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The Morning After


When I woke I stepped out on the balcony and walked over some broken glass and looked over the edge to see Betty face down in the pool, bloated and pale, still wearing her party hat and I lit my cigarette and went back into the house.  Eric was still asleep at the foot of the bed.  My bathrobe smelled like smoke and had that unmistakable tangy hint of vomit.  Luckily enough, my sense of smell was so destroyed by the Columbian whirlwind last night that my house could be on fire and I’d never smell it.  I carefully stepped over Eric who, upon closer inspection, might not have been breathing, and opened the bathroom door.  I found a fresh beer in the sink with some toothpaste spit on the side which I washed off.  I opened the beer; the lukewarm flat piss lit up the pleasure sensors in my brain like flares at the scene of a horrible rainy accident.  I shut off the light to the bathroom as I exited, forgetting why I went in there to begin with.  

In the living room there are sleeping people strewn all over the floor.  On the fireplace mantle, two naked boys I did not recognize were spooning, one covered in bruises and the other covered in what I suspected to be blood.  A clown smoked silently in the corner.  

I made my way through the kitchen which had been laid waste and out the sliding doors and onto the Brazilian cherry deck surrounding the pool.  I had spent a lot of time working on the landscaping and was proud of the myriad colors present in the foliage that framed the outside space.  It was, at the worst times, an entirely tranquil and pleasant space to spend time, to mediate, to fuck, whatever.  And then, there was the little problem of the fucking corpse floating in my fucking Italian marble pool, completely fucking up the vibes I had spent so much time trying to fucking cultivate.  It was aggravating.  I stepped over to the bushes lining the sides of the deck to try and find something long and pointy and preferably sharp so I could hook that stupid bitch on the end of it.  The only thing I found was a long fork, the kind used for barbecuing, though fuck knows how often I actually used the fucking barbecue for anything, but there it was, calling to me.  

The real problem was that Betty was floating right in the middle of the pool, and this stupid little barbecue fork wouldn’t reach.  You would think that with a fork this goddamn big, you could reach anything, but the bloated hag escaped me, like she had in life.  Fucking bitch.  This was going to be a problem.  Even squatting by the side of the pool, beer in one hand, barbecue fork in the other, I couldn’t reach.  Couldn’t she have just died closer to the fucking edge?

After spilling the rest my beer on my feet and getting no closer to spearing the bitch, I decided to give up for a moment and get another drink.  I went back into the kitchen to the two little cuddling faggots awake and now gracefully wrapped in blankets.  My cigarette burned my lips and I cursed.  The bruised one looked at me.  “What the fuck are you looking at, bitch?  Make me a fucking cocktail,” and he just sat there and stared.  “I guess this means I have to make my own drink doesn’t it?”  I tried to think of something delicious and fruity to reinvigorate my taste buds, but all I could really think about is getting as hammered as possible and quickly as possible, so I went straight for the bourbon and decided to avoid the glass and just drink straight from the bottle.  I filled a the cleanest towel I could find with ice cubes and smashed it against the counter top which I noticed startled the little cocksuckers so I did it again harder a few more times.  I put as many of the ice cubes as I could fit right into the bottle.  The two little tarts just stared at me, not comprehending.  “I’m making a drink.  Haven’t you ever seen someone make himself a drink before?”  One of them had the audacity to actually fucking giggle so I threw a plate at them.  “Make some fucking coffee or get the fuck out.”

In the living room a girl, probably 14 or 15, was up and watching cartoons or some shit.  She wore cut off jeans and a blouse that was effectively see through, but left enough to the imagination that it was still enticing and not all skanky.  She was skinny and fair the way that only children are, but starting to show the emergence of what promised to be some fucking stellar tits.  She made me so fucking hard I had to sit down.  

The bottle was getting lighter and the world was finally coming into focus.  The girl watched some show where there was a lot of screaming shit and some flashy shit and a whole ton of other action that I wouldn’t have been able to wrap my brain around even if I had been sober and not so fucking hungover I could throw another plate at the bitch boys in the kitchen who had better be making my coffee.  She changed the channel to one of those day time thirty minute commercials where some asshole with a bad facelift and fake tan is trying to sell you a food dehydrator or soap or some fucking sweater machine or a portable cock sucker.  Whatever. 

“What the fuck are you watching?” and I took another swig from the bottle.  I noticed that my right hand was all cut up and not moving very well.  I tried stretching it out, but that wasn’t working, so I switched the bottle over and pointed at her with my left hand.  I lit another cigarette and offered her one.  

