Back at my studio apartment I was finally ready to relax. Relaxing nonchalantly in my Queen size bed perusing a couple few texts: Hey boo-Boo?-Hellooooooo-Where r u?-hmmmm. I typed back, Sorry babe, was taking the new guy out for a few drinks, explaining the business to him u kno? I see the type box ellipses. She write, Oh ok boo I was worried that’s all. I typed, Yeah super pumped about these butt plugs I think this guy larry will be a real asset tbh. She writes, I’m sure boo. So proud of u. I write, thanks babe.
She writes, How come we never go to East End. I write, East End? She writes, Right on Wickendon. On the corner? We’ve been there smh. I feel like every time I ask you never wanna go :(. I write, I mean I don’t MIND it there, idk have u even asked to go recently? She writes, Like a million times! But i never do bc i know u hate it there. u never wanna go i think it’s rlly nice in there. I went with my aunt jean tn. It has a dope vibe. U hate dope vibes… I write, We can go this weekend! I promise!! She writes, Whatever Richard. Inserts an eyeroll emoticon.
I write, cmon babeeeee u know I’ve been stressed with the business, i Got this fuckin cocksucker Chris Childs all up my ass too no homo. Fkcn stressed. But no no i’m sorry! we will go this wknd. I promise. Idk I just thought it was like a blase burger joint tbh lol. She writes, ok boo, and I think to myself, Ok. This crisis is now most likely averted. This East End imbroglio is now concluding. Let’s keep it real cordial. Let’s tell her you love her. Don’t say anything she could possibly take umbrage with. Tell her to have a great night. Get a great sleep. That we’ll go to East End as soon as humanly possible. Maybe even grab dinner there. Sure East End is just hipster burger bullshit. But you know what? Go there. Have a couple drinks. It’s not the end of the world. Sure there are literally a million other spots in Providence that are better than East End. But diplomatically speaking you’ll get no greater bang for your buck then going to East End this weekend. Maybe we can even get Larry Johnson to go!
You know, I said the next morning to Larry Johnson, as we both made espressos in the 9 year old company coffee machine I’ve told Gail for 3 straight years now that we urgently need to replace, I have no issue with her cleaning the bathroom. None at all. But if she’s gonna be a Third Reich Nazi about any hair follicles, any minor shit and piss speckles in the bathroom then I’m starting to think: Why don’t I just clean the fucking thing myself? You know what I mean? Larry said, It’s the ultimate double-edged sword-women cleaning things. Honestly it’s why I feel like self-sufficiency is so underrated. I said, She wants to help clean. Ok. I get that. I love that! But if I can’t blow a morning shit out my ass without severe repercussions. Without tidying up after? Then is this really a help to me?
He said, It’s not! I said, What’s the point of even having a bathroom if I can’t blow a disgusting shit in it? Any type of shit I want in it? He said, There’s none! I said, It’s three days after she cleaned and she’s asking me if I wiped down the bowl just in case I splattered. We’re midweek now. How is it the case that my shits are still being scrutinized here? I’m amenable to the first day or two. I mean I don’t like it. I’d like to blow a shit at my convenience, you know? But I get it. You just cleaned the bathroom and you don’t want my shitstains immediately desecrating the toilet bowl. It’s respectable. But three four five days in?! He said, I don’t know how you do it? I said, I try to shit here as much as I fucking possibly can! All three third floor stalls are literally my second home. Anyway, come in here. Into this little fucking office over here. Larry Johnson followed me. Larry said, What’s going on? taking the first sip of his espresso. I said, That thing with the ax? Remember that? Larry said, The whole murdering Marcus Camby thing? I said, It might be fuckin happening. And soon. He said, For real? You confirmed him stealing our tech? I said, Not exactly. I have a PI on retainer for every time I hit a massage parlor. This fuckin guy, great guy. Ex-cop. Latrell Sprewell. He’s on the fuckin payroll. I’ll have you meet him soon enough. One day when we’re out for a couple whacks. Soon. Anyway. He took a picture of Camby taking a picture of us stumbling out the parlor last night.
