With Charlotte, it never felt like cheating because it never felt like love. It always felt like what it was supposed to be in the first place; an overpowering, unadulterated hunger for flesh with a genuine sadistic regard towards dignity that would spiral itself into an uncontrollable feeding frenzy of self-respect and warm body fluids; otherwise known as hot, throbbing lust.
She never played hard to get and she would never make him pay. She was the All-American whore next door. She was one thousand Penthouse Forum stories rolled into one rapturous page-turning novel. She was an unsuspecting, upper-class nymphomaniac who knew how to scratch an itch. (more…)
“Okay, okay…sit down.” As Pumpkinhead sat down at a corner table in the coffee shop, Captain H threw his sandwich on the plastic tray and continued, “How do I communicate with the little green men?”
“Little green men?”
“Yeah.”
“Hey dude, did Jezebel sell you some of that liquid acid? That’s to be taken in small doses, you know. I hope you didn’t slurp that down.”
“Don’t be coy.”
“Coy?” Pumpkinhead picked at his hash browns. “You sure you mean coy?”
“Yeah I mean coy; you know like a wise-ass.” He took another bite of his sandwich.
“A wise-ass is just a wise-ass. If you’re coy, then you’re a bashful, or a shy wise-ass.”
“But you’re still a wise-ass!”
“Only if you use that particular adjective in there, otherwise you’re just a demure person.”
“Stupid?”
“Huh?”
“Stupid….a stupid person. Like, ‘that guy skipping across the street is acting a bit demurely’.”
“Because he’s demure, he’s stupid?”
“That’s what I’m thinking.”
“Being demure has nothing to do with stupidity. Did we go to school in the same country?”
“Demure means stupid.”
“Demure means coy!”
“Not all stupid people are necessarily wise-asses, Pumpkinhead! Like the jerk off skipping across the street, he’s just a stupid ass – not a wise-ass.”
Pumpkinhead stared at him as he chewed his food, “How do you find your way home at night, anyway?”
“Let’s get back to the little green people.”
“Leprechauns? They’re not real.”
“The Martians!”
“Oh…the aliens.”
“Yeah, whatever you wanna call them.”
“Aliens. Yeah, now they’re real. I know because I’ve seen them.”
“I know you have. That’s why I need to talk to you. You see, Muffin Man told me that Rad told him he was talking with Mahdakis, who told him that Floyd had just told him that he and Pumpkinhead, that’s you, had seen Squid. Is this true?”
“I’m not sure what you just said. I got lost after Rad…But I have seen Squid recently, if that’s what this is about.”
“That’s what this is about.”
“Yeah, he said he’s not of this Earth anymore, dude.”
Captain H grabbed Pumpkinhead’s wrist, “What does that mean? What did he mean by that? Not of this Earth? Is he a ghost? Is he gonna come after us and kill our families and rape our house pets?!”
“Calm down dude, will ya? Get a hold of yourself man!”
Captain H took a skeptical bite of his soggy hash brown, “What are they about, Pumpkinhead? Why are they here, and what do they have to do with us?”
“Dude! Are you serious, man? The aliens brought us here millions of years ago; they dumped our ancestors off on this once desolate planet like bags of outgrown clothes.”
“What are you saying?”
“Dude, the first people who arrived here were criminals from outer space somewhere and no longer any good to their communities, and therefore were dumped off here with no feasible way to return; they were prisoners.”
“What about Adam and Eve? Prisoners too?”
“Oh come off it, will ya? For that mater, what about Santa Claus?”
“Hey! Jesus Christ is my lord and savior, Pumpkinhead! Don’t speak ill of good people like him and Moses and so fourth.”
“Well which is it? You’re talking about two different books now.”
“Society as we know it starts with Jesus Christ, everyone knows that. We are his children; not some filthy, slimy Martian people’s. That’s why when Jesus was born, the calendar date starts on zero; we build from there. That is the origin of our existence.”
“What about Adam and Eve, then, all those years ago?”
“Okay, good point.”
“Mm-hm,” Pumpkinhead took a sip of his ice coffee, “And what about all the other shit that happened before him?”
“It wasn’t done properly; it doesn’t count because it didn’t work; it’s like we got a do-over when he was born.”
“More like the Romans forced some shit on the world because they were paranoid about their own existence and survival.”
“Hey! Don’t knock the Romans!”
“Aren’t you like Indian, or Black, or something?”
“A little of each; but I still respect the good book.”
“You know that ‘good book’ is what drove the Europeans over here to slaughter the fuck out of your Cherokee ancestors, who by the way, put stock into the belief in alien life form.”
“They did?”
“Oh yeah, it’s well documented. And, that ‘good book’ is also what the Europeans thought entitled them to go to Africa and make slaves of your other ancestors, because the followers of that ‘good book’ believed that anyone else, or any other race of people who didn’t believe in it, were inferior and therefore, they should be conquered and converted. And if memory serves correct, back in those dark ages, most of that African continent had very different beliefs….and still does! So pardon my confusion about your love for Whitey and the ‘good book’.”
Captain H gave consideration and said in a rather hushed tone, “Fuckin’ European scumbag bastards; I got to start reading more stuff.” Then, opening his arms as wide as possible, he focused an obsessed stare up towards the ceiling and, with veins bulging out of his neck and forehead, he yelled on the top of his lungs, “KILL ALL THE WHITE PEOPLE!”
Waking to the fuzzy feel of the rapidly fraying silk sheets, her naked curvaceous body intertwined with his and, and more importantly, to the comforting knowledge that he was safe. Safe in her arms; cocooned within a calming sense of belonging, purpose, want, and need; the beat of his heart, once again accompanied with a melody. He was with his true love.
But with all that, came the familiar air of uncertainty. The uncertainty of what she was thinking (and why), or scheming to do next (and when), and then, how long this euphoria would last. But it was his choice, and he knew the plausible consequences. He knew he’d forfeited all control the moment he stepped towards her; yet he stepped anyway. The serpent that was their twisted, masochistic passion for one another had reawakened itself and was cotton-mouthed; thirsty for new blood. And in its unyielding quest to quench the thirst, would lead them both down a long spiraling ride of emotional anguish and sexual nirvana, as only a serpent can be held accountable. (more…)
“They just kicked me out of school,” said Mahdakis, stopping to acknowledge Floyd. “I guess I got to start looking for some sort of a job, or something.”
