A Dope Party
When I poked out from the intimate saloon of Mrs. WickedBreaker, it was as bright as day – the moon was shining. Then a cool breeze began to blow, and soon enough, the clouds covered the sky. I tried to sit down on the bench under the tree (it was a healthy motion my tired body needed, knowing what was to come), but my swollen haircut prevented me from such brutal action. Utterly jaded, I caught a glimpse of light far away, near the river. I went for it, cautious and slow.
The one percent of Gunung Kinabalu (members of Royal family, business magnates, world-class shopaholics of idle generation) stood near the luxurious yacht: finely dressed, speaking loudly to each other – a supermarket of perfect bodies blinking with neon smiles.
“It’s nice to know somebody is happy,” I murmured, creeping out from my hideout and approaching the end of the long queue.
The yacht was custom-built, with extraordinary interiors from the famous Delilah Perfidiosus, the second ex-wife of Mr. Flamingo Vegas. It was a beautiful boat, with seven cabins on each side, a stable with horses, two submarines, and what seemed to be a theater stage, right in the middle.
Ms. Glorious slowly descended from the twisted silver staircase, ran up to me, and said: “Po’ po’ little Doctor! Here you are… You don’t need to wait, sweetheart. Follow me; I have to dress you up for tonight’s performance. I’m surprised Mrs. WickedBreaked had finished so late with you. Did you enjoy your treatment? We call her the delicious Demon of Gunung Kinabalu Paradise. Do you agree?”
The crowd froze. All eyes turned to my humble silhouette and started examining my body from head to toe. I felt uncomfortable, still smelling of paraffin and a moldy mattress.
“Of course, she is a nectarous lady,” I answered, but my voice trembled. “Well, I don’t want to waste a minute. Show me the way!”
On the yacht, in a stable, between 12 wild horses, 25 giant Japanese hornets, and 302 dead fire ants, I got to change into a long purple gown and a yellow feather-hair wig. After that, Ms. Glorious took me upstairs, where the crowd had already gathered. They stood around a colossal gold bowl filled with black Beluga sturgeon huso-huso caviar (which swims in the pollution-free waters of the Caspian Sea). King Hamilton and his three muscular sisters sat inside, kicking the water and drinking The Diamond is Forever Martini with a price tag on each glass, $18,600.
I didn’t have time to look around, but I felt the 100 eyes that permeated me. Resigned to my fate, I went straight to the bowl and prepared to paddle for my life. At that moment, Mrs. WickedBreaker, who previously tore apart my penis, rolled up her sleeves and, with her hands up in the air, started to sing in a language I had never heard before.
Captain Happy, Alex Raphael, and Arcadio appeared on the stage too: they took their positions in the corners. I noticed that Alex was dressed as a priest and looked very relaxed: he held a glass of milk in one hand and half a watermelon in the other. Arcadio wore a t-shirt with the word “Judge” on it. His armadillo Jack sat on the chair next to him with a crown DJ Hard-Core on his head.
“All right, trot ahead, fellas! Let’s make Bullet remember this life party!” shouted Martha from the crowd.
It was only half-past two at night when the show started. Making rapid erotic rounds around the stage, I remarked that the Sheriff tried to avoid me, but at the end of Dope festivity, crawling on the floor of the empty basin, I finally found her between the legs of three Hamilton sisters.
“Oh, hey… How’s it going?” I asked.
“Last night, I had a dream about you and me in the pool, and I didn’t like it one bit,” she replied.
“It wasn’t a dream.”
“For real?! I hate you, people!” she groaned.
“I’m not people! I’m Bullet, a man, an archeologist, a voodoo doctor, and… I fixed the haircut.” Her words offended me. And it made me think about something I already knew – run, it will get only worse, no better…
Ms. Glorious, surprised by my strength and performance on the stage, hugged me and pulled me aside.
“Tonight, old friend, it’s all about you and for you! Are you happy?” she whispered, patting my hair on the chest and making a duck face with her sweaty lips. When I refused to kiss her, she gulped more martini and continued, “Do you need to be back in Death Tower by any particular time?”
“Meet me at 7 am in the American West Palace, in the garden.”
“Bit late for… Where is it? I have never been there. I can ask Alex; he moved in the Palace last night.”
“I know Alex very well,” Ms. Glorious rolled her eyes dreamily. “King Hamilton is going to Beluga Clan with Arcadio this morning. She left me in charge of her palazzo. It’d be crazy not to use it, right?”
“What about my trip to Warrior Farm?”
“Don’t worry, Doctor Harmless. Our Sherriff will take you there after lunch. She is the ex-wife of Alphonso Beard – the Body of Warrior Farm. She knows how to handle the man.” Ms. Glorious winked.
“Okay. What about Captain Happy and Alex Raphael?”
There was a pause – the woman looked visibly upset.
“What about them?”
“I thought maybe you’d like to have a large company?”
“Let them stay where they are. Let them suffer!” she whinnied like a mad horse.
After our agreement, the red-haired beauty hid me inside of the damp room at the back of the yacht, where I met the first rays of sunlight. An odd panic, uncommon for a middle-aged man, passed through me, like lighting. I knew that Warrior Farm was full of women too, but deep in my heart, I was hoping that they were busier and less hungry for amour games than in Screw Quarter. Because after a Dope Party, I had lost interest in most things, including women. I concluded it could be much easier to jerk my dick over a bush than to meet one.
Yes, Mrs. WickedBreaker was absolutely right: “Life was just that simple.”
Next post – Day 18. West Palace