Maeve was one of those really lucky people who were born unto money. Her father made money on simple things like parking garages, laundry mats and gumball machines. He made Maeve a partner in a Jazz club he owned and purchased her house for her as well as paid her taxes. To make her feel as though she was doing something more than just spending money, Maeve’s father purchased a club and made her “The Boss”. There were accountants and general mangers and everything worked just fine without Maeve. Maeve’s main job was to travel the world to find good wine. They stopped serving food for a while and people stopped coming to the club for the most part. They once served juicy steaks that commanded $45.00 a plate. Free range, grass fed Bison was their specialty. These bison roamed not far from where Custer met his match and then they wound up on plates in downtown Detroit. This all came to an end when Maeve took over.
Maeve physically accosted the chef and sous chef and then invited food shelters and the homeless to take all the meat in the restaurant and so they did. For a good week or so, the most fabulous smells emanated from vacant lots not far from downtown Detroit. Salads with nuts and alfalfa were served and not too many people cared for that. Maeve’s father convinced Maeve that she had to at least serve exotic cheese from Spain, France and Germany. Maeve picked the cheeses herself from farms that she visited while in Europe. She wanted to be sure that none of the animals were being abused or exploited in the giving of milk. The club began to rebound a bit.
The next order of business was to make the Jazz super club a Jazz club once again. Maeve’s unwashed, unshaven, slovenly bust out of a husband was only allowed to play his homemade Blues on Sunday nights after 9pm until everyone left which was usually around 11pm. George spent the rest of his week watching their toddler son who spent his time watching Elmo and throwing handmade German blocks with numbers and letters on them at their cat. George was very nervous about their son Nathan being abusive towards the house cat since his wife was a member of PETA. George hated the indifferent feline for pissing on his 1959 Guild Guitar that was once played by Dwayne Eddy. George tried to get the pungent smell of cat piss off of his guitar but it was to no avail. The cat urine had saturated the wood. And so George played his $20,000.00 collector‘s item and had to put up with the smell of piss. For that he hated the cat. Their son just loved making the cat run and hiss by throwing finely crafted blocks from Germany. He was after all a boy.
Now when Maeve was not finding exotic wine and cheese for her Jazz bistro in Detroit, she was flitting around the world in a quest to find stuff that was good but that nobody had ever heard of. Maeve came back from Bilbao, Spain and featured a Basque guitarist that she met and managed to have relations with while visiting a small farm. Dunixi played at a small café near the ocean and was handsome with long hair and a rugged four day growth on his face at all times. He wore a white dress shirt with the sleeves rolled up and the top four buttons unbuttoned and clam digger pants rolled up. He wore a tortured face and banged Gypsy like music on the guitar and sang in Basque. He spoke no English and nobody spoke a lick of Basque and so for a week the Jazz bistro featured the great Dunixi. Some people swore they had heard of him and really they hadn’t. After Dunixi, there were Mexican guitarists and Brazilian guitarists and even a large Samoan looking man from New Zealand who played the Didgeridoo while another man played dissonant Jazz on a tenor saxophone and read poetry. Maeve made it with all these men. It was like big game hunting for her. She loved her husband and her son dearly but at the same time the domesticity bored her and besides, saving animals was really her passion.
Wherever Maeve went, she donated money to people that were fighting zoos or stores that sold leather goods or even grocery stores. She didn’t have the time and energy to be a foot soldier and so she showed up at rallies to speak and throw money at those that had given up their lives to more or less walk in the path towards a non-carnivore existence for humanity.
Maeve came home in her H3 Hummer that was gift from her father late one evening to their Farmington Hills mansion that had a large circular drive, two water fountains in the front and a pool sized Jacuzzi in the back. Maeve decided after closing the club for the night to come home and go directly to the back yard and hop into the Jacuzzi. The light sensor light in back that detected motion was out and the night was as dark as pitch. There was no moon and not enough starlight to see one’s hand in front of their face. Maeve crept down the wooden staircase to where the dial was to start the jets. Maeve stumbled and fell buck naked over a bag of garbage that was left on the bottom step. As she was falling she kneed the head of a large raccoon that was feasting on the garbage left in the bag. George didn’t make time to change the light earlier in the day and was afraid for himself that he would cross the path of a coyote and so he made the decision to leave the plastic bag full of garbage on the steps until morning. Maeve had interrupted a large male raccoon’s feast.
Maeve screamed George’s name as if she was being killed. She stood on the dewy, wet grass. The raccoon was not moving aside for Maeve to climb the stairs and get into the house. George was paralyzed with terror himself. He was too afraid to go outside and risk being killed by robbers or rapists and thought did come to him that if they offed his lovely wife, he stood to make a lot of money. George stood in the shadows of the kitchen and let the chips fall where they may. He was rooting for a violent finish.
Ray, an architect from next door, was single and liked it that way. He built his home and modeled it after a Frank Lloyd Wright home he had seen in Wisconsin. Ray was in bed watching a movie when he heard the blood curdling scream. He grabbed his Maglight and the only weapon he had which was a great household appliance called a Swiffer.
Ray jogged over in his University of Michigan shirt that had a huge yellow M on a blue shirt and a pair of shorts. Ray was shocked to see his neighbor who was tall and shapely with breasts that were not too droopy for a woman of forty and not a strand of hair that could be detected around her vagina. Maeve actually had five out six visits necessary to complete the laser surgery and the last one was sort of like taking out the weed whacker after cutting the grass: just to get those hard to reach areas that the mower and edger cannot reach. To the untrained eye, Maeve was as bald as the day she was born.
After a good three seconds of the Maglight which was directly on Maeve, was then focused on the raccoon that was showing his teeth and growling. The raccoon was not going to leave the buffet he created without a fight. Ray poked at the animal that swiped at the Swiffer.
“Get him! Oh my god! Please get him!” Exclaimed Maeve, as she did her best to cover herself with her hands.
Ray jousted with the raccoon that hissed and edged closer to him in an attempt to climb the fence and take off. Suddenly Maeve didn’t seem to care if the animal was in danger of dying. She came to understand what animals know all too well; it is either the raccoon or them that were going to lose. Ray swung the Swiffer like a Louisville Slugger and smacked the raccoon in the ass, sending it tumbling over the fence. Maeve cried tears of relief and hugged Ray as she sobbed. Ray wanted to put his hands on her firm ass but instead patted her on the back the way a parent consoles a child who skinned knee. Ray had from a distance admired the woman’s free spirit and take charge attitude as well as her body. Ray gambled that to be forthright would be welcomed and so he rolled the dice. He spoke in a fake drawl. Ray was after all watching Cool Hand Luke on DVD when all hell broke loose.
“Anytime you need a real man… I mean a man you can depend on; you know where to find me. Whether you scream into the night or ring my bell. I am here for you Ms. Maeve Magorn.”