Larry said, Oh fuck. I said, Of us. Right after we were divested of cum by two East Asian prostitutes. One hundred percent. He said, Pictures of us? That’s not ideal. I said, No shit. He said, I’m actually engaged and shit, you know? To be married and whatnot. I said, Yeah, and he’s obviously gonna forward those to Childs who’s gonna try and. I don’t know. Obviously leverage them via ruthless extortion or something? He said, Fuck. I said, This is no good, Larry. No, I can’t have this. I swear. You can’t even visit a pussy parlor anymore! It’s mass surveillance and shit. This country is getting fuckin worse by the minute I swear. Larry winced. I said, What’s wrong? I thought you were a moral relativist? He said, No, it’s not that at all. I’ll ax this little cunt myself, Rick. I swear I will! I’ll whack his ear off like I’m fuckin Van Gogh. Then I’ll shove it up his ass and make him blow a wet fart. It’s just my right ear. Ugh, it’s really fuckin backed up today. Hurting like a bitch. I said, You think you have an infection?
He said, I don’t even know bro. This Mexican girl licked my ear when we were making out like a decade or so ago. My right ear’s never been the same since. I said, Mexican bitches love doing that shit, don’t they? It’s always struck me as a little, I don’t know. Disgusting? It seems just kind of wildly unhygienic. He said, I hear you bro. It was the most disgusting thing we did that night and I fucking ate her ass next to a fire station right after. I said, But listen. I mean go get some antibiotics or some shit. You’ll knock that out in 48 hours. But I’m gonna get Latrell on the line right after I’m done with you here. I’m gonna have him print me the picture of Camby taking pictures of us. I wanna have them on hand when we finally get this little twathole alone. I’m thinking happy hour today. Right after work. There’s a dumpster behind Nickanee’s. It’s usually all crackheads back there. Could be ideal for what we need to do. But we’ll need to do a dry run first.
Larry said, Bro. Hear me out though. Ouch. Why not Manhattan? I said, Oh I don’t know. Manhattan? It’s such a fuckin shithole over there these days. Larry said, Exactly. It’s all weed shops and hobos now. Nobody will remember shit even if they witness it. I said, You know . . . that’s not a bad point. He said, I have these two Filipina strippers I know from back in the day. You can bring them along with you under the auspice of getting laid, you know what I mean? Lure him via vagina and whatnot? I said, I mean. Camby does love penetrating pussy. But, um, these two whores. They need to be able to, you know. They can’t be too for lack of a better term strippery. He said, Cherry and Trigger are totally. I said, See. That’s exactly what I mean. I can’t invite Camby to Midtown to meet up with a Cherry and Trigger. He’ll know off rip I’m trying to molest his soul. To crack his fuckin head open with a state-of-the-art ax. Larry said, That’s no problem. They can totally use stage names. I said, How about Meg and Ashley? Would that work? Or some other white bitch names? He said, You could call them Cunt and Twat as long as you pay them their full rate bro. I said, Should I bang one of them before we go? Just so I can build a little rapport? Larry said, I was actually gonna suggest that. That it would be wise to probably bang at least. I said, Or even bang them both? Larry said, I mean. If you’re really trying to build a rapport? It’s not the worst idea.
Camby, Meg, Ashley, and I exited the Amtrak around noon that Saturday. I had a gym bag filled with an ax, a .38 snub nose, and 32 polaroids of Marcus Camby taking photos of Larry Johnson and I leaving the Asian Massage Parlor just a few business days prior. Meg said, Ugh. Hopefully I can pick up a pair of street gloves. My hands are cold! Ashley said, I love street gloves! I said, Oh yeah. And I might get a street hat! I really need a new snow hat. While I’d fornicated with both Ashley and Meg earlier in the week for the purposes of this trip Ashley was playing my love interest. I said, Marcus you like street hats at all? He said, Nah I actually just got a new Chicago Bulls snow hat. He pointed matter-of-factly to his cranium which clearly displayed a black Chicago Bulls snow hat.
