that's what i'm talking about

by bofa xesjum

sometimes i think i would like to go far away - far away, where no one has ever gone before. how about you? i bet you would like to go far away too. wouldn’t you? wouldn’t you like to be anybody else except who you are? wouldn’t you like to wake up in the morning, not to your miserable room in the city that you probably have to share with somebody - your boring wife and your whining demanding kids - and wake up instead to a glittering desert in a distant galaxy with a ruby-turreted kingdom shimmering on the horizon, just waiting for you to conquer it? wouldn’t you rather be walking down a dark street in a mysterious city, mysterious as all hell yourself, in a black cape and a top hat and swinging a gold-headed walking stick, and the most beautiful woman in the universe appears out of the shadows and asks you to please help her? wouldn’t you rather do that than get on the bus and go to your job across town stocking the shelves of a supermarket with jars of peanut butter and family size bags of potato chips? what was that? you wouldn’t like that at all? well, excuse me, i was just trying to be friendly. say what? you are grateful that you are married to the most wonderful woman in the world and you have three wonderful children that you could not be prouder of? well, that’s great , brother. adam is gong to play second base in little league this year. and clara just got braces - she doesn’t like them, but she is being a trooper about it. and jenny - that’s your wife - she does a great job with the kids even wth all her allergies. i like it. that’s all good, my man. but that is enough about you, let’s talk about me. i knew when i was born that i was different, that i wasn’t going to be just another schmuck. i made the football team. i was going to be the quarterback on the football team. i beat out the mayor’s son , but the mayor called the coach and you can just guess what happened next. can you believe that shit? but that’s life for you. later that night, me and my gang - i had a gang, a couple of guys who did everything i told them to - went out and got completely shitfaced. we were walking down by the river. tony - he was my number one lieutenant - fell flat on his face in the mud. he was just lying there. i said to him, tony, you asshole, get up, you are not fooling anybody - suddenly a great light filled the sky- it was a fucking spaceship. it was me they wanted, not tony or buster. so i got in and they took me away. they took me to this planet, and hey had this war going on. the war had been going on for a million years. there were two sides - i couldn’t pronounce their names. the assholes versus the dickheads, or some shit. i called them the yankees and the red sox. both sides had tried everything. dragons, death rays, flying saucers, ten thousand megaton bombs, you name it. but neither side could break through. finally the empress of the yankees and the empress of the red sox got together and agreed on one final battle to settle things once and for all. each of them would search through the whole universe for a gladiator, a champion, to meet in the arena and may the best man win. the empress of the yankees found me before the empress of the red sox did, so i was her champion and i took care of her business in more ways than one, as you might guess. the empress of the red sox came up with this character from mars or someplace and he weighed about six hundred pounds and looked like a combination forklift and octopus. but he was no match for me and i whipped that lonesome cowboy without taking a deep breath. i went through his sorry ass like patton going through berlin into russia. so i won the war for the yankees and as you can well imagine there was a big parade and a lot of singing and dancing and a good time was had by all, now you might think the story ended there, but my troubles were only beginning. the empress of the yankees had this pretty boy who had been her bodyguard but he had weaseled out of getting in the arena with the red sox guy and naturally the empress of the yankees was ready to show me her sincere appreciation. so the pretty boy bodyguard who also had some name i couldn’t pronounce but i called him meatball champagne, he was jealous and he got in with some of the yankee and red sox politicians who were dicking around with so called peace talks and he got a knife into my back and so here i am back on good old planet earth where i have not exactly had a hero’s welcome, let me tell you, because that’s what i am talking about. well, my friend, i see i am starting to bore you, so i bid you good day. i hope your little girl gets to like her braces better. i am sorry you could not see your way to helping a guy out, but you know your own priorities best. have a nice day.

