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.
Monday, January 05, 2009
The Disjointed Loop
... but she never knew how to forget those things. and thank god she didn't. suddenly the water is not that high and the ground is still there to hold us. it's that time of year when i remember her. it's that time of year when i regret everything. it's that time of year when i wish it were pure again. could it be these are sentences which never end? could it be these are dreams from which you can never wake up? could it be that the rain will never stop from falling until the flood has taken everything? maybe there's not supposed to be an end. maybe this goes on and on and on. one silent scream. one endless waltz. one apology over and over again. it's funny how we never finished what we started. it's funny how the pain insists upon itself. it's funny how...
Thursday, December 18, 2008
A Night In
there's a storm outside. a permanent banging on the door. the lights are turned out. we're sitting on the floor, chins on our knees. we embrace. we're scared, not letting go of each other. a car crashes into a tree. screams, moans, distant sirens. we can smell the fire and the smoke making its way through the rain into our home. someone's on the roof. we can hear the steps. jenny starts trembling. i think i'm going to faint. i feel useless, not being able to help her. she begs me to help her. a window breaks upstairs. we pull ourselves even closer together. i don't believe i'm able to run, not even walk. i feel my legs cannot hold my body. the tv upstairs turns on. we can hear the news, but i can't understand the words. jenny yells at them to get out. get out of our home, she says. we hear a loud breaking noise. the tv has just been destroyed. a dead silence inside the house fills the air. suddenly, the banging on the door, the screams outside, the sirens, the moans, the fire... they don't matter. there's someone inside. he's getting closer. we hear him walking down the stairs. jenny lets go of my arm. i'm bruised. she grabs my hand. she squeezes me tight. i squeeze back. i know it hurts. in a moment like this, it doesn't matter. nothing matters. where she was last night. who has been calling her. those numbers on her phone. those marks on her body. that funny taste on her lips when she kisses me. nothing matters now. the figure appears in front of us. he stands there for a few seconds, then starts advancing towards us. i close my eyes. i squeeze her hand until i know i'm tearing into her flesh. i want her to feel pain. even if i suffer the most grotesque and disturbing death right now, i just hope she suffers more. that's all.
Tuesday, December 16, 2008
Season's Greetings
the house is empty, and what did you expect?
those noises at night. that banging on the window.
the musical mattress that seems to be resting on top of you, suffocating your every breath, reminding you in the morning that you'll be late for something.
you can hear the ghosts. you can feel the whispers.
you know they're out there. you know they're watching. but they've been long gone since her death.
shadows pretend to scream at every note you play on the piano, but your left ear has been blasted from your brain, while you torture the neighbors with your yawns and indifference.
you need a friend. you need a dog.
you can only sense she needs the same, but you're too lazy to even think of changing things.
the clock on the wall hangs motionless, dead from the celebrations of your failures.
you sigh. you weep. you smile for her, but she pretends nothing's wrong. it's all her. it's all here. that's the way her world moves.
she pretends it's all going to be a disaster, a headless god in a maze, a six-year-old girl in a wheelchair, when "OK" seems to describe things better, even if a little bit less poetic, a little less philosophical, more real.
you say nothing. you know it's too late. the floor is cold, and your feet are pale. the tracks on the wooden floor, on the carpet, clearly show how you've been walking from the bar to your room and back, and your room is as cold as the floor. there are no walls, no ceiling, just six cold floors waiting for you to warm up the air.
you wait. you're tired.
you sleep. you try.
you're alone.
what did you expect?
Tuesday, December 09, 2008
But Hey: Nightclubbing (Part 5)
“You know, that was very nice of you, what you did over there”, says Renee.
Now, I’m alone. Lauren’s in the bathroom. Renee is talking to me. I feel like I’ve just pushed Leonardo off the fucking Titanic, and spared everyone from half a fucking movie, this way earning the title of King of the Fucking World. You’re all welcome, assholes. So yes, I’ll talk to Renee. And even though I know what she’s saying, and I know what she means – yeah, the glass of vodka, the vodka tonic I bought her – I proceed to ask.
“And what exactly did I do over there?”, I say this in my most sexy fucked up voice.
“You know, that drink you gave me”, and I swear she’s flirting with me. I’m not drunk. Not yet. She’s flirting with me alright.
“Oh, that was nothing”, and I swear I can hear all the fucking James Bonds rolled into one big JB when I say this. This is my James Bond moment. She smiles.
“And your girlfriend doesn’t mind?”
Shit. She has mentioned Lauren. Not good. And I know this is stupid, and I will regret it, but I don’t give a damn. I swallow the last half of my drink down, and say the words that will definitely cost me a lot of trouble in the future. The fucking near future.