Ray grabbed her chin between his thumb and index finger and planted his warm tongue in her mouth. Maeve did not mind since she was already numb. George stood at the kitchen window and watched his wife kissing the neighbor who was still holding his wife with one hand and the Swiffer in the other.
Maeve slipped on her polka dot underwear with little ties on the side and walked in through the back door to find her husband standing in his white briefs with a bit of rust stain in the front holding the telephone. George’s hairy man boobs sagged as did his second trimester gut. His helpless expression only angered Maeve more. George couldn’t speak or blink as he stared at his angry wife. Maeve’s nostrils flared and her lips disappeared. George knew he had to speak and said the only thing most humans say when they cannot fix a situation properly.
“I’m so sorry…”
Like most other situations, it did nothing but further angered Maeve. Things were thrown and there was screaming and the sounds of an infant crying. Ray thought to himself as he settle back into bed in his quiet room and resumed the movie that maybe having nothing, like Luke said, was a cool hand.
Thursday, March 31, 2011
Thursday, March 24, 2011
Ray of Life
Lars Lindvistdagen was a life long student in Sweden and was commissioned by the Royal Swedish Academy of Sciences upon achieving a doctorate. The Swedish government became very interested in the effects of electromagnetism and so Lars took off for Lapland to understand what life was like in the pure darkness of winter and efflorescent lights.
The Sami people primarily lived in Norway, but at the near northern most border of Sweden where the sun never seemed to set in the summer or rise in the winter was where Lars met Helga who was teaching the Sami language to Swedish children whose parents had to relocate to northern Sweden for work. Lars was completely smitten with this carefree woman who was a hair under six feet tall, with blond hair, large breasts and a firm b
ody.
Helga’s people had herded reindeer for centuries and with technology being what it is, there just wasn’t the need for so much reindeer husbandry as their used to be and so Helga taught her language to Swedish people who mostly spoke English anyway.
Lars at the youthful age of forty eight, after being a student in the university system of Sweden, married a much younger Helga and lived in Bjokliden. They married at midnight on the longest night of the year. Something about that time of year made Helga feel more alive than at any other time of the year. The sun set at about 12:24am and they made love over and over until the sun rose again at about 3:57am. They slept, made love and got ready to move to Los Angeles, California.
Lars and Helga spent there honeymoon at Disneyland and in Malibu and both agreed that the overabundance of humans in such a concentrated area would be perfect to study the effects of electromagnetism. Lars and Helga had lived in a part of the world where there were very few people. In the summer, they would walk through the forest of pine and rocky hills that were greener than the color green. In the winter when the wind wasn’t howling, they would walk in the snow and marvel at the beautiful mountains and herds of reindeer, take deep breaths of clean air and then went back indoors to have sex. Lars understood that Helga could get herself to cum if he was under her and really that was the best view of his young wife who wasn’t yet thirty years of age. Her long blond hair and perfect smile and enormous breasts moving in perfect syncopation and his sunken chest with a few wispy hairs on his chest, thin face with horn rim glasses and a beard that made him look like Sigmund Freud. The Royal Academy asked Lars to work in tandem with scientist at UCLA.
Helga began to feel strange in a strange land. Eating Del Taco, going to health clubs, drinking expensive coffee concoctions, driving long distances for a long time was all taking a toll on Helga who began to show signs of depression and unbridled anger.
One night while watching an Ingrid Bergman movie in Swedish, Helga became confused about what it was that she was thinking of doing. She stood holding a bowl and began to cry and then scream. She broke a leg off of their teak table and began to smash things until there was no sound and no light. After several minutes of crying, Helga got into their late model Volvo and drove full speed down Santa Monica Boulevard. She drove the Volvo through the front window of a Starbucks. It was nearly ten in the evening and people were still drinking coffee, doing things on laptops and texting people. At the moment the car came crashing through the front window, a Madonna song was playing softly Helga could hear subliminal messages like high pitched frequency sounds that only canines can hear. Helga heard it earlier in the day when she was drinking a green tea and thumbing through the Los Angeles Times. It was laced in Madonna’s song, Ray of Light.
Faster than the speeding light she’s flying
Try to remember where it all began
She’s got herself a piece of heaven
Waiting for the time when earth shall be as one
Quicker than a ray of light
Quicker than a ray of light
While the music played and Helga looked around the room. A fat young guy with a dirty t-shirt talked into a Bluetooth as he nervously bounced his legs and discussed a bet about which Hollywood star would freak out next as he scanned Popeater. A woman in spandex talked loudly on a cell phone while she poured six packets of sugar into a caramel frappichino. A little boy was glued to a hand held game while his Haitian au pair drank a coffee black, without milk or sugar and spoke in a patois to someone in New York about the weather and whether a relative had died yet of AIDS in Miami. Suddenly everything seemed to speed up to Helga. Cars moved faster, clouds seemed to zoom by and pedestrians seemed to be running. A Pakistani cab driver came in and spoke on his cell phone in his native tongue and it sound like an auctioneer. Helga could hear her own heart beat and the electricity in the room buzzed like high tension wires in a misty rain. Helga was afraid to blink. Helga was afraid to move.
Faster than the speeding light she’s flying
Try to remember where it all began
She’s got herself a piece of heaven
Waiting for the time when earth shall be as one… And I feel like I just got home
Fucking speeding life is dying
Try to remember a safer place
She used to have a bigger land
Waiting for moment when this will end… And I feel like I can’t get home
As the Volvo smashed into the barista’s bar and sent people flying, Helga pulled out a double barrel, twelve gauge shot gun and began to shoot at lights, computers. Carefully and slowly reloading the shells after each shot. Patrons and workers scattered as if an earthquake was taking place. Helga plopped down in a chair as the same Madonna song played. Helga reached in the cooler and popped open a mineral water as the song slowed to the chorus.
Zephyr in the Sky at night I wonder
Do my tears of mourning sink beneath the sun
She’s got herself a universe gone quickly
For the call of thunder threatens everyone
Laser surgery may be the answer
For unwanted hair
Six minutes a day to get the shape you want
Buy info tapes today to get yourself out of debt
Miller Lite or any light? A ray of light?
Lights out, lightology, lighthouse, lightening
Light my fire, you light up my life… I am the way, the truth and the light
Lars book became a best seller in Sweden when it became know what his wife Helga had done in Los Angeles and their well publicized deportation. When interviewed on American television about the incident, Lars had good answers for his wife’s behavior.
Not all compact fluorescent lights are the same and not all full spectrum
lights are safe. There are problems with CFL that go beyond the mercury
problem. Some of these health concerns are namely that they can cause
irritability, depression, hyperactivity, fatigue, headaches etc. Compact
fluorescent lights (CFL) produce radio wave frequencies. These frequencies
radiate directly from the bulbs and go on the electrical wiring in the home
or school causing poor power quality or dirty electricity. The closer you
sit to the bulb the greater your exposure. Because the high frequencies
travel along the wire you can be exposed in other rooms of your home as well
as the room that contains the CFL.
