Tuesday, August 23, 2011
Sunday, December 13, 2009
My 10 Favorite Albums of the Decade 2000-2009
10. The Strokes - Is This It? (2000)
A pioneering album, and responsible for the whole wave of guitar bands, some good, quite a few bad, that keep flooding us to this day.
9. Fantômas - The Director's Cut (2001)
Mike Patton, Buzz Osborne, Dave Lombardo and Trevor Dunn playing The Theme from the Godfather and Charade. What else do you want? Shhhhh.
8. The Tears - Here Come the Tears (2005)
When Bernard Butler left the fantastic Suede in 1993, Brett Anderson and Co. managed to release the great Trash. From then on the magic seemed to have disappeared. This album is the logical continuation that never came to be. Thank Brett and Bernard they decided to reunite for this beauty.
7. Lovage - Music to Make Love to Your Old Lady By (2001)
A sexy tongue-in-cheek album featuring Dan Nakamura, Jennifer Charles, Mike Patton, Kid Koala, and a cover that mimes Serge Gainsbourg's No. 2 album. How can you not like this?
6. Primal Scream - XTRMNTR (2000)
The best combination of rock and electronic music ever. Oh, and it's noisy as hell, too. This album actually makes me want to destroy things. Oh, and fuck you. Next.
5. Death Breath - Stinking Up the Night (2006)
This is the album that, for me, launched the whole New Wave of Old School Death Metal. Nicke Andersson deserves a statue.
4. Charlotte Gainsbourg - 5:55 (2006)
The american issue of this album includes an extra track called Somewhere Between Waking and Sleep. This is how this album feels like. Yes, that's something precious.
3. The Killers - Hot Fuss (2004)
In a Hip Hop and Pop dominated world, it was nice to see an album that took guitars to places where guitars were long lost and forgotten. I don't like The Killers. Brandon Flowers can die for all I care. I like this album. Actually, I LOVE it.
2. Antony & The Johnsons - I Am a Bird Now (2005)
The first time I listened to this album, it sounded like it was out of this world, or like it belonged in a weird decade between the 50s and the 60s, which got lost in time. It makes me feel sad, in a good way. It's fractured, yet beautiful. I'm sad. I want to cry.
1. Justin Timberlake - FutureSex/LoveSounds (2006)
Pop music has never been this intelligent since Thriller. No need to explain. JT and Timbaland are da shit!
N.
A pioneering album, and responsible for the whole wave of guitar bands, some good, quite a few bad, that keep flooding us to this day.
9. Fantômas - The Director's Cut (2001)
Mike Patton, Buzz Osborne, Dave Lombardo and Trevor Dunn playing The Theme from the Godfather and Charade. What else do you want? Shhhhh.
8. The Tears - Here Come the Tears (2005)
When Bernard Butler left the fantastic Suede in 1993, Brett Anderson and Co. managed to release the great Trash. From then on the magic seemed to have disappeared. This album is the logical continuation that never came to be. Thank Brett and Bernard they decided to reunite for this beauty.
7. Lovage - Music to Make Love to Your Old Lady By (2001)
A sexy tongue-in-cheek album featuring Dan Nakamura, Jennifer Charles, Mike Patton, Kid Koala, and a cover that mimes Serge Gainsbourg's No. 2 album. How can you not like this?
6. Primal Scream - XTRMNTR (2000)
The best combination of rock and electronic music ever. Oh, and it's noisy as hell, too. This album actually makes me want to destroy things. Oh, and fuck you. Next.
5. Death Breath - Stinking Up the Night (2006)
This is the album that, for me, launched the whole New Wave of Old School Death Metal. Nicke Andersson deserves a statue.
4. Charlotte Gainsbourg - 5:55 (2006)
The american issue of this album includes an extra track called Somewhere Between Waking and Sleep. This is how this album feels like. Yes, that's something precious.
3. The Killers - Hot Fuss (2004)
In a Hip Hop and Pop dominated world, it was nice to see an album that took guitars to places where guitars were long lost and forgotten. I don't like The Killers. Brandon Flowers can die for all I care. I like this album. Actually, I LOVE it.
