Howdy! Pirates of Appalachia is an epic absurdist satire releasing as a weekly serial. Think 2 parts Huck Finn, 1 part Slaughterhouse-Five, served with a punch to the face by A Boy Named Sue. This is a completed novel—not a work in progress. Learn more or start from the beginning via the buttons below. Happy pirating!
Previously on Pirates of Appalachia… During the Pittsburgh gubernatorial debate, candidate Michael Hawk beat Adam Patterson into a bloody pulp after Adam uttered the “forbidden hashtag.” Meanwhile, in the unincorporated hills, Kohl McGuire proposed to his beloved Daisy, but she didn’t seem to notice….
Echo Chamber of the Soothsayer
Unincorporated West Virginia
Thursday, October 24, 9:11 A.M.
When Candidate Hawk entered the oracle’s chamber, the hoard shuddered. This, she knew, was an omen of great upheaval. Sunlight blazed like a wildfire on the screen door behind him, obscuring his features save the pronounced bulge greeting her from beneath his spandex diaper. To be sure, it looked like he was packing the sword and the stone. She could only hope that the portended upheaval was in more than just his pants.
“You were right! Clusterfuck—you were right!” He closed the door with the spastic grace of a methed out squirrel trying to hide a bowling ball beneath a napkin. “That zombie actually wants to use dogs for doctors and used the forbidden hashtag! It was a political and social kamikaze run.”
The oracle, having known she was right all along, was a tad put off by his astonishment.
“I ended up beating the hell out of him and whizzing on a troll—the stuff of legends. Then I saw Patterson’s pet Crispy’s lady backstage and instituted preemie nocta on her ass, so there will be one less tripping hazard in the coming generation.”
This put her back on—the fact that he was a complete sociopath excited her.
“I searched the roads on the way here and found this,” he said, presenting a brown paper bag bloated with dirtied napkins and empty wrappers. “And I still have a half-empty bottle of Coke Zero!”
The oracle snapped, “A little pop isn’t enough to compel the beast to speak.”
He turned dejectedly to the door. Snaking between them was a labyrinth of trash as tangled and bloated as a three-headed anaconda after swallowing a herd of buffalo. Only this snake was made of filthy trinkets and dilapidated furniture, and the buffalo from refuse accumulated over what could’ve been eras. To say it would’ve been a major heath code violation in years past would have been too kind. At present, the beast lay dormant, but the oracle knew its slumber was only temporary until it fed again. Hunched over, even standing she could barely see over the hip of the beast, but even so, she was able to dart through the pathways and snatch the bag and soda bottle from The Hawk’s hands before he could exit the trailer.
“That’s mine,” she said, looking up with eyelids so droopy she could barely make eye contact with him. As she set the bag and bottle atop a stringless guitar, the hoard inhaled audibly, its body swelling and its scales transforming from grime grey to metallic black. Then it exhaled, billowing a mushroom cloud of dust into the stagnant air.
“You’re the only Nazi artifact I’ve ever found with actual powers,” Candidate Hawk said, blinking dust from his eyes. “With your help I could be guber for a thousand years! Maybe even get rid of my manager and go into business! I need more of your voodoo.”
“It’s not voodoo—it’s economics!” She itched the wart on her nose, the wart on her chin, the cluster above her eyebrow, and finally the one housed in the crook beneath her sagging right breast. “If ya want a prophecy, hand over something dear to you.”
“Well, I do have one package that’s near and dear to me.” The Hawk’s beady eyes gleamed from the holes in his gimp mask. “Maybe some dynamite will brighten it up in here!” Pulling down his Speedo, a lump of coal fell from his his crotch and rolled into the hoard. As the coal touched a stack of phonebooks, they flinched as if pulling a hoof away from a rattlesnake. Then the deep, panoptic sound of the beast sniffing the rock sucked the air out of the room, and the hoard started to glow. A bassinet filled with glass bottles flashed red and yellow; the stacks of books shined pastel indigo; orange and greens undulated like waves through the wrappers and bags and soiled diapers; and a wheelbarrow next to the front door turned a dark, mournful blue. A techno beat would have not only been appropriate but desirable considering the circumstances.
The witch felt her skin tighten again, beginning at the toes and working up her legs. She took a gander at the goods between Mike’s thighs, sighed disappointedly, and then placed one hand on the beast’s mane. The hoard’s colors intensified and focused on her until they were shining through her, rushing through her veins, scorching her body with waves of heat, melting away the warts and wrinkles, her clothes and confusion. Her spine snapped upright, and a frothy, milky substance bled from her eyes and down her chin; as it dribbled over her newly perky breasts, she could hear the trickling of revelation as it approached. She marveled, “I hear wings… enormous wings….”
“Oh yeah,” Candidate Hawk moaned. “Here we go, let’s get busy.”
The utterances came at her from all directions, as if every bit of refuse contained memory, and they were all whispering, shouting, chortling, and crying out at once. She listened, catching short, distinct phrases floating amidst the chaos. A smile crept across her face. Indeed, not only was there going to be upheaval, there was going to be death. And lots of it. “Sejawa will be triggered…”
“That’s it—right there.”
“The two-limbed queen will bite the ass in all caps. And the hawk will get as high as thunder—”
“Don’t stop now—give it to me! I love hearing about The Hawk!”
“Pandora is undressed, her Brazilian wax exposed.”
“Oh god yeah!”
“Stomachs will open. Dung paraded. The Mother of All will tremble and give rise to to the dyad towers.”
“Right there, come on, oh yeah—oh yeah!”
“It’s peanut butter jelly time, peanut butter jelly time…” she sang. Although they were sometimes baffling, she’d learned never to question the voices. She continued with the same staccato rhythm, “Save fifteen percent in fifteen minutes, fifteen percent in fifteen minutes…”
The Hawk howled—“Ah-ah-ahhhh!”
“Fire—fire the cannon!”
“I did—I did,” he panted. “I fired the cannon.”
The hoard rustled as if a cat clawing at a cushion, then with a grumble, silence and shadow returned.
The oracle wiped the creamy substance from her face, then regarded Candidate Hawk coldly as he wiped the creamy substance from his abdomen. His ability to be aroused and so easily fulfilled would have been impressive if he wasn’t destined for such a foul-smelling fate.
She hadn’t told him everything; she never told anyone everything.
He asked, “What does it all mean?”
Daisy could feel the power of the prophecy thundering within her as she slipped into a new pair of cutoff jeans. It sizzled through her like lightning, and when the glow burst out of her thighs, she felt every nerve and every molecule of her body rejuvenate to the moment of her absolute physical peak. Breathless, she smirked at the new streak of grey in The Hawk’s hair: “It means you better get your shit together. And it’s time for supper.”
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