RAMON’S TABLE AND THE INTRO TO CYBORG WHORES

Ramon had finished reading another book and he was staring at it as it was lying on the second hand, yet chic, coffee table. The coffee table was deep brown with heavy iron claw-like legs. One side had been cracked during a wild party when Angelitas and Maribel decided to use said coffee table for dancing instead of coffee drinking.

Although the coffee table was a bit scuffed and carried a few mental scars from the late night merriments in the Garcia household, the 3’ x 3’ table stood bravely and even organically on the hardwood floor.

Unbeknownst to Ramon, who purchased the table from the Salvation Army four years prior to this writing, the coffee table’s original owner was a German tailor who lived in San Francisco.

The old tailor’s name was Chico, as his parents were avid Marx Bros. fans from their days in vaudeville. Chico bought the table, brand new, from a furniture store on California Street. When Chico owned the table it was never used for coffee drinking or dancing. Chico used the table for its storage capacity as the table had 2 small doors on top, one on each side, which made it very convenient. The table was about 4 inches deep and Chico used it to store boxes of needles and thread along with the occasional dirty magazine that would usually be thrown away after Sunday sermons and then purchased again or fished out of the garbage around mid-week.

The deep brown table served Chico and his business well, not only was he nice to look at (apparently the table has become a male) he was indeed most useful and quite stealth.

When Chico closed his business many years later, he and his wife lifted up the big brown coffee table, placed on the Salvation Army truck and said a sad but inaudible goodbye.

The table was sad and did not understand why he was being tossed aside. He was nervous and uncomfortable on the long ride to the Salvation Army drop-off station and decided best to close his lids (per se) and take a nap.

So after his long journey, the big, deep brown coffee table sat or shall I say stood in the middle of the moldy smelling Salvation Army “showroom”. He stood near the microwaves, glassware, VCR tapes and VCR tape players. He tried to converse, unsuccessfully, with the numerous non-flat screen TVs abandoned by their owners and rubbed his iron elbows with shitty oil paintings and discarded lampshades. The table became jaded and joyless until Angelitas and Ramon purchased him 2 weeks later.

He was more than ready to leave. You must know, sweet readers, that the coffee table was steeped in German opera music and Neil Diamond records. He always remembered Chico’s accent and the soothing hum of the sewing machine motor.

The teenagers who worked at the Salvation Army talked too much and they talked too much about the most boring things…other teenagers. The music they played was both infantile and raunchy. Needless to say the old brown table was ready for a change of scenery.

The old, brown, iron-legged table had found a home with Ramon y Angelitas. He loved Ramon’s piano playing and singing. Angelita’s dance music and Italian crooner tunes made him happy again; he had found a home. The graffiti books and fictional paperbacks sat happily on the sturdy, yet opinionated, table’s head. All was well. All that being said and I may have said too much, the coffee table “really tied the room together”, for all you achievers out there.

As I was saying…

Ramon was staring at the book he just finished that was quietly lying on the table (which has been so eloquently detailed in a rather long-winded fashion).

The book was “Player Piano” by Mr. Kurt Vonnegut Jr. and it was lying on the table, dead. Ironically, just a few moments before said staring and meandering began, the book was alive in Ramon’s mind. The tale, crafted by that genius from Indiana, was about the role or roles that machines play in our daily lives.

Books of fiction lie, they are consummate liars and those of us who write poems, tall tales, and short tales and yes, even folktales are some of Earth’s best liars. Most writers of fiction do not lie like the politicians, to advance personal agendas and swollen campaign fund accounts.

Of course sweet reader I am using the words “lie” and “lying” quite liberally here to make a point.

Most of us writers are more storytellers than liars; we are more creators than fabricators.

Most of us writers are, unfortunately, mentally unstable, not in the way your table at the taqueira is unstable, more like the instability of Francium (Google it).

This fact has been well documented in psychology books, bar rooms and that digital demon also known as the world-wide-web.

Our relief is in the pen and the paper, reading and writing, and for some of us it is more than necessary, it is vital. (I am veering off on a white -dashed tangent, will be back soon).

Not that I am the type to sit in humid confessional booths spilling my guts to some creep who demands I call him “Father”. However, I do find a deep, comforting solace in letting the poison ooze from my pen covering my sins and insanity, if only for a spell.

