Evidence for such a decade is the 2000 film 100 Girls. It’s hard to believe they used to make movies like that.
The plot’s pretty simple: some dude in college loses his virginity in an elevator like it’s some big deal. Then he spends the rest of the movie looking for this mystery girl in a dormitory.
His roommate also has a fucked up penis.
If this was a typical boner comedy, it probably would have been standard background noise.
You see, discussions on the differences between men and women used to be “interesting” to people. Not to me though. I thought girls were just boys with vaginas and left it at that. I would know because I’ve definitely seen a vagina. But 20 years ago, people didn’t know that.
So there were things like The Man Show, Kevin Smith films, American Pie, etc. The difference is though, occasionally those things would be funny.
100 Girls attempts to elevate the formula. And the moral of the story is this:
“Girls have boobs. But did you they also have personality? What a revelation!”
*Cue Bowling For Soup.
So be thankful that you live in a time of terrorism, pandemics, catastrophic climate change, massive wealth inequality, and dying democracies.
The film is clearly more influential (I’ve probably seen it, but I’ve drank a lot since then). Clint Eastwood was inspired by it. That’s obvious in Pale Rider, but Unforgiven has some echoes of it. Logan was also heavily under its influence but I don’t watch that kind of shit.
I’m intrigued by the subject of reality meeting myth. Which is why it’s high time for the book or film be updated into a “neo-western”, or whatever buzzword the kids are using, albeit with a more pessimistic ending.
The story is told from the perspective of a kid. And when we think of our childhood, we recall the magical times we had. But when we think objectively about it, we miss all the fucked up shit around us.
Remember that cool neighbor that would let you shoot his Glock? He was a registered sex offender.
Of course none of that occurs to you because you assume everyone is nice and pure.
Now I’d never write an updated version of Shane, I’d instantly lose interest. But maybe someone with more discipline would be willing to put pen to paper.
I imagine a story set during the Great Depression or some shit, where banks are harassing farmers and threatening to take their land. Then a mysterious stranger with a dark past comes into town and befriends a family.
The boy is instantly taken by the stranger. The father is handicapped in some form or fashion, unable to tend to his land properly, so the stranger steps up. The boy eventually begins to look up to the stranger more so than his father.
Then, of course, the banks and henchmen come in, threaten the townsfolk, blah blah blah…we all know the story: Shane essentially sacrifices himself, his death is ambiguous, and he achieves mythical status in the town.
But I’d like to see a more pessimistic conclusion. And as I think about it, my ending sort of resembles that of Blood Meridian: decades later, like the 1960s, the boy runs into Shane, very much alive, but the truth about him is revealed. Shane was nothing more than a drunken murderous hitman who actually cuckholded the father.
Naturally all of this went unnoticed by the boy, now a man, but he chooses instead to remember that summer as a magical time when a stranger came into town.
I’m sure that story has been told a million times. But good stories are worth retelling.
Of course I ain’t retelling it. I’ve got fart and cum jokes to write.
I love schlocky action films. I will always respect a movie that knows what it is and embraces it.
The John Wick films do a pretty respectable job at that. The scripts are laughably formulaic, a computer could have written them. That’s the way schlock is supposed to be: everything is supposed to be up on screen. I love the juxtaposition between violence and every day life. Even the casting of Keanu Reeves is a stroke of genius: he is an extraordinarily limited actor. When you see him, you know you’re not getting anything deep. He’s just there to kick ass and kill. Respect.
Sure, I talked shit about Keanu before. I don’t think I’m being controversial when I say that I don’t find him compelling usually. Not that he has to be. He’s a pretty boy that’s limited to certain roles.
It’s rare to find a true gritty action star, one that’s not necessarily being tongue in cheek, one that’s not a pretty boy, or trying to overly impress you with their physique.
I suppose Daniel Craig is such an actor. Jason Statham could be another. Maybe Bruce Willis at times.
But the best one was Charles Bronson.
For whatever reasons, I’ve been binging the fuck out his movies. Bronson’s stretch through the 70s was the greatest run of any action star. It’s hard to imagine an actor like him succeeding in modern Hollywood.
