Tag Archives: sex

Life is not such a trickery, as far as you know.

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I grew up without a father from the age of 8. I you know what that is like then you will know what happens is that you instantly love any male slightly older than you. I started taking heroin because one time when I was fourteen I was in the front of a ute with a couple of guys in their early twenties who took me to Cabramatta to score because we had smoked all the pot I had and they thought this is a good idea and also to take me along. I sat there on the left side while they talked about their past and music they liked looking out the window and the streets as they turned from rural to city stuff and let the breeze wash on me because I was pretty stoned. We got there and it was night and dark and as far as I remember started walking away from the car down dead looking streets and pretty soon some Asian guy popped right out and said to me “want a cap” and I said “what” but my companion were quick to jump and said like “yeah yeah” and went down into the alley with him while I stood on the street and maybe smoked a cigarette and they came back and we were gone. Back in the front of that ute they shot up and one of them said “I’m sorry” and I said “is there any for me?” but there wasn’t that time.

I finally was able to convince her to take me up to her room. We walked through the pitch black house and up the stairs and she didn’t care that I was trailing her because years before I had lived there in her parents house for several weeks and maybe it was a few months so I knew my way. We took our clothes off and got into bed and the thing that happens is you remember how each others bodies feel against each other and the ways in which you fit together so its easy and in some human way perfect and beautiful and in the kissing you realise from each other that it is perfect and generally a good feeling, the way your bodies seem to know and appreciate it more than your heads that spoke over and over outside smoking cigarettes and drinking baileys. She guided my hard penis into her wet vagina and it was a wetness I wasn’t used to with my fiancé, the kind you can only experience with a new lover. I started moving it in and out and getting it deeper and deeper and she flipped my on to my back and started rising me in a pornish sexy way and I thought ‘she must be doing this deliberately to make me think she is far superior in bed than ‘her”.

I loved her in a way that made me feel inadequate because she was so well known and well liked and I had a hidden group of people that never intersected with the world I lived in and I liked it like that. I met her as she alighted the train at around 6pm everyday and she wore these high boots and smelt of officiality and we went back to her house to have sex after work and feeling her white cotton shirts made me think of high school sex. This one time I couldn’t get it up and she said ‘what’s wrong’ and I didn’t say anything, instead I slid down and started licking her pussy and it was too hairy but I tried to get hard by rubbing my flaccid penis on the edge of her bed and she started grinding her hips into my face liking the attention and I wasn’t changed so I started to tug on my penis like masturbating but nothing was happening so I tried to make her come with my mouth and fingers but she kept pushing my hand away and saying ‘fuck me now’ and I knew I couldn’t so I stood up and said ‘I can’t’ and I put my clothes on while she sat there trying to talk to me and I left and maybe said goodbye or an apology.

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CLICHÉS AND WHAT THEY MEAN

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Jewish

She put a ring on his finger. Well, he put a ring on her finger but that’s just semantics. Fleischbaum and Muir wedding, three o’clock. Well, ceremony at three. Three to four. We’ll break the glass and then we (well, those of you invited post-ceremony) will meet at the Eastern Beaches Rowers Club where Gefilte fish, Gebratenes and hot Kneidlach soup…okay sorry for being a schmuk…matzo ball soup will be served to one and all (well, those who are contributing to my, sorry again, OUR wedding coffers). We know you’ll have a great time and hope to see you there (you know who you are)!

What it means

Jewish people are mainly portrayed to us westerners by American TV shows as being irksome, troubled and basically neurotic people. Their women? Oy Vey! Yentas one and all. Sorry; overtly talkative, troublesome and essentially overbearing women. Wow, where do I sign up? Hang on shegetz, I know that all appears lovely. You can’t just join in on decades of persecution! You need to earn it.

Buddhist

That’s ok, really.

…

No no, don’t bother.

…

That bowl? No, no, I don’t need it. As you say. ‘Need’. Ha. Just leave it like that. That’s how it is meant to be. That bowl was always going to be like that.

…

Hm?

…

Oh I’m sure I’ll be able to find food to eat. They can put in here in my hand. I will get what is provided, that is the truth.

…

No of course not, I will do something. I will get up. I will go to where I need to go. Sometimes I will need sustenance and I will have it. If not, I will not have it. You see?

…

Well, you are not a monk.

…

No I don’t think its that simple. It actually takes years of training.

…

Yes, really.

What it means

At the base is the precept “all suffering is caused by desire”. NO SHIT. Fucking hell it takes severe abstinence and inhuman tolerance to adhere to this common sense epithet? How then to live without any kind of need, except of course the razor to shave your head, the garment maker, and the builder. What? You do all that yourself? You hand craft metal and polish it down to a razor sharp edge with which to cleanly remove all head hair? Namaste.

Also: is seems to me you can just all of a sudden lie in a heap and do absolutely nothing and be the best Buddhist in the world.

Catholic (excluding evangelicals and other right wing (mainly American) nut job factions, ok?)

So, so many things are wrong with you/the world. Oh God don’t get me started. Ok, sex before marriage, one, condoms, two, embryo research…well, pretty much anything to do with sperm, ovum and what happens when sperm touches ovum, three. Can we make this any clearer?! Pretty much all of our shit revolves around the whole sperm ova combo. Homosexuals, right! Not even an ovum! So, yeah it gets kind of weird but we don’t even like sperm on sperm. Okay? I’ve got it. Pretty much anything that comes out of your “yoo hoos” is what we’re against, or all about. I don’t know…um…read the bible. It’s pretty much in there. But yeah bodily fluids, pretty gross. God hates wasting that stuff. Did I mention priests can’t have sex? Yeah, they can’t That’s pretty important to know. Soooooooo, yeah. Praise Jesus.

What it means

No sex. Well, no sex before marriage. And even then you mustn’t ‘waste’ what is essentially the seeds of life. But there is a way brethren! A way to cheat God’s rule! Yay! What us good catholic law abiding followers have been waiting for: an honest way to say ‘fuck you!’ to God! Ha, he wasn’t looking too carefully when he let this one through. Sucker. It’s the magic of The Rhythm Method. The only catholic sanctioned way to have an orgasm and get away with it. It’s easy! The woman needs to keep a diary of her cycle, record her body temperature, note when and for how long she is ovulating and BANG, in that two or three days when there is almost (yes almost) no chance of her getting pregnant…GO FOR IT. Oh bless you dogmatic restrictive religion. You have blessed us with two (or three, maybe) days of sexual freedom. Get married first though.

