Join me for a trip down memory lane as we paraphrase a conversation between a drunk John, a drunk James, and a drunk nudie-bar employee out in front of Teasers on Duval St. in Key West, FL.. July 3, 2005. This exchange was prompted by an older (mid-40s) woman who had obviously been around the block a few times and was sitting in front of the staircase up to the go-go bar, attempting to lure customers inside. We'll call her "Barker", since that was, in effect, what she was doing, and also is quite apropos vis-a-vis her appearance.
Barker : "Come on up ! No cover, 20 all-nude females ready to entertain ! Guys, you want to come upstairs?"
James : "Are you representative of the quality of women employed by this bar?"
John : "Ooof."
Barker : "What do you mean?"
James : "I mean... are there a bunch of buffalo chicks in there?"
Barker (now getting annoyed) : "What the fuck do you mean? You trying to say I look like a buffalo? You..."
John (jokingly, trying to defuse the situation) : "Heh heh.. no, he means chicks from Buffalo aren't very attractive..."
Barker : "I'm from Buffalo !"
John (sighing) : "Of course you are......."
Barker : "I rode a motorcycle down here after my parents kicked me out of their house.."
John : "What is this, a fucking A&E biography?"
James : "Look, are the girls in there good looking or not?"
Just then, two dancers come down the stairs.
Barker : "See for yourself, this is Destiny and Amber....."
James : "Those chicks are very, very..................average."
John : "Teasers !! Home of 3 dollar Bud bottles and the world's highest concentration of herpes sores !! Look, she's got one right there...."
James : "Listen, let's cut through the bullshit. Has anyone ever taken a dump on your chest?"
Barker : "What? No......."
John : "That really upsets me. I can't believe no one's ever taken a dump on your chest..."
James : "What if I slide back here when you get off work. I think I can hold this monster back until then. What time do you get off?"
Barker (actually seeming interested in James at this point) : "2 AM. You're really going to come back for me at 2:00?"
John : "Holy shit... is she even listening to you?"
James : "She's drunk. That's right, toots, I'll be back at 2:00 and I'm going to hit you with a Cleveland steamer. I might even do a chili dog - you know what that is?"
Barker : "You won't come back at 2:00 - you're full of shit."
John : "He IS full of shit - that's what he was just saying. You'll see-"
James : "I am fucking coming back. I'm going to take you back to my hotel."
Barker : "Yeah, right..."
James : "I'm serious. You're coming back to my hotel tonight." (John and James start to walk away.)
Barker (calling after James) : "I'm sure I won't see you again !"
James : "You heard what I said. I'll be back at 2:00 and I'm going to take a huge fucking DUMP right on your chest. Bet on it !!!!"
Barker : "I'll hold my breath !!!!"
John : "You're gonna need to !"
Good times, good times.
Friday, February 29, 2008
Monday, February 25, 2008
Savage Beating
For those that asked regarding the poll over there, "The Savage Beating" is a low-bandwidth internet radio show I did with Stephanie and James (usually) and Beef and Rich (occasionally) about 3 years ago. I took it down due to internet problems, but I've been thinking about trying to fix it and put it back up. It's a combination of heavy metal, heavy alternative, and long segments of aggressive drinking and stupidity.
From the "what the fuck were they thinking?" files - 2/25/08.
Just saw a guy walking down a main street in Orlando wearing a shirt that said :
"I taught your boyfriend that thing you like."
No kidding. You'd assume the guy is gayer than a Richard Simmons / Harvey Fierstein oil wrestling match set to 'Air Supply's Greatest Hits', but he certainly didn't look it - he had more of a "thug" look to him. I think he just didn't understand.
"I taught your boyfriend that thing you like."
No kidding. You'd assume the guy is gayer than a Richard Simmons / Harvey Fierstein oil wrestling match set to 'Air Supply's Greatest Hits', but he certainly didn't look it - he had more of a "thug" look to him. I think he just didn't understand.
Subscribing to this blog
If someone knows how to enable subscriptions, please let me know - I can't seem to find it. In the interim, if you want to be e-mailed this blog when something new is written, send me your e-mail address and I'll add it manually.
My Evening with Giada and Rachel
So, in case you didn't know, the Food Network recently held a contest where one lucky fan got to spend an evening in New York City with celebrity chefs Rachael Ray and Giada De Laurentiis after a taping of Iron Chef America. I sent my postcard in, just like everyone else, figuring I had no shot. Well, imagine my shock when I was informed a few weeks ago that I had won!! I received a first class ticket round-trip from Orlando to Newark, limousine service for the entire trip, and one night's accommodations at the Plaza Hotel. What a treat- I felt like Richard Simmons in a room full of dicks!
I landed at lovely Newark Airport mid-afternoon and was immediately picked up by the limo service and driven to a small café in Greenwich Village. Here is where I was to meet the two vixens of the kitchen, and sure enough I could spot the two of them the minute I walked through the door. Giada's head and Rachael's ass were competing immediately for top honors in the "oversized" category. As I contemplated this with a wry smile, the two greeted me with a warmth and pluckiness that were so seemingly genuine, that I was immediately disarmed. I slid into the booth next to Giada, ordered a mocha latte, and prepared myself for an evening of polite conversation. I sheepishly admitted that I was strictly a dilettante when it came to cooking and asked how they had achieved such levels of success and fame.