red lights

by bofa xesjum

henry watched the red tail lights of the el dorado disappear into the desert. for the hundredth time. he was about ready to give up. irma and jerry had been messing wth him for a long time now. ever since he had first met irma. at the bus stop in grande platte nebraska. henry had been sitting on the bench at the bus stop reading a book he had forgotten to return to the library in akron ohio. the book was titled “astrophysics and you: the key to unlocking your dominant personality”. the author’s name was given as dr lee watijoski, but as there was no picture of dr lee on the book’s dust jacket, how did henry know thar dr lee watijoski even existed? the book was not very interesting, and henry wished he had a different one. he did not know how long he had to wait for the bus. he was not that familiar with grand platte nebraska and its ways. a young woman came along and sat down on the bench beside henry. she was not bad looking. henry was mildly amazed by this, as in his experience strangers never sat down together on public benches even if there was room to do so, because they just didn’t. he was not exactly scandalized, because the word “scandalized” was not included in his vocabulary and he no idea of the concept of being “scandalized.” henry thought the young woman might want to pick his pocket, and he felt reassured that his wallet was in his right back pocket, and that she was seated on his left. “is that an interesting book?” the young woman asked. henry was more sure than ever that she wanted to rob him, and he wiggled a bit on the bench to feel the wallet secure in his back pocket. aloud he said, “no, not very”, and looked directly at the young woman because that was the polite thing to do. “then why are you reading it?” “what are you doing talking to my girl, asshole?” henry looked up and that was how he met jerry. “do you know what general curtis lemay said?” jerry asked henry. “about war?” henry never liked to admit he did not know any particular thing - any fact, any date, any quotation, or that he had never read any particular book or seen any particular movie or heard of any particular person. so he said “um - i’m not sure i remember.” “general curtis ‘bombs away’ lemay said. ‘let me tell you about war - you kill the other guy. you kill him and kill him and kill him until he doesn’t want to be killed any more.’ henry was bewildered. “so?’ he asked. “are you going to kill me?” “no, asshole. but i am going to fuck with you. i am going to fuck wth you and fuck with you and fuck with you until you don’t want to be fucked with any more.” “but i don’t wan’t to be fucked with now,” henry said. “so you can save yourself the trouble.” jerry laughed as if that was the funniest thing he ever heard. “i don’t think so. you are not getting off as easy as that, my man.” and that was how it all began. * henry watched the red lights of the plane disappear over the desert. for the hundred and first time. irma and jerry were on the plane, along with henry’s wallet, and a document henry had signed, signing over all his present and future assets to irma and jerry, and which was safely in irma’s tigerskin handbag. were they finally through with him? “i have something to give you, “ a voice behind him said. he turned, and there was irma’s twin sister. henry had met her many times before, always with a different name - sandi or geraldine or eve or delilah or jezebel or cleopatra or joan of arc or annie get your gun or whatever. what did she want this time? “i have a word for you,” irma’s twin sister said . “the magic word. do you want to hear it?” “why not?” henry answered. “what do i have to lose?” “the word is - persimmon.” “i don’t even know what a persimmon is.” “try to remember it anyway.”

the reprieve

by bofa xesjum

please don't do this,” joey pleaded. “please don’t do this? why shouldn’t i do whatever i want to you, you snivelling, whimpering little piece of human garbage? after what you did to me? after the way you betrayed me, me and and the whole organization - the organization that has taken years to build? huh?” “please - i beg of you - don’t do this. give me one more chance - one more chance and i will do anything.” “anything, huh? what do you think, eddie? should i give this shmuck another chance?” “it’s all the same to me, al. you can give him another chance, or ten more chances, as far as i am concerned.” “all right, then, i will give him another chance. but if he fucks up it will be on you.” “hey, hey - i didn’t say anything about that - “ “ha, ha. just kidding. it won’t be on you, but i want you to drive this schmuck to where he has to go.” eddie shrugged. “whatever.” al reached into his desk and took out a little red envelope. it looked like the kind of envelope a birthday card or a christmas card would be mailed in. he showed the envelope to joey. “all right, loser. i want you to personally deliver this envelope to the door of the place eddie will take you. make sure somebody answers the door and hand it them, you think you can handle that?” “sure. al, sure. you can count on me.” “spare me. just do it.” “and where am i taking him?” eddie asked. al took out his phone. “i’ll text you the sddress.” “all right.” eddie nodded to joey. “let’s go.” al gave joey the red envelope. there was nothing written on the outside of it and it was sealed tight. they got into eddie’s black toyota and eddie, after consulting his phone with al’s directions, drove up to the north side. they passed the city line and entered the leafy green suburbs. neither of them spoke. the area and the houses were nicer, nicer than joey had ever seen in his life except on tv and in the movies. eddie drove down a really small little curved side street with lots of big trees. they stopped in front of a house. the house was not that big. there were tables set up on the lawn, and children were sitting at the tables or just running around. it looked like they were having a birthday party or something. eddie drove off! joey took a deep breath and approached the house. the children did not seem to pay any attention to him. he rang the doorbell. after about twelve seconds, when he was just about to ring again, the door opened and a young woman appeared. she was wearing a maid’s uniform, just like in the movies. joey showed her the red envelope. “i -uh - have this for … for…” the maid gave him a big smile. “oh, of course! won’t you come in, please.” joey followed her inside and she closed the door behind him. he was never seen again.