“Who? That girl? She’s not my girlfriend”.
Renee smiles, and I know she knows I’m lying. But the good part is that she smiled. So me lying means me flirting. Flirting back. Remember she was flirting first. She knows I‘m flirting. She’s smiling. I wish Lauren would fall down in the bathroom and break her neck with the toilet. Please, don’t let Lauren come back. Please.
“So what do you do?”, Renee asks me and I just can’t wait to tell her all about what the fuck I do.
“Well, I’m a…”, but Walt comes running towards me, and the fucker stands, again, in front of me. Right between Renee and me. I hate him so much right now. I hate his fucking guts.
“Hey man, it’s Lauren. She’s dancing with some guy on the dance floor”.
Now, I get anxious for a second, but hey, that’s fucking great. Just makes it all fucking great. If Lauren’s with some guy, then there’s nothing wrong with me being here FLIRTING with Renee. This is my night.
“Great. No problem, Walt”, I smile to my friend, and smile back to Renee.
Walt just says, “Oh OK. (Silence) I’m gonna do some more blow”, and goes away, as fast as he showed up.
“So, where were we?”, James Bond moment building up again.
“You were telling me you’re a…”, and she’s fucking smiling and flirting and she wants me so bad.
“Right. I’m a…”.
“Hey baby”, a gorilla stands right in front of me, between Renee and I, just like fucking Walt, except this guy’s huge, and suddenly I’m not staring at some coked up eyes, but a sweaty back.
“Hi babe”, says Renee as she kisses him on the lips. No tongue, just a lippy kiss, the kind women give to their boyfriends in public places.
“Look, this is…”, and she moves the guy to a side, and tries to introduce him to me.
“Ah, Jack. Jack…”.
“Hi”, says the fucking gorilla and he turns his back on me again and keeps talking to his sweetheart. The nerves on that guy.
Renee looks at me from behind the gorilla, and says “Well, bye, nice to meet you…”.
“Jack”.
“Bye”, and she’s gone.
I wanna die.
I look to my right and see Lauren dancing with some asshole. She’s looking at me and she’s smiling. I know she has seen everything. She saw how I flirted with Renee, she saw how the gorilla came, and she saw how they left. Together. I bet she even knows that right now Renee still doesn’t know my fucking name.
This is not my night.
I hang my head down, take a deep breath, put the empty glass on a table, and head to the dance floor.
“Hey Panda. Where the fuck have you been?”, I say.
This is definitely not my night.
Now, I’m alone. Lauren’s in the bathroom. Renee is talking to me. I feel like I’ve just pushed Leonardo off the fucking Titanic, and spared everyone from half a fucking movie, this way earning the title of King of the Fucking World. You’re all welcome, assholes. So yes, I’ll talk to Renee. And even though I know what she’s saying, and I know what she means – yeah, the glass of vodka, the vodka tonic I bought her – I proceed to ask.
“And what exactly did I do over there?”, I say this in my most sexy fucked up voice.
“You know, that drink you gave me”, and I swear she’s flirting with me. I’m not drunk. Not yet. She’s flirting with me alright.
“Oh, that was nothing”, and I swear I can hear all the fucking James Bonds rolled into one big JB when I say this. This is my James Bond moment. She smiles.
“And your girlfriend doesn’t mind?”
Shit. She has mentioned Lauren. Not good. And I know this is stupid, and I will regret it, but I don’t give a damn. I swallow the last half of my drink down, and say the words that will definitely cost me a lot of trouble in the future. The fucking near future.
“Who? That girl? She’s not my girlfriend”.
Renee smiles, and I know she knows I’m lying. But the good part is that she smiled. So me lying means me flirting. Flirting back. Remember she was flirting first. She knows I‘m flirting. She’s smiling. I wish Lauren would fall down in the bathroom and break her neck with the toilet. Please, don’t let Lauren come back. Please.
“So what do you do?”, Renee asks me and I just can’t wait to tell her all about what the fuck I do.
“Well, I’m a…”, but Walt comes running towards me, and the fucker stands, again, in front of me. Right between Renee and me. I hate him so much right now. I hate his fucking guts.
“Hey man, it’s Lauren. She’s dancing with some guy on the dance floor”.
Now, I get anxious for a second, but hey, that’s fucking great. Just makes it all fucking great. If Lauren’s with some guy, then there’s nothing wrong with me being here FLIRTING with Renee. This is my night.
“Great. No problem, Walt”, I smile to my friend, and smile back to Renee.
Walt just says, “Oh OK. (Silence) I’m gonna do some more blow”, and goes away, as fast as he showed up.
“So, where were we?”, James Bond moment building up again.