“Well that wasn’t very nice of them. What did you do?”
“Nothing.”
“Ya had to do something. They don’t just kick you out of school for doing nothing.”
Mahdakis took a puff of his cigar. “Apparently they do.”
“Hmm…who knew?”
“Hey dudes! What’s up?” Nicki said, coming out of the school, slapping them both on the ass. “Shouldn’t you guys be in class, or something?”
“Us? I thought you graduated a few months ago. What the hell are you doing here?”
“I just wanted to say hi to a couple of teachers. Ask how their summer was, you know?”
“Did you have sex with them?”
“What? No! What’s the matter with you?”
“Then why are you talking to teachers when you don’t have to?”
“Never mind.”
“Mahdakis just got kicked out of school.”
“For how long?”
“Forever long. Mr. Fuss said if I quit on my own, it will look better on my record, so I did.”
“Shit man, what did you do?”
“Nothin’ Hee-hee-hee-hee. He did nothing!”
“And it seems that’s not an acceptable practice.”
“Well, duh,” Nicki said, getting in his face. “You’re supposed to do something, anything…but you can’t just do nothing.”
“Ahh….and nothing is not something, is it?”
“No, it’s not.”
“But anything is something.”
“And something can be anything.”
“Most definitely.”
“But you can make something out of nothing, people do it all the time.”
“And you can make nothing out of something, although it’s not recommended.”
“So where did I go wrong?”
“It sounds like you were trying to make anything out of nothing, buddy, that’s the problem here.”
“Okay, but can’t you make nothing out of anything?”
“Sure. Politicians do it on a daily basis.”
“Now I see.”
“Alright, enough of you assholes. Anyone seen Tony?”
“He went to pick up his car this morning, and then go to work. They offered him new full-time hours. If it works out, he’s hoping his birth-givers will let him quit school.”
“Quit school?”
“Well at least he can say he was doing something.”
“He can’t quit school! And where the hell is he? That asshole! He told me to meet him here because he didn’t have a ride!”
“I don’t know, Nick, but he left a while ago, and what do you mean, quit school? Why not? Thousands of people do it every day.”
“That doesn’t make it right.”
“Or wrong.”
“But it does make it trendy.”
“I’m thinking about doing it!”
“When?”
“How about right now? Hee-hee-hee-hee,” Floyd laughed, slapped him on the back and started walking away from the school with him. “Want some company?”
“Sure. The more the merrier.”
“Yeah, let’s see how fuckin’ merry you guys are standing in the unemployment line. What the fuck? What are you idiots gonna do with yourselves?”
“Listen to yourselves. What a bunch of fuckin’ B.U.R.N.O.U.T.S.”
“Okay Mrs. Smarty pants, what would you do?”
“I don’t know,” said Nicki, swinging a set of keys around. “But I have my birth-giver’s car all day, nowhere to go, and a bag of purple microdot.”
“Where’s the car?”
“The Jeep’s over there, right in front.”
“I thought you couldn’t park there.’
“Student’s can’t park there but I’m not a student anymore, remember?”
“See? You get all kinds of special privileges and access to the school once you don’t go here anymore, or have any real use for it.”
“But while you’re here, you’re treated like an animal. This makes sense to you guys?”
“It’s incentive.’
“Incentive would be getting a blowjob from your teacher after a good grade.”
“That’d be a lot of blowjobs.”
“Not if she taught you idiots. Besides, what if it was a guy teacher, you assholes? You want some old dude slobberin’ all over your cocks?”
“I don’t know, that wouldn’t be so bad, I guess.”
“She says it like it’s a bad thing.”
“You know I read somewhere that Japanese female-birth-givers do just that for their male offspring, when they bring home a good grade for the semester.”
“That’s just sick, you know that. What kind of a normal person would want their female-birth-giver giving them head?”
“Have you ever met Floyd’s female-birth-giver?”
“Shut up, dude.” Floyd looked over at Nicki and said, “Normal is all how you are raised. If you’re taught that this is normal, you don’t think of it as odd.”
“Meaning, the female-birth-givers go down on their offspring when they’re young? What are you, an asshole?”
“It’s true. In that same report, they explained how they masturbate their male offspring when they’re very young so as to stop them from crying, and continue this practice well into puberty.”
“Makes sense.”
“What??? Mahdakis, where do you come up with this shit?”
“I read a lot.”
“Maybe if you read more of your assignments instead of whacking off to National Geographic, or whatever, you wouldn’t be repeating your senior year again.”
“This is bullshit, Frank! What the fuck do we need Carl and Floyd for, anyway? Huh? Wanna tell me that?”
“I dunno, I’m just tellin’ you what I heard from Floyd. I guess your brother feels sorry for them and wants to give them some sort of a job by lettin’ them help out with the band.”
“Fuck ‘em! We are the road crew! Not them!”
“I thought you and Floyd were really tight these days.”
“Not when the prick’s cutting in on my action, yo! Christ, neither of them even owns a vehicle.”
“I know.”
“So what’s that gonna do? We got just as much stuff to carry around in the same number of cars, and two more people to find room for!”
“Yep. I know. I think maybe he just feels sorry for them you know, living out on the streets and whatnot.”
“Bullshit, man! Floyd slept at my house last week while my brother slept out on the street with Carl. What the hell’s he talking about?”
Frank took a chug of Budweiser. “I don’t know about that. Floyd says they haven’t seen Mahdakis much this past week.”
“Well, he sure the hell ain’t stayin’ down at Pock’s and Dakota’s.”
“Dakota’s not even staying at Pock’s and Dakota’s. Huh-huh-huh-huh. Hey, ya know…that’s right. We been there every night, and ain’t seen him but for rehearsal.”
Pumpkinhead took a big long drag off a joint. “Haven’t seen him once, dude.”
“Well where is he, then?”
Pumpkinhead exhaled with exaggeration, “I don’t know. He’s into girls, I know that.”
“And what are you into?”