"A lot of it's in the catch phrases, to be honest," Rachael confessed. "E-V-O-O was simply supposed to be a way to save time on the program by not having to mouth that cumbersome phrase all the time, and it really took off!"
"You have to have a look too," remarked Giada. "There are a lot of great chefs out there, but not many of them are particularly telegenic. Sad, but true,"
"What about Mario Batali?" I asked. "That guy looks like a partially shaved wookie who stole Ronald McDonald's shoes."
No sooner was the comment out of my mouth then I dearly wished I had it back. Surely, these two would be horribly offended by this. Instead of the expected vitriol, however, the remark was greeted by peals of laughter.
"Ohhhh…that's good," sighed Rachael as she finally got herself under control. "Fuck this, let's go next door and so some shots!"
"Hell yes, I could go for a ….. well, you know…" giggled Giada, and just like that, we were out the door and standing in front of a biker bar called "Mom's Crotch." Mind you, there was no signage to this effect, I guess you have to be "in the know" to obtain this information, and clearly, my hostesses were that. I was, as you can surely imagine, both alarmed and titillated by this sudden change in mood. However, in a flash, a burly, 300+ pound, bearded gentleman with a Hell's Angels jacket and a tattoo of a unicorn being flayed by a broadsword blocked our entrance to the bar.
"How many fucking times do I have to tell you two?" he growled. "You're not welcome in this place any more."
"Fuck you, Brutus, I…." was all Rachael could mutter before Giada stepped forward, and with feline-like speed, threw a vicious head-butt right into the center of the bouncer's face. His nose exploded like a water balloon dropped from a 10-story building onto concrete, and before I could even register the scene, the beast was supine on the sidewalk. His only riposte at this juncture was a feeble whimper gurgled through a throat filled with blood and cartilage.
Rachael stood over the flattened giant, and with great sympathy, barked in his face. Giada simply wiped a splatter of blood from her forehead and stepped over his moribund figure into the bar. I stood nailed to my spot, trying to process this turn of events, when I was snapped from my reverie by Rachael's smoky voice.
"Let's go, Nancy….there's shots in them thar hills!" She flashed that now-famous impish grin, and followed Giada into the recesses of Mom's Crotch.
"Three E-V-O-Os. Doubles," Rachael asked, as the bartender eyed us with suspicion. Either he wasn't privy to the scene that had just unfolded outside, or he was. Either way, he wasn't throwing up any roadblocks, and I had to concede that his choice was wise in any case.
"We're drinking olive oil?" I asked, hoping I wasn't showing some middle-class naivete.
"No, asshead," Giada retorted. "It's a shot Rach made up : Everclear – Vodka – Ouzo – Orange Curacao. It tastes like an elephant's asshole, but it gets you severely fucking twisted." I resisted the urge to press the matter and determine whether, in fact, she had first-hand knowledge that allowed her to offer that comparison.
We toasted each other and emptied our glasses. "Three more!" Giada screamed out, as I felt the heinous concoction melting my esophagus as it made its march towards my stomach like the Nazis into Poland. Before I even had a chance to decide whether or not I was going to throw up, another glass was handed to me.
"Bottoms up!!!" Rachael exclaimed, with a coy wink at Giada as she said it. I tried not to allow my curiosity to register on my face as I pondered it.
After about 5 or 6 of these, suddenly, a savage grin spread over Giada's face. She gestured towards a large iron door in the back of the bar and looked quizzically at Rachael. "Is it time?" was all she verbalized.
A smile then began to form on Rachael's lips, slowly blossoming into a grin. It was like watching a dandelion come into its own through time-lapse photography.
"Yeahhhhhh……," she concurred, the word drawn out with a mixture of what seemed like unbridled lust and stark anticipation.
With that, the two walked towards the back of the bar and Rachael turned around, propped the back of her elbows against the door, and began kicking it with the bottom of her foot with grenade force. A mysterious, Russian-sounding voice emerged from the depths behind the door.
"What is it you want?"
"Open the fucking door, Yuri." Giada snapped. "You know exactly what we want, and it had better all be here this time."
With that, there was a snapping of locks and the door creaked inward, ever so slowly. My two lady friends strode through, Giada grabbing my forearm and pulling me along behind her. The door slammed shut behind me with a thud, and a single bulb sprang to life, casting the sparse storage room in a wan glow.
"It's all here, you bitch," said Yuri, spitting the words like venom. "Now you leave me the fuck alone." He slid a rather large box in the direction of my new companions. Giada knelt to survey its contents while Rachael's gaze remained fixed on Yuri. With a click, the lid of the box popped open and Giada looked it over.
"What's in there?" I asked, no longer able to bridle my officious nature.
