Scene 9 Pilot Episode “Bourbon Life”

(Scene opens with Betty staring at a dead mutt that is attached to a bedazzled dog collar and chain that Cobb is squeezing in her swollen hand)

COBB: Oh it’s just a blessing!

Betty: Who?

COBB: You know the thing with the yard

Betty: What?

COBB: You know! The place…with the beds!!

Betty: The House?
COBB: What?

Betty: The place where you live with your Polish boyfriend and your herpes.

Betty: Yes COBB the house….I’m leaving

COBB: Are you angry? I’m going to the 21 flavors with my dog, I got him a leash today
Betty: I’m leaving and it’s 31 flavors
COBB: NO WAIT!! What they have 31 flavors now? Bless their hearts…8 more flavors

Betty: It’s ten more
COBB: My goodness even better (licking her lips and bending over to pick up the dead dog)
Come on puddles…he is such a good dog, never barks at anyone! (Looking at Puddle’s dead eyes and talking baby talk) That cuzz he a good Christian doggy Huh puddles? Huh babyboy…momma is gonna take you to ice cream’s house because I’m a good momma! Even the dog says so Betty…

Betty: The dog is dead COBB! I gotta go!!!

COBB: OK uh..uh…don’t you wanna see Puddle’s finger paintings before you leave? I can give you a ride to 21 flavors, I mean I would take you all the way home but I’m broke and the dog doesn’t like to ride in the car!

Betty: But the dog is dead!
COBB: I know but I can tell he doesn’t like it Betty, when I drive too fast on the bridge he falls off the seat cushion. Then he just lays there.

(long pause)

Betty: Fascinating, but I’m due back on the planet earth soooo…

COBB: Hahahaha! You always make me laugh Betty, the planet earth she says! Hahahaha! This is California silly!

(End scene)

Musings (a poem for the schizophrenic)

Musings for me and my imaginary pals-

The whining April night;

Humid, horrid and ungrateful

She hides in my blackest shadows

She shadows my blackest hide

Leaving me alone with Dr. Jekyll

And a dry bottle of whine.

The moon, this pen and pad are my companions.

The moon waxing in her magnetic charm

Far from friendship’s bosom

Yet close enough to taste the romantic elixir

Of longing and language.

The black April night, nearly numb now,

Waits near the gallows of daybreak.

A mercenary cloaked in the garb of the original nightlight.

The undulating evening in April

Where all my nightmares come alive

After I leap bravely into my cold bed sheets

The tide of the p.m. swells

Reminding my mind





They are brass

They are rusted

They are purple and purposeful

Some are only known by the fiend

That lays his head on my pillowcase.

Far from the easy water of the deepest well

Lay the lies of a lifetime,

Spread out upon the bedspread of guilt

Quilted with the silver stitches of consequence.

Judged by the night,

Condemned by the moon glow,

Tortured and strangled

In the silence.

The silence of the night;

When the mind won’t stop speaking into my

Headphone earwax

Spinning me around the clock

After dusk gives in and

Just before the dawn buttons her apron

Making promises that she will never keep.

These are the hours of loneliness only known

By the strange ones;

The manic artist,

The mad poet,

The lunatic writer and the musician who does not fit in.

Those of us who MUST heed to our art

When it starts screaming


Death threats,

And plots and schemes scratching out

Mentality’s suicide notes that never find their porch lights when the shameful itch begins to search for long fingernails far beyond the midnight hour


Laying on mattresses

Or couches of regret.

Playing in our own


Gods of makeshift realities

That leak from our mind-wands

Exchanging sorrow

For joy


For humor


For pen strokes


For fiction.

The night time is


for me and my worn-out brain,

Its improvisation

After the band is gone

And the lights are out

I am alone,

Wide awake

And far away from dream dust.

3 tips for the Virgin Car buyer

Good day,

Big Dan the Car-Man here with pearls of wisdom for those of you thinking about setting foot on the unholy grounds of your local automotive dealership. Most of us would rather sit in a dentist chair answering questions about our last vacation in all vowel sounds than deal with a “Car guy”.

Fear not dear reader, as a 15-year veteran in the car business Big Dan is here to equip you with all the information you need to make your next auto purchase painless and quite possibly pleasant!

