COLD BLACK MIRROR
CARE TO BUY A LOSER A DRINK?
It was gettin near midnight one time down at Eddy’s. The usual crowd of bums an no-hopers were proppin up the bar or scattered round the tables. I kinda liked the feel of the place especially on a wet Sunday night like this. After all, what was there waitin at home except Monday mornin.
I was at my usual place at the far corner of the bar where I could drink an watch the action so I spotted her as soon as she walked in. Blonde, attractive, mid-thirties, prob’ly divorced. Standin there shakin rain from her folded down umbrella.
I watched her takin in the scene an I could sense her despair as she realized she was now one of us. Hey, that’s why you drink at places like Eddy’s till two in the mornin.
Maybe it was because some of the bums were already droolin over her or maybe it was because she wanted to sit next to a rugged worn-lookin guy but she headed over in my direction anyway. She hitched herself up onto the stool next to me. I could smell the rain off her.
“What do you call a female loser?” she asked.
“You,” I replied.
She glanced at me an lit a smoke. “Care to buy a loser a drink then?”
I nodded up to Eddy who was just puttin the blackjack away.
“What’re you havin?” I asked her.
“Sour,” she told me.
“Life or drink?”
“Both,” she replied.
Eddy brought us the drinks an we just sat around watchin the scene awhile. I knew where she was comin from. She was finished an she just didn’t realize it yet. That last little shred of hope had gone an now there was nothin. It took some time to learn how to handle that one. If you ever could.
“Funny how everything can go in a few weeks,” she said eventually.
“Oh it can go a lot quicker than that,” I told her.
“Then you’ve lost--”
I glanced sharply at her. There was a boundary you didn’t cross. Not with me. Not at Eddy’s this time of night.
“Sorry,” she muttered an signaled for another round.
We didn’t say anythin for awhile. Just sat there drinkin an smokin an watchin the action. I knew she needed the company. I knew I didn’t.
I sensed she couldn’t leave it alone. “But it all could have been so good,” she said eventually. “So damn good.”
“Well isn’t it pretty to think so,” I remarked.
“So what is there then?” she asked. “If it’s all gone?”
“Find someone else or some kinda work you can lose yourself in,” I told her.
“I’ve already tried,” she said. “Both. Nothing worked.”
“In that case it’ll take awhile,” I told her. “But you’ll learn.”
“To wake expectin nothin. Wake up already dead.”
“Sounds kinda bad.”
“It is,” I replied. I was growin tired of this conversation. I had been through it all a hundred times before. With myself.
“Take me home with you. Just for tonight,” she said.
For a second, that note of pleadin in her voice almost got to me. Almost. I shook my head.
“Why not?” she asked.
“Because all I got inside me is dead space,” I replied, “an spendin the night with you ain’t gonna fill any of it.” I finished my drink, nodded up to Eddy an left.
Outside, the streets were empty except for the rain. There were blurred reflections of shop lights an advertisin signs on the wet sidewalks. I headed off, lookin for a cab.
ONLY DEGREES OF MISERY
I was lyin in bed one afternoon, drinkin coffee an thinkin about how bad things were when the phone rang. I couldn’t really be bothered talkin to anybody but I answered it anyway.
“Yeah?” I said.
“You have to help me!” this female voice pleaded. “I can’t stand it any longer! I’m going to kill myself!”
“Fine,” I told her. “Go ahead.”
Silence from the other end of the line. Don’t think it was quite the response she expected.
“I don’t think you understand,” she said eventually. “I need your help. I’m planning to kill myself.”
“So you need help with the plannin?” I asked. “Like you can’t think of a way to do it yourself? Hey lady, there’s loads of ways.”
There was a muffled sob from the other end of the line. I half-expected her to hang up. I lit a smoke an waited.
“Can’t you….can’t you try to talk me out of it?” she begged.
“Why should I?” I replied. “I didn’t talk you into it.”
More muffled sobs. More silence. It dragged on. This time I broke it.
“Look lady,” I said, “I don’t even know you. You call me up an tell me you’re plannin to kill yourself an you want my help. Hey, how’d you get my number anyway?”
“Oh I just dialed a number at random,” she told me. “You see, I’m pretty desperate. Things aren’t too good at my end of the line.”
“Hey, they’re not too clever at my end either,” I informed her.
“But I cry myself to sleep every night,” she said.
“Hey lady - I cry myself awake!”
“Oh!” More muffled sobs. “Sorry,” she managed.
She sounded kinda nice. In a desperate sort of way. I decided to help.
“Listen, this is the only piece of advice I’m givin you, so pay attention,” I told her. “You’re not allowed to.”
“Not allowed to what?”
“Not allowed to kill yourself!” I yelled. “What the hell d’you think I mean - not allowed to go out for coffee an donuts!?”
There was an expected silence while she thought about that.
“Why aren’t you allowed to kill yourself?” she finally asked.
“Because the Big Boss don’t like it,” I told her. “Takes it as a serious insult after He’s granted you the precious gift of life an all that crap. Really pisses Him off.”
