“This is the worst script I’ve ever read and I’ve been in this business for 40 years,” Jimmy Greco, head of Trainwreck Productions, shouted at me. “What were you thinking making Pee-Wee write this shit? Do you have an answer?! The man is hardly literate!”
“Does this mean you’ll fire me?” I shrugged.
“Fire you?!” Jimmy retorted. “I can’t fire you. Your movies make billions in streaming!”
“So what does it matter? What exactly do you want out of me, Jimmy?”
“Cooperation. Effort. A little thought into the details…”
“Name one time I ever gave any of that!”
Jimmy sat up in his seat and looked me sternly in the eye. “Now listen here buster,” he said. “I have two polyps in my ass that need removing. So I need your shit. I expect this production to come in on time and on budget! Do we have an understanding?”
“Nope!” I said. “Because I quit.”
Jimmy started maniacally laughing. “What’s so funny?” I ask.
“You think we haven’t gone through all this before? Do you really think that I didn’t anticipate this move?!”
“Jimmy, if you have something to say, you better spit it out.”
Jimmy poured himself a scotch as he wiped tears of laughter from his eyes. “Here, you want a drink? You better take it,” he said.
“I’m about to leap over this desk if you don’t tell me what’s going on,” I warned.
“Fair enough,” he replied as he swallowed the scotch whole. “You’ve been able to run roughshod over this studio for so long that you’ve become predictable,” he explained. “You know all those pages of legalese in your contract? I know you don’t read any of that shit. So I put in a stipulation: if you walk away from this production, you will owe back all the money you have earned with Trainwreck Productions. So you want to quit? That’s fine with me! But have fun being only the 27th richest man in the world!”
Jimmy’s own ingenuity caused him to laugh even harder. I saw only red.
“Laugh it up, Jimmy,” I said. “But just know this: you’re a dead man walking.”
I appears that I garroted a guy dead, Phil thought. He was trying to keep the impending anxiety attack at bay. “This is only a dream…this is only a dream…” he began repeating.
Then an odd thought occurred: if this was only a dream, then I can do whatever I want. “What’s going on out there?” he heard a female voice from outside the garage. This was the perfect opportunity to engage his most deranged fantasies. It would be the perfect cure for my writer’s block, he finally concluded. Phil dropped the makeshift garrote and picked up a baseball bat.
“I’m out here sweetheart!” he shouted back. “I think I injured myself. Can you come out here?”
Phil readied the bat and stood by the door. The knob turned. A petite middle aged woman in a nightgown stepped out. She immediately saw her decapitated husband almost screamed. Phil slammed the door behind her shut and grabbed her mouth. Her trembling in his arms initiated a strange arousal.
“I killed your husband,” he calmly told her. “Scream and I’ll do the same to you. Understood?”
Through streaming tears, the woman nodded. Phil released her and she turned around to face her captor. He kept reminding himself that none of this was real despite what his senses were telling him. Now he gazed upon the shaking creature in front of him wondering what to do next.
“Please go,” the woman muttered. “I’ll tell them I saw no one.”
Phil chuckled. “I don’t think so,” he said. He couldn’t stop himself looking at her helpless body through the form fitting nightgown. “Remove your clothes,” he ordered.
The woman began to quietly weep, then she complied. Moments later, as she stood completely nude in front of him, Phil briefly considered violating her.
But this was all too real for him. He’s had lucid dreams before, and usually they ended the moment the lucidity began. Then thought of raping her began to disgust his sense of morality.
“What’s that thing on your head?” Tina asked right before bed.
Phil was sweating bullets. “Nothing, just a thing to help me sleep better,” he explained. “The therapist gave it to me.”
“Are you okay? You don’t look well.”
“Yeah yeah! I’m fine. I’ve just been working out before bedtime. You know, to help me sleep better.”
Tina wasn’t convinced. “Phil, you can talk to me, ya know? I know you’ve been struggling to write for awhile. I’ve been worried…”
“You don’t have to worry about me! I promise. It’s just a little writer’s block. All writers go through this.”
Tina took by the hand and looked him in the eye. “Okay,” she said. “I guess I can be a worrywart sometimes. Just promise to open yourself up to me.”