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Witches

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It’s what happens when you stare into the thick branches, because they’re in there looking back at you. I took a step back and squashed a slug under my sneaker. There shouldn’t be a slug there. I know. It’s half body moves for a second, the rest of it flattened goo. Damn them. They’re out tonight and they want you to know it. Not everyone. I told my sleeping girlfriend and she told me to shut up. Not because she hated me but because she felt it too. She just wanted to sleep but she was too hot. Too hot on this cold night. I pulled the blankets back and ran my fingers gently over her naked body, telling her that the heat was leaving, telling her the tingling feeling my gentle fingertips gave were like ice, that she could sleep. I went outside to connect. My body shivering for no reason, my eyes confused about what I was seeing, nothing. The edge of something, the darkness between the gaps, looking over my shoulder at the edge of a hedge, waiting for them to come out. They followed behind and back in, I closed doors but they are just metal or wood doors. Even now I’m waiting and feeling them behind me. I don’t want to look, I’ll tell you what it is like to be tormented by these things. They are perched or are curiously watching over my shoulder, I used to think they informed my writing or feelings but it is really just a morbid fear respect thing I have (and the continued ignorance (read: ignore-ance) keeps me going).

They found me again, I was lost for a while, in my own bubble. The confusing voices and sounds all came back in an avalanche. Every house a home to those chaotic witches we pretend don’t exist. They’re in the trees tonight, perched as such things do. I imagine they have crows feet or bare feet with thick nails. Sick vomit breath, they like to vomit, it reminds them they are human. I read today: we are not humans having a spiritual experience, but spiritual beings having a human experience. Yeah, I get it.

Ha, yeah, a full moon. My mother always told me about how she felt during a full moon and I used to pretend I didn’t feel the same. When all the water in the world is most strongly pulled, or settled. Not pulled. That could be worse, as in not connected to the Earth, suspended, our bodies floating like at that moment when you’re at the top of  a swing. That’s the power of the full moon, you are not grounded, you are at that stage where that feeling in your gut says ‘fuck! I could die I am at the mercy of NATURE’. And then the spells work and when they vomited blood and your semen and other things you don’t know about into their cauldron (yes they have cauldrons) it is only now that it begins to work, that the thing witches have designed for you, can work their magic.

I remember now, she sat next to me on a bus. Eighty or older she was and she leaned down, slowly, decrepit, to sit there and I moved what couldn’t have been more than a centimetre and she thanked me right in my face and I was made to breathe in her essence (breath) which immediately threw up images of decay and death and rotting flesh and I wasn’t too ashamed to cross myself and expel any demons this old witch was trying to seed in me. We sat together pleasantly enough for the rest of the ride and I thought ‘did she notice my response/protection ritual?’ Did she care? Was she trying to take a portion of my youthfulness or was trying to destroy a small part of it enough of a challenge for her? She did not prolong her own death through me that day.

What a target I am. Why? Because I am both saint and sinner. I have this ethos whereby I let others choose their actions. I have been called the devil so many times it’s not funny. And what is further funnier is that I see myself as an angel. I have NEVER forced anyone to make a decision. It has been their choice under the beautiful construct that is free will[1].

THE GOAL OF THE DARK

This is very simple and easily researchable. It is: the ability to influence/control others through your own will. Further, the idea that YOU are the centre of the universe.

THE GOAL OF THE LIGHT

This is very simple and easily researchable. It is: the ability to help others regardless of your own self. Further, the idea that we are all ONE.

I give my heart and they look at it like it’s a nice shiny thing. Chanel thing. Another thing. They don’t know what it is because it’s not real to them. This is magic.

They’re on my shoulders. I have to hunch and chew at my own cheek. I am spurred on as they send a coldness down my spine and I do prayer type things to keep them away form the beautiful girl sleeping nearby. She’ll hopefully have only nightmares. What has she let into her home but a succulent vessel that fends off attacks from little devils? My two radiant strong guardian angels are the best things created. Two of them! Left and Right. Soldiers who know who I am. We all laugh together when people call me the devil. Everyone who has ever met me has called me the devil. And I have NEVER done ANYTNING that would hurt or harm anyone. This is the strange battle I live within. Alone. With my two beautiful guardian angels. I feel like crying right now. There is a light, and I can feel it. I can feel it and I can keep going.

Two stories:

(1)     ‘Come on Christopher we’re late for church!’

The boy struggles, pulling on a shirt and feeling uncomfortable.

The family (Husband, Wife and Christopher) get there, take their seats on the hard wood. The room is filled with all the mixed perfume of the middle aged woman. Christopher feels sick. He sits there listening to the same things he hears every week, looks up high at his parents’ blank faces who are singing something about god. Then the smell of their collective breath mixed with that perfume. A rotten mouth smell that is thick, sour and sweet. The adults leave the children in the pews to line up for the bread. They come back. His mother holds his hands while they shake hands with those near them saying “peace be with you” and smiling. They sing again, this time their breath has the sick smell of the weird bread they eat. It’s a long time before they go home he knows at this stage of the ritual.

(2)     He put down a large mounted poster from the Lord of the Rings he took from his parents room (they said he could have it). The intricate designs and depictions of strange characters were enough for him to dream and imagine and in his own head make up a far stranger and richer reality than could be told through the actual book series itself. But still he used it as a lock. Behind the ‘lock’ he had a girlfriend. The most beautiful and perfect girl in the world (he thought). He at once worshipped her yet defiled her through his sexual extravaganza. He loved her so much but his outlet became the verbose human dirt sex thing that usually happens to the bored middle aged. He had no constraint, he had nothing to compare restraint to. These urges to give love fully and want lustfully were everything. His way of worshipping was through being naked and loving. His spirituality manifested in carnality. He was an animal. He was a god.

[1] I understand that by saying ‘construct’ I sound like a little imp, but, I really don’t want to change that word because (a) I like the way it sounds, I mean, it’s kind of insulting on quite a few levels and also (b) I cannot be scientifically sure that free will really does exist, okay? That’s in no way a scapegoat answer…if you do any scientific reading you’ll notice that consciousness and free will are the number one top priority MAJOR concept in psychology, philosophy, neurology etc etc. And of course you can understand why (i.e. religious, spiritual and paranormal implications et al). SIDE NOTE: the chief scientific advisor to the pope would baptise an alien if (quote) “it asked to be”.

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The Book Of Wisdom

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BIBLE: Wisdom book 1:
For inquisition shall be made into the thoughts of the ungodly, and the hearing of his words shall come to God, to the chastising of his iniquities.

You know when you are really in-the-gut yearning for just, just a kind look, a reassurance that this horrible shit that you are in is actually temporary, that this too shall pass (as they say), and you know that other thing inside that says “fuck it, who gives a shit” and so the look on your face transforms into some type of serenity which (when seeing it) is just when you get that reassuring look or hand squeeze? That, for eons, has been the dichotomy of good and evil, god and the devil, life and suicide etc. Which is which?[1]

BIBLE: Wisdom book 2:
For they have said, reasoning with themselves, but not right: The time of our life is short and tedious, and in the end of a man there is no remedy, and no man has been known to have returned from hell. For we are born of nothing, and after this we shall be as if we had not been.

