I was just another lazy poet, trying to justify my art, sitting at my desk with one hand punching away at the keyboard while the other rubbed my cock through my jeans. The poetry wasn’t turning me on, I was just horny. It’s funny how quickly one begins to touch himself when he’s got nothing better to do. I remember past girlfriends, walking up behind me as I typed and they would kiss my neck or grab my cock and it would make me fume.

“How dare you! I’m writing. Don’t you ever fucking bother me while I’m writing.” I would think to myself, never having the actual balls or mean-streak within me to say it out loud. I’m just some dude trying to be a writer; I have no right to turn down pussy. But, it would burn me up inside. “The fucking nerve of her.” I’d think.

“Do you not know what I’m doing? Do you not understand at least what I’m trying to do? I’m a fucking artist and this is my craft. How dare you interrupt me!?” But I never said anything, so she would continue to rub me. There really is only enough blood to power either my brain or my cock, they are both roughly the same size; which doesn’t say much for either.

Eventually, the cock wins, the cock always wins. While her hand brought life to my pants, my hands began to veer away from the keyboard. The left hand would reach up to grab her head, to bring her towards me so I could lick her lips. The right hand would slide up her leg, until my shoulder would lock and not allow me to go up any further. The anger that had built up in my head was now in my mouth. I’d kiss her like I hated her. Which I did.

I’d turn my chair around to face her and would slide my hand up her skirt. I love skirts and I especially love women who wear skirts all the time. Women who wear skirts have a sense of balance between civility and being feral. A skirt makes them look classy, but that idea of easy access drives me nuts. My hand could not contain itself while it journeyed up her leg. Her thigh was hot to the touch and eventually the knuckle on my index finger would get the feel of some flesh. She wore no panties.

I bit down on her lip. “How dare she interrupt me.” I still thought as I pulled her closer to me. I grabbed her hand and pulled them down to my zipper. I would have her undo my jeans while I played with her mouth and pussy. My cock cried to be let out, the pressure of the jeans on it was unbearable. Eventually, she would get them undone and would grab a hold of it. Both of my hands were up her skirt now, grabbing and massaging her ass. I love asses.

I’d pull her closer to me and then turn her around. I’d lift her skirt and run my right hand up her thigh again. It was warm. My left hand was up her blouse, fighting a losing battle with her bra, just to feel some nipple. I gave up and just rubbed her breast over the bra. I moved her back some more so that she sat on top of me. Her pussy was wet and my cock easily slipped inside of her. I’d lean back and let her do all the work. She rode me well. I snarled and ran my teeth on the back of her neck. I’d bite her softly, trying to pay attention and not sink my teeth into her.

I came, she came, but I don’t remember exactly if that was the correct order. She was a quiet fuck. She wouldn’t get up off my cock right away. I didn’t mind. I liked to leave it in her for a little while afterwards. She seemed to like it too, but then eventually the blood would begin to flow back to my brain. The first thing my mind noticed was the drool collecting in my mouth that was about to drop all over my tee-shirt. I sucked it back in. Eventually the rest of the nerves in my body would regain function and my legs would cramp, so I’d push her off. She did.

With her back towards me, I’d lift the back of her skirt again and give it a good bite, followed by a healthy smack. The red teeth marks and hand print were very visible on her warm and pink ass. I pulled my jeans up and tucked my cock back in. I turned around and stared back at my monitor. I placed my hands on my keyboard. I felt her hands on my shoulders and then she would kiss me on the neck. And I would think to myself, “Leave me the fuck alone, I’m writing.”

She was more sauced, more calloused and more hard core than I was and that gave me the biggest raging hard-on that I have ever had in my life. I had walked into the bar with Tony an old buddy of mine from my days of working shipping and receiving for some shitty company by the water. He and I used to get high and booze during our lunchtime. We both eventually got fired. He got caught jerking off in the bathroom by our supervisor and I got fired for punching our supervisor for firing my buddy for merely relieving some stress.

He was a work buddy. I never really expected to hang out with him much aside from the average workday that we spent with each other. I had been roaming the Lower East Side and despite the sun still being up, I was already pretty drunk. I walked by a dirty old bar. It was the kind of shitty bar that was made more hygienic every time some queer hipster decided to add another one of his buddy’s shitty band’s stickers on the wall.

Outside of the bar was a shrunken old man. He looked like a burlap sack that had been filled with pine needles and shit. His was mangled by time and alcohol with deep monstrous craters and large blood rich veins all across his face. He mumbled something out loud at me as I was walking by. It was incoherent, but nonetheless it made me stop. I turned to look at him and for a brief moment I felt a sense of clarity.

“Could that ever be me?” I asked myself as I scanned him once more from head to toe. “No way, I’m much prettier and taller.” I egotistically told myself, trying to keep my spirits up. I was going to continue to drink. I just hoped to be a better-looking drunk. The drunkards rambling convinced me to step into that shithole. It took my eyes a minute or two to regain focus. It was a beautiful day outside and my damn sight had gotten too comfortable with all the beauty and brightness that only the sun can expose.

It made me sick.

I sat down on the first open stool and asked the bar tender for a seven and seven. I was trying to pace myself. I didn’t want to be asleep before the sun went down or even worse, drunk and yelling nonsense at passersby outside of the fucking bar. I took a good sip of my drink and realized too late that I had drunk it all. I looked down at my glass, nothing but ice and disappointment filled it.

“Don’t you hate when that happens?” I snapped out of my depression and looked over to my left. I had picked a seat right next to my buddy Tony.

“You fucking cocksucker!” I yelled, “It’s good to see you. Why don’t you buy me a drink? First two rounds are on you.”

Tony was just as drunk as I was. He was a good person. He ordered us some drinks and a couple of shots of bourbon. Ten minutes later we were talking loud at the bar getting sass from the drunks at the end of the bar but quickly finding love from “Old Hood”, the drunkard who had been outside talking shit. As soon as I bought him a beer he mellowed down, but most likely the whiskey flowing through my skull had simply worked as a buffer for this old drunk’s wisdom.

As soon as his stories started to make too much sense to Tony and I, we decided it was time for a new place, a place where the likes of two drunk assholes like ourselves where seen as welcomed additions to the rest of the sinning and debauchery that lined the walls and cracks of every orifice of the bar. We got a couple of beers to go, the bartender was kind to pour them for us in a couple of Styrofoam cups, with lids, straws and all. Nice guy, the bartender. I think I used to fuck his sister back in High school. Nice girl, his sister.

