Friday, August 31, 2012

Original Short - Suicide Mission

“But Grams,” I pleaded. “I’d rather have a hot poker shoved up my ass than go to that bingo hall. It smells of Ben Gay and imminent death in there.”

“Listen, sonny boy,” she chided. “I never ask you for anything. I’d go myself, but I already have tickets to go see Anthrax.”

“How about I go see Anthrax, and you go play bingo?” I suggested.

“Not a chance. I already have the perfect pair of panties to toss up on the stage.”

“Fine,” I said. “Tell me what to do.”

“I know that bitch is cheating, I just can’t figure out how,” she explained. “Nobody is that lucky.” Grams proceeded to lay out the plan. She said Stella Garcia had a thing for younger men, so I was to “make nice” and watch her and the bingo caller.

I sat in the parking lot and twisted open the Peppermint Schnapps. If I was going to humiliate myself, I’d have to be halfway schnockered. I also made sure to pack my heavy duty, double layered condoms. If anything happened, I didn’t want to catch any 19th century black death version of herpes from that old hag.

Feeling no pain, I put on my dark sunglasses and staggered through the front doors. I stood there and scanned the room. Stella was by the stage “whoring it up” with the bingo caller. I waited until she sat down, then brought over a couple of drinks. Double Jack for me and Sex on the Beach for her.

“Hi Stella,” I flirted. “Is this seat taken?”

She giggled, which came out sounding like a zombie with lung cancer. “Please,” she replied. “Thanks for the drink. But I have to warn you, when I get tipsy, my hands tend to roam.” She winked at me and my stomach lurched.

I downed my Jack and said, “Bring it on, baby.”

“Oh my,” she said. “We may have to skip bingo tonight.” She winked again and put her hand on my thigh. I don’t remember anything else after going back out to the car, finishing the Schnapps and smoking a joint, but when I woke up, I was in Stella’s bed.

“What the fuck did I do?” I said, my head pounding and a painful heat already burning in my groin.
Stella turned over and said, “Oh baby, what DIDN’T you do?”

She reached over to stroke my package, which immediately retreated out of terror. I got up, grabbed my clothes and ran. When I stumbled in the front door, Grams was making breakfast. “You must have had some night,” she said. “How did it go?”

“Well,” I hesitated. “Stella didn’t win any money last night, but I didn’t catch her in the act, either.”

“Well damn,” Grams replied. “You’re just going to have to do it all over again next Monday.”

I turned down breakfast in favor of a shower, where I spent the next hour scrubbing and crying.

Thursday, August 30, 2012

Original Poetry - Appointment With Death

A long life ending too soon
Like a song stopped in the middle
On an 8-track tape

My bucket list incomplete
In fact, never begun
Too busy with life

Alone in this bed
No friends or family
Too busy with life

One more chance
Is all I ask
To make it right

Someone is here
To say goodbye
‘Tis only Death

I close my eyes
Begin a new journey
On the other side

I have regrets
But don’t we all
Too busy with life.