Giada looked up at me, with eyes sparkling. "Everything we need," she answered. "A cache of automatic weapons, 5 human kidneys, and…. this." She tossed me a bag of fine powder sealed of with a rubber band.
"Are those fucking kidneys on dry ice this time, you Commie cocksucker?" Rachael accused. "The last batch was completely useless."
"You don't…. cook these, do you?" I gulped.
"No, you asshole, they fetch $10,000 a pop on the black market. Yakuza mostly – the organ donor system in Japan is so goddamn corrupt that anyone short of the Emperor and his circle can't get a transplant no matter who he fucks," Rachael said.
"But if they're DOA….. like the last five," Giada continued, stressing the last part for Yuri's benefit, "then they have no value. But we had already paid for them, so that's why the cosmonaut here got us these AK-47s for free. 6 factory-grade Kalashnikovs." She grinned widely at this.
"Yes…. They are top-quality," Yuri added weakly. "I inspected them my-" His thought was interrupted by a swift kick in the jaw from Rachael, who had heard enough.
"Silence!!!!!" she howled as Yuri spit out the portion of his tongue that had been between his teeth at impact. "Give me the bag, Johnny boy."
I tossed her the bag promptly. "Yayo?" I asked.
She just laughed that deep throaty, husky laugh heard so often on '30 Minute Meals.'
"Yayo, my ass. This is China White, motherfucker. You gear up?" I had no idea what the fuck she was talking about.
"Diesel, skag, horse…." she continued, exasperated… "HEROIN ?!?!?!"
"I've never-" I tried to reply, but my response was expurgated by an interruption from Giada.
"You have now, Cochise," she explained, tossing me a glance that let me know in a heartbeat that, as Denzel said in 'Training Day', this was not an option. She took the bag as Rachael tossed it gently to her and immediately opened it and began to ladle the oddly pinkish-brown powder onto the lid of the box.
"It's cut with saffron," she explained, obviously understanding the look on my face and answering my question before it was asked. "And to think, I used that in a potato dish just a few days ago on my show." She and Rachael both laughed heartily at this, as did Yuri, until a boot heel to the throat ended his brief moment of levity. By now, several staggeringly long lines were formed on the box, and Giada was handing me a rolled-up $1,000 bill.
"Hit that shit."
At first, it felt like someone had set fire to an oil well in my nasal passage, but eventually, the burning subsided and was replaced by a euphoric rush I cannot possibly do justice to in words. The first wave felt like my entire body was one giant nerve ending. It was amazing – my senses were completely overwhelmed to the point of non-function. My brain was mush, and my entire body felt like it was floating on a cloud of tits. Each minute felt like both a split-second and a lifetime simultaneously. Slowly, I became more adjusted to it and after several minutes was finally able to see and hear at least somewhat normally again. Both ladies were eyeing me with satisfied smiles on their faces.
"You didn't even puke," Giada commented. "Bully for you, Tex."
My vision focused on Rachael, who had popped a clip of ammo into one of the machine guns and with a grunt, snapped a cartridge into the chamber. I shook my head as if to clear this sight from it, but her eyes were locked into mine with horrifying focus.
"Let's go fucking kill something," she hissed through clenched teeth.
E-V-O-O, indeed.
The night air on my face as we exited the bar through the back of the storeroom was like a bucket of ice water. Suddenly, I felt every neuron in my brain charge into action, every synapse firing like the pistons of a redlining Corvette engine. My mind was a chaotic frenzy of overlapping thoughts, none holding any meaning nor lasting more than a second.
"He's got the fever," Giada said as she smacked my ass. We continued down the street until we came upon two guys holding hands and casually strolling along, obviously in love and enjoying the unseasonably warm and pleasant evening.
"There!" Rachael said. "I don't give a shit if this is SoHo, that's fucked." She leveled the barrel of the AK at the two unsuspecting lovers. I suddenly realized that this was no bluff and opened my mouth in protest, but it, along with Giada's overjoyed laughter, were drowned out as the gun roared to life. The split second between this and the horrible impact of her action was one fraught with the most mind-numbing terror I could ever have imagined. Before this fear could even fully flesh itself out, however, the two innocent guys were thrown violently forward over a garbage can by the impact of the bullets. Their bodies hit the sidewalk at horribly contorted angles, and one lifeless corpus delicti rolled over into the gutter. Blood, brain matter, and bone fragments were scattered about the sidewalk like the objects of desire at a giant Easter egg hunt. Giada squealed with delight as Rachael firmly pressed the barrel of the gun against my arm.
"Jesus fucking Christ!!!!!!!!" I screamed out as the scorching hot metal seared my skin with a sound not unlike sizzling bacon. "What the hell are you doing?!?!?!?"
"Just a little something to remember me by" she said, as she swung the butt of the gun around and across my chin with all her might, and then everything went black.