Many complain that they cannot be in a room
with fluorescent lights because they feel "unwell". These people have
difficulty shopping in large department stores because of the lighting and
often go with list in hand and spend as little time in the store as
possible. Their cognitive functions diminish and some have difficulty
recalling where they parked their car… My wife parked our car in the middle of a Starbucks in
Santa Monica, California… She couldn’t recall why.
The Sami people primarily lived in Norway, but at the near northern most border of Sweden where the sun never seemed to set in the summer or rise in the winter was where Lars met Helga who was teaching the Sami language to Swedish children whose parents had to relocate to northern Sweden for work. Lars was completely smitten with this carefree woman who was a hair under six feet tall, with blond hair, large breasts and a firm b
ody.
Helga’s people had herded reindeer for centuries and with technology being what it is, there just wasn’t the need for so much reindeer husbandry as their used to be and so Helga taught her language to Swedish people who mostly spoke English anyway.
Lars at the youthful age of forty eight, after being a student in the university system of Sweden, married a much younger Helga and lived in Bjokliden. They married at midnight on the longest night of the year. Something about that time of year made Helga feel more alive than at any other time of the year. The sun set at about 12:24am and they made love over and over until the sun rose again at about 3:57am. They slept, made love and got ready to move to Los Angeles, California.
Lars and Helga spent there honeymoon at Disneyland and in Malibu and both agreed that the overabundance of humans in such a concentrated area would be perfect to study the effects of electromagnetism. Lars and Helga had lived in a part of the world where there were very few people. In the summer, they would walk through the forest of pine and rocky hills that were greener than the color green. In the winter when the wind wasn’t howling, they would walk in the snow and marvel at the beautiful mountains and herds of reindeer, take deep breaths of clean air and then went back indoors to have sex. Lars understood that Helga could get herself to cum if he was under her and really that was the best view of his young wife who wasn’t yet thirty years of age. Her long blond hair and perfect smile and enormous breasts moving in perfect syncopation and his sunken chest with a few wispy hairs on his chest, thin face with horn rim glasses and a beard that made him look like Sigmund Freud. The Royal Academy asked Lars to work in tandem with scientist at UCLA.
Helga began to feel strange in a strange land. Eating Del Taco, going to health clubs, drinking expensive coffee concoctions, driving long distances for a long time was all taking a toll on Helga who began to show signs of depression and unbridled anger.
One night while watching an Ingrid Bergman movie in Swedish, Helga became confused about what it was that she was thinking of doing. She stood holding a bowl and began to cry and then scream. She broke a leg off of their teak table and began to smash things until there was no sound and no light. After several minutes of crying, Helga got into their late model Volvo and drove full speed down Santa Monica Boulevard. She drove the Volvo through the front window of a Starbucks. It was nearly ten in the evening and people were still drinking coffee, doing things on laptops and texting people. At the moment the car came crashing through the front window, a Madonna song was playing softly Helga could hear subliminal messages like high pitched frequency sounds that only canines can hear. Helga heard it earlier in the day when she was drinking a green tea and thumbing through the Los Angeles Times. It was laced in Madonna’s song, Ray of Light.
Faster than the speeding light she’s flying
Try to remember where it all began
She’s got herself a piece of heaven
Waiting for the time when earth shall be as one
Quicker than a ray of light
Quicker than a ray of light
While the music played and Helga looked around the room. A fat young guy with a dirty t-shirt talked into a Bluetooth as he nervously bounced his legs and discussed a bet about which Hollywood star would freak out next as he scanned Popeater. A woman in spandex talked loudly on a cell phone while she poured six packets of sugar into a caramel frappichino. A little boy was glued to a hand held game while his Haitian au pair drank a coffee black, without milk or sugar and spoke in a patois to someone in New York about the weather and whether a relative had died yet of AIDS in Miami. Suddenly everything seemed to speed up to Helga. Cars moved faster, clouds seemed to zoom by and pedestrians seemed to be running. A Pakistani cab driver came in and spoke on his cell phone in his native tongue and it sound like an auctioneer. Helga could hear her own heart beat and the electricity in the room buzzed like high tension wires in a misty rain. Helga was afraid to blink. Helga was afraid to move.
Faster than the speeding light she’s flying
Try to remember where it all began
She’s got herself a piece of heaven
Waiting for the time when earth shall be as one… And I feel like I just got home
Fucking speeding life is dying
Try to remember a safer place
She used to have a bigger land
Waiting for moment when this will end… And I feel like I can’t get home
As the Volvo smashed into the barista’s bar and sent people flying, Helga pulled out a double barrel, twelve gauge shot gun and began to shoot at lights, computers. Carefully and slowly reloading the shells after each shot. Patrons and workers scattered as if an earthquake was taking place. Helga plopped down in a chair as the same Madonna song played. Helga reached in the cooler and popped open a mineral water as the song slowed to the chorus.
Zephyr in the Sky at night I wonder
Do my tears of mourning sink beneath the sun
She’s got herself a universe gone quickly
For the call of thunder threatens everyone
Laser surgery may be the answer
For unwanted hair
Six minutes a day to get the shape you want
Buy info tapes today to get yourself out of debt
Miller Lite or any light? A ray of light?
Lights out, lightology, lighthouse, lightening
Light my fire, you light up my life… I am the way, the truth and the light
Lars book became a best seller in Sweden when it became know what his wife Helga had done in Los Angeles and their well publicized deportation. When interviewed on American television about the incident, Lars had good answers for his wife’s behavior.
Not all compact fluorescent lights are the same and not all full spectrum
lights are safe. There are problems with CFL that go beyond the mercury
problem. Some of these health concerns are namely that they can cause
irritability, depression, hyperactivity, fatigue, headaches etc. Compact
fluorescent lights (CFL) produce radio wave frequencies. These frequencies
radiate directly from the bulbs and go on the electrical wiring in the home
or school causing poor power quality or dirty electricity. The closer you
sit to the bulb the greater your exposure. Because the high frequencies
travel along the wire you can be exposed in other rooms of your home as well
as the room that contains the CFL.
Many complain that they cannot be in a room
with fluorescent lights because they feel "unwell". These people have
difficulty shopping in large department stores because of the lighting and
often go with list in hand and spend as little time in the store as
possible. Their cognitive functions diminish and some have difficulty
recalling where they parked their car… My wife parked our car in the middle of a Starbucks in
Santa Monica, California… She couldn’t recall why.
Tuesday, March 15, 2011
Conjugal Love
Klaus came from Cairo. Not the Cairo you think about with pyramids, pharaohs, the river Nile and most recently the deposition of the president for life Hosni Mubarak. This Cairo is pronounced CARE-O and is at the southern most tip of the state of Illinois.
