DEAD Dog WALKING (Bourbon Life EP.1 Scene 5)

(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?(smiling)

Betty: The House, Cobb?

COBB: (smiling) Who?

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

COBB: Oh THE HOUSE!

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 Bertha, never barks at anyone! (Looking at Puddle’s dead eyes and talking baby talk) That because he a good Christian doggy huh puddles? Tell Bertha about Jesus my boy…(points the dogs paw at Betty) You’re a sinner! You’re gonna burn hahahahaha …momma is gonna take you to ice cream’s house because I’m a good momma! Even the dog says so Bertha.

Betty: It’s Betty… my name is Betty and the dog isn’t listening COBB! He isn’t barking at anyone because he can’t bark, he is DEAD! 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, shall I use hand puppets here?

COBB: (looking up at the sky) ….mmmm hand puppets

Betty: How can the dog….never mind!

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)

SEX HOLE XV

SEX HOLE XV

“Hey Santa, hit the ho stroll”

 

Before I begin I suppose some explanation is in order. I have been absent from my post for some time and you Sex Hole Addicts must have found another fix for your weary brains, I do apologize.

The reason for my hiatus is very complex and rather than fill up the Sex Hole (hahaha) with specifics, I shall make a sing song diagram explaining my foolishness and absenteeism;

 

The Daniel bone is connected to the heart bone.

The heart bone is connected to the woman bone.

The woman bone is connected to the unending pursuit of perfection bone.

The unending pursuit of perfection bone is connected to the alone bone.

The alone bone is connected to the drink and drug bone.

The drink and drug bone is connected to the jail bone.

 

Hopefully that clears things up.

 

Ladies and Gentlemen: Sex Hole 15…

 

Monday: Went to Walgreens to practice my social skills with the common man. While I was wandering the aisles that were littered with Christmas brouhaha, one of the employees approached me to ask if I needed some help. I was quick to respond that the help I needed might be out of her scope of employment but thanked her anyway. I noticed she was wearing an oversized T shirt that said “Get your flu shot” in size 100 font draped over her bean bag frame. It reminded me of the 80s when the crack heads in LA used to rock those “You can’t touch this” joints.

 

She urged me to get my flu shot. After I chastised her and her thought processes, paradigms of hope and fashion choices, she left me to roam the aisles in peace. (for details on vaccinations and the tomfoolery surrounding the idea of injecting yourself with dead fetuses of humans and cows see https://wecontroloursoul.com/2015/12/08/sb277-hits-california-affecting-k-12-and-college-students-alike/ )

 

Tuesday:  Another day at the halfway house and the thievery continues…Yes sweet readers of words, it is true, your humble literary manservant has been confined in a “Sober Living Environment”, my revelries and lust for the drink have led me straight into the arms of the white man and his tricks. After my six-day vacation in the hospital and subsequent incarceration for physically and verbally assaulting the pigs over at the Daly City police department, I entered a rehab in hopes to bridle my inner Hemmingway. Following 28 days of yoga, nature walks, and AA meetings, I was sent off to an SLE where once again the white man capitalized on the weakness of my flesh.

 

My housemates, which are 9 in number, are mostly decent white folk but there is always one thief in the bunch. On this particular day, as I strolled into the kitchen I caught “Bobby” sucking down my almond milk which I purchased to detour his criminal behavior.

It didn’t work.

Pulled “Bob” to the side and whispered in his ear, informing him of my dubious plans for him and his insatiable appetite for forbidden groceries, “Check it out fat man, if ANY of my food goes missing from here on out you are going to wish your mother never met your father, feel me?”

We haven’t seen him at the halfway house since.

I feel bad, old Bobby was the salt of the earth…fucking gluttonous troglodyte.

Social Note: Never head-butt the police whilst handcuffed, it always ends poorly.

 

Wednesday: Tolstoy said, “Avoid women at all costs” although this is sound advice I have found it an impossibility, not only that, but Tolstoy was a homosexual so it was much easier for him to stick to his guns, so to speak. Contrary to popular belief, I am not a “Ladies man” but I AM a devout feminist in deed and truth.

As it has been explained in specific detail in so many other Sex Hole installments, I have been speared by Cupid’s pitchfork 20 years ago and haven’t managed to wiggle free from true love and its numerous consequences.