Jeremy was burning. He was one of them that thought that hell couldn’t exist. He came back, born as we call it. A sickly child, almost died choking on the umbilical cord. His first breaths were strangled, pain and the threat of death straight away. I don’t want to talk about that. Instead, when he was in pre-school. trying to touch the little girls cunts, trying to gouge out the boys’ eyes, trying to get the teacher to kiss him on the lips, trying to get his mother to play with his cock. He killed his rabbit by shutting its neck in the escape hole and leaving it there o’ernight.[2]

BIBLE: Wisdom book 3:
As for the children of adulterers, they shall not come to their perfection, and the seed of an unrighteous bed shall be rooted out. For though they live long, yet shall they be nothing regarded: and their last age shall be without honour. Or, if they die quickly, they have no hope, neither comfort in the day of trial.
For horrible is the end of the unrighteous generation.

“Jay-den, git dahn orf thair” (sic) of such dialect she spoke, a high-pitched command followed by five or six hoarse coughs “fuckin’ bronchitis” followed by another long drag on her menthol cigarette. I got up, left the ‘ladies’ there to talk of how much (read: little) their husbands were earning in this or that trade. I sat with the ‘men’ and tried to join into their conversation.

“He’s a little poofter” says the father of his wife’s child from a previous marriage.

“Really?” I ask, “how do you know?”

“He fuckin’ runs around in hi sown little world, dancing around hur hur hur hur hur” (that’s a laugh).[3]

“Ok. He’s, what, ten?”

“Fucked if I know hur hur hur hur” drinks his beer, head fully back, deftly changing the topic to how he fucked a barmaid from his local pub.[4]

BIBLE: Wisdom book 4:
Better it is to have no children, and to have virtue: for the memorial thereof is immortal: because it is known with God, and with men.

11:30  The nurse again not saying anything, it’s like, fucking hell what the hell is going on I mean fuck

11:34  I went to the desk again and that same dark haired girl is sitting there on the computer so I’m tapping my fingernails in a repeating pattern and it’s like minutes until she looks over and just smile and I say ‘can I see my wife?’ and she asks again ‘which room’ and I tell her and she says ‘go over there and see the nurse and I say ‘I did that and she said to wait out here’ and she looks back at the screen, sees nothing and says ‘you can go and try again’ and I don’t know what I say but I walk the twenty paces over to the door and knock and knock.

11:43  The door opens and the nurse comes out and walks past me and I actually grab her. ‘Yes’ she says and I say ‘what’s going on can I see my wife what’s happening?’ and she says ‘you can go in’ and it’s like what the fuck was she just going to walk pat me?

11:44   ‘Hey what’s happening?!’ and she is white and there are tubes on her nose and out of her arms and I take her hand in mine and hold it but not too tightly and kiss her face so much I don’t want to stop. She has her eyes closed and says things like ‘I dolt know’ and I’m crying I don’t know why and kissing her wet forehead and then wiping her forehead with my shirt

11:58  Trying to get her to drink some water and it feels like I’m nursing a dying soldier and the doctor walks over with his clean hair and waits for us, looks at us and it’s scary

12:02  I don’t know, I don’t know, what the fuck fuck and the tears are not like any tears I’ve ever had and I’m helpless and dying and trying to breathe and the doctor is telling me he wants to give me something in my arm and my wife is trying to get up and I’m trying to hold her down and its all crazy and turning around and where are we and what the fuck is going on![5]

[1] What I mean is; is the way in which your life seems horrid the quote unquote work of the devil and your resultant action somehow angelic (i.e. abhorrent to such a downfall) or is the unfortunate situation a test to be overcome by the goodness in your (able to be) perfect soul, and so then is the “who cares” flash-realisation, then, either the devil coercing you into giving up and being selfish or your guardian angel whispering in your soul-ear to protect yourself and become, as it were, a pillar of righteousness that shall not be toppled by Stan’s minions et al. Plus, is the transformation on your face a saintly wholesomeness whereby you have transcended mortality and become (cough) god-like or is it an impish self-serving grin whereby you know the how and why of things and have already planned your escape. And lastly, is the final comfort you feel in seeing the reassuring gesture succuss and gratification speaking directly to your soul’s goodness or a relaxation at the defeat of demonic influence (or a bit of both in this case). Etc.

[2] Cliché really, that a child torturing animals is inherently evil (or from evil per se). That a child can torture an animal should be questioned, that it is only a child that has the inhuman capability of animal torture…a child, who, granted, hasn’t leant the breadth and depth of humanity, the essence of soul, or, are we to believe it is innate and, then, if so, soldiers, shooting stabbing and choking fellow living humans. What of them, then, trained to do it, to do it for the good of the rest us? That god can be inside the adult male and then be overridden for humanities sake and that god can be overridden in a child’s mind only because he has not been taught yet. How to reconcile?

[3] Okay so the whole religious mandate that ‘homosexuals are wrong’ thing versus how they are treated as a result. I do (should) not need to point this out or talk about it at all.

[4] This actually happened to me. At once I was listening to a belligerent father who was scorning his wife’s child (who he is now the father of and then the very next story was how he fucked a barmaid. And what did he expect that (a) I would think him a ‘great man’ for doing this and (b) not care that he had just mentioned he was a married father and (c) also not care that I was by de facto the step-brother of the wife he had just mentioned had a gay son he hated and cheated on? There were too many layers there and it was the only human thing I could do to walk away and NEVER see him again (thinking things like ‘if I murdered you in your sleep the world would be easily better).

[5] There is a baby born every second. We spend the rest of our lives trying to avoid pregnancy. There is a strange sickness in this ebb and flow, period, abortion, sex, birth control, late periods, blood, semen, everything. We’re trying so hard to do it all at once like science hates nature and nature hates us. Then a child is born and we love or hate it. Straight away love or hate. THEN: the exaltation or condemnation of ‘parenting’. Into the fire.

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YOU WILL HOPEFULLY BE CHANGED AFTER THIS

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“You will hopefully be changed after this”
“After what?”
“What we discuss”
“Just, words?”
“Well, words with meaning”

–

The arbitrator said to the proletariat: how can you question what is right when you have barely spent the time to understand how complex it is to comprehend your gross menial dreams and encompass them into my plans! You brutal sycophant of a child! I can see what you want in each heartbeat and its medical care and a safe home and food and to drink until you’re drunk. I know! Now, you’re going to sit back down and let me tell you, okay?

–

I forgot to tell you
How much I love you
Because that other man
Was there and loved you
What I thought was less than me.

–

We came upon this discourse, would have been 500 or 600 AD, and you can forget Socrates or Plato or whatever (it’s the same guy anyway. Oh stop pretending you historian hybrids). Here’s how it went:

“And so the good man won’t perpetrate the natural desire?”
“Let’s first define what we mean by good”

And so it goes on and on as we know from Plato about good and bad etc until:

“So, we’ve defined what good is and what bad is as an intrinsic reason for making decisions and perpetrating acts as outlined by our highly elaborate and admittedly intrinsically insular personification, and now, the doubts you have are…?”
“And so the good man won’t perpetrate the natural desire?”