Cairo is a dying southern town in a northern state. The downtown looks like a prop for movie set. Klaus was born and raised in the town that began to dwindle some forty years or so ago. Upon working in a mortuary, Klaus became fascinated with the idea that people, who appeared to be sleeping, were in fact dead. They’re marbleized; cold skin had to be drained of fluids and then came the task of making them look as though they were still alive. Klaus’ uncle Fritz learned the trade by his father who learned from his father back in Germany. Fritz was a magician with drunks who died of elements or fell over the levees and died. Even those that were badly decomposed, Fritz made to look like they were taking a nap. Klaus helped his uncle with removing fluids, sewing up eyes and mouths. As gruesome as the job was, Fritz and Klaus would talk about things like baseball or fishing.
Klaus became obsessed with living things becoming dead and so Klaus began to troll cities over the Kentucky and Missouri borders for pretty young women. They had to be young and fair skinned and thin. Klaus hated dealing with fat remains of billowing fat that when floppy breasts or skin on skin was exposed to the light of day, smelled of skunk and were usually covered with skin tags like mushrooms around a tree stump. Thin, almost bony women with nice, light, taut skin was ideal for Klaus’ tastes and needs. Without going into too many gory and disgusting things, Klaus made love to victims that he lured into his home after they were dead. Saving the left hands of females was like collecting the skulls during time of war by soldiers for Klaus. He had a deep freezer full of hands when the authorities finally discovered the morbid hobby Klaus was involved in.
Klaus never tried to deny taking the lives over close to thirty women. His response was that he loved them all with all the love he had to offer. Klaus always posed the vague and double sided question to all of them.
“I could die tonight knowing that I have found the perfect love of my life… Couldn’t you?”
Those taken in by his chiseled jaw and strong wiry arms would give themselves totally to the moment and Klaus always meant for the height, the crescendo, to be everlasting and as we all know, death is everlasting.
Klaus was an intelligent man albeit twisted and sick. He read about as much of the bible, books of Moses and the Koran as a person could retain and digest. He read Sartre on a lark but studied Kant, Hegel, Nietzsche and Marx in German. After all was said and done, Klaus decided that there had to be a reason that some superior being created everything and decided to give humans the intelligence to ponder their own existence and demise when not watching television. Klaus came to decide that the Missouri Synod of the Lutheran Church was what god intended humans to believe in. Klaus came to the decision that the bible was inerrant meaning that it came from God and it essentially is what it is. In any language.
Klaus began to proselytize to other inmates and even created a choir. Klaus always knew he had good pitch and could sing well. Klaus soon came to learn that he had an exceptional voice. Klaus listened to Luciano Pavarotti on his headset and came to imitate Pavarotti impeccably. During Christmas Eve, Klaus sang Ave Maria and brought hardened criminals and sadistic guards to near tears. Klaus’ voice was so strong and beautiful. A video clip with audio started to circulate on the outside and before long, Klaus was a sensation. People began to question if it was right to put to death a human with such an angelic voice who was reformed and understood the errors of his ways and so on.
The suspension and then abolition of the death penalty in the state of Illinois came just in time for Klaus who was set to die on December 21, 2112. It wasn’t long after that the state legislature in the state of Illinois passed a law making conjugal visits legal. Studies showed that with so many broken families and marriages, incarcerated individuals tended to have strong and loving bonds when allowed physical, tangible contact with loved ones. This study was based on inmate’s abilities to love cats. Allowing the fucking common law wives, talking with offspring about grades and tending to felines all pointed in the direction of positive corrective behavior for even the worst of the worst.
Klaus began to receive letters and CDs from a woman in Kentucky who claims she had fallen madly for him. She wrote poems and songs that she sang and played on an acoustic guitar. The German version of, You Light up My Life sang by a woman named Eloise from Kentucky brought Klaus to tears.
Es Kann nicht falsch sein wenn es fuhlt sich so richtig denn du sie leuchten auf mein leben…
A light had gone on in his heart. Just like the women in the past, he desired a love so strong that he wanted to exclaim from the highest mountain around and there aren’t any in Illinois, that the thin woman who strummed chords on a guitar and sang Debby Boone tunes to him in German, that resembled the plain but beautiful images of the Virgin Mary had she been born in the Netherlands, this was the woman that Klaus loved.
As time went on, Klaus’ superb tenor voice and his love affair with a woman from Kentucky caught the attention of Oprah during sweeps week. Oprah showed success stories of former inmates that went on to lead productive lives as cogs in the wheel which is the American dynamo of progress. Men who became tailors or cooks or hairdressers and then there was Klaus.
The soft music and kind words from the thin framed woman who hardly spoke above a whisper and Klaus’ proclamation that he had totally transformed into a man who could walk the streets of Cairo or just about anywhere else and not be a threat.
“Oprah, you have to understand that when you are totally consumed in the work of making the dead aesthetically pleasing for the loved ones that are left behind, it is easy to blur what is real and what isn’t, what is acceptable and what is verboten. I understand now what I did not as a younger man. As one of our former presidents often said; he was guilty of the mistakes of youth… I believe that I love Eloise and that she loves me and am thankful that the humanitarians within the state of Illinois understand that taking a life and not allowing that life to be redemptive and to strip them of their humanity by not allowing families to be families and couples to no longer be couples is the wrong way to set about righting wrongs. These are correction facilities and punishing loved ones by not allowing the human touch is wrong all across the board.”
Oprah paused and looked intently into the handsome man’s eyes trying to decide if he was sincere or full of shit. Klaus returned the look unblinkingly. Oprah smiled and as she so often has changed the lives of common everyday people in the past, let Klaus know that she had made it possible for Eloise and Klaus to be together. Oprah put her hand on Klaus’, smiled and posed a question.
“Are you ready for this?”
In came Eloise looking more beautiful than any Jan Van Eyck painting could ever look. The music was soft and they embraced and held each other for close to a minute. Several cameras captured the looks on their faces from different angles.
“Isn’t this FANTASTIC!” Oprah exclaimed.
Moments later, a man who resembled Val Kilmer walked into the room holding a bible. Oprah introduced him as the son of Oral Roberts Richard Roberts and host of, The Place for Miracles: Your Hour of Healing. Eloise and Klaus married on the spot and it made everyone who watched feel really good or really bad for a while until other more important things took precedence like tsunamis, bible proportion earthquakes and Charlie Sheen.
It was during the third conjugal visit that Eloise was able to sneak in a switch blade knife hidden inside a beautiful homemade cake which was made of chocolate with strawberries. When the visit was up, Eloise emerged smeared in blood and cake batter. She was immediately arrested. Upon questioning Eloise pinned the whole premeditated event on her neighbor’s cat that was possessed and ordered her to befriend Klaus and kill him. Klaus sustained close to twenty stab wounds while fellatio was being performed on him. Klaus recovered and vowed to stay celibate for the remainder of his life and sing for those that loved to hear beautiful music in Italian. During an interview regarding the incident with Eloise, a mindless reporter posed the question as to how he felt about Eloise. Klaus was direct and polite.
