Introducing Fully Loaded.

It all started on a gloomy Thursday evening. The rain had been coming down hard since morning……….felt like droplets of Nitrogen. I couldn’t feel my left tit………..blasted air conditioning. It was day I just wanted to go home. I had a funny feeling in my knees……….it’s called arthritis………I’m just kidding…….ha…ha….laugh it up, asshole. But something told me that today was not going to go according to plan…………at least not according to my plan.

I rubbed my cold palms together trying to get some life in to them. I could almost see my steamy exhale. It’s only a matter of time I told myself. Ring. Ring. The phone made me jump out of my skin like an electrocuted testicle.

“Err..hello?”

It’s Shorts.

“The Boss wants you in his room in ten.”

Fuck.

“Now what does he want?”

“Come find out for yourself.” Click.

Bitch.

My mind starts running at the pace of a pirated DVD on my LG player.

Smooth….Stuck…..Smooth……Smooth……Stuck…….Stuck…….Stuck

Now what does the moron want? Then my rotted brain horns in on something. Something big. Shit. Must be the segmentation model. Has he found out that there are no Arabs in Colombo? Fuck. Kotler, that son of a bitch.

The walk to The Chamber was not pleasant, it never was. Feels like the green mile. I need a drink. Suddenly I could hear ice against glass. Cling, Cling. I could feel the mildly sweet aftertaste of a sip of Chivas. Shit. Office was not meant to be pleasant anyway, I tell myself.

I see Shorts typing something. I like this dame. She smells nice. I imagine fucking her brains out.

“Hey Shorts, wassup?”

“Same ‘ol, same ‘ol” comes the reply.

Nobody is feeling like small talk today. Blasted weather.

The Boss keeps me waiting. I like the local gun law. Silencers are banned.

I hear the telephone conversation in the room ending. “Fuck off”. Thadang!! I am sure the receiver chipped. That’s my que to enter. I hate days like this. Curse………

………Half an hour later I’m at my station. What happened? How did I get here? I feel run over by an eighteen-wheeler. Last I remember was walking in to The Bosses room. Shit. Now I remember. I didn’t even see the bastard coming. He must have hit me with a butt of an AK 47. Fuck. Now I have to carry this headache home. I hate days like this. Blasted weather!!

Ironically, “Time of your life” by Green Day keeps running in my head. Armstrong, that pimp.

I came close to asking God for a break. Shit. I gave up on that freak a long time ago. Bastard father of a bastard son. Smirk!!!

I got that funny feeling again. Danger was lurking close. I could almost smell it. I was half expecting it jump at me and tear my throat out. Like a salivating Rothweiler. I was holding my breath. Suddenly it did. Michael Stripe of REM started singing Orange Crush on my N70. I pick up.

“Hello?”

I regret that “hello” faster than I could find a tit in a strip club. It’s a dame and her name is Dangerously Attractive. I hate chicks that call me on rainy days. Dames who call me on rainy days land me in trouble…….or bed. Pretty ones want to tell me about the asshole they are fucking right now. The ugly ones want to fuck me. Either way I’m fucked. I need to start that directory on my phone. My memory is not as good as it use to be.

“Hi”

Shit.

“Hey”

“Wachay doing tonite?”

From the looks of it, regretting answering this call.

“Um…..nothing much”

I’m old. I hate that. Fuck. My brain and tongue don’t seem to work together anymore. Shit.

“Want to go for a drink? Nice weather for one.”

Here it comes.

“Yeah, sure”

I could use the exercise.

I get picked up at seven. I’ve got use to that now and it’s not funny anymore. I get down from a 2004 Toyota Corolla. I smell the cool Colombo air. Smluck! I step on mud. I see mud all over my boot. Like I held it under an asshole. Fuck. I hate this weather.

I meet the same cunts all over again. I have the same drunken conversations all over again. I just enjoy the alcohol, helps me loosen up. I knock up a quick couple. Fuck! That felt good.