–

This time she pretended not to care but that’s what I love and every time she didn’t look at me (every time it was) it let me stare at her more and more, the dark eyeliner and thick blood red lipstick, the fucking sexy bitch she was, all in black like I was and eventually the rest of the Goths left and we talked, hard talk with all the drugs in our system, second guessing, faking, laughing, but we said together ‘dark crystal’ and knew we didn’t really care enough to like it seriously in any meaningful way but the family thing, the kid watching TV thing we had (even though it wasn’t particularly special or unique or anything) we had it and there wasn’t anyone there like I said and we just smiled and what came of that is another story.

–

So again the night and what I did to myself again. I promised so hard in the morning and in the day that I wouldn’t but the long draughts of wine and cigarettes into me made sense, they make sense, ok? Yeah and those little bodies downstairs, I imagine them writhing, squirming in their little outfits, like they have wet skin already, the soft skin they have and grins and everything. Last night I got one of them down on the ground and her friends were down the alley and she had finished pissing so her panties were down and got to rub my hand on her little pussy and it was so small between my fingers and it made me think how old I was but I left her there and she ran away and I was gone like anybody.

–

“So you wanted to talk about what happened”
“No…not really…I just said, you know…”
“You don’t want to tell me?”
“I just want you to think….um…that………”
“That what”
“That there’s…something….more to me…but not….a pretending thing…a….um…like a…um…”
“…”

–

My mother said:

You like the beautiful ones.
As if I don’t deserve it,
Or I should light a candle.
But I worshipped enough
To realise what beauty is worth.

–

The pieces of life we have, I just sit here and my testicle area stinks when I sniff it because its been days between showers and holy fuck how did that happen and does it get worse? I didn’t want to end up like this, I knew guys like this, saw them and got the fuck away (or secretly admired their conviction to getting ulcers from the drink and still making their way to see people and lend them money and what not). Fuck that, I’ve even now seen the early thirties version of that and its terrible: these benevolent humans giving and giving because they can right now at the detriment to their very life souls…did they give up on something, is that it? Lost love. A love that they had and let go? Unreturned love (the worst)?

–

“So this time there’s something different, okay, tell me”
“I’m the worst…there’s really something wrong with me”
“Okay…so, you say now that there’s something wrong with you”
“Yeah”
“And, what makes you say that?”
“Well…okay…so….you know how you’re just sitting there?”
“Yes”

–

She doesn’t want love,
She wants life.
The best man,
Not the bride groom dead thing.
There it is, dying on the altar.
I will go away.

–

The next thing we discovered, oh boy!, was the artefacts of a Pythagorean discourse, it said (after thorough translation through the highest of authorities):

“Did we give too much, I mean, to the ages. This simple back and forth of the earth and its pieces of objects, like we’ve seen in the tides or in our hands?”
“No master, these things are precious!”
“But can you see them making sumptuous arguments on the basis of our symbolist reasonings?”
“Never!” they scream, in ancient Greek (trust me).
“If we were to tell them the truth, that all of mankind are beholden to the bareness of the stone and the orbit, would they not strap us to the nearest tree and thrash out our wounds with the harshest of instruments?”
“Never?” they scream….but not the true scream they had inside. That would be later, as prophesised.

–

Oh fuck yes, even though I’ve got a ‘barely there’ condom on I can still feel the head of my cock sliding in and out of the whore’s mouth…expensive too, she is. I thought ‘why the fuck not’ and went to one of those classy places. Class! Ha, I love that…better looking bitches that’s for sure. Some fat fuck was at the bar talking to some hot blonde chick and she knew I wanted her and I can if I want so I just walked over and grabbed her arm and she pulled it back (but she’s not supposed to) and the fat fuck in a suit guy looked at me and I fell over him and I don’t know what happened but the hot blonde girl was up against me and we left out into a corridor and I thought ‘this is better’.

–

They made you say those things, right, because for one thing you are beholden to them for your certain kind of reality and for another thing you just want that pay packet every week. The week, the day after day stuff that forms seven…again seven, like it’s a prophesy or a dia-traumatic existential cacophony that you can only dream of escaping from. I tell you, even in the barest of pseudo-philosophic realms can you even hope to exclude yourself from the inevitability of this age. Go on! Press on! Keep going! I want to see you up over the hill, again and again in new roles yet hopefully not new personas.

–

“OK, so the thing that you say, is so wrong”
“Yes”
“What is it?”
“Okay, well, because you caught me early today, I mean, this time”
“Go on”
“Everything I say is….designed”

–

Today we felt a new reality.
One without our togetherness.
And so she kissed me
On the cheek
So many times
It made the death sweet.

–

The cunt didn’t even give a fuck when I put three cubes of ice in her drink, spilled it anyway onto the floor, wood floors but it came up onto my rug and I thought “well, we’re going to fuck anyway” and she drank it down like I did and I got her pants off and her stupid top, hell, it can stay on, gross spandex thing with all kings of ringlets and gold plating (fake). Leave it on I say, already got her pants of anyway, my clothes are off cause its my house and what do I care? She half naked on my bed and I’ve got my body over her, stinking drunk but we’re not kissing and we make it I think.

–

In the tomb of Ramses there was an inexplicable piece that outdated cuneiform literature and made us all rethink social integration. After examination from both Judaeo-Christian theologians and Arabic historians they came to the conclusion that the translation erred somewhere thusly:

In the careful consideration of the intrinsic differences beholden towards the races, it shall be observed that those who hold juxtapositions in beliefs shall be hereby amalgamated into a singular group of purity that shall transcend all mankind and unify the divisions seen throughout the barbaric lands to unify these somewhat beguiled and incongruous races into acknowledging a central human deity that shall supersede any esoteric and injunctioned party so as to allude to the pure sense of a greater entity that shall hence forth be perceived in a wholeness that will eviscerate any division that could lead to war, death, famine, puerile bigotry or otherwise confusion.

–

“Ok, so I know what you think hearing this so it’s like I’m seeing myself telling you and so I already know what you’re going to say and so what I actually say is, ok, beyond that”
“I see”
“Yeah right……ok, can I say…I already know what you think, its not a mystery, you’re going to say ‘he has a hyper-real reality that he believes he is in control of but he’s so aware of this that he can’t open up to other people’. Am I right, I mean, is that close to your one-visit assessment?”
“Sure…you’re very aware of this process I’ll admit”

–

The avatar, the dead face:
The old men and women, stoic in photographs.
In their tombs or rebirth we feel
Loss or sadness
Because what was done
Keeps being done.

