Saturday, November 9, 2013
Wednesday, October 30, 2013
Chapter 4: "Gin and Tonic"
Chapter 4: "Gin and Tonic"
by
Ryan Munevar
“You said 200 Bucks an hour? Right? No dick sucking involved right?”
“Fuck no, this isn’t a profession for fags or Nancy boys. This is a job for men. For killers. Real men. Are you a real man?”
“Hell yes.”
“Goddamned right you are. Know how to make a good G & T?”
“You got Bombay Sapphire?”
“Does the pope fuck children?”
“It’s only tradition.”
“Black cupboard, 3rd, 4th and 5th shelves.”
I opened them up, all of them, and on every single one was 8 bottles 3 deep of Bombay Sapphire Gin. It was at that moment I realized I was in the presence of greatness.
“3 rocks?” I asked.
“You are wise beyond your years.”
I dropped three ice cubes in each glass. Did a fifty/fifty mix of gin and tonic water. Stirred it up with two slices of lime and served.
Orlando took a deep drink with his eyes closed. He exhaled slowly and opened his eyes looking right at me. “Now that was just sexual in nature. Good man! You know how to throw a punch, kung fu, any of that shit?”
“No.”
“Good, that fag shit is for Asians and woman with engorged clitorises from Boston. And on retrospect anyone from Massachusetts. Are you from Massachusetts?”
“No.”
“Don’t you fucking lie to me.”
“Swear to God.”
“Swear to Satan! I have no use for Christians, Catholics or Muslim whores here unless it is to educate them about the beauties of sodomy.”
What the fuck?
“Hail Satan!” I yelled.
“One time I prayed to God for fear chronic masturbation caused me to go blind.”
I blinked.
“Don’t ever let me catch you praying. Praying is to hesitate. It’s to ask, NO!!!” Five maybe six second go by as he looked off towards the distance. “To beg for God to wipe your ass. Fuck him! Fuck him in his dirty cow holes.”
He stood up and pointed a finger at me as he took another slurp off his G & T. “You ever kill anything boy?”
“Couple of ants,”
“Fuck yea, I slept with an aunt once. She seduced me. Never killed her though, I applaud you. How did you do it?”
“Magnifying glass.”
“I don’t know what the hell you are talking about, but you make a damn good G&T. Your fucking hired. Let’s go.”
“Where?”
“Miami”
“When?”
“As soon as you pour us another drink.”
***
We got to the airport right as my car started to stall out. He made me leave it in the towing zone.
“Fuck it,” seemed to be his all purpose piece of philosophy towards the world.
He bought the tickets on Debit card. I hadn’t seen anybody use one of those in a long time.
“Credit cards are for people who think they aren’t already dead. We are samurai’s. Wake up every day knowing you are going to die and you will be free.”
He even had a universal travel weapons permit. The man had 16 G&T’s in him and they were letting him onboard a Scram Jet 69 LAX to Miami with two automatic Gloc 22’s, and 6 armor piercing explosive round clips at 20 rounds a clip. That’s a 120 rounds of fire power onboard a low orbital scram jet going 1200 miles per hour to Miami.
2 Hours later we dropped back into orbit and landed in Miami International.
A Limo greeted us and took us to his office/apartment.
“Don’t ever, under any circumstance flash your worth,”
Chapter 3: "The Muffin Man"
The Muffin Man
by
Ryan Munevar
“And if you take that hat off I’ll
fucking fire you so Goddamn fast you’ll feel like a Mexican being chased back
across the border faster than fucking Carl Lewis, you hear me? Do you hear me
in there?” Some piece of shit in a white shirt and red tie was yelling at me.
“This
fucking thing smells like piss and shit,” I responded.
“That’s sweat from hard
work and don’t you fear it.”
“Fucking
vomit man, shit this thing smells like some one threw up in it.”
“That
hat alone costs $155 which goes right back to what I told you earlier, DO NOT
TAKE OFF THE FUCKING HAT!”
“It’s
not a hat man, it’s like a full on mask, wrapped around my head, this is
fucked,”
“That’s why I pay you the big bucks now get
your ass out there and hustle!”
He literally pushed me out
of the bakery, a giant muffin walking down Hollywood Blvd, into the river of
lost souls.
Fucking Hollywood.
A
beautiful girl in a light blue dress walked by licking a spoon coved with lemon
frozen Yogurt from the Frozen Yogurt store next door. The whole sobriety thing
was making all of this very hard to understand.
I felt my cock rub up against the suits plastic foam urethane whatever
the fuck and I said the only thing I could think of to her.
“Muffin
Man… Muffin Man Style Blueberry Muffins, Bakers Dozen for only $9.99…” Pause,
and I thought about it for a second before I asked her. “And what the fuck is a
bakers dozen?”
She
laughed and kept going.
“$9.99,”
I called out after her.
Another
girl came out holding a cup of Frozen Yogurt.
“What
the fuck is a bakers dozen?” I asked her.
She
did not laugh, but she did keep going.