Phil nodded. “Okay, I will,” he told her. “But I promise that what I’m going through is nothing that you have to concern yourself with. It’s just a passing phase. I promise.”
Tina held her gaze for a moment. “I believe you,” she said. She kissed him on the forehead, turned off the lights, and soon both were laying together in bed. Phil activated the small device on his temple and made sure the dream emitter was functioning. This better fucking work, he thought.
He was fast asleep; faster to sleep than he had ever been before.
What felt like seconds later, Phil was standing wide awake. He was in an unknown garage.
He looked around to a workbench. In his hand was two wooden handles, seemingly sawn off from a broom, that were connected by a blood soaked steel wire. “What the fuck?” Phil said aloud.
Obscuring his vision from the other side of the garage was a vehicle, a large black 2043 Porsche SUV. Beneath the vehicle, a puddle of blood was forming. Phil cautiously walked to the other side.
“Jesus!” he screamed.
On the ground was a body. Moreover, the body was missing its head. Blood was still pouring out from the neck.
Wade was coughing uncontrollably as a cigarette dangled from his lips. The emitter box was laying in pieces across Phil’s floor. Wade would pick up an individual piece and study it closely. He was meticulous; a little too much so for Phil who was pacing back and forth.
“Tina will be here in an hour. Will you be done by then?” Phil asked.
“Shhhhh,” Wade replied with his index finger up to his mouth. “With what little time I have, I need to focus.”
Phil rolled his eyes. “We don’t have time. This is illegal. Besides, how do you know May?”
“I don’t know May.”
“Then who do I need to go to if this doesn’t work?”
“Uhhh,” Wade thought. “Just go to May.”
Phil sighed. He sat down at the edge of his bed and watched Wade put the emitter back together. When he was finished, Wade hooked the box up to a computer. “What are you doing?” Phil asked.
“I’m downloading an encrypted software to the emitter that will alter its programming.”
“Okay? What will that do?”
“Well,” Wade paused as he pondered his words, “it’s difficult to explain. The software will allow the emitter to provide a more, let’s say, rewarding dream experience. We call the software Psychological Energy Emanation for Nocturnal Energy Rest.”
“That’s quite a mouthful,” Phil said.
“We call it PEENER for short.”
Phil was puzzled. After Wade finished downloading the software, he packed up his computer and handed a small device to Phil. “Before you sleep, put this on your temple,” he instructed. “This will connect you directly to the emitter so that only YOU experience the dreams emanating from it. Believe me, you don’t want your sleeping partner to have any of those dreams if they’re not prepared for it. Plus, if she does experience any of it, that might dilute your own experience. So wear that device.”
Phil held the small gadget in his hand. “So I can for sure contact May if I have any questions, right?”
Wade paused once again. “Sure,” he said. “Sweet dreams!”
“Philly, baby! How’ve you been darling?” May greeted her top client, Phil.
“I told you not to call me that,” he said. “I hate Philadelphia.”
“Please forgive me, sweetheart,” she pleaded as she hugged him. “Can I get you something to drink? Some champagne, perhaps?”
“What’s the point? There’s nothing to celebrate. I can’t get anything onto paper.”
“Nothing?! Phil, please, take a seat. Tell me: is therapy not working?”
Phil sat down in a large mahogany leather chair. “Dream therapy is a joke,” he explained. “I’m sorry to disappoint the publisher, but it’s going to be awhile before I’ll have anything to give them.”
May poured herself a champagne and began to think. “Look,” she said, “I know I’m your agent, but I’m also your friend. So can I give you a suggestion? Have you thought about a memoir? You’re a war hero after all. There’s probably something there that the publisher may be interested in.”
Phil hem and hawed. “I don’t know if I’m ready to go down that road, May,” he said. “I think I’d rather stick with fiction.”
“Okay…alright,” she said, “I have an idea. Now feel free to shoot this down if you want. But please, bear with me. Dream therapy has worked really well with my other clients, but they had to do something a little extra…”
“What do you mean?”
May took a big sip from the champagne. “Well, they kinda had to tinker with the dream emitter a little before they got their desired results.”