–

Six fifteen, not even dark and those office girl clothes, holy fuck, tight skirts like they bought on the weekend they did. And they just walk in them and like a fucking disgusting fool I’ll follow them and some of them meet you for drinks, but away they go! And this one now walks home, changes from her high heels into some type of white cheap “joggin shiwzs” every day right near the parkway turn off she does, those white shoes, three months later they aren’t so white and then down there by the underpass I do this thing one day where I grab her and knock her head onto the cement a few times until she is quiet and then, well, and then, right.

–

In the journal of mankind we are told things, some of which are basic like: do unto others as they would do you, or, the truth shall set you free. Instead in this modern world we are coerced into behaving so inhumanly, instructed to be so monstrous and then ridiculed and even fired upon revealing any sense of our lingering humanity or sensibility so until the end we will love raping and torturing and we do it all under the sweeping proviso that nature (we interpreted) set forth: the survival of the fittest, which now is the survival of the willing: willing to lie, willing to cheat, willing to forsake another’s trust to benefit your own tiny piece of sustenance. And when do I stand up and protest or proclaim this idiocy. When? Fuck you now = no money for you.

–

“Go on”
“Yeah, go on….ok, well, I remember when I was kid…and I…well, I didn’t really know that all the other people were around me, my family I mean.”
“You felt alone?”
“No. Christ no, not like that. I mean…I felt, enabled, free…um…and I’m not trying to self-analyse here, but, um…like…you know, um, real? Um, like, true, I mean…when it rained, ok, when it rained…sometimes, I mean like, once or twice, really, I just….and no one was home, ok, so, like…these two times, I, like…took off all my clothes and just ran around, naked ok, in the backyard, feet on grass, naked, in the rain. I mean, I can’t remember now but, where the fuck was everybody? Right, in my memory, I mean, they were somewhere but I was just there alone and naked and did like laps of the backyard and just came back to my room naked and wet all over with rain and it was like so clean and pure and I just thought, man, that was the most free I’ve been in like fifteen years! Fuck! What do you have to say about that, I mean, really? Beat that!”

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SLATER AND SLATER

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Frederick had a good idea. Jelly wrestling, three girls, then, five or six big pig dogs come in and just jump in there and start, ripping at their flesh but the girls, they’re like laughing and trying to play with them even as the dogs are sinking their teeth into their legs, bellies and breasts, and their hair is mixed with jelly and blood and the dogs are like pure muscle and going crazy like devils and the girls are sort of screaming laughing and almost like fucking the dogs and squirming, you know. How to film that though? Johnno thought of lots of spliced close ups and then Fred was all like real dogs but tame and real girls and like fake blood but is that enough? and then James, you know, the boss, just kept asking how does this sell beer and we’re like it’s a joke, you know, like how guys like jelly wrestling and dogs and it’s like, overkill, you know…all those other ads with girls and cars and beer but he didn’t get it he just wanted jelly wrestling and like loud rock music or something and we were saying that’s not interesting and back and forth and so we had to go and come up with some more concepts but instead we were so pissed off we just went on an early lunch down at Henry’s. What a shit hole really but the damn place is right next to the office and it’s like four bucks a beer so we just bought beer and Tom bought some wedges and that was that.

“Fucking hell I thought James would go for that, man!”

“We didn’t pitch it right, I mean, we didn’t have the images right”

“Yeah, we need some photo outfit to get some glam shots of that shit”

“Yeah yeah like, some stills of some hot models covered in like jelly and blood and stuff”

“Got to be blondes…GOT to be blondes”

“I’m getting another round”

And we had rounds, four rounds or something because what faggot wouldn’t buy a round? Normally Tom but we made him get a round, trying to get out of it buying some wedges, fuck that, get some beers AND some wedges Tom you asshole. Nancy at the front desk, sexy bitch, was all smiles and giggling because she could tell we were all half pissed and Johnno was like ‘what you doing tonight’ like he always does and she says something like ‘nothing with you’ the playful little thing and we get in the lift and Fred lights a cigarette and we’re telling him to put it the fuck out and he does one floor from the office and the doors open and we pour out all smoke and loose suits but you know that’s what we do and who the fuck is going to say anything…come up with better work and then we’ll talk. There’s a new girl in the office and she’s all open eyes and saying nothing so, you know, screw her she doesn’t know who we are and it’s back in our office and Fred rips down the cards with the dogs and shit on them and says ‘next!’ and we get out our pads and phones and I say ‘what next? That’s the fucking idea. Lets pitch it to the client!’ and Johnno says we can’t because of James and as much as we all think fuck him it’s not how it’s done, asshole got his hands so tight around the clients scrotums they’d never go with anything he wasn’t sitting there smiling about with his big shit-eating endorsement. Whatever, got to make this sex and death thing more appealing…how the fuck can you advertise some beer with the slogan ‘Get it down your throat’ I mean, that’s aggressive right I mean what else do they want? Their last piece of thirty second garbage was some Swedish skiers malarkey and it’s all about blow jobs and snow and swallowing frozen sperm or piss or something and like THAT’S okay?  Tom closes the blinds and Fred lights another cigarette, Johnno gets the small bottles of scotch out of his drawer and sets them on the table, I take one and pour it onto a glass ‘ice?’ but no one filled up the bar fridge

“Fucking hell! How hard is it to fill it up the fucking sink is right there, or wait no, there’s a jug of water in the fucking fridge right there, jesus’

“Shut up Sash it was probably you”

“Yeah right, like I’m a cunt huh?”

“Just drink it neat you baby, or splash some of your ‘fridge water’ in it”

“That’s not a bad idea, Johnno, pass me the jug”

And so I tip some of the water in and we can get on with it…a new idea to sell this piss tasting beer.

“Beer bongs?”

“Nah…too teen”

“Too obvious”

“Well, they did go with cock sucking Swedish chicks…”

“All right fine…what about a DUDE wrestling with the chicks?”

“And what is he getting down his throat”

“Like, like a freeze frame at the last second of some chick with half her hand down his throat, and his eyes are all bulging and he’s all red and about to throw up, you know, like, gagging, and it’s like freeze frame in the moment and then: Greigsons…Get it down your throat…BANG”

“Right and then we do like, five of them with shit getting stuffed down throats right, like, choking on a pie or like, sword swallowers or…”

“Porn chick”

“Fuck imagine…that would be cool…yeah…okay…not bad”

“Ha! That’s hilarious!”

“Ok ok, Tom, draw something up…lets see how it’ll looks for a pitch”

“Fucking geniuses again…what was that like, five minutes”

“No way Fred, we were talking about that all lunch remember”

“Oh yeah…expense account!”

“Fucking A”

The afternoon wears on but we’re done here really so we wait until Tom has finished mocking up the stills and they look pretty good and the little bottles are gone so I email Nancy to fill it up for tomorrow and we have a few more cigarettes and grab out jackets and leave. James is n the hall and he stops Johnno and they go into his office but the rest of us get in the lift. Me and Fred get out at the lobby but Tom takes it down to the basement. Typical Tom.

