'95 Sonics

I said: Yeah more or less you have whores, gays, and people who’ve misguidedly begun to believe they’re somehow affiliated with the mafia. That’s like 90 fuckin percent of the city. Gary said: Oh of course. I’ve always said this place is like half gay Italians basically. It’s almost all homo guineas. It’s fuckin mind boggling how this even came into existence. I said: It’s like fucking Disneyland Gary. So when we decided that we were gonna try um. That we’d make a good faith attempt at offing him we figured we’d need at least two of the three demographics. Ideally avoiding the gays if possible. But at the same time realizing that would be more or less impossible. (Gary nodded his head sagely.) I said: Long story short he was a former bookie. The kid we needed to hit. If you could call it that. Turned quasi-COO of some bullshit shrub sculpting business. Gary said: Oh yeah. Yeah yeah yeah. My Mom’s Aunt had some work done by them. They came over her old house. Bushes and trees and shit. (I nodded my head sagely.) He said: They’re like uh . . . You know the fucking clowns who sculpt the balloons and shit. At children’s birthday parties? I said: Yeah. They’re like them except for the bushes in your front fuckin yard. Yeah. So anyway. He was nominally some type of executive at that firm. If you can call it a firm. Which you can’t. It is and was in no way shape or form a firm. Even executive is a stretch. There are no longer corporate executives. Gary said: Oh forget it. I said: Everyone is at least a vice president now. And they’re all fucking morons. A vice president at a company is basically an entry level position. If he knows how to do a VLOOKUP he should be CEO but he won’t be because that would be too efficient. Know what I mean? (Gary nodded his head sagely.) I said: But anyway. We decided. Well collectively we made the decision was that he had to go. In that we should try and murder him in a clandestine fashion. If at all possible. Gary said: But really. Why? It seems so extreme. Killing people. I said: Basically. I mean if you have to know. Basically because he told Nate McMillan to go fuck himself at Opa on Atwells a few Saturday nights prior. Gary said: Oh well in that case. Yeah I get it. I said: Exactly. It wasn’t right. But it wasn’t exactly incorrect either. But we’ll get to that later. Anyway. We go ahead and tell Detlef. Gary said: He’s the guy we’re whacking right? Detlef? We’re murdering him? Or trying to? I said: Uh. Yeah. Yeah yeah yeah. Detlef Schrempf. So we tell Detlef. No. We ask him. Politely. We ask if we can have a party. Throw a little party and shit. If he wants to throw a party at his house and we’ll help organize it. Promote it. At all the underground venues. Have the after after after party. We’ll even hire some maids to clean up afterward and whatnot. Gary said: Oh like Shrine. But residential. I said: Yeah exactly. Typical shit. Shitty ecstasy. Third rate whores. Minimal orgies. Etcetera etcetera. (Gary nodded his head sagely.) I said: So we wanna catch up with him. Ask him this question. Do some reconnaissance. But also poison him if we have the opportunity. So I guess option 1 would be to just poison him outright. If we can! But option 2 would be to try and set up the whole party thing and then go about figuring out the best way to kill him at that later date. Anyway. He’s going to this jazz show apparently. Over off Hope. At a bookstore. Gary said: What type of jazz? I said: Avant-garde. He said: Ugh. I said: New York Avant-Garde. He said: Horrendous. Hersey you’re literally making me want to fuckin vomit right now you know that? Schrempf is into that shit? I said: It was mildly surprising to me. I halfway figured he was chasing some cunt there though. So maybe it made a modicum of sense? (Gary nodded his head sagely.)

