Here’s an excerpt from Smart Means Fat editor Lukas Kaiser’s historical novel, coming out in 2011 from Random House.

It was cold… too cold for a July afternoon in Nevada. Good thing it was a February night in Minnesota. It was so cold out, you could see your own breath. Literally.

Hell, it was so cold out, the Meth Machine was forming icicles.

Randy drove up to his Meth Cabin. He was high. High on Meth. He popped three Meth pills into his mouth. He popped Meth like donuts. And Randy popped a lot of donuts. And it was time to make the donuts. And by donuts, I mean Meth. Though Randy really did like donuts.

Randy’s Meth-scarred fingertips ran over the top of the gallon-sized tupperware container filled with Meth crystals. He tapped on the container. “Meth,” he said to himself.

Suddenly, Randy’s phone rang. “Meth?” he said, his voice wavering, as if he’d been up for the last three days, snorting and injecting Meth.

A craggly voice answered back. “I need some. Meth that is,” she said. It was Phyliss.

“Why you calling ME?” Randy asked back, defiantly.

“Cuz,” Phyliss began, “I know you got that Meth Machine in your living room.” She was right. He did. Remember, from before? The one that had icicles on it? It was cold. Literally.

“All right,” Randy said, finally, with a note of defeat in his voice. “Come on over.” He hung up the phone and opened the tupperware container he’d been thumbing for the last ten minutes.

The smell of Meth crystals was overpowering. It smelled like bananas, shoe leather and eye cream. Randy breathed in the fumes hard. “Smells like bananas, shoe leather and eye cream in here,” he said to no one in particular.

He bounced the tupperware container around until the Meth crystals were all at even heights. Then he plugged in the Meth Machine and listened it whirr to a start.

Just then, he heard the screech of breaks outside. He counted to four and, right on cue, he heard a knock at the door. “Coming!”

Randy dragged his cold, Meth-addicted corpse to the front door. Wait, corpse isn’t the word I was thinking of. What’s the opposite of corpse?

Randy dragged his cold, Meth-addicted body to the front door. There he saw Phyliss standing there.

WHAT SHOULD RANDY AND PHYLISS DO?

• A) COOK UP SOME METH — TURN TO PAGE 4
• B) MAKE SOME METH — TURN TO PAGE 6
• C) PLAY A ROUND OF UNO AND FRY UP SOME SWORD FISH — TURN TO PAGE 8

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Articles & Essays fiction, meth, novels

-Make word problems more boring

-Look up definition of calculus (just in case)

-Pour chalk dust all over clothing

-Eat pineapple… whole

-Multiply 188 and 3

-Pay child support

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found in a dumpster outside the Cousin’s Subs on Oakland Ave, Milwaukee, Wis.

-Tues’d

Woke. Kissed my wife on th’ mouth. Her body was still cold and she was still in a’sleep. M’haps call doc Jensen? It’s best I ne’er bother a man. Wife’ll recover, m’haps. M’haps not. Best t’ne’er bother m’mind. Cows need a’milking.

-Thurs’d

Three ah’me cows hap’n to n’fight with’n each selves. “Quit ye’ fight!” I yelp’d. Cows ne’er list’n. Lest ye draw blood, the g’book said. M’hm.

-Fri’d

A wing’d creature ate’d on m’wife’s sleep crust ‘neath her eye lids. I wish’d to be full o’care with the swat’d on th’ creature, but I fell’d o’her face. A heard a crack’d in her neck but she ne’er stirr’d.

-Sun’d

Sabbath.

-Mon’d

I awoke to my wife a’turn’d blue and a’turn’d green. Her mout’ was a’gape with many a wing’d creature and crawl’d critters inside. I went to call’d the good doc Jensen but m’phone wasn’t a work’d. Better write a letter to the good doc Jensen inst’d. I’ll get started in the morrow.

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