“You mean God?” she asked.
“Call Him what you like,” I said, “but kill yourself an things will get even worse. A damn sight worse an you won’t be able to do anythin about it. Not like you can here.”
“How can they get any worse?” she asked.
“Believe me they will,” I replied. “Read Edgar Cayce.”
I spelled it for her.
“Will he help me to kill myself?”
“Will he help me to be happy?”
“But I used to be so happy!” she wailed. “Now there’s just all this….all this misery.”
I laughed. “Happiness!” I said. “That old fuckin illusion.”
She hesitated. “Have you ever been happy?” she asked.
I ignored the question. “Happiness is just too fleetin,” I told her instead. “Too fleetin. It’s like a snow fall in the river - a moment white then gone forever.”
More silence while she thought about that one.
“Do you think people get a second chance at life?” she asked.
“Lady, I don’t think they get a first!” I replied.
This was gettin tedious. I sensed it could go on all day. I decided to bring the call to an end.
“Look lady, this is my final word to you,” I said. “There’s no such thing as lastin happiness. There’s only degrees of misery. That’s all there is - only degrees of misery an you have to learn how to endure whatever yours is.”
I hung up.
I lit another smoke an decided to change my number.
Man I just loved the view from my tenth floor apartment at two in the mornin. All them warm lights out there in the darkness at other windows. All the late nite traffic swishin by. An best of all, the ole Brooklyn Bridge. Lit up like a Christmas tree with them fancy lights strung out between the tall girders, hangin like pearl necklaces.
Yeah, one helluva view. Unless you were sittin on one of the narrow ledges outside the block like I was with your legs danglin in space an the wind whippin at you. Glued by fear to the fuckin spot. With my window an auto length away. The spot deliberately chosen so there was no way back. Only now I wish there was since I’ve changed my mind about jumpin. Movin to Canada seems a better option. At least I’d be landin at an airport instead of landin on a sidewalk.
So why was I sittin there terrified? Simple. Because I owed the biggest psycho in Brooklyn the modest sum of 20K. Yip, 20K. Twenty thousand fuckin dollars. All lost on a sure-fire coke deal that fell thru. Just like I’m sure-fire gonna fall thru that sidewalk way down there.
Zybo was Brooklyn’s main dealer an he didn’t take prisoners. Owe Zybo 10K an the repayment plan was that he took your hand. And not to shake it. Which meant I was lookin at two of them artificial ones.
Alright they’re pretty good these days I’ll admit. You can pick things up an even hold a knife an fork with them. So I could get by feedin myself an wipin my ass but suppose one of the fuckers jammed up unexpected when I was tossin myself off!? Christ I wouldn’t need the hospital, I’d need the fuckin garage! Yeah I can just see it when I pull into Rudy’s in the Ford…“Hey Rudy, can you get one of the guys to take a look at the starter motor – fuckin thing keeps jammin up. Oh an can he take a look at my right hand as well – fuckin thing’s jammed up too. Around my dick!”…Christ the boys would love that one.
Just as the small crowd way down there was lovin this one. How they loved the drama of a jumper. Even if it meant haulin themselves outa bed at two in the mornin to watch. Like gettin up to watch a movie repeat they really liked. I could see them down there in a semi-circle. Coats or dressin-gowns pulled on over pyjamas. All waitin for tonite’s movie repeat – me. I can just imagine the wisecracks floatin round. All they needed was popcorn an Coke.
I can see a ripple in the crowd down there as the Cops arrive. Four of them. See them look up. They have a chat. One of them’s gotta come up. I see a figure cross the street an enter the block.
Five minutes later he sticks his head outa my window. Young guy. Grins. “Hi buddy,” he says. “Mind if I step out?”
“Be my guest,” I told him.
First thing I noticed was the rope tied round his waist. The rest coiled in his hand. Good lookin strong rope it was. I liked that. He stepped out an glanced down then waved to the small crowd. I heard a ragged cheer. Christ, is this Spiderman?
He sat down on the ledge. Very casually. Like he was sittin down in front of the TV. I liked this guy’s confidence.
“Mind if I get a bit closer?” he asked.
“Sit on my fuckin lap if you want!” I replied.
He grinned and shuffled closer. “Scared?” he asked.
“Changed your mind?”
“Pretty much so,” I said.
He held out the coiled rope towards me. I took it eagerly like he was handin me a winnin lottery ticket. Eased it round my waist. Tied a good secure double knot. Unsurprisingly I kinda felt better after that an leaned back against the wall, a bit more relaxed.
“Smoke?” the Cop asked, holdin out his pack.
“Brought my own,” I told him.
We lit up with my Zippo an sat there smokin for a minute.
“Here’s a good one an I know you’ll like it,” the Cop said eventually. “When we arrived on the scene an saw you up here, the Sergeant asked for a volunteer to come up an talk to you.” He grinned. “My patrol buddy, he’s a real joker, he says to the Sarge, ‘Talk to him? You want somebody to go up an talk to him? Let me go up there an I’ll sing to him!’”
We laughed. I liked this guy.