Consider using the Internet Department

In this brave new millennium there is no reason to walk into an auto dealership uncomfortable and more importantly, unprepared. Using the Internet Dept. is easy, simply send out a few emails requesting information on which new or used vehicle you are interested in and 90 percent of the time you will receive correspondence which is both accurate and timely. The reason for the newly found honesty, accuracy and timeliness is quite simple; the Internet Dept.’s compensation is directly tied to the surveys that the client receives in the mail 10 days after the delivery. The happier you are the more money they make!

Check your credit before you begin 

Assuming you are not paying cash, it is a great idea to get online and procure your credit score(s). There are three agencies, Transunion, Equifax and Experian that banks use to determine whether or not they will lend to a first-time buyer. Check with each agency and find out your three scores, the middle score is usually most accurate. Check for rates based on your situation.

Consider purchasing a “Certified pre-owned” vehicle

Since it’s your first time, it would be wise to choose a vehicle that has already absorbed a large amount of the depreciation, been thoroughly inspected and is equipped with a warranty that is honored by the manufacturer.
Almost all makes and models have “certified” programs that include numerous benefits including low interest rates, roadside service, Carfax vehicle history reports and some programs offer a “buyback” window where you can bring back the vehicle if you are not satisfied!
Now you can feel confident in your decision to purchase your first “set of wheels”. I have more tips and information on Carfax reports, warranties and buying cars privately, just email me at for more information!

Merry Motoring,

Big Dan


Smokey Robinson at Green Hall article

Smokey Robinson stirs up a Quiet Storm at Green Music Hall

75 year old pioneer of Motown is still the ‘Genius of Love’

“No one can sing, quite like Smokey, Smokey Robinson” penned by the pop-funk band “The Tom-Tom Club” for their 1981 hit ‘Genius of Love’ remains a valid ode to the Hall of Fame inductee.

On September 4, 2015, William ‘Smokey’ Robinson performed before a sold out crowd at the newly constructed Green Music Center on the campus of Sonoma State University in Petaluma, California.

The founding father of the “Detroit Sound” stepped on stage garbed in a green metallic suit kicked off the sold out show with the 1961 hit “Tears of a Clown”.

Robinson, wearing that solid gold grin, crooned his way through the opening tune written by Stevie Wonder and made famous by Smokey and his Miracles.

Singers of Robinson’s popularity are in a rare group of entertainers; a majority of their jobs on stage are accomplished by the audience. The sold out crowd of 4,261, composed primarily of those in the Woodstock demographic, were singing every lyric in motley harmony.

Smokey and his band upped the tempo with another hit “Going to a Go-Go”; the baby boomers joined in the fun dancing all over the grassy dancefloor, “The white man’s overbite” replacing “The Monkey” and “The Mashed Potato” respectively.

Robinson slowed things down with yet another Motown chart topper “Ooh baby baby” which he delivered in a tempo that resembled a Sony Walkman low on AA batteries.

Fellow Motown label mate Martha Reeves told Rolling Stone Magazine in their 100 greatest singers of all time issue, “With his tone and delivery, you could easily fall in love with Smokey”

Some of the female spectators seemed like they would have given Reeves statement an “Amen” as they hooted like a flock of drunken owls.

The only “Vegas” moment in the 95 minute performance came when Smokey’s background dancers pulled out umbrellas under the stars of a muggy summer night, put on raincoats whilst Robinson sang “Quiet Storm” as the dancers wiggled all over the stage. Wisconsin has never witnessed more cheese production.

Besides the silly Las Vegas moment, the performance was chocked with outstanding singing and phrasing from the most inimitable voice in pop music.

34 years after the Tom-Tom Club hit, Smokey Robinson proved in he is in fact ‘The Genius of Love”.


D.A. Medina


Sex Hole 4

SEX HOLE (PART 4)Monday: Instead of succumbing to the “Monday Blues”, the old lady and I decided to head to the big city of San Francisco and ride the Double-Decker bus with all of the tourists. We put on our best wigs (mine was fashioned after the real Whig party so I looked like I was in Parliament, not to be confused with the outstanding funk band from Minnesota) her wig we purchased at the dollar store.
After we were all geared up we jumped on BART, Bay Area Rapid Transit, we both doused our seats with Lysol (it was a judgment call and a fine one at that) and we were off to play in “the Sco”.