the cabin

by bofa xesjum

"go ahead and scream. no one can hear you." with a sigh, francine put the book down. she was ready to give up. if she was going to find a way to relax in the cabin through the week, it was going to be by doing something other than reading a good book. or going outside for a walk in the woods, at least until the howling blizzard that had been raging since she arrived on sunday night, finally stopped. for the thirty-third time she wondered how she could have forgotten to bring the suitcase she had packed which included the books she had taken out of the library, for the express purpose of reading them in the cabin . she had gone to the library and asked the librarian for some really long books to read. the librarian had started to recommend ‘the anatomy of melancholy” by robert burton, but francine had interrupted her and told her she only wanted to read books by women. the librarian had then recommended “atlas shrugged’ and “the fountainhead” by ayn rand, but francine had already read both books twice. they were her favorite books. in the end she had taken “the tale of genji” by lady murasaki, “the making of americans” by gertrude stein, a historical romance called “the sun is my undoing” by marguerite steen (which the librarian had especially recommended) and “miss mackintosh, my darling,” by marguerite young. all to no purpose, as the suitcase with them all in it had somehow been left behind. the owner of the cabin, or maybe another renter or caretaker, had left some books behind. one of the books was a well worn paperback of “how to win friends and influence people,” by dale carnegie. another was “think and grow rich,” by napoleon hill. all the others were cheaply printed novels labeled as “horror’. but the “horror” all seemed to be the same in every book. the horror of a young woman being kidnapped by a creepy guy, and then being slowly tortured and murdered and dismembered by the creepy guy, in order to pay for the sin of all womankind in not having sex with the creepy guy. none of the books were exactly masterpieces of distinguished prose, or likely to win the nobel prize for literature any time soon. francine decided to look around the cabin one more time, to see if she could find some paper to write something on herself. she had already searched twice, but the cabin was pretty cluttered, so she decided to really look this time, even under some of the gross looking debris. outside, the wind began to literally howl, louder than ever. at least the cabin had proved tight so far, with no snow actually coming in under the windows or doors. actually windows or door, singular. one of the first things francine had noticed was that there was only one door. it looked like there were no fire codes up here on the mountaintop. there was a pile of junk on and under a table in a corner. the table had held a lamp that francine had moved to the center of the room on the first night. she had only taken a quick poke through the junk. now she decided to drag it all out into the room and take a closer look at it. she had a pair of rubber gloves and she put them on and spread the stuff on the floor. it seemed to be mostly rags, a few bottles and broken dishes, all of it dusty but not grossly dirty or scummy. she felt something a little heavier under a rag and pulled it out. it was white - a piece of a dish or bowl ? she looked a little closer. it was a bone. it didn’t look like a bone you would see on a plate from eating turkey or chicken. it was - who knew what it was? she wasn’t a med student. aha! what looked like a couple of school notebooks! just what she was looking for, if they were not filled up. she took one and blew the dust off it. she opened it - the pages were a little stuck together but opened easy enough. there was writing, in medium sized capital letters - “go ahead and scream,” francine read. “no one can hear you.” suddenly there was a knocking on the door, just loud enough to hear over the wind…

the loser, part 2

by bofa xesjum

part two of two

to read part one, click here

very soon, jeremy thought, as he walked down the dirt road, i will come to an abandoned farmhouse, or an old mansion with bats flying overhead. i should move quicker than this, i am not getting anywhere. an undercurrent of dread whispered through the dark trees. dennis hopper, peter fonda, and bruce dern were waiting on the porch of the old mansion. their bikes were parked in front, gleaming in the moonlight. in the moonlight, in the nmoinlight, strange creatures in the underbrush in the moonloght… peter fonda looked at jeremy with his werewolf eyes. all they all ever wanted was to be free… pull yourself together, man, we got work to do tonight… before this night is over, the human race will be saved, or be enslaved forever. down by the river, the green lights of the spaceships were starting to blink on. how did the assholes who run the world ever let it come to this pass? fortunately, there a still a few guys who are willing to stand up, not just to roll over for the invaders… you, what are you looking at it? are you going to ride with us or not? peter fonda and bruce dern and dennis hopper all stood up. it was time. the invaders wouldn’t be getting no virgins. silence descended on the earth. let the dogs out… o say can you see, by the dawn’s early light… peter fonda, dennis hopper, and bruce dern kicked it into gear and headed on down to the river. jeremy found himself seated between walter brennan and jack nicholson in a pickup truck trying to follow right behind them… “those dang fools just can’t wait to mix it up with alvin,” walter brennan muttered as he gripped the wheel. “alvin is the all-purpose name the guys give the alien invaders”, jack nicholson explained to jeremy, “like charlie for the viet cong.” “i knew that,” jeremy replied. they came to the river. the shit went down. because who are you going to count on when the aliens land - the candyasses with their hornrimmed glasses sitting in their air-conditioned offices getting calls from their wives making sure they donated to greenpeace, the coke-sniffing wombats in the united nations bleating about global warming - or the guys you spit on, that you don’t want your daughter living on the same planet with, the scum of the earth, the jailbirds, the losers… until you need them… the losers… jeremy woke up. the last credits of the movie - he didn’t know which one… were scrolling down the screen. the lights came on, but not very bright. his pepsi was sitting in the holder beside him. he took a sip and it was watery and warm. one of the boxes of sno-caps had spilled in his lap, and the could feel the other in his pocket jabbing into his riight leg, which was asleep. there seemed to be no other persons in the auditorium, , the same as when the movie started. it was quiet, with even the screen being quiet as it scrolled the endless credits about wardrobe assistants and cafeteria assistants and whatever. where was the owner - the 1974 mafia man? suddenly jeremy was afraid he might get locked into the theater overnight. he jumped to his feet, spilling the sno caps on the floor. he grabbed the pepsi - disgusting as it was, he had paid for it and he was going to drink it. he got safely outside the building, without seeing the mafia man or anybody else. he took a deep breath of the night air. and then, he noticed across the street - the sheriff’s car. it’s revolving red roof light was off, but leaning against the car were sheriff john agar, and deputy doug mcclure. “the game is over,” sheriff john agar told jeremy, “and you lost it.” the rear door of the sheriff’s car opened, and mayor vincent price stepped out of it. “that’s right,’ he said, glaring at jeremy, “and it was a good game until you came along.” the end