Contrary to popular perception, Charles Bronson could act. In fact, I’d say he was much more capable of handling emotionally intense scenes than Clint Eastwood, a contemporary of Bronson and an actor of similar caliber. Just watch Breakout or Mr. Majestyk. This is especially true when he’s playing opposite a female costar, specifically the romantic interest. There’s something about his glare that can carry those scenes.
Was Charles Bronson a good looking man?
Seriously, was he?
I like that ambiguity about him: a sex symbol whose appeal is derived from raw power and everyman looks. Daniel Craig, at least as James Bond, has similar appeal.
But, for me, the biggest appeal was that he wasn’t an actor’s actor. He had a workman approach to his craft. He knew exactly what he was creating. And the days of those actors are long LONG gone.
Unpopular opinion, but Bronson’s collaborations with Michael Winner are some of my least favorite, specifically Chato’s Land and The Mechanic. Winner seems to have overestimated his abilities as a director. (Death Wish III is an undeniable classic though) J. Lee Thompson was better suited to Bronson, specifically 10 to Midnight.
Honestly, I barely remember the Matrix. It was forgettable and bland, much like Keanu Reeves.
I’ve never seen the sequels and I never will.
Unfortunately it has left an indelible mark on our social consciousness, so I can’t but be reminded of it every time I look at the internet.
The philosophy of the Matrix has always kind of annoyed me. I don’t know if that’s the fault of the film, or by the malcontents that roam the web.
I’m vaguely familiar with Jean Baudrillard. I guess much of the film’s philosophy is influenced by his work, specifically Simulacra and Simulation. Never read it. But a quick Google search would suggest that there’s some overlap with my own personal philosophy which I discussed in “the joker sucks” series.
Since I never read Baudrillard (and probably never will) I can’t provide a valuable critique, but I’d venture to say that I’d break from his central thesis: that reality is somehow made “less real” by excessive use of “symbols”,“consumerism”, or “late stage capitalism”. (Feel free to correct me if I’m wrong on that thesis)
Reality IS distorted by human perception, and human perception is, to a degree, culturally constructed. But reality is, by definition really, real…regardless of how our perceptions change.
So, in reality, “the Matrix” in the Matrix is actually Reality, and the “desert of the real” (with all the mythology and sinister forces at play) is actually the Fantasy.
None of this matters to the quality of the film AS A FILM, but when its philosophy is utilized as genuine cultural critique by internet malcontents, they completely miss the irony.
The truth of the matter is that I don’t know what the Internet is. Is it real? A pointless fantasy projected onto real physical materiality? The “Real” Matrix that we all must escape from?
I guess it’s just mental masturbation for me.
Anyways, shit’s boring. Lost my train of thought. Basically I’m saying the same shit in “the joker sucks” but I’m applying it to the Matrix because the two are overused memes from overrated films.
“Bob,” I said, “you know us. Just set us free and we won’t cause trouble.”
Sheriff J Robert Oppenheimer locked Mr. Ree and me in jail. He sat behind his desk. He look tired, haggard, and was pounding a whiskey bottle.
“Sorry boys,” he replied. “But we have enough trouble with Dillon B Dickleburg coming into town and buying up all the gold mines. This town is a powder keg.”
“Well shit Bob! You are a man of science. You said that gold was a part of your time travel weapon. Just build another time machine and send us back to our timeline.”
“Like I said, even if I could do that, it’s highly improbable that I can get you back. In fact, it’s definitely impossible with 19th Century technology.”
“Have you even tried? Come on, you were a legend in our timeline. What happened to you?”
“You just don’t understand.”
A ten year old boy then walked into the jailhouse. He went up to Oppenheimer and gave him a hug.
“Who are these men papa?” the boy asked.
“These are just strangers Malachi, now go home to your mother. She’s been looking for you,” he replied.
The boy rushed out of the jailhouse.
“Ohh I get it now,” I said. “You’ve settled down. You traded in your lab coat for a badge.”