“So what brought you out here?” he asked. “Money? A woman? The job?”
“The first one.”
He nodded. “Appreciate just how you’re feelin. Got big problems myself.”
“My wife’s leavin. An she’s takin the girls.”
“Five an three. They’re my babes”
“Shit, that’s a tough one. How come she’s leavin?”
He glanced at me an I thought maybe I’d overstepped the mark. Then he shrugged. “I haven’t told anybody else but under the circumstances,” he said an glanced down meaningfully.
“Understood,” I agreed.
He took a drag on his cigarette before he told me. “Other women,” he eventually admitted.
I nodded an drew on my smoke. No big deal there.
“Yeah, other women,” he said. “Took me a while to work out she was a lesbian.”
No shit! I glanced at him but didn’t say anythin.
“Then there was the forced anal sex,” he went on.
Christ! This was gettin personal.
“Still don’t know why I let her do it to me.”
What the fuck!? I turned and had a long look at him then but he just glanced at me an shrugged.
“I think that’s when I started beatin her,” he continued.
I looked quickly at him again. Was his voice startin to sound a little slurred?
“Yeah I beat her at everythin,” he admitted. “Beat her at poker. Beat her at tennis. Beat her at fuckin scrabble.”
I kinda half-smiled at that then took a draw on my smoke. His voice was definitely slurrin up. I couldn’t smell any booze off him but we were sittin a little apart out there.
We finished our smokes an flicked them out into the darkness. I watched the glowin red butts fall, a little apart, before the wind whipped them away. We lit up again immediately.
“Then there was the necrophilia,” he went on.
“Jeeze!” I muttered.
“Christ, two good-lookin stiffs! Two strippers! Two! Does that make me a fuckin necrophiliac!?”
I shook my head. “Not in my book, buddy,” I said. Especially not out here on this ledge.
I glanced at him again. He was startin to sway a little from side to side.
“Losin the kids was the last straw,” he slurred on.
“Christ, that must’ve been pretty bad,” I said.
He nodded. “Judge gave her custody. Just cos she’s got some land upstate an they can graze there.” He grinned lopsidedly. “Man, I loved them fuckin goats. Two kids each they had.”
That was when I realised this Cop was fuckin nuts. Then he proved it.
“Can’t take losin everythin,” he slurred, “so I was headin for the Brooklyn Bridge myself after tonite’s shift. Took a shit load of Valium earlier,” he drawled. “A shit load. Feel nice an woozy now. Nice an woozy”
He glanced at me. I could now see the nice an woozy look in his eyes. What I had taken earlier as confidence had been Valium.
“Man, them blues sure kicked in. Feel all kinda relaxed an rubbery.” He grinned an drooled. “No point in waitin for the Bridge,” he slurred.
Then he just rocked forwards and fell off the ledge. I watched him go then I suddenly remembered. I was fumblin pointlessly at the double knot when the rope tightened an I was hauled off too.
I tried for a last draw on my smoke but the wind whipped it outa my hand. The sidewalk was comin up awful fast an I could see the Cop headin down, the rope taut between us.
The small crowd rippled an moved back like a wave breakin. I could see them all starin up at us. At their movie repeats.
“Hey look – we got us a double-bill!!” some sick fuck yelled.
Laughter from the crowd was the last thing I ever heard.
IT’S NOT YOUR DAY JFK
You prob’ly still come across this now and again in a magazine or maybe even on the TV – where were you an what were you doin when President Kennedy was assassinated? Well I know exactly where I was an exactly what I was doin – I was on the sixth floor of The Texas School Book Depository in Dallas with my finger on the trigger of a bolt-action rifle.
Watin for him to arrive. And the cunt was late. Late. Which made me late. Late for my Origami class. Damn cunt an his damn bitch.
Them paper-foldin Origami classes are real important to me. Not like this shit. I just do this for the dollars. Usually Mafia hits. This is a big deal though. Pays big deal dollars. Gonna let me open up my ownCHRIST HERE IT COMES! THE MOTORCADE! THEM BIG-ASS HARLEYS OUT IN FRONT. DAMN THEY LOOK GOOD. LIKE THEY’RE JUST FLOATIN ALONG. MY SIGHTS. CHECK MY SIGHTS. STILL SPOT ON. BE ONLY A MINUTE NOW.
Yeah, been doin them Origami classes awhile now. Makin all sorts of little folded paper dudes. Like swans an roses an people an buildins. First thing I’ve ever loved. Givin me real purpose, real focus. Like I’ve finally found what I was meant to be doin. Strange how it can take a man so long to find himself.
Gettin real good at it too. Teacher says I’m a natural. Good with my hands. With my fingers. My trigger finger. Could’ve told her that anyways. Been good with my trigger finger since my ArmyGOT HIM IN MY SIGHTS! SEE HIS FACE! HE’S SHAVED THIS MORNIN. WE’LL HE’S GOT ANOTHER CLOSE SHAVE COMIN. FOR MAKIN ME LATE. CHRIST I COULD SHOOT A FLY UP THE ASS FROM WAY OFF. BUT THE FIRST ONE’S GOIN IN THE BACK. DELIBERATE. FOR MAKIN ME LATE.
