But Hey 2: The Thin White Duke

“And then all I feel is this big bump bump bump in my head. ‘What the fuck’, I say. And it lasts like five minutes, until suddenly I realize, something’s fucking hitting my head. SOMEBODY’s fucking hitting my head. I try to get up, but I can’t. I’m on the fucking floor. I try to picture where exactly I am– and I’m doing all this with the bump bump bump going on, man – and then (pause) I see a toilet. Hey, that’s fucking good news. I know where I am now. It’s a fucking bathroom. Remember, when you’re passed out, and you wake up, and you start trying to find out where the fuck you are, any sign, any notion of the things around you is a fucking blessing. You’ve been there, you’ve been there. Hell, we’ve all been there. When you wake up everything’s a fucking blur - thoughts, sight, feelings - nothing makes sense, it’s like if you were born again and don’t know shit, get me, get me? I mean, it doesn’t matter if you realize fucking Zed and the Gimp from Pulp Fiction are fucking you in the ass. Getting out of that blur is one shiny miracle. Anyway. Where was I?”
“The bathroom, man”, says Walt, laughing, as the Panda continues his story.
“The fucking bathroom. Thanks Walto. So I realize I’m in a fucking bathroom. I still don’t know what fucking bathroom it is, in which house, in which bar, where the fuck. And then, with all the fucking bumping going on, I finally say to myself, ‘Hey Pandy Boy, you better start shouting at the motherfucker who’s hitting you. Because someone was trying to open the door, and the fucking door was hitting me in the fucking head. Neat, huh? So I say to myself ‘You better tell that shithead to stop hitting you in the head’, get me, get me? So I let out this fucking yell, ‘AAAAARRRGHHHH STOP GOD DAMN IT’, and the fucking bumping stops. Just like that. A fucking angel has heard my prayers. So I hear something coming from out of this bathroom, wherever the fuck I am, ‘Hey, who’s there?’ the voice says. I don’t know who it is. I stand up, everything is going round, I’m fucking wasted, and I open the door, and I see my mate Charlie Boy - the Chucks - standing outside the door, like he’s surprised I’m there. Then I suddenly remembered. I was at this fucker’s party the previous night, in that same house, and apparently, I went to the bathroom to do some shit, and I passed out. Crazy, huh?”