“I am too, asshole! But he likes to play house, if you get my drift!”
“That’s kind a gay. But you know what? You got an attitude problem. What’s with being so hyper all the time?”
“I’m not! I’m just an expressive person!”
“Well, express the fuck down, then.”
Pumpkinhead took another long hit and scrunched his eyebrows together. “Where the fuck is he staying at night, I wonder.”
“Someone said they saw him walking in Old Norford, the other night.”
“Ah no.”
“You think he’s back with Jezebel?”
“It would explain his presence there….Copper Tom lives there too, but I doubt he’d be visiting him.”
“Why does Mahdakis hate him so much?”
“Probably because Copper Tom’s a fuckin’ asshole, that’s why!”
“He wouldn’t be such an asshole if your brother wasn’t always yelling at him.”
“MY BROTHER YELLS AT HIM BECAUSE HE’S A FUCKIN’ COKE ADDICTED, GOOD FOR NOTHING, DEGENERATE PIECE OF SHIT; THAT’S WHY!”
“Don’t fuckin’ yell at me. I’ll pick you up by that giraffe neck of yours and fling you into the river.”
“I’ll mess you up, dude!”
“Ha-ha-ha-ha! I’ll squish that pumpkin head of yours until your brains fall out your eye sockets!”
“Yeah, you wish.”
“Huh-huh-huh-huh. That’s it? That’s all you got?”
“For now.”
“For now,” Frank repeated, “oh well, you know what?”
“Mm.”
“At least it’s better than sleeping on the streets with Carl and Floyd.”
“What is?”
“Your brother…..with Jezebel, or whoever he’s with.”
“Yeah, I don’t think it’s her, dude. She really pissed him off last time. He was real hurt and shit, but hey, fuck him and Carl and Floyd! What’s up with that? Why the hell don’t they just go home and sleep?”
“Because they’re not allowed to. Huh-huh, Remember?”
“That’s a bunch of shit, dude. My female-birth-giver’s always crying at night because that asshole won’t come home half the time, or call to say where he is. Carl and Floyd, same thing. Ask Kim if you don’t believe me. They just want people to think that they’re on hard times so they have justification to be idiots. All it is, is a way of validating their own laziness and lack of motivation, thereby giving them an excuse to accomplish nothing.”
“Wow. That’s a concept, right there,” Frank said, staring out at the Brandywine River, “I mean, that’s pretty ingenious.”
“Ingenious? Are you smoking crack?”
“No. I’m the same way as them, but I have no excuse for the way I am…….Wish I had thought of that. Huh.”
“Frank,” Pumpkinhead said cautiously, “I don’t mean to hurt your feelings or anything, but you’re a little……slow….sometimes, brother. You don’t need an excuse.”
Frank turned his head towards Pumpkinhead and the two of them sat on The Rock staring at one another until Frank started laughing uncontrollably. “Ha-ha-ha-ha-! Ha-ha! That’s what I want people to think! Ha-ha-ha-ha!”
“Huh? Are you serious? Why?”
“I guess to validate my uh, lazy…….whatever it is you said. Huh-huh-huh. And to get people to feel sorry for me sometimes. Girls dig it, too.”
“Oh.” Pumpkinhead sat stupefied. “So you’ve no reason to feel envious of them, Frank. You got your own gig going on.”
“That’s right.” Frank lit up a Marlboro and took a long drag. “Now…….let’s talk about this accident that Carl and Floyd are going to have.”
It was an enormous mansion lined with wall to wall cocaine users and big-haired, scantily clad sperm dumpsters; it was a party of no less than four-hundred people; the occasion was the long awaited release of the Open Fly debut album, ‘Rock Out with your Cock Out’, and anyone who could show up, did. Most everyone wanted a piece of the Open Fly action, and wanted to be around them because they were indeed, cool. Or so the trend-following record label wanted everyone to believe.
For better or worse, the music scene had really taken shape. If any guy was going to make it in the music business at this point in time, he needed to possess, not only the pelvis and cheek bones of a nineteen-year-old girl, but the shaved legs as well; all stuffed inside tight genitalia-strangling spandex. Another major requirement for being considered relevant in the present music world was exposing a freshly waxed chest, with a full head of hair teased no less than ten inches above the skull, and if you wanted to make it really big, you wore hints of blush, eyeliner, and sometimes lipstick or colored lip-gloss and made puckering kissy faces at the big-titted sperm dumpsters in the audience while you played your guitar solo or bass fill. It didn’t hurt your image to grow your nails long and have them painted up in some effeminate manner either. And, of course, Open Fly lived to be flaming F.A.G.G.’s and were therefore the talk of the town, all the rave, the big cheese, the flavor of the day, in a fashionably gender confused world of what was regrettably now the biggest fad in music – Female-Aspirant Guy Groups; commonly known as F.A.G.G. Metal.
Basically, the scene had shifted from angry restless rebellious youth of the streets fighting for or against a cause; sending a message of hate, love, and a desire for a better planet (accompanied usually with some very interesting and talent-packed songs), what was now, nothing more than a bunch of wealthy, testosterone ridden, beautifully groomed, long-haired, would-be-jock-otherwise, mama’s boys out for nothing more than to penetrate the prettiest and stupidest bitch they could find; And the bait? Nothing more than a nursery rhymed melody sung over a 1-4-5 progression played on a shiny electric guitar, and a line or two of white powder. It was the roaring gay eighties.
Open Fly had just landed a minor contract with an up-and-coming record label. Their music was carefree, la-dee-da, drink-some-beer-and-fuck-some-chicks-in-fast-cars kind of music. It disgusted Mahdakis to no end that these types of bands were what was now being signed and granted small tours with even bigger, more well-known, la-dee-da, drink-some-beer-and-fuck-some-chicks-in-fast-cars kinds of bands. It spoke volumes for what was supposed to be his generation.
But this was no longer his generation. He banished it – along with some of the respect he had for its followers, which were many of the good friends he still had. He was not about to shave his mustache or sell out at any cost, but nor was he taking any immediate opposing action to do anything against it either. Instead, he seemed content in doing nothing with his music for the meantime.