“$9.99…”
The
next person that walked by I watched walk by. Fuck him…
This
was insanity. And I was only getting paid $25 an hour. But then the most
beautiful girl I ever saw walked by. Without mental control my legs began to
walk instep behind her. Her ass was decadent. Perfect shape, perfect bounce,
ohh sweet Jesus I just want to bite her ass.
She
stopped and turned looking right at me.
“What?”
she asked.
I
took off the mask.
“I’m
not really a muffin,” I said.
She
squinted at me.
“I
just wanted you to know that.”
“I
don’t know who you are?”
“I
know I just-“
“You
are really weird, leave me alone.”
“But-“
she cut me off by continuing to walk away.
I
put the mask back on and began walking slowly.
The thing about a 40 pound poly-urethra-whatever-suit is that it's 40
fucking pounds. That's as fucked as a
pregnant chick.
I passed a homeless man on
sitting against the side of a store front swaying back and forth. He was talking on a cell phone. He stopped for a second opening his mouth as
he looked at me.
"Hold
on," he said to the cell phone.
"Got any change man?" he asked me.
"No..." I noticed he had two bottles of unopened
vodka in a bag next to him. "But
I'll trade you this mask for one of those bottles."
"What?" he asked
with a glare.
I took the mask off. "I'll trade you this for one of those,
it's worth $155," I pointed to the bottles.
I handed the helmet mask to
him.
"What am I supposed to
do with this?"
"It's worth $20 at any
pawn shop."
"And?"
"It's yours."
"Fuck you."
"Give me $5."
"Fuck you, take your
shitty hat and get the fuck out of here you goddamned drunk," this coming from a Bum.
"$4."
"Up your ass," he
said tossing the helmet mask piece of shit on the ground.
"$3.50."
He
kicked the mask away from us with a boot mostly comprised of urine baked duct
tape wrapped around an old pair of Nike's.
Pointing his finger at
me. "And if you ever come back
around here I'll find you where you sleep, strap you down to your bed and burn
you the fuck alive," ...from a fucking bum.
With no response I walked
to where he kicked my mask, waddled down and picked it up.
I put the Muffin head back
on. The shame...
"You
didn't have to do that man," I said to him.
He
went back to his cell phone conversation.
Another beautiful girl walked by sucking on some kind of pink yogurt
smoothie thing.
"Fuck it," I took
the mask off and slammed it down onto his head, the eye holes facing the back,
his hand still holding the cellphone, stuck in the mask.
He
began screaming.
I
waddle leaned over as best I could in that beast suit and snatched the bag of
vodka bottles.
"I'll
fucking kill you! I'll fucking kill your
children," muffled screams.
Turned out to be 3 bottles
inside and after 8 hours of financially induced sobriety it was about time for
things to start looking up.
I
continued my stroll down the strip opening the first bottle and began downing
it as fast as I could. In about 2
minutes and half a block I had it finished.
Some Japanese tourists
began to follow me. Taking pictures. Fuck them...
With
the second bottle already half gone and the effects from the first beginning to
take hold I felt the power of sweet decadent magnificence flowing through
me. So I pulled my right hand into the
muffin suit opened the front flap and maneuvered my milk shake stick out and
began to take a man piss on the avenue of stars. I like to look at my penis while I do God's
work but the suits girth was preventing that visual treat. So I focused my eyes on the nearest
thing. Kirstie Alleys 5 pointed star on
the walk of fame...
"Kirstie
Alley... What a fucking beast," I
muttered as directed my stream over her star.
Looking
up I noticed the Japanese tourists had multiplied and there were about about 8
of them now. Asians have a tendency to do
this. A few other people were also
watching. "A beast!" I roared
at them.
After
the lord had been satiated I put myself back together down south and continued
my walk down the avenue of stars... I
hate this place.
My
crotch began to vibrate
CNN
was broadcasting some bullshit. “The Senate and House have officially passed
the New Human Rights Bill increasing the cost of a Turning License to $950
Million effective January 1st of Next Year.”
Fucking
vampires… Making it more and more
expensive to become one every day.
Sure,
they have a lottery to become one every year.
Cured
Homosexuality.
Cured
everything but being poor.
Fuck
them.
Pennywise
needs a new tank. I’m in.
Over
50% of the top CEO’s from the fortune 500 where vampires.
Chapter 2 "Mommas Got a Sweet Tooth"
Chapter 2:
by
Ryan Munevar
When I got
out I realized didn’t have any clean towels so I used a t-shirt. Toweled off and tossed the head into the back
of my refrigerator, like the real refrigerator.
I had
purchased a large selection of Omaha Steaks and needed to store them so I was
using the Industrial head freezer for that.
Nobody
would notice the difference.
I walked
around the pool of blood on the floor and picked the radio up and logged into
base.
Then poured
a bowl of cereal and began to check my email while watching porn in the
background. I was out of Orange Juice
but fortunately there was still some Thai beer in the fridge.
Before the
girl in the porn could get a cock in her there was a pounding on my door.
“Fucking
hell…” I got up and went over to it looking through the keyhole. It was my landlady.