Falling in love with a female tiger who embraces the dogma and sword collection of Genghis Kahn has it drawbacks; if not for my god-like dexterity I may be missing a limb or two.

Due to my poor choices, I have broken the trust that took so many years to establish. In this light, it is very difficult to explain my whereabouts with any smackerel of effectiveness. (word up to Winnie the Pooh nomenclature).

Needless to say, when I informed my Lady of my plans to travel to Reno to get with the homie, Monk McNizzle to finish our full scale musical assault on Santa Claus and his demonic ways in time for the coming holiday, she was less than pleased (growling sound).

Although your humble literary servant was not included in any reindeer games this year, my Tigress didn’t want me crossing state lines for any reason. Since strep throat was running rampant at the halfway house and none of my immediate family was interested in having an opinionated, well spoken, recovering alcoholic at the dinner table, I sought refuge in the bosom of Reno and my faithful outlet for pain and confusion, music.

 

Personal Note: Need to eat my porridge before I start my day because porridge keeps me peaceful and that is a general blessing to the puny humans who annoy me!

 

Wednesday evening: After a treacherous 5-hour journey up the 80 freeway, listening to sermons to calm my weary mind piece and strengthen my lion heart, I arrived safely at the Nugget casino in Reno, Nevada, the inbred cousin to Las Vegas.

Christmas time was upon me and I was curious to find out where the sweet folks of Tweaker Town, USA thought of the holiday. I interviewed several of the natives but they were too paranoid of my line of questioning, so I warned them that their sinful ways would only earn them an all-access pass into Hades’ VIP room where they would burn forever and left them to contemplate their collective demise.

I finally caught up with my pal Monk McNizzle, I was happy and relieved to see a friendly face and a full set of teeth. We philosophized upon topics ranging from music to politics then set up our make shift studio in my hotel room.

Inspired by the 2008 Anti-Christmas anthem “DADDA CLAUSE” produced by Conceit starring Mo Classics, my two daughters and I composed a follow up called “Momma Clause”. Much to the chagrin of my Tigress, I was in Reno to catch up with Monk and record some verses from him and some choral arrangements from his young cohorts that were 4 in number ranging from 2 years old all the way to 11 years old respectively.

Monk and the midget crew left the microphone smoking and I was pleased with the results. I was speaking with Monk about the aforementioned Christmas brouhaha and we both decided that economically speaking the Corporate Giants in Amerikkka just needed to get rid of some shit at year end and they needed Santa Claus to do their evil bidding.

We both conceded that Christmas could and should be renamed “We need to get rid of some shit, Santa get back on the hoe stroll”  Admittedly, we need to shorten the name and make it catchier; an anarchists’ work is never done.

 

Thursday: I woke up to some text messages of cheer from Genghis; she must have thought I needed a boost since I am only 6 months sober, away from my family who wants nothing to do with me and surrounded by liquor. “You are a half ass Dad” “You are a winner” “We don’t fit well together” “Hypocrite” … ah yes I was ready to start my day refreshed and renewed, body, mind and spirit. I made a mental note to make sure she spends the “night in the box” when I returned to the Monkey House of Regret for Christmas Day, “solitary confinement ought to cool her zeal for my demise” I thought.

I surfed the web for a remote sledge hammer that could be activated the next time she decided to text me hate messages but this useful tool existed only in my imagination.

After Monk and I put some finishing touches on “Momma Clause” he returned to his room to nurse a cold and left me to my thoughts which is why I’m back at the modern typewriter, placing pain on the page.

 

Thursday evening (We need to get rid of some shit, Santa get back on the hoe stroll! Eve):

Many moons ago I watched the Charlie Brown Christmas special and Linus quoted scripture from Luke and I remember the sound of Linus’ voice and thinking that this IS a time of true joy.

Even though my brain tells me this isn’t really the “time” when Jesus was born (it was more like September) and suicide rates skyrocket this time of year I still have powerful memories of my family.

I remember the whole family would come to my grandparents’ house in Gardena, where I lived, we would have such a great time laughing, gambling and telling jokes. I don’t remember worrying too much for gifts but I do remember the smells and sounds of Christmas when it was pure.

 

Mental Note: Take it easy jackass, life can’t be that bad

 

Friday (Christmas Day): Since I am a union writer I take Christmas day off……PEACE AND ALOHA to you and your families.