Meanwhile… on the other side of town, in the rear parking lot of Barely Bagels, more stupidity was rearing its ugly head, as Frank, Carl, Dakota and Goiter prepared to attend the aforementioned F.A.G.G. Metal party…….
“Anybody wanna get going?” Carl said, impatiently.
“Why, you in a hurry for some F.A.G.G. action tonight? Ha-ha.”
Carl punched Goiter on the shoulder. “Shut the fuck up.”
“Ow!”
“Well he’s got a point, I mean…..they could dress a little more masculine, don’t you think? What’s up with those hair-dos, anyway? Why do chicks dig that? Dakota? Do tell.”
“Not all chicks dig it Floyd; me for one. I think they’re a bunch of poseur idiots. But if you must know, most of the other girls like it because it’s upbeat rock-n-roll that keeps things light and fluffy and doesn’t bring you down, or remind you of everything that’s wrong with your life…and the world.”
“Huh-huh, you mean like Mahdakis’s shit.” Frank Slate shook his head. “Good cripes. I love the guy, don’t get me wrong, but Jesus Christ, stick a fork in me when the song’s over, will ya?”
“I can never tell when his songs are over.”
“Yeah,” Frank continued, “sometimes I think the whole concert is just one long-winded song. And I’ll be damned if I ever know what the fuck he’s talkin’ about.”
“It’s called theater, dummy.” Dakota took a drag from her cigarette and blew it in his face. “But I guess a simpleton like you wouldn’t understand.”
Frank grinned, knowing she was only teasing. “Huh-huh-huh, you’re a nasty lil’ cunt, ain’t cha?”
“Whoa! Whoa! Whoa! Whoa,” Carl screamed at him, “Easy!”
“I’m just kiddin’. Heck, I roadie for the guy, you know.”
“So you’d think you’d know more about what’s going on with him than you do,” Floyd said.
“Yeah, but I don’t.”
“And therein lies the genius that is Frank Slate. Ha-ha-ha!” Goiter laughed all by himself.
“So basically, F.A.G.G. metal is music that doesn’t burden your brain with any strenuous thinking,” Carl summed up.
“And that’s why so many people like it, and the radio plays it all the time,” Dakota agreed. “It’s ear candy for simple people with limited artistic capacity…
“Of which, there are many.”
“…people who hate having to think, and can only handle simple melodies running through their head.” She took another drag and exhaled as Frank earnestly absorbed what she said. “I mean you might as well play nursery rhymes on the radio.”
“The radio, I-I can’t even listen to it anymore, it’s so full of that F.A.G.G. Metal shit. Fuckin’ disgusting,” Carl hawked a big yellow loogy on the ground.
“You know what Mahdakis says?” Frank asked, trying to remember the conversation.
“This ought to be good.”
“He says that the government’s in cahoots with all these big companies that buy up radio stations and play uh…..what does he call it…..Mind Numbing….yeah, mind numbing music that’s meant to keep the American population…us….ignorant and distracted from what’s really going on. He says, that uh…..that these…these same companies also buy up music rights from older deadbeat artists…”
“Deadbeat?”
“…and uh….what do they do….they uh….yeah, since they now have the royal rights…”
“….Royal rights?”
“They were knighted,” Dakota whispered sarcastically.
“… they make the stations that they bought up, play these same songs over and over again, which makes them rich because the more people hear something, Mahdakis says, the more they want to hear it again because they know it’s safe and………they like uh….status quo, or whatever word he used; and that it will be the same for F.A.G.G. Metal years down the road, you know, because it’s a simple friendly kind of harmless music that brain-dead folks and their nice little children, although I think he said mindless children, will probably like years later. He says it’s all some sort of a…..a net to catch the most American fish at one time, or something like that, I think.”
A long hush of abysmal silence followed as everyone stared at each other, wondering if Frank was done. Floyd shook his head and broke the silence. “I’m not sure what’s worse, Mahdakis and his conspiracy theories, or Frank explaining them.”
Goiter laughed, “Makes it sound twice as insane as it already is.”
“And trust me,” Carl lit up a smoke and said, “neither one of them needs any help sounding insane.”
“Ha-ha!”
Frank turned and walked towards the car. “Fuck it. I like the radio…and F.A.G.G. Metal.”
“Me too, Frank,” Goiter said. “I’m right behind ya pal.”
“Hey-hey-hey, none of that. Just ’cause we’re goin’ to a F.A.G.G. Metal party together doesn’t give you the right to fuck me in the ass.”
“Then what exactly does?” Dakota asked.
Carl rolled his eyes in exasperation. “Can we just please get the fuck out of here already?”
“Yeah, alright,” Frank conceded, “let’s go meet up with our F.A.G.G. Metal friends and suck some F.A.G.G. dick all night long…..Mmm.”
Floyd stared at Frank. “Jesus Christ, Frank. Sometimes I wonder if you even know what the hell you’re saying.”
“Everyone hop in.” Frank got in his car and started it up. “C’mon, let’s go!”
Pumpkinhead spun around at the foot of the bed to face his older brother, Mahdakis, “So here’s how it works; every Friday at the end of the month, you go up to NYU.”
“The one in New York?”
“The same.”
“But what if the last day of the month doesn’t fall on a Friday?”
“It doesn’t matter. Just go on the last Friday of every month!”
“How long are you going to be locked in this asylum?”
“Not much longer so you’ll probably only be doing this one time. But you gotta unload the shit for me.”
“Cool.”
“You’ll go to the Rubin dorm or Rubin Hall; something like that. It’s on Fifth Ave. Ask for Black Tom. He knows to look out for you. He’s really cool and mellow.”
“And black?”
“And black. Now, he’s gonna sell you the shit. You’re going to buy a pound of bud. Make sure it’s good bud and not shake. Black Tom won’t jerk you around and he usually gets nice stuff, but just make sure.”
“What if it’s not?”
“Not bud? Then don’t buy.”
“Alright. So far so good.”
“You’ll need about twelve hundred dollars.”
“Say what? Where the fuck am I going to get that kind of money?”
“Jesus Christ! Calm the fuck down, man. Don’t you have a job or something?”
“Yeah, I got a job, but my money’s pretty much tied up.”