*                              *                              *

The morning sun makes the office look all yellow and like we’re still in the 1960s. Doesn’t help that the office was actually built in the 1960s and the tiny windows that were so cool back then just make this air conditioned hell hole even seedier, pinholes of light blasting in on otherwise dark cubicles. The account managers bashing away in their cells trying to place pissy little ads in magazines or newspapers or, fuck! The end of the industry…online advertising. Like anyone buys shit from a ugly banner ad. These kids have no idea, all fresh-faced, fancy designer clothes, nice university degrees that say ‘digital communications’ or ‘social media’ bullshit. You want money? Get your shit onto TV period. Thirty seconds to get some sitting-at-home-on-their-useless-fat-ass idiot to bother to get out their credit card the next time they’re in some shitville store and buy some useless crap they think they need just because we told them to. That’s it. You want to know what stuff we’ve sold? Okay, toothpaste, okay? Oraldent. Used to be some ugly all-white too-minty paste that no one would ever consider buying…tucked down there at the bottom of the shelf with the crappy ‘we contain no fluoride’ shit for weirdos and hippies…and especially not when the ‘family trusted’ brands like Colgate and Macleans have such a duopoly. What we did? Oral dent. Dent. Oral. Do the maths. We had every fucking male teen from the age of fourteen to THIRTY buying that paste. Why? Because why the fuck would you want to raise a family when your could get a blow job every morning, or even the idea of a blow job every morning. Even if it’s a joke. Even if you don’t even think you’ll ever get a blow job in the morning, it doesn’t matter. Now they’re the number two selling toothpaste in this country because we know what makes dumb fucks tick. Tick. Ha, that’s a joke. We need to get some more god damn titis in here. Fucking bosses keep hiring these faux-beard ‘Gen X’ in touch with the skaters douchebags…we’ve got more semen piling up in here than a fucking sperm bank. Sorry, crap line but you get my meaning. Everyone’s twittering like the world’s gonna end…fucking hundred years time the world’s hard drives are gonna be full of useless puke about people’s ‘day-to-day’. Day to day? Since when did anyone care about day to day? We have entertainment, books, movies, art, music and god knows how many things specifically designed for us to forget about the annoying morose day-to-day! God, these kids…they could use a drink, and just as soon as I stop flirting with the girls in the café that’s exactly what I’m going to do: The blondes getting their herbal teas and wheat free muffins are all cute and stuff but they must look at me like I’m some hard skinned monster but, you know, it’s cool to play with the whole they-have-to-worship-me-because-I’m-senior-partner stuff and they just say whatever nice thing pops in their empty suck-cock-to-get-ahead brains, about my tie or my shoes or (god) my cologne, which, by the way, is just good scotch and maybe a few squirts of Ralph Lauren whatever is new. Didn’t even mention the watch…wouldn’t even know it’s an Omega.

“Long black darling and don’t you dare out any sugar in it”

“Of course not mister Bernstein”

“You been here long?”

“You ask that every day”

“Do I? And what do you say?”

“I’ve been here three weeks Mr…”

“Sash, okay…did I ever tell you to call me that before? Seeing as you’ve been here three weeks I must’ve told you to call me Sash before”

“Yes…you did…but…”

“But what?”

“The other partners they….I call them…like mister and…”

“Okay okay, so…you’re thinking ‘this up-his-ass prick’ is, what, just like all the other up-their-ass pricks so even though he is saying ‘don’t call me mister’ he actually means please keep treating me like a fucking up-his-ass prick is that right?”

“Oh, (laugh) oh no…it’s (laugh/giggle thing) no…”

“Okay, okay so…from now on…okay…from now on you’re going to call me…what?”

“Um…Sash”

“Perfect…Sash, okay…and we’re not going to do this again, right?”

“No Sash”

“Excellent…and it’s a long black you’re making?”

“Yes Sash”

“Great”

So I have to deal with this fucking idiot just to get a coffee, right? So instead I can pay two dollars fifty downstairs or deal with this? Okay okay…’thanks’ I say and take my coffee out of there and remember that I can just buzz Katy to get me a coffee and why the hell not, it’s her job and I wouldn’t have to talk to that three-week idiot again but then of course those insipid yet easy ‘account manager’ girls are there, but, you know like not worth it. In the office Tom and Johnno are already doing something and I don’t really want tog get involved right now and Fred’s on the phone talking some bank stuff so I tip some scotch into my coffee and wait for us to start the meeting.

*                              *                              *

Tom’s got another bruise on his cheek he’s covered in foundation, like we can’t tell, the idiot, get carried away doesn’t he and forgets who’s in charge or actually likes it (!). So, SHOES   ARE   FOR   FEET, that’s what we’re dealing with today and Johnno’s on to all these ideas like ‘crushing’ and ‘soul destroying’ and other weird stuff but it sounds good. We’re going to kill the whole ‘shoes give you freedom’ clichéd crap pouring from other agencies (for Nike) or the ‘shoes make the man’ boredom (from Boss) or the ‘women love shoes’ idiom (from Sex and the City type stuff). Fred’s got a pair of the things on the table and they look okay, kind of like half-sneaker half-dress shoe type of things like you can wear them with a suit or at least good dress pants like these rappers do, rappers ha! more like fucking millionaires trying to ‘keep it real’ by wearing these things with suits, okay, so you’ve got the picture. They’re, what, like three hundred retail. Okay so we’ve got like six boxes of them and they’re all pretty much the same: leather, laces, clan lines, fine sticking, not too much stupid swirls and crap, kind of low key and shined up, like a good leather jacket but a shoe.

“Okay so it’s like don’t take shit”

“Shit. What shit?”

“Like the whole shoes in a club, shoes in a fuck-off restaurant stuff”

“Okay”

“Okay so, like, fuck the convention, wear these”

“Yeah okay…what’s the hook?”

“Who makes these anyway?”

“Ah it’s some Paris Hilton type brand…they cal themselves Billionaire’s club…it’s Pharell. From The Neptunes”

“Yeah yeah, they’re the guys that have basically remade Justin Timberlake and Brittney and co.”

“And who are we selling to?”

“Fucking hell Tom do your research. It’s basically for fucking trend-heads who have no money but are BURSTING to piss away their McDonald earned cash for these ultra cool shoes, right? So they can dance like mother fuckers and get laid while looking all ‘I don’t give a fuck’ shabby. Got it?”

“Yeah yeah I know…Christ I was up until like three or some shit…give me a sec guys”

“Yeah right and that smack to the face isn’t helping”

“Shut the fuck up Fred…this…this is something else”

“Been spending too much time in the basement huh? You’re gonna get AIDS at this rate”

“Yeah those girls have AIDs, like they don’t check that shit”

“Ha yeah, you’re right. Anyway fuck, we’ve got like three hors to nail this all right? They’re here this afternoon”

“Are we taking them for drinks? What girls are we getting? Not Stacey again because she is a fucking annoying lightweight. Almost cost us the Christal account”

“Um not Stacey…she’s fired Sash”

“Makes sense”

“Of course we’re taking them for drinks!”