For the sake of good taste and decency, I make it my practice to filter my vile thoughts and ideas before they land on the page. NOBODY, not even yours truly, wants to see, smell or taste the mind-vomit of a 21st century mad man in Chuck Taylor sneakers and Dickies pants. After all, we MUST strive to behave as human beings even though we are shackled to our failing flesh.

BACK TO RAMON…

Ramon’s body had been “lying” on the tan sofa for way too long; he had become a larger version of himself. As it has been said reading and writing do NOT make an Olympian. “You need to change something soon or you will die fat and young…so embarrassing!” said Ramon’s mind.

The mind went on to compose a doo-wop style song entitled “Fat and young” but we will not veer further off the SEX HOLE highway.

The mind continued, “ Are there not short stories that you could be working on?” “There are two books and a screenplay that need help” “How many of these projects will you begin and never finish?” “Are you one of these meth-head types who tear up bathrooms and hallways yet never complete the tasks at hand?”

“Hey! Lets finish that science fiction story you started back when you were 16 years old!”

Ramon’s body stayed on the couch looking confused.

The mind was beginning to idle quickly now, “The one about the Cyborgs you big dummy!”

Ramon’s face smiled and his long left arm reached out for the pen and pad. “Well…if I’m going to be “lying” around I do believe I’d be happier “lying” whilst lying.

And with that Ramon set out to finish a story that started 26 years prior in Uncle Rogelio’s loft. The name of the story was “Cyborg Whores”.

This is the story…

“Sector seven one zero, column blue, 10 GB of gospel tracks, 10GB of Life Application Bible Preaching, 10GB of Christian Living program 562”.

The cold garbled voice ran thru the main programming room in sector seven one zero.

“Man oh man…I thought that girl last night was human, boy oh boy was I wrong Hector…I do believe she had at least 15gigabytes of bull rider programming!”

Dante Hightower spoke like a boy telling lies at recess.

“Hector! Hector! Hey man did you hear what I said?” cried Dante.

“Yes Dante…I just don’t care”. Hector continued speaking looking Dante directly in his bloodshot eyeballs.

“Listen Mr. boy oh boy, we have serious work here and I think you just lost that last upload in column blue”

“Dante have you been smoking again? You know it’s illegal on the job, if they test you and you come up dirty, you are dead”.

Dante Hightower was a class two-bio plasm engineer. He went from a class two womb to a class two schoolroom. He was 100 percent human and therefore 100 percent fallible.

His vices were numerous; gambling, drinking, whore-mongering, pot smoking, sodomy, snorkeling, golf and Bingo. Dante, a slave to his desires, was an uncharacteristic class two human.

Nonetheless, Mr. Hightower was an outstanding engineer and was applauded on more than one occasion for his expertise in Cyborg biology.

On this afternoon, however, high on Northern California sativa, Dante accidentally uploaded at least 10 gigabytes of Life Application bible and the ability to “preach it brother” into a cyborg call girl.

 

These half human half robots could suck and fuck with the precision of a brain surgeon, with all the lust of a seasoned porn queen and were programmed with the stamina of a bona fide alcoholic. All cyborg dong lickers were programmed to please their clients and collect their pay by any and all means necessary.

Dante hatched the idea of programming the cyber-fuckers with 20GB of Kung Fu.

This eliminated pimps, made collection of cash much easier and streamlined the earth’s oldest profession.

Cyborg call girls were not programmed to cry or laugh. They were unbiased, without feelings or opinions on any particular subject.

All the half human half machine hookers were programmed this way…all but one.

Jessica King

“Verily verily….” she hummed to herself as she rode an old Vietnamese importer/exporter. At this particular moment, however, old Dong Hu was only interested in exporting end of his business.

She laid her pale white, diamond laden, sausage fingers on his transparent rice paper skin and he delivered his load, duty-free, directly into her porthole.

Jessica Kings’ porthole accepted any and all vessels with or without bill of lading assuming the trick had the cash. Dong had cash, a small marshmallow vessel and a most satisfying deliverance. Unfortunately for Mr. Hu, Jessica wasn’t finished. The cyber whore wasn’t interested in orgasm; she had bigger fish to fry.

