The Six Moral Tales – Some club in Hollywood

He finally came back from the bathroom. Must’ve been a half hour. I had already finished the flask and was nursing a beer at the bar pretending to be calm and cool in my own little world but really I just kept looking at that brunette at the corner of the bar sitting by herself. Thinking of something good to say. Something original. Something that honest. Everyone looks out of place to me here. Like clowns juggling dildos and balls in the middle of the Alaskan tundra. The drunk ones couldn’t even string a sentence together but were convinced they were totally coherent and clear. I wanted to say something that would make her fall in love with me on the spot. Like she should. Anyway. I was too busy thinking of all the things I shouldn’t say so I had no idea what to say. Then some drunk dude bumped her elbow and spilt her drink. At first she was shocked and insulted but next thing you know she’s looking up at him with those big smiling eyes. Laughing. What the fuck could he have said…

That’s when Mike came back from the bathroom. “Yo what’d I miss?” He was sweating. He definitely just fucked her. “I dunno. Probably something cool. Took you long enough.” He smiled at the bartender who smiled back but didn’t stop to take his order. “Sorry dude.” But he wasn’t. He twisted his giant 6’5” frame to face the bar and inadvertently squeezed out the guy on his left. The guy turned with furrowed eyebrows full of hate but on seeing the giant didn’t dare say a word. Mike was a tower of a man. It was hard to feel like anything but a boy around the guy. Maybe that’s why I haven’t been getting laid recently. Then again, what if Tony Robins was 5’3. I took another gulp of the beer. Or cider actually. Even my drink of choice was a pussy move. “So? You talk to any chicks? Or you been staring at your faggoty little cider this whole time?” I stared ahead and took another gulp. Woodchuck Pear. Sweet and refreshing. Like an Izzy. He leaned forward over the bar. The waitress still hadn’t taken his order. I smiled. “Losing your touch fat boy” as I took another gulp. I caught another glimpse of the brunette and the drunk through the side of my glass. She was biting his lip with a devious smile on her face. I wonder if this is how Picasso came up with cubism.

“Watch this little man.” Mike reached over and grabbed a pen from behind the bar. Then a napkin. Then he wrote “Vodka tonic, please J” and folded it into a neat little paper airplane and tossed it lightly at the waitress. The plane crashed into the side of her head and came tumbling down as the passengers screamed and prayed and kissed their loved ones goodbye while the ones full of Xanax and cheap wine smiled and farted gently into their seats. The nose smashed into the ground. Then exploded. No one could have survived that crash. No one. She looked over at Mike. Angry at first that someone would dare throw something at her but Mike smiled and gave her a little Vince-Vaughn cute little naughty little baby toothy poo poo gah gah smile and wave triple threat supersize with fries combo deal. She returned the smile and ketchuped. Bent down. Picked up the rubble. Unfolded it, put out the fire with her palms and saw the dead bodies, the torn limbs, the bits of brains and flesh all over the page and then she really smiled. She looked up at him and winked. Sadists. The lot of them. “You see that? Smooth baby.” He took a sip of my cider and cringed at the lack of alcohol. “If I play my cards right… I’m gonna fuck her in the same stall I fucked the other bitch.” “You should take a shit on her after for good measure.” “Ew. See that’s just sick. I’m sorry.” I smiled at the cider. The bubbles smiled back through the glass. The toilets here have seen more pussy in one night than I’ve seen in a year. I took a big gulp.

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