“I’m not following.”
“Well…the emitter is, of course, heavily patented so that makes it exceptionally difficult to hack into. A lot of safety measures are put into place so that users won’t experience any, well, unpleasant side effects. But from my understanding, there is a way to break into it to provide, I guess, a more rewarding experience.”
“Okay…”
“Now hear me out,” May interrupted, “I don’t think that there’s anything dangerous to the user about this, it’s just not entirely legal.”
Phil was confused. “May, I don’t know what you’re saying.”
“You mostly have pleasant dreams? Correct?” May asked. “Well how about instead of GOOD dreams…you have, let’s say, more INTENSE dreams.”
Phil chuckled and shook his head. “I don’t know. This sounds crazy.”
“Can you at least try it out?” May pleaded. “Now I know a guy who knows a guy who might know a guy who knows how to ‘tinker’ with the emitter. I can get you set up. What do you say?”
“Dream therapy just hasn’t been working,” Phil explained to his therapist. “Sure, getting in a gangbang with Bill Nighy and Kenneth Cranham was amusing, if not strangely arousing, at first. But now these dreams are getting bizarre, and frankly downright annoying. Some nights, I want to turn the emitter off and get a plain nice rest. Face it doc, maybe I’m just not cut out to be a writer. I’m an empty vessel, void of anything creative.
“First off,” the therapist retorted, “I’m not a doctor. I’m a simple ass therapist. And secondly, do you think your emitter needs calibrating? Are you sure that it isn’t malfunctioning? Most of my clients have found dream therapy to be thoroughly beneficial.”
“No, it’s not malfunctioning. You know I’ve been suffering from writer’s block for a long time now. I think I made a deal with the devil to write one successful novel and now I’m paying the price. I’m a one hit wonder.”
The therapist shifted in his seat and placed his pen up to his lips. “I think you’re running away from the real problem here,” he said.
“What do you mean?”
“You know what I mean. The off world rebellion. You are a highly decorated soldier in that war.”
Phil threw his hands in the air. “Come on! You know that I haven’t had any symptoms in nearly two years. Not since my novel was published. That has nothing to do with my current problems!”
“Something like that doesn’t just go away, Phil. Just because it’s been awhile since you’ve experienced symptoms doesn’t mean that it’s something that no longer affects you. You were evasive of it then and you’re being evasive of it now. You can lie to me all day. I get paid the same. But if you want to get your money’s worth out of this, you have to start being honest with yourself. And besides, this issue you’re avoiding might be the solution to your writer’s block. If you want my professional advice, be honest with yourself and perhaps this dream therapy will start working.”
Phil was flying his phallic shaped spaceship around the Jovial moon of Io. He crossed the thin atmosphere and scanned the surface of the sandy and red terrain. “Initiate landing procedures,” he ordered the computer. Almost instantly the thrusters fired and landing gear was lowered.
“Surface conditions?” he asked the computer.
“The atmosphere consists of mostly sulfur dioxide with trace amounts of oxygen,” the female voice reported.
“Prepare my space suit,” he ordered.
After gathering his gear, Phil lowered himself onto the surface of the dusty moon. He took out his scanner and began recording his findings. “Mission log,” he said, “there are no signs of life and Io appears to be a barren wasteland.”
Suddenly something caught his eye. Phil walked over to a rock that was emitting large amounts of radiation. He readied his phaser and radioed in. “Mission Control, it appears I found something…,”. But before he could report his findings, he was struck from behind.
Phil was suddenly chained up, nude, cock hard, in a bunker seemingly under the surface of Io. Three large-breasted women dressed in silver garments appeared before him. “We are representatives of the Pussyonida government,” they said in unison, “we are here to confiscate your semen so that we may repopulate our planet…”
A loud buzzing noise pierced through the air. “Wake up sweetie,” Phil heard. There was a brief moment of lucidness before he opened his eyes. “Coffee is brewing,” his longtime girlfriend informed him. Phil had been dreaming this whole time.
“Jesus Christ,” he muttered as he rubbed his eyes. Phil climbed out of bed, put on pants, and observed himself in the mirror. “I’m one disgusting mother fucker,” he said to himself. His hair was disheveled, his face heavily stubbled.