I awoke several hours later in my suite at the Plaza Hotel. My arm burned like someone had poured acid on it. A glance showed me a nasty burn mark in the distinct pattern of the AK barrel. Someone, though, had rubbed some cream on it, which I imagine was the only thing making the pain manageable. I tried to sit up, only to realize that I had been strapped to the bed, my only freedom of movement being the ability to crane my neck to see what was in front of me. Much to my chagrin, there stood the two Food Network hostesses, dressed only in skin tight black shorts and equally black lace bras.
"You want to see our tattoos?" Giada asked playfully. The two ladies giggled at each other like school children as they jumped up and down on the foot of the bed. Before I could respond, Giada turned 180 degrees and pulled the top of her shorts down, revealing a Latin phrase, the apropos (for this tale) "Deus Ex Machina" printed on her tailbone in a sort of gothic script that was possibly based on ancient Gaelic. Rachael looked in my eyes, then, with mock shyness, pulled the front of her shorts down, revealing similar ink just above her pubic bone : "AS ABOVE, SO BELOW."
"The Corpus Hermeticum," she offered with a wink. She then turned her gaze to Giada and the two of them began kissing passionately. Slowly, they slid down to their knees and, still locked in a passionate buss, began to tug at my shorts. Things were certainly beginning to take a turn for the better. I felt the cool air in the room touch my naked form, and Rachael seized my manhood with authority. Just then, however, I felt a sharp pain in my unscarred left arm as Giada jammed a needle full of cooked heroin into it, and slowly pressed down the plunger.
"It's a triple dose….heeheehee.." she whispered cruelly in my ear, as the sensation caused by Rachael's attention to my nether regions was replaced by an overwhelming fatigue…….
I awoke the next day, drowsy and aching. I sat up, realizing the bonds that had previously held me had been removed. There was no sign of either Giada or Rachael. I struggled to get out of bed and get to my feet, then slowly made my way across the plush suite to the bathroom. Urinating brought me an immediate blast of burning and discomfort, which I attributed to the shots and/or heroin. That is, until I saw the message scrawled in bright pink lipstick across the mirror over the sink.
"You should probably head to a clinic pretty soon. XOXOXO – G & R"
I fumbled back into the main room of the suite and surveyed the situation. The room was spotless save my clothes and overnight bag, which were in a pile at the foot of the bed. I put my shirt and pants back on, and removed my wallet from the back pocket. All my money was gone, but my driver's license and credit cards were intact. I checked my plane ticket and realized my flight was boarding in less than two hours, so I finished getting dressed and threw the remainder of my belongings in my travel bag. I was walking out the door to see if my limo service was still with me, when I spotted a small Styrofoam cooler by the door. I hesitated for a moment, then set my bag down and opened it. As I saw its contents, I could only chuckle a bit. Seems they'd left me with more than just syphilis and a hideous burn scar to remember them by.
Packed neatly on ice was a human kidney and a bottle of E-V-O-O.
I landed at lovely Newark Airport mid-afternoon and was immediately picked up by the limo service and driven to a small café in Greenwich Village. Here is where I was to meet the two vixens of the kitchen, and sure enough I could spot the two of them the minute I walked through the door. Giada's head and Rachael's ass were competing immediately for top honors in the "oversized" category. As I contemplated this with a wry smile, the two greeted me with a warmth and pluckiness that were so seemingly genuine, that I was immediately disarmed. I slid into the booth next to Giada, ordered a mocha latte, and prepared myself for an evening of polite conversation. I sheepishly admitted that I was strictly a dilettante when it came to cooking and asked how they had achieved such levels of success and fame.
"A lot of it's in the catch phrases, to be honest," Rachael confessed. "E-V-O-O was simply supposed to be a way to save time on the program by not having to mouth that cumbersome phrase all the time, and it really took off!"
"You have to have a look too," remarked Giada. "There are a lot of great chefs out there, but not many of them are particularly telegenic. Sad, but true,"
"What about Mario Batali?" I asked. "That guy looks like a partially shaved wookie who stole Ronald McDonald's shoes."
No sooner was the comment out of my mouth then I dearly wished I had it back. Surely, these two would be horribly offended by this. Instead of the expected vitriol, however, the remark was greeted by peals of laughter.
"Ohhhh…that's good," sighed Rachael as she finally got herself under control. "Fuck this, let's go next door and so some shots!"
"Hell yes, I could go for a ….. well, you know…" giggled Giada, and just like that, we were out the door and standing in front of a biker bar called "Mom's Crotch." Mind you, there was no signage to this effect, I guess you have to be "in the know" to obtain this information, and clearly, my hostesses were that. I was, as you can surely imagine, both alarmed and titillated by this sudden change in mood. However, in a flash, a burly, 300+ pound, bearded gentleman with a Hell's Angels jacket and a tattoo of a unicorn being flayed by a broadsword blocked our entrance to the bar.
"How many fucking times do I have to tell you two?" he growled. "You're not welcome in this place any more."
"Fuck you, Brutus, I…." was all Rachael could mutter before Giada stepped forward, and with feline-like speed, threw a vicious head-butt right into the center of the bouncer's face. His nose exploded like a water balloon dropped from a 10-story building onto concrete, and before I could even register the scene, the beast was supine on the sidewalk. His only riposte at this juncture was a feeble whimper gurgled through a throat filled with blood and cartilage.