Oh, fuckin nice, I said. Ashley said, I like the Bulls. I said, That’s funny. Because you didn’t even know who Larry Bird was until I told you. She said, Shut up! Meg said, I’m deaaaaddddd. I said, Yeah we were talking about the Celtics and I just casually mentioned Larry Bird. Ashley says to me, Who’s Larry Bird? I was like, Oh I don’t know? Just the greatest white basketball player of all-time! Ashley said, I hate you! Meg said, Oh my god. I’m deeaadddddddd! I said, Oh, look! Street hats! Ashley said, No that one’s ugly as I gently perused a Santa red colored snow hat. I said, This is dooooppeee! And it’s only five bucks! In the room (the hotel was quite upper class and located right on the precipice of Koreatown) Ashley said, Just wait for us to get ready and we can all leave together. I said, Sure thing. Um. I don’t know. But I kind of want to get a bottle of Soju? She said, We’ll be ready soon. I said, True true. But I don’t want you guys to feel rushed. She said, We’re not rushed. We’ll be ready in like ten. I said, We’ll probably just pop out quick. That way we can have a bottle of Soju for the room?
I tossed on the red snow hat as me and Marcus walked out of our hotel leaving the two strippers to get ready. I needed to walk across the street and grab a bottle of Soju in Koreatown. As Camby handed the East Asian cashier-owner three bottles of Soju to check out I said, Nah but real talk? It’s like if a girl wants to hate on you for jacking off then she’s pretty much a terrorist to me. Like when I stroke my meat? That’s my time, you know? Like if you try and take that away from me then you’re basically trying to destroy my character. He said, I don’t know. To be honest? As a former porn addict I kind of understand the pitfalls of masturbation. I said, no for sure. But from a purely prostate perspective you need to ejaculate at least 21 times a month. If I can’t whack consistently to get close to that monthly number then in my mind you’re essentially attempting to assassinate me. Have you heard this rumor? That some women now actually believe porn is cheating? Cheating, Marcus! Pornography! I don’t know. This has just fucking gone too far now. I get it. Women should be able to vote. I one hundred percent that. But how in the world is watching other people fuck fucking adultery now? How could that possibly make sense? In what world is that sensible? If I drive past a car accident on the side of the road did I myself then commit vehicular homicide? Jesus Christ. I mean. If a man can’t sit back and massage his eel while casually perusing a few full-length pornos from time to time then this society is done for Marcus. I’m telling you that much right now! Male masturbation is one of the few things still keeping us afloat!
After buying the Soju I spotted a hole in the wall about 200 feet from our hotel. We popped in there. At the bar I said, A Soju Bomb? Now what is that? Ironically the bartender reminded me of a slightly less masculine version of the masseuse who jacked me off the previous week. Who really kind of started this whole imbroglio indirectly. She said, Well, it’s like a shot of Soju? But then mixed with a Sapporo beer, which is like a Japanese beer. I’m not sure if you’re familiar? I said, I fuckin love Sapporo. And it’s served in that? Which looks I don’t know? Kind of like a colostomy bag? She said, In theory it’s kind of like a Jaeger Bomb I guess. I said, Oh. I’ll definitely give it a shot. And get one for my friend Marcus Camby here too.
I’m already half in the bag! I said as Marcus and I arrived back at the room. Anyone wanna do a shot of Soju? Ashley said, I will! I said, I knew you’d be down. I said, Listen. Marcus and I. We just had this drink. I want to tell you both all about it. Apparently it’s called a Soju Bomb? They sell it at this really nice hole-in-the-wall Korean spot like 200 feet from our room. The bartender is extremely helpful and I think. I don’t know. I think it just needs to take priority. A major priority. I realize we have an agenda. A scheduling of events so to speak. I understand that. But I really believe this Soju Bomb may need to supersede all of that. I think it takes priority here. I don’t even think it’s a discussion. I say we go grab one of these Soju Bombs as soon as you guys are ready which is hopefully soon. Marcus, your thoughts? I said, Marcus loved it just as much as I did!
Sitting at the bar Ashley and Meg didn’t exhibit much interest in ordering a Soju Bomb. I said, I can’t wait to get another Bomb! Ashley said, Wanna get like a couple sushi rolls? Meg said, Can I have a white Sangria? If you have that? I said, I’ll have another Soju Bomb, thanks! I said, Marcus how’re you feeling bro? He said, I’m fucking drunkkkk, mannnnn. I said, I’m extremely inebriated! And it’s only like two o’clock. Fuck man. The sun set in the mid-afternoon sun right after our late lunch. As the four of us meandered around Koreatown looking for this or that souvenir shop. I was also trying to figure out the best time to whack Marcus Camby. And where. Going into it I knew I’d do a better job if I was three sheets to the wind and I definitely fuckin was.