“You were telling me you’re a…”, and she’s fucking smiling and flirting and she wants me so bad.
“Right. I’m a…”.
“Hey baby”, a gorilla stands right in front of me, between Renee and I, just like fucking Walt, except this guy’s huge, and suddenly I’m not staring at some coked up eyes, but a sweaty back.
“Hi babe”, says Renee as she kisses him on the lips. No tongue, just a lippy kiss, the kind women give to their boyfriends in public places.
“Look, this is…”, and she moves the guy to a side, and tries to introduce him to me.
“Ah, Jack. Jack…”.
“Hi”, says the fucking gorilla and he turns his back on me again and keeps talking to his sweetheart. The nerves on that guy.
Renee looks at me from behind the gorilla, and says “Well, bye, nice to meet you…”.
“Jack”.
“Bye”, and she’s gone.
I wanna die.
I look to my right and see Lauren dancing with some asshole. She’s looking at me and she’s smiling. I know she has seen everything. She saw how I flirted with Renee, she saw how the gorilla came, and she saw how they left. Together. I bet she even knows that right now Renee still doesn’t know my fucking name.
This is not my night.
I hang my head down, take a deep breath, put the empty glass on a table, and head to the dance floor.
“Hey Panda. Where the fuck have you been?”, I say.
This is definitely not my night.
But Hey: Nightclubbing (Part 4)
Suddenly Walt comes into the picture. I can tell he saw me from the dance floor, because he's running towards me, sweating horribly all over the place. He has a glass of rum and coke on his left hand ("always grab your drink with your left hand, that way you can touch the bitches with your right one", the fucker always says, like if he wanted to be quoted by important scholars in the future. Dicklicker), and he jumps right in front of me. I can tell he doesn't even notice Lauren. And what does he say? (And yes, I can tell he's being doing blow all night, just by the way he's screaming. Screaming so much, even Marty can hear the fucker).
"Guess who's here tonight? And she's looking as hot as ever, man".
I wanna die. Right before he speaks I actually think of saying: "Lauren? She's right here WITH ME, MOTHER FUCKER". But it's too long a sentence, and he just goes right out and says it.
"RENEE... FUCKING..." and he’s doing this stupid 360 degrees turn he always does when he's terribly excited (and powdered up). The funny thing is - yes, "funny" - he stops at 180 degrees right when he has Lauren in front of him.
"... Sterling".
I'm dead.
“Hi, Lauren”, Walt says, and Lauren is silent as fuck. She looks at me and starts heading into the dance floor. I grab her arm, and she gives me that look. Now, when we see in the movies that the guy grabs the woman by the arm, you can sense she kinda likes it, she really enjoys this manly beast stopping her. Not with Lauren. Actually not with any woman I know. Do not do this in real life. Anyway. So Lauren just lets me know with her killing look that I should probably let go of her arm, and that I do. Before she keeps going her way, she says in a very soft and quiet voice that she’s going to the bathroom. How I understood her, I have no fucking clue. I think of Marty and how he reads lips. Who knows, maybe I should be a fucking bartender. So I turn back to Walt, who has a face that says he KNOWS he has fucked up but doesn’t give a damn.
“Oops”, he says.
“Oops indeed, shit-for-brains”, I answer back.
I just forget the whole thing. There’s actually nothing to do about it.
“Who did you come with?”, I ask Walt, drinking my vodka tonic.
“Just some of the guys. Mark, Robbie, the Panda”.
“The Panda’s here?”, I ask surprised. I haven’t seen the Panda since he got his father’s much younger wife pregnant. But I do not want to spend the night talking to the Panda. Fuck the Panda. He might be Walt’s best friend, but I never really liked the guy. He’s just fun to be around, that’s all.
“Where the fuck’s the Panda, man? I gotta talk to that son of a bitch”, I lie.
Walt points to the dance floor, and yes, how could I not have noticed him before? There’s the mother fucking Panda. Big boy Panda. Extremely hard not to notice the prick, with his size and all. Look at him, doing his Michael-Jackson-on-crack dance. Shit, motherfucker hasn’t changed a bit. I turn around and head the other way, but who’s standing in front of me? This night is too weird. Alright.
"Guess who's here tonight? And she's looking as hot as ever, man".
I wanna die. Right before he speaks I actually think of saying: "Lauren? She's right here WITH ME, MOTHER FUCKER". But it's too long a sentence, and he just goes right out and says it.
"RENEE... FUCKING..." and he’s doing this stupid 360 degrees turn he always does when he's terribly excited (and powdered up). The funny thing is - yes, "funny" - he stops at 180 degrees right when he has Lauren in front of him.
"... Sterling".
I'm dead.