Rachael stood over the flattened giant, and with great sympathy, barked in his face. Giada simply wiped a splatter of blood from her forehead and stepped over his moribund figure into the bar. I stood nailed to my spot, trying to process this turn of events, when I was snapped from my reverie by Rachael's smoky voice.
"Let's go, Nancy….there's shots in them thar hills!" She flashed that now-famous impish grin, and followed Giada into the recesses of Mom's Crotch.
"Three E-V-O-Os. Doubles," Rachael asked, as the bartender eyed us with suspicion. Either he wasn't privy to the scene that had just unfolded outside, or he was. Either way, he wasn't throwing up any roadblocks, and I had to concede that his choice was wise in any case.
"We're drinking olive oil?" I asked, hoping I wasn't showing some middle-class naivete.
"No, asshead," Giada retorted. "It's a shot Rach made up : Everclear – Vodka – Ouzo – Orange Curacao. It tastes like an elephant's asshole, but it gets you severely fucking twisted." I resisted the urge to press the matter and determine whether, in fact, she had first-hand knowledge that allowed her to offer that comparison.
We toasted each other and emptied our glasses. "Three more!" Giada screamed out, as I felt the heinous concoction melting my esophagus as it made its march towards my stomach like the Nazis into Poland. Before I even had a chance to decide whether or not I was going to throw up, another glass was handed to me.
"Bottoms up!!!" Rachael exclaimed, with a coy wink at Giada as she said it. I tried not to allow my curiosity to register on my face as I pondered it.
After about 5 or 6 of these, suddenly, a savage grin spread over Giada's face. She gestured towards a large iron door in the back of the bar and looked quizzically at Rachael. "Is it time?" was all she verbalized.
A smile then began to form on Rachael's lips, slowly blossoming into a grin. It was like watching a dandelion come into its own through time-lapse photography.
"Yeahhhhhh……," she concurred, the word drawn out with a mixture of what seemed like unbridled lust and stark anticipation.
With that, the two walked towards the back of the bar and Rachael turned around, propped the back of her elbows against the door, and began kicking it with the bottom of her foot with grenade force. A mysterious, Russian-sounding voice emerged from the depths behind the door.
"What is it you want?"
"Open the fucking door, Yuri." Giada snapped. "You know exactly what we want, and it had better all be here this time."
With that, there was a snapping of locks and the door creaked inward, ever so slowly. My two lady friends strode through, Giada grabbing my forearm and pulling me along behind her. The door slammed shut behind me with a thud, and a single bulb sprang to life, casting the sparse storage room in a wan glow.
"It's all here, you bitch," said Yuri, spitting the words like venom. "Now you leave me the fuck alone." He slid a rather large box in the direction of my new companions. Giada knelt to survey its contents while Rachael's gaze remained fixed on Yuri. With a click, the lid of the box popped open and Giada looked it over.
"What's in there?" I asked, no longer able to bridle my officious nature.
Giada looked up at me, with eyes sparkling. "Everything we need," she answered. "A cache of automatic weapons, 5 human kidneys, and…. this." She tossed me a bag of fine powder sealed of with a rubber band.
"Are those fucking kidneys on dry ice this time, you Commie cocksucker?" Rachael accused. "The last batch was completely useless."
"You don't…. cook these, do you?" I gulped.
"No, you asshole, they fetch $10,000 a pop on the black market. Yakuza mostly – the organ donor system in Japan is so goddamn corrupt that anyone short of the Emperor and his circle can't get a transplant no matter who he fucks," Rachael said.
"But if they're DOA….. like the last five," Giada continued, stressing the last part for Yuri's benefit, "then they have no value. But we had already paid for them, so that's why the cosmonaut here got us these AK-47s for free. 6 factory-grade Kalashnikovs." She grinned widely at this.
"Yes…. They are top-quality," Yuri added weakly. "I inspected them my-" His thought was interrupted by a swift kick in the jaw from Rachael, who had heard enough.
"Silence!!!!!" she howled as Yuri spit out the portion of his tongue that had been between his teeth at impact. "Give me the bag, Johnny boy."
I tossed her the bag promptly. "Yayo?" I asked.
She just laughed that deep throaty, husky laugh heard so often on '30 Minute Meals.'
"Yayo, my ass. This is China White, motherfucker. You gear up?" I had no idea what the fuck she was talking about.
"Diesel, skag, horse…." she continued, exasperated… "HEROIN ?!?!?!"
"I've never-" I tried to reply, but my response was expurgated by an interruption from Giada.
"You have now, Cochise," she explained, tossing me a glance that let me know in a heartbeat that, as Denzel said in 'Training Day', this was not an option. She took the bag as Rachael tossed it gently to her and immediately opened it and began to ladle the oddly pinkish-brown powder onto the lid of the box.