Everyone is laughing as I enter room, and I just know the Panda has finished one of his stories.
“Hey Panda, what’s up?”, I say.
“My main man Jacko - Jacky Boy - the Jacks”, says the Panda, in his own cheerful way, as he’s getting up and starts walking in my direction. Damn, I can’t believe this guy’s always this happy. I extend my arm, but the fucker gives me a big fucking hug. He lifts me. I mean, it’s not a mutual hug, it’s pretty plain to see he’s the only one hugging here. So much love trapped inside all of that shit. He puts me back down.
“So how’s your son the Little Panda?”, I ask.
“Oh, fuck you, man”, the Panda laughs.
“And how’s your little brother? Oh wait, they’re the same person, right?”
“Fuck you, man. How many fucking times I gotta explain that bitch doesn’t let me see the kid”, the Panda says, and you can sense that he might actually be getting a little serious, and/or a little sad.
“Like you fucking wanna see the brat”, says Robbie lying on the couch.
The Panda has a straight face, and then he laughs out loud.
“OK, you got me. I know shit about the kid, and I wanna leave things just the way they are”. He stays silent for a few seconds. Then he starts babbling on again.
“I mean, the bitch just went into my room, ONE FUCKING TIME, and fucked the shit out of me. (Pause) She was hot.” the Panda informs us.
“She was”, we all say, looking around each other, and nodding approvingly.
“It was the middle of the night, I was sleeping, I couldn’t think right. I was definitely not thinking about my old man. I just got a boner, and PANDA BOY IT IS FOR YOU, MOMMA, get me, get me?”
We all laugh. Shit. The Panda’s cool. I don’t know why I never liked him in the past. I might as well give the fucker the chance I’ve never gave him.
“So, grass time?”, asks the Panda.
Everyone says “Hell yeah”, “Alright”, or “Fuck yeah” at the same time.
“No, I don’t do that shit anymore”, I tell the Panda.
“What do you mean you don’t do that shit anymore, Le Jacques? You clean or something?”
“Well, yeah, I’m clean”, and before I could finish my sentence, Walt interrupts.
“Clean my ass, you are. This motherfucker does more blow than I do.”, and he points at me like, for 30 seconds. Asshole.
“Hey, you KNOW I don’t do more blow than you. Nobody fucking here does more blow than you, Walt”
“OK, but you DO do blow, man”.
I look around, and stare at the Panda, who’s looking way too confused. I proceed to explain.
“Yeah, I do blow. But I am clean (pause) potwise”.
“Potwise?”, the Panda asks, and lets one of his big loud laughs in the room.
“You’re telling me you’re clean - let me get this – potwise - but you still do blow?”
I know where this is going. Shit. I hate these situations. I don’t want grass, leave me alone. Everybody leave me the fuck alone. I nod.
“Jacko, just tell me you don’t like weed. That’s much, much better. Don’t use a fucking word like CLEAN when you do blow”,
“Clean potwise”, I say, I CORRECT, and I don’t know why the fuck I said it again. I know I’m just encouraging the bastard, THESE bastards, to keep on having their moment at my expenses. Shit. I hate the Panda.
“There you go again with that fucking word, potwise. What the fuck, dude?”, he starts looking around for support. The fucker’s getting it.
“Look, when you say you’re clean, you’re fucking clean. You don’t do anything. Or, or, get me, get me, please. Or maybe you do coke, and then you don’t do fucking coke anymore, but you stay with a little weed. Fucking weed’s not bad for you. It’s not bad for anybody. Coke will fuck you up. So if you stop coking yourself up, but continue with a little grass (pause), yeah, you could say ‘Hey, I’m clean. No coke for me. Not anymore. No, no, that shit’s in the past’, get me, get me? And then if someone asks, ‘Hey, but do you still smoke your little Mary Jane?’, and you say, ‘Yeah, once in a while’, then all the fuckers around you will say ‘Oh, cool’. You know why? Because it’s FUCKING COOL. Because COKE will fuck you up way more than weed. WAY more, dude. So DON’T FUCKING TELL ME you’re clean potwise. (pause) PUH-LEASE”.

The room is silent. I’ve never seen the Panda this angry before. Well actually I have. One time, when his father told him to get out of the house after he found out he’s much younger wife had been knocked up. Shit, the Panda hit his father so fucking hard in the face, I start trembling just remembering it, and I do not want my face to end up like that. But hey, it’s me, Jacko. I keep on arguing.
“Now Panda, I get your point, but if it works one way, then it could work the other. I mean,” and the Panda gives me a fucking look I KNOW I won’t forget very soon. But then, a smile starts to appear. This fucking smile lasts like five minutes to completely fill his face. I don’t know what to think. And then, in typical Panda fashion, the guy doesn’t finish the argument, and he just gives in with this big hunk of love that he’s got inside.
“Come on, COME ON”, he tells me as he’s signaling me to move towards him. I look around, everybody’s fucking smiling. This is the Panda. Hug everyone, love everyone. Shit, I hate the Panda. I start walking toward him, and he grabs me again. He’s hugging me. He’s HUGGING me. Fuck.
“Oh you crazy Jacky Boy”, he hugs me harder. “Do your blow, man. Do your blow”, and lets go off me.
“As a matter of fact, let’s all do blow tonight”, the Panda says, looking at Robbie, Walt, and finally me.
“Alright, now you’re talking”, I say.
“I don’t wanna do blow. I want my grass”, says Robbie.
“Oh no, we’re having blow, Robs”, says the Panda.
“Shit. OK”, says Robbie.
“Who’s got blow?”, I ask.
From the look in everyone’s face, we’re screwed.
“Well, let’s call Earache”, suggests Walt, and we all know it’s the best option if we want fast blow.
“Fuck Earache, Walty Man”, interrupts the Panda and looks at us.
“I know a guy”.
Shit.
I don’t know who this guy is, but I do not wanna meet him, believe me.
The night has not even begun.