Yeah, my exams are comin up at the end of the year. Lots of work to do before then. Makin this my last hit. So I can concentrate on the paper foldin. Tonight we start the complicated stuff. Bigger stuff. With expressions. Expressions on people’s faces. Like there’s goin to be soon on Jackie’sTEN SECONDS TO LIVE, JFK! IF ONLY YOU KNEW! WHAT CAN YOU DO IN TEN SECONDS? COULDN’T EVEN FUCK HER IN THAT. SLOWLY TIGHTEN ON THE TRIGGER. EASY NOW. DEEP BREATH IN AND HOLD. SQUEEZE. FIRST ONE IN THE BACK. FOLLOW HIM. SQUEEZE. SECOND ONE IN. BRAINS FLYIN OUT. FOLLOW HIM. SQUEEZE. THIRD ONE IN. JUST TO MAKE SURE.
Just to make sure. Cos I need them big deal dollars. Plannin on openin up
my own Origami shop after my exams. Sellin just my own stuff. Gonna be the bestCHRIST JACKIE’S CRAWLIN ALL OVER THE FUCKIN CAR! ALL OVER IT! LOOKS PRETTY IN PINK. CRAWLIN ON HER HANDS AND KNEES. WOND’RIN WHAT THE FUCK’S GOIN DOWN. JFK’S GOIN DOWN. THAT’S WHAT’S GONE DOWN.
Think I’ll do an Origami of Jackie tonight. Fuck she looked good crawlin over that car. Do one of her on her hands and knees. Nude. Tits hangin down. Ass in the air. Legs spread. And oh, that shaved pussy.
I’ve watched you from a distance
watched you from afar
I’ve got your pictures on my wall
I’ve listened to all your songs
know them all by heart
you’ve been my hero for long enough
envied you from the start.
But I’m tired of all this distance
this worship from afar
John, it’s time to get close to you
and change the way you really are.
Yeah one day
I’ll get near, near to you, John
yeah one day soon
I’m gonna get close
real close to you, John
gonna get real close to you
and there’s nothing
you can do.
I jetted in from Hawaii
although I hate to fly
I passed the time cleaning my gun
and reading Catcher In The Rye.
I checked out your apartment
can’t afford a lapse
as usual there were fans of yours
The one taken outside the Dakota
hey man, ain’t that a laugh
I’m standing right behind you
just after you gave me your autograph!
Yeah I’ve got near
near to you, John
told you I’d get close
real close to you, John
closing in on you
and there’s nothing
you can do.
I returned a few hours later
I knew what I was gonna do
understood my destiny.
My own life’s pretty shabby
nothing quite worked out for me
but it’s time for that to change
to change from Mister Nobody.
You were walking on thin ice
when you strolled to those stairs
I drew the gun, I felt quite calm
people screaming everywhere.
Yoko was right beside you
but it’s you I’m here to kill
saw four bullets hit you
hey man, what a thrill!
And when the killing’s over
yes and when they ask me why
I’ll just shrug and maybe say
that I’m just a jealous guy.
Yeah I got near
near to you, John
told you I’d get close
real close to you, John
well I got close to you
and there was nothing
you could do.
If there was anyone in this world
anyone that I could be
I’d love to have been you, John
you were my double fantasy.
But there ain’t no room for both of us
hey that’s what I’ll tell the Judge
can’t have two of me in this world
there’s only one of us.
The Court did not believe me
but they couldn’t quite decide
so it looks like I’ve committed
this living suicide.
So now I’m famous too, John
but it’s quite a different kind
whereas you are a legend
I’m just a legend in my own mind.
But I got near
near to you, John
didn’t I get close
real close to you, John
yeah I got near
near to you, John
close, real close to you, John
and there was nothing
you could do.
MY LITTLE JAIL BAIT
You’re brushin your hair
in front of the mirror
the curves on your body
are makin me shiver.
You’re turnin me on
I know that you know it
I try to be cool
try not to show it.
You’re only fifteen
but act so much bolder
so what do I do
wait till you’re older?
My little jail bait
little jail bait,
my little jail bait
little jail bait.
I light up a smoke
mouth’s gettin dryer
you bend down for somethin
your skirt’s gettin higher.
I look at your legs
hope you don’t see
but those come-to-bed eyes
glance over at me.
Yeah you know what I’m thinkin
hey I can hardly disguise
the way that I’m starin
with these hard-on eyes.
I know that you want it
know you’re on fire
you got the body
I got the desire.
My little jail bait
little jail bait,
my little jail bait
little jail bait.
I’m out of control
you sweet little mover
I hold out my hand
you smile an come over.
You sit on my knee
my body is shakin
your body is hot
for some sweet love-makin.
I flick out the light
hands they start roamin
I’m already hard
you’re already moanin.
My little jail bait
little jail bait,
with the come-to-bed eyes
warm silky thighs
warm silky thighs,
my little jail bait
little jail bait,
my little jail bait
little jail bait.
