Untitled

*Another attempt at something that went nowhere*

When Visible entered the saloon he knew he was asking for trouble. He walked quickly to the back of the establishment, the whole time hiding his face under his wide brim hat. The back corner was dark so he raised his hat a little, in time to see a whore approaching his table. She sits, leans back in her chair and raises her skirts to reveal stocking’d legs.

“Fancy ‘a swig an’ a poke Mista?”

“I’m expecting someone.”

“Sorry Mista, I ain’st be doin’ two’s ya.”

“Well that’s fine. I don’t fancy a poke.”

“Shame, me cunny’s real slick fer ya.”

Visible reaches out with his gloved hand and touches the whore’s knee.

“I think you’re right, why don’t you go grab a whiskey for me. I’ll toss it back we’ll see what happens next.”

The whore stands and goes to the bar. Visible removes his hat and places it on the table. Pulls his long jet black hair into a ponytail revealing his tattooed face. The whore returns with the whiskey. Stopping short of the table and dropping the glass to the floor. The crash brings the attention of two men at the bar. They approach the table. Visible stands and removes his shirt and gloves showing a tattooed torso to match his face.

The whore runs to the men who have drawn their pistols.

“Dat man da devil,” the whore exclaims.

The men remain speechless, only holding pistols at Visible and examining his tattooed body. They eyeball the intricate muscles that are painted into his arms, the heart that rests in the center of his chest enclosed in an armor of rib cage.

“What you is Mister?” one of the drunkards asks.

“I’m just a man trying to meet someone. I didn’t want trouble till you brought it amongst yourselves. I would appreciate it if I sit here in peace until my company arrives.”

The other drunkards speaks. “Well you done fucked that up ain’t ya son. We don’t take kindly to freaks or demons here. You see we God fearin’ people. We ain’t gots no use for your devils. No you leave or we’s make you leave.”

A man speaks from behind the drunkards.

“I think my partner has just the same right as any of you fine gentlemen to sit, enjoy a drink, await his company and leave. Now, if you have a problem with him, well, then I’m sorry to say it, you have a problem with me. I have a nasty habit of solvin’ my problems, just can’t let that rest on my conscious.”

A gun cocks followed by the releasing of steam. The drunkards turn to face the man behind them. He is hold a short barreled shotgun that has been modified with a tube at the top that is releasing a puff of steam. A ticking sound can heard and gears are at work beside the trigger.

“Vis, grab your gear, I think we have had all the hospitality we can take today.”

Visible replaces his shirt, gloves and hat then joins the side of the armed man. They back towards the door, the steam gun still pointed at the drunkards. They are about to exit when a giant black bird flys in from behind them and lands on the bar.

Charlie, the man with the steam gun, draws his attention to the bird.

“Well, this changes everything now don’t it,” he says.

A gunshot rings out from behind the bar.

“Get the fuck out or I’ll bleed you out,” the bartender yells at the two strangers and bringing the pistol down to point in their direction.

“Or not,” Charlie pulls the trigger of the steam gun. A loud roar emits and a mix of gunshot and force spews from the barrel. The two drunkards, the whore and the barman are all but disintegrated. Charlie and Visible use this distraction to run out the doorway.

They climb onto the backs oif the horses they arrived on head through the town with much haste. Visible looks back at the bar, a black cloud had begun to stream out.

“Charlie, look,” yells Visible.

Charlie looks back to see the cloud breaking up into individual black birds.

“Shit. Crows.”

He raises the steam gun and points it to the cloud and pulls the trigger. The same emission spews forth cutting a hole into the cloud and littering the ground black.

“Vis, just go, don’t look back.”

Something Sick For the Rest of You

“Watch this…Hey Johnson!”

“Yeah?”

“You go to baby molesters anonymous yet?”

“It was a one-time thing!”

“Sure.”

“What was that all about?”

“Johnson molested some like twelve year old or something, thinks because he only did it once and has not done it again, yet, that he’s fit to be a normal everyday ding-dong how do you do citizen of the free world.”

“Doesn’t he have to register or something?”

“Yeah, had to go door to door telling everyone how he’s a sick fucker with a lust fer yungin’s. However, he adds how it was a sick disease that has been cured by a newfound love fer the lord above, like that’s a saving grace. I mean shit, like a holy man has never touched a yungin.”

“I just don’t get it, how can this be tolerated?”

“What?”

“That that ped is in here eating, drinking, look he’s chatting it up with that guy, someone’s father, I mean that dude’s got a kid…”

“Maybe he’s buttering him up, few more drinks he’s thinking, few more drinks and his son’ll be all mine, maniacal laugh.”

“I’m being serious, why isn’t there…, what am I saying? How is it that that fuck is drinking with us, not drinking with us in the literal sense, but in the same vicinity, the same building, the same continent that isn’t overrun with cannibals, which doesn’t matter because cannibals have more class than to eat a ped.”

“On the other hand, maybe cannibals don’t have that much class, maybe it’s that they think if they eat a ped than they will absorb that ped’s soul and become a freakin’ ped themselves.”

“Or maybe they don’t wanna eat some dude who has a twelve year old’s cum in their stomach.”

“That’s pushing this conversation a little too far.”