Oppenheimer put down the whiskey bottle.
“I arrived in this timeline through the spacetime ripple 15 years before you two showed up,” he said. “I met a woman, we settled down. I now have a son that I’d do anything to protect.”
“I’m just asking for your help,” I replied.
“I killed countless people with those damn nuclear weapons,” Oppenheimer continued. “Not again. I have an opportunity to do it right this time. I’m going to do whatever it takes to protect my family and this community from dangerous people like you.”
“Bob, please,” I said. “We’re not here to cause problems. In fact, if you need assistance handling this Dickleburg fellow, Mr. Ree and I can help.”
“You two have done enough damage.”
There was some commotion outside. I could hear one of the deputies ask “how can I help you Mr. Dickleburg?”
“Ah shit,” Oppenheimer said. He grabbed his shotgun and walked outside. “What seems to be the problem?” he asked.
“Mr. Rockwell up in them hills has been chasing us off that land,” I could hear Dickleburg saying.
“I’ll have you know, Mr. Dickleburg, that Mr. Rockwell is the rightful owner of that property. If he wants to chase you away, he’s well within his right,” Oppenheimer said.
“Why sheriff, all I want to do is offer him a business proposition.”
“Now Mr. Dickleburg, I’d advise you to leave that man alone. If you have a message for him, I’ll make sure he receives it.”
I could hear Dickleburg pull out his six shooter. “I own this town Sheriff,” he said. “I am the rightful owner of that property and all the property around it. That means I own you.”
I could hear the clicking of Oppenheimer’s shotgun. “The people of this town are the rightful owners,” he said. “You go back to that company of yours in Helena and you tell them that if they come back, there will be a bloodbath.”
“I’ll be back,” Dickleburg said. Him and his men galloped away on their horses.
Oppenheimer came back into the jailhouse. He took the keys, opened our jail cell, and handed back the 357.
“Men,” he said, “I now pronounce you deputies of Elkhorn, Montana.”
“It’s hard being a gay man in the old west,” Mr. Ree said.
“Word. Wait…you’re gay?” I asked.
“Well I wouldn’t say I’m gay. But I exclusively have sex with men.”
I took a sip of whiskey. My mind was on other things.
We were in Montana. I reckon the year was 1879. Mr. Ree and myself have been stuck out of time, out of place, for the last two years.
Time travel does strange things to a man. For one, it strips you completely naked. Mr. Ree and me were found in San Francisco, ass to ass, behind a brothel on Haight Street when we emerged from the plasma ripple. But it does something else: you realize that everyone, and everything, you’ve ever known is out of reach.
I’ll never see Miriam again. Or my unborn child that I left back in another timeline.
But Mr. Ree maintained hope. “We might as well get filthy fucking rich,” he said. The gold mines in California were stripped by 1879. Resigned to our fate, we travelled to Elkhorn, Montana to start a new life.
As we sat in the local tavern, townsfolk glared at us. One burly man came up to our table.
“We haven’t seen your kind ‘round here before,” he said.
“So?”
“We don’t take kindly to strangers. I reckon y’all better drink your whiskey and ride out before sundown.”
“Why don’t you mind your own business buddy?” I said. “We ain’t bothering you. How about you ride your fat ass back to your table?”
“Them are fightin words.”
“Damn right pal! You don’t want none of this!”
“Now gentlemen,” Mr. Ree interjected, “there’s nothing here that can’t be settled by a good old fashioned duel.”
The burly man nodded. “I’ll see you outside.”
“The fuck are you doing Mr. Ree?” I asked.
“Don’t worry about it. You got a Korth 357. You’ll blast his ass into the future,” he replied.
“Ree, this is 1879,” I said, “they don’t make bullets for this gun yet. I gotta conserve my ammo. Besides, wouldn’t I be disrupting the timeline?”
“Nah. According to J Robert Oppenheimer, this is a new timeline, remember? We can do whatever the fuck we want.”
I just shrugged and walked outside. The burly man was standing in the street. The townsfolk all stood around.