AH WAS A-SNORIN WHEN THEY HUNG’D ME
He he he! Sure put one over on them dumb ass city boys like! How comes? Cos Ah was a-snorin when they hung’d me! Didn’t fuss me none gettin hung’d. Didn’t hurt me none neithers. Tells you how later.
Don’t know why they made such a botherin anyways. Hell, it was just a few bodies here an there. All right, maybe ten or twenty. A year. Over maybe ten years. Hmm, Ah suppose it mounts up now Ah reckons on it. Never done that afores. Yep, coulda been a coupla hunnerd now Ah counts them up. Tell ye the truth, Ah couldn’t give a pig’s nipple.
That damn wife was the first t’ go. All that bitchin an hollerin. Way too much fer a backwoods boy like me t’ be a-suff’rin. Chopped her up in the kitchen like kindlin. Place looked like one of ole Crazy Bob’s paintins afores Ah cleaned up.
That’s when Ah got the taste.
Had them meaty thighs o’ hers with me down at ma still. Supposed t’ be goin in the river. Then Ah thought Ah might burn one on the still fire, likes. Just t’ see what happened.
Looked kinda good a-spittin an a-bubblin in there. Roasted up a treat. Smelled dee-licious! Damn if it didn’t burn ma tongue! Tasted fine tho. Had the rest o’ her with that real nice mustard sauce she made. Got me a whole shelf o’ the stuff.
Folks at the shacks knew Ah had off’d her, likes. But nobody talks round here. No cops ever come t’ these backwoods. Not if they ever wants t’ leave again that is.
Took me out a-roamin after that. Stayin away from the shack fer weeks. Just a-lookin. A-lookin fer city types. Found lots. Type that wants a taste o’ the woods. Well Ah sure got a taste o’ them!
Like them two plump campin gals. Hell you’d need a mule train t’ haul all that fancy shit they had. They don’t need it no mores. Drew the veil back on their worst nitemares afores they roasted. Tasted damn fine with that mustard sauce. Specially after Ah added ma own stuffin!
Found me lotsa hobos on ma travels. Dirty sons a bitches. Sprayed ’em clean with ma twelve gauge. Never ate ’em tho. No tellin what shit them useless bastards was carryin.
The years drifted by an so did I. From ma shack into the woods. Lived off the fat o’ the land…an the fat fuckers that wandered in. Suppose that’s when the numbers started mountin. Wasn’t keepin no tally nor nothin. Killin an eatin ’em, well Ah suppose it could’ve gone on fer ever. Till the bastards caught me.
How in the fuck did Ah know she was a Senator’s daughter? Bitch kept screamin she was. Still, Ah reckon folks’ll say just about anythin when they’re starin up them nigger nose holes on a twelve gauge.
They was just another two city types havin a weekend in the woods. Their last weekend. Real purty gal an her purty boyfriend. Made her watch when Ah reamed him. “Squeal like a pig, boy!” Man, he surely did.
Took awhiles with her. Like Ah said, real purty she was. Tasted purty as well. Even without no mustard sauce on accounts it was all long gone by then.
Turns out she was tellin the truth. Wasn’t just any ole Senator neithers. Seems him an the Pres’dent was jug-drinkin buddies. Sheet!
Them fuckin backwoods was soon crawlin with Mr Nash’nal Guard. All over the place they was like fire ants on a bear hide.
Snucked up on me when Ah was a-crappin. Ma pants an ma guard was down. Fella said he’d blow ma balls off if Ah so much as farted. Good job Ah hadn’t eaten no beans.
They sentenced me t’ be hung. Hung’d by the neck. Had me a good run so who gives a fuck? Man’s gotta go sometimes. Ah spit up their ass!
Judge asked if’n Ah had any regrets. Told him yeah. That Ah regretted not havin no mustard sauce when Ah ate that last gal. He he he! Helluva commotion over that!
Down in Death Row fer weeks Ah was. Just a-settin there afore they finally had the balls t’ hung me. ’Ventually the Priest came in so Ah knew the time was a-nearin. Then ma kin dropped by an Ah knew that was it.
Here’s a laugh fer ye tho. Ma last eatin. Told me Ah could have anythins. So Ah asked fer steak. Nice fat juicy steak. Right off a fat juicy gal’s ass! Guards were whoopin an hollerin when they heard that! Gave me steak anyhows. Off a fat juicy cow’s ass. Still, least Ah had me some mustard sauce.
Well like Ah said earlier, the hungin didn’t hurt me none. How comes? Cos Ah can fall dead asleep in three minutes flat. Lotsa folks timed me back at the shacks. Snorin Ah was in three. Bin doin it since Ah was a kid.
So afores they put the hood on me Ah gives the Priest the big sob story. Real good it was too! Ah needed five minutes t’ talk with the Good Lord in private. Explain maself, like. Pray fer ma ’mortal soul. Beg His fergiveness. Fergiveness ma ass!