“Well un-fuckin’ tie it because you have to understand that while twelve-hundred may sound like a lot, you’ll be selling ounces at two-hundred dollars!”
“So wait…..a pound, right?
“Right.”
“And there’s …uh….sixteen ounces in a pound?”
“Last time I checked.”
“So that’s thirty-two hundred dollars?”
“Yeah man, like a two-thousand dollar profit if you don’t use any yourself. You have the capacity to make even more by selling it in small nickel and dime quantities.”
“You must be rolling in the dough by now.”
“Not really man, I got the car payments and the insurance…”
“That’s it though. You got nothing else. Where’s all your money?”
“It’s rough man because we spend twelve or fifteen hundred on a pound sometimes and then end up selling just about the same amount. We break even more times than not.”
“That doesn’t even make sense. You should be making an extra two thousand or so off each deal.”
“Right. But then we need to set aside twelve more for the next buy.”
“So you should have two thousand in your hand.”
“Black Tom and I smoke a lot of it.”
“You smoke all your profits?”
“Basically.”
Mahdakis stood staring at his brother in disbelief, “What’s the matter with you, man? You were always so good with money.”
“I am good with money. I’m just not good with pot.”
“Jesus.”
“Hey man, stop raggin’ on me dude. It pays for itself and the gas to get to and from places, man.”
“So you and Black Tom smoke a half pound in a month? You smoke half your investment?”
“Easily.”
“What if you bought twice as much? Two pounds instead of one?”
“What good would that do?”
“Then you’d be able to have another pound and a half while still having the other half pound for recreation.”
“How do you figure?”
“Because it’s two pounds instead of one.”
“But we smoke up half of it.”
“Right.”
“Half of two pounds is one pound. We’d be smoking an entire pound instead of just half.”
“But you wouldn’t have to!”
“Sure we would!”
“Why?”
“Because we smoke half. That’s how it goes!”
“But don’t smoke half!”
“But that’s what we do! You said so yourself. If we didn’t smoke half then we wouldn’t be having this conversation right now. All buying two pounds is gonna do is create more for us to smoke and generate more of a profit loss!”
Black Tom inhaled the joint and lazily looked over at Pock, the owner of a weathered crater face. “So why do they call you Pock? Is that a Texas kind of thing?”
Mahdakis and Tony were silent, eyeballing one another trying to make the best of an uncomfortable moment.
Pock spoke softly, “Nah man, it’s ’cuz a my face and whatnot.” Pock’s hand waved over his face suggestively as his eyes lowered to the ground. “You know?”
“That’s just from bad acne at one point in time. You can cure that you know.”
“Yea, how? Cut his head off?” Tony laughed.
“That wouldn’t be much fun, now would it?” Black Tom got up and walked into the bathroom. When he returned, he was holding a jar in his right hand and was mixing its contents with a wooden spoon, held in his left. “What you need, is to dab just a little of this on your face every morning and at night just before bed. It’ll do miracles.” Black Tom knelt down in front of Pock and was about to poke his face with the pointy end of a feather.
“Hey man, what duh fuck is dat, mane? Ya’ll gone fuckin’ bonkers er sumpin’? Don’t touch me wit dat crap.”
“It’s okay,” Black Tom retreated politely, “it’s just a facial concoction that rejuvenates the skin by going deep into the pores and replenishing any facial blemishes back to their original state. You’ll be a better looking guy in no time, just trust me on this one. There’s nothing in here that you don’t ingest into your body anyway, or nothing that isn’t all natural.”
“Wut duh fuck iz it, ’zactly?”
“It’s two parts strained mud water, one-part chicken blood, with a drop of vanilla extract and a sprinkle of crushed lavender pedals; about a teaspoon or more.”
“Say what?”
“Just grab a handful or two of mud and put it in a colander, spaghetti strainer or whatever, and let the water strain out into a bowl or something; maybe do this overnight because it’s gonna take a long time.”
“Okay. Where do I find sum ’dat chicken blood?”
“Just a fresh chicken from the grocery store will do. You know, before you cook it, reserve the blood in a container of some sort, but don’t let it sit around for more than a week in the fridge, or it’s no good.”
“Fresh chicken; got it.”
“And the pedals you can purchase at any florist of course. But this is the important part.” Black Tom moved in towards Pock’s face, holding the feather like a pen. “You must apply just a little bit with the tip of an authentic ostrich feather, as the ostrich is rich in particular enzymes that disperse from the feather stem when mixed with the other proper ingredients.”
“Enzymes, yeah…I heard ah doze.”
“Then apply the ointment like this.” Black Tom began touching Pock’s face lightly with the tip of the feather, and drew what felt to Pock like, imaginary lines; one under his right eye and then one on his left cheek. “This will go into your skin’s pours directly and sit festering, adding essential vitamins and minerals to the under layers. That’s it. Don’t apply any more than that. The next time you do this however, apply the ointment in two different spots.”
“Which ones?”
“Wherever you like. Just mix it up and don’t go over the same area too often. Then when you’ve done that…” Black Tom turned the feather around and began brushing Pock’s entire face with the feather end, “…give yourself a quick brushing like so. When you give it a brush like this, you are brushing any excess of those vitamins and minerals that may have not gone into your skin and spread them over your face where they won’t do much, but what little they do, will heal, and not go to waste by dripping on the floor.”
“Vitamins and Min’rals…those are good tings.”
“Yes they are, and so are ostrich feathers. That is why it is very, very, very, important that you use an authentic ostrich feather, like so, and not a fake one or any other type of feather. Do you understand?”
“Yeah…authentic.”
“Right, and since they’re hard to find, I’ll give you this one. There’s a little place down in the village here where I can get more.”
“Can you eat ’em too?”
“The feathers?”
“Ostrich. Do you eat ’em?”
“Personally I don’t eat any meat at all unless it’s between a woman’s legs, and even then I’m known to be a bit stingy. But I’ve heard that it is quite a delicacy in other countries.”
After finally securing her right leg to the bedpost with a towel, Tony went to the dresser drawer, pulled out a roll of duct tape, and proceeded to cut off a seven-inch piece, “I’m tired of your mouth, already. Try this, you bitch!”