“Alright,” I said, “fastest draw wins, or however this bullshit works.”
The burly man opened his duster, exposing his six shooter. “Ready whenever you are,” he said.
We had a stare down. The townsfolk stood around nervously, waiting for the fireworks.
Suddenly he reached for his six shooter. I drew my 357. The sound thundered from my gun, echoing across the town and down through the mountains.
I shot off the burly man’s suspenders. His pants fell down, exposing his ass and penis.
I twirled the 357 and placed it back my holster.
Suddenly a shotgun blast went off. The townsfolk scattered. Out of the shadows appeared a man dressed in black. His spurs jingled as he walked towards us.
“I won’t have this nonsense in my town,” the man in black said.
I recognized the face.
“I’m James,” I said. “And this here is my partner, Mr. Ree.”
“I know who you are,” he replied. “And if you fire that gun again, I’ll shove this shotgun right up your ass.”
“Doesn’t sound like much of a threat,” I said.
He stepped a little closer.
Could it be?
“I’m Oppenheimer,” he said. “SHERIFF J. Robert Oppenheimer.”
We stole guns off some guards that Angelika brutally murdered and ran down the corridor.
“The time weapon is is being held three floors above us,” Angelika said.
We began to feel tremors all around us. I asked Angelika the last time this volcano erupted.
“About 25,000 years ago,” she said.
“Then this thing could go off at any moment. We better hurry.”
We went down the corridors and up the stairs in an attack formation. Angelika and I covered the front. Mr. Ree and Oppenheimer covered the rear.
When we reached the room holding the time weapon, the Kill Squad…along with Izzy….was there. They altered course and stormed into the volcano earlier in a bloody, devastating firefight. Not many survived.
“Thank goodness you’re alive,” the Admiral said. “And you found J. Robert Oppenheimer. Excellent work. Lt. Captain, please dispose of the scientist.”
Lt. Captain cocked his pistol and raised it up to Oppenheimer’s head.
I raised my rifle to Lt. Captain.
“Pull that trigger and you’re dead,” I told him.
“But Colonel James,” the Admiral said, “this time travel stuff is against the laws of God. We must destroy all of the evidence.”
“No,” I said. “Oppenheimer has as much right to exist as the rest of us.”
Dr. Sí then rushed in with his guards. “Well well,” he said. “Glad you’re all here.”
We were surrounded. We dropped our weapons.
Dr. Sí walked up to the Admiral. “I’m happy to see you’re doing well Admiral,” he said.
“This ends today doctor,” the Admiral replied.
“I think not,” he replied.
Dr. Sí walked over to a control panel. In a corner across the room, the floor moved, revealing a lava pit.
“I’m sorry Admiral,” the doctor said. “But you can’t go where we’re going.”
The guards grabbed the Admiral and pushed him towards the pit. “You’ll never get away with this,” he yelled.
“Of course I will. I control time! Think about the possibilities Admiral! We could have taken over the world. You never understood that.”
“Izzy, don’t let them do this,” the Admiral screamed. She walked over to him and the guards.
“You’re one abusive son of a bitch,” she said. Izzy then roundhouse kicked him into the fiery pit. When the screams stopped and the flames died down, Izzy turned around.
“Can I go home now,” she asked. “I didn’t want to be here anyway.”
“I’m sorry madam,” Dr. Sí replied. “I cannot let anyone leave here alive.”
“So what happens now? This volcano will erupt at any moment,” I asked.
“Exactly Colonel. In a few moments, I will time travel out of here and this volcano will erupt, destroying the evidence.”
“You’re not going anywhere,” Angelika said. Dr. Sí walked up to her, grabbed her hair and put his lips on her.
“I’m sorry things didn’t work out between us,” he said. “I gotta go.”
He went back to the panel and a countdown started. A laser dropped down from the ceiling which would release a plasma field around its target, triggering a spacetime ripple that would permit time travel.
“Before I forget,” Dr. Sí said to me, “here’s the $1 million I owe you. Where I’m going, this money is no good.”
He threw a metal briefcase as my feet.