 

That’s all SEX HOLE addicts!! S.H. Number 15 is in the books, stay tuned for more SEX HOLE fun!!! Merry We need to get rid of some shit, Santa get back on the hoe stroll Day!!! Wheeeesh!!! I really need to work on that name.

 

 

D.A. Medina

 

 

Scene from “The Party” (2017)

SCENE 13 FROM “THE PARTY” BY D.A. MEDINA

Small clean kitchen in a downtown hotel in the middle of winter in San Francisco, cigarettes fill the ashtray as Antonio rolls a joint, Mireya is dancing to house music, It’s 3 in the morning and they are both a little drunk. 

Antonio:  You asked me earlier how you cut people off so easily…you know (lights the j and inhales deeply) In my heart…you know, what I mean… people I have loved. Whatever you were there…you fucking remember

Mireya: (still moving her hips to some trance music) Yes – I did- I was (laughing) how can I help you?

A: I have been up late…thinking and writing until the early morning…

M: (still dancing) …like always

A: A valve …I use it. I mean I fucking have it!

M: (interrupting) Valve? Wait…ok go…(they both start laughing)

A: Yes love…please let me finish- OK in my mind there is a valve…fuck! This sounds so fucking stupid (Mireya is looking him in the face as he stares out his small window) I turn it in my mind, I mean when I’m trying to disconnect baby…see? this sounds so lame 

M: Please …(grabs her drink) I have to hear this…

A: (Looks Mireya directly in the eyes intently and gravely) When I turn the valve shut I have no feelings for that person anymore, I don’t need to speak with them…I just do not care about them anymore no friendship, no coffee, no updates…none of that. My own Father, I shut the valve on him, I don’t hate him, I don’t care it’s like…. 

M: I mean I’m sorry Antonio…you know how I feel about you, you are my best friend… 

A: (shrugs and forces a fake smile) You know the sad part Mireya? 

M: (slowly) Hmmm? 

A: I have never been able to open the valve once I have closed it…it’s a damn curse! It’s like a mechanism just like writing….it just is…I have been proud of that! ….for so many years (looking down) 

M: Baby…I love you (smiling drunk)

A: Yes Mireya…let me finish, I always thought…..shit Why am I spilling my bullshit all over you?

M: because you love me (smiling and still moving to the beat) 

A: (smiling with his eyes) umm I have always thought it was a just a tool or a way of strength to deal with life’s sorrows and…you know… let downs…disappointments , sounds so cheesy right? 

M: No its not cheesy baby…I mean …I am not so strong 

A: Part of it is because I am a Libra… 

M: Holy fuck! You lost me

A: Libra is the only inanimate sign…inanimate means…

M: (interrupts) I know what inanimate means, without life? The scales?? The balance and order all that bullshit…are you saying…(Antonio is shaking his head yes) …you feel like you don’t have life? Fuck Antonio you are one the most…

A: (cuts her off) Yes I am saying that is exactly how I feel ….. or don’t feel.  

M: (takes a long drink, sits up in her chair, grabs his face..) Well then you are lucky baby! I wish I could do that. 

A: Yeah (takes a long drink and looks down) 

M: So…I mean I have known you in the biblical sense of the word ( Antonio laughs)

A: Hey fucker that’s my line! 

M: I mean we have been friends and lovers for so many years….why haven’t you… Why are you telling me this Antonio? 

Long pause… Camera is on Mireya’s face 

A: Well this is the fucked part…Mireya…two…two reasons…I’m telling…you (sits up in his chair and clears his throat) I have cancer in my bones…. I have cancer Mireya…(looks up at Mireya) Jack ass doctors…they say I got like 6 weeks…(Mireya is sobbing, Antonio holds her long hair in his lap) 

M: I…I love …(crying softly she loses her voice…) 

A: Don’t you want to know the other reason?…Mireya? 