We walked down a couple of blocks, taking a detour so we could finish our drinks before getting to where we had to be. Our steps were long and out of line. We bumped into each several times, each time we would take turns helping the other keep a straight path. The sun had finally died down by the time we reached the bar. I had less of a struggle adjusting my eyes this time and as soon as I walked in, I saw her. She wore a sleeveless Deicide black tee shirt, exposing her tattooed arms and shiny silver bracelets. Her skirt was short and her black stockings were ripped all over, underneath her skin was pale and spotted with bruises.

I pushed some people out of my way simply so I could order my drink from her side. She looked at me with disgust. I looked at her with thirst. I ordered three bourbons on ice and handed her one before walking back towards Tony. I didn’t see her reaction. I let the booze guide my way. I handed Tony his drink and turned around to look at her. Apparently she was there with her man. He was twice my size, but half the size of Tony. I had duked it out with Tony before; I think he let me get a couple of good shots in before he finally pinned me down. I always felt confident at the way I was able to take care of myself, but when Tony was around, I was protected.

The girl had at first smiled at me and lifted her drink to thank me, but her boyfriend soon took it away from her. He drank it and flipped me off. I walked over to the bartender and ordered anther bourbon on ice, she handed it to me and I walked back towards the girl, gave a nod to her boyfriend and handed her the drink. I turned around and walked back towards Tony again. I kept my eyes fixed on his face. He knew the deal so I would be able to see anything coming at me from behind by his reaction. I made it to him and turned around.

Her boyfriend had taken the drink again. He looked at me and drank it. I walked over to the bartender and ordered another drink. She handed it to me. Tony had gotten a table that had opened up against the wall. So I brought the drink over to it and placed it down. I looked over towards the girl again and pointed to her and then to the drink. Her boyfriend began to fume. The angrier I saw his face become, the bigger I saw her smile grow. She wanted blood. I just wanted some ass. She walked over towards us.

She picked up the drink, took a sip and threw it at my face. It wasn’t the first time I had whiskey thrown into my eyes and lucky for me I was a bit numb already. I wiped my face, looked at her and smiled. Then I pushed her out of the way and made a run towards her man. Before he could even get his hands up, I had caught him right on the chin with a good right. He fell over the crowd and I landed on top of him. It only took three more punches to his open face before he was asleep. His friends thought about intervening but Tony is a big dude and even bigger when he’s drunk.

I stood up and looked around the bar. This wasn’t the type of place with the kind of crowd that gets easily bothered by the sight of some drunken and pointless combat. They were a bit disappointed to see it end so soon. I ordered another bourbon on ice and handed it to the girl, blood ran down my knuckles. They had been cut open on his crooked smile. She smiled, took a sip, placed it down and gave me a kiss on the cheek and put her hand in my back pocket. I looked over at Tony triumphantly, but before I could turn my head back to look at her. I felt an awful pain on my right side.

She had gotten a hold of my knife and stuck me with it on my right side. She tried to pull it out to stab me again, but it was jammed between my ribs. I looked at her and saw the anger in her eyes. It was a mix of uncanny hate and blood lust. The look drove me wild. I grabbed her by the face and brought her close to me. I stuck my tongue down her throat. She didn’t fight back. She kissed me as she continued to stick that knife deeper into my knife; she only stopped to try to pry it out again. But I had a tight hold on her. Then the pain really kicked in and I looked down to see all the blood. I looked back up and punched her straight in the chest, four times harder than I was able to hit her boyfriend.

She flew back only a couple of feet. She was stopped from going any further by Tony’s chest. She dropped painfully unto the ground and lay there panting for air. I looked at Tony and signaled him that it was time for us to leave. I bent down and whispered in her ear, “It was a pleasure. I hope next time, there is less of my blood involved.” I kissed her on the side of the head and helped myself up from my knee by pushing down on her face with my right hand.

“Tony, I need to get out of here. I’m all out of cash,” I said to him as I walked outside of the bar with my knife still buried three inches into my ribs. I’d have to sleep on my left side for a while.

The taste of blood in my mouth can only mean that I had a pretty good night. It’s metallic, the taste is. This isn’t the first time that I’ve woken up to the taste of blood in my mouth or my face stuck to a bloody pillow. This also isn’t the first time that I’ve woken up between two beautiful naked broads, but this sure as hell is the first time I’ve woken up to both.

My face feels fine, where the hell is this blood from? I need a cigarette. Where the fuck are my pants? I slap the broad to my left on her perfect tanned little ass. I must have been rough on her last night; her ass is covered in teeth marks and bruises. She moans and rolls over on her side. Good, at least she’s not dead. I turn over and try to shake the other broad up, but she just mumbles something and shrugs me off. I get off, climbing down the foot of the bed. I’ve got a mean piss to take.

As I look down at my cock, piss and toilet, I notice my right hand, all swollen and bloody. That answers the question as to where the blood on the bed came from. The toilet is home to some more blood, bloody toilet paper and used condoms. I don’t even flush; this is a job for a professional to clean up. I walk over to the sink to wash my self up. I turn on the faucet and look up to the mirror. I think I know now where I busted my hand up on. The mirror is shattered and most of it is missing. I wonder where it is, it’s not in the bathroom.

I look into a small section of the mirror that survived the pounding and can actually see my reflection. My hair is messy, my eyes are lost behind puffy dark bags, my face is scruffy and scratched a bit, and my lips are cracked and bloody. I do my best to wash my hands and face. My neck and shoulders are full of scratches, bruises and all other signs of a good night. I turn around for a towel but there aren’t any; instead there is a pack of cigarettes, resting carefully on the rack. I grab one; luckily there was a book of matches inside. I light it and walk back out to the room.

The women still sleep, so I sit on a chair in the corner of the room. This seems like a pretty nice hotel, I really hope I’m not paying for this. I can’t believe I don’t remember anything from last night. If I could find my pants I’d get the fuck out of here, just book. If the hotel people had any questions, I’d blame the sluts that stole my wallet. If they say they saw me too, I guess I’d just have to pay for the damages. There is no need to get legal with all this.

