Warm Your Existential Heart With
This Preposterous Holiday Tale!
It's December 23rd at "The
Queen of Hearts", a strip club out in the boonies of Fenton, Missouri. There the dancin' girls are, twirling langourously around the poles in Catholic school girls' uniforms. Not completely naked, don't you know-- but cutting about as thin to the G-string as the law will allow. Little butterflies cover their breasts cutely, and how our hands want to fly up there and pull 'em
off. As they gyrate their hips and wink, we reach up and tuck a dollar bill in
their garter strap and down our beers morosely. Regrets for the past, lost
opportunities, for whom we will never be. . . . . and just what kind of
low-lives like ourselves are doing in a dive like this during the holidays. And
how our sad, sorry stories will not gain us an ounce of consideration as they
strut offstage like whip-crackin' cowgirls.
"Finish yor beer! Finish yor beer! You cain't take it outside!", hollers the short, fat, blond, ignorant bartenderess at closing time. There was no reasoning with this hard heart. Blunt, absolute, like the sharp edge of concrete steps that distinguished substance from empty space, something from cold nothingness. This, as we walk out to the car, the frozen gravel crunching under our shoes in the 1 AM darkness, cut only by the buttermilk glow of the building's lights. Well, those lights are shut off with a click and it's just us and our automobiles. The car starts, and we reach for a tape of cheesy, upbeat pop music from a long time ago. . . . . seeking after something that once existed, if it ever existed.
-- "Bon Jovi loves you all!"
Well, the tape player is cold and the mechanical works are malfunctioning, and the song we want is coming out in a sludge-like "WWOOORORRR, WWOOORORRR, WWOOORORRR" as we make the long drive home, journeying through the blackness of the night with the undergrowth of gnarled trees swallowing up the headlights. The buzz of alcohol, what al
leviates us from the misery of our squalid existence, will soon wear off, and we'll be back to our same miserable old selves in the morning. Thank you, good night.Why don't we bring in a more HEART-WARMING scene?
A jingling of bells in the distance
Why it's a sleigh, pulled by my dog Buckley wearing reindeer antlers! He's panting happily. And here I am in a red Christmas stocking cap, here to bless Yvette with holiday cheer even though Hanukkah
was weeks ago."Merry Christmas! Merry Christmas!" There is a fluttering behind the curtains, and they are drawn shut. "Merry Christmas! Merry Christmas!". I knock on the door and sing holiday carols, but no one answers. I climb up on the roof, and drop a Christmas ham down the chimney, calling down "And have a Happy New Year!".
"Merry Christmas! Merry Christmas!" as I crack the reins, and Buckley takes off. Sirens wail in the distance, but our hearts were definitely in the right place.
"And God bless us, each and every one!"
-- Dedicated to a very special girl whom I knew years ago who can always remind us there are better things out there if we "keep our eyes peeled" and set our sights higher than some stripper's ass-crack wavin' around in yer face! Build relationships instead of going for "the cheap fuck" which you're probably not gonna get anyway! Touch that cheap stripper's ass, and probably get your own ass stomped out in the parking lot by some snorting, Lynyrd Skynard cowboy! Don't say you haven't been warned! Owwww. . . . .
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"You want a-nuther song? Well I ain't plain' one mutherfuckin' note until someone comes up here and puts sum money in my god-damned tip-jar! You know I only came here for one purpose. . . . . to take yor fuckin' cash! Why, I could make more profit puttin' out my meth-head neighbor's asshole and ringin' a bell, hollerin' 'Man for sale! Man for sale!'
. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
(Rheeee of Crickets)
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("I heard that, Missy!")
© 2008 by Insufferable Industries
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