“Hi, Lauren”, Walt says, and Lauren is silent as fuck. She looks at me and starts heading into the dance floor. I grab her arm, and she gives me that look. Now, when we see in the movies that the guy grabs the woman by the arm, you can sense she kinda likes it, she really enjoys this manly beast stopping her. Not with Lauren. Actually not with any woman I know. Do not do this in real life. Anyway. So Lauren just lets me know with her killing look that I should probably let go of her arm, and that I do. Before she keeps going her way, she says in a very soft and quiet voice that she’s going to the bathroom. How I understood her, I have no fucking clue. I think of Marty and how he reads lips. Who knows, maybe I should be a fucking bartender. So I turn back to Walt, who has a face that says he KNOWS he has fucked up but doesn’t give a damn.
“Oops”, he says.
“Oops indeed, shit-for-brains”, I answer back.
I just forget the whole thing. There’s actually nothing to do about it.
“Who did you come with?”, I ask Walt, drinking my vodka tonic.
“Just some of the guys. Mark, Robbie, the Panda”.
“The Panda’s here?”, I ask surprised. I haven’t seen the Panda since he got his father’s much younger wife pregnant. But I do not want to spend the night talking to the Panda. Fuck the Panda. He might be Walt’s best friend, but I never really liked the guy. He’s just fun to be around, that’s all.
“Where the fuck’s the Panda, man? I gotta talk to that son of a bitch”, I lie.
Walt points to the dance floor, and yes, how could I not have noticed him before? There’s the mother fucking Panda. Big boy Panda. Extremely hard not to notice the prick, with his size and all. Look at him, doing his Michael-Jackson-on-crack dance. Shit, motherfucker hasn’t changed a bit. I turn around and head the other way, but who’s standing in front of me? This night is too weird. Alright.
But Hey: Nightclubbing (Part 3)
We move to the bar. I do the same high five fisty thing with Marty the bartender, and I see that Lauren is looking at me. She's twitching a tiny smile. She's proud of me. Proud that her man is such a "big thing" here in RadioActive. The truth is I'm worth shit here, but I tip these guys pretty good, so hey, I guess I've earned my place. I ask for two vodka tonics. It's very loud, but Marty's an expert, the fucking man can read lips, so he goes and brings me two tall glasses filled with this beautiful liquid, which I know will fuck me up tonight and make me have a blast. I pay Marty, and hand Lauren her drink, and that stupid little twitching smile starts fading. Actually, it fucking disappears in a hundredth of a second.
"What?", I ask.
"You know I can't drink alcohol now”.
"Why not?”, and as soon as I ask “why not”, I get it. I didn't know, but now I get it. But why did I have to ask "why not?" I know what's coming. I know what's happening. The things is this, let me explain. For some reason, when Lauren has her period, she doesn't like to drink alcohol. Hey, it's cool. I respect that. What I don't fancy is that she pretends that I FUCKING REMEMBER when she has her period. Hey, yeah, I can do the math, but I have other things to worry about, so just fucking tell me, or let me know, or how about a "Baby, remember, no alcohol tonight... you know…" when I'm going over to the bar. That would really fucking help. So here it goes. Action.
"BECAUSE I CAN'T DRINK ALCOHOL. You fucking know why. I have my…", her voice rising and suddenly going down again, like she can't say the word PERIOD out loud.
It's fucking loud in here, no one will hear her. No one gives a fuck what we're talking about.
Well, apparently.
Watch this shit.
"I can have that extra vodka tonic if you don't want it", says Renee Sterling from behind Lauren.
Now, how the fuck did I NOT notice that Renee was in front of me, behind Lauren? I have no clue. I guess I was too worried wondering what the fuck was wrong with a word like PERIOD. This is not good. Lauren slowly turns around, and sees Renee. Lauren doesn't say a word. And what do I do? I fuck up. I give Renee the drink.
"Thanks. It's $8, right?", and as she starts handing me the money, I fuck up again.
"No, that's ok", I say.
Now, I’ll be honest. I know THAT's what I wanted to say. Yeah, fucking Renee Sterling is in front of me. This is probably the only time in the world when I will have the chance to buy her a drink, at least, accidentally buy her a drink. So yes, I wanted to say that. Now, if I had thought about it just a tiny bit, I would have known that THAT was gonna piss Lauren off. You don’t have to be a fucking rocket scientist. It was gonna piss her extremely off. But it's Renee. I just do not think when it comes to Renee Sterling.
"Oh my, thanks. Thanks very much", and she then turns to Lauren (yes, Renee is about to speak TO Lauren).
"Quite a man you got there", and she winks at her. She FUCKING WINKS at Lauren. Not good. I need alcohol.