“Alright,” the doctor said, “let’s get this bullshit over with.”
The laser then fired out a beam, creating the field around Sí. While the guards were mesmerized by the sight, Oppenheimer ran into the field, pushing the doctor out.
There was a bright flash of light, then Oppenheimer was gone…lost somewhere in time.
“You fool!” Dr. Sí yelled.
Out of the confusion, Angelika attacked the guards and took a gun. She began spraying bullets across the room. I picked up the briefcase and ran for cover.
I grabbed a rifle from a dead guard and began shielding Izzy. Mr. Ree then engaged in the firefight.
When all the guards were dead, Angelika threw down her semi-automatic and grabbed Dr. Sí. He tried to put up a fight.
“Angelika!” he screamed. “This volcano will go off any second. We don’t have time for this!”
“Time’s up bitch!” she said. Then she threw him into the lava pit. A large flame shot up in the air.
Meanwhile, Mr. Ree was monitoring communications between guards over the radio. “Reinforcements will be here in a minute,” he said.
I handed the briefcase to Izzy. “Make sure Miriam gets this,” I told her.
We shared one last look. “Mr. Ree and I will give you cover while you escape,” I said. “Angelika, go with her.”
“But I didn’t get the weapon,” Angelika responded.
“Let it go,” I said. “You can save humanity without it.”
I reached out my hand to hers and we looked deep into each other’s eyes. “Goodbye Angelika.”
She gave a pause. “Goodbye James,” she said.
Izzy and Angelika, along with a few surviving members of the Kill Squad, ran back down the corridor. The tremors were beginning to pick up.
Mr. Ree and I stood behind the control panel, waiting for reinforcements to arrive. “Ready to go where no man’s gone before,” I asked him.
He put a cigar in his mouth. “You’re reading my mind.”
As guards were pouring into the room, Mr. Ree provided cover while I fiddled with the controls. The laser pointed in our direction and released a beam. The field surrounded us.
Where…or when…we were going, only God knew.
Then there was a brilliant flash of light….
*********
Izzy, Angelika, and the Kill Squad made it out of the volcano just as it erupted. As they watched the explosion from a safe distance, Izzy turned to Angelika.
“Do you think they’re dead?”
Angelika looked to the ash cloud hovering over the jungle. She thought for a moment.
“No,” she replied. “They’re out there…somewhere in time….”
“This is science gone haywire,” J. Robert Oppenheimer said. “I should have never agreed to help Dr. Sí.”
“Don’t beat yourself up,” I said to him. “We’ll get you out of here and back to your own time.”
“It doesn’t work like that,” he replied.
“Sure it does. It’s science! Anything is possible.”
“We can’t just go ‘back in time’. Doing so would violate all sorts of Newton’s laws. When the quantum field is generated, the individual is transported to an alternate timeline. The laws of physics remain the same and the outcomes in these timelines might be similar to our own, but it’s not the same timeline. Am I making sense?”
“Nope,” I replied. “But we’ll get you as close to your timeline as humanly possible.”
“Forget it,” Oppenheimer replied. “Our best option is to disarm the weapon to prevent this from happening again.”
“How do we do that?”
“There’s a special property in the element of gold that penetrates through space and time. If the gold is removed from the nano chambers, the weapon would be powerless.”
“Sounds like a plan Bob.” I looked over to Mr. Ree. “Do you think the Kill Squad will alter course and find us?”
“I doubt it,” Mr. Ree said. “I don’t even know where we’re at.”
“We’re at the bottom of a dormant volcano,” Oppenheimer said. “They’ll never find us.”
“Shit,” I said. “Then we have to take matters into our own hands. We just need an opportunity.”
Angelika then peered through the opening of our cell door. “James,” she said, “just hold tight, I’m gonna get you out of here.”
“Angelika,” I replied, “I thought you were with Dr. Sí.”
She then reached her hand through the opening to touch my own. “Dr. Sí is no friend of the Ionian Liberation Front. He’s no friend of peace and justice. I don’t want this technology to fall into the wrong hands.”