Mr. BART delivered us safely at the Powell street stop where we finished our fierce argument about the price of doughnuts (she won, apparently those bastards all got together and raised the prices) gone are the days of the 35 cent bear claw, it is what it is.

We proceeded swiftly to the Double-Decker bus and secured two seats at the rear end of the top deck where two small Asian ladies joined us, one of which kept turning back and giving me dirty looks me whilst tightly clenching her purse and false teeth. I walked up behind her to ask her what she thought of the writings of Li Po but the bus lurched and I fell on my back knocking off my wig, which was very embarrassing. As we toured the city the bus driver/tour guide sprinkled us with factoids about our fair city and its numerous hills and Asians.

For example the wedding pictures of Joe DiMaggio and Marilyn Monroe taken on the steps of St. Peter’s church is actually a bit “fugazi” as the Catholick church does NOT recognize divorce, they were in fact married at City Hall and just used the front of the church to take pictures. I wonder if the church recognized them at that point, I raised my hand and asked if the church recognizes sodomy or fraud or lies in their interpretation of the Bible.

My lady took her wig off and smacked me with it.

Apparently the true address of St Peter and Paul’s church is 666 Filbert although they will never post those numbers on that gaudy cultural farce. Some folks think they should be issued another address, I say it’s a fine fit.

My woman is an altruist in the purest form and I am constantly sharing her affection with wayward folk, lost dogs, bums and sodomites. I had to laugh when I saw her picture up on the wall at the St. Peter and Paul’s church, as she is a lukewarm Catholick at best. I must say she does put feet to her so called faith, the picture was of her and a filthy homeless person whom she was bathing with a hose, a squeegee and some BBQ tongs…. too funny.

We jumped back on the bus and made our way over to the Tenderloin section, which, as my friend Dave Chappelle would say, there is, nothing tender about at all. We jumped off the bus again and waddled into the nearest watering hole as my nerves were a bit fried from the whole church experience and I needed some of the other spirits to calm my weary brain.

Back in the old days the police would never come to the T.L. because of the crime factor so the butchers who lived in the area at that time brought their finest cuts of meat to entice the SFPD to do their jobs in that part of the city. The “tender loins” worked of course as most police are ruled by their potbellies and mommy boy syndromes.

I spoke with a few of the local crack smokers; warning them that their unhealthy habits and sinful ways would lead them straight to jail or Hades where they would no doubt burn for eternity. They were not receptive to my humble olive branch offering, I tried to get my lady to give them a bath but she refused as she was wearing her good boots, back on the Double-Decker.

My lady was hungry so we jumped off the bus again and strolled into restaurant on Van Ness avenue where one of the waiters was singing a Judy Garland cover song, I almost turned around and walked out but the old girl was hungry and who was I to deny my queen of her repast. I ordered a New York steak with all the fixings and ordered my bride a nice bowl of corn pops.

She was a bit angry about my choices but after I read her the back of the corn pops box she was happy again. I told her “it’s all you care to eat mac n cheese when we get home lover” just to smooth things out.

We skipped BART and treated ourselves to a lovely cab ride home where my lady ate two boxes of mac n cheese and fell into a deep sleep dreaming of the next moron she could help out whilst snoring; the pictures fell off the wall and woke her up…she blamed me.

Social Note: No bastard ever won a war by dying for his country, the idea is to kill the other poor dumb bastard not let him into your house and pantry.

Tuesday: Saved my lady from saving a wayward jaywalker on El Camino Real…sorry no details folks still too angry.

Wednesday: Barely made it.

Thursday: One of my old lady’s success stories was singing Karaoke at a bar in Millbrae and she coaxed me into attending, I said I would be happy to join her as long as my opinions were not suppressed. She looked confused but agreed to my terms. Bob was a former speed freak who my lovely bride nursed back to health.

Poor Bob had a terrible tick from all the years of abusing meth and one leg was much longer than the other besides that he was a happy son of a bitch.

My lady introduced me and I congratulated him on graduating the Amber Sheraton School of Etiquette for Monkeys and Morons (A.S.S.E.M.M). He kept referring to my wife as a miracle as a matter of fact he referred to almost everything as a miracle. The guy singing was a miracle, the fact that he was standing there was a miracle; the guy next to him was a miracle and so on. Something happens in those 12 step rooms where people’s brains are washed clean and instilled with this damn miracle malarkey.