“These sorts of things can make you sick. I don’t let anger eat me up.”
Cairo is a dying southern town in a northern state. The downtown looks like a prop for movie set. Klaus was born and raised in the town that began to dwindle some forty years or so ago. Upon working in a mortuary, Klaus became fascinated with the idea that people, who appeared to be sleeping, were in fact dead. They’re marbleized; cold skin had to be drained of fluids and then came the task of making them look as though they were still alive. Klaus’ uncle Fritz learned the trade by his father who learned from his father back in Germany. Fritz was a magician with drunks who died of elements or fell over the levees and died. Even those that were badly decomposed, Fritz made to look like they were taking a nap. Klaus helped his uncle with removing fluids, sewing up eyes and mouths. As gruesome as the job was, Fritz and Klaus would talk about things like baseball or fishing.
Klaus became obsessed with living things becoming dead and so Klaus began to troll cities over the Kentucky and Missouri borders for pretty young women. They had to be young and fair skinned and thin. Klaus hated dealing with fat remains of billowing fat that when floppy breasts or skin on skin was exposed to the light of day, smelled of skunk and were usually covered with skin tags like mushrooms around a tree stump. Thin, almost bony women with nice, light, taut skin was ideal for Klaus’ tastes and needs. Without going into too many gory and disgusting things, Klaus made love to victims that he lured into his home after they were dead. Saving the left hands of females was like collecting the skulls during time of war by soldiers for Klaus. He had a deep freezer full of hands when the authorities finally discovered the morbid hobby Klaus was involved in.
Klaus never tried to deny taking the lives over close to thirty women. His response was that he loved them all with all the love he had to offer. Klaus always posed the vague and double sided question to all of them.
“I could die tonight knowing that I have found the perfect love of my life… Couldn’t you?”
Those taken in by his chiseled jaw and strong wiry arms would give themselves totally to the moment and Klaus always meant for the height, the crescendo, to be everlasting and as we all know, death is everlasting.
Klaus was an intelligent man albeit twisted and sick. He read about as much of the bible, books of Moses and the Koran as a person could retain and digest. He read Sartre on a lark but studied Kant, Hegel, Nietzsche and Marx in German. After all was said and done, Klaus decided that there had to be a reason that some superior being created everything and decided to give humans the intelligence to ponder their own existence and demise when not watching television. Klaus came to decide that the Missouri Synod of the Lutheran Church was what god intended humans to believe in. Klaus came to the decision that the bible was inerrant meaning that it came from God and it essentially is what it is. In any language.
Klaus began to proselytize to other inmates and even created a choir. Klaus always knew he had good pitch and could sing well. Klaus soon came to learn that he had an exceptional voice. Klaus listened to Luciano Pavarotti on his headset and came to imitate Pavarotti impeccably. During Christmas Eve, Klaus sang Ave Maria and brought hardened criminals and sadistic guards to near tears. Klaus’ voice was so strong and beautiful. A video clip with audio started to circulate on the outside and before long, Klaus was a sensation. People began to question if it was right to put to death a human with such an angelic voice who was reformed and understood the errors of his ways and so on.
The suspension and then abolition of the death penalty in the state of Illinois came just in time for Klaus who was set to die on December 21, 2112. It wasn’t long after that the state legislature in the state of Illinois passed a law making conjugal visits legal. Studies showed that with so many broken families and marriages, incarcerated individuals tended to have strong and loving bonds when allowed physical, tangible contact with loved ones. This study was based on inmate’s abilities to love cats. Allowing the fucking common law wives, talking with offspring about grades and tending to felines all pointed in the direction of positive corrective behavior for even the worst of the worst.
Klaus began to receive letters and CDs from a woman in Kentucky who claims she had fallen madly for him. She wrote poems and songs that she sang and played on an acoustic guitar. The German version of, You Light up My Life sang by a woman named Eloise from Kentucky brought Klaus to tears.
Es Kann nicht falsch sein wenn es fuhlt sich so richtig denn du sie leuchten auf mein leben…
A light had gone on in his heart. Just like the women in the past, he desired a love so strong that he wanted to exclaim from the highest mountain around and there aren’t any in Illinois, that the thin woman who strummed chords on a guitar and sang Debby Boone tunes to him in German, that resembled the plain but beautiful images of the Virgin Mary had she been born in the Netherlands, this was the woman that Klaus loved.
As time went on, Klaus’ superb tenor voice and his love affair with a woman from Kentucky caught the attention of Oprah during sweeps week. Oprah showed success stories of former inmates that went on to lead productive lives as cogs in the wheel which is the American dynamo of progress. Men who became tailors or cooks or hairdressers and then there was Klaus.
The soft music and kind words from the thin framed woman who hardly spoke above a whisper and Klaus’ proclamation that he had totally transformed into a man who could walk the streets of Cairo or just about anywhere else and not be a threat.
“Oprah, you have to understand that when you are totally consumed in the work of making the dead aesthetically pleasing for the loved ones that are left behind, it is easy to blur what is real and what isn’t, what is acceptable and what is verboten. I understand now what I did not as a younger man. As one of our former presidents often said; he was guilty of the mistakes of youth… I believe that I love Eloise and that she loves me and am thankful that the humanitarians within the state of Illinois understand that taking a life and not allowing that life to be redemptive and to strip them of their humanity by not allowing families to be families and couples to no longer be couples is the wrong way to set about righting wrongs. These are correction facilities and punishing loved ones by not allowing the human touch is wrong all across the board.”
Oprah paused and looked intently into the handsome man’s eyes trying to decide if he was sincere or full of shit. Klaus returned the look unblinkingly. Oprah smiled and as she so often has changed the lives of common everyday people in the past, let Klaus know that she had made it possible for Eloise and Klaus to be together. Oprah put her hand on Klaus’, smiled and posed a question.
“Are you ready for this?”
In came Eloise looking more beautiful than any Jan Van Eyck painting could ever look. The music was soft and they embraced and held each other for close to a minute. Several cameras captured the looks on their faces from different angles.
“Isn’t this FANTASTIC!” Oprah exclaimed.
Moments later, a man who resembled Val Kilmer walked into the room holding a bible. Oprah introduced him as the son of Oral Roberts Richard Roberts and host of, The Place for Miracles: Your Hour of Healing. Eloise and Klaus married on the spot and it made everyone who watched feel really good or really bad for a while until other more important things took precedence like tsunamis, bible proportion earthquakes and Charlie Sheen.
It was during the third conjugal visit that Eloise was able to sneak in a switch blade knife hidden inside a beautiful homemade cake which was made of chocolate with strawberries. When the visit was up, Eloise emerged smeared in blood and cake batter. She was immediately arrested. Upon questioning Eloise pinned the whole premeditated event on her neighbor’s cat that was possessed and ordered her to befriend Klaus and kill him. Klaus sustained close to twenty stab wounds while fellatio was being performed on him. Klaus recovered and vowed to stay celibate for the remainder of his life and sing for those that loved to hear beautiful music in Italian. During an interview regarding the incident with Eloise, a mindless reporter posed the question as to how he felt about Eloise. Klaus was direct and polite.