As I looked around the room, without ever getting up from my chair, I spot the girls on the bed again. I can’t tell the quality of women that these are; from my headache ridden blurry vision, they could go two ways. They were either young college women who I somehow coerced to come to a hotel with me for a night of sex, drugs and apparently violence. The other being the type of women that could be professional spies sent here to learn the truth about me, but since I’m just a regular scumbag, they’re probably hookers.

All this would be a whole lot easier if I could find my clothes, or even their clothes for that matter. Look at them over there sleeping on the bed; I don’t care how much this might be costing me, because this is awesome. I stretched down for a second and found my boots underneath the chair. I grabbed a hold of them. Inside one boot was my money clip with cash, my pocketknife and some keys; in the other boot was an almost finished pint of Jim Beam. I take out everything in the boots and put them on; I made sure to lace them tight.

I stand up in them and look around. I’m butt naked with boots on, I have no pockets to store my things, but at least I have some Beam left. I polished the bottle and grabbed another smoke. Well, there’s not much that a drunk man with nothing on but ass-kicking boots and his skin can do. So I jumped unto the bed, right between the two broads and when I landed I felt the shittiest pain I’ve ever felt in my life pulsating from my knee. I looked down to see my knee dripping blood all over the white sheets. I found the other piece of the mirror.

It was underneath the fucking sheet. I also found the drugs that surely lead up to the decisive conclusion the girls required to follow me or stay with me much longer that they had anticipated. I guess I deserved this. I got up and washed my knee and got it to stop bleeding. Surprisingly, all this has still not awoken any of the girls. I grabbed an already bloody towel that lay on the floor and managed to pick up all the glass in the bed with it. Luckily, the small bag of blow was not consumed totally and was not destroyed by the evening’s carelessness.

I grabbed it and sat up in the center of the bed with my back on the headboard. I wonder how asleep these broads really are, “Anybody want some of this?” I say out loud. The two broads both sit up really fucking quick, these scheming, scavenging whores. I don’t really need to tell you the rest of the story, do I? I did what any naked drunk man with ass-kicking boots and a bag of blow would do and it was done right. Otherwise, I never would have started telling you this story.

I never found my pants.

“You want to get some drinks tonight?” Tommy asked

“I wish I could, but I’m broke man.” I told him as I opened up my front door, stepping outside as I placed a cigarette in my mouth and lit it. I took a puff and exhaled, quickly taking another breath full of smoke.

“I thought you were saving money?” He asked, joining me outside for a smoke.

“I was, but shit happens man. You know this.” I saw Tommy fumbling through his pockets looking for a light, so I took out mine and lit his cigarette for him.

“Thanks.” He said.

“No problem.”

“So, what happened?”

“Well, it was the holidays. So few people were around. I figured it would be a perfect time to hang out at home, drink some whiskey, read a book and do some writing.”

“So tell me what actually happened, Johnny.”

“Well, the first day I got really drunk and decided that I need to buy some good pot, so I did. The next day I got really stoned and decided that I needed to go get a new tattoo. So once again, I did. Of course, after the tattoo, I needed to get some more booze. So I went to a couple of bars by myself, buying drinks for random people.”

“Good one, I’m sure you learned your lesson by the next day.”

“Yeah, you would think that, but you would be wrong. Instead, I woke up with a horrible hangover. The only cure was a beer, then four more to wash that beer down. Eventually, I got drunk and I was also smoking that good weed that I still had. Next thing I know, my neighbor is inviting me to go get a Chinese massage from some shady spot. I naturally agree.”

“No, shit. How the fuck was it?”

“Awkward Tommy. I have never felt so awkward in front of a woman that was already willing, able and paid for. It was the first time that I ever paid for any kind of sex.”

“Really, that’s hard to believe.”

“Why? I have luck with the ladies. I never felt the need to have to pay for it.”

“So, why did you pay for it this time?”

“Just curious and drunk. I really didn’t think it over too well. When I got there, it all seemed very surreal.”

“What was so surreal about it?”

“The fact that I was paying for sex. Made me feel like a loser.”

“Really?”

“Yeah man, I’m handing this money over and I’m just thinking to myself, ‘what the fuck am I doing? This broad should be paying me. I’m sure all the other dude’s she has jerked off, blown or fucked today ARE the kinds of guys who frequently need to pay for sex. She should be happy that I walked in.’

But I was there already, I had paid up front and goddamn it, I am in no financial situation to simply throw my money away.”

“So tell me, Johnny. What happened?”

“I felt like I was fourteen and never been with a woman before. First of all I didn’t want to touch her.”

“Why?”

“Because she’s a fucking whore, a real fucking whore. On her business card, she might as well put, ‘Real Fucking Whore’ on it. It felt dirty and not the kind of dirty that turns me on regularly. So at this point, while I’m in the room, I figure that I could really go for just a massage. A regular, normal, no special release-massage. But this whore didn’t speak any English.

She kept asking, ‘You okay?’

Fuck no bitch! I’m not okay. I just spent good money to come here and get something I can get for free and of better quality.”

“You think too much.”

“No shit, I eventually agree to a handjob and because I can’t stop thinking about how pathetic this entire scenario is, I can’t even get hard. But she’s a fucking pro. She goes to town with her hands, rough from working on the rice fields as a child.

She’s massaging my balls, stroking my cock. It was all very awkward.”

“So then what?”

“She fucking milked me. I didn’t even know that I could cum without even being hard. This broad was a pro and carried with her some ancient Chinese secret of hand-release. I came and she wiped me down with a warm washcloth. I dressed quickly and got the fuck out of there. My neighbor was done before I was. He had opted for the blowjob.”

“So do you regret it?”

“Hell fucking no. That shit was an experience that I’ll never forget.”

Tommy lit up another cigarette. He looked over at me. “Do you think you could take me there sometime?”

“No problem Tommy, just let me know when. I have some beer inside. Want some?”

“Sure.”

“It was my birthday yesterday. Fuck them, let me have today for myself.” I thought out loud as I grabbed my cell phone and called my boss.

“Barry,” that was my boss’s name. “It was my birthday yesterday. (pause) Yeah I found out last night. I kind of got a little banged up. There’s no chance in hell I can make it in today. (pause) Alright, I’ll see you tomorrow.” I hung up the phone and lay down on the couch. I grabbed the remote control for the television and hit the power button.