I said: So we drive up to the spot. It’s an actual bookstore mind you. I thought it was like bookstore haha. Like haha. A bookstore. But it’s an actual musical performance at an actual bookstore. I drive us up. It’s me and Shawn. We’re playing Ghostface Nutmeg out of my open window at a fairly loud decibel. Perhaps even a fuckin unreasonable decibel level. Gary said: I pass a loose leaf cigarette to a niggarette! I said: Multiply myself ten times standing next to zero! Gary said: Pass me a honey dipped spliff black mental cause continental drift! I said: Dick a knock-knee hoe bust out her fetal! Gary said: Stomach flat as a pancake for her man’s sake used to fuck her while she’d menstruate but it made her hyperventilate! I said: So yeah. Exactly. The entire RZA verse is being literally screamed from my open window as I park across the street from this essentially openly communist bookstore. It’s like all Leninist pamphleteer shit outside the spot. Stalin apologia. Which I guess could go either way. In terms of Ghost and RZA. Whether or not there would be an appreciation of Supreme Clientele in that environment you know? He said: It’s fifty-fifty I’d say. At best. And I don’t know which way I’d even push toward! I said: Gary that doesn’t even make sense and I literally have no fucking choice but to agree with it wholeheartedly. It’s spot on. So we roll up. There’s an actual bouncer if you could call it that. Non-denominational white guy in a white button up halfway unbuttoned with the Kevin James physique wearing non-designer sunglasses. He says it’s ten cash. I look at my wallet. I have like I don’t know. Fuckin fifty singles. And I won’t lie Gary. At this point from the vibes there. I’m just thinking. Fuck. Should we just hit the strip instead? Would that not be more productive than this fuckin so-called reconnaissance mission? Murder is passe anyway. We can get him at a later date. Bump into this fuckin bum all over the city anyway. It’s only a matter of time. He said: Oh without a doubt. But you dot your i’s too Hersey. Especially with this type a stuff. I said: Plus Dontonio has been insistent that we get the shit done ASAP. So I say okay. Gary said: As you should. I said: So I pay our cover in all singles. Twenty singles. A somewhat awkward exchange. Partially attributable to the singles but also attributable to the fact all three of us seem just wildly out of place at an avant-garde jazz bookstore performance. Now we step inside and immediately I realize. Shit. This is actually a bookstore. Like it’s a fuckin bookstore bookstore. Haha aside. Not only is not a bookstore haha. It’s also a bookstore that’s not even equipped with even a makeshift bar. It serves just one purpose. To sell communist propaganda. It’s totally ill-equipped as an actual event venue or any sort. There is no possibility of purchasing alcohol on premises. He said: There’s no bar? Wait. How? I said: Exactly. He said: What the fuck? So this is an avant-garde. It’s an avant-garde jazz show. At a bookstore. With no alcohol. I said: And they had the audacity to charge ten dollars to get in. He said: Wow. That’s maybe the cuntiest thing I’ve heard this year. So you’re expected to stand in that store and listen to guys fart around on their horns. While completely sober? I said: In China the CCP uses it as literal torture technique if they ever get a CIA asset in their grips. I have sources that actually verify this Gary. Anyway. A younger Caucasian. Could be Lebanese but vaguely Caucasian in any case. Younger white with the hipster eyeglasses is talking about going to a T-Pain concert. In the self-aware diction. Quite self-aware. I realize slowly that I know this kid from years ago. Back in my band days. Fuckin kid never answered one of my emails. I like messaged him very nicely about a beat he posted on bandcamp. Kid never fuckin replied. Now in my mind. Standing awkwardly listen to him talk. Of course I’m considering how much of a little faggot I think he is. I’m losing myself in his faggotry. But now Shawn’s nudging me. Gary said: He’s making sure you get down to business. I know Shawn. That’s Shawn to a fucking tee! I said: Exactly. I glance at the kid. Wonder if he recognizes me even though we never met. Faggot. But I leave it at that. Pretend to scroll through my phone while waiting for Detlef to show. 

Gary said: Alright. So? I said: So like I said. Initially. Yeah. This was reconnaissance. But it was also like I said fuckin you know. Reconnaissance but if you can slip some shit in his drink do it. Kid blows lines regularly. So if you can slip some fent into his vodka soda early on then no one will raise an eyebrow if he collapses later that night. Gary said: But now no bar. I said: Now no bar. No bar. No vodka. No poisoning. No point. So this is basically a waste of time. In my opinion. Guy walks in. Looks almost exactly like the saxophonists who’s supposed to play the venue. Like literal doppelganger type shit. I realize. I say to myself. This guy. He’s the bassist of Thunder Fart. Gary said: Ah right. Right. Thunder Fart. Yeah I know them. Great live show if you’re into dissonant noise. I said: Right. Now I’m still fuckin somewhat shocked I even recognized this dude. But it was 100% him. He let in a girl maybe half his age. Chubby bitch with green and grey hair. Like intentionally grey not actual aging grey. Guy made a motion to her like she didn’t have to pay. Gary said: Classic indie hipster dicksucks bro. I love it. I said: She’s tonguing his taint to get into this shithole show. Just wildly ill-advised life decisions Gary. And I say this as a guy trying to poison a fucking guy at a jazz show! It only further emphasized how much I would have enjoyed my twenty damn singles back. Shawn and I could have gone down the street instead. Not that you know. I mean we could have hit the ATM and shit. Whatnot. But it just would have been more convenient you know. Have the singles on hand. Go in. Have one drink. Toss them into an asscrack and go on with our night. Gary said: Oh. One hundred percent! Now instead you’re stuck in a bookstore waiting for some douchebag to play his saxophone for you. I said: A cramped ass communist bookstore with no AC. Forced to listen to some twink who refused to sell me a beat on bandcamp three years ago blather on and on about T-Pain in such a pretentious tone. It was difficult not to just slap the fuck out of him to be honest. What I wanted to do? I desperately wanted to slap the fuck. Right out of his faggot twink ass. Pull out my penis and pee on him. Bitch. Anyway. We’re waiting and waiting. Is Detlef showing up to this fucking thing at all I whisper to Shawn. At all? Is this a total complete waste of my time. Or just a run-of-the-mill partially nonsensical activity? Gary said: Imagine. You’re over here trying to possibly murder Detlef Schrempf at an avant-garde jazz show on the East Side of Providence and he doesn’t even show up! I said: That’s exactly what fuckin happened Gary! This fuckin cunt doesn’t even show up. And guess what? Guess where the fuck ended up? Gary said: Hersey. I know exactly what the fuck you’re about the say. I said: At the Foxy! Right down the street. Sam Perkins saw him take the mulatto girl Kendall Gill was messaging on Snap two years ago to the back. Pussy juice still visible on his face like perspiration from the stage.