“Get us out of here and we’ll destroy it,” I said.
“No! Think about it James. With this weapon, we can right all the wrongs. We can undo our violent past and create a better future.”
“I don’t know Angelika.”
“Please, I’ll get you out of here. But let me have the weapon.”
I thought for a second and agreed to her terms. Then she grasped my hand tightly.
“What’s your wife’s name?” she asked.
“Miriam”
“She’s a lucky woman. Perhaps in another time….”
She let go of my hand and closed the opening. I heard some rustling outside, then a few gunshots. After a few moments, the cell door blasted open.
Angelika walked across the rubble wearing a skintight leather suit and holding a Heckler & Koch M27.
“Alright boys,” she said. “Let’s blow the top off this volcano.”
Come to find out that Mystery’s real name was Mr. Ree.
That was convenient.
We watched Maxwell for several days, plotting our trap. Unfortunately he strangled several more prostitutes under that watch. We did nothing about it. But we pushed forward with our plan.
One night, while Maxwell was cruising down Sunset, he fell into our trap.
“Hey sweetie,” Maxwell said while picking up a prostitute. “Wanna make some cash?”
She giggled and got in.
They drove up to the hills while I tailed them. They stopped in Griffith Park then Maxwell and his friend climbed into the backseat.
Maxwell started kissing his way up her legs before removing her panties. As he put his head between her legs, instead of a vagina he put into his mouth, it was a cock…Mr. Ree’s fully erect cock.
“Surprise surprise,” Mr. Rees said.
Maxwell attempted to stab Mr. Ree. The two wrestled in the backseat before I opened the door and ordered Maxwell out with my 357. Mr. Ree got out in full drag, cock still hard. Maxwell had his pants around his ankles.
“Alright, you caught me,” Maxwell said. “So what? They’re not going to throw me in jail.”
“Don’t be so sure of yourself,” I replied. “Hands in the air.”
Maxwell lifted up his arms. Under his sleeve was a detonator. His car exploded, sending the three of us flying through the air. Maxwell got up and escaped by stealing my Pontiac Aztec.
I laid in the street for awhile in a daze. I got up and saw Mr. Ree mortally wounded. He was laying in a pool of his own blood. I held him in my arms and attempted to stop the bleeding.
“I’m sorry Mr. Ree,” I said. “I want to thank you for your help.”
“It was….fun,” he replied. “It doesn’t look like I’ll be a registered sex offender after all.”
With those words, he died in my arms.
I hot wired a Kia Soul and went after Maxwell. I cut him off at the intersection of Franklin and Los Feliz. I rammed my piece of shit into his piece of shit. The shattered glass littered the road.
I climbed out of the wreckage. Maxwell was still in the Pontiac. He was unconscious. I walked up to the destroyed vehicle, 357 on ready. I checked to see if he was dead. At that moment, Maxwell fired his 9mm.
The bullet grazed my left kidney. Maxwell climbed out of the car and ran off. As I was on the ground, I fired off a couple of shots, missing him entirely.
I pursued him on foot.
He ran into a bean factory. As beans were falling off an assembly line into a hopper, Maxwell fired a few rounds into the cogs. The line went haywire and beans went everywhere, obstructing my path. I once again fired shots indiscriminately down the line, jeopardizing the lives of countless workers.
Maxwell exited the factory and ran onto the football field of North Hollywood High. A game was being played. I couldn’t get a clear shot. So I tackled the quarterback, grabbed the football and aired it out in an attempt to hit Maxwell. Unfortunately a DB intercepted it and I had to evade tacklers to get off the field.
Maxwell continued to shoot his 9mm. But he was out of bullets.
He chose Chuck E Cheese as his last stand.
Maxwell went in through the kitchen. He threw pots, pans, and pizzas as I chased him. Unfortunately I wasted several bullets shooting down the pizzas.
As he ran into the main dining area, I shouted “stop that man!”
Chuck E Cheese himself went in for the tackle. Maxwell fought him off, but he was cornered.
The jig was up and Maxwell raised his hands. I lifted up the 357.