I remembered when I could spend hours in front of a television set without watching anything in particular. I simply switched the channels repeatedly, every once in a while; I’d pause if there was an image that caught my attention. Usually, it was something bizarre or sexy. I used to love all the science and history channels, but after a while I grew tired of the same documentaries on Hitler, UFO’s and the Free Masons. So instead, I’d search for things that pissed me off. I’d stop on all the programs that completely baffled me to acknowledge why they even existed. Amongst my favorites were the shop-at-home channels, the depressing stories channels and the political channels. But there was a show in particular that I could not stop watching. It was so utterly ridiculous to me that I just couldn’t keep myself from watching it. The show was called, “Our Savior” starring the Reverend Bill Bakerson.

Over the past year there was a great change in America. The power of television had been observed by all the puritanical and oppressed majority voters in the country; and they decided that it was time for them to censor all, for the sake of the children. I agreed with them; how else could they expect for their children to grow up to be just like them, if they were constantly bombarded with different points of views and ideas? They blocked out everything that I enjoyed watching. There were no more hot Spanish girls dancing on television Sunday mornings. Only “Our Savior”.

It was a tele-evangelical program based upon the basis that the literal translation of the words of Jesus Christ within the Bible allows people to wash away their sins or worries by sending the Rev. Bill Bakerson and his church, “The Church of Immaculate Assumptions”, as much money as they couldn’t afford. Luckily for most people, The Church of Immaculate Assumptions also took all forms of credit cards, personal checks, traveler’s checks, money orders, first-born children, and young girl’s panties.

So I turned to the holy channel and I listened to what the Reverend had to say.

“Oh Lord! Oh Lord! There are so many things in this world that we worry about. We worry about our jobs, our children, our health. These are the things of our daily lives, the very things that test us and test our faith! But, we need to be strong Lord! We need to be strong! The words in this book are strong! They are strong because they are your words Lord! Amen Lord, Amen! Yes there are problems down here on earth Lord, but only through you can we find an answer!”

“Now I know all you out there think that money is the answer. ‘If only I had more money’ you might say to yourself. You might get on a knee and look up to our Lord and pray, ‘Dear Lord, I need more money to feed my children, to pay my rent, the bills are collecting and I don’t know what to do Lord!’”

“Well, let me remind you all a little something, Luke 13:16 says ‘No servant can serve two masters. Either he will hate the one and love the other, or he will be devoted to the one and despise the other. You cannot serve both God and Money.’ Amen, Amen.

Money is not your master only God is and if he brings you these problems, you need to see them as blessings! God is showing you he cares so much about you that he is teaching you personally. Like Jesus Christ was nailed to that cross, you too were chosen by God to carry a burden, because you are a child of God.”

“We here at the Church of Immaculate Assumptions are here to help spread the words of God, because it is our duty as the children of God to do so, it’s what he wants from us as is told by the only truth we know within these pages! We only have one master and we must do his bidding by sacrificing. I know you’ve got problems at home; I know you need to pay the bills! But the entrance into God’s home is not free! Oh no! Jesus gave his life! He suffered and died for all of our sins and you’re going to ask the Lord to make your life better?! He has been making your life better ever since he entered your hearts and your souls. You will be repaid in the Kingdom of Heaven with God’s grace for all of eternity.”

“So help us spread the word through out the entire world. Help us any way you can. We have operator’s standing by, just call the number at the bottom of the screen or wait until the end of the show and we’ll give you a mailing address for those of you who’d like to send us your contributions towards the Lord’s word. Remember that the Lord, is the ultimate Land Lord and his rent must be paid first!”

“Now, I know you all will make the right decision or else answer to God at a later date. Now there are others of you out there that have a different lesson to learn from God. You don’t have to worry about money. You don’t have to worry about paying your bills, or your rent. I see America getting fatter, I see all these nice cars parked outside in the parking lot. You are all dressed very nicely here today. I’m not saying that you shouldn’t care about what you look like. The Lord wants his people to look good, but he also wants them to be good. And your overabundance is his way of testing you all.”

“Matthew 6:19-21: ‘Do not save riches for yourselves here on earth, where moths and rust destroy, and robbers break in and steal. Instead, save riches for yourselves in heaven, where moths and rust cannot destroy, and robbers cannot break in and steal. For your heart will always be where your riches are.’ Do you understand this? All these things you buy are of no good to you or the Lord. He wants you and your success to help spread his words. He has chosen you to be givers, not hoarders of all that is unnecessary. Remember God sees all and will judge you accordingly. The more you give, the more God knows that you really understand his work and the more likely that he will judge you and bless you with his company.”

“God Bless you all and Amen.”

“Asshole.” I hoped he heard me say that through the television. It was the number one rated show in the country.

I changed the channel. I surfed from station to station finally stopping at one of my least favorite full-time “news” channels. I hated the news because I couldn’t understand how the things that were shown on it actually became reality. I read history books in school and then I read other books that disputed the ones from school and were a lot more depressing than the glorious stories I had learned through out my many years in the public education system. I wondered how they never mentioned my father’s people despite the fact that they had been in this country way before those who wrote the history books had arrived. I didn’t expect them to document their entire history, but at least a more realistic view on what might have happened to them.

I doubted many things and because of this I had very little trust for any one other than myself. Religion baffled me and so did politics. A young child asks “why?” at an early age and is then quickly encouraged to “keep quiet”. I saw this as the most horrendous event that can occur to any person within their entire lifetime. That is when their quest for knowledge and understanding is blocked by a harsh and cruel world that simply tells the child to “keep quiet”. Why should they be quiet? Why can’t they ask “why”? Shouldn’t they be allowed to know? Shouldn’t everyone know why? I’m sorry, I just can’t stop asking “why?”
People always say, “We’re living through difficult times.”

“No shit.” I’d say then ask them. “When has there not been a difficult time? There has always been a war somewhere on the earth, not a year has gone by without a murder, a death, a robbery, an accident, disease, famine, drought, and just plain atrocities created by humans upon other human beings. So you tell me. When has there not been a difficult time?”
I knew to ask this question, because I had asked this question to myself in the past and sought through the pages of all written history for a moment in time where there were no difficulties placed upon man kind. I was unsuccessful. There was never such a time. So I searched more to try to find out why? Why is it that man is this way? Why are we here? Why is there no peace?

The President of the United States was on television again. He was a simple man. That worried me a lot. “Why?” I asked. “How could such a powerful and great country with all the resources in the world choose such an inept human to be its leader?” I needed an answer to this question, so I did what I thought I should do in order to find out. I talked to them. I talked to people, to all types of people. I enjoy it and I have become pretty good at it. Every person is different and should be treated differently depending on the reaction that you want to get from them. I’d found out a while ago that I was good at this.

