Weekend Whirlwind

[jack_babalon]

An ominous start to any weekend is the presence of a furry mascot in the office lobby. What appears to be a brown felt dolphin with an oversized skippers cap on his head is standing between the elevators handing out Carvel Flyers. I look over at the security guard who's too busy reading the latest Potter to notice either myself or the giant dolphin.

I take a flyer and tell the dolphin to give my regards to Cookie Puss.

8 and a half hours later and I get a ride home from my buddy who picks me up at the Lindbergh station. I'm high on stress, bad coffee and too much free ice cream (fuckin' dolphins). It's way too hot out to be fucking around, the passenger side windows busted and we're stuck in asshole to asshole traffic. I'm starting to flip out. I have a rage induced hard-on going. I feel like getting out of the car, walking over to the pick-up truck in front of us, lifting it up by its rear bumper and sodomizing it right there and then.

Thankfully we figure out how to roll down my window. After I get a smoke in me my urge for machine-rape subsides into a gentle hatred and I find myself starting to unwind.

A few hours later and i'm at a writers meeting my buddys been trying to get me to attend for months now. Here's the roll call: Teddy Bear, Nic, Casey, Claire, Bruckner, Wallace and a handful of observers. Only the first three comprise actual members of the group. They all seem to follow the fine tradition of the Faulkner school of finding your muse in the bottom of a bottle. Everyone gets drunk and plays exquisite corpse.

Finally a couple of us head over to Lenny's Friday Night Drunken Booty Shake. Mutton chopped skins hang outside the bar, drunk hyperbole and jabbing air punches at one another. Their women are bored and anxious for the posturing to end. They're losing their buzz and it'd be nice if their men could wrap up the male bonding routine to take them home for a decent fucking. Some of them got work in the morning, y'know? A minature Greta Garbo with bright pink bangs hanging off her chelsea blows smoke in my face as we walk in.

It's 80 degrees at night in the city. August is in the blood. Everyones wrestling a savage horiness under their skin. The rituals of Agroflirting are now in effect. The place is packed with sweat, phermones, cigarette smoke and spilt liqour. Welcome to Scene Central 2007: Bearded hipsters drenched in PBR courage mack on feather mulleted metalettes. The guys faces all blur into Kung fu pony tails and carefully groomed stubble. Agnes Scott Sapphomores cougar cruise the dance floor for fresh meat. The prize seems to be a highly energetic young lady in a pink cocktail dress with knee high engineer boots on. The DJ puts on a drum n'bass remix of The Who's Teenage Wasteland -the opening chords have been extended into a full lick. Doltrey's vocals have been warped into a ghost echo. The beat is pure chase scene music. The floor thickens with grinding, swaying torsos. Chests rub pecs to breasts. Hands over hips or grip the tits. Closed eyes and head rolling to the rhythm. Animal asses packed into tight pairs of hundred dollar jeans shimmy and shake with a life all their own.

My friends and I just sit there and watch. If we were younger men and lonely, sure maybe, but being neither we just enjoy the view, the music, the accidental carnival of eros we seem to have stumbled upon.

Last call. Last song. Lights on. We all come spilling out into the heat and everyone seems to be checking out just who it was they were hitting on for the last few hours. The pleasantly surprised and the 'what-the-fuck-was-I-thinking' quickly go their seperate ways. I catch one of the skins trying to pick up this chick who just happens to be APD (probably picking up some extra cash working security). She's a young black woman with a badge and a gun. He's a young white guy with a moped and nothing to lose. We don't stick around long enough to see how that one works out.

Back to my place then for Hot Fuzz and a finally drink.

That was Friday. Wish you were there.

Comments

[efire360.livejournal.com]

Mmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm…
I didn't know dolphin furries had that affect on you! I'm putting it in the rolodex. And, so your feelings don't get hurt by a lack of an exchange, I'll have you know that I have a thing for Bactrain camel plushies and Cthulhu plushies.

[jackbabalon23.livejournal.com]

Actually bad office coffee drunk by the gallon with no cigarettes has an effect on me. Still i'll remember the plushies for your next b-day.

[efire360.livejournal.com]

Oui! Just remember that they have to be large enough for me to sit upon.

[jackbabalon23.livejournal.com]

No worries, Berny owes me a favor. I'll get him to squeeze into a fuzzy cthulhu suit.

[efire360.livejournal.com]

Oh! I almost died chocking back laughter! No laughing unless you want to share it with the group at work.

To clarify, I like plushies not furries. However, the offer of Bernie in a Cthulhu suit is awfully tempting! That must be one helluva favor he owes you. But I don't know how it could be all that bad.

[daucus-carota.livejournal.com]

"Welcome to Scene Central"... sounds strangely like Sin City! I can almost hear Mickey Rourke's voice reading this!

Sounds like good times!

xxx

[jackbabalon23.livejournal.com]

Thank you that's quite a compliment, but yeah I do enjoy the hardboiled terse lyricism of the American pulp writers. A dirty little melody whistled from the lips of femme fatales with smoke drifting off the pistol and vanishing into the dark.

[daucus-carota.livejournal.com]

ow ow ow... like Madam Mirage?

xxx