M: (barely audible) Sure mi amor 

A: (lifts her head from his lap and holds her face)Because Mireya , I could never turn the valve on you my love…(Mireya weeping uncontrollably) That’s why I always called you….(his voice cracks)…I mean I tried to…but I couldn’t do it baby, I have always loved you…from the start

Mireya crying loudly as Antonio holds her in his lap….Antonio looks out his small window as the rain begins to fall….END SCENE 

Pilot for “Bourbon Life”….small kine scene

Pilot EP Scene 4

Scene opens in a pristine import auto showroom, Chuck Knudsen (pronounced Kuh-Nude-son) is sitting with Q the finance manager. Chuck is the owner and he is one of those guys who was 6 foot tall and weighed 200 lbs in the fifth grade and whipped everyone’s Caucasian ass, then he just grew man boobs and got chubby, he has that baby boy face and giant paws.

Chuck: I know you think I don’t know what’s going on around here, but I got news for you B, I do.

Q: It’s Q sir…

Chuck: What is?

Q: My name sir, it’s Q.

Chuck: I know that

Q: You just called me B

Chuck: Right…ok, so are these the final numbers for the month?

Q: I don’t know what that is; it looks like a stack of blank paper, wait…It is a stack of blank paper!

Chuck: I know that

Q: So…why did you ask me if-

Chuck: Listen B…

Q: Its Q

Chuck: I know that…Q you are really going to have to adjust your attitude, if you want to continue working here!

Q: Attitude sir?

Chuck: Yes your attitude, it’s all about attitude Q…So as I was saying, are these the final numbers?

Q: (Smiling) Yes, if you think they are sir

Chuck: Stop calling me sir, this ain’t the Navy! And you know what else? These aren’t the final numbers (sifting thru a stack of blank papers) what the hell are trying to pull over here? The wool over my eyes? Huh?

Q: Excuse me sir?

Chuck: GODAMMIT B! Stop calling me sir and where are the final numbers?

Q: If you stop calling me B, I promise not to call you sir and…(smiling) there are no final numbers because it’s the 15th of the month.

Chuck: (cracks a big smile) Well done Q! You see…it’s all about attitude.

Q: Thank you Chuck, you are a born leader

Chuck: (Smiling) Oh stop it you’re embarrassing me now B…So… let’s get together on those numbers after lunch, I’m getting so damn hungry. I’m gonna get some hamburger lunch, what do you think?

Q: Great idea!

Chuck: Listen B..I mean Q…I know I’m hard on you, but I run a tight ship over here and I know more than you think I know.

Q:OK sir

Chuck: So you will have the numbers after lunch? No more screw-ups Q…

Q: Sure Chuck, no problem…(Q walks back to his office) I hate my life.

Foolish Fools (Car Salesman’s test-drive from hell)

Foolish Fools

By Daniel A Medina

Some lessons are never learned. Some would call people who don’t learn from life’s many miscues and blunders foolish fools. Those who garner wisdom frombad experiences and poor decisions are considered wise. By this standard Ramon should be the modern King Solomon but he wasn’t. The only constant in his life was drinking alcohol.

He had to write to keep the demons out of his head. Those bastard thoughts, fathered by unknown men, could make Ramon go insane if left unkempt in his weary mind. Ramon didn’t care for success anymore he just wanted a simple life free from debt and worry. He was beginning to think that did not exist.

“Maybe there isn’t a simple life, worry is a useless verb, the results of any situation are out of my hands”, the bastards began to stir.

“I should stop drinking, I’m killing myself and my Angelitas, I need to sell a car and stop gambling!”

“I owe so much money, I haven’t done my taxes and maybe I will be thrown in jail like the tax commercial on the radio keeps telling me”.

The words kept entering his giant Mexican head, it was like the morning after Thanksgiving when they open the doors at Best Buy. Hundreds of shoppers looking for the same items, hundreds of words all trying to do the same thing to poor Ramon…they were trying to kill him!

 

“My hair is thin and grey; I think I have high blood pressure and diabetes… possibly cancer”.

“I’m nauseous, I need to eat but I have only five dollars and I owe so much money plus I haven’t done my taxes!”

 

That was all Ramon could take, he had to write. He had to flush the demonic thoughts and ideas from his complicated brain. He began the furious tapping on his Blackberry phone.

 

Since Ramon didn’t bother with up loading apps and so on he would just tap out a really long email to himself and deal with the details later.

As he wrote, keeping one eye on the beat up asphalted car lot, the worry began to fade in the winter breeze. His troubles shrunk back to the normal sized woes of the common man. His heart rate slowed and fear became a stranger once again.

 

Time to sell baby!

