(Ok.) Barely buzzed on my third plastic pint sized bottle of Sauvignon at Nickanee’s, I said, So yeah I was trying to figure out if I should just. I don’t know. Eat a couple pistachios? Or if I should go ahead and just start fucking inhaling handfuls of Mountain Trail Mix. I was hungry as fuck. You know. The trail mix with the fucking M&Ms and the peanuts and the raisins and shit. That proportional ratio of M&Ms to peanuts? Larry said, There’s nothing worse than a trail mix that’s like 95% peanuts. I said, And half of them on the market are!
Larry said, It’s horrendous. I said, Those people should literally be shot. Larry said, I’d shoot them myself if it were socially acceptable to do so. I’d actually prosecute them to the fullest extent of the law no matter the legal costs. I said, I don’t disagree in the least. But anyway. There’s something else about the business I need to let you in on. Because the other day. Um. While I was sitting at my desk typing up an email to our VP, Chris Dudley. Great guy. I was, uh, pitching him on, yeah, it was, ummm. The prototype for the foreskin transplants for the Bichon Frises we were talking about earlier! Anyway. All of the sudden out of nowhere this little Puerto Rican whore walks into my office. I had no idea she was. I actually have no idea if she was even Puerto Rican. But she had a fuckin Ukrainian missile for a toilet. So I said to her. I said, Can I help you honey?
She said, Yeah this guy Chris Childs sent me here? Ummmmmmmmmm, she says, he told me to give you this? She hands me an audio message. She was chewing what looked to be an entire pack of gum. I said, You like gum? She said, Yeah, I think it tastes really good when you chew it. I said, You like Bubbalicious? She said, I’ve never even heard of it. Is that a gum? I said, Yeah, it’s actually super chewy. You should try it sometime. She took out her phone and wrote it down in her Notes app. She showed me a note that read simply, Buy Bubbalicious. I said, Thanks hun. I held up the audio letter to reiterate that she gave me the letter.
Literally a second or so after this Dudley walks in and says, Hey, uh, have you got that blueprint for the Bichon Foreskin business plan done yet? How’s the revenue forecast on that looking? I said, I literally just sent it over. We both laughed. Literally, I said, still laughing. He said, The fuck was that about? I said, Some Dominican messenger chick Chris Childs sent over. She gave me an audio message or some shit? Dudley said, Give it to me. I’ll shove it up my own ass. I said, And then I’ll mail it back to him! Dudley said, Or maybe shove it up her ass! I said, Right up the shit shooter! I said, Anyway. While we’re out here alone let me play the audio back for you:
Nah, but seriously, the audio letter recites in the somewhat automated voice of Chris Childs, because fuckinnnnnnnnn. Like. I don’t know. We fuckin live in an era, you know. Where we want to trace our bloodlines. This fascinates us. We’re constantly gazing into the past for verification of our presents. Yet America, we know this. That we just fuckin love to brutalize identity down to its lowest common denominator. But ultimately I don’t know. Because I’ve been reading a lot of historical monographs and shit, you know what I mean? Gets me thinking and shit. History can only be fabricated to a limited extent. Like we can’t fabricate history in an infinite fashion, you know what I mean? Our lies have to be grounded in some shit.
If a population integrates itself into another we can certainly brutally rename them. Sure we can do that no problem, but we can’t necessarily change their essence. Sure. A name is profound. Naming is perhaps profundity par excellence. Naming is perhaps a penis-in-vagina level act. Yet I think at the same time the two of us, we’d both uhhh, we’d uhhh more or less agree that there’s more to things than just uhhhhhhhhh name? Like, just for example, Rick. Like these two dudes Sheikh Badr al-Din and Gregory of Nazianzus. You probably don’t even know this but uhhhhhhhh Badr al-Din was born in 1359 AD and Nazianzus was born in 329 AD. The two guys are fuckin separated by almost exactly a thousand years. Badr al-Din was born in Serres, in modern day Eastern Greece, to a father of Turkish descent and a mother of Greek (Christian) descent, while Nazianzus was born in Cappadocia, in modern day Eastern Turkey, to a mother of Christian origin and a father of Greek (pagan) descent.
