Brokeback Mountain: The Novel

The Official Novelization of Heath Ledger's famous movie

Brokeback Mountain: The Official* Novelization

By Phil Rot

I’ve always been fascinated by the movies. I wish I could open my own movie theater and just watch classic cinema, like Ghost World, all day while the aroma of fresh, buttered popcorn fills the air. Also, those boxes of candy- it sure feels like there’s not much candy in those things nowadays. I hear some movie theaters are even serving pizzas at the concession stands now! What a time to be alive. This brings me to my next point: I am proud to present to you my official novelization of the Award Winning Western Drama, Brokeback Mountain. The poster alone says it all. I seem to recall it’s two cowboys hugging. Kinda gay, but definitely the stuff of movie legends. Well, I decided to take a crack at adapting this beloved conservative art house picture to the written word. I sincerely hope you enjoy it.

1.

“I can't quit you.”

The man in denim stared longingly into his heroin needle. It was empty now, but only a few minutes earlier, it was filled with sweet, sweet, delicious heroin. To Clyde Darling, there was no greater feeling than being high at the top of a mountain.

He could imagine his papa smiling down on him from heaven, with his wide-rimmed horsein’ hat and pearl white beard.

Clyde kissed the iron cross around his neck, the same one his papa had worn to battle all those years ago.

“Until we meet up in heaven, I’m going to get drunk and play darts at Curly’s every damn day.” Clyde said.

He’d just gotten up from his sittin rock when he felt a loose patch of mountain slip from under his boot.

“Got Damn!”

Suddenly, Clyde found himself tumbling down the mountain.

“Shit- fuck- ouch!”

Down and down he tumbled, his denim coated body flopping against the jagged stone like a rag doll.

“Ah hell- oof- shitfuck!”

After an hour and a half of falling, the thirty five year old cowboy hit his final stone.

Crack! The sound of broken bones.

Clyde lay there at the bottom of the mountain, unable to move and barely able to breathe.

“Help! Help!” Clyde shouted. “I broke my damn back on this damn mountain.”

He lay there for what felt like an eternity. Despite his intermittent shouting, no one came to help him.

“Well, I guess this must be why they call it Brokeback Mountain.” He chuckled, then winced in pain.

“God, if you’re real, and I am sure as hell that you are, I beg of you, send me a damn angel. Please lord, I don’t wanna die out here next to this damn mountain. Shit.”

He felt the last inklings of hope fall from his cheeks and patter against the earth (his tears, I mean).

2.

The sun had nearly set when he felt a tall shadow cast itself over his worn and battered body.

Clyde tried to turn to the shadow’s caster, but his neck stung like hell.

“Hey,” Clyde said. “If you’re a human and not a mountain lion, please, I could really use some-”

He felt a finger press against his lips.

“Ssshh,” the figure said.

He couldn’t quite make out the man above him, but he could smell the aroma of must and denim. If he had to bet, he’d been visited by an angel… a cowboy angel.

“Save your strength, cowboy. I’m here to help.”

Clyde’s heart swelled.

“Thank you-”

The finger met his lips once more, this time pressing slightly firmer into his full, gentlemanly lips.

“Ssshh, spare me your thanks cowboy. I’ve lived a hard life, one full of sin and deception. Let’s just call this my duty as an Asian American.”

“I really do appreciate-”

The finger jammed into Clyde’s mouth a third time, wedging itself between his teeth, and brushing against his tongue.

“Ssshhh.”

Clyde felt the creases of the man’s fingerprints squeak against his freshly bleached teeth, and finally understood that it was time to stop talking.

3.

“You’re a heavy fella,” said the man carrying Clyde on his back. “I reckon you’re just as heavy with all of your clothes off.”

“180 pounds soaking wet,” Clyde responded.

“That’s what I thought,” then whispered to himself, “soaking wet.”

The man stopped to set Clyde down on the dirt for a moment.

“It’s about a five hour walk back to my truck, I figure we’ll just take a moment so I can catch a breath.”

“Sure thing guy, say, I didn’t catch your name-”

“The name’s Parthur Frankfurt School Stonebottom. I’m a rodeo man. A nude bull rider.”

“I might’ve figured.” Clyde eased his battered body onto the unforgiving earth. “Only the strongest and most rugged of souls would dare mount the bull without even a shred of underwear to protect their jewels and stirrups from the Bull’s longhorns.”

“My daddy taught me the technique, I’m a third generation nude rider.”

“It’s all in the family, they say,” Clyde quipped, referencing the Korn track.

“Hey! Watch out!”

Before poor Parthur could turn around, the diamond back shot up and bit him square in the ass.

“Christ the Redeemer!” Parthur shouted, landing on his chest, with his ass poised up at the Dakota sun.

Clyde, still in a heap of pain, dragged his body over to his fallen savior.

“Where’d the sonovabitch bit ya?”

“Oh God, right on the hole!” Parthur shouted.

“Damn,” Clyde said. “I would offer to suck the venom out, but that’d mean I’d have to pull down your jeans, plant my limps right on your pooper, and give it a suck. It’d be the first homosexual act I’d ever committed with another man. A sin according to the correct interpretation of Corinthian 6:9-10.”

Parthur’s face winced as he struggled to unclasp his jeans. “That’s… okay pardner… I got my… own technique… no suck…ing required…”

Clyde assisted Parthur in getting his pants and G-string down.

“What’s your special technique?”

“I can force… the venom out…so long as…I can build up enough…pressure… need something… long and hard in my… mouth to do it…”

Clyde thought for a moment. He looked down at the cowboy’s face. It was turning blue. Parthur didn’t have long.

“I got it!” Clyde said. He whipped out his Colt, long and polished silver. “Will this do the trick?”

“Yes… that’s perfect…quick…put it to my lips…”

Clyde did as he was told.

Parthur, sealing his full, red lips around the barrel end, puffed up his cheeks and blew as hard as he could. The air pressure began to inflate Parthur’s body, causing his own denim outfit to rend and tear. Clyde watched in awe as Parthur’s pink body filled out like a balloon.

“Not enough… pressure….” Parthur squeaked. “You gotta…. Pull the trigger…”

“But that’ll kill ya!” Clyde said, beads of sweat pouring down his face.

“Just… do… it…”

Clyde gulped. He cocked his gun. Parthur’s face was now pudgey as one of them fat Buddha’s at the Mongolian Bar B Q.

If I miss this shot, he thought, I could hit a lung, hell, a kidney, gotta aim right for the anus, that’s where all the damn venom is.

His hand was shaking, both from the pain of his injuries and the immense pressure he was under.

“Pull the trigger!” Came Parthur’s muffled cry.

Fboom.

The bullet, traveling a straight line from Parthur’s uvula to his asshole, collided with the well of venom that had built up in his anus, causing green spray to erupt from Parthur’s ass, showering the prairie with the burning hot snake aids.

Parthur’s body immediately deflated. He lay there motionless beneath the Dakota sun.

“Parthur, Parthur Frankfort School Stonebottom, please, tell me you aint passed on to meet your maker!”

“I’m… I’m ok…” Parthur replied.

Clyde collapsed to the ground with relief. “Thank you, old friend,” he said to his trusty 45z

“No need to thank me-“

“I was talking to my gun,” Clyde said.

“Oh, okay.”

“Hey, when we get back to town, I’m going to get me a good girl with gigantic breasts and marry her,” Clyde said.

“Yeah,” Parthur winked. “Normal Heterosexual acts. That’s what it’s all about.”

“Sure is, Parfy,” clyde said watching two Milipedes doing anal on a rock. “Sure is.”

The End

Thanks for reading and be sure to tell all your friends about the cool story you read!