyelids…

…Jan’s gone…muffs half-tucked under his pillow…sneaky fucker. Probably…on the shitter or…rubbing one out…flexing to his own reflection…bathroom mirror…


…is that…banda music…coming from…next door? Geez…Jan’s walls are made of papier-mâché…I may as well be wearing a sombrero and chugging tequila right along with…whatever asshole thinks it’s cool to blast their shitty tunes…dead of night…

…Rod Serling…narrating…The Twilight Zone…starring me:

Ernest Goodale. Thirteen years old.Asleep in his best friend Janny Boy’s twin-sized, bargain basket bed and completely unaware that on the other side of the papier-mâchéseparating the Kounicovas’ apartment from the neighbor’s, the play button has been pressed on a very special sort of cassette player, a player that to all outwardappearances is ordinary and unspectacular, but can, in fact, only be found in…

the Twilight Zone.



It’s morning.

I can tell because all of the sudden Jan’s living room window has brightened several shades. That and there’s this gnarly thread of drool hanging from my open mouth that’s creating an epic wet spot on Theo’s laptop keyboard. Jan himself is still MIA, but whatever. I yawn, spread out in bed, grasp my belly instinctively—wait a sec. Why is there more of me than usual? I glance down at myself. My usual charming rotundness has somehow been amplified overnight.

I look fucking pregnant.

I feel fucking pregnant.

Holy shit—

“Damn you, El Cassetto!” I scream, just like Charlton Heston (and the thousands of actors who’ve mimicked him) in Planet of the Apes. I fumble frantically, my brain urging me to get out of bed, Wiki “morning sickness,” and send myself home, all at once. An instinctive double-click of Theo’s name on my SuperMegaNet buddy list wins out in the end—Theo, the Smart One, my rock, my personal genius grounded in reason and logic and various higher maths—

—Theo, who’s at this very moment lying in his bed, the covers tossed aside, legs splayed, hands grasping desperately at something ominous and blindingly grandiose that’s sprouted mightily from between his legs—

We make eye contact in the morning light.

Horrible, horrible eye contact.

I don’t know what’s happening.

I don’t know what’s going on.

What kind of twisted, exaggerated alternate dimension have I sidestepped into?

Me and junior scream in unison.

Right before he grabs his phone and swipes me the fuck out.

Get the book!

El Cassetto: a SuperMegaNet novel by Jesse Gordon

Get the other book!

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.