I wind up in a sleazy tavern with Dangerously. A sorry excuse for an Irish Pub it claims to be. If there’s anything worse than the air conditioning it’s the lightening. Fuck! The band’s blasting the cover off a CCR cover. To think I use to like this place!!

I have a pet name for Dangerously. It’s call “very”. I could see her buttocks tighten under her skirt as she balanced on those high heels. Fuck. I think I’ve drunk enough. We sit as further from the band as we can. Suddenly all hell breaks loose. I look for a political hoodlum spraying everybody from the bar. Shit. My mistake. DJ is playing a Shakira track. The dames think themselves Shakira. The punks think themselves Wyclef Jean. Cheapest masquerade one can organize. It pays off to have a broken leg sometimes. You don’t get drag on to the floor.

I light up. Suddenly Dangerously squeezes my hand under the table. I hate that……..well actually I don’t mind. This is where I think my film-noir style of narration wares off. Ever notice the difference between when your hand is held under the table and over? Anyway, I explore her hand with mine. I could feel the lines on her palm. Slender fingers. Nice change. Feels nice.

“I’ve missed you”

Fuck. She’s hunting. Alcohol and hunting is a dangerous mix. Somebody can get hurt. Seriously.

“Since when?”

I try to joke my way out of it. But she’s got all the guns. I just have the clutches.

“For the past few years. Technically.”

Jesus fucking Christ!!! Good answer. When a dame says “technically”, she means business. Fuck. How the fuck do I get myself in to these things? Fuck.

“It was nice while it lasted and we moved on.”

Safest possible answer I could think of.

“Do you know the cutest thing about you, Mr. Horus?”

My face? My butt? Please tell me it’s my face.

“The way you sleep in your socks”

Shit. Hey, my feet get cold. Okay?

“I don’t any more. I broke that habit a long time ago.”

I lie. Fuck.

“Things change, ha?

“Big time.”

I stop her from taking her hand away. Shit. I shouldn’t have done that. Red Hot Chilly Peppers. “Take it away, take I away, take it away now!”

The gang’s back at the table. One asshole asks me for a light. Thankfully I use both hands. No hand when I come back. Fuck. If I didn’t want it, why the fuck do I miss it?

Parting time. Thank god. Only a little while longer. I get in to her car. Shit. Another green mile. Maitland crescent is good. Not a word is spoken. I try to ease the ice.

“Can I put some music on?”

I get a nod. Good enough. Put the bastard on and I’ll be at home in no time.

WHAT THE FUCK????

REO SPEEDWAGON.

FUCK!!!! FUCK!!!! Holy mother of Peter!!!!!

I assume she still likes REO Speed. Fuck.

Why can’t they have one common button for all stereos to change from CD mode to Radio mode? Fuck.

“Hey, you still listen to REO.”

“Yup, some things never change.”

CLICK. CLICK. BOOM!!!!!!!!!

My brain matter is all over the fucking dashboard. Oh look, the hypothalamus is on the carpet.

Lordus Cuntus in his delusional state tries to make things better.

“I’m sorry.”

“For what?”

“For acting like I just discovered my first pubic hair.”

I get a laugh. Thank you god!!

“It’s just that I’ve got a lot of shit going on in my life right now.”

“You’re not the only one whose life is not going according to plan.”

I told you the pretty ones want to tell me whom they are fucking right now. Here it comes.

We exchange shit over coffee. It was nice. Like old times.

Last bit of the conversation is just fucked up. Went something like this.

“You know horus, you are one guy tuff guy to get over. I still measure other guys with you, even if I don’t fucking want to. But a girl once in a way wants her guy to make a stand. Tell her what to do when she can’t make up her own mind. You don’t have to always ask. For fucks sake it would be nice to be told once in a way.”

I get dropped off. It’s raining again. I’m drenched by the time I get to the porch. Learnings for the day, number one, chicks that call on rainy days are bad news. Always. Number two, must have updated phone contact list. Smirk!