“Look, I don’t want to have this freakin’ conversation. We wouldn’t be having this conversation if the world we lived in would punish those who deserved it.”

“You mean Johnson.”

“Fuck yeah I mean Johnson. He should be in jail getting fucked in the ass by some spic drug runner.”

“Are you holding back something? Are there some repressed feelings at work here? Was there a family member that was just a little too friendly when you were a wee one?”

“No, I wasn’t molested as a child. This is just a matter of decency. We live in a world that worries too much about what might happen and forgets about what has happened. We’ll make up a war to prevent something from happening, but we’ll release criminals who have committed acts of cruelty amongst our fellow man. And they’re not reformed. As soon as they get out they look fer that next child to touch, that next lady to force themselves upon, that next homosexual to beat three inches from death. There’s a difference between thinking something and committing something. You can think all you want to. It’s just a thought. People think all the time about killing that hateful boss. But it never comes to fruition. But committing that act, there’s no going back. You’ve tested those waters and the swimming’s a good time you’ve never experienced before. And believe me there will come a time when the water gets just a little too tempting, be it a hot day or you’re just looking fer some exercise. But you’ll jump in and swim till your heart’s content.”

“Well since you’re mister high and mighty go do something about it. You can talk the talk, it is just talk right? But can you make a difference? If you’re gonna sit here and blabber this is bad, this is not the way it should be and shit. Stand up! Fight fer your rights! Show the world that you are one hundred percent male. That you eat pussy fer a reason, so it doesn’t eat you.”

“This isn’t a joke.”

“I’m not fucking laughing Nicholas.”

“Then what the hell are you saying?”

“I’m saying you’re no different from anyone else. You have this, let’s call it a map, a topographical map, and in the valleys are the indigents of the world, the criminals, the “gangsta” blacks, hell maybe all the blacks. In the plains you have the Mexicans, cause your white ass isn’t gonna plow the fields. On the hills, you have the Asians, you don’t care if they live or die, you just want to fuck their women. Last of all you have the all mighty white man, standing tall on the highest of peaks, not a care in the world except those rare times you have to venture to the valley. You do live in that paranoid world where all black men are gonna rape a white woman, right? I’ve seen you, a black man passes you by, you grab your ass making sure your wallet’s still there.”

“What are you getting at?”

“You wanna talk shit, say that person’s bad for this and that reason. However, you don’t see. You’re a scared little turtle; you’ll come out of your shell to badmouth someone to your friends. You can’t speak your mind when they’re around, no, at that moment you’re pissing your pants with your mouth clamped shut.”

“None of this matters anymore. Look, he’s leaving. We can go back to our normal lives.”

“If that’s what you want to do. Go on with your normal life little turtle. Just think that in the time it took us to have this conversation you could’ve done something. But instead you wanted to sit here arguing with me about who knows what.”

“Whatever. One more drink and of I’m out of here.”

“Goodnight little turtle.”

2

Bootie Who

*This is something I started working on but never finished*

“Just look at all of them, they’re everywhere. And…and one day we’ll be like that, so ancient, so frail, so transparent…”

“So oblivious to the world surrounding us,” Tommy cuts in.

“Exactly, we’ll know what everything is; technology, sex, we’ll just forget what to do with it.”

“It’s not that we forget what to do with it, I think we want to forget because those tools of the trade just don’t work anymore: erectile dysfunction, senility.”

“Osteoporosis…”

“Huh?”

“You know, loss of bone density…no, doesn’t ring a bell?”

“I know what fucking osteoporosis is. It just has no relevance.”

“It has relevance. It’s something we have, bone density, and with age we lose, just like with sexual functionality.”

And it pretty much stayed like this for the rest of the day. Tommy and I sipping java, eating coffee cakes and discussing our worries about the years to come. That was how my day went. My night is a completely different story. It started on my walk home.

On the many a nights that I make the trek from the quaint coffee house, three blocks to my apartment I usually occupy my time whistling a tune. Be it a one hit wonder from the eighties or current tune being played on the rock radio stations, it is whistled loud and proud from these two lips. On this hazy, damp night, I had chosen Queen’s Bohemian Rhapsody to help make the excursion fly by. (For I had just rented the new Mark Paul Gosselaar movie and I couldn’t wait to see if he had chosen a role that would revitalize his career and shut up the naysayers who believe that Zack Morris is all that he’ll ever be. I know your saying to yourself, “He was in NYPD Blue. Didn’t that shed his Zack Morris innocence?” No, it did not.)

Just as I’m rounding the corner and approaching the stairs leading into my apartment building I come to the last bars of Freddie Mercury’s masterpiece.

“A great choice,” I whisper to myself as I climb the stairs and journey into number 133.

Once inside I hang my keys on the key hanger I made in shop as a high schooler, immediately walk to the phone, and check for messages. There is one; I push the button and out of the tiny speaker, I hear my sister’s annoyingly fake yankee accent.

Hey Les, my cah broke down this mahnin’ and I have this really hawt date tonight. So, I have two favahs ta ask, one, can I bahrow ya cah tonight, and second can you watch little Hilary while I’m gone? I’ll owe ya big. Call me back, love ya.”