2. Antony & The Johnsons - I Am a Bird Now (2005)
The first time I listened to this album, it sounded like it was out of this world, or like it belonged in a weird decade between the 50s and the 60s, which got lost in time. It makes me feel sad, in a good way. It's fractured, yet beautiful. I'm sad. I want to cry.
1. Justin Timberlake - FutureSex/LoveSounds (2006)
Pop music has never been this intelligent since Thriller. No need to explain. JT and Timbaland are da shit!
N.
Wednesday, July 08, 2009
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 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.
Wednesday, July 01, 2009
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.
Wednesday, February 18, 2009
Ties
I turn around and ask Laura to please speak up because I can't hear very well. She asks me why, and I tell her it's because of all those years I spent going almost every night to discos listening to loud music. She looks at me and somehow I get the feeling she doesn't understand or she doesn't give a damn, probably both. She points to the radio and tells me something. I ask her to please speak up. She yells that I should turn off the radio because it’s too loud. I look at the radio and turn the volume down. I look back at Laura. She rolls her eyes, opens the folder by her side, and reads the name Anthony Horatio Marshall. I confirm if it is Anthony Horatio Marshall, because I can't hear very well - all those nights clubbing - and she repeats, she yells at me that yes, the name is Anthony Horatio Marshall. I repeat the name Anthony Horatio Marshall to myself. I turn back and gaze at the road. I turn to my left and see Max. He's driving carefully, not fast, not slowly, and he's acting like he's not paying any attention to us, although I do realize that he has turned off the radio. I tell him I’m sorry I turned down the volume, I can’t hear very well. He ignores me completely.
I wait a few seconds and then I tell him the name is Anthony Horatio Marshall, and without turning his head, without getting his eyes off the road, he tells me that he knows, he heard us. Laura looks at me and starts laughing. She then tells Max to lighten up, to relax. Max looks at her through the rearview mirror and looks back at the road. I keep talking to Laura since she's the only one actually talking in the car, besides me, of course. I turn around and tell her the names Margaret Josephine Miller and Anthony Horatio Marshall. She nods. She tells me that those are some names. She looks for approval. I nod. I keep talking, trying to keep the conversation alive. I ask her what it is like to be a genetic engineer. She tells me she has no idea, that although she studied that, she works as a saleswoman. I pretend I understand by saying the word Oh. Then I laugh and I tell her that I would have thought someone mad enough to have studied genetic engineering would have to be mad enough not to make a career out of it. She looks at me like she doesn't t understand me. I leave it like that.
About a minute of silence fills the air and then I ask her how many children she has. Before she answers I confirm if she has two. She corrects me by saying she has three. I let her know I heard her by saying the word OK. She asks me how many kids I have. I tell her I don't have any kids. She says the word Oh. She then confirms if I'm married. I let her know that yes, I am married, but no children. She says the word Oh again. I ask her if she's married. She says that no, she isn't, not anymore. Then she lets out the word Fucker into the air, not directed at me, obviously, and her eyes roll again. An awkward silence fills the car. Then out of respect, I guess, she asks me what it is that I do. I say that I am a lawyer. She asks me if I like being a lawyer. I say that I guess I do. I tell her both of my parents are lawyers. She gives me a funny look, and says the phrase Your Parents, emphasizing on the word Parents. I tell her that she knows what I mean. She says that yes, she knows. A sad look appears on her face.
I wait about half a minute and though I know Max is probably not going to answer, I proceed to talk to him anyway. I ask him if he's married, if he has any kids. He doesn't say a word. Not even shakes or nods his head. A few silent seconds invade us. I am grateful to Laura for breaking the silence by asking me if I want to see some pictures of her kids. I smile and tell her that that would be nice. I look at the pictures and they are beautiful kids. Healthy looking kids. I let her know this, and she smiles. I look at one of the kids and look at Max. I look at Max and then at one of the kids. I repeat this several times. I think she notices what I'm doing, and she says the word Yes three times and then informs me that she knows. She then proceeds to put the pictures back in her purse, and her smile disappears.