Tony walked over to the bed where Nicki was screaming, “No! No! No! Don’t! Please, No! I can’t breathe! I’ll hyperventilate!”
“Too bad, bitch!” Tony quickly applied the tape over her mouth.
Nicki lay on the bed flailing her naked flabby body around; her left leg trying to kick him away, “Mmm! Mmm! Mm-mmmmmm!!”
The smoke alarm started going off, “Shit!” Tony quickly cuffed her left leg to the post, “I forgot about the pasta on the stove. I’ll be back!”
“Mm-mm?” she mumbled as Tony turned and ran downstairs to the smoky kitchen.
Tony returned, holding a large pot of steaming lasagna noodles, which he set down on the dresser, “I hope you like butter,” he said, taking one of the hot noodles out of the pot and dangling it in the air, allowing the hot butter to drip on her naked body.
“MMM-MMM!”
“Yeah, Mm-mm…yummy, right?”
“Mmm!”
“Okay. Okay, I won’t make you wait any longer. Here, take this,” and then Tony thrashed her several times with the hot, wet, buttery lasagna noodle on her torso.
“Mmm!!! Mmm! Mmm!!!!”
“Yeah…mm-mm. You want some more, huh?” Tony walked over to the steaming pot and yanked out another noodle in which to torture her with.
“Hmmm!”
“Yeah…..I know…You got an appetite for sausage too. I haven’t forgotten.” Tony began yanking on his penis while he whipped her with the noodle on her inner thigh and the sides of her ass, butter splashing everywhere upon impact of her body . Nicki tried to scream through the duct tape as he whipped her with more noodles, over and over again; all the while frantically masturbating.
As if all this wasn’t enough for the helpless young woman, she was to be further traumatized when five police officers came crashing through the bedroom door, as she lay on the bed with her glory wide open for all to see, and watched them tackle Tony Ravioli. “FREEZE YOU FUCKER!”
“DOWN ON THE GROUND! GET DOWN!”
“I GOT HIM, JOE. I GOT HIM! CHRIST THIS FUCKER’S HAIRY….YUCK!” the uniformed officer yelled, spitting something out of his mouth.
“GET OFF ME! WHAT THE FUCK’S GOING ON AROUND HERE?”
Officer Roy drew his weapon and pointed it at Tony, “Don’t move. You’re under arrest for kidnapping, sexual assault, stalking, endangerment, vandalism, trespassing, and all kinds of odious charges.”
“WHAT THE FUCK DOES ODIOUS MEAN?”
“You have the right to remain silent, anything you ……”
Sometimes you can fuck a person every day of the week and never know a thing about them. Other times, you can know everything about a person except what they’re like when they’re getting off.
There’s a reason for this.
If we knew what our best friends were like behind the bedroom door, we wouldn’t be best friends with them anymore, or in the first place.
Fact is, one never knows a person inside and out until they’ve seen how that person’s insides pop out while their outsides are going in. But how can you possibly know you don’t know the person you think you know?
You can’t.
It’s that one little thing that you’ll never know. And it’s most likely for the better. As a case in point, let’s take Mahdakis and Tony; if either one had any inclination of what the other was up to when his pants were off, neither one would have an ounce of respect for the other…..and with damn good reason.
He was on his bed, sitting up right with a pillow between his back and the wall. Nicki subserviently, held a joint to his mouth while he inhaled a hit and blew it back out in her face.
“Asshole,” she said playfully. Then she took a hit off the joint herself and as she held it in said, “You wanna fuck before we go to this party, or what?”
“Sure. Why not? You wanna know what I was thinking though?”
“What were you thinking?” she said snuggling close to Tony Ravioli.
“I was thinking of tying you up.”
“Ha-ha…. alright, I’m into that.”
“And spraying white stuff all over your body.”
“I’m into that, too!”
“Fine. Get naked, I’ll be right back.”
As Nicki undressed, Tony made his way downstairs towards the kitchen. When he returned to the bedroom, Nicki lay completely naked on his bed, her chunky body pouring off the sides like pancake batter. Noticing the tray of food in his hand she said, “What are you going to do, eat while you fuck me?”
“Something like that. I got the munchies.”
“Well, I got something you can munch on. You don’t need all that.”
“Fine. Let’s tie your ass up to the bed rails first though.”
Nicki smiled and obliged him. She held her arms up in the air without resistance while he tied bandanas around her wrists and then the other end of the bandanas to either bedpost.
“Oooh, am I supposed to start screaming for help now? Help. Help me,” she laughed.
“Quiet you!”
“Easy! Not so tight. It’s not like I’m going anywhere.”
“There,” he said triumphantly, “now we’re ready to munch on some meat,” he smirked as he got up and turned around to the plate of food he brought up and, with his back facing her said, “What about you? You hungry? Want some meat?”
Not sure what he had in mind, but willing to play along, she said, “Sure lay some meat on me, big boy.”
“I like mayonnaise with mine. You?”
“I like anything white and sticky,” she said, giggling nervously.
“Good,” Tony said, and quickly turned around and began hurling spoonfuls of mayonnaise at her naked torso. “Then you’ll love this, cunt! Ha-ha-ha-ha!!!!”
“Hey, what the fuck are you doing? Cut the shit!!”
Tony threw mayonnaise at her for a minute or so as she struggled to get free from the tight bandanas, her legs flailing in the air. “What the hell’s the matter with you? Have you lost your fuckin’ mind? Get me out of here, Tony! Now!”
“Fuck that! I wanna eat……NOW!” with that, Tony then jumped on top of her and began spreading the mayonnaise on her body with his bare hands, as if he were greasing a watermelon.
“What the….Man, you’re into some bizarre shit, motherfucker,” Nicki said, as she watched him lather her up with Hellman’s. “I hope you plan to lick it all off, now.”
“I’m gonna eat it!”
“Even better, let’s just get this ritual of yours over with. My God, this is some wacked out crap.”
Tony walked across the room and picked up the tray, which had an assortment of cold cuts on it. “What the hell?” she yelled.
“It’s meat! Here! Have some fucking meat, bitch!” and then began whipping slices of salami, bologna, and ham at her mayonnaise-lathered body.
