Charles Bukowski - Short Stories Collection Part 20

"sure, that-d be o.k."

Danforth went to the phone, dialed a number.

"Minnie? yeah, Dan. I-m comin-over ta f.u.c.k ya again. Bag?

oh, he-s comin-too. he wants ta watch. no, we-re not drunk. I just decided to close shop for the day. we-ve made it already. with the Israel-Arab thing and all the African wars, there-s nothing to worry about. Biafra is a beautiful word. anyhow, we-re coming over. I want to bunghole you. you got those big cheeks, jesus. I might even bunghole Bag. I think his cheeks are bigger than yours. keep tight, sweetie, we-re on our way!"

Dan hung up. another phone rang. he picked it up. "jam it you rotten motherf.u.c.ker, even the points of your t.i.ts smell like wet dogt.u.r.ds in a Westerly wind." he hung up and smiled. walked over and took Bagley out of the machine. they locked the office door and walked down the steps together. when they walked outside the sun was up and looking good. you could see through the thin skirts of the women. you could almost see their bones. death and rot was everywhere. it was Los Angeles, near 7th and Broadway, the intera"

section where the dead snubbed the dead and didn-t even know why it was a taught game like jumprope or dissecting frogs or p.i.s.sing in the mailbox or jackingoff your pet dog.

"we got plenty a nuthin-," they sang, "and nuthin-s plenty for we-"

arm and arm they made the underground garage, found Bag-s 69 Caddy, got in, each lit a dollar cigar, Dan driving, got it out of there, almost hit a b.u.m coming out of Pershing Square, turned West toward the freeway, toward freedom, Vietnam, the army, f.u.c.king large areas of gra.s.s and nude statues and French wine, Beverly Hillsa"

Bagley leaned over and ran down Danforth-s zipper as he drove.

I hope he leaves some for his wife, Danforth thought.

it was a warm Los Angeles morning, or maybe it was afternoon, he checked the dashboard clock - it read 11:37 a.m. just as he came. he ran the Caddy up to 80. the asphalt slipped underneath like the graves of the dead. he turned on the dash t.v., then reached for the telephone, then remembered to zip up. "Minnie, I love you."

"I love you too, Dan," she answered. "is that slob with you?"

"right beside me. he just caught a mouthful."

"oh, Dan, don-t waste it!"

he laughed and hung up. they almost hit a n.i.g.g.e.r in a pickup truck. he wasn-t black at all, he was a n.i.g.g.e.r, that-s all he was. there wasn-t a nicer city in the world when you had it made, and only one worse when you didn-t have it made - the Big A. Danforth hit it up to 85. a motorcycle smiled at him as he drove by. maybe he-d call Bob later that night. Bob was always so funny. his 12 writers always gave him those good lines. and Bob was just as natural as horses.h.i.t. it was wonderful!

he threw out the dollar cigar, lit another, ran the Caddy up to 90, straight at the sun like an arrow, business was good and life, and the tires whirled over the dead and the dying and the dying-to-be.

ZYAAAAAUUUUM!.

THE f.u.c.k MACHINE.

it was a hot night in Tony's. you didn't even think of f.u.c.king.

just drink cool beer. Tony coasted a couple down to me and Indian Mike, and Mike had the money out. I let him buy the first round.

Tony rang it up, bored, looked around - 5 or six others staring into their beers, dolts, so Tony walked down to us.

"what's new, Tony?" I asked.

"ah, s.h.i.t," said Tony.

"at ain't new."

"s.h.i.t," said Tony.

"ah, s.h.i.t," said Indian Mike.

we drank at our beers.

"what do you think of the moon?" I asked Tony.

"s.h.i.t," said Tony.

"yeah," said Indian Mike, "guy's an a.s.shole on earth he's an a.s.shole on the moon, makes no difference."

"they say there's probably no life on Mars," I said.

"so what?" asked Tony.

"oh s.h.i.t," I said, "2 more beers."

Tony coasted them down, then walked down for his money.

rang it up. walked back. "s.h.i.t it's hot. I wish I were deader than yesterday's Kotex."

"where do men go when they die, Tony?"

"s.h.i.t, who cares?"