Now, “quite a man you got there". This sentence actually makes me fucking hard. Even though she was just being polite, this fucking rocks. In less than a minute, I bought Renee Sterling a drink, and she said I was quite a man. The circumstances may not be the ideal ones, but this makes my night. Now I wanna fucking PART-EY, sweetie. Nonchalantly, my eyes go back to Lauren, and yes, she's furious. I don't give a fuck. I don't give a fuck if she sees I don’t give a fuck.
"So you want water. A coke?".
Lauren is so pissed off right now, but big deal.
"Water will be fine", she says and rolls her eyes away from me.
"Water it is", I say. Shit, I almost sing the words out of my mouth into the beautiful sweat drenched air. I’m happy. She’s not gonna bring me down.
Marty gives me a glass of water, which I immediately give to Lauren after paying him, and she doesn't even thank me. Fuck. I don't need this.
"What?", I ask.
"You know I can't drink alcohol now”.
"Why not?”, and as soon as I ask “why not”, I get it. I didn't know, but now I get it. But why did I have to ask "why not?" I know what's coming. I know what's happening. The things is this, let me explain. For some reason, when Lauren has her period, she doesn't like to drink alcohol. Hey, it's cool. I respect that. What I don't fancy is that she pretends that I FUCKING REMEMBER when she has her period. Hey, yeah, I can do the math, but I have other things to worry about, so just fucking tell me, or let me know, or how about a "Baby, remember, no alcohol tonight... you know…" when I'm going over to the bar. That would really fucking help. So here it goes. Action.
"BECAUSE I CAN'T DRINK ALCOHOL. You fucking know why. I have my…", her voice rising and suddenly going down again, like she can't say the word PERIOD out loud.
It's fucking loud in here, no one will hear her. No one gives a fuck what we're talking about.
Well, apparently.
Watch this shit.
"I can have that extra vodka tonic if you don't want it", says Renee Sterling from behind Lauren.
Now, how the fuck did I NOT notice that Renee was in front of me, behind Lauren? I have no clue. I guess I was too worried wondering what the fuck was wrong with a word like PERIOD. This is not good. Lauren slowly turns around, and sees Renee. Lauren doesn't say a word. And what do I do? I fuck up. I give Renee the drink.
"Thanks. It's $8, right?", and as she starts handing me the money, I fuck up again.
"No, that's ok", I say.
Now, I’ll be honest. I know THAT's what I wanted to say. Yeah, fucking Renee Sterling is in front of me. This is probably the only time in the world when I will have the chance to buy her a drink, at least, accidentally buy her a drink. So yes, I wanted to say that. Now, if I had thought about it just a tiny bit, I would have known that THAT was gonna piss Lauren off. You don’t have to be a fucking rocket scientist. It was gonna piss her extremely off. But it's Renee. I just do not think when it comes to Renee Sterling.
"Oh my, thanks. Thanks very much", and she then turns to Lauren (yes, Renee is about to speak TO Lauren).
"Quite a man you got there", and she winks at her. She FUCKING WINKS at Lauren. Not good. I need alcohol.
Now, “quite a man you got there". This sentence actually makes me fucking hard. Even though she was just being polite, this fucking rocks. In less than a minute, I bought Renee Sterling a drink, and she said I was quite a man. The circumstances may not be the ideal ones, but this makes my night. Now I wanna fucking PART-EY, sweetie. Nonchalantly, my eyes go back to Lauren, and yes, she's furious. I don't give a fuck. I don't give a fuck if she sees I don’t give a fuck.
"So you want water. A coke?".
Lauren is so pissed off right now, but big deal.
"Water will be fine", she says and rolls her eyes away from me.
"Water it is", I say. Shit, I almost sing the words out of my mouth into the beautiful sweat drenched air. I’m happy. She’s not gonna bring me down.
Marty gives me a glass of water, which I immediately give to Lauren after paying him, and she doesn't even thank me. Fuck. I don't need this.
But Hey: Nightclubbing (Part 2)
When we arrive, we see there's a long line. The fucking place is packed. But hey, did I mention I know Shamal the bouncer, too? This is my place. I always come here, but not with Lauren, just for the simple reason that she hates Renee's guts. She doesn't know Renee's always here, I just sort of arrange my nights so that each time I come here, I'll be alone with the guys. Just that.
"Baby, do you know the bouncer?"
"I sure do, honey bunch. You just wait and see".
As I walk past the line, everybody's looking at me, they know what I'm about to do, and they just hate me for it. Big fucking deal. I just hope they realize they've been doing things wrong their whole life. Otherwise, they wouldn't be where they are. They wouldn’t be in that stupid line. Losers.