They fell for it! Guard puts the hood on me an they gives me five minutes. Three minutes later Ah’m asleep. A-softly snorin an a-snoozin like a babe. So Ah was a-snorin when they hung’d me!
Know what? The sound o’ that lever a-crashin an me a-droppin – hell, didn’t even wake me.
WHEN IMAGINARY FRIENDS DON’T LIKE YOU
Lookin back on it, I guess not bein liked throughout my entire life started as a child, when even my imaginary friends wouldn’t play with me.
Then there was Jack, our dog. Jack was a big friendly labrador who loved everybody. Except me. He would pick up a golf ball in his mouth an I would follow him out to the garden. Jack would toss the ball for me to fetch an I would chase after it. When I turned to bring it back to him, Jack was gone.
Our family were catholic an I helped out at the chapel. Was there for years. Turns out I was the only altar-boy Father McCann didn’t abuse.
As a teenager I had perfect skin – acne refused to visit me. I tried different drugs – none of them agreed with me. On Proms Night I asked the ugliest girl in the school to go – she turned me down.
When I left home I started work in a bank as a teller. In a week nobody came to my window an I was fired.
A hypnotist came to my flat to try an help me. Said he’d put me under an find out why I was so disliked. He put me into a trance. Half an hour later I came to lyin on the sofa, the apartment door was open an I was alone.
In desperation I phoned the Samaritans but every time I called they put me on hold.
Although I knew the dangers I was so desperate for company I got one of them ouija boards just to try an make contact with someone. The glass started movin right away an spelled the name of this notorious evil spirit whom I knew had possessed people before. He told me to fuck off.
I decided to end it all an jump off a high bridge. The cops sent up a trained counsellor to talk me out of it. He spoke to me for a good twenty minutes then he jumped.
I gave up after that an joined one of those orders where the monks take a vow of silence. I was only there a couple of days when all the monks started talkin to each other. But not to me. They kicked me out.
Fuck me if I didn’t win ten million bucks on the lottery! All over the tv an the papers I was! I waited an waited an waited but no family came out the woodwork to share the money.
Got me a brand new computer system and started surfin the net. I ended up the only person on Facebook with minus fifty friends.
Next I bought some expensive equipment an joined a ham radio club. Started talkin to guys all over the world. Loved it. A week later all the bastards changed frequencies.
Could now afford them high-class expensive hookers. Spent the night with one and then she accuses me of exposin myself to her. They put me on the sex offenders register. A page to myself.
My big money wasn’t helpin so I had another go at endin it all. Took just enough tablets an dialled 911. Told them what I’d done. Said it was a cry for help. Nobody came.
I decided to become religious an when those guys you can’t get rid of from Jehovah’s Witnesses came knockin I welcomed them in. Two clean-cut young men in smart suits. Shiny bibles. After fifteen minutes chattin they left, despite me pleadin with them to stay.
As a last resort I decided to get one of them mail-order brides. The ones that are only after your money an your passport. Seems there was a postal strike in Russia…then Thailand…then the Philippines. One after the other. Or so they said.
Desperate to be popular I decided to become an impressionist. I picked someone most folks love. So they’d love me. I chose Elvis. Spent a lot on my stage show. Maybe it was the wrong track. Are You Lonesome Tonight played as I sat on the crapper in my white jumpsuit, with a cheeseburger in my hand, pretendin to have a heart attack. They booed me off stage.
Finally I went to an expensive psychiatrist. After a couple of sessions he tells me the reason people don’t like me is because I’m schizophrenic. Told me he could sort me out with some medication. Christ, schizophrenia! Dual personality! At last I’d have some company! I thanked him an left but didn’t take the medication.
Guess what. The other guy in my head, the second person - bastard refuses to talk to me.
IS MY MUSIC BOTHERIN YOU ?
So I moved into this flat a coupla weeks ago. Top floor. Usual shit view of the South Bronx shithole. Decided to intraduce myself to the neighbours. Gave them Nirvana for a few hours at two in the mornin. Full blast. Fuckin walls were bouncin.
Turns out the deadbeats below me are two deaf ole fuckers who drift into a Prozac coma early every nite an don’t wake up till mid-mornin, both havin shit the bed.
But the dicks across the landin! A weedy lookin, specky little fucker with his mousey wife an their two brats. They’ll do!
Next nite I gave them Meat Loaf till the early hours. Full blast. Fuckin windows were rattlin.
Then I strolled across the landin. Kicked Weedy Cunt’s door. Stood there. Six feet of bad attitude. Sixteen stones of muscle. Beard. Earrings. Scars. Tattoos. Denims.
Weedy Cunt answered the door. Dressin gown, pyjamas an specs. Scared to look at me.
“Just moved in,” I growled at him. “Is my music botherin you?”
He swallowed nervously. “Not so far,” he mumbled.
I grinned. “It will,” I told him an swaggered back to my flat.
Next nite I gave Weedy Cunt the Doors. Every album. Full blast. Fuckin room was jumpin.
Strolled across the landin at six. Kicked the door. Stood there. Big arms folded. Mean mother-fuckin stare. Weedy Cunt arrived. Looked like he hadn’t slept.
