December 21st, 2009

benpeek

Keep Your Pants On, Please

Keep Your Pants On, Please

Day Six




Hey.


Hey.

There beer in the fridge?


What, you come over just to drink my beer?

Pretty much.


I should never have started making my own.

Think of it as a compliment to your use of apple.


That'd be nice if I used apple.

You don't?


Nah.

Well.

Fuck.

I always thought you used apple.

Cricket?


They're playing in W.A. so we get it prime time.

Sweet.

The West Indies winning?


Nah.

They looked good until about an hour ago, but it's all Australia now. Ricky Ponting was injured and I did have hope that they would say that he needed to have his arm amputated, but no such luck, since he's out there doing his thing. I was just reading and waiting till the end.

How was work?


Naked.


Naked?

Yeah, naked.

But not good naked.

No, sir. It was all kinds of bad naked.


How does a guy working in a supermarket have a bad naked day at work?

Try a middle aged thief who just out of jail who is drunk as fuck.

And naked.


That sounds romantic.

Fuck you.


Oh, I'm fairly sure it's not me whose in line for a fuckin'.

Fuck you.

We caught this dude as he was walking through the story, shoving cans and fruit down his pants. I took him into the back office and confronted him.


You could like smell the alcohol on the dude a mile away. He just stood there, too, saying 'I don't know what you're talking about,' and 'I never stole nothing in my entire life' until suddenly he's shouting, You wanna strip search me, fine!'


Man, this is romantic.

He screamed out--top of his fucking lungs, full ball scream--'I been to jail, I be raped, but I'll take my clothes off for you!'

And then off comes his shirt.


All I need to do is insert witty comments, don't I?

Then the pants.

Everything was just free balling then.


Haha.

Don't laugh. It was painful.

He stood there in the middle of the office, ugly naked, and screamed, 'I didn't take nothing!' Meanwhile, there's all these cans and shit around him that fell out of his pants, and he is completely oblivious to it. It might as well be like they don't exist.


What'd you do?

Tried to get him to put his pants back the fuck on, that's what. I didn't care about what he'd taken by then, all I cared about was that all the staff had started to come round to look through the door while a really ugly man with those watery jail house tats stood naked in my office and screamed how he was innocent and how he'd been raped in prison and I could do anything I wanted to him.

I mean, if only he'd been a cute girl.


Because then it would be romantic, right?

Absolutely.


And afterwards, when she'd sobered up, she could find you and tell you how understanding you had been, and how she admired you for only taking advantage of her just a little bit, and how it was the best time and the most feminine she had ever felt, and oh, could you marry her and rescue her from this tower she lived in?

Except, you know, when she was drunk and stealing and naked.


Dude, it's like you read my mind.


I'm thinking of taking up a career in romance writing, it's true.

Are you sure you don't use apples in this beer?


Yeah.

I swear I can taste it.


That's just naked man you can taste.

Fuck.

If I'd known it tasted like apple, maybe I would've had my way with the ugly fuck.



(The 12 Days of Christmas, day six. I wrote this a couple of hours ago, then went and lay on the couch and fell asleep. So I'm not late, it's your imagination. Also, you can thank Cas for this one.)

(crossposted)
benpeek

The List (Day 5)

The List

(Day Five)



I got another.

Yeah?


Brittany Murphy.

Heart attack.


...

Really?


Totally.

Update the List.


This isn't like that Elli Wallach thing, is it?


Look, how many times do I have to say this, I thought I saw a notification of his death. Swear to god.

I just--just hold for a sec while I check this out.


Sure.

...


...

...


How's work?

Ah, you know, the end of the year. I don't even know why I came in today, it's just abuse.


Just tell them that they can have a place on your list.

I can just see it now, 'I know you rented a car, I know you haven't paid for it, look, do you want to join Eartha Kitt on my list, bitch!'

And, oh, hey, you're right.

Heart attack.

She was 32.


Did you see the bit about a husband not wanting an autopsy?

Yeah. Drugs or something I would say.


It's kinda sad.

She was alright in some of her films.


I dunno. The emotional year kinda peaked for me in March when Andy Hallett died.


The dude from that TV show?

Yeah, Angel. He was so yummy.


See, that's just personal bits. I mean, as sad as its going to be to here myself say this, the year was really defined by Michael Jackson, Patrick Swayze and David Carradine.

There were better ones.


Yeah, but come on--the Jackson had a funeral on TV where little boys stood over his coffin and cried.

People forgot all about the child sex stuff and the many, many locks on his bedroom door.


I'm not saying that it wasn't an event. I'm just saying, in the long run, who cared?


I kinda felt something for Swayze. He was so public and seemed so nice and--

And he had a good publicist who used it for one last career revival.


You're such a cynic.

I prefer realist.

But if I had to pick out of some so far, it would be hard to pass up the Canadian singer who was torn apart by coyotes.

Taylor Mitchell.

That was her name.


I still got my doubts about that--like, I thought coyotes were shy and weren't up for attacking hikers on public trails.

Well, she might've done something, who knows. But she was nineteen.


It's the age?

Yeah. Nineteen. You remember what that was like: you thought you know how shit was suppose to work out, how it was all suppose to pull together, and you couldn't for a moment think of all the awful things that would happen.


Like being killed by coyotes.

Like being killed by coyotes, yes.

But there was also Karl Malden.


He wasn't very tragic, though. Just age got to him.

That makes it any less meaningful?


It's not really what I look for. People like Malden don't have spectacle in them.

I mean, I thought JG Ballard dying was terribly sad, because I loved his books, ever since the Drowned World--


And you hassle me for Angel.


--But there wasn't much of an event to it.

David Carradine, however.


The lady boy hooker assassination plot?


Tell me it wasn't awesome?

Lorraine even made those cookies after he died. Guaranteed to Choke You, she called them.


...


...

...


...

Oh, alright. I admit it. It was awesome!

Dying while masturbating is one thing, but to die while wearing a wig and a dress and to then have your family and friends come out and say that Kung Fu cults have organised it with transexual hookers... there really is no way to top that.


That's the year right there.

Yeah--

Oh, shit, the boss is looking at me. I gotta get going, okay?


Take care, dear. I'll see you Wednesday night for the List meeting.

Be sure to tell the other girls about Brittany!


Will do!

Bye!


Bye!


(The 12 Days of Christmas has been going for a while now. Hows my driving? Don't tell me. I think I ran over your dog.)

(crossposted)