There was this one time that I found myself in a hotel in South Beach, Miami. It was a beautiful hotel in the Art Deco section called The Hotel Clinton. On the last day of my stay, as I waited for my cab, I found myself sitting at the pool bar drinking some seven and sevens.
An older man in his fifties sat next to me. The man was wearing a red Speedo, but luckily for me, he had wrapped himself up in a towel. I had made friends with all the bartenders at the hotel, so at the time I was bullshitting with Pavel, a young polish immigrant who miraculously figured out that it was much nicer to be a bartender at a hotel in Miami than doing construction back in Poland.

Within a matter of seconds, a conversation had sparked up between the man with the Red Speedo, who also happened to have extremely and very unnaturally white teeth, and me.

The man was down there on business; he was a property investor. Coincidentally, he also happened to be from New Jersey. The conversation that developed between us was very lop-sided and as a result it opened my eyes to something completely new. I had never before realized that some people are completely oblivious to what is really going on. I assumed that people just didn’t care, but on that day with that man, I came to realize that some people haven’t got any fucking clue.

So I talked to the man and had more drinks with him. I didn’t mind; I wasn’t paying. He spilled out his entire life to me. He told me about his divorce with his wife. How at the age of fifty, this man was banging a hot Brazilian chick and trying ecstasy for the first time and he had a great idea to ask for my opinion. He asked me. “Do you think she just wanted me because of my money?”

“Well fuck yeah,” I lifted my drink up as if making a toast. “But who gives a fuck? You got to do ecstasy and bang a hot Brazilian broad and you’re fucking ugly. You should be proud of yourself. Of course she only banged you for your money.” This didn’t make this man clueless, but it did make him human and stupid for not realizing it. The man continued to talk to me, telling me more stories.

“I never ride the subway in New York City, you can get mugged there.” The man told me.

“I always ride the subway. I’ve actually slept there some nights.” Which is true, I’ve passed out on trains and subway terminals many times in New York City. I had the tendency to enjoy myself a lot when I got the chance. I couldn’t miss out on an opportunity; I could’ve died anytime. How ironic to have lived that way.

“Aren’t you afraid someone is going to steal your wallet?” The man was actually intrigued and sitting on the edge of his seat.

“Who the fuck is going to steal MY wallet? People usually think that I’m going to steal their wallets.” That is once again a result of my fun-loving ways.

“Well, I usually take my driver. Isn’t it so much better?” The man asked me.

And I actually had to think about this. You see, I didn’t have a driver nor ever had one. I haven’t ever even been in a limousine, but this man simply assumed. Which was surprising to me because I’m a very low-maintenance type of guy, especially while on vacation. I hadn’t shaved for weeks and wore things that were comfortable, to say the least. My pants were pretty worn out, but not as bad as my sneakers; at least my shirt was nice and clean. It read, “South Beach” and had a golden sun in the background. Unfortunately, I spilled some seven and seven on it. I didn’t care; I was on vacation.

I realized that this man was clueless. He didn’t understand that a normal person couldn’t possibly have a driver. He also hadn’t said it maliciously, as if to rub in his glorious luxuries in my face. He just said it. I had to answer him and give him the honesty that he deserved.

“Well, yeah I guess having a driver would be a lot better. But, I take the subway and I’m never afraid of getting mugged. I have nothing for them to steal.”
The conversation continued.

Eventually, the man began to speak to me about his children. He talked about his two sons and his wonderful daughter. I listened as the man told me about all the lavish gifts that he’s bought his kids like houses and cars, etc. He told me that I should buy a Porsche or a Ferrari; this way, women will look and just lust over me.

“I don’t need a car for women to love me. I have charm and rugged good looks and luckily for me, I was also blessed with a ten-inch cock. That’s why I don’t need to wear red Speedos.” I told him as I ordered another drink on the man’s tab. The whiskey was obviously making me delusional and prone to hyperbole.

The man told me how he worried for his kids. How they were only making ninety thousand dollars. So he felt bad and bought his son a Porsche 911 and that his son didn’t want it, but wanted a BMW M3 instead. The rest of what he had to say didn’t matter, because it didn’t matter to me then and it doesn’t matter to me now.

But then, the man said this, “My oldest son, I think he only wants my money, my daughter is a saint, but my youngest son; he’s the sweetest. He looks out for me.”

“That’s because he’s smarter than you. He wants your money. They all want your money. The only problem is that the oldest boy probably turned out like his mother and that’s why you hate him. Your daughter is probably like you and just as clueless. But your youngest boy, he’s smarter than you and you haven’t realized it.”
Whiskey honesty.

“You think so?” The man had begun to get emotional. Most likely it was the booze, but the man actually looked like he was thinking about what I had just told him. I noticed. I had grown angry a long time before the man sobbed for his kids and their perfectly healthy salaries. I looked over to Pavel and then looked back at the man and began to speak.

“I make thirty thousand dollars a year. I paid for this vacation because I needed one. I earned everything that I have.” I looked over to the bartender, Pavel. “Pavel, when you came over to this country from Poland, how much money did you have? “

Pavel was a little timid to answer at first, but because he thought that the man who I was talking to was an asshole, opened up and answered, “I sold everything, I got on a plane with five hundred dollars and I got a job. I had nothing. For months, all I had was a small blue lamp and my bed. My clothes had to stay in my suit cases.”

“Would you rather be back in Poland?” I asked him

“Fuck no.” He answered happily.

Just then, the bellhop came to tell me that my taxi had arrived. I stood up and said goodbye. I was happy because I knew that I had helped that man. I knew that man learned something that day, because I made him feel like shit. I was also happy because I made a young Polish immigrant’s day, perhaps maybe even his week.

I really enjoyed making people, who deserved to feel like shit, manifest their destinies. “Why not?” I asked. I figured I was doing the world a service, it’s one of the reasons why God chose me.

So I sat there, watching the news and laid down on my back. I closed my eyes and started to drift away. Eventually, I went out for the count. I had been dreaming about marshmallow clouds and talking to chipmunks with huge perky tits, but was interrupted. I saw Bill Bakerson enter my dream and he mumbled a lot of nonsense that I couldn’t decipher. Bakerson was standing under an olive tree talking out loud, as if to a crowd. Then a second voice was heard. It was a familiar one and in the dream another person appeared next Bakerson. It was the United States President, President Beer. Yes, the president’s name was Beer, George Beer. His campaign slogan was, “Somebody you can have a Beer with.” People ate that shit up.

