Stupid Drunk Bitch: A Hard-Boiled Film Noir Love Story (featuring Ke$ha) Part II
by, 07-17-2010 at 09:06 PM (11245 Views)
Out of nowhere this huge brown bastard appeared and twisted my arms behind me. Guy wasn't wearing nothing but a thong, and I could feel the heat from his bare skin through my shirt. Hate to admit it, but it wasn't the most uncomfortable feeling. He didn't have a hair on his body. It was like wearing a silk straitjacket. This shit was smooth.
"Calm down, Andy," I said to his boss. "I just need some information. I'll make it worth your while."
She sneered and pointed at me. Or at least, I think she would have pointed at me if she could. As it was, she just sort of shifted in her seat a little. "You don't have anything that I want, Roland. You're about as useful as an extra asshole. Now get out of my bar before I have Alejandro give you one."
She gestured again, and her goon let go of my arms. I cleared my throat and adjusted my tie. I tried to look dignified while doing so, which was difficult as it wasn't a real tie, just one of those tuxedo t-shirts. In my defense though, it was white. I'm not completely classless.
"I've got a buck and some change," I said. "But if you don't want it, I guess I could always use it to buy some pie ..." I trailed off, hoping that the old reverse psychology trick would entice her into spilling what she knew for the cash. Instead she nodded at Alejandro, and I felt four incredibly smooth knuckles plow into my kidney. I coughed up my prune juice. F**king reverse psychology.
"All right!" I said, gagging. Why did my vomit taste like Purell? "Okay! I'm sorry, all right. I just need some information. I need to find ... something called Ke$ha. Do you know where it is?"
I took the photo out of my pocket and waved it in Andy's face. Her elfin features widened in shock. All at once the music stopped and the dancers froze mid-crunk. It was as silent as a grave, but I still had to strain to hear Andy's next words.
"We ... we never knew it had a name," she breathed. "It ... it just comes."
"It first came two nights ago," she said, "drunk off her tits. Three people died instantly of alcohol poisoning from her breath. She killed seven more before the sun came up and she was forced to flee."
"Killed?" Oh shit. Oh shit. This shit is so not my thing you guys it's not even funny. Oh shit. "How?"
Andy gulped. Behind me, I heard Alejandro whimper in fear. "She f**ked them to death. She came back last night as well, high on enough coke to kill Gary Busey. She kill-f**ked ten more before it was over. We think she's going to come back tonight. We don't know what to do. We don't know where else to go."
I had never seen Andy cry before. It was a pathetic sight. Without hands to wipe with her face was just one large snot bubble. "Are ... are you here to save us? Are you the Chosen One?"
A hushed ripple spread through the crowd. Hands reached out to me as though I were the Messiah. A small goat was brought out from the back room.
"Prepare the tribute!" Andy screeched.
"Whoah!" I shouted, holding up my hands. "Nobody's killing any goats just yet. Let me make one thing clear. I am not the Cho--"
My words were cut off by the single most terrifying sound I'd ever heard. It came from somewhere in the woods behind the Speed Demon, this keening, blood-curdling, bestial chant from the bowels of hell.
"Blah-blah-blah-blah," came the cry. "Nah-nah-nah-nah."
"IT COMES!" shrieked Alejandro. He picked Andy up, tucked her below his arm, and fled. The rest of the patrons made a mad dash for the door. I tried to flee, but for some reason, I couldn't move. I guess I was just tired. Maybe this was my body telling my mind that it was time to give up. Let go. Like there was anything worth living for anyway, right?
"F**k it," I said to nobody, my trusty Colt in my hands. "Let's dance."
A window shattered, and the biggest goddamn mongoose I had ever seen jumped into the room.
I unloaded my Colt on the bitch the moment she landed, but they didn't even seem to get her attention. Vodka seeped out of the bullet holes.
She stood up slowly, like some bat-demon unfurling its wings. She grinned, and I felt my mind begin to slip into madness.
"I don't really care where you live at," she said in a nasal quaver. "Just turn around, boy, let me hit that."
Big goddamn mongoose.
I fumbled for my spare clip, but the cocaine gave her speed. She was on me before I knew it, driving me onto the hardwood floor. Her knee came up right between my legs. Her hands pinned mine to the ground. I was already dizzy from the noxious fumes pouring out of her mouth.
"Wait!" I said, desperate for some time. "Ke$ha don't--"
She clamped her mouth on top of mine. If I had had that pie, I would have been throwing it up. Her tongue was like a cold dead snake wriggling around the inside of my mouth, spreading its poison everywhere.
I tried to fight. I couldn't. It was too much. I could already feel a hangover beginning to form. Everything began to dim.
The night. My night. She opened her arms to me one last time. Who loves ya, babe?
"Don't be a little bitch with your chit-chat," I heard her say as I slipped into dreams. "Just show me where your dick's at."
"Look," I told Justine in my office the next afternoon, the nightmare still fresh in my mind. "I got her back to you, didn't I? You never said -- "
"I never said to give her syphilis!" she screeched. Angel, all fire. God, I wanted her. Now. Badly. Any which way. "How is she supposed to perform tonight when she's paralyzed by tertiary syphilis?! How the hell do you give someone instant end-stage syphilis, anyway?! That's not even possible!"
I shrugged and smiled. "It's a skill, Ass Dumpling." I pushed myself back from my desk. I leaned back into my chair, folding my hands behind my head.
"I could teach you. We got time."
Justine put her face into her hands and started to cry.
Dames. Sometimes, you just gotta let 'em let it out.