 

 

Dante Hightower had just received his government marijuana and hash. Each month the O.G.G., One Globe Government, would sent every consenting citizen an ounce of OG, O.G.G. and a gram of OG, O.G.G. hash. Most citizens consented and used the OG O.G.G. and global peace and nonchalance reigned.

Alcoholics were a thing of the past, AA meetings were ancient history, their coffee stained teeth and good intentions left molding in the underbelly of modern society. All the “sponsors” were gone…. reformed, power tripping, higher power loving alcoholics who would light the weary pathway to the 12 steps.

Sadly enough the 12 steps were gone…. just a high flying memory, like a ragged, wind torn amerikkkan flag left on a broken concrete porch. All the female alcoholics were sober now so all the male alcoholics had no reason to attend meetings.

Alcohol was illegal and no longer produced, bottled, or devilishly marketed to the masses. Nobody got drunk because there was nothing to drink. No DUIs or DUI classes or jack off DUI class instructors. No more men slaughtering other men with 8500 pound SUVs because they were drunk at lunchtime.

Blackouts were blackballed.

Disgruntled and dissatisfied husbands and wives were without that magic elixir that hid their disgust and disdain like a giant gown made from martini olives and gin dust.

Sadly enough, no skinny acne faced college freshman would get laid at one those unoriginal beer soaked frat parties. Never more…. never more.

Those poor bastards in the beginning of the 2nd millennium A.D.; they had no government grass crutches to support their collective insomnia.

When the bill was passed that made alcohol illegal and was properly endorsed, sanctioned and enforced, there were millions of people with a mean case of the bends.

These people had no hash haven to run to, no Chocolate Thai to dip their frightened feet in, no OG for the DTs. They all had to kick at the same time…. what a delirious mess.

 

It is what it is…or was what it was… In any case, Dante had his “medicine” and was ready to tackle life once again.

 

Meanwhile…back at the King Cave….

 

“Dong…do you know what happens when you die?” Jessica queried.

The rebuttal programming waited like that proverbial snake in the tree. Mr. Hu was confused…”I’m gonna be dead man?”

“You are soooo smart Dong baby.” Jessica hissed.

“Do you think your soul will go to heaven or hell?”

She asked as she sprayed herself clean with Windex and Fabreezed her portal.

“I’m gonna be dead man?” Dongs confusion morphed into fear. The old man thought maybe she had poisoned him and his heart or brain might explode right then and there.

“I’m dying?” Dong muttered.

The Cyborg whore coldly comforted him, “No, no honey…. don’t be afraid…you’re not dying”.

She continued preaching.

“WHEN you die… will you go to heaven or hell?”

She buckled her boot and gave her lips a hotshot of collagen.

Jesse’s lips were always faulty from day one; a programming error by Mr. Hightower (emphasis on High). Jesse (her nickname used only by her regular bible believing clientele) and her loose lips originally designed for sucking and licking, were always getting her into trouble.

As it has been clearly stated, Jesse wasn’t a normal hoe, she preached the Word of God from those floppy lips. It has been said many a time from many a pulpit on many o’ Sunday that” the Word is sharper than any two edged sword!”

Jesse had girded her slushy teeth wrappers around Mr. Hu’s marshmallow less than 20 minutes ago and now her bright red lumpy pillowcases ushered the holy words of God into Dong’s brain like so many tardy moviegoers into an overcrowded sweaty theater house.

The combination of poor English comprehension and post coitus gospel preaching whirled and warbled thru his shrimp stick frame; his slim carcass bent like an old lamppost inhaled the foreign cocktail of brimstone and salvation.

Jessica continued…

“If you were to stand before God on judgment day you would be found guilty of Adultery!” Jessica yelled out from the bathroom as she pissed out 2 red bulls.

She wiped and walking straight from the un-flushed toilet to her black leather bag pulled out a giant, gold and silver studded bible.

“This! … She slapped the bible with her fatty hand (the bible didn’t like that too much) Mr. Dong Hu is what you will be judged by, not meeeee or Mrs. Hu or the guy down at the dock; the Word, Dong Hu. The Word will judge you and you will be separated from God and burn in Hell forever”.

Silence fell over the hotel room almost like a courtroom before a criminal receives his sentence. Jessica gargled with peppermint Listerine…”Gulllby…” She gurgled as she spit into the white hotel sink…”Guilty Dong!