“Yeah I mean we just need a basic outline, some shit they’re going to think is like ‘whoa’”

“Okay so…back o the basics…what do these rich kids want, huh? Sales…but…why the idiot no-money-hip-hop-douchebags? Can we, I don’t know, get the cashed up white folk buying these?”

“Yeah right like ‘be as cool as an African American’! So what, we need some big asses or what?”

“Yeah, we need hip-hop beats, oiled up asses and just at the end the shoes. Fuck it, that’s easy”

“Christ, too easy. Keep thinking”

“No wait, how we gonna pitch with Tom all banged up wearing his sister’s make up?”

“Fuck off Johnno”

“No seriously Tom…what the fuck were you thinking?”

“I got carried away you know….you know what it’s like”

“Um yeah I do, but I don’t get them to hit me in the fucking face! Ah fuck it whatever, it’s done. You can just make the mock ups and go home to get your shit sorted”

“Okay okay…lets just get something up on the cards”

“I’ve got it! Dominatrix. Tom, rub that makeup off your face. Johnno, all that weird stuff you were saying about ‘crushing’. Here it is; hot chicks, leathered up, I mean make up, hair, all that. Wailing on guy’s with these shoes on…like fucking loving it, right, like, sexy cool, like, fuck you I can do what the fuck I want. But before that it’s all suits and style and all that Jay-Z classy stuff, but like in the end their like getting whipped and fucking these hot dominatrix bitches, right?”

“Sash you are a fucking genius”

“Yeah yeah and Tom is all like, ‘I get it, I love it’”

“Fuck off”

“No seriously, you can be presenting this shit with your whole bruised face thing wearing the shoes, I mean, you’re not an ugly fuck, hell, you’re probably the best looking guy here. We need to get you a better suit…call Katy”

We celebrate, Tom makes the cards, Johnno on the phone again and me and Fred finishing some scotch telling each other we need to make sure they buy better stuff next time. Johnny Walker black label, what the hell is that crap? It’s only eleven and we have to wait two hours for lunch.

*                              *                              *

We get back from lunch and Rick is in James’ office, throwing his arms around like he does, got James smiling his wide smile, getting his cock sucked always makes him look like that. Fucking little ass crawling shitbag…last ad he did was for a magazine, some up-herself stick figure blonde chick dressed like a god awful princess gracefully receiving a diamond ring from some homosexual male model, yeah right, fucking beautiful. Did we keep the account? Yes we did. How did we keep that account? Because James the moron promised them a BIG TV AD…and who’s doing the ad? Not fucking us I can tell you that. Now Rick is all shit scared and trying to get in with us. Yeah keep buying us drinks, yeah send us your pathetic emails. Get ready to burn in hell you little piece of shit. Good luck affording your new apartment and suits. Fucking hotheads, you know, they land one job and start spending all their cash like it’s gonna last forever. Doesn’t matter how long you been doing this, you fuck up, you lose the client’s money, and you can kiss your life goodbye. I mean it. You mess up with half a mil of someone else‘s money, just try and get a job in this country again.

“Ricks in with James gain”

“That little shitbag”

“Tell me about it”

“Got his fucking tongue right up his ass huh?”

“You know it”

“Got a taste for ass that little ugly cunt”

“Ah fuck him, he’s out of here in one month, tops”

“Not the way he gets that cock down his throat he won’t be”

“Forget that shitbag, lets go over the pitch”

“Fuck the pitch lets go downstairs”

“Henry’s?”

“No dumbass, downstairs”

“Why not? We got a couple-a-hours”

“I’m in”

“All right lets go…grab some bottles Tom”

And we’re leave that mess behind, got it all down anyway: Shoes + Bondage = Sex Sells. How hard is that? Those rap douches are going to go ape shit for it. We’ll tell them about oiled up shaved muscled black guy chests, gold chains, sexy big assed chicks, whips and leather and crap and BANG their shoes in the frame, all fresh and edgy. They’ll be hard as rocks when we’re done…bus ads, billboards, magazines, TV, music videos, soft-core porn micro sites, everything. Sign up for some barely covered tits spanking some other barely covered tits. Cut to Shoes. Done. We get in the lift and press the big red ‘B’.

There’s only one spotlight on, hard to see if there’s anyone here today. The chains and cuffs are open and I can maybe make out a bucket. Tom turns the lights on and there’s two girls over in the corner sort of half sitting on each other, some light sheer nighties on and pink fluffy slippers. It’s not cold in here, it’s maybe like 30 degrees, they look scared.

“What the fuck did you do last night Tom?”

“Nothing…I mean, this one chick, this one chick, she…she fucking…like hit me so, like…you know…”

“Oh not again…you’re a sick bastard you know! Now we gotta go over there and be all nice and shit. Fuck you’re a moron. Luckily you can do mock ups like no one’s business. Urgh, get the keys”

Tom gets the keys off the wall, one of the girls get up, yelling something and we tell her to shut up we’re coming in and she’s struggling against the ankle chain like some dog and it’s pathetic really and she’s saying we’re all pigs and Fred’s laughing and Johnno is already talking his clothes off. Tom opens the cage and we go in, the other girl is just sitting there all quiet and the other one is standing there, nice tits, firm and pointy. She must be like, twenty, maybe twenty one, jesus the assholes upstairs know how to keep us going that’s for sure. Johnno walks over to her and pulls her hair back, she tries to kick him but he’s not weak and just moves her back and turns her around, pushing her against the wall and playing with her ass, she’s trying to push back but he’s got his other hand on her wrist and he’s twisting her arm hard against her back and pushing her face into the cement. He’s got her nightie up and is pushing his fingers into her holes hard and dry and she’s crying out and he asks for a gag. There’s a rag on the floor which I give to him and he wraps it around her mouth and ties it so she can only sort of whimper and it’s better that way, still, her hands are all over the place so he takes her over to the rack and eventually get’s her hands cuffed in. The other one is watching us and it’s like she’s curious or waiting or something so I go over and sit next to her.

“You like this?” I ask and she doesn’t say anything, “Huh? You like watching her getting raped? Lets watch then”.