“Holy shit, man! What the fuck is the matter with you?!! Get me out of here! Help!”
“You said to lay it on you! Well, I’m laying it on you now, cunt!” Tony kept throwing the meat at her, which of course would stick to the mayonnaise if it landed flat enough. Some of it adhering to gravity and peeling itself off her body after a few seconds, but there was so much being thrown at her, that she was covered after only a minute.
She continued yelling, screaming, and tugging at the bandanas, but to no avail. “Anthony, this isn’t funny, or erotic! I’m afraid! Please stop!!”
“I’m afraid too,” he said, standing over by the food tray again; and lifting up his arm, he resumed to his throwing. “I’m afraid I forgot the cheese!!! HA-HA!” But the cheese wasn’t sticking so well because of the fact that her body was already covered with meat product. He needed more adherent. “Here! You need some of this!” he said, running up to her and viciously spraying her entire body with mustard.
“Stop! You fuckin’ dick! Stop!!”
“Ya like Gulden’s? Mmm. I do! It’s spicy! Ha-ha-ha-ha!”
“Fuckin’ asshole! You’re getting it in my hair! Stop! Stop it, Anthony!! Please!”
After running out of meat and dairy products, he jumped on top of the bed so his knees held her ankles down. “Ow! That hurts!”
“Good!”
“Where is this coming from? What the hell did I do?……Shit….. what the fuck?”
Tony had pulled it out of his pants and was proceeding to masturbate on top of her. “Here! This is some of the chef’s special sauce! It makes the entire meal! You’ll love it!”
While very afraid and disturbed by his entire display of madness, Nicki still couldn’t help but let out some hysterical laughter.
“Ah, so you think it’s funny, huh bitch? How funny is this?” and then he ejaculated on the only clean area of her body…….her face. “There!……….Now I’m done.”
“Thank God,” she said, lapping it away from her lips. “And what’s the matter, you too fuckin’ lazy to cut up a little lettuce and tomato?”
Mahdakis stepped into the laundry mat, that Floyd and Carl had recently made their temporary sleeping quarters since being kicked out of their homes. “A little conspicuously bright for sleep, wouldn’t you say, Carl?”
“Yeah? Go back outside then.”
“It’s freezing out there.”
“Right, but in here?”
“It’s like a sauna, quite frankly.”
“We got half the dryers going, that’s why,” Carl said proudly. “Brain power.”
“I see.”
Floyd spoke from the rear of the mat where he stood folding clothes on a table, “I won thirty dollars in change playing poker with Squid,”
“Ah. And why not sleep here, instead of getting one of those rooms at the Motor Inn for nineteen ninety-nine, and having a few bucks to spare, right?”
“We didn’t want anyone to think we were gay,” Floyd said, placing a lace negligee on a hanger.”
“You’re still hell bent on keeping it a secret, are you?” Mahdakis looked at Floyd, who swiftly moved on to folding some silk panties,
Carl, finally noticing what Floyd was doing in the back of the laundry mat said, “What the fuck are you doing?”
“What does it look like, Johnny-Boy? Folding clothes.”
“Where did you find them? And cut the shit with that Johnny-Boy crap.”
“Whose are they?” Mahdakis asked.
“I don’t know. They were just sitting in here.” Floyd motioned to the dryer.
“So you’re folding them?”
“Well…..yeah……they’re gonna wrinkle otherwise.” Then, mumbling to himself, Floyd uttered, “Ooh, that spot’s not coming out.”
So dude, where you been?” Carl said to Mahdakis.
“Hee-hee-hee-hee!” Floyd laughed from the rear of the mat. “Jesus Christ, will ya look at these?”
“Ahh! Man!” was Carl’s reaction to the pair of skid marked encrusted cotton underwear that Floyd held in the air like a trophy.
“I didn’t think women did this sort of thing. Hee-hee-hee-hee. These things are ruined. Why even bother. Fuck it.” Floyd threw them into the trash basin.
“Fuck this; let’s go grab a bite to eat.”
“Cool,” Floyd said, and placed the basket gently back down on the bench, as he then began scribbling something on a napkin. “Just give me a minute here. I’m gonna leave this person a note.”
“To let ’em know you make house calls?”
“Nah, nothin’ like that……Okay, let’s go,” Floyd said, laying the note on top of her basket and rushing out the door just behind Carl and Mahdakis. He paused for a moment and looked over his shoulder. “You got to wonder what kind of person just throws a load of clothes in a dryer in the middle of the night and leaves them there.”
Kelly Pierce was that kind of person. And she filed a report with the police, which, in turn, spawned an investigation by the Norford Police Department, spearheaded by Police Commissioner Stromboli.
Commissioner Stromboli re-read the last part of the letter aloud, “Floyd……..Floyd…..What do you suppose that means, Darryl?”
“Arr. You don’t tink it’s just his name?”
“Hell no! No one is that stupid. This is code for something, an acronym of some sort. Something gang related or………maybe having to do with the mafia!” The Commissioner rubbed his chin. “What was that guy’s name in The Godfather?….Hmm, never the mind, we have to figure out what this FLOYD thing stands for. It’s our only clue.”
“Found Loitering On Your Doorstep?”
“Don’t be daft! What kind of nonsense is that? Besides, isn’t Doorstep two words?”
“I do believe it’s one, sir.”
“Fetch a dictionary.”
“Sir!” a voice yelled coming up the precinct stairwell. “Commissioner!”
Commissioner Stromboli and Officer Darryl turned to see Officer Roy scurrying, up the stairs with Rookie Rick. “Officer Roy, what’s the trouble?”
Roy looked at the rookie cop. “Tell him what you heard.”
“Well, this morning I overheard John, the night watchman, talking to one of the construction workers on the job site. Apparently, every Thursday night before work, John stops around the corner at Cassel’s Wash & Dry on Third, and throws his laundry in the machine. Then, on his break, throws it into the dryer. He goes back to his post, works the rest of his shift, and picks it up in the morning on his way home. But this time when he returned to the mat…”
“Don’t tell me………..his clothes were folded!”
“Not only that, sir. But someone left him a note.”
“Jiminy Cricket, sir!”
“What kind of note?”