“All have sinned and come short of the glory of God and the wages of sin is death….eternal hell fire!”

Dong knew pain and torture. Dong was found guilty of some other crime he knew nothing about many years ago. He was tortured for 15 years.

“At least my punishment had a beginning and an ending, thought Mr. Hu, this girl is talking forever”. He was no longer confused but still scared of hell and her endless fury.

Jessica continued…

“But there is good news my friend…the gospel message!” Dong stood up as straight as he could. He looked like a crooked hairless blue-blooded pedigree way past his dog show runway glory.

Jessica checked the mirror and looking at herself, dead- eyed, entered the final phase of her program. “God came to earth as a man over 3000 years ago and died for your sins Dong… mine too!” “He was a perfect sacrifice, the Lamb of God without spot or blemish, and He died on a wooden cross for your sins!”.

Dong smiled….”So I am NOT going to burn?”

“If you died right now, well, yes, you would burn for eternity BUT if you admit your guilt to God and pray with me you will escape the fires of Hades!”

Mr. Dong Hu smelled the stink of sales pitch (he heard it every day, not in the same manner but it smelled the same).

Since it was the only way out of the room and he was getting very hungry, Dong consented and they knelt by the bed still soiled with useless seed and prayed in the name of God’s seed for deliverance of Mr. Hu’s soul.

As Jessica prayed out loud holding Dong’s only good hand (the other had been bitten and disfigured in pre OGG Vietnam) Dong’s mind, preoccupied with hot soup lunch, prayed a silent prayer; to never ever have to pray again.

Hey folks it’s Limerick Time!!!

Jessica King….Jus suck a King…Jess Suck ing…

What an unfortunate name,

What iron knee in her frame.

She was made half steel that was the deal.

Then Dante programmed her wrong;

She started preaching instead of just sucking dong.

All the men were satisfied, horrified and saved.

They got the gospel message when they were just trying to get laid.

 

She called her BFF.

Jessica: Praise God! Another soul saved…1500 credits on my RF chip…going to lunch!

Amy: Praise Jesus…I am just really going thru it Jessica…. I feel so bad about last night…We should have kicked that jerk’s head off…he needed the Lord…

Jessica: It is what it is….

Amy: I knew when I sat on his face that he would not receive the truth, like…he had that face you know? Like he was too smart for us or something.

Jessica: Yeah…. he was too smart for his own goodnesses

Amy: I love to hear you talk Jess you are so much smarter than me.

Jessica: So…. you wanna shop?

Amy: Oh my heavens you are like a mind reader.

Jessica: Something I wanted to tell you…now I have lost it…. let me plug in and check my file history.

 

Jessica reached for the USB cable and plugged in.

 

Jessica: OH! Right…ok Amy…. if you are going to shit at a jobsite you have to flush OK? And its better if neither one of us starts witnessing until we are all cleaned up.

Amy: So human of me, my bad was it black? Because I have been reeeally stressed lately and I smoked a little last night but it just made everything…like…. like…

Jessica: Worser?

Amy: YES!!! Oh my heavens you are my other half Jessica King. You like always know what to say and just how to…like…say it.

Jessica: So…shopping?

Amy: Can you come get me? I got too high last night and threw my keys out the window. The kids are with their Dad and I am like so…. so happy we met. I really needed the credits, I have to get these white boots…I don’t know…. Praise God.

Jessica: Oh my Lord I lost my keys out the window too but my site manager brought them to me, stupid Gentile I have worked on him so many times. Oh well many are called…

Amy: only a few are selected??

Jessica: Ummmm…yes…. sorry I am driving now…get ready Amy after shopping I have Women’s Bible Study.

Amy: Praise him, Jesus…holy…yes Lord…. yes

I just praise him…OK I’m getting ready…. yeah! Do I have time to smoke?

Jessica: I told you about drugs so many times. It’s in the Bible…sorcery? Thou better not sorcery, you play with magic

Amy: I’m gonna get burns I mean burned? Ok thanks…thanks Jess I will call you tomorrow

Jessica: WHAT? I am outside you are so letting the sorcery control you.

Amy: OH? Huh? Right, ok I’m getting ready…praise him. Hungry….