“For LP,” he asked.
“No Maxwell,” I said. “For me.”
I shot him in cold blood and his body flew into the ball pit. As the screams of children echoed through the restaurant, I walked outside.
I could hear the sounds of police sirens in the distance. I walked down to the beach holding the 357. As I stared out across the water, I took one last look at the 357 and tossed it into the ocean.
I tailed Maxwell to a rub-n-tug in Santa Monica. I sat in the car and waited. I must have gone through an entire pack of cigarettes. After two hours, I went inside.
“Yes, I’m having pain in my groin region and I need it stretched out,” I told the receptionist.
Maxwell came out with a towel around his waist. “Uh, hi James. It’s not what it looks like.”
“Hello Maxwell,” I said as I feigned stupidity. “What does this look like?”
“I just come here to get my prostate massaged. It gets flared.”
I took out a cigarette. “There’s no smoking in here, sir,” the receptionist said. I replaced it with a toothpick. “You got nothing to worry about with me, Maxwell,” I said. “Remember, I’m not on the LAPD anymore.”
“Right.” He gave an awkward laugh. “Well I guess I’ll see you around.”
I eyeballed him as he walked away.
I followed him around town for a few days…to the bars, to the gay clubs, to Knots Berry Farm…but I couldn’t bust him. I was growing tired. I drank. I tried heroin. But I couldn’t shake him from my mind.
Maxwell was good. Too good. But I knew eventually he’d fuck up. And when he did, I’d be there to bust him.
Finally I caught a break.
He picked up a prostitute off Sunset. They drove up to the hills and pulled off to a stop overlooking the Valley. It was late. Too late.
I had to stay back. I could’ve easily been spotted. I perched on top of a ledge overlooking their spot. The windows fogged up in Maxwell’s car. I couldn’t see in.
After several hours without movement, I feared the worst. I pulled out the 357 and walked towards the vehicle. I opened the passenger side door and there laid a strangled prostitute.
Maxwell was nowhere to be found.
Damn it, I thought. How could he have escaped?
Then I heard a beeping. There in the glove box was a timer counting down to zero. I tried to run but the explosion knocked me back several feet.
I got up and checked myself for injuries. There were none. I’m invincible.
I waited next to the smoldering remains for the fire department and the LA Police Chief to arrive. “You’re no longer on the force,” the Chief said. “The is is an official police investigation.”
“Sir,” I replied, “how well do you trust Ellis Shitburg Maxwell?”
“With LP dead, he’s now my best officer. I’d trust him with my wife.”
“This is Maxwell’s car. Last night there was a dead prostitute inside. Don’t you get it? He’s the Hillside Choker!”
“Now you are way out of line James! Charles Krauthammer was the killer and you busted him! The case is CLOSED! You hear me? CLOSED!”
“Will you listen to reason and evidence? Maxwell and Charles are in cahoots! The mayor said himself that crime has gotten out of hand! Maxwell has taken matters into his own hands! He’s gone renegade sir! RENEGADE!”
The Chief got right in my face. “Now you listen here James, and you listen good. There is no vigilante conspiracy in the LAPD. NONE! Not on my watch! Now I am telling you to walk away from this crime scene before I bring you in as a suspect!”
I walked away.
That night I got drunk and started thinking about LP. I stumbled up to Stacy’s door and began pounding. She just put the kids to bed.
“Have you been drinking,” she asked.
“Just started.”
She invited me in poured a vodka. We both sat on the couch.
“How are the kids,” I asked.
“Brutus has taken his father’s death hard. He’s been strangling the neighborhood animals, dissecting them, and leaving the remains on the owner’s porch. Laquisha’s been missing since the funeral.”
I reached out my hand and put it on hers. “And how have you been doing?”
“I’ve been struggling. I just miss LP so much. He was a great husband.”
“I miss him too,” I said.
We both stared into each other’s eyes. We leaned in and kissed.
As I was ramming Stacy silly, I couldn’t help but think of LP… how he was up there watching over us…furiously masturbating in heaven.
The Internet Ruined Everything 