the loser, part 1

by bofa xesjum

part one of two

they came out of the night like wild stallions on coke, like hopped up vultures desperate for a last meal! jeremy laughed out loud with delight as he read the words on the poster outside the movie theater, describing the main feature “the last choppers”. a smaller poster underneath it announced the second feature, “last stand of the losers”. although the poster had no pictures and did not describe it, jeremy knew that it , too, was a biker flick. “ha ha, this looks great!” jeremy exlaimed. “the right stuff, for real.” “i don’t think so, “ ona said, squinting with her little eyes at the poster, which had lots of bright reds and yellows against a black background, and was dominated by a long-haired wrap-around shaded biker holding an enormous pistol that was belching out a volcano of green-tinted fire at whatever. a babe with perfectly round boobs and swirling blonde hair gripped the biker’s shoulder and peered over at it into the eyes of the beholder of the poster. “this isn’t for me,” ona repeated. “maybe not, but it’s what we are going to see,” jeremy asserted. “sorry, i pass.” “pass! what do you mean, you pass? you promised! you promised! i went to see the remake of harry met sally with you! you promised !” “yes, but i am breaking my promise. i’m not watching this shit.” “you bitch! you fucking bitch! you promised! you promised, you lying fucking bitch!” an older couple, dressed for the beach, who had stopped to look at the poster, were watching the scene and smirking. but as jeremy lost it and kept shouting, the man took a step forward. “look here, fellow, that is enough of that. i think you have crossed a line here into disturbing the peace, and creating a hostile environment.” “yes, shut up, you little misogynist creep,” the woman added. “or i will summon the constabulary.” she waved a tiny phone at jeremy. “ i think this young woman has suffered quite enough abuse.” ona laughed. “fuck this. i am out of here.” she turned and started walking away, toward the beach, which was about half a mile away. jeremy was speechless, but only for a few seconds. “who the fuck are you, you yuppie dickwads, to tell me what do with my life? why don’t you go back - go back to -“ jeremy had no idea where the couple might be from - new york? russia? san francisco? - “to capistrano” suddenly popped into his head - and he said “to capistrano.” this made the woman laugh. “all right, little man, we’ll go back to capistrano. come on, ralph, let’s get out of here.” “yes, dear. i don’t think the cinematic experience promised here would have been too exhiliarating anyway.” they passed jeremy with their noses in the air. and they, too, headed in the direction of the beach. jeremy was left alone. he started to cry. “what the fuck was all the noise here? huh?” jeremy recognized the guy who ran the little theater and who was probably the owner. he looked like he stepped out of a fifth-rate mafia movie from 1974. “you scaring away my customers, big guy?” “i wasn’t scaring anybody, “ jeremy sniffled. “i can believe that. you want to buy a ticket? see the show? it starts in five minutes.” “yeah, i’ll see the show. i got nothing better to do.” “then come on in, make yourself at home. not too full a house tonight, you got plenty of room to spread out, maybe loosen your belt and buy something to eat while you watch the show, what do you say?” jeremy followed the 1974 mafia man into the theater. the mafia man sold jeremy a ticket and then went behind the little refreshment counter. jeremy decided to splurge. fuck his diet, and fuck dr wilson, and fuck healthy living. he would get a large pepsi - a real pepsi, not diet, and not one, but two big boxes of sno-caps. that’s good, the man told him, a man’s got to eat, keep his strength up. jeremy took the pepsi and the boxes of sno-caps and went into the auditorium. it was dark, but not so dark that he couldn’t see. it looked like he was the only patron. the previews started to play. loud, but not nearly as loud as at the megaplexes downtown and out in the big mall. part 2