"don't you believe in the Human Spirit?"

"a bagga bulls.h.i.t!"

"how about Che? Joan of Arc? Billy the Kid? all those?"

"a bagga bulls.h.i.t!"

we drank our beers, thinking about it.

"look," I said, "I gotta take a p.i.s.s."

I walked back to the urinal and there, as usual, was Petey the Owl.

I took it out and began to p.i.s.s.

"you sure got a little d.i.c.k," he told me.

"when I'm p.i.s.sing or meditating, yeh, but I'm what you call the super-stretch type. when I'm ready to go, each inch I got now equals six."

"that's good then, if you ain't lying, cause I see two inches showing."

" I just show the head."

"I'll give you a dollar to suck your c.o.c.k."

"that ain't much."

"you're showing more than head. you're showing every bit of string you got."

"f.u.c.k you, Pete."

"you'll be back when you run out of beer money."

I walked back on out.

"2 more beers," I ordered.

Tony went through his routine, came back.

"it's so hot, I think I'm going crazy," he said.

"the heat just makes you realize your true self," I told Tony.

"wait a minute! you calling me a nut?"

"most of us are. but it's kept a secret."

? "all right, saying your bulls.h.i.t is straight, how many sane men are there on earth? are there any?"

"a few."

"how many?"

" out of the billions?"

"yeh, yeh."

"well, I'd say 5 or 6."

"5 or 6?" said Indian Mike. "well, suck my c.o.c.k!"

"look," said Tony. "how do you know I'm nuts? how do we get away with it?"

"well, since we are all insane there are only a few to control us, far too few, so they just let us run around insane. that's all they can do at this moment. for a while I thought they might find some place to live in outer s.p.a.ce while they destroyed us. but now I know that the insane control s.p.a.ce also."

" how do you know?"

"because they planted an American flag on the moon."

"suppose the Russians had planted a Russian flag on the moon?"

"same thing," I said.

"then you're impartial?" Tony asked.

"I am impartial to all degrees of madness."

we became quiet. kept drinking. and Tony too, began pouring himself scotch and waters. he could. he owned the place.

"jesus, it's hot," said Tony.

"s.h.i.t, yeh," said Indian Mike.

then Tony began talking. "insanity," said Tony, "ya know, there's something very insane going on at this very minute!"

"sure," I said.

"no, no, no-I mean right HERE at my place!"

"yeh?"

"yeh. It's so crazy, sometimes I get scared."

"tell me all about it, Tony," I said, always ready for somebody else's bulls.h.i.t.

Tony leaned real close. "I know a guy's got a f.u.c.k-machine. no crazy s.e.x magazine s.h.i.t. like you see in the ads. hot water bottles with replaceable cornbeef p.u.s.s.ies, all that nonsense. this guy has really put it together. a German scientist, we got to him, I mean out govt. did before the Russians could grab him. now keep it quiet."

"sure, Tony, sure-"

"Von Brashlitz. our govt. tried to get him interested in s.p.a.cE. no go. a brilliant old guy, but he just has this f.u.c.k MACHINE in mind. at the same time he thinks he's some kind of an artist, calls himself Michelangelo at times-they pensioned him off at $500.00 a month to kind of keep him alive enough to stay outa the nuthouses. they watched him a while, then got a little bored or forgot, but they kept the checks coming, and now and then an agent would talk to him ten or twenty minutes a month, write a report that he was crazy, then leave, so he just drifted around from town to town, dragging this big red trunk behind him. finally one night he come in here and begins drinking. tells me that he is just a tired old man, needs a real quiet place to do his research. I kept putting him off. lotta nuts come in here, ya know."

"yeh," I said.

"then, man, he kept getting drunker and drunker, and he laid it down to me. he had designed a mechanical woman who could give a man a better f.u.c.k than any woman created throughout the centuries! plus no Kotex, no s.h.i.t, no arguments!"

"I been looking," I said, "for a woman like that all my life."

Tony laughed. "every man has. I thought he was crazy, of course, until one night after closing I went down to his rooming house with him and he took the f.u.c.k MACHINE out of the red trunk."

"and?"

"it was like going to heaven before you died."

" let me guess the rest," I asked Tony.