This was too much for me to handle and woke up. I immediately realized that I could still hear the voices. This made my heart race a little bit and then I looked over to the television. There they were, standing next to each other, under an olive tree, President Beer, Bill Bakerson and a token Muslim and Jew. Apparently, Bakerson had gone to the Middle East and converted all the Muslims and Jews to Christianity. They showed a video of Bakerson performing massive miracles in the West Bank. He turned the desserts into lush lands and it was spreading. The miracles would extent into India, China and the rest of the world. Bakerson had brought world peace in four days.

I burped up something nasty into my mouth. I swallowed it back down.

President Beer announced that their would be a celebration to be held for Reverend Bakerson in Central Park in Manhattan on Sunday.

I laid my head back down and tried to fall asleep but the world was spinning around too much. I stood up and walked to the bathroom. I turned the bathroom sink’s faucet on and dipped my hands into the cool water. I lifted the water to my face and then dipped my head down into the cool stream. The momentary relief was disrupted by another sudden urge to be sick. I didn’t budge, I figured the sink was a good enough place to be sick in, but soon my legs began to feel a bit weak and I felt the sudden urge to drop to my knees. Fortunately for me, the toilet was clean; Pepé was a very clean man.

I knelt there with my cheek on the toilet; the cold porcelain brought my nausea to a simmer, my hand hovered too close to the water, my fingers dipped down on occasion. I cursed the man who created mescal, but I really knew why I was feeling ill. Eventually the sickness subsided without having to convulse until I puked the bile and saliva that filled my fragile belly. I stood up and went into my kitchen were I grabbed a cold glass of water.

“Food,” I thought to myself. “I need food.”

I went through my refrigerator and cabinets but realized that I had nothing to eat. I decided to go to the Burger King, only a few blocks away. I got myself together and headed out the door. “One foot in front of the other and avoid any dog shit that might be lying around.” I needed to remind myself to stay sharp; God knows you shouldn’t be caught sleeping

The night before, I went to a local bar after work. It was the type of bar full of young college kids drinking away their parent’s hard earned money instead of learning something, but that’s what college is about, right? Regardless, I wouldn’t have normally gone to this place on a night like this, but it was close to home, it was open late and it had a good drink special, a dollar and fifty cents for all domestic bottled beers, two dollars and fifty cents for all imported beers. Because of its locality, I was a pseudo-regular. It was a Thursday night so it was obviously designated “college night”, obviously, because any other night would not make as much sense to go out and party.

I had gone to this bar with my buddy and roommate, Pepé. Pepé’s actual name was José Guadalupe Jimenez Posada Lopez. Pepé was from Oaxaca, Mexico. He had left his home because it sucked. It was hot and his family was poor and he didn’t want to raise a family where they would be forced to continue to be hot and poor, no matter how hard they worked. So instead he saved up as much money as he could and had himself smuggled across the US and Mexico border; he was smuggled through Nogales, Mexico. Out of coincidence, it was named after the same town where my mother’s family had come from in Spain.

It took Pepé several years and several close calls with several people who didn’t want to share their air or jobs with him. There were several times when Pepé was picked up for work, gave his all for twelve or more hours doing all kinds of shitty jobs that no more qualified and more holy American would do and then told to go fuck himself at the end of the day, going home more tired and more poor than he was before that day began.

Pepé was working construction and living in Union, New Jersey when he met me. I had decided to get up and move from my last location because I couldn’t deal with my roommate’s threats to call the cops on me every time that I came home drunk and threatened him with a knife. I wasn’t going to kill him. I didn’t have the heart to kill anything, but I did get a kick from making this poor guy squirm. He was a born-again Christian and had made it his duty in life to save my heathen soul. So when I would come how at night, he would be waiting for me and would start reading from the Bible. Now you tell me, how wasn’t I supposed to pull a knife out on him?

I had figured that scaring this guy would give him the hint to not bother me again, but it never worked and it always ended up with me on top of him with my knife to my poor roommate’s throat. I figured I should move out before one of us went too far and he ended up stabbed.

I was a man of limited cash funds and had been for most of my life. I have done just about everything that I have needed to do to survive and a little bit more to pay for some pleasures. For a while I had it good, I had it really good. I was growing a lot of pot out in a commune in Pennsylvania. That place was the greatest. I was treated like a king. We all ate, fucked, drank and partied very well.

I loved it.

Unfortunately, the entire place was extremely illegal. We had a basement full of weed and guns. I had grown a bit carried away and paranoid. But that was a good thing. It turned out that the Feds were on to me.

There was a rat living amongst the group at the commune. I had figured it out and used him to get me out of the situation with the help of two buddies, Adam Stockton and Chris Gomez. Long-story-short, Adam created a divergence and Chris took over my place. I got rid of the drugs and guns. Trust me, it was not very hard to get rid of drugs and guns in America.

So everything turned out well for all of us, but I was still very bitter. I understand that the things that I was doing were illegal; I’m not stupid. I just had a problem with the laws. Frank Zappa once said, “The United States is a nation of laws: badly written and randomly enforced.”
I agreed with Frank and I wasn’t going to abide to stupid laws made by assholes because they can’t help the fact that they have no idea what they are talking about. Unfortunately, they had the big guns and the strength in numbers.

The numbers is what scared me the most. Society seemed to work much like a swinging pendulum. At times it would be high to the right, at others high to the left, but only when the pendulum was stuck in the middle, would it be less dangerous. The world was swinging erratically and some serious change was upon us.

At the time that this story takes place I was working as a computer repairman. Many people own them and many people break them. I got my hands on a computer one day and broke it and fixed it until I had learned all I needed to know.

One day while out on a job, I saw a room for rent sign on the windowsill of a weathered yellow house. I knocked on the door and was greeted by a short, brown skinned Mexican wearing nothing more than cut of jeans and a mustache that Pancho Villa or Tom Selleck would be proud to have owned. On his right forearm he had a shitty tattoo of Our Lady of Guadalupe. One day, I asked him if he had a girl back home and Pepé pointed at his tattoo and told me, “Deez iz da only senorita from back home for me.” (Try rolling your R’s when you say that. It’ll sound better.)