"It's cut with saffron," she explained, obviously understanding the look on my face and answering my question before it was asked. "And to think, I used that in a potato dish just a few days ago on my show." She and Rachael both laughed heartily at this, as did Yuri, until a boot heel to the throat ended his brief moment of levity. By now, several staggeringly long lines were formed on the box, and Giada was handing me a rolled-up $1,000 bill.
"Hit that shit."
At first, it felt like someone had set fire to an oil well in my nasal passage, but eventually, the burning subsided and was replaced by a euphoric rush I cannot possibly do justice to in words. The first wave felt like my entire body was one giant nerve ending. It was amazing – my senses were completely overwhelmed to the point of non-function. My brain was mush, and my entire body felt like it was floating on a cloud of tits. Each minute felt like both a split-second and a lifetime simultaneously. Slowly, I became more adjusted to it and after several minutes was finally able to see and hear at least somewhat normally again. Both ladies were eyeing me with satisfied smiles on their faces.
"You didn't even puke," Giada commented. "Bully for you, Tex."
My vision focused on Rachael, who had popped a clip of ammo into one of the machine guns and with a grunt, snapped a cartridge into the chamber. I shook my head as if to clear this sight from it, but her eyes were locked into mine with horrifying focus.
"Let's go fucking kill something," she hissed through clenched teeth.
E-V-O-O, indeed.
The night air on my face as we exited the bar through the back of the storeroom was like a bucket of ice water. Suddenly, I felt every neuron in my brain charge into action, every synapse firing like the pistons of a redlining Corvette engine. My mind was a chaotic frenzy of overlapping thoughts, none holding any meaning nor lasting more than a second.
"He's got the fever," Giada said as she smacked my ass. We continued down the street until we came upon two guys holding hands and casually strolling along, obviously in love and enjoying the unseasonably warm and pleasant evening.
"There!" Rachael said. "I don't give a shit if this is SoHo, that's fucked." She leveled the barrel of the AK at the two unsuspecting lovers. I suddenly realized that this was no bluff and opened my mouth in protest, but it, along with Giada's overjoyed laughter, were drowned out as the gun roared to life. The split second between this and the horrible impact of her action was one fraught with the most mind-numbing terror I could ever have imagined. Before this fear could even fully flesh itself out, however, the two innocent guys were thrown violently forward over a garbage can by the impact of the bullets. Their bodies hit the sidewalk at horribly contorted angles, and one lifeless corpus delicti rolled over into the gutter. Blood, brain matter, and bone fragments were scattered about the sidewalk like the objects of desire at a giant Easter egg hunt. Giada squealed with delight as Rachael firmly pressed the barrel of the gun against my arm.
"Jesus fucking Christ!!!!!!!!" I screamed out as the scorching hot metal seared my skin with a sound not unlike sizzling bacon. "What the hell are you doing?!?!?!?"
"Just a little something to remember me by" she said, as she swung the butt of the gun around and across my chin with all her might, and then everything went black.
I awoke several hours later in my suite at the Plaza Hotel. My arm burned like someone had poured acid on it. A glance showed me a nasty burn mark in the distinct pattern of the AK barrel. Someone, though, had rubbed some cream on it, which I imagine was the only thing making the pain manageable. I tried to sit up, only to realize that I had been strapped to the bed, my only freedom of movement being the ability to crane my neck to see what was in front of me. Much to my chagrin, there stood the two Food Network hostesses, dressed only in skin tight black shorts and equally black lace bras.
"You want to see our tattoos?" Giada asked playfully. The two ladies giggled at each other like school children as they jumped up and down on the foot of the bed. Before I could respond, Giada turned 180 degrees and pulled the top of her shorts down, revealing a Latin phrase, the apropos (for this tale) "Deus Ex Machina" printed on her tailbone in a sort of gothic script that was possibly based on ancient Gaelic. Rachael looked in my eyes, then, with mock shyness, pulled the front of her shorts down, revealing similar ink just above her pubic bone : "AS ABOVE, SO BELOW."
"The Corpus Hermeticum," she offered with a wink. She then turned her gaze to Giada and the two of them began kissing passionately. Slowly, they slid down to their knees and, still locked in a passionate buss, began to tug at my shorts. Things were certainly beginning to take a turn for the better. I felt the cool air in the room touch my naked form, and Rachael seized my manhood with authority. Just then, however, I felt a sharp pain in my unscarred left arm as Giada jammed a needle full of cooked heroin into it, and slowly pressed down the plunger.
"It's a triple dose….heeheehee.." she whispered cruelly in my ear, as the sensation caused by Rachael's attention to my nether regions was replaced by an overwhelming fatigue…….
I awoke the next day, drowsy and aching. I sat up, realizing the bonds that had previously held me had been removed. There was no sign of either Giada or Rachael. I struggled to get out of bed and get to my feet, then slowly made my way across the plush suite to the bathroom. Urinating brought me an immediate blast of burning and discomfort, which I attributed to the shots and/or heroin. That is, until I saw the message scrawled in bright pink lipstick across the mirror over the sink.