Roy pulled the note from his breast pocket, and unfolded it. “It just says, ‘You owe me, Johnny-Boy.’.”
“Johnny-boy?”
“Meaning the Night Watchman, John.”
The Commissioner looked puzzled and frightened for a moment as he stared at his reflection in the sparkling clean, precinct floor and gave thought. “Did he sign the note, Roy?”
“Nope. Not this time. And so far as we can tell, there’s no relation to either of the victims.”
The commissioner whipped off his glasses. “Dear God in heaven! Twice in three days; what kind of diabolical, twisted malcontent are we dealing with, here?”
“I don’t know commissioner, but anyone sick enough to go through other people’s clothes, well…”
“They’re capable of anything……Roy? Darryl? I want you two to add an extra cruiser at night and start canvassing areas near any laundry mats. Start within the vicinity of these last two.”
“Yes sir.”
“We’ll find this demented, clothes-folding son of a bitch sicko if it’s the last thing we do.”
Captain H sat in a booth in the far corner of the Barely Bagels restaurant with his back to the wall, facing the front, and side entryways. His thick dark frame studying Mahdakis with bewildering interest as he picked a small clear bag up off the table. “What is it?”
“You’re the expert. You tell me.”
Captain H put his thick finger inside the tiny baggie with his black eyes darting every which way, and then tasted the white powder it contained. After a savory moment, he looked at Mahdakis with wide eyes. “Where did you get this?”
“I can’t tell you where it came from, directly. I don’t want to put two people at odds with each other over a harmless buy. That’s not important. What I thought might be important to you, was the fact that they were able to buy this in the first place, and right here under your nose.”
“Someone’s dealing my territory then, huh?”
“And without even setting foot on our soil.”
“He’s got a runner?”
“Sure does. There’s a middleman who runs back and forth, across the river, at a moment’s notice, to make these deals.”
“Do you know who that is?”
“Not only do I know, but I can tell you his name, address, and who he dates. You know why?”
“Mm.”
“Because he’s from our side of the bridge…It’s Some Other Old Dude.”
“Mm-hm…and you think Some Other Old Dude’s a defector, or an asshole double agent?”
“What I know is when and where his next drop is going to be. I thought maybe, being the professional you are, you’d like to talk to this enthusiastic entrepreneur yourself, you know, face to face like.”
“You thought right, Mahdakis my boy. So what’s your take? You want in on some of the action?”
“I need a favor in exchange for the info.”
“I’m all ears, Mahdakis,” he said, putting his tea down.
Captain H listened intently to the scheme that Mahdakis and Boodles had come up with, while daintily dunking his tea bag and taking an inquisitive sip every once in a while. When Mahdakis finished, Captain H sat still for a moment, absorbing everything, and then said reassuringly, “A charity fundraiser against gang violence, huh?”
“Well, after further consideration, Boodles and I thought it a more lucrative idea to make it a charity to help get kids off drugs, and maybe the gang violence thing, a secondary cause. I mean seriously, how much gang violence do we get here in Delaware? Sponsors are more likely to donate to a cause that affects them directly, like their children being hooked on something or another.”
“You want me to get their children hooked on drugs so they’ll support the charity event, is that it?”
“Mm…No. No, but that’s not a bad idea. Maybe we should stuff that in our pocket and save it for a rainy day.”
Captain H took another precarious sip of his tea then shoved a small plate in front Mahdakis. “Crumpet?”
“No thanks; I’m good.”
“You’re foolish, you know.”
“You don’t think this plan can work?”
“Oh I think it can work……but this lemon curd topping is quite a delectable little treat. You really don’t know what you’re missing.” Captain H took another bite, and, while wiping his hands on a napkin, continued, “So, let me see if I got this perfectly clear; this bogus anti-drug/anti-gang violence charity fundraiser is to be partially financed through the profits of a cocaine heist that will most likely cause two rival gangs to butt heads and spill blood into the streets?”
“Precisely.”
“You’re alright, Mahdakis, I like the way you think, you know that? Are you sure you don’t want a job? Maybe a front office type thing?”
“Ah one, – ah two, – ah one-two-three__” ………..and with one ugly clamorous bang, the atmosphere in the room filled instantaneously with mutinous intentions, sustained only by the revolutionary cheers of an apocalyptic, ear shattering, mind warping noise that only desperate, rebellious, teenage angst could be held accountable. It was a lawn mower plowing through gravel. It was a thousand baking sheets smacking the concrete in unison. It was a sodomy fiesta of rabid dogs and mangy alley cats. It was the aforementioned and more, woven together in unrelenting cataclysmic resonance providing an audible kaleidoscope of impossible concentration.
The beauty of it was that none of the four adolescents responsible for the deafening atrocity heard it that way. (more…)
It was a night just like any other night; a night of good times, a night of bad times, but mostly just a night of times. It was a night to remember, but moreover, a night to forget. It was a night of endless ribbing and poking at one another’s blemishes and shortcomings, a night of mundane inebriation and quick fixes, another night of bonding amongst futile friends and worthy adversaries; another night of explosive mediocrity.
It was the last night of the season that anyone would hang at The Rock, and also the last time that many of these people would be together as a group at The Rock. December was rushing in its cold winds and, with most everyone having a car now, there was less of a need to assemble at this particular place anymore; at least during the winter months. While The B.U.R.N.O.U.T.S. were still under age to drink at bars, they could safely meet at any number of the parks in the Norford area and drink there.
For those who went, The Rock had been a source of nirvana, an escape from everyday troubles, a place to call their own and to hide from the world; regardless of the fact that the world was sometimes less than fifteen-hundred feet away. And, except for the one time, no parents or cops ever came to The Rock and, except for an occasional canoe or kayaker….and Moon, there was never any other signs of humanity at The Rock. It was their safe zone, and would forever be remembered as a peaceful haven in their memories.
With Charlotte, it never felt like cheating because it never felt like love. It always felt like what it was supposed to be in the first place; an overpowering, unadulterated hunger for flesh with a genuine sadistic regard towards dignity that would spiral itself into an uncontrollable feeding frenzy of self-respect and warm body fluids; otherwise known as hot, throbbing lust.
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