Pepé was a little skeptical about me wanting to rent the room. He thought that I might work for the INS, but after spending an hour conversing in Spanish while we smoked a joint in the kitchen convinced Pepé that I was “preetee cool”.

So, that’s how Pepé and I ended up being roommates and friends and why we went to that particular bar together that night. We both were working late and got home after the liquor store had closed. We sat on the couch for ten minutes watching Telemundo when I came up with the idea to go to the bar. It wasn’t hard to convince Pepé to go out for a drink or two.

We went to the bar called “Larry’s”. Larry’s bar was a local dive before all the college kids started to go there because they would hardly get carded for any ID. Larry’s was owned by a man named Roger, who had inherited the bar from his father, also named Roger. Roger’s father, Roger Sr., had won the bar during a game of darts from a man named Kelly. Kelly built the bar a few years after arriving from Ireland, sometime after the Second World War. He never mentioned why he named the bar “Larry’s” and no one ever asked. Larry’s bartender was Roger Jr., who started working there when he was nine. Obviously, when Roger first started working there, everyone who went to Larry’s was older than him, so Roger never bothered asking for any ID.

Roger hadn’t even realized that the drinking age had changed from eighteen to twenty-one, years ago, so he never thought he might be doing something illegal when he started serving the younger college students. Roger was just happy for the business. Of course, Roger got caught one day and was forced to pay a hefty fine for something wrong that he was not aware even existed.

Pepé and I had become pseudo-regulars at Larry’s, because of its location, which was three blocks from our house. On this night, since it was “College Night”, Roger had hired a doorman to ensure that there would be no more underage drinking and hopefully no fine for Roger to have to pay. Pepé was allowed to walk right in because his manly moustache ensured the bouncer enough of his maturity. The bouncer did ask me for my ID. I had no choice but to comply with this meathead’s request. I was okay with it, knowing that later I’d get to bitch at Roger about him. When the bouncer checked my ID card, he noticed that it was my birthday so he congratulated me, “Hey man happy birthday. July seventh, two-thousand seven, you turn twenty-seven and you come to this shit-hole? I hope you’re lucky.”

“Thanks.” I told him as I took my card back to inspect it myself; indeed, it was my birthday. I thought that was pretty funny, funny enough to tell Pepé about it. Pepé saw it as a perfect reason to celebrate and to drink a lot more than otherwise needed to. But, I’d be lying if I said that I wasn’t happy to give in to my friend’s request.

I wish I could have a drink right now.

The bar was crowded with young men, wearing backward baseball caps and too much cologne, hovering over fine young girls, wearing revealing tops and too much makeup. Pepé was able to get to the bar quickly because of his small stature. He easily made his way through the crowd and in range for Roger to see him.

“Hey Pepé! What can I get you?” Roger had gone over to Pepé quickly. He hated the college kids, but needed to cater to them if he wanted to make money. Pepé told him that it was my birthday, so we needed to celebrate. Roger pulled out a bottle of “Gusano Rojo Mescal”. “No one else in this bar gets to drink from this bottle except for you and Johnny!” Roger needed to scream over the sounds of the North American college student mating calls.

“Tank jew Rogeh.” Pepé said in his stereotypical Mexican accent.

I had made my way to one of the booths at the back of the bar. Since there weren’t any vacant, I merely sat at the one with the most attractive women in it. The girls were confused since I didn’t say a word at first, I merely sat down and waited for Pepé. When Pepé arrived he said

“Hahlo” to the girls and sat down next to them. Eventually one girl would have the courage to speak to me.

“Um… We were sitting here already.” She said with a smug look on her face.

“And you feel free to keep doing that, but we need somewhere to drink, rest and celebrate. You see it happens to be my twenty-seventh birthday today according to my driver’s license and you girls seem nice enough to let us sit here while my buddy Pepé and I do some soul searching by getting to the bottom of this bottle here and eating that worm.” I smiled at them as Pepé poured me, then himself a shot. We touched glasses and took the shot. Pepé was unfazed but I began to turn red. “I need the salt and limes for this one Pepé. Sorry I don’t have your tolerance.” Pepé got up and came back a moment later with a small dish with salt and sliced lemons.

“We’re kind of expecting some more people.” One of the girls said to me.

“Congratulations must be exciting knowing more than three people.” I said as I poured Pepé and I another shot. This time I licked some salt before taking the shot and followed it by sucking on a lime. Pepé took his straight again.

“Could you guys please move?” The one girl asked again.

“Could you please shut the fuck up and enjoy yourself? It’s college night. Have some fun god damn it. Do you girls want some drinks? It doesn’t matter I’ll go get you some. Pepé, I’ll be right back.” I went over to the bar. When I got back to the booth, there were a couple of guys talking to the girl’s, one of the dudes was talking to Pepé. I put the drinks down on the table and began to speak to them.

“Hey guys, you must be some more people?”

There was a young guy with a tight shirt and spiky hair sitting where I had been sitting. He went to grab the bottle of mescal but was stopped by Pepé. “Dat’s not for jew, so don’t touch eat.”

“Fuck you wetback.” The guy said as he reached for the bottle again. That time I stopped him.

“Despite my friend’s accent, I think it was pretty easy to understand him when he said that this bottle is not for you, so don’t touch it.”

“Fuck you faggot.” He said to me as he stood up.”

“Pepé, please pour us another shot.” I asked my good friend Pepé and Pepé did. We both took the shot straight.

“I don’t want any problems here guy. I don’t like to fight. I don’t even like to get bothered. But so far, you have been very rude to my friend and me, and to be honest, there is only one thing that I can do about it.”

“No, you know what faggot? There ain’t shit you can do about it.” The guy puffed his chest out at me.

“There is, this.” I reached down and grabbed the guy by the balls. “You see this is a very simple request. First apologize to my friend Pepé, then to the ladies for making me do this in front of them and last to me because it’s my birthday and you were trying to grab my bottle.” The guy began to apologize, first to Pepé, then to the girls and finally to me. I don’t want to fight, but if you try anything stupid, I WILL crush your balls so that they never produce for you anymore over abundance of testosterone. You girls enjoy the drinks. I see two open spots at the bar where my friend and I will move to, just because we’re nice. Are we cool?” I squeezed a little harder.