This guy turns out to be The Thin White Duke, and with a name like that I’m thinking he’s either a huge Bowie fan, or maybe a fucked up coke lord. Probably both. Either way, it’s gonna get spooky, pretty soon. Now, this fucker lives outside of the city. I mean, OUTSIDE of the fucking city. It’s not exactly the country, no. You know that line that separates the city from the country? Well, the Duke lives RIGHT ON THAT FUCKING LINE.
When we arrive, it’s this huge house. Actually, it looks really nice. You can tell it’s not in the best condition possible, but it’s a nice fucking house. I can imagine making a porn movie inside. That kind of house. When we arrive, the door is open. Not closed. Not wide open. Just slightly open. This is not good.
“Hey, let’s go in”, says the Panda.
“Shouldn’t we ring the bell first?” says Robbie, I think he’s even more concerned-slash-worried that I am.
“Nah. Dukie Boy always leaves his door open. It’s cool”, answers the Panda and I think I can tell he’s bullshitting us. We go in.
I was right. This house is a frigging porn set. Nice. The kitchen is very modern. The living room has an elegant mixture of wood and metal furniture. This guy has taste. Way down in the back we can see there’s a door that leads to, I’m hoping, a swimming pool. Not that I wanna take a dive later at night, I’m just thinking of my dream porn set, and if this house has a pool, well, this is it.
There are some other rooms near the back of the first floor, and Panda is already looking there for the Duke while everyone else is just amazed at this beauty of a home.
“Dukie Boy!”, shouts Panda. “Duko. Le Dukes, where are you, man?”. He looks at us.
“He’s gotta be upstairs. He’s got to”, says the Panda.
“Doing what?”.
“Well asked, Walt”. I say.
“Who knows. Shooting some shit up, I don’t know. Let’s find out”.
This is not good
“This is not good, Panda”.
“Shut your pie hole and let’s go up”.