"You should probably head to a clinic pretty soon. XOXOXO – G & R"
I fumbled back into the main room of the suite and surveyed the situation. The room was spotless save my clothes and overnight bag, which were in a pile at the foot of the bed. I put my shirt and pants back on, and removed my wallet from the back pocket. All my money was gone, but my driver's license and credit cards were intact. I checked my plane ticket and realized my flight was boarding in less than two hours, so I finished getting dressed and threw the remainder of my belongings in my travel bag. I was walking out the door to see if my limo service was still with me, when I spotted a small Styrofoam cooler by the door. I hesitated for a moment, then set my bag down and opened it. As I saw its contents, I could only chuckle a bit. Seems they'd left me with more than just syphilis and a hideous burn scar to remember them by.
Packed neatly on ice was a human kidney and a bottle of E-V-O-O.
Octoberfest 2006
By the way, if anyone is interested, the 200th Oktoberfest kicks off in Munchen on September 18, 2010. I aims to be there if I can.... but anyway, back to 2006....
You're sitting outside, listening to the runaway hit of 1995 from the nation of India ("Aamchi Mumbai" from Baadmash) on repeat, leafing through the Necronomicon, while a 21-year old college chick dressed in a full-body alien costume, complete with giant alien head, dances suggestively to the music.
"Acid trip?" Wrong. Try "Saturday afternoon."
It all began about 10 AM, as I sipped water and watched "Almost Famous," trying desperately to fend off the hangover brought on by infinitely too many Sam Adams Octoberfests, St. Pauli Girls, shots of Svedka, and glasses of grape/berry moonshine the night before. The phone rang, and after about 4 minutes of jabbering about "cylindrical meats," I realized that Richard was asking me to bring all the leftover sausages from the previous nights Octoberfest bash to his house. So, I struggled through a shower, stopped to load up on Gatorade Rain, and headed forth.
Upon arrival, the grill was not yet ready, so I was able to ease into a lounge chair to enjoy the unseasonably cool 77 degree, breezy, sunny weather. I cracked the Necronomicon, hoping to get through the instructions to summon The Watcher, when James arrived from the house next door. Apparently, around 3 AM, one of the gaggle of 21-year-old USF students that were crashing at Rich's neighbor's house for the weekend (one of them was the daughter of Rich's neighbor's girlfriend - you got all that?) had caught the eye of a drunken Yams. He wasn't sure which one at this point, or what the lass's name was. He COULD, however, tell us that he had awakened on a fold-out sofa in the living room, buck naked, with no covers on him save for the corner of a sheet across his chest. He pulled the sheet over him, only to see that Rich's neighbor, his girlfriend, and the Fire Chief of Melbourne were having breakfast in the dining room, a mere 10 feet away. Convinced that they'd all spied his ass crack and sex-addled junk by this point, he grabbed his underwear and ducked into the bathroom just off the dining room, to take a piss. Quickly, however, he realized that wasn't all, and spun around, unleashing a wallpaper-peeling, Richter scale-rattling dump. Having provided a soundtrack to go with the undoubtedly delightful mental images these poor folks were saddled with at breakfast, Yams scurried off and came next door before having to confront whomever he had laid the pipe to the night before.
As James regaled us with such tales of debauchery, Richard continued to play "Aamchi Mumbai" over and over again (how did it take us 11 years to discover this gem? The Indians sure are on the cutting edge.) Yams finished his tale, and I got back to reading the Book of the Dead.
Moments later, however, one of the coeds next door emerged from the house in a full space alien costume, gyrating and slithering her way next door. Stupified by this new interruption to my summoning, I took a minute to survey the situation. James had bolted inside in fear that this was the girl he'd rogered the night before, Richard sat there cranking up the music, and this girl continued to dance more suggestively with the increase in volume. Deserately needing to re-establish reality, I walked into the house. There was dear Stephanie, watching the video for "Dead Eyes See No Future" by Arch Enemy on Youtube. Confused further, I ran into the living room, where I heard the television :
"Should Rutgers defeat Navy today, they would likely earn a top-20 ranking in the first BCS poll, to be released tomorrow...."
It was at this point that I ran screaming from the house. I'm still not 100% convinced it really happened. I'm thinking it's more feasible that I got addicted to laudanum, got in a huge car wreck, and am actually in a coma right now, dreaming all of this.....
You're sitting outside, listening to the runaway hit of 1995 from the nation of India ("Aamchi Mumbai" from Baadmash) on repeat, leafing through the Necronomicon, while a 21-year old college chick dressed in a full-body alien costume, complete with giant alien head, dances suggestively to the music.
"Acid trip?" Wrong. Try "Saturday afternoon."
It all began about 10 AM, as I sipped water and watched "Almost Famous," trying desperately to fend off the hangover brought on by infinitely too many Sam Adams Octoberfests, St. Pauli Girls, shots of Svedka, and glasses of grape/berry moonshine the night before. The phone rang, and after about 4 minutes of jabbering about "cylindrical meats," I realized that Richard was asking me to bring all the leftover sausages from the previous nights Octoberfest bash to his house. So, I struggled through a shower, stopped to load up on Gatorade Rain, and headed forth.