In 329 the term Greek meant pagan while by 1359 the word Greek meant Christian. In 329 Gregory’s mom was considered Christian yet implicit in that word was the fuckinnnnnnnnn, uh. Um. The assumption that her not so distant ancestors were probably Greek (as in pagan). Yet in 1359 Badr al-Din’s father was considered Turkish, yet implicit in that identity is that his not so distant ancestors were very possibly Greek (as in Christian). Does anyone get this, dude? In America, absolutely not! Not even close! Badr al-Din was born in fucking Greece, was at least half Greek, maybe totally Greek. Or whatever Greek meant at that time. And he’s fuckin considered an Islamic spiritual hero or some shit. I think he actually had his head cut off by the Sultan. And his best friend Mustafa was apparently a guy from the island of Chios who uttered the phrase that every Muslim who says a Christians aren’t faithful to God is a non-believer himself. He was literally crucified dude. Even somewhat philosophically adjacent to Gemistos Plethon in the Morea bro. No joke.
And Mehmed Celebi, the very Sultan who ordered hits on them both, has a last name curiously resembles Tzelepes, which was the name John Komnenos, the Byzantine prince. It was the name he took when he converted to Islam about two hundred years earlier. Arguably jumpstarting the Ottoman dynasty. Nazianzus was born in modern East Turkey and was at least half pagan and is considered like a fucking founder of Christianity or something. He’s literally a saint. You know what I mean? He achieved sainthood. It’s just like. We want to sit and act like there are neat dividing lines of things, you know what I mean? When Pagan Greeks are turning into Christian Greeks and Christian Greeks are turning into Muslim Turks? The fuck is that? Where are the dividing lines, you know what I mean?
And then you look at today. What’s your in-house pet butt plug technology? What’s my in-house pet butt plug technology? When does the border of one tech end and the other begin? It’s fucking ridiculous man! History can only be fabricated in a finite fashion. The entire notion of intellectual property is in a sense totalitarian. Anyway. Hope all is well at BI! Talk to you soon. Sincerely, Chris Childs, Senior Executive Vice President, Coochie Unlimited.
After Nickanee’s we casually approached my apartment building above a quaint strip mall on Mineral Spring and I said to Larry, Oh yeah. He’s one hundred fuckin percent after our sex tech. I mean if there was any doubt? Like I said. The guy had some Colombian bitch bring me an audio note talking about religious syncretism in the Peloponnese and Asia Minor in the 15th Century. Fucking cunt. Oh now you’re gonna lecture me on early Ottoman history? He already has a finger in my ass. I can feel it, I said as I walked up the interior staircase and noticed Leo pissed his pants again. Guy sat on the floor of the hallway with his pants halfway off his ass and said, Ayyyyyyyyyyyyyyy, wanna give me a hand up?
His bodily odor was reminiscent of a urinal at a median international airport as I reached down. Son of a fucking bitch, Leo, I said. Again with this shit? I pulled his dirty ass up. I said, How many fuckin nips did you drink today? He said, God bless you! I can’t get into my apartment. I said, You need the ambulance? I turned to Larry and said, This guy fucking pisses his pants, gets shitfaced, rides his 10 speed mountain bike around the neighborhood, and gets picked up by an ambulance every other day. Not necessarily in that order. Laying in the ambulance bed like a newborn baby. I turned back to him on the floor and said, Are you a vet, Leo? He said, I killed Osama bin Laden! I said, You believe this? Fuckin guy killed Osama bin Laden. And now he lives in a shitty studio apartment with no money, cocked off his ass every day. Haranged by North Providence cops pissed they have to pull his pants over his baby dick three times a week.
You know, I continued to Larry. We were stopping by my apartment to whack a couple drinks before we continued on. I said, From time to time I actually envy this fucking guy. I nonchalantly dialed 911 and continued to Larry, Get piss drunk. Then grab a solid night sleep at a hospital. Washed off by a nurse. Then back to your shithole studio. It could be worse. Larry said, And, just think. Technically? This is rock bottom! I said, Exactly! as the operator picked up the phone and asked me for the issue.
After we whacked a couple at my spot we met up at a dive bar with a few people from our above-board sales team about an hour north. Over in Worcester. They loved Worcester. But I made a point to rarely make it up there. In my business I need to stay as insulated as possible. Other than hopping on a quick Amtrak to Midtown I rarely like to leave my two or three preferred neighborhoods. With that said, once in Worcester I said, Look at that little whore right there. Larry and I were both hunched over uncomfortably at the bar. I said, I think I know her. From like college or some shit. He nodded his head blankly. I said, I’m pretty sure these two guys I knew from Malden. I’m pretty sure they plowed her while she was passed out drunk one night. They, like, ran a train on her while she was passed out drunk. Larry said, I think that’s technically rape, isn’t it? I said, Legally speaking I’m almost positive it is. You think I should say hi? Larry said, I mean I don’t see why not?
