Anaideia 35

The next morning, I watched the prostitute climb out of bed and put on her black brazier and panties and I laid in bed naked as she lowered her shirt and grabbed her belongings. “Can I know your name?” I ask her.

“No,” she said.

“Well, what if I want to get in touch with your services again?”

She reached into her purse and pulled out a white business card. “Just call this number,” she told me.

Without looking at it, I placed it on the nightstand and crawled out of bed to put on my underwear. “So what do I owe you?” I ask.

“$15,000,” she said.

“Jesus Christ!” I shouted out loud. Strangely, that was the exact amount that the Dr. Phil slot machine spat out the night before. So I handed her $15,000 all in 20 dollar bills and she was on her way.

“Can I at least get you a drink?” I ask her on the way out.

“Fuck no.”

And she closed the door behind her.

Meanwhile, Dale came cackling out of his bedroom door with two other sex workers. I stood in the foyer in only my underwear while that gaggle proceeded to the kitchen while grabbing each other’s asses and I scratched my ass and followed them in there. “Dale, it seems like you had a pretty good night,” I said.

“You’re damn right I did!” he said while pouring champagne into everyone’s glass. “Didn’t you?”

“Yeah well, ya know. I think I had the whiskey dick. $15,000 down the toilet.”

“Ah man, that sucks. Well anyway, this is Danica and Delilah,” Dale said, referring to the two women as they both gave me a flirty wave. “Ladies, I have enjoyed your company but it’s time to bid you adieu.”

The ladies sighed and Dale shoved numerous $50 bills into their bras and sent them on their way. He put on his silk robe and joined me in gaudy living room where the bright Reno skyline shown through the window. He poured himself more champagne then sat down on the couch where he briefly flashed his nutsack before crossing his legs. “All we have to do is maintain this level of luck and we’ll have Randy’s attention in no time! Easy as pie,” he said.

“Yeah,” I shrugged.

“Don’t feel so down,” he told me. “You’ll have your revenge. Maybe we need to call some more hookers tonight to cheer you up! Just don’t drink so much today.”

“Yeah. Yeah!” I tried to convince myself. “More hookers! That’s the ticket!”

I go to the bedroom to retrieve the business card. Before I could hand it to Dale, I catch a glimpse of a name: “For a good time, contact Joelle” it said on the card.

“Fuck,” I uttered.

“What?” asked Dale with his hand out waiting to receive the card.

“Does a name on here ring a bell?”

Dale took the card and tried to make sense of it. “No?” he said.

“Joelle was the name of the madam at the Candyland brothel!”

“And?”

“And? Are you stupid? This might be the same Joelle!”

“Does it have an address on it?”

“Only a PO Box.”

“Should we stake it out?”

“We’ve got to!”

Dale finished his champagne and scratched his nipple. Then a look of consternation fell over his face. “What do we do if we catch her?” he asks.

I hadn’t thought of that so I rubbed my chin and considered our options. “Well, I guess we corner her and question her,” I said.

“I dunno,” Dale said. “I say we tail her and follow her around a bit. We gotta know what we’re getting ourselves into.”

I agreed. “Then we need to find disguises,” I suggested. “We should have done that anyway before we came into town.”

“Sounds like a plan,” Dale said. “I’ll go put some pants on.”

“You do that,” I said. “I’m gonna go check on Old Jim.”

TO BE CONTINUED…

And yet another shot at the title (part xii)

Storm clouds gathered over Hollywood Hills. The pounding thunder fueled my appetite for revenge. So I did the only thing I could do: I sharpened my blade. The katana was clean; I would not be satisfied until it was dripping with blood.

I prepared the blade like in the days of the samurai. The rage and hate flowing through my veins heightened my senses. The smell of death was all around me. I knew the halls of Trainwreck Studios would soon be covered with the entrails of my enemies.

Then there was a soft knock. I quickly swung the katana behind me. No one was there.

I inched quietly up the stairs into the kitchen. Not a soul was present. Then there was another knock.

Knock knock knock

It was coming from the front door.

Beads of sweat poured from my face, off my back, and down my ass crack. I tiptoed towards the door with the blade ready. I slowly turned the knob. Then I threw the door open and swung the sword.

But I stopped short of killing the intruder. For I recognized her. It was Cassandra, standing on the porch in the pouring rain.

“Cassandra?!” I ask. “What’s the meaning of this visit? Why must you darken my door?”

“James,” she said in her British accent, “I must speak with you.”

I lowered the sword and she invited herself in. I offered her a towel and she sat on the couch as she dried her hair. I struggled to find the right words.

“Why the samurai sword?” she asked.

I raised the blade to admire its gleam. “I must kill Jimmy Greco,” I said.

“Then you won’t like what I have to tell you,” she explained. “Don’t blame Greta for any of this.”

“What do you mean?”

Cassandra finished drying her hair and placed the towel in her lap. Then she lowered her eyes. “It was Jimmy,” she said. “Jimmy brought me on board. Not Greta. She had no say.”

I shook my head. “I should have known.”

I noticed the strands of red hair draping over her face. I had forgotten how beautiful she was. “I saw how hurt you were at the press conference,” she said, “I couldn’t keep hurting you.”

I put down the sword and sat beside her. I reached for her hand. “It’s not your fault,” I told her. “This is all Jimmy’s doing. He’s been out to get me the moment we met. He’s the one who must pay the price.”