We start going up the stairs, and all I can think is ‘We’re safe down here. Let’s stay here. Or better yet, let’s get the fuck out and call Earache. Earache delivers the shit right to your fucking house. This is unnecessary’. I’m also thinking about fifteen different positions I can fuck a fucking whore while I make a movie. These stairs rock!
When we arrive on the top floor, it’s pretty easy to notice that something is wrong. A door just slams right when we put one foot on the hall.
“Let’s fucking get out of here, Panda”, whispers Robbie. Walt and I nod.
“Would you guys calm down?”, says the Panda, not calming us down at all.
“Hey Dukie, you here?”, yells the Panda through the door that has just slammed shut.
“I’m fucking whacked, man. I’M FUCKING WHACKED HERE, MAN”, says the voice on the other side.
Panda turns around, smiles at us and says, “I told you it was fine. Guys – The Thin White Duke. Duke – The guys”.
Now I’ve been introduced to crazy people in this life. Once I even got introduced to a fucking dog that belonged to this bitch I was going out with, only because she was a model. But I have never, ever, EVER, been introduced to a fucking door. And that’s just what the Panda did right now. I was pretty sober when I heard this guy saying he was completely whacked out, so what the fuck is the Panda introducing him to me for? Shit.
“It’s all right, bros”, the Panda keeps thinking he’s comforting us.
Just then, something appears from below the door, almost getting the Panda’s feet. The four of us jump up scared as shit. The fucking thing appears again. I think it’s a knife. Again. Yes, that’s a fucking knife alright.
“Man, this dude wants to slash your toes off, man”, cries Robbie.
“Hey Panda, what the fuck?”, I ask. “Let’s get out of here, man. This is crazy”.
“Hey hey, this guy’s whacked out, come on”, says the Panda.
“We heard the fucking Duke when he told us a few minutes ago. So what are we gonna do? If this guy decides to open the door, we’ll all have our dicks slashed off. Come on, let’s get the fuck out of here, man”.
“Hey Le Duke. You alright in there? It’s me, the Panda”.
“Make them go away, man, MAKE THEM GO AWAY”, shouts the Duke.
“Make who go away, Dukie?”
“The burglars, man. I’m all whacked here. WHACKED. THE BURGLARS, MAN”
I think I just shit my pants.
“There are no burglars here, Duko. Just me and my friends. No burglars”.
“Make – them – GO – AWAY – IM DYING HERE”.
Another slash of the knife under the door.
“Hey Duke. You gonna cut my toes off, fucker. Be careful with that knife”. The Panda relaxes.
“You wanna cut my fucking toes, Dukie Boy?”.
No answer.
“Duke?”
“Yeah?”
“It’s the Panda”.
“Hi, Panda. I’m fucked. I’m FUCKED UP here”.
“You know me, right? You know who the Panda is, right?”
“Hi Panda. MAKE THEM GO AWAY”.
“OK, Duko. OK. We are going to help you?”
“Hi Panda”
“You want me to help you?”
“Make them go. Yes”.
“You want old Panda Pooh to help you?”
I look at Robbie and mime the words ‘Panda Pooh? What the fuck?’
“Yeah, Pooh Bear. Help me”, says a bummed out Duke.
Pooh Bear? I don’t know what to do. Should I laugh, should I cry, should I run?
“OK, Duke. I want you to stand up”, orders the Panda.
“A-ha”
We hear some noises. I think the guy’s standing up.
“You up? You standing?” asks the Panda.
“A-ha”
“OK. I want you to drop the knife”
“Where are the burglars?”
“They’re all gone. They’re all fucking gone, man. Gone far away. Drop the knife. Come on, Le Duke”.
We hear the clang of the knife as it hits the floor. I’m scared as fuck, and I know Walt and Robbie are just the same.
“OK, Duke. Good boy. Now, I’m gonna open the door. And everything will be alright, OK?”, says the Panda.
“A-ha. Alright”
Panda looks at us, winks an eye, and starts opening the door very gently.
Panda enters the room, and we can’t see shit. We’re still at the beginning of the hall. We wonder if the Duke maybe has a gun, and we’re gonna here a blast and then we’ll start running out the door. I don’t know. I’m not sure I even wanna do some blow anymore after this, if we do happen to get any.
After a few seconds, Panda slowly comes out of the room with a naked thin looking motherfucker by his side. The Panda is hugging him, and for the first time I see another person hugging the Panda. They’re actually both hugging each other. This is not a pretty sight. The Duke is thin as hell, and he has some cuts on his body, apparently from the knife he just had. He’s almost like a baby now. He’s calm. Not the crazy motherfucker who was trying to slash Panda’s toes off.
“Where are his clothes?”, asks Walt.
The Panda has a face that says he has no fucking clue.
“They were too tight, man”, answers the Duke, who’s obviously still very ‘whacked out’
“Let’s get you down stairs and take care of those little cuts, Dukie Boy”, says the Panda.
Now what the fuck is the Panda treating this guy like he’s his fucking son-slash-brother? The Panda is never this caring with his friends, so I would have never expected he would behave like this with his fucking dealer. I hate the Panda.