"Hey, my man Shamal", I say while I high five and do the little fist salute with my man Shamall.
"I see you bring a lady tonight. Well come on in, sugar", he says as he respectfully checks Lauren out.
This is just perfect, this way Lauren knows that I never come here with other girls. This will give me some brownie points tonight. Al-fucking-right.
"Yup, this is MY sugar, so be careful, man", I say to Shamall and we both laugh.
This is my place. This is my world. I'm in charge tonight. Or so I think. Because who do we fucking see as soon as we enter? Renee Sterling, standing in front of us, just like if some motherfucking aliens with a sick sense of humor had abducted her and placed her back on Earth, right here, in this very minute.
“Hey, where the fuck should we put this chick back, Greedo?”
“Hmm, how about in front of FUCKING JACK here and his GIRLFRIEND, who happens to hate this earthling's guts with all of her willpower?”
Shit. This is not going to be a good night.
Lauren sees Renee and freezes. She turns to me and senses that I'm tensed as hell. She knows I know this is not a good moment. She knows I know this is fucked up. She knows I know I want to die, and she kind of enjoys that. But hey, I think about something, and that is EXACTLY what happens. Renee never remembers me. She doesn't even know me. So while she's there in front of us, a situation which lasts about three seconds, she doesn't look at me. She doesn't even notice us. So she keeps going her way, moving through the crowd, who knows where to. Lauren releases some of the tension on her body, and I try to release whatever the fuck I can release to try to keep on pretending, and I know I’m not pretending shit, to be cool. Just be cool. Hey, it's not hard, right? Well, it's actually FUCKING hard when Renee Sterling is in front of me, way even more if I'm with Lauren. OK. Let's go.
"Baby, do you know the bouncer?"
"I sure do, honey bunch. You just wait and see".
As I walk past the line, everybody's looking at me, they know what I'm about to do, and they just hate me for it. Big fucking deal. I just hope they realize they've been doing things wrong their whole life. Otherwise, they wouldn't be where they are. They wouldn’t be in that stupid line. Losers.
"Hey, my man Shamal", I say while I high five and do the little fist salute with my man Shamall.
"I see you bring a lady tonight. Well come on in, sugar", he says as he respectfully checks Lauren out.
This is just perfect, this way Lauren knows that I never come here with other girls. This will give me some brownie points tonight. Al-fucking-right.
"Yup, this is MY sugar, so be careful, man", I say to Shamall and we both laugh.
This is my place. This is my world. I'm in charge tonight. Or so I think. Because who do we fucking see as soon as we enter? Renee Sterling, standing in front of us, just like if some motherfucking aliens with a sick sense of humor had abducted her and placed her back on Earth, right here, in this very minute.
“Hey, where the fuck should we put this chick back, Greedo?”
“Hmm, how about in front of FUCKING JACK here and his GIRLFRIEND, who happens to hate this earthling's guts with all of her willpower?”
Shit. This is not going to be a good night.
Lauren sees Renee and freezes. She turns to me and senses that I'm tensed as hell. She knows I know this is not a good moment. She knows I know this is fucked up. She knows I know I want to die, and she kind of enjoys that. But hey, I think about something, and that is EXACTLY what happens. Renee never remembers me. She doesn't even know me. So while she's there in front of us, a situation which lasts about three seconds, she doesn't look at me. She doesn't even notice us. So she keeps going her way, moving through the crowd, who knows where to. Lauren releases some of the tension on her body, and I try to release whatever the fuck I can release to try to keep on pretending, and I know I’m not pretending shit, to be cool. Just be cool. Hey, it's not hard, right? Well, it's actually FUCKING hard when Renee Sterling is in front of me, way even more if I'm with Lauren. OK. Let's go.
But Hey: Nightclubbing (Part 1)
Lauren brought the car to a halt. I knew what was coming.
“You wanna go to a fucking club or what?", she asked.
"Yeah, of course I wanna go to a fucking club. I wanna go out. Just like we planned".
"Then why are you fucking breaking my balls?"
Women don't have balls, but I'm thinking that correcting her is not the best thing to do at the moment. I know what her problem is. She has named four places to go, and I have said no to each and every one of them. But hey, I have my reasons.
1) Nottingham Disco & Bar - The music is rubbish. Yes, I like the eighties, but I'm in no mood to hear Walking on Sunshine or Down Under tonight, or any night for the rest of my life, for that matter.
2) Bella Nova - Definitely a no. Sharon is always there, and I know I don't want to run into her. Sharon happened way before I met Lauren, and they don’t know each other, but you can bet your ass Sharon will do anything to let Lauren know that we were very intimate in the past. VERY intimate. Yes, of course, everybody has a past, but believe me, Lauren does not want to know about Sharon and me. Bella Nova, nova way.