As I reached for the sword, Cassandra stopped me. “Please wait,” she pleaded, “there must be another way.”

“You don’t understand Cassandra. This is the only way.”

“But if you kill Jimmy, then you’ll lose everything. Think about all those that love you. Think about Slick Rick!”

“My god,” I said, “why do I keep forgetting about Slick Rick?!”

“Don’t disappoint him James! Find another way.”

I nodded then picked up the sword and grabbed my coat. “Please don’t go to Burbank!” Cassandra begged.

“I’m not going to Burbank,” I said. “I’m going to West Hollywood.”

TO BE CONTINUED…

a few shit films

I’m enjoying being a shit film connoisseur.

I wish I started doing this years ago instead of being a pretentious dick when it came to movies.

And believe it or not, there’s a specific art to making a really bad film. Not any joker off the street can do it. Now I watch countless movies per week, most of them godawful. But a couple of them stood out this time.

Btw, you can find these films on Tubi, which again, is a shitty app with too many goddamn commercials but they do have a pretty good selection.

Slaughter High (1986)

I don’t remember the 80s. Not because I was too young, but because, like everyone else, I was too coked out to pay attention. But I love a good nerd-revenge flick.

Sadly, this movie lacks the balls-to-the-wall energy of such classics like Toxic Avenger. Nevertheless, despite the filmmakers’ best intentions, they made a somewhat effective movie.

There’s a few good kills, surprising nudity (male and female), questionable decision making, Caroline Munro, bad American accents, and just overall good 80s fun.

Nothing spectacular, but if you’re doing a B-movie binge, you could do worse. And that’s my official endorsement 👍

Don’t Go in the Woods (1981)

Aimless screenplay, horrible dialogue, atrocious editing, halfassed ADR, cartoonishly violent…and sometimes hilarious…killings: this is the recipe for the perfect shit film.

Usually people walking around in the woods makes for a terrible, boring movie. Not so here. Its incompetence is its main attraction.

Sometimes I’d argue that the choice of blood can make or break a film. If you’re gonna make a slasher movie, make that shit as absurdly bright as possible. That really makes the killings pop.

They made that decision here and it changed the complexion of what could have been an otherwise bad terrible film.

So if you have a couple of hours to spare, these might be worth your time. There’s a lot worse things you could be doing. 🤷‍♂️

A shart in the dark

“Your dick don’t work,” the doctor said.

“Thank you doctor,” I replied.

Dale and I were found outside of Palm Springs buck naked. We were bound together and gagged. It took awhile for the police to realize we were victims and not nudists.

We were taken to the hospital where I was treated for massive scrotal damage. Dale was alright.

“Aye, don’t worry lad. We’ll get your wee workin again. You watch,” Dick (my Scottish roommate) said.

“Never mind that. I need you to find Honda. It isn’t over between us,” I instructed Dick.

“Aye”

Dick quickly left the hospital room to begin work. Dale spoke up.

“I’m just glad that we all made it out alive,” he said.

“No one asked you anything,” I said.

Anthrax also came to visit. After Dale and Dick exited, she came to my bedside.

“I need you to tell me everything you know about Honda,” she inquired.

“She seems to possess extraordinary strength. I don’t think she’s human anymore, Anthrax. I think she’s a cyborg. Who the fuck would do that to her? Randy’s a dumbass, there’s no way he could’ve done something like that,” I told her.

“I think I know who.”

“Who? That stupid ass crime syndicate? Honda said that they didn’t want her anymore. That’s why she’s riding around with those dorks like she’s Peter fuckin Fonda,” I replied.

“It’s not Randy. It’s not the syndicate,” Anthrax said.

“Alright. This is getting too complicated and contrived. But if you or Dick find Honda, tell her I’m coming after her,” I said.

“I’ll find her. But please, before you do anything, I need to know if there’s at least an ounce of humanity in her. If there is, I know that I can save her. Please James.”

I agreed.

As Anthrax began to leave, I grabbed her by the hand.

“I learned from a James Bond movie that before one seeks vengeance, they must first dig two graves,” I said.

“But I’m not seeking vengeance,” Anthrax replied.

“Oh yeah, I am. I mean….please be careful.”

Anthrax gave a faint smile then departed. I laid in the hospital bed bored and feeling awkward for not feeling like I have to compulsively masturbate.

“Your mother is on the phone,” a nurse told me.

I reluctantly took the call.

“Ohh my poor Tony,” mom said. “I heard that you were in the hospital!”

“This is James, ma. Who the hell is Tony?”

“What do you mean? I don’t have dementia,” she said. “How’s my sweetheart doing?”

“I’m alright. Is something wrong? I’ve been to the hospital hundreds of times and you’ve never called.”

“I’m just checking up on my favorite son. What are you, a moron?”

“I’m your only son Ma,” I said. “Anyway, are you sure Nicky is not my father?”

“Did you not read your birth certificate?”

“You put down Lou Diamond Phillips. Is there anything you can tell me about my father?”

“He was a tall glass of water. He could send shivers up and down my body with one touch. He was smooth, suave, with a voice of gold like Sinatra in a younger day. You don’t remind me of him at all,” Ma replied.

That definitely didn’t sound like Nicky.