 

Those of you sweet readers that have never been in sales might not understand the tension and stress of the salesman. The used car salesman is the most despised and pigeonholed salesperson in the history of sales, even hookers selling their “you know what” get more respect than your local “used car guy”.

 

Why are they treated so miserably in society? Most would say they are dishonest, pushy, classless and above all deceptive. These general indictments of this sub sect of salesman simply can’t cover all used car dealers.

Ramon’s technique was the soft sell, he applied very little pressure and lots of smiling. He spoke clearly and intelligently about almost any subject so he got along just fine with just about anyone. When he sensed the client was ready he lowered the volume of his voice which automatically opened his client’s ears and somehow made the situation just a bit more serious. He learned this whispering technique from his Uncle Rogelio.

Uncle thought it ironic that when a man or woman yells or screams most don’t want to listen but when you take the volume down to a whisper people want to hear what you have to say.

Ramon only struggled with his co workers, they were constantly complaining about their workplace. There is a nasty technique widely used in the automotive sales industry it’s called “krappin” somebody out.

This occurs almost every day and the idea is to “krap out” your fellow man by complaining him into feeling bad about selling used cars thusly improving your chances of selling a car. There is always the outside chance the used car guy gets so down he just throws in the towel and quits which also improves your chances to sell a car (mathematically speaking of course).

Here are some examples of “krap out” lines;

“This place is dead, I’m thinking about going to XYZ lot down the street!”

“Oh you want to share my desk with me? That’s cool, I’m fuckin out of here anyway this place sucks!

“We paid 8000 for this truck and I sold it for 15,000 and I only made 200.00 bucks, they are stealing from us”

This is a two part “krap”.

Salesman #1: “Wow its dead today huh?”

Salesman #2: “Dead? This is a busy day for us…you haven’t seen dead yet!”

Fighting boredom and cynicism are the main obstacles Ramon faced over the years but Ramon loved the spontaneity and unpredictability of the business.

You never know.

That is the motto of any salesman worth his weight. One moment you are leaning on a truck writing a poem that no one will read, broke as a joke and the next moment somebody saunters onto the asphalt playground and your whole day changes.

It is true that selling involves a bit of luck and Karma so Ramon was always very careful with his words and actions.

 

He never stole from anyone and despised dishonesty. All bad seeds make bad fruit, good seeds make good fruit and that is what Ramon needed. He couldn’t afford anything to go wrong in his bounded up budget. He wouldn’t steal a nickel candy, he couldn’t lie about anything, not because he wanted to be pious or conceited, he just wanted to sell lots of cars and win boatloads of money gambling.

One day a young lady was walking down the street in front of the car lot where Ramon worked. She had dark black hair, white teeth and wore a white dress with white boots. She was walking a white dog named Princess.

Princess was a terrier and a long lost cousin to “Terry” the dog who played the role of “Toto” so well in the 1939 feature film “The Wizard of Oz”. Terry turned in an Oscar worthy performance all the while nursing a broken foot.

What a small world.

Ramon was in good spirits; his team had covered the point spread and lowered his considerable gambling debt by 750.00.

“You know you could be driving instead of walking”.

“Really?”

“Sure…I have a white Camry that matches your outfit and your dog”

“Really?”

Each time she said “Really” the pitch of her voice crescendoe’d and rose

higher and higher. She sounded like Mariah Carey or a dolphin.

“My name is Ramon, welcome to Toyota Miss”

“Thank you…can I really buy this car?”

“Of course, why not? Let’s take it out for a nice drive…what’s your name?”

“Norma…sure let’s go!”

“We can take it on the freeway, if you’d like”

“Really?”

“Yes…really.”

 

They turned the corner onto Van Ness Avenue and proceeded to the 101 southbound. The day was clear and fresh, the traffic was moving quickly in the mid day sun. Ramon hated test drives but they were unavoidable. The most dangerous part of the car salesman’s job is the test drive.

As they pulled around the flat grey concrete onto the circled on rampRamon’s mind began to speak, “This girl is a fool…a foolish fool, she can’t drive…I can’t stand small dogs”

His body looked over at the smiling black haired chimp and shrugged his shoulders, “it is what it is”, said the mind.