3) El Paso Joe's - I don't wanna sit down and eat mozzarella sticks all night. Now, that doesn't mean I wanna be dancing my ass off all night. Lauren knows I don't dance, but hey, if I wanna sit down, I'll stay in my fucking house, know what I mean? Fuck El Paso Joe's.
4) RadioActive: OK, I have to admit that this is the best option so far, but Renee LIVES in this fucking place. She's ALWAYS there. And everybody knows how much I LOVE her. OK, I don't love her, I just wanna fucking rip her clothes apart and... you get the picture. And how does everybody know this? Oh well, it all started with that stupid game of "Never Never" (well, that's how we call it, anyway), where someone says "I have never blah blah blah", and if you HAVE done that specific thing, then it's bottoms up for you. Of course, when you're playing with tequila, by the fifth question, you'll be honest about anything. And believe me, you do not want to play this with your girlfriend. No, sir. I should have never played that shit with Lauren, but hey, I did, and know she and everybody knows that I want to fuck Renee so bad. I don't even know Renee, that's what's fucking absurd. I think we've been introduced twice, but she never remembers me. She's this big hot broad from the radio, you know the kind - "I know I'm fucking hot, but I'll stay behind the mic, where no one can see me. No TV for me. NO, sir. I’m way too hot for TV". THAT HOT is what I'm talking about. That's Renee. The woman drives me crazy. So no, RadioActive is not an option.
"Don't break my balls, baby. Pick a place, please. I wanna party".
She wants to party. I hate when she says she wants to party. Just say you wanna go out. I get the point. Don't say part-ey. Shit. RadioActive. The music is excellent. Really obscure rock/electronic from the 80s and 90s. It's good to know 90% of the songs when almost none of the people recognize even one. I love that. Music's great. It’s pretty cheap. I can drink many vodka tonics, get wasted, have a good time and not spend even half as much as with El Paso Joe's fucking mozzarella sticks. I know The Pope in there, or Popy as we call him, that means an easy way to get some blow. I even know the fucking security guard near the bathroom, so I don’t have to wait to powder myself up. Shit. Renee will be there.
"Baby, I wanna go somewhere right fucking now. I wanna PART-EY".
Fuck. RadioActive it is.
"OK, baby", I say with Bambi eyes.
"You win. Let’s go to Radio”.
"I love you", she says.
I smile. Renee better be there.
“You wanna go to a fucking club or what?", she asked.
"Yeah, of course I wanna go to a fucking club. I wanna go out. Just like we planned".
"Then why are you fucking breaking my balls?"
Women don't have balls, but I'm thinking that correcting her is not the best thing to do at the moment. I know what her problem is. She has named four places to go, and I have said no to each and every one of them. But hey, I have my reasons.
1) Nottingham Disco & Bar - The music is rubbish. Yes, I like the eighties, but I'm in no mood to hear Walking on Sunshine or Down Under tonight, or any night for the rest of my life, for that matter.
2) Bella Nova - Definitely a no. Sharon is always there, and I know I don't want to run into her. Sharon happened way before I met Lauren, and they don’t know each other, but you can bet your ass Sharon will do anything to let Lauren know that we were very intimate in the past. VERY intimate. Yes, of course, everybody has a past, but believe me, Lauren does not want to know about Sharon and me. Bella Nova, nova way.
3) El Paso Joe's - I don't wanna sit down and eat mozzarella sticks all night. Now, that doesn't mean I wanna be dancing my ass off all night. Lauren knows I don't dance, but hey, if I wanna sit down, I'll stay in my fucking house, know what I mean? Fuck El Paso Joe's.
4) RadioActive: OK, I have to admit that this is the best option so far, but Renee LIVES in this fucking place. She's ALWAYS there. And everybody knows how much I LOVE her. OK, I don't love her, I just wanna fucking rip her clothes apart and... you get the picture. And how does everybody know this? Oh well, it all started with that stupid game of "Never Never" (well, that's how we call it, anyway), where someone says "I have never blah blah blah", and if you HAVE done that specific thing, then it's bottoms up for you. Of course, when you're playing with tequila, by the fifth question, you'll be honest about anything. And believe me, you do not want to play this with your girlfriend. No, sir. I should have never played that shit with Lauren, but hey, I did, and know she and everybody knows that I want to fuck Renee so bad. I don't even know Renee, that's what's fucking absurd. I think we've been introduced twice, but she never remembers me. She's this big hot broad from the radio, you know the kind - "I know I'm fucking hot, but I'll stay behind the mic, where no one can see me. No TV for me. NO, sir. I’m way too hot for TV". THAT HOT is what I'm talking about. That's Renee. The woman drives me crazy. So no, RadioActive is not an option.