Max turns the radio back on, and the volume is way up. I look at Laura, Laura looks at me, and she climbs into the front of the car and turns off the radio. Suddenly she asks Max, in a loud voice, if he's going to talk to us because he's being really rude and that's not nice. She says that this is not easy for any of us, that this is very hard and that it would be nice if we got to know each other a little bit before we got there. She asks him if he thinks it’s easy for her to have found out two days ago that we existed, that all this life she thought she had has been one big illusion. She tells him that she’s scared shitless and that she has no idea what’s going to happen. She then proceeds to let him know that he should stop acting like a jerk and share a little with us. She says that the three of us were completely strangers on Thursday, but now our eyes, our noses, our whole faces bind us more than anything. She asks him if he thinks it’s easy for her to find out that her younger kid looks a hell of a lot like him. She looks at me and says that her kid even looks a little like me. She says that that freaks her out, so he better be nice. She then looks back at me at me and tells him that a few minutes ago I said my parents were lawyers. She emphasizes the words His Parents. She laughs. She asks him if he knows what she means. She informs us that her parents are dead. She then repeats the words My Parents, and rolls her eyes. She tells us she loved them very much, but somehow that doesn’t do it for her. Not now. She grabs the folder and starts slapping it on the seat. She says that these names, the names in the folder, changed everything for her, and she’s certain it changed everything for us too. She then leans back, breathes in, calms down and shakes her head. I stare at her.
I stare at her, then at him, then at her again, and I don't say a single word. She says the word So, and then proceeds to ask Max, in a calmed and quiet voice, if he's married, if he's got any kids. He looks through the rearview mirror and says that he's divorced. She asks him about kids. He says that no. Then he says that yes. Laura’s voice gets loud again and she tells him to make up his mind. She gets angry, but in a sad way. Or maybe she gets sad in an angry way, I'm not sure, and then he says that yes, he has one kid, but that he never sees him. Laura asks him what he means he never sees him. He repeats that he never sees him. She asks him if his wife, ex-wife, doesn’t let him see him. He says that no. Then he says that he doesn’t know. Laura loses it and yells at him to make up his mind, for God’s sake. Laura then looks at me and tells me that she doesn’t understand this guy, that he says yes and no and I don’t know, and then her eyes focus on Max again and she asks him if he has some kind of problem with simple yes and no question, but she can’t really finish saying this, because she gets interrupted by Max. He yells at her that yes, he has a kid, and that no, he never sees him, because he left his family a long time ago. He tells us that he’s ashamed, that he feels horrible for doing what he did, that every day he thinks about his son, that he wishes he could see him again, but that he can’t, he just can’t. Then his voice rises up a little bit and he says the word So, followed by a request to Laura not to tell him that this is not easy. He screams that he knows it’s not easy, emphasizing on the word Know. That he more than anybody knows it’s not easy. He finally tells her to back off. His eyes are all watery. Laura looks at me. I look at her. Then she tells him that she's sorry, and her voice is quiet and low again.
Silence fills the car for the rest of the trip.
Suddenly the car comes to a stop, and Max says that we have arrived. We stay in the car for a minute and then we get out. We stand in front of the house and Laura asks why we are here, what we are going to do, what we are going to say. I tell her I have no idea. Then Max says he will ask them why they did it, and then he'll forgive them.
Tuesday, February 10, 2009
Wednesday, January 14, 2009
Intentions Uncertain
a woman jumps out the window.
a man walks past a cafe.
a dog, whose intentions are uncertain, barks at a tree.
an airplane falls in flames.
a car's tires screech on the pavement.
a young girl is kissed for the first time.
another young girl is raped.
a flower blooms.
a joke is not understood.
a mystery is incorrectly solved.
a 7-year-old boy dies from a heart attack.
a cat is sacrificed.
a book is written.
tragedy appears.
love unfolds.
caresses disturb.
bite the hand that hits you, and hit those mouths which bite.
only then will you learn the true meaning of being wrong.
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