Thursday, August 31, 2006

The Cellar Part One

The Cellar Part One

Ahhhhhhh yeah. How’s it going out there in Turdsville? Are you reading this at work? Hoping the boss doesn’t have some program that can track the hours you spend on the internet each day? Or are you at home, maybe just basting in the after-glow of internet porn? Maybe guzzling some diesel-fuled coffee? Maybe there’s some peppermint Schnapps in that coffee? Are you a geek? Are you a loser? Are you a loser geek? Well, I am…cheers mother-effer.

This is being transmitted from the top of “The Virgins Road.” Heeeee. It’s 7:08AM my time. The other night my ex co-workers had a party for me. A sort of “Bon Voyage” party for leaving the beehive and entering Law School. That’s something to celebrate, I graduated from a drone to a cannibal.

I tried not to burn any bridges until I was sure that I could make it in Law School. If law school kicks me out, I might need to go back to the beehive and make nice with the Queen. Sheeeit. Law School ain’t shit, so let us pour some gasoline on this bad boy right here. Yeah, toss some over there. Strike a match and watch these bridges burn.

The celebration was held at a place aptly named “The Cellar.” Even though we were downtown Century City (Next to fox studios, Century City…twentieth century fox...get it? Get it? I hate rich people). The Cellar is pub that is tucked away underneath the ground like a buried, calcified womb. Like some mummy snatch. True to the name it is dark and moist, just like my....nevermind. The whole thing was retrofitted and designed for heavy alcoholism. It was invokes some Irish/Scottish/English pubs of drunkery. The chairs are plaid. All the pictures on the wall are of old English Fox hunts and crap like that. Men on horseback surfing on a wave of beagles chasing one, scrawny crack-addicted fox. Nothing tickles the Brittish more than an unfair fight. Fake brick was shellacked on the walls. It was Karaoke night.

I got there early so I could brief some cases and get my shit out of the way before the rest of the bloodhound gang showed up. The place had a mosquito problem so they had put giant green liquid bug traps right on the bar. I had images of blurry nights with lemon drops waking up with a titanic hangover and mosquito welts all over my body. eeeeek.

Some nasty waitress, a little trash-skirt who was hungover was talking about she was worried about her friend because, “She not a good drinker. She’s not really a bad drinker, just when she drinks, sometimes she gets saucy. Last night she said she remembered driving home, and hitting something, she wasn’t sure what, and then she like woke up in her bed. She also talks a lot of shit, when she drinks. Like she just runs up on some guys and starts screaming you’re full of shit, yadda-yadda-yadda.” What she described sounded pretty normal to me.

Some old shit-kicker named Zack, came in. This wrinkly sonofabitch looked a stewed prune. There wasn’t one part of his body that wasn’t wrinkled. He looked like a wadded up newspaper. Everyone at the bar knew him. He had parked in the Red Zone he said because he didn’t want park underground. He had been doing it for 20 years and they could kiss his liver-spotted ass he said. He didn’t order a drink, but the bartender was already mixing it. I guess he’s a regular.

The first person to show up was Danielle. He has short buttery hair. It was a little tense because we weren’t real close at work, on account that he bitched and stole my corner office. When I first came to the company, they gave me corner office. He complained. Seeing as how I had only been there for a few months and he had been there for years, why should the punk get a corner office? Well, I lost the showdown. He got the office. I was real pissed, but this guy was entrenched, and he had been there longer.

When he walked into the bar I just reminded myself, that yes, his office does have a view of the ocean, but I am actually in Malibu. Heheheheheheheheheheheheheh. However, Danielle is very civil and fair. We have never had a cross word, and have kept the passive aggressive karate to a minimum. What I have written just now, might be a little of a shock.

So Danielle and I bullshited up a storm. He ordered a white wine….hmmmmmm…white wine = gay, and yes Danielle is gay. Nothing wrong with that. That night someone mentioned a black hip-hop singer Ne-Yo had come out of the closet and he started clapping and pumping his fists and screaming “Alright, Alright!” Like his team had just scored a touchdown

Kenya showed up. She was decked out in a purple dress. Clearly she had dressed up to say goodbye to me. Kenya will never admit it because we were coworkers, but she has a soft spot in her chest cavity for me. In fact, she’s probably reading this thinking, “That Mother-Effer, keep dreaming, keep dreaming fool ass.” I don’t think its romantic, but I think it’s genuine friendship. I would even say she misses me. Yes you do Kenya. Don’t lie. That’s why you left before I left, so you wouldn’t have say goodbye to me, and get emotional. Kenya…it’s ok, it’s ok, remember the color purple girl. (She probably hates me right now…it is true, I am an ass.)

Kenya was another person Danielle had pushed out of the corner office. Kenya was black, I am Indian, we’re used to the white man taking our shit. Hahahahahahaha…..grrrrrr. (take it easy Danielle, we know it wasn’t like that…too much).

Now the thing about Kenya is she has a huge ass. She’s got like an old school, African-American, ass, it’s like a Cadillac: grand, shapely, and full of Detroit Steel. The thing looks like somebody chopped Saturn in half. This isn’t a normal conversation topic, but it is so obvious. It’s not saggy or anything, it’s in good shape, it’s just big. Every security guard in the building is on Kenya Ass Watch. When she walks by they start sweating bullets, their hands squeeze their walkie-talkies, I saw one guy go into convulsions. Shit’s hilarious. To my knowledge Kenya has never had to buy anything in that building. Free coffee, man the lives chicks lead.

So we all sat there looking dumb.
This is the end of side one. Please flip the tape over to side 2. There you will find the REST of the story, and night’s events. Don’t worry, no one will escape


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