Wednesday, July 25, 2007


"If loving you is evil, then I'm as guilty as Jack The Ripper." Geoff slid a small, slender zucchini -- the single fruit of the day's island hunt -- into a sneaker and lobbed it toward the turbulent blue-black waters. "Look at that old undertow.... Swallow it up...just as a famished Andalusian mare would."

 He pursed his lips and turned his head from the gale. After one minute, he exhaled sharply and said, "I want to get really fucked up. Secret Waarz is over."

 Sally, his bride-to-be, held tight to the ship's rail and leaned over to spit her gum into the choppy waves. Her eyes had swollen to the size of puckered clams from two days of crying in the "Penthouse Cabin" (actually below deck).

 "Do you hear me?! I broke up Secret Waarz for you!"

 This was not true. Having been re-elected Mayor of Old Navy Town for a second consecutive month, Geoff's ego was spinning out of control. He issued his resignation from the band he founded with Pittsburgh's top tennis twins -- Coney and D.H. Gloucester -- upon confirmation of his rank as top sales member. Geoff is perfectly aware that a third term at Hawaii's largest Old Navy outlet is under way.

 The sneaker belonged to the ship's lowliest and loneliest deckhand -- Pete "Reckless Peter" Schneider -- and the lobbing of the zucchini was Geoff's vindication. Earlier that day, he clandestinely observed Pete console Sally as she dolefully nibbled at the zucchini's stem. Old Navy's youngest debutante was not to be plundered by a seaman whose societal rank was clearly rungs below that of a man who has sold literal tons of board shorts and polar fleece jackets.

 "Where's that steak or whatever?!" Geoff patiently rubbed a turnip with a small piece of leather three times before sending a deckhand to check with the boat's kitchen.

 In the cargo hold of the Queen Jess Tandy, Dr. Tickle Zitronengelber rose from his cot with a brow ripened red and moist with fever.

 "The behemoth has set our path awry! Oh... what... the chinker... hath wrought!"

Tuesday, July 24, 2007


 The scarf trick worked. Knitted into the elaborate ribs of my "fashion neck warmer" was an ounce of killer hash I purchased as a "taster" for my boss. It perfectly fooled Croation customs, and I imagine it'll be a bitch to seperate the hash from the weave. The real pity will be losing the scarf; it was the first one I ever wore and was muy becoming.

 During a layover in Presque Isle, I sat in Turner & Hooch Cafe and held the scarf to my nose, drawing in gasp after gasp of the potent scent between sips of Ron Tingley Tea. A Barbara Alton lookalike showed promise -- and a perfect view of her rosey snatch -- from across the oolong bar. She winked. I winked back ...but with both eyes.

 An hour later, we were in the women's lav smoking the Nepalese from a tea infuser. Her name was Clinique and she was smoldering.

 "Wait," she said. "Hold on a minute. I know it's in here. I know it is." From a macrame bag I'd mistaken for a plant hanger about a half hour earlier, Clinique produced a red velvet cummerbund.

 "I want you to wear this," she exhaled. With the sharp point of a Lee Press-on, she caressed the ridge of her heavy breasts as I wrapped the band around my neck. I had to ask:

 "Was this what you came to Maine for?"


 It turned.

 The news was grave and my stomach twisted further, deeper. My mother's death became my hangover, and I grabbed my rotted gut and boarded a Greyhound. Turning the fat as I exhaled, it was my hope to cough out the specter of the morning's liquor.

 In Idaho, an 8-year-old pulled a hypodermic needle from the station's trash can and pricked the little finger of her left hand. Her mother, an obese smoker with a streak of shit running up the back of her purple t-shirt, erupted. My head felt like a bully in a tornado. Pure murder.

Tuesday, July 10, 2007


 I'm a futilitarianist. After a series of serious skateboard wipe-outs and totally un-kosher scrape-'em-ups, I decided: fuck it all. But, I won $2000 in an online poker tournament and as a symbolic gesture, spent $1000 on a fireplace poker. If we could forgo the credit check to allow me residency in your lovely two-bedroom home w/ fireplace, I would be happy to pay the security deposit in cash."

Thursday, July 05, 2007


Ms. Wray called every hour on the hour. When I finally answered, she said:

 "Bring your tonsils; we're playing hockey tonight."

At her bungalow, two costumes were laid out on the contemporary shag.

  "Do you prefer early Cher or fat Cher?," she asked.

The heat was incredible. Was it over 90 degrees? Over 100? I asked myself:

 "What has gone on in this room?!"

Tuesday, July 03, 2007


 Via undisclosed and possibly illicit means, Jenny had procured an unplayed first-generation VHS copy of Zombie Holocaust. She regaled me with tales of the film numerous times, my appetite whetted with each account. Mounting my bicycle, I shouted "Yeah, this is my shit!" to the night sky and made my way to Jenny's tastefully decorated second-floor studio.

 Half past midnight, I arrived at Jenny's rental to find her chopping and spicing carrots for a European dish she read about in Cats Magazine. She directed me to a beanbag chair large enough for two or three behinds (re: derrière) to sit comfortably. Sheila, a girl I'd never heard of but was allegedly a close friend to Jenny, sat next to me. She was a beautiful young woman with excellent calves.

 "Drink this," said Sheila, forcing to my nose a carafe flush with red elixir. "A friend of mine made this. It's Mad Dog 20/20 fortified with the blood of six quadroons."

 Fearing I'd never come down from the insane high this drink most likely produced, I politely declined.

 "No thanks, I'm engaged to be married and am saving my drinking stomach until wedding day."

 "Who are you engaged to?," Jenny wanted to know.

 "I dunno...this pair of scissors." A pair of 6" scissors lay on the table in front of me. Grabbing the red handle, I began cutting my curly locks at a slightly frenzied pace. "Don't I look like a famous actress having a nervous breakdown? 'I want to cut it all off!'"