“These sorts of things can make you sick. I don’t let anger eat me up.”
Friday, March 4, 2011
My Way or Zimbabwe
The word had come down from a federal agent to Salvatore Scarpelli that the FBI would be rounding up many gangsters wanted for murder, narcotics, prostitution and money laundering. Sal “The Horse” or “The Hammer” Scarpelli quickly gathered up all his liquid assets and took a trip to Zimbabwe. When his wife asked where Zimbabwe was and why he would want to go there, Sal had an answer.
“Dey got dem falls there that is like one of dem seven wundahs of the woild. I always wanted to go to Africa… You know to kinda look around.”
It sounded crazy to Sal’s wife until about four days later when a dozen or more federal agents came in through the door while Sal’s wife was smoking a cigarette, drinking coffee and watching live footage of federal agents rounding up suspected and confirmed mobsters. Sal’s weeping wife called Sal who at that moment he had an audience with the dictator Robert Mugabe of Zimbabe. They were drinking wine and Robert Mugabe was trying to explain the rules of the sport cricket.
“Eet t’is a fantastic game… So you ave a bowler much like a pitcher een your baseball. The blowler ees trrrying to spin the ball so as to knock down dee wickets behind the batsman. The whole team at bat must get out firrrst before your team takes the field… Thee world cup ees going on now in India. Eet ees a fantastic time. I don’t meese a match. Thaat an Two and a Half Men. Fantastic show.”
Sal had to take the phone call of his frantic wife who had a house full of federal agents ransacking their home and holding her for questioning as to where he was exactly. Sal’s wife couldn’t remember the name of the country and so she asked Sal to speak with one of the agents in charge.
“That’s right… Zim-bab-we… No extradition laws here, my friend so you can go fuck yourselves, ya hear me? You motherfuckers got some fucking nerve coming in my fucking house, upsetting my fucking wife foist thing in the morning…”
Now Zimbabwe is a landlocked country just above South Africa that used to be Rhodesia and has been ruled by one man since 1980. Their national motto is, “unity, freedom, work”. Close to 94% of the country is unemployed; and dissent of any kind is dangerous for one’s health. Despite the fact that Mugabe was able to stamp out dissent over the course of thirty one years, the new wave of political unrest in countries such as Bahrain, Egypt and Libya did not go unnoticed by the president of Zimbabwe. President Mugabe understood that Sal Scarpelli was a diamond in the rough, an ace in the hole and an answer to prayer. Salvatore Scarpelli was a ruthless gangster who received the nickname, “The Hammer” because he actually killed many people with a claw hammer when he was young and on the rise. The other nickname, “The Horse” was given to him due to the fact that when his penis was fully erect, was nearly nine inches long and 2.75 inches in circumference. Sal relished both nicknames. Over the course of thirty years, Sal went from a young foot soldier on the streets of New York to a multi-millionaire who owned land, businesses and had friends in law enforcement and government. Sal’s generosity most likely saved him when, if you’ll pardon the pun, when the hammer dropped.
Robert Mugabe laughed and shook his head as one of his assistants put on a cricket match between Zimbabwe and New Zealand. Zimbabwe was up 137-8 and it did not look good. New Zealand could probably match that score with two batsmen. President Mugabe spoke to Sal who was speaking to the feds but Sal wasn’t listening. When the conversation ended for Sal, President Mugabe got to the point of wanting a visit with such a high ranking mob figure from the United States. Sal was all ears as the saying goes.
“Your rrrrecord, your methods, your elusiveness is trrruly fantastic. I use the word fantastic when things are trrruly above board, top shelf… You my friend are thaat such perrrson. Things thaat need to be done without emotion or merrrcy is what I need. As you may ave erred, this Facebook, Twitter sensation has rrrun amok in northern Afrrrrica. I cannot afford to go out like Louis XIV and Marie Antoinette. No guillotines, no Rrrobespierre or new age of enlightenment… Dissent comes about like a brrrush fire and I need a rrrreally good fireman. I cannot allow dissent. I would like to make you ed of omeland security. South Afrrrrica add thees during the old days of aparrrtheid. Eet ees a way of keeping everrrything calm… I think eet aas a fantastic rrring: Salvatore Scarpelli, director of omeland security.”
Sal got to work of amassing an army of men who secretly kept an eye on cafes and bars or anywhere where people congregated. Anyone accused of dissent went before a tribunal. Sal oversaw the hearings. The hearings went much like this:
“Peter metah… meetah coomboh… Ya know it would be fucking helpful to me if someone here who knows how to pronounce these fucking names might prompt me a bit on how to say this shit. DON’T JUST FUCKING STAND THERE! GO THROUGH THE FUCKING LIST AND WRITE DEM OUT PHONECIANLY SO I’M NOT TRIPPING ON MY FUCKING COCK HERE! Now then Peter… I will call you Peter for now until I get a bit of assistance. It has been brought to my attention that you have been brought here on charges of trying to foment a riot. Are you now or have you ever been a subvoisive?”
It Worked as planned. Before long people from all walks of life were informing on each other to escape prison and possible torture. People were deathly afraid of the foreign white man who showed no mercy. It was like the Salem witch hunts and Red Scare rolled into one. The Department of Homeland Security worked with the efficiency of the KGB. Nobody trusted anyone and feared death or imprisonment for expressing an opinion. The President felt safe again to watch television and nap during the day. Sal when not presiding over the fates of Zimbabwe nationals, tended to his harem of women. Sal liked women of all colors and had new ones in his small mansion at all times. Sal liked two women at a time usually. Life was good for Sal in a country where white people were scared of black reprisal. Black people were now scared of a strange white man given full authority to keep peace by any and all means necessary.
“In New York, we would take a fucking guy like you and string him up with a cement block attached to his ankles and drop him in the fucking river. That would keep him from ever getting ideas in his head again about going against the machine. Zimbabwe is the machine and the machine must work if it is to survive and flourish… Four months. We’ll review your case again after you’ve had some time to think about your delusions of fucking grandeur… Take his ass away from me… Next!”
Sal was big tabloid news in the United States. Television networks wanted to interview Sal Scarpelli but only one interview was granted and that was to Eliot Spitzer. CNN sent Eliot Spitzer to Harare, Zimbabwe to conduct the interview that was doctored up to keep the public from hearing profanity. Rolling Stone Magazine got a hold of the real interview and the entire interview became an instant sensation on the internet. Sal answered all the questions asked of him and then had questions of his own.