Upon arrival, the grill was not yet ready, so I was able to ease into a lounge chair to enjoy the unseasonably cool 77 degree, breezy, sunny weather. I cracked the Necronomicon, hoping to get through the instructions to summon The Watcher, when James arrived from the house next door. Apparently, around 3 AM, one of the gaggle of 21-year-old USF students that were crashing at Rich's neighbor's house for the weekend (one of them was the daughter of Rich's neighbor's girlfriend - you got all that?) had caught the eye of a drunken Yams. He wasn't sure which one at this point, or what the lass's name was. He COULD, however, tell us that he had awakened on a fold-out sofa in the living room, buck naked, with no covers on him save for the corner of a sheet across his chest. He pulled the sheet over him, only to see that Rich's neighbor, his girlfriend, and the Fire Chief of Melbourne were having breakfast in the dining room, a mere 10 feet away. Convinced that they'd all spied his ass crack and sex-addled junk by this point, he grabbed his underwear and ducked into the bathroom just off the dining room, to take a piss. Quickly, however, he realized that wasn't all, and spun around, unleashing a wallpaper-peeling, Richter scale-rattling dump. Having provided a soundtrack to go with the undoubtedly delightful mental images these poor folks were saddled with at breakfast, Yams scurried off and came next door before having to confront whomever he had laid the pipe to the night before.
As James regaled us with such tales of debauchery, Richard continued to play "Aamchi Mumbai" over and over again (how did it take us 11 years to discover this gem? The Indians sure are on the cutting edge.) Yams finished his tale, and I got back to reading the Book of the Dead.
Moments later, however, one of the coeds next door emerged from the house in a full space alien costume, gyrating and slithering her way next door. Stupified by this new interruption to my summoning, I took a minute to survey the situation. James had bolted inside in fear that this was the girl he'd rogered the night before, Richard sat there cranking up the music, and this girl continued to dance more suggestively with the increase in volume. Deserately needing to re-establish reality, I walked into the house. There was dear Stephanie, watching the video for "Dead Eyes See No Future" by Arch Enemy on Youtube. Confused further, I ran into the living room, where I heard the television :
"Should Rutgers defeat Navy today, they would likely earn a top-20 ranking in the first BCS poll, to be released tomorrow...."
It was at this point that I ran screaming from the house. I'm still not 100% convinced it really happened. I'm thinking it's more feasible that I got addicted to laudanum, got in a huge car wreck, and am actually in a coma right now, dreaming all of this.....
The Karate Kid
If Mr. Miyagi was so fucking handy, why did the apartment complex he was the superintendent for look like complete dog shit? Here, he takes Daniel's bike (the one he threw away because he felt like it, ma....) and has the thing not only repaired, but looking sparkling new within a span of a few hours. He restores a parking lot full of old cars to assembly-line fresh. His backyard was so fucking dazzling that Daniel-san was forced to admit that he had once thought Chung Lee's restaurant was nice, but that Miyagi had beaten his act. Yet, he somehow doesn't possess the ability to paint the building, fix the doors, fill the pool, or anything else. The place looks like a refugee camp, and he sits there, clipping his gay-ass bonsai trees, trying to catch flies with chopsticks, and kicking Cobra-Kai ass. Who's paying him? Is the guy that undemanding, or did Miyagi throw him a savage beating when he had the gall to ask about the state of disrepair that pervaded the entire complex? There's an old woman upstairs washing her armpits in the toilet because the new shower she demanded months ago hadn't been installed, and Daniel's running around the school dance wearing it as a costume, getting hit in the head with eggs, and acting like a complete fucking buttwad. If you run a hose on the All-Valley karate champion while he's dressed in a skeleton costume and rolling a joint, you're begging for an ass-kicking.But back to Miyagi. I won't even get into the fact that the guy does a few shots of sake and starts crying like a little bitch with a skinned knee. Way to handle your high, fruitcake. 4 fucking shots and..... *squish*.....just like-a grape. I'm sure he rolled out of bed nice and early the next morning and got right to work on fixing that leaky faucet in A214. I wonder if there was a kid in there trying to learn karate that he could make fun of. Or maybe he had 4-5 other kids running around the complex "learning karate" with such revolutionary teaching techniques as "Dust The Hamper," "Vacuum Under the Rocking Chair," or "Get The Bottlecap Out Of The Garbage Disposal." How else did he manage to get all his work done when he's running around playing grab-ass with a 16 year old high school kid all day long and spending his nights beating the shit out of other high school kids? Oh yeah, plus he goes fishing a lot, and goes to the beach and shows off by chopping the necks off of beer bottles. That's productive.
New blog.
OK, guys. I grew tired of the myspace blog and its limited viewership, so now I've moved along to this site, which hopefully will allow more people to read my typically incoherent, meaningless ramblings. I'm going to post 3 entries from the old myspace blog to kick things off, and will update this periodically. Enjoy.
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