"Don't break my balls, baby. Pick a place, please. I wanna party".
She wants to party. I hate when she says she wants to party. Just say you wanna go out. I get the point. Don't say part-ey. Shit. RadioActive. The music is excellent. Really obscure rock/electronic from the 80s and 90s. It's good to know 90% of the songs when almost none of the people recognize even one. I love that. Music's great. It’s pretty cheap. I can drink many vodka tonics, get wasted, have a good time and not spend even half as much as with El Paso Joe's fucking mozzarella sticks. I know The Pope in there, or Popy as we call him, that means an easy way to get some blow. I even know the fucking security guard near the bathroom, so I don’t have to wait to powder myself up. Shit. Renee will be there.
"Baby, I wanna go somewhere right fucking now. I wanna PART-EY".
Fuck. RadioActive it is.
"OK, baby", I say with Bambi eyes.
"You win. Let’s go to Radio”.
"I love you", she says.
I smile. Renee better be there.
Wednesday, November 19, 2008
Intimate Standards
i wrote a story. i don't know how to finish it. it's about a boy who lives in the circus. his parents abandoned him and now he is raised by the lion tamer, who only has one arm. a lion ripped it from him during a show. when he got better, he continued with his job. the boy does not know how the lion tamer can still be doing what he does. it's the only thing he knows how to do, he tells the boy. it's his passion. it's his only true love. the boy does not understand him. with time, the boy grows up to be a young man. he meets a girl. he falls in love. she leaves him, breaking his heart. he goes after her. the lion tamer asks him why he wants to be with her after all the pain she put him through. it's the only thing he knows how to do, answers the young man. the lion tamer does not understand. i don't know how to finish the story.
Tuesday, November 18, 2008
Sing a Song for the Lepers
you healed me
but what about the rest?
aren't they to feel what i feel?
aren't they to be free from this misery, this torment?
why me? why me? why not them?
who are you?
why so cruel?
torment the poor and save the damned
but only you decide who has the luck of being who
selfish bastard
ungrateful scum
sing a song for the lepers
and let us rot
give me back my sickness
and leave me alone
leave us all alone
Thursday, November 13, 2008
Tuesday, November 04, 2008
Lot
i looked in the rearview mirror and saw her body lying on the floor. still i had to turn around, see it with my own eyes, as if i were in a house of mirrors in some dirty carnival, and reality was being distorted for me. but there she was... there it was. her motionless body thrown in the middle of the parking lot. i came to my senses, and started looking around, trying to see if someone noticed anything. i still can't believe there was nobody in sight. a couple of cars in the distance, but something told me there was no one in them. this vast sea of pavement marked by the moonlight, almost hitting her as if it were some kind of spotlight in some decadent theater. she was the main actress alright, but this was my performance of a lifetime.
jenny turned and looked at me, she was as pale as a ghost, and she muttered those words that actually made me realize what i had done. "you killed your wife". there was a cold silence for about a minute, and it seemed like forever. i had to check if she was dead. i had to confirm i did really kill her. i got out of the car, again looking around to see if somebody was there, but no one, not a soul. as i came nearer and nearer i just wondered how a body, a human body, could be placed in that position, and still be alive. i got on my knees and looked at her face. that's when i remembered the blood on the windshield. it was so disfigured and red, it made me realize jenny had told me the truth. i had killed my wife. and without analyzing the consequences, or the almost non existent possibility of me getting away with it, i understood that i was free.
i now sit here in this motel room. jenny has gone - apparently she didn't love me as much as she said she did - and outside the world is waiting for me. but i can't walk out. i can't raise my hands, i can't and will not give in. this freedom that i've showered myself in would be stupidly lost. there's just no point. so what now? it certainly feels like an end. but remember, this is my performance. the spotlight's on me now. ever since that day on that parkling lot, the spotlight shifted from that bitch's gruesome body to me, and it has not cast its light on anything or anyone else since. it's my time. time to look back and taste the flavor of this freedom i've enjoyed. no, it hasn't lasted too long, but it was all worthwhile. i close my eyes, shut my ears from the sirens and the yells, and think.
that meal a couple of days ago. the movie i saw last night. that one time jenny and i made love before she left. that song i hummed this morning while i was shaving. glorious moments bathed in a light of freedom, a freedom i've deserved, a freedom i've gained. no one can take that away fom me. not now.
and as i open the door and run towards them... i hear the sound of a war coming to an end, i hear the sound of liberty frozen forever in time. and in my distant thoughts, deep deep inside of me, i can hear my car and the sound of maggie hitting her face on my windshield.
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