Genetically Hip

“How about the cheetah skin?”

“Only posers do cheetah.”

“Scott Sapien’s got cheetah skin.”

“Scott Sapien’s a poser.”

“Fuck you, BioCore rules!”

“Adam, what do you think?”

“BioCore rocks. Scott Sapien is a sell out, not a poser, big difference.

And, cheetah skin is a little played out. Take a look at the zebra, not a lot of people have it yet.”

The doc pulls up zebra on the screen.

Harley’s pale Caucasian skin changes to black and white zebra strips on the screen. It’s a good look.

Harley smiles and starts clapping her hands.

“That one, that one.” She screams out.

Her girlfriend, the doc and I laugh.

“I guess she wants zebra.”

She sits in the chair while the doc gets the needle ready.

“You ready to be a genetically hip,” I say as he puts the needle into her arm.

A few second later she screams from the pain.


As we walked down Commerce toward Malcolm X, Harley asks me if it still hurts that bad every time I get grafted.

Considering it’s her first and Laura, her girlfriend, only has three, I guess it’s a natural question.

“Yes, it still hurts if it’s your 1st, or 20th.”

“Oh.” She says and I know she probably won’t get another.

“The eyes are the worst.”

Laura looks over at me and stares into my cat’s eyes with her own.

“Well, actually supposedly gender swaps are the most painful, but I don’t think I’ll be crossing that line anytime soon.”

Harley grabs Laura by the waist.

“Why don’t you babe? We can finally be boyfriend and girlfriend. It’ll make my mom so happy.”

“Fuck that!”

“I’m lesbian. I like pussy. But, just because I like pussy doesn’t means I want to have a dick. Me dikey. No dicky.”

We all laugh as we turn the corner, making our way to Elm.

“Oh, that reminds me, we need to stop by the record store so I can pick up the new MaryJesus Magdalene album, ‘God Complex’”

We sing aloud to “I lost my dick, but found god,” just the latest hit form the transgender pop punk goddess.

Harley looks over at me, a goddess herself with her dirty blond hair, hour glass figure and now zebra stripped skin, still puffy and blotchy with freshness. In a few days it will settle down and she’ll look like she stepped off of a fiction writer’s wet dream.

“What if it doesn’t take? I know you told me its ok, but how will I know if my body rejects it?”

I pull my sleeve and show her my left arm.

If it doesn’t take it part of your skin will be normal and part will be ani.

“How much of your skin is snake?”

“Just half of this arm, but my dick has fangs.”

Her eyes turn into saucers and her mouth drops open. I try to keep from laughing, but eventually Laura can’t hold it in any longer and bust out laughing and soon I’m rolling around on the filthy sidewalk with tears in my eyes.


At Sunshine Records, I grab a copy of God Complex and stare at the image of my own personal savior, damn near naked on the cover, strapped to a cross and wearing an engraved metal chastity belt.

It’s worth it for the poster alone.

I move on to the used music and check out Genetic Dump’s 2nd album. It’s a rare Australia only release, so I grab it and start counting my cash in my mind.

My attention is diverted by the DJ’s hot mix and I finally look up at the booth to see a living light show.

She has the same cuttlefish genes as me, but instead of in her hair, she has it on her skin. She’s spinning some new RiboSleaze mixed with some old school Baby Ann and I notice that she’s staring at me.

She smiles with a canine enhanced smile and licks her lips with a long lizard-like tongue and I know tonight’s gonna be fun.


I stretch out in my bed next to the RiboSleaze trance artist smoking a joint. The euphoric loss of equilibrium rushes my head and I’m transported just out of my body.

As I look down at my mutated body, multicolor hair, snake skin patches, cat’s eyes and claws, multiple piercings and tattoos I wonder if god ever intended for us to change ever thing we born to be.

As I come swimming back into myself, I forget about all that and go down on the custom made freak beside me