“Is my music botherin you?” I growled.
“Not so far,” he muttered, not darin to look at me.
I grinned. “It will,” I told him then swaggered back to my flat an slammed the door on him.
Carried on like that for a coupla weeks. I gave them a Led Zep nite. Then a Stones nite. Then a Motley Crue nite. Then a Hendrix nite. Felt like goin across an askin if they had any fuckin requests.
Then I met Weedy Cunt in the lift one time. He was wearin a duffel coat. A fuckin duffel coat! Looked like Woody Allen. I took up most of the lift space. Didn’t move for him. He siddled in. Stood there lookin at the floor.
I stared down at his thinnin hair an them black specs all the way up to the fifteenth floor. The lift stopped an the door slid open.
“Is my music botherin you?” I growled at him.
“Not so far,” he muttered then scurried across the landin.
I grinned. “It will,” I growled after him.
I swaggered into my flat. Got a big nite planned. Two cases of Millers. Litre of vodka. Some good grass. Best of Doors, Stones, Zep, Nirvana, Crue, Iron Maiden. Full blast. Fuckin buildin would be shakin.
Towards dawn, between trax, I heard a timid knock at the door.
At last! Weedy Cunt has finally come to complain. I grinned an staggered to the door an glanced thru the peephole. It was him! Dressin gown, pyjamas an specs. Looked like he was gonna shit himself. He would after I flattened him.
I opened the door an fuck me if I wasn’t starin at the barrels of a sawed-off twelve bore shotgun he’d been hidin. It was pointed straight at my guts.
Weedy Cunt looked me right in the eye. “Is my sawn-off twelve bore botherin you?” he asked.
“Not so far,” I told him.
He grinned. “It will.”
Then he gave me both barrels.
Christ, I’d hate to be the fuckin cleanin lady in that flat.
ANALLY PROBED BY ALIENS
The last time Edna Kak had any kind of sexual experience was when she was abducted by aliens for three days and gently but thoroughly anally probed whilst strapped down on a comfortable examination couch on their Ship.
How she had loved it! Three days of constant blissful anally induced orgasms all brought on by those thick probing alien tentacles.
Why an obviously very advanced species had travelled from some distant galaxy to explore an Earthling’s asshole as they reportedly did on a regular basis never entered Edna’s mind. But the pleasure did. Again and again and again.
Three days of dream come true orgasms was a miracle for a seriously ugly fucker like Edna. Late forties and an already wrinkled flabby hag. Missing teeth. A squint. A dark moustache which remained loyal despite repeated determined efforts to get rid of it.
But oh how Edna craved to be fucked. And nobody would. Not since her half-blind uncle in the tool-shed and that was thirty five years ago.
Edna had hung around the woodlands near her Idaho home for weeks where the aliens had abducted her. Day and nite she prowled them hoping for a repeat but the bastards never came back.
Not giving up, she researched alien sightings hotspots across the States on the net on her laptop and drew up a list of them. Then she sold her house and bought a camper van and hung out at them all, one by one. Desperate. Hopeful. But fuck all happened.
She wandered thru remote woodlands, stark naked but she was so ugly that flowers turned away in disgust as she passed and hungry bears came up and sniffed her then loped off.
Then she heard on the camper van radio that Arthur Lank, the amateur rapist, had escaped from a secure psychiatric hospital in Oregon. Edna drove for two days to get there.
She downloaded his picture and prowled the streets looking for him. Prowled the nite tenaciously seeking him.
She eventually found Arthur in a deserted warehouse lying next to an attractive naked store window dummy. Both were smoking.
The dummy had a dreamy smile on its face but probably it looked that way before Arthur shafted it. He had poked a hole in its lips for the smoke and poked a hole in its hole for the poke.
Edna stripped and cavorted around but Lank remained limp.
Edna gave up and decided to try her luck with the horny sailor boys down at the docks, returning after weeks at sea.
She hung around offering blow jobs for five bucks. That is, she offered them the five bucks. Even toothless weather-beaten old mariners snorted in disgust at her.
Then the miracle happened. Two handsome Italian sailors chatted her up. Flashed their white teeth and money. Whispered filthy things into her welcoming ears. Edna enthusiastically agreed to them all.
They returned to the camper van and all three got liquored up. Then Edna stripped and willingly allowed herself to be tied to a chair.
Bondage! One of her favourite fantasies!
It was bondage with a difference though. For two hours, the lusty Italians fucked the arse off each other while she could only watch. Salivating. Bastards never laid a finger on her.
They untied her and left at dawn. Arm in arm and laughing.
As an absolute last resort, Edna tried ‘Percy Pine’s Dating Magazine For Ugly Bastards’. She’d seen the advert for it when surfing the net on her laptop.
Deal was you sent in nude photos and Percy Pine mated you up with an ugly fucker of the opposite sex. A week later Edna’s photos came back with ‘Fuck off – too ugly for us’ scrawled over them.