My wife left to use the restroom and he turned to me and ticked for a while then in the most sincere tone informed me that I was a miracle. I told him that I’m pretty sure he does not know the meaning of that word and he should stop using that word so shamelessly. He was not affected and kept smiling at me insisting I was a miracle.

They called his name to sing his song, which my cynical mind told me, would be completely laughable. I was wrong, that bastard could sing like Luther Vandross or maybe it was because he chose a Luther Vandross song “Love won’t let me wait” which is one of my favorite songs by Luther.

On the ride home my lady was in rare form, maybe it was the cocktails or the Karaoke, but she looked directly in my eyes and said she is done reforming 3 time losers, crooks, drug addicts and sodomites.

I thought of Bob…”It’s a miracle”, I said and drove us home.

Ray and Alice- Da kine love story

The love story of Raymond and Alice

Dearest Family, Friends and Criminals,

The story you are about to hear is mostly horseshit.

The truth has been twisted quite a bit, but only for the sake of laughter in the face of miserable times.

Our fairytale begins on the lazy island of Oahu; where the coconut trees sway in the easy breeze, the unemployment checks fill the mailboxes and the diabetics dwell in sweet teriyaki harmony.

There on the leeward side of the island lived a handsome young pig farmer named Raymond Souza Victorino. Raymond and his brothers worked on the farm day and night without lunch or piss breaks.

Life was hard on the young man and each night he prayed for his own true love, that he might start a family of his own. One evening while he was sleeping and dreaming of warm malasadas, a bright light in the barn woke him from his dreams.

“Who dat?” cried Ray.

Just then his fairy godfather appeared, “Howzit Bruddah Ray …..”

“Who dat?”

“It’s me da kine fairy Godfaddah… get one good lookin Kumu ovah deah on Kalihi side….dats yo tru love Brah!”

“Way ovah deah? No mo one good girl mo close?”

“Nah, only one true love brah…her name is Alice, she is Potagee, but she can read, write and only get fo kids!”

“Only fo kids…too good eh?”

So it came to be that Raymond bought a small donkey, packed it with beer and sashimi and set off to find his true love.

After a day and a half of traveling our hero had eaten all the fish and drank all the beer. By the time he reached Kalihi he had developed a powerful thirst. Luckily for Raymond there was a small bar on the corner where he tied up his donkey and sauntered in for a drink.

Earlier that day our heroine, the sweet and sour Alice Robello, was walking on the beach. Alice was the only woman in Hawaii that could not and would not swim in the island’s pristine waters but instead would walk along the shore daydreaming.

Just then a giant wave crashed on her poor Portagee head and sent her reeling into the surf. While she was underwater drowning in the surf a giant sea turtle swam underneath her and pulled her safely to shore.

While she was lying in the sand coughing up salt water the giant turtle began to speak.

“Wheeesh! What? Cannot swim sistah? Lucky fo you I get one message…yo true love stay comin ova to dis side riding one donkey”

(Cough, cough) “One donkey? What a lucky lady I am!” said Alice sarcastically.

“I’m sorry Honu…I get fo kids and two full time jobs and no time fo love!”

So the giant turtle turned back to the ocean and said “Whateva…his name is Raymond Souza Victorino, he is one pig famah from da leeward side…he will come to da bar tonight”

“One pig famah!! You think I’m stoopid or what?” cried Alice.

“Hey Tita…you da one talking to one turtle…aloha oi”, and with that the giant honu swam back into the sea.

So it came to be that night that Raymond walked in to the bar where Alice worked as a cocktail waitress.

Ray sat down at one of the tables and started eating out of a small bowl of boiled peanuts.

Alice came to take his order. “What you like…beah?”

“Yeah…bring me two beahs”

Raymond looked up and their eyes met; the love light filled the tiny bar room and they were both stuck in its glow.

Raymond wiped the peanut shells from his shirt, “Is yo name Alice?”

“Yea”…she said stunned by his good looks, “did you ride one donkey ovah hea?”


“Is yo name Raymond?”

Raymond nodded his head and smiled, within a few hours Alice was pregnant again.

They had found true love and giant grocery bills. They moved to the mainland and raised their family with lots of love and lots of steamed rice. THE END.

Sex Hole 9


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.


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….