“Don’t you know that shit will kill you?” she asked me, incredulous.  

“What the fuck are you talking about.  Does that mean you don’t want a smoke?”


A moment passed as the plant on the show, usually some ass in a sweater acting as the totally shocked bystander who just happened to be interviewing someone on this show while they were selling some product which is revolutionary, evolutionary and just plain amazing, goes off about how much time invention X is going to save them or their wife or their aunt or their dealer in their daily chores around the house.  Incredible.  I have to get one.

“My mom has one of those,” she chirped.

“Does it work, or is a huge piece of shit?”

“It’s a huge piece of shit.  I tried using it on the cat, but the he got away from me and ran into a tree.”

“All right.”  I wondered where my goddamned coffee was.  My hard on was steadily drifting into the limp spectrum so I got back up, “Save my seat,” I told her and went back to the kitchen.  Luckily for them, the coffee was almost ready, but the bruised one was sobbing.  I didn’t really care, nor did I have the energy, patience or time to try and find out why the little pillow biter might be crying, so I just walked past them and out back onto the deck.  

The sun was getting high into the sky at this point and my sight was clearing up and I could see that Betty had shit herself as she died last night.  That was going to be such a fucking bitch to clean up.  I knew I would have to buy a shitload of chlorine at the pool supply place.  Fucking dead chicks.  Do they always have to shit themselves?  I walked across the deck and sat down in one of the chairs under a tree.  If I sat turned away from the house, facing the trees that grew in the valley, it almost felt like none of the nightmare I knew I would have to deal with was real.  I could just sit there, staring toward the ocean or whatever the fuck was that direction, and ignore the enormous clusterfuck that was about to take place behind me.  

From the direction of the house, I could hear the sliding door open and close.  Bare feet approached, but I didn’t turn around to see who they belonged to.  

“Danny and Marek made me bring this out to you,” she said as she handed me a cup of coffee.  “I didn’t know what you liked in it, so I just made it how I like it.”

I took the mug from her and looked into it.  She put milk in, which was bad enough, but if there was fucking sugar in this shit, I was going to go fucking mental.  She sat next to me in another chair and sipped her own brew.  I sipped mine.  

There were like eight fucking sugars in it.  “There are like eight fucking sugars in this shit.”

“Coffee tastes like shit.  Something has to make it taste nice.”

I considered for a moment just sucking it up and drinking the coffee, but then that seemed like the worst fucking idea ever and I threw the coffee over the edge of the deck and lit another cigarette.  I leaned back in the chair and pictured Godzilla on the horizon destroying the smog engulfed city below us, spraying flames and death and crushing everywhere he went.  Then I thought that Godzilla, actually, should be a chick because wasn’t there that one movie where he (she?) lays an egg or something and has a baby Godzilla that’s called something else?  I asked the girl, “Is Godzilla a girl or a boy?”

“What is Godzilla?  Is that some church shit?  My mom tries to make me go to church with her on Sundays but I always find a reason not to.  She’s kind of crazy about it.  I wish she’d just leave me alone.  I’m, like, pretty much a grown up now anyway.,” and she was silent for a minute.  “You have a dead chick in your pool.”

“Yeah?  And?”

“You’re not worried you’re going to get in trouble?”

“I’m pretty sure I didn’t kill her.  Calling an ambulance now isn’t going to save her life.  Let her float.  I’m more worried about that skeevy clown in there.  That guy shows up here all the time.  I have no idea where he comes from, why he thinks it’s so fucking cool to dress like a clown or why he always brings those little twink types along with him.”  At this, she giggled, betraying the youth she was trying to hide.

“You’re fucked up, mister.”

“Maybe, but at least I’ve got this bottle of bourbon, and two little gay boys making me coffee.”  I closed my eyes and thought about wading into the pool to pull the body out, but figured it could wait.  I hoped that the chlorine was acting as a preservative so she wasn’t starting to rot in there.  I was unsure of just how long she’d been floating, but it couldn’t be more than 6 or 7 hours.  That was about where my memory cut out for the night, so anything was game.  I was glad she was dead; Betty could be a real fucking cunt.  I knew she had a kid somewhere, but that wasn’t about to become my problem.  Fucking stupid dead cunt.  What I really wanted was to bend that hot little piece of blonde ass over the railing and fuck her in the ass until she screamed, but getting there seemed like a lot of work and I put that idea out of my mind for a little while.  I listened to the birds and the pool cleaner spraying a jet of water into the air behind me as it rode up the side of the pool.

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