I shouted out, Julie! Over here! As she ambled over I whispered to Larry Johnson, She’s half Belizean by the way. She said, Oh. My. God! Donnie B?! I noticed immediately that her accent had shifted slightly in the interim 15 years since we’d last seen each other. I said, No, no. Um. It’s me! Rick Brunson! Haha. She said, Oh . . . Yeah. That’s right! You used to chug Disaronno and rip your shirt off in the high rises! I said, Yeah, haha. Sometimes. Fuckin definitely. But so. How’ve you been?! Back huddled at the bar I said, Fuck man. That was a little. That didn’t go that well, did it? Larry said, No. No, it wasn’t that bad. I said, Who the fuck is Donnie B? I don’t think she knew who I was. It’s just a little surprising. I don’t know. I kind of thought we were genuine friends back in college, you know? Larry said, Do you think the whole running train thing could have had anything to do with it?
I said, It’s just like. What was I even thinking? Why would I try and rekindle a college acquaintanceship after 15 years? How could that have fuckin even gone well, you know? I guess that’s my fault, no? That’s probably on me. Larry said, Did you ever bang her? I said, I mean, personally I’m not that attracted to her. Are you? Larry said, I mean. Maybe I’d slip her the porksword if I was super fucked up. But I also don’t know what she. I said, She looked the same. I mean, she’s got a great face. Larry said, Her face is actually beautiful. I said, She’s like at least 5’11” though. Larry said, I’m not averse to that. I said, Six feet isn’t a dealbreaker to me. Not at all. I’ll still toss my meat right in there! But I don’t know. With Julie? There’s just something intangible there. I mean. Should I want to bang her? Larry said, Does she speak Spanish? I said, If I banged her? But I don’t really have any particular urge to even try and bang her. Larry said, I can’t seem to get a decent look at her ass from here. I said, She didn’t even know who I was. Larry said, That could work in your favor. I said, I can’t believe the Coronas are only three bucks here. Larry said, Should we head back soon?
Walking off Broadway right on the precipice of Olneyville Larry said, Fuckkkkkkkk, I fucking hate brown liquor. You know that Rick? Honestly? I always kind of thought gut rot was an old wives’ tale. I said, Take a left. Yeah. Bang a left at the Dunkin Donuts on the corner there. We’re almost there. There should be a staircase here. Maybe a buzzer or something. Yeah that’s where the whorehouse is. You still wanna go? I mean technically. Technically it’s a massage parlor. That’s the conceit of the place but functionally you know what I mean. Essentially they prefer to blow you with a condom on and shit.
Larry said, Oh, totally. So. But can I get a massage? Is that an option? Or are they just like exclusively whores? I said, Ummmm, I don’t believe the masseuse-whore delineation is necessarily mutually exclusive? You can definitely get a massage too. Larry said, It’s probably a shit massage, isn’t it? I said, It’s fuckin terrible. For the most part it’s uninspiring. I mean I’ve never personally had a satisfying massage there. But they will attempt to massage you before they make you cum if that’s what you prefer. That can happen. Larry said, I’ll give it a whirl. As the house mom ushered us out of the spot, Larry said, Are they all Asian in there? I said, They’re like North Korean or some shit. It’s like Kim Jung-Un’s former concubines or some type of shit. He said, Mine kind of looked like a tranny. I said, You kidding me?! I was checking mine for a bulge as she sensually washed my asscrack.
He said, Was that an option? I said, I actually think I might be gay for having sex with her. He said, You got a shower? They washed your ass for you? I said, Honestly, that place has really gone downhill since the last time I was there. He said, Mine was like jackhammering my cock! I said, Mine just kept repeating, You cum? You cum? You cum? He said, Honestly, for the price, I’m not sure I’d. I said, Don’t worry about the price Larry. C’mon bro. Are you kidding? I’ll fuckin expense it on my end. Fill out a report and give it to Gale. Just write Client Dinner and then say you lost the receipt ok? Throw in the mileage to Worcester too if you want.
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