I said, Hey. Look at this. Just fuckin stole it from that souvenir shop. Marcus Camby said, Is that a miniature Empire State Building? I said, Yeah. One hundred percent bro. I’ll give it to my dad as a gift! In the midst of the plethora of weed shops in Midtown proper I gave Ashley the nod. It was finally time. It was Meg’s job to keep an eye out for my Santa red snow hat in the midst of strangers in the aftermath. To quote-unquote save me so to speak. She’d discover me drunk stumbling in Midtown. Which would actually be accurate. Camby would be quote-unquote lost amongst the plethora of tourists in and around 9th and W 33rd. I said, Marcus. Pssst! Come down this alley quick with me. I gotta take a piss. Nothing gay though. I’m totally hetero. I just wanna give you a heads up on Meg. In case you wanna bang her. I unzipped my pants between two dumpsters and said, Honestly? I think she might have the clap.
I wasn’t even kidding. My pee burnt. Camby followed me down the alley like the total fucking buffoon he was. Like the authentic bloodline of the cunt of all cunts Chris Childs. While peeing I strategically dropped a polaroid of him taking a polaroid of me and Larry outside the Asian Massage venue. I said, Which is probably fine. If she does I mean. I’d just maybe toss a dom on before you hit it, you know? The clap isn’t the end of the world. It’s really just a slight burn. He said, Wh-what’s that? I said, Wait, what? He said, What’d you drop? What is that? A-polaroid? Of course I was wearing my recently purchased street gloves just to ensure no fingerprints dripped onto the polaroids. I said, Oh, that? Shit. The fuck is that? I don’t know. I picked up the polaroid with my street glove again. To examine it further. Camby was now completely flushed red. I said, Oh wow. Son of a cunt. You know what? It looks like. I don’t know. Like you were, um. Taking photos of me and Larry Johnson the other night? After we got whacked off? I gregariously handed the polaroid to Camby. I said, I didn’t know you were an aspiring photographer? He said, Well, you know. I mean I dabble. I said, I wish I’d fuckin known man. I’ve been spending like thousands of dollars a month on third party photographers for all our new sex toys. Could you maybe, I don’t know, snap a few of our new plug prototypes. You think? Because this one of me and Larry looks fuckin professional dude! I’m honestly not even mad at the whole espionage angle. Right as Camby hesitated just a millisecond to reply I swiftly grabbed the ax that I’d strategically dispersed from my pant-leg as I peed. Leaning it against the interior dumpster in the interim. As I witnessed the whites of Camby’s eyes dip down to take another deep glance at the photo of Larry and I post-ejaculation I swung the ax above my head. In one circular swift motion. And buried it right between the Chicago Bulls logo on that little cunt’s forehead. There, there, I said. It’s all good now, Marcus. I benevolently accepted the polaroid from his approaching lifeless glove as he slowly slumped toward the dumpsters.
I said, Yeah there you go. You fucking little two-timing twat. Yeah. Just take a little nap now. Right in Midtown. In between these two trash dumpsters. And all these weed shops. Right where you belong. You crumb. I let Camby fall right onto the trash bags between the dumpsters where we were standing. Nudging him just slightly with my left sneaker so he wouldn’t land in any of my pee. Soju really fuckin goes through you. I walked nonchalantly back onto W 33rd where nobody was any the wiser for it. Just a regular run-of-the-mill businessman back from taking a quick piss in an alley. I couldn’t fuckin wait for the news to reach Coochie Incorporated and Chris Childs. Meg flagged me down purely by dint of my Santa red snow hat. Walking back toward Koreatown Ashley said, Let’s just grab dinner at that bistro across from the hotel? I said, That bistro . . . across the street? Ashley said, Yeah it’s like a burger place or something I think. I said, Do you think the food is good there? Meg said, It’s probably basic. I said, Yeah that’s what I would assume. That it’s probably some of the shittier food in Midtown. Ashley said, Well, I don’t know. We need to eat somewhere. And you’re wasted! I concurred. It was a valid point. Yet with that said the chicken across the street was horrendous. I knew it would be. Just absolutely charcoaled.
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