“We’re cool.” The guy said as he sucked in some air trying to forget the pain I was inflicting on his nuts. I began to release my grip as I looked into the guy’s eyes, looking for any signs of bravery that he might have. I finally let go, grabbed my bottle and shot glasses and headed over to the bar. Pepé and I sat down on our stools.
Roger the bartender came over.

“Johnny, Happy Birthday my friend.” Roger said as he shook my hand. He was interrupted by a young man.

“Can I get three rum and cokes and a cosmopolitan?” The young man said as he waived a twenty-dollar bill.

Roger looked at him and sighed. “Give me a sec Johnny, let me take care of this prick.” Roger prepared the man’s drinks using the smallest and dirtiest glasses that he had behind the bar. The young man got his drinks and he handed Roger the money. Roger, as is customarily done by most bartenders, hands the change which consists mostly of singles back to the man. The young man puts a dollar down. I saw that and grabbed the young man by the arm.

“You interrupted our conversation, it wouldn’t be too polite if you only left one dollar.” I told him.

“Dude, look how shitty these drinks are.” The young man lifted the glasses up so I could see them. I looked down at them and couldn’t argue.

“Sorry man, you’re right.” I let go of him and turned back to Roger.

“How’s it going Larry?” I asked him, Roger that is.

The next hour was filled with pointless banter and endless interruptions by all the alcohol hungry students. I had meant to bitch to Roger about the bouncer but had quickly forgotten the whole thing. The crazy thing about mescal is that it is one of the few alcoholic drinks that is also a stimulant. Pepé and I had been drinking hard, but had not yet realized that we were well beyond drunk.

“Joh-nee, I’m going to pees. I’ll be back pronto.” Pepé told me as he stumbled his way to the bathroom. I decided to stare at something other than the shelves behind the bar so I turned around on the stool, to stare at the younger girls. I quickly saw one that caught my eye. She was a good-looking girl with chestnut colored hair; she wore tight blue jeans and a white fuzzy short sleeved tight sweater. I quickly stood up, grabbed my bottle and walked over to her. She was talking to some friends but I didn’t mind interrupting them. I stepped in front of her and began to speak.

“Hello bunny, my name is Johnny Redbone. What’s your name?” I asked her as I tried to only use words that I knew I could still pronounce at this state in which I found myself. She said something back to me, but I couldn’t understand her. It was pretty loud in the bar between the shitty jukebox music and the noisy drunken bastards laughing and yelling over stupid shit.

“You have nice teeth.” She said. I told her that my mother paid for a tall Greek man to straighten them out when I was a kid. She smiled at me. I don’t think she heard me. I grabbed her by her belt buckle and brought her closer to me.

“My name is Johnny Redbone and I think you’re hitting on me. I like your furry white sweater; it makes you look like a bunny. Are you a bunny?” I made her smile. “Is that a yes or a no? You have to be more direct with me bunny, I don’t like to waste time.”

“Are you trying to get into my pants?” She asked.

“You’re goddamn right I am. Is it working?”

“It is, so far.” She said as she smiled again.

“You’re goddamn right it is.” I smiled at her. She told me I had nice teeth again. The deal was set. She told me that she was in town visiting some of her girlfriends who go to the local college. She said she would ask her friends if she could bring me home with her. I said that was fine and that in the meantime I would look for my buddy, Pepé, to tell him that I was leaving.
I searched for Pepé, but couldn’t find him. It wasn’t a big bar, but Pepé wasn’t a tall man by far and this bar was full of North American hormonally enhanced grade A gargantuan humans. I quickly gave up and headed back towards “Bunny”. At this point, I realized that I was much drunker than I had thought. I stumbled for a second and felt a bit nauseous for a moment, after taking a deep breath, I felt ready to continue walking. I walked up to her and she told me to follow her. I could have asked her to go back to my place, but I have always preferred not taking women back to my home. I felt it best if they never found out where I lived.

“Bunny” tried to introduce me to her friends, but I couldn’t pay any attention. My mind was only set on one thing. At first I began to wonder if I could get her friends involved in what was about to occur, but my mind was not ready to work on a new plan. I was happy with how my birthday was turning out so far and was not going to push it. I hopped into the back seat of a late model blue Ford Explorer. Bunny sat next to me. Her friend drove and another sat shotgun. I placed her hand on my lap, just to let her know what this encounter was all about. After many turns and twists the SUV finally took us to our destination.

Once there, I was forced into having a semi-coherent conversation with “Bunny’s” other girlfriends; while this was occurring, I came to the realization that where I was about to spend the night was on a futon mattress on the living room floor with “Bunny”. I tried to speed up the process of taking “Bunny” to bed, but there was no room with a door to shut behind us, so we waited until all the others had gone to sleep. That’s when “Bunny” and I began to go at it on the mattress on the living room floor. After a couple of minutes, “Bunny” looks over and noticed that one of her friend’s doors was still open with the light on and told me to stop. I couldn’t care if all her friends were still walking around the living room, but I decided to be nice and listen to her.

So I got off her and rolled over on my back.

I woke up the next morning wondering where I was. I looked over to my right and saw a good-looking girl. I was happy to see that she was still good-looking in the morning, but I decided that it was time for me to leave. I got up and put my pants back on. I walked over towards the window and looked outside. I had no idea where I was, so I walked over to “Bunny” and woke her up.

“Hey, I have to leave. I’ve got to get to work.” I told her. It was true. I did need to get to work, eventually.

“Okay.” She said.

“No, you don’t understand. I don’t know where I am. I need you to take me back to the bar. I can get to work from there.”

“Okay, just give me a second.” She got up and went into the bathroom. I put my shirt and shoes back on. I waited for her in the kitchen. She came out dressed and ready to go. We both went downstairs and into her car, it was a Rav4 or something like that, some small Japanese piece of shit. The ride back was a bit awkward since we had very little to talk about. Luckily, in no time at all we arrived back in front of Larry’s.

“Should we exchange numbers?” She asked me.

“We could.”

“Are you going to call me?”

“Probably not.”

“I feel so used.” She said.

“Well then, you should be happy. Many people live long lives without ever being useful.” I said to her right before I gave her a kiss and stepped out of the car.

I told you this story for two reasons. One is so that you would know exactly why I was walking back home in a drunken stupor and why my mind was working the way it was on the day I made the decision that I did. The second reason that I told you that story is because I don’t know if anything like that will ever happen to me again.