They slid through the San Francisco skyline; two strangers on a wild ride underneath the psychedelic clouded canopy of blues and whites. The wind was clean and purposeful, guiding Ramon’s spirit to fly freely and his mind to settle in its nest.

As they left the city’s remains in the sparkle of the rear view mirror, the sun beamed upon them like God’s divine pinky ring bling.

“Oh my God I have never been on the freeway!”

“What?”

Ramon’s body was cringing.

“This is great! Wait…the sun is in my eyes…oh my God”

She stopped.

“Hey..go….GO! GO!…” Ramon grabbed her knee and pushed it on the gas pedal. Ramon’s alleged high blood pressure was banging and zipping through his body like a cluster of hopped up bumble bees buzzing through arteries and veins. Meanwhile cars, trucks and vans flew by them honking and swearing in the mid day sun.

Within seconds, that seemed like hours, they were back to highway speed,

Ramon let loose of her knee and the car began to slow again. “Hey don’t…!” The girl’s knee disconnected from her thigh…she had a prosthetic leg.

 

Ramon hadn’t noticed her false leg upon first glance; she hid it well under her white boots. He remembered her gait had the slightest of wobble to it but Ramon wasn’t interested in her sway but in her ability to buy. A test drive from the depths of hell; Ramon had to hold the fake calf down on the gas pedal until they reached an exit where Ramon took the wheel.

Norma was deep into frenzy mode. Her body was filling itself with endorphins and began screaming; at that point Ramon was convinced she was at least part dolphin. Princess started barking and even though they couldn’t understand the cotton balled pooch it was clear she was angry. During all the chaos, Ramon forgot to give her leg back, he had her plastic foot and calf combo in his hand as he jumped out of the car to switch places with Norma.

Poor Norma was hopping on her good leg as she moved across the back of the car to the other side.

They looked like two maniacs involved in wild Chinese fire drill; Ramon running around the front of the car holding a leg and Norma hopping earnestly with spare boot in hand.

To Princess’s credit she did not take part in the parade but instead remained buckled to her seat.

Ramon buckled his seat belt and handed the leg to Norma. Ramon’s body was fried from the pseudo-hypertension.

“That was unbelievable! Kind of embarrassing for me but the brakes work great and we accelerated and got up to freeway speed in a jiffy!” “I’m totally sold, let me just get my leg and boot situated then we can go back to the dealership”.

Ramon’s mind, body and spirit were baffled and neither of the three reacted in any way until the body was safe on the showroom floor.

“Ms Norma, it is very difficult to know what to say” said Ramon as he pulled out a chair for the woman who almost killed him.

Ramon’s body began to relax and his mind reminded him of the task at hand. “This girl is crazy Ramon but she is licensed and very soon will be insured by Ali and off in her new car” said the mind.

Ramon smiled, “It’s very exciting isn’t it Norma? We sell cars everyday so for us it’s a job but we must not forget that buying a new car is exciting”

“Please promise me Norma you will take a few driving lessons before you get out onto the freeway!”

“I will”

Ramon kept smiling, “You must promise me or I will not sell this car to you and your dog!”

They both started laughing. Ramon was laughing because the girl was just walking down the street minding her business walking her dog and 2 hours later he was making his rent. Norma didn’t know why she was laughing but she had a good howl. Princess didn’t think any of it was funny at all and was shocked her foolish owner just decided to buy a car after that performance behind the wheel.

Luckily for our hero, Princess didn’t speak English or the whole deal might have imploded.

After all the paperwork was signed, Ramon shook Norma’s hand and thanked her for her business.

“Well Ms. Norma that was an adventure I will never forget”

“Really?….why?”

Norma was one of Ramon’s only customers who left him speechless. Ramon just smiled and told her congratulations. As they drove off, Princess poked her head over the back seat and barked angrily at Ramon.

Ramon made over 1700.00 that day including his gambling money and within four hours he did his job, he covered the rent again.

Ramon caught the train back to his neighborhood. His mind kept replaying the scene of the terrier speaking her mind behind the rear window.

Two weeks later Norma wrecked the car on the freeway, she stopped because the sun got in her eyes. She broke 25 bones and couldn’t walk for two months.

Some lessons are never learned.

Princess wasn’t in the car at the time of the wreck, wise dog, foolish fool.

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.

COBB: Oh THE HOUSE!
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)

Sex Hole 9

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….