While in the kitchen, poor Duke is sitting on the counter and Panda is cleaning this guy’s wounds, and he’s putting band-aids and shit, and I just wanna puke at the sight of it all. Robbie, Walt and I just wanna get high or something, so we forget about the fucking situation, which seems like it is already taken care of, and we get down to business.
“So, Mr. Duke”, I start saying, “we’re interested in some blow. Good, good blow. We understand you’re the man”.
Fucking Duke just turns and looks at me, I don’t even think he understands. He looks back to the Panda.
“We need some blow, Duko”, says the Panda.
“A-ha”.
“You got any blow?”, Panda insists.
“Blow?”
“Yeah, blow. You’re the blow man. We need blow”.
“I’m out of blow, dude. I’m out of blow, dude”.
We just can’t believe our fucking ears. I mean, what time is it? The whole fucking night wasted on this shit. God damn it.
Panda looks at us.
“No blow, sorry”, says the Duke. “But I got killer crack, man”.
I look at Robbie and Walt. I look at Panda. Panda looks at all of us.
No fucking way. Crack is whack, motherfucker, remember?
“I ain’t doing no crack”, says Robbie.
“No way”, says Walt.
I look at the Panda. “Don’t even think about it”.
The Panda agrees. Goes back to the Duke”.
“Were you by any chance doing crack today, Dukie Boy?”
“A-ha. This stuff is the shit, man. The shit”.
“No fucking way I’m touching that stuff. I’m not gonna end up like the fucking Duke of Hazard here”, I say to Panda.
Panda tells me to calm down. It’s obvious he’s not interested either. It’s good to know the Panda can reason sometimes.
“Hey, Duko”, the Panda says, “what’s your address?”
“My address?”
“Yes, your address”.
“1099 Rhode Island Rd”.
The Panda looks at us.
“You better call Earache”.
Yeah.

The Patience of a Saint

Mary was running down the hall. Her hands were tied, so when she stumbled and fell, her face hit the floor and her nose started bleeding again. It hadn't bled since I hit her a couple of hours ago. When she fell down I had to turn her over and try to calm her. I hate the screaming desperate type. Why can't they be more like Matthew. A couple of minutes ago Matthew was sitting on his usual blood stained chair, and it was his turn, and he knew it (he always comes after Virginia). Matt didn't even look at me, he just sat there, eyes fixed on the floor, waiting for me to do my thing. Matt the Patient, that's what I call him. He never opens his mouth - only to spit blood, never to say one fucking word.

So there I was holding Mary down, telling her everything will be alright, but she just kept screaming. I hit her a couple of times, nothing. She only stopped her bitching and moaning when I shot Virginia. She was her best friend. It's funny. If they're hitting or cutting me, I probably wouldn't scream, but if someone shot my best friend, I guess I would. Maybe Matthew would scream if I shot his best friend. But he says he doesn't have any friends. I think he's like me. The point is, ever since that day, Mary never cried, screamed, bitched or moaned again. Silent Mary, sitting next to Matthew, had become a sharpener for my knife, a target for my gun, a cheek for my kisses, a hole for my cock. And that's when Matt started acting funny: looking up, speaking up, calling me names, telling me to leave her alone.

What had change? He was always my favorite one. What happened? Did he miss Virginia? Did he not like the way I made love to Mary? I wanted to know. So one day I was inside Mary, and she just laid there, hands tied behind her back, face down on the floor, looking at a distant point on the wall, and Matthew started yelling, telling me to stop, telling me to let him go. I even got the feeling he was threatening me, a clear warning that if I didn't stop and set him free he would hurt me, he would actually kill me. So I had to know. I needed to know. I stopped. I stood up, and with a gun in one hand and a knife in the other, I cut the ropes holding his arms and his legs. His eyes were those of a madman. As soon as he started getting up and rubbing his wrists, I took a few steps back and silently looked at him, this raging beast of a man. He looked at me, then looked at Mary, got down, and started raping her. Just then, she began screaming.

God, how I hate all the bitching and moaning in the world.
I shot Matt.
I kicked his body off of Mary, and she became dear old Silent Mary again.
Poor old Matt. I think he really was like me.