“I got a question you proly don’t want to answer but maybe one the public back in the United States might wanna ask themselves. How is it that a former district attorney and governor of New York who prided himself on going after so called, “organized crime”, gets fucking whacked for paying tens of fucking thousands on high priced call girls while he at the same time is fighting it? And then CNN give him a fucking show where he has the fucking balls to cross the fucking woild to ask me if I have any remorse for what I’ve done. Well I can tell you I won’t cry like a fucking bitch while my old lady stands next to me stone faced at a press conference. You can fucking bet your last fucking peso on that. Private failings is what you called it, am I right, Eliot? You fucking got caught and that’s the difference between you and me. I’m director of Homeland Security in Zimbabwe. That should be a big enough thorn in your fucking ass. As they say in every one of these countries that drive on the wrong side of the road and the wrong side of the car: good day, sir.”
The winds of change blew over parts of Africa but Zimbabwe remained as tight as a drum. Sal was heavily rewarded for keeping order. Sal lived like a French king and loved living in a land that had so much disparity. Sal rode around in his bullet proof Lincoln Continental and looked at emaciated, barefoot blacks hanging around aimlessly. Privately he thought to himself that it was no different than driving through Harlem in New York.
While driving through Harare one day, Sal spotted the most beautiful white woman he had ever seen wearing a tight Red Cross shirt, talking to a group of children. Her hair was reddish and her face was angelic. Her athletic frame attracted Sal. He liked women who could sprint over those that could pull a wagon. Sal ordered the car to stop. He popped a mint in his mouth and smoothed back his salt and pepper hair before exiting his vehicle. A dozen men with machine guns surrounded the perimeter. Sal approached the woman with an English accent.
“I noticed your Red Cross shirt and was wondering if I might be of some assistance to you ma’am… I work for the government.”
The beautiful woman smiled and fluttered her eyes nervously before speaking. Sal was mesmerized by every facet of the woman’s being.
“So kind of you to stop… Yes, well as you can see, these children are orphans who are forced to beg in the streets and though it is Africa and they very well might not die of the elements as say… Brooklyn in January, they nonetheless are hungry and without shelter.”
Sal, unable to blink resolved to do everything in his power to help the situation. The woman who went by the name of Rachel was invited to dine with Sal at his home. Sal learned that Rachel played guitar and wrote poetry and decided it was her duty to help those less fortunate than herself for a few years before going on with her life. She wore a summer dress that showed ample cleavage and contoured her flat stomach and shapely bum. Love was in the air for Sal and the idea that Rachel would eat his food, drink his wine and converse with him and then leave, was an impossibility. Sal nearly demanded that Rachel stay the night with him but Rachel prevailed. Upon leaving, Rachel sent Sal a text message some twenty minutes after her departure. The message went as follows:
I realize now I should have stayed. I want you too so very badly. Please come to see me at my room in Harare. I will be waiting for you, counting the minutes : )
Sal showered and perfumed all areas that might sweat due to being anxious and desirous. Sal dismissed his guards and told them to wait in the lobby of the hotel where Rachel lived. He approached Rachel’s room alone. Waiting at the door in an ivory colored negligee that draped every so daintily over her firm breasts was Rachel. She had one toned arm up, holding the door as she greeted Sal with a smile.
“I promise you won’t be disappointed…”
Sal came to some time later on an airplane while wearing a straight jacket. Sitting on either side of him on a small jet were two white men. One was reading a fitness magazine and the other was napping with folded arms. Sal in a groggy state asked the man who was reading the magazine what was happening. He explained that he had been captured by the FBI and was being taken to a federal court in New York on a slew of charges. Sal became instantly despondent and remorseful that he allowed his libido to trap him like a preying mantis. Before being sentenced, the judge in federal court asked if he wanted to make a statement. Sal thought about it for a second and then asked to speak. The judge nodded his approval to Sal.
“Um Robbie… Thanks for shot. I’m my own worst enemy. My advice to you: get the good looking dames outta the country. It’ll be your Waterloo.”
“Dey got dem falls there that is like one of dem seven wundahs of the woild. I always wanted to go to Africa… You know to kinda look around.”
It sounded crazy to Sal’s wife until about four days later when a dozen or more federal agents came in through the door while Sal’s wife was smoking a cigarette, drinking coffee and watching live footage of federal agents rounding up suspected and confirmed mobsters. Sal’s weeping wife called Sal who at that moment he had an audience with the dictator Robert Mugabe of Zimbabe. They were drinking wine and Robert Mugabe was trying to explain the rules of the sport cricket.
“Eet t’is a fantastic game… So you ave a bowler much like a pitcher een your baseball. The blowler ees trrrying to spin the ball so as to knock down dee wickets behind the batsman. The whole team at bat must get out firrrst before your team takes the field… Thee world cup ees going on now in India. Eet ees a fantastic time. I don’t meese a match. Thaat an Two and a Half Men. Fantastic show.”
Sal had to take the phone call of his frantic wife who had a house full of federal agents ransacking their home and holding her for questioning as to where he was exactly. Sal’s wife couldn’t remember the name of the country and so she asked Sal to speak with one of the agents in charge.
“That’s right… Zim-bab-we… No extradition laws here, my friend so you can go fuck yourselves, ya hear me? You motherfuckers got some fucking nerve coming in my fucking house, upsetting my fucking wife foist thing in the morning…”
Now Zimbabwe is a landlocked country just above South Africa that used to be Rhodesia and has been ruled by one man since 1980. Their national motto is, “unity, freedom, work”. Close to 94% of the country is unemployed; and dissent of any kind is dangerous for one’s health. Despite the fact that Mugabe was able to stamp out dissent over the course of thirty one years, the new wave of political unrest in countries such as Bahrain, Egypt and Libya did not go unnoticed by the president of Zimbabwe. President Mugabe understood that Sal Scarpelli was a diamond in the rough, an ace in the hole and an answer to prayer. Salvatore Scarpelli was a ruthless gangster who received the nickname, “The Hammer” because he actually killed many people with a claw hammer when he was young and on the rise. The other nickname, “The Horse” was given to him due to the fact that when his penis was fully erect, was nearly nine inches long and 2.75 inches in circumference. Sal relished both nicknames. Over the course of thirty years, Sal went from a young foot soldier on the streets of New York to a multi-millionaire who owned land, businesses and had friends in law enforcement and government. Sal’s generosity most likely saved him when, if you’ll pardon the pun, when the hammer dropped.
Robert Mugabe laughed and shook his head as one of his assistants put on a cricket match between Zimbabwe and New Zealand. Zimbabwe was up 137-8 and it did not look good. New Zealand could probably match that score with two batsmen. President Mugabe spoke to Sal who was speaking to the feds but Sal wasn’t listening. When the conversation ended for Sal, President Mugabe got to the point of wanting a visit with such a high ranking mob figure from the United States. Sal was all ears as the saying goes.