“Open Up!”
she yelled.
I did.
“Yea?” I
asked.
“Do you
know there is blood leaking down through the ceiling of the apartment below?”
“That’s
fucked up…” I said it with a straight face and was able to hold it for about 5
seconds before I started laughing.
“This is
coming out of your deposit!”
I kept
laughing.
“You think
that’s funny? The woman that lives below
is a devout Catholic, they really don’t have a sense of humor when their
ceiling begins to bleed. She was in
hysterics!”
I kept
laughing as I walked past her and over to the neighbors across the hall.
“What are
you doing? I’m talking to you.”
I knocked
on the door.
“Don’t
worry about it landlady, it’s all under control.”
The door
opened. Alison, a single woman, fat, in
her mid 30’s, with 2 cats.
“What do
you want?”
“Hey… I don’t mean to sound like a sexual deviant,
but can I borrow some of your cat litter?”
“What?”
Alison asked.
20 minutes later I had 10 pounds of
cat litter covering the blood pool. I
prided myself on my problem solving skills and decided to reward myself with a
Mimosa as I watched my Internet porn while eating my Lucky Charms.
Note: Clean up and show the mixing of Orange Juice and
Champagne.
Base beeped in.
“Pico to
RMU, copy…”
I sat
there, looking at the radio... Drinking
my Mimosa, chewing bits of cereal. No, you can
wait… Cocksuckers.
“Pico to RMU, copy!”
I picked up
my radio. “What the shit? Over,” I responded into it.
“RMU… Have you been drinking? Over.”
“I gave up
last Tuesday. Over.”
“You doing
alright with it? Over.”
“Easy as
dirty cows. Over,” I finished my Thai
beer and walked over to the fridge with my radio and took another beer out
opening it with the side of the radio.
“Feel like making some money? Over.”
Finished
the beer in one long gulping swig. I was
now out of Thai beer.
“Fuck
yea I do. Over.”
“Alright,
UCLA Med Center, Joshua Brown, 57, Room 238, Patient ID number, 6666666, 7 6’s
you copy? Over.”
“UCLA,
J. Brown, Room 238, ID 7 6’s, I’m rolling baby, over.”
“And
it’s a short order. Over.”
“Fuck
else would it be? And what’s the chop
time? Over.”
What’s a short order right?
Don’t worry I’ll get into that.
“Copy
that,” fuck…
“45
minutes. Copy?”
“45,
UCLA Med Center, 15 minutes tops. Over
and out.”
I
started getting my gear together. Walking
around the puddle of blood I picked up my bag and washed it off in the shower.
Tossed
it back out by the normal refrigerator and opened the top freezer compartment
and small wave of warm water came up.
“What
the shit?” I reached in and pulled out a half bottle of rum and no ice. The machine was broken.
Perfect
timing…
They
told me that they had gotten it off EBay, but I believe they had stolen it from
the Ramada Inn on Wilshire and 3355, Koreatown, “If found please report as
stolen Call 1-800-Blah, Blah, Blah…” so the giant sticker on the left side of
it said.
I
opened the bottle of warm Rum and took a swig as I though.
“7
Eleven it is…”
I
finished dressing in my one and only black suit, with a black shirt, and a
black tie. And pulled out my grey
handkerchief, the one bit of flair that CrioDyne encouraged from its employees.
Grabbed
my keys, money clip, cell, emergency golden flask filled with SoJu(an oriental
beverage of fearsome delight, in essence an exotic alcohol that could only be
understood as ass sex with out the stink of the ass itself) and a bottle of
Vicadin with a Hello Kitty sticker on the side.
She said it was for good luck…
Fucking Junkies.
Took
an emergency swig of SoJu, grabbed the crio bag, and was out.
When
I got to my green Chevy parked in the underground garage under my apartment I
popped the trunk to toss the retrieval bag in but noticed my medical hacksaw
was missing. This was not as easy as an
ice bag pick up from 7 Eleven. The
typical medical hack saw costs roughly $845, I know because I had stolen my
last one from UCI Medical Center and those mothers had try to actually bill me
for it. Audacity doesn’t even come close
to how I would describe their attempt to collect my hard earned money.
Another
swig of SoJu, which for the sake of the Orientals I am considering renaming
brain juice for how else can you explain their super human gifts in the areas
of Mathematics and cuisine.
Rummaging
around in the trunk of the car in a slurring panic I realized that the hack saw
was not present. But I did find a few
more pairs of panties and an iPod I had stolen out of a dead mans pocket from a
previous short order 2 months prior. All
was not lost.
Putting
on the iPod and taking another swig of Oriental Brain Juice I got into the
Chevy and pulled out dirty whore style tires liquefying with smoke and squeal
and then threw it into drive as I raced out of the garage the bottom of the car
scrapping against the steep cement incline at the lip of the structure.
I was new, so I was on recovery and
prep. Those cock suckers trusted me so little they wouldn’t even give me the
keys to one of the vans let alone an extra hack saw.
Time
to get creative.
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