A weeping Edna decided to end it all. Then thought she’d leave her carcass which was unwanted by anyone in life to someone who might want it in death. She decided she’d overdose then leave her body to medical research. She sent off for the forms, filled them in and returned them.
At the interview, the handsome young Doctor looked at her then shook his head and diplomatically declined her offer. Christ, she was even too ugly to butcher!
Edna wrote her suicide note and drove the camper van till she found a high bridge near a small dusty town. She waddled to the bridge and stared over the metal guard rail. It was a long way down to a tangle of rocks, boulders and a dried up river bed.
With difficulty she hauled her flabby carcass over the fence and stood on the narrow ledge. Time to go, Edna.
Just as she was about to jump, she heard someone approaching and saw an elderly man strolling along towards the bridge. White hair, white beard, kindly face. A plug of tobacco in his cheek.
He waved and grinned as he approached then his grin died when he saw her up close.
“Read your note in the camper van,” he drawled. “Y’all fixin t’ jump?”
“Here, let me give you a hand over.”
Edna smiled. An act of kindness just when she needed it most.
She let go the rail and reached out but the old guy ignored her hand and pushed her shoulder hard. She flailed the air then fell backwards.
The old timer leaned over and watched her go. He jetted a stream of black tobacco juice after her.
“Yep, best thing for it,” he muttered. “Some folks’re just way too fuckin ugly t’ be alive.”
He turned and strolled on.
DO YOU KNOW WHO I AM?
Them rich punk bastards. Rock stars, movie stars, sports stars. They’re always pullin that ‘Do you know who I am?’ fuckin crap. Any time they get in trouble with the cops or they’re tryin to weasel in to a restaurant or somewhere it’s always the ‘Do you know who I am?’ bullshit.
Seriously gets on my fuckin tits.
Tonite we got us a Rock Star Cunt comin here. I’m on the front door squad. The boss. If he pulls any of that ‘Do you know who I am?’ shit with me, I’ll be ready for him.
Rules have changed, see. Used ta be the big stars could park their big star cars out front of the venue. This was causin too many traffic problems so now they have to park them round the side.
So when Rock Star Cunt arrives, he’ll prob’ly park out front. Jump outa his shiny rock star car an leave it there.
That’s when I’ll step in.
‘Excuse me, sir,’ I’ll say. ‘You can’t park out front anymore. Has to be round the side.’
Rock Star Cunt will look at me. Amazed that a mere door guy is tellin him what to do. Then it’ll be the ‘Do you know who I am?’ bullshit.
I’ll just grin an say, ‘Why, have you forgotten!?’ or, ‘You got memory loss from a knock on the head!?’ or, ‘Your brain been frazzled by too many drugs!?’
Yep, I’ll be ready for the bastard.
I’m not sayin who he is or where I work cos they’ll both prob’ly sue me. The rat’s a Rock Star Cunt. Mid-twenties. Long black hair. Earring. Tattoos. More women in a year than I’ve had in my life. His fuckin car’ll be worth more’n my poxy apartment. The bastard.
So I’m standin there waitin. Ready for the cunt. Place is surrounded by all his screamin fans. Film premiere. I’m out front an carryin a hidden piece. Glock 19. Shouldn’t have to use it on him but I will.
Fuckin rat bag. Earns more in a month than I do in five years. I’m holdin down two jobs just now plus this shit. Hope he goes crazy on me. Then I can pull the Glock on him.
Here comes the shit now. He’s drivin. Christ that car must be worth a coupla hundred grand. There’s a blonde bimbo beside him. Jeeze, what a pair on her. Could balance an ashtray on the fuckers.
Rock Star Cunt parks up an jumps out. Waves to the screamin mob. Goes round an opens the door for Bimbo. Christ, she’s got a skirt up to her ass. Man I could spend a long time just kissin those bare suntanned thighs.
Rock Star Cunt an Bimbo come up the stairs.
I stroll forward an hold out my hand an stop him. “Excuse me, sir,” I say, “but the rules have changed. No parkin out front anymore. Traffic was getting blocked. Everybody has to park round the side.”
Rock Star Cunt looks at me in surprise. Turns an grins at Bimbo. Turns back an grins at me.
He’s gonna say it. I know he’s gonna say it. Come on, come on, say it. Say it you son of a bitch. Say, ‘Do you know who I am?’ Just say it you fucker.
Rock Star Cunt looks back at the sports car. Looks back at me.
“Do you know,” he starts off.
That’s it! Come on, say it you bastard! Say it!! Say it!!!
“Do you know, I think you’re right, man,” he says. “Can see how it’ll block the traffic.” He grins at Bimbo. “Be right back, baby. Won’t take but two minutes.”
Rock Star Cunt strolls back to the sports car. Jumps in and drives it round the side. All the fans screamin. So am I. Inside. He strolls back.
“Hey bro, thanks for keepin me right,” he says. He takes out a wad of hundreds thick as your wrist. Peels off a couple. Sticks them in my top pocket. “Have a drink on me, dude,” he says.
He puts his arm round Bimbo’s waist an they stroll off up the red carpet.
© Copyright 2016 Danny Zil. All rights reserved.