Tom comes over to me but I gesture for him to go away, he goes and sits on a bench and lights a cigarette, he had enough last night the pervert so he’ll wait his turn. Fred’s got a big dildo and he’s rubbing in between the girls legs, she trying to kick back but Johnno hits her in the ribs and she calms down. Fred spits onto the thing and shives it into her pussy but it’s not working so he takes it out, spits on his fingers and starts working her open that way. Johnno rips her nightie off and starts sucking on her nipples while Fred works the dildo into her pussy. She kind of struggles but the two guys are pretty much just doing whatever now and Fred’s got his face buried in her ass. The girl next to me is motionless, I open her legs and she doesn’t do anything, I start playing with her pussy and still nothing, it’s like, what the fuck is wrong with her or more likely, something really is wrong with her. Not very erection inspiring, or maybe that’s her game? I pull a blanket out and lay her down face first and start to take my pants off. The other guys are really going for it now I mean, Johnno’s slapping the hell out of her ass and Fred’s driving the thing in and out in and out and she’s got her head forward and trying to scream but it just sounds like a really soft cat meow or a howling dog or something and Johnno pushes Fred away and throws the dildo into a corner and starts really fucking her, I mean like really like he can’t possibly even enjoy it himself and he’s pulling her hair and spitting on her face and all kinds of shit and Fred joins Tom on the bench, pulls out a mini-scotch and smokes a cigarette. I’ve got two fingers in this girls ass and it’s tight and warm and smells like shit but it’s a sweet kind of thing, it does dawn on me ‘when did these girls last take a shower’ but it was probably this morning so they should be pretty clean and my fingers come out okay so not too bad and I keep working at her asshole with fingers and spit until it feels ready and my cock is hard. Johnno is done and he’s turned her around and her arms are crossed and her face is red and covered in loose hair and his spit and now he’s got his whole hands up there just ramming at her and her tits are jumping up and down so fast you can barely make them out and he gestures for someone to come over and Tom gets up and goes over and Johnno tells him to undo her cuffs and she falls onto the floor and then they’re just fucking whatever now, face, pussy, ass, and I can’t watch anymore because it’s so abstract, these two guys just moving about shoving their cocks here and there while this girl is like, like, a rubber doll of something. And I’m like up to my waist in this girls ass and she’s just making this ‘uh uh uh’ sound which is really tuning me on and hell even I start doing it, thrusting and saying ‘urgh’ like louder than her so it’s all so intense and she’s like a quiet lamb just taking it and I’m having actual nice thoughts about this one which is rare and I don’t like that any more so I put my hands around her throat to you know like stop the sound, just squeezing her neck and pulling her head up and she’s got her mouth and eyes shut tight now which feels good and I cum in her ass after about one more minute of this and I’m done. Johnno is done too and just like he always does it getting his suit back on, over by the sink with the mirror smoothing out his hair with water and watching himself smoke a cigarette. Almost a too cool but too crazy a thing that ritual. Tom the psycho is hitting her in the back of the head and calling her ‘slut’ ‘cunt’ ‘whore’ and all kinds of stuff, really taking it out on her. Poor guy, must be how we treat him, right? Comes down here, goes fucking ape shit. Terrible.

“How’re things Fred?”

“Yeah fine…not really into it today”

“Throw me a bottle huh?

He throws me a vodka and I throw it back, then he throws me a scotch.

“Fuck what the hell, they’re still giving us this shit. I got to talk to Katy.” I open the bottle and finish it one go, “hurry the fuck up Tom, jesus. We got a pitch in like half an hour!”

Tom’s banging away, got that look in his eye like he’ll never stop so we just leave him there and I throw a roll of toilet paper over to the girl I came inside.

“See you upstairs Tom…don’t be late…two thirty okay” and he kind of says okay but it’s like o-o-o-k-k-k type thing with breathing and now we’re done it’s just plain gross to see Tom like that.

*                              *                              *

The men’s room on our floor has these warm-wet-forest-fresh towels that I use to get her shit out form under my nails and the aroma is so refreshing it’s like ‘where am I?’ but the feeling is broken by the sound of some sicko pissing in a urinal like right into the water. It’s like ‘didn’t your parents or someone ever teach you not to do that?’. I mean seriously, what kind of unadjusted socially retarded peasant does that? Oh look, there’s some water I guess I’ll pee straight into it, like in the river back on the farm. Manners, right, like maybe someone else is in this cacophonous tiled room that’s a veritable echo chamber to expose all your basic bodily functions. If you need to be told this then you should be fired on the spot. We don’t want inconsiderate illogical dunces working for Slater and Slater. The cubicle door opens and it’s no surprise that Rick strolls out, a dullard’s grin on his face as he publically zips up his fly.

“Sasha, how’s things. Heard you got the Greigson’s account. Man you guys are the business”

“Sash”

“Huh?”

“Don’t call me Sasha ok? It’s Sash. In fact, don’t even fucking call me Sash. You’re gonna call me Mr Bernstein or your ass is going out the fucking window, okay?”

“Jesus take it easy. I’m on your team, okay? We gotta get this place up and running twenty first century style you know what I mean?”

He runs his hands under the tap, no soap, reaches for a hot towel,

“Hey. What the fuck are you doing slimeball?”

“What” he says, picking one up and rubbing it on his face and neck.

“You ever hear of hygiene?”

“Huh?”

I turn on the tap, press some foam soap into my hands and rub them together, looking at Rick like he’s an infant.

“See? Watch me now. This is the important stuff your alcoholic fuckhead of a father should have taught you”

“What did you say?”

“I said your fresh-out-of-jail unshaven loser of a father should have at least showed you how to wash your hands. What the fuck do they teach you where you’re from? How to steal car stereos that no ne wants anymore and sell them for a tenner?”

“Hey man…you’re out of line”

“Out of line, huh? I tell you what’s out of line…you fucking coming up to me and anyone from my team and even thinking for a second you are one of us. For a second. What kind of fucking degenerate university taught you that you know ANYTHING about what we do. You push out the most gut-sickening clichéd shit I’ve ever seen, get one account per year that takes a fucking truckload of cum drinking for you to keep. Maybe make what, a ten percent commission, and then try and fucking stand here next to me, rinse your fucking loser ass piss stained fingers under cold water and just think ‘hey, I’m going to talk to Sash…even though I am a turd and he is a FUCKING PARTNER!’ Any of this making sense to you?”

“Calm down man, I’m just…”

“Shhh. I’m done. Okay?”

My heads buzzing, scotch and fucking and that got damn oily skinned bad suit asswipe just comes together and

“Hi Sash”

“Hi Stacey…how’s the mag going?”

“Good good, but hey, I wanted to ask you…”

“Not right now okay…I’m pitching in like five minutes so I’ve got to go get my face on”

“UH, okay Sash, but, I, I’m gonna come find you later”

“Sur Stacy, you come by and see me. We’re gonna go for a drink though okay”

And she says something but I’m not really listening and it’s amazing I even got those three lines out at all. They’re all in the office and Tom is making some more sketches, like the back up sketches because as soon as one of the idiot executives freaks out we just put those up and they calm down and we can push through what we want without them doing too much thinking. Legal. Consumer. Reaction. Blah blah heard it before, way ahead of you. Fred’s playing with his phone again, he’s getting screwed over some share deal so we understand but he’ll have to keep the crowd going in about ten minutes and Johnno is sitting back, smiles at me when I come in. I sit down and run my fingers through my hair, it’s weird right now, I’m more shaky than I usually am.

“You okay Sash?”

“Yeah. Are we ready? Let’s go”

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