Bogus Dog

[A fastly-written stream-of-consciousness sleep deprivation exercise ...]


Not tonight, Lord, I thought, pounding my hand against the sheet rock wall. Plaster flecked onto my red leather jacket - my red leather jacket, man! - and all I could think was, not tonight Lord.

Tonight of all nights! Damnit, man! The apartment had been turned upside down. Thrashed and trashed. Nothing was in its rightful place. Clothes, garbage, food all strewn across the floors. My priceless collection of Hummels had been smashed. Boy, someone was gonna pay for this. But I didn't care about that. No, all I could think about was the fact that this had to happen tonight.

Tonight!

And where was the key? That was the important part. Eff the hummels, screw my collection of double-breasted beige-and-brown corduroy suits, forget Leonisa the hybrid Siamese-Turkish longhair cat. The key. Oh man, how much sorrow was going to enter into the world because I couldn't find the key.

The question was: Was it stolen, or was it somewhere buried beneath this inferno of chaos, my overturned apartment. Time was not my friend, not that it ever was, but now it was downright dirty rotten mean and nasty toward me. I picked up this, picked up that, what's under this scarf? how 'bout this ottoman? Wait! check under this Smithsonian magazine ... no, tonight was a bad night. A bad luck night, because I couldn't find the key and it was now approaching twenty to midnight.

I had two choices, I realized. I could try to fake my way through it, or I could try to get the spare. I turned and looked at the Elvis clock in the kitchen, pelvis swinging left then right, tick-tock tick-tock, think-think think-think. Quarter to twelve. Not much time. Joanne would have my balls if I didn't show up with the key.

Could I fake it? Wouldn't have even thought of if I didn't find myself in this situation. Joanne was some mean-ass b**** all right, and I mean mean to the bone. Don't want to eff with her. No sir. But on reflection, I stood up straight. I did tell her off that one time, that time with Pascual. And though she did give me "The Stare" I stared that b**** down good.

But in the end I decided I couldn't fake it. Better to try to get the spare. Pamela would have the spare. But Pamela was in jail.

Jail, or Joanne. I sat on the pile of S that was my life's possessions on the balcony of my righteous apartment. Tendrils of marijuana wafted up to me. Absently I took a big swig off the Spaaten forty ounce I brought out of the fridge for comfort. I looked at my arm, my left lower arm, where the G-clef quarter-inch raised scar lay. Case decided. I got up, put on my best cap, grabbed my wraparound shades, my pack of Merit 100s and headed out the door.

I skipped down the spiral staircase towards the parking lot, taking the steps two or three at time. Trotted / ran / jogged / sauntered up to the Green Machine, yeah man, that's my wheels, my AMC Gremlin 480 V6. The Ladykiller, I christened her, had painted on the fire-lime green hood in that flowy scripted writing: The Ladykiller. Yes friends, I am the Man with the ladies.

Well, all ladies except Joanne. But Joanne couldn't exactly one-hundred-percent be categorized as a lady.

Joanne is a man. Well, a woman that became a man. And was in the process of becoming a woman again. (Head shaking sadly). You see, it's a long sorry tale of cheap doctors, cheap promises, and expensive lawyers. Oh, and Joanne is also a made member of the Antonetti mafia family in Albuquerque.

The key muthafukka! I slap myself (I am prone to extended periods of reflection where my physical body happens to do nothing except drool and fart), slap the keys into the ignition of the Ladykiller and I'm on the main drag in a few minutes. The key!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! The keyyyyyyyyyyyyyyy!

My funky clock says its 11:52. The blinking dot in the upper right corner means its PM. So does the fact that the sun set five hours ago. Okay. No problem for I am cool. I can find a way out of this proverbial crazy-S S-hole I suddenly find myself in. Through no main fault of my own, I might add. Thank you. Thank you very much.

I vaguely notice the exits of the beltway zip by. The Georgia Road exit sees me, smiles seductively, then panics as I show no sign of decelerating, so she (it?) reaches out and slaps me across the face, and I take it. Five minutes later, lesson learned, I make a left onto Excelsior Road. Midnight comes and goes, and I am on the street that leads up to the Montgomery County Municipal Jail.

The Ladykiller pulls in to the free 30 minutes parking lot and finds a spot on the far side of this correctional facility. I let the engine idle a while while I pause to collect my thoughts. I smoke a long cool Merit, taking extra care to let the smoke exhale in rings out my flaming nostrils. I am a god of the cigarette I realize, and sadly note that there's not much in the way of remuneration in that line of work.

A plan, I think, that's what I need. Then I think of this: a man, a plan, a canal: panama! Think about it.

I do, and I waste twenty minutes. The clock on the dash of my bodacious car now whispers twelve thirty two to me, serenely, post-orgasmically, long black tongues all the way to my ear drums. Time is getting late, the left, rational side of my brain realizes, then realizes, in a somewhat paranoid fashion, that it is not quite sure it trusts that other hemisphere. You know. The right one. That one.

But I digress. I also waste time. So I take my keys out of the ignition lock (I have the coolest key chain - some day remind me to describe it to you) and I open the door and stretch my long Carl Lewis long distance runner legs out into the parking lot. I saunter over to the trunk, making sure to keep my good side, that is, the side without all that scar tissue, to the cameras that I know are aimed at me from the Montgomery County Municipal Lockup.

A chill massages my spine as I pop open the trunk. G*ddamn October air! Why can't I lose the key in the middle of July, when an all-out urban assault would be so much more comfortable in mid-70 degree temps! Well, anyway, I pop open the trunk and see with glee what lay inside ......