“Your rrrrecord, your methods, your elusiveness is trrruly fantastic. I use the word fantastic when things are trrruly above board, top shelf… You my friend are thaat such perrrson. Things thaat need to be done without emotion or merrrcy is what I need. As you may ave erred, this Facebook, Twitter sensation has rrrun amok in northern Afrrrrica. I cannot afford to go out like Louis XIV and Marie Antoinette. No guillotines, no Rrrobespierre or new age of enlightenment… Dissent comes about like a brrrush fire and I need a rrrreally good fireman. I cannot allow dissent. I would like to make you ed of omeland security. South Afrrrrica add thees during the old days of aparrrtheid. Eet ees a way of keeping everrrything calm… I think eet aas a fantastic rrring: Salvatore Scarpelli, director of omeland security.”
Sal got to work of amassing an army of men who secretly kept an eye on cafes and bars or anywhere where people congregated. Anyone accused of dissent went before a tribunal. Sal oversaw the hearings. The hearings went much like this:
“Peter metah… meetah coomboh… Ya know it would be fucking helpful to me if someone here who knows how to pronounce these fucking names might prompt me a bit on how to say this shit. DON’T JUST FUCKING STAND THERE! GO THROUGH THE FUCKING LIST AND WRITE DEM OUT PHONECIANLY SO I’M NOT TRIPPING ON MY FUCKING COCK HERE! Now then Peter… I will call you Peter for now until I get a bit of assistance. It has been brought to my attention that you have been brought here on charges of trying to foment a riot. Are you now or have you ever been a subvoisive?”
It Worked as planned. Before long people from all walks of life were informing on each other to escape prison and possible torture. People were deathly afraid of the foreign white man who showed no mercy. It was like the Salem witch hunts and Red Scare rolled into one. The Department of Homeland Security worked with the efficiency of the KGB. Nobody trusted anyone and feared death or imprisonment for expressing an opinion. The President felt safe again to watch television and nap during the day. Sal when not presiding over the fates of Zimbabwe nationals, tended to his harem of women. Sal liked women of all colors and had new ones in his small mansion at all times. Sal liked two women at a time usually. Life was good for Sal in a country where white people were scared of black reprisal. Black people were now scared of a strange white man given full authority to keep peace by any and all means necessary.
“In New York, we would take a fucking guy like you and string him up with a cement block attached to his ankles and drop him in the fucking river. That would keep him from ever getting ideas in his head again about going against the machine. Zimbabwe is the machine and the machine must work if it is to survive and flourish… Four months. We’ll review your case again after you’ve had some time to think about your delusions of fucking grandeur… Take his ass away from me… Next!”
Sal was big tabloid news in the United States. Television networks wanted to interview Sal Scarpelli but only one interview was granted and that was to Eliot Spitzer. CNN sent Eliot Spitzer to Harare, Zimbabwe to conduct the interview that was doctored up to keep the public from hearing profanity. Rolling Stone Magazine got a hold of the real interview and the entire interview became an instant sensation on the internet. Sal answered all the questions asked of him and then had questions of his own.
“I got a question you proly don’t want to answer but maybe one the public back in the United States might wanna ask themselves. How is it that a former district attorney and governor of New York who prided himself on going after so called, “organized crime”, gets fucking whacked for paying tens of fucking thousands on high priced call girls while he at the same time is fighting it? And then CNN give him a fucking show where he has the fucking balls to cross the fucking woild to ask me if I have any remorse for what I’ve done. Well I can tell you I won’t cry like a fucking bitch while my old lady stands next to me stone faced at a press conference. You can fucking bet your last fucking peso on that. Private failings is what you called it, am I right, Eliot? You fucking got caught and that’s the difference between you and me. I’m director of Homeland Security in Zimbabwe. That should be a big enough thorn in your fucking ass. As they say in every one of these countries that drive on the wrong side of the road and the wrong side of the car: good day, sir.”
The winds of change blew over parts of Africa but Zimbabwe remained as tight as a drum. Sal was heavily rewarded for keeping order. Sal lived like a French king and loved living in a land that had so much disparity. Sal rode around in his bullet proof Lincoln Continental and looked at emaciated, barefoot blacks hanging around aimlessly. Privately he thought to himself that it was no different than driving through Harlem in New York.
While driving through Harare one day, Sal spotted the most beautiful white woman he had ever seen wearing a tight Red Cross shirt, talking to a group of children. Her hair was reddish and her face was angelic. Her athletic frame attracted Sal. He liked women who could sprint over those that could pull a wagon. Sal ordered the car to stop. He popped a mint in his mouth and smoothed back his salt and pepper hair before exiting his vehicle. A dozen men with machine guns surrounded the perimeter. Sal approached the woman with an English accent.
“I noticed your Red Cross shirt and was wondering if I might be of some assistance to you ma’am… I work for the government.”
The beautiful woman smiled and fluttered her eyes nervously before speaking. Sal was mesmerized by every facet of the woman’s being.
“So kind of you to stop… Yes, well as you can see, these children are orphans who are forced to beg in the streets and though it is Africa and they very well might not die of the elements as say… Brooklyn in January, they nonetheless are hungry and without shelter.”
Sal, unable to blink resolved to do everything in his power to help the situation. The woman who went by the name of Rachel was invited to dine with Sal at his home. Sal learned that Rachel played guitar and wrote poetry and decided it was her duty to help those less fortunate than herself for a few years before going on with her life. She wore a summer dress that showed ample cleavage and contoured her flat stomach and shapely bum. Love was in the air for Sal and the idea that Rachel would eat his food, drink his wine and converse with him and then leave, was an impossibility. Sal nearly demanded that Rachel stay the night with him but Rachel prevailed. Upon leaving, Rachel sent Sal a text message some twenty minutes after her departure. The message went as follows:
I realize now I should have stayed. I want you too so very badly. Please come to see me at my room in Harare. I will be waiting for you, counting the minutes : )
Sal showered and perfumed all areas that might sweat due to being anxious and desirous. Sal dismissed his guards and told them to wait in the lobby of the hotel where Rachel lived. He approached Rachel’s room alone. Waiting at the door in an ivory colored negligee that draped every so daintily over her firm breasts was Rachel. She had one toned arm up, holding the door as she greeted Sal with a smile.
“I promise you won’t be disappointed…”
Sal came to some time later on an airplane while wearing a straight jacket. Sitting on either side of him on a small jet were two white men. One was reading a fitness magazine and the other was napping with folded arms. Sal in a groggy state asked the man who was reading the magazine what was happening. He explained that he had been captured by the FBI and was being taken to a federal court in New York on a slew of charges. Sal became instantly despondent and remorseful that he allowed his libido to trap him like a preying mantis. Before being sentenced, the judge in federal court asked if he wanted to make a statement. Sal thought about it for a second and then asked to speak. The judge nodded his approval to Sal.
“Um Robbie… Thanks for shot. I’m my own worst enemy. My advice to you: get the good looking dames outta the country. It’ll be your Waterloo.”
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