Phil shuffled into the kitchen area, plopped down in a chair, and Tina placed a cup of coffee before him. “Did you dream well last night?” she asked.
He shook his head and looked out the window. “Fuck no,” Phil replied. “It was all wholly unoriginal. Unoriginal thoughts. Unoriginal ideas. Face it, Tina, I’m a hack. I can’t even have an original dream.”
Everything changed that day. My luck had ran out. I put everything on the Bears Vs Raiders game and the starting quarterback went down in the first quarter.
I lost everything.
My house.
My kids.
My wife.
My pants.
All gone.
“Another bourbon, please,” I ordered the bartender.
He picked up a dirty ass glass and began wiping it down. “What seems to be the problem, Donny?” he asked. I knew he didn’t give a shit.
“Well Tom, my dick don’t work, my hair is gone, and I’m a crippled diabetic. Just get me another drink.”
He shook his head and laid down the glass. “This one’s on the house,” he said.
“Good,” I replied, “cuz I spent my last $10.”
Tom walked away to leave me in my misery. I slowly picked up the glass and sipped on the bourbon trying to extend my last bit of good luck.
Then a gaggle of hooligans waltzed in creating a ruckus. “Hey, can I get a Miller Lite,” one of them politely asked Tom.
“Can you shut the fuck up!” I shouted from across the bar. “I’m trying to get drunk over here!”
“I’m sorry sir,” the kid replied. “I’ll keep my voice down.”
“You know what?” I retorted, “I should beat the shit out of you. Do you know who I am? I’m goddamn Donny Watkins! My social security number is 674-76-1839 and my mother’s maiden name is Thompkins! And I’m in no mood to take your bullshit!”
“Perhaps you should stop drinking, Donny,” Tom interrupted.
“Shut up asshole!” I said. “I run this town, which is Boston by the way! God bless Wade Boggs!”
I was subsequently bounced from the bar and Tom banned me for life. After crying in a dingy alleyway for a few minutes, I knew I had to find a place to sleep. I wondered from one underpass to the next. All the drug dens were booked up.
The last resort was the Salvation Army. I stumbled up to the front desk, my eyes bloodshot and breath reeking of alcohol. “Do you have any identification, sir?” the receptionist asked.
I dug into my pockets to find anything that might say my name. I laid all the contents on the counter and started to rub my face while the receptionist fumbled through the paperwork.
After I lowered my hand, I heard an angelic voice. “We have a bed ready for you, sir,” it said.
That’s when I saw her..
***
She laid the shit and piss stained sheets over the moldy mattress. She was as plain as the prairies of Kansas. The words failed to come when she asked me if I needed anything else.
“A bourbon if you got it,” I said to her.
“There’s no drinking on the premises, Mr. Watkins,” she replied.
“Please, can you call me Donny?”
“Donny, pleased to meet you. I’m Sam.”
“Short for Samantha?”
“Just Sam. My parents abandoned me at the hospital so I’m named after the doctor who delivered me.”
Sam…a name that forever be etched onto my heart. “What’s your last name?” I asked.
“Malone. Sadly.” Sam then handed me the last bit of toiletries. “Breakfast starts at 6am,” she continued. “Please get some rest, Donny. I promise you that things will get better from here.”
“Will you still be here in the morning?” I ask.
“My shift ends at 7. So please wake up early. I hope to see you there.”
I nodded. “I promise I’ll be up.”
Sam gave a slight smile and departed the room. I didn’t bother stripping off my ratty ass clothes before I climbed into bed. I laid there for awhile thinking of Sam’s smile and soft voice before I dozed off. My roommate ripped a loud fart and I was fast asleep.
It was around 5 am when my roommate awoke. He was humming the words to some godawful song. “Lick it up! Lick it up! Ahhhhaaaahhhahhhh!” he shouted.
“Hey buddy, do you mind?!” I yelled.
“Yeah I do mind!” he replied as he was putting on his shit-covered boots. “It’s a new day. My dick still gets hard. And I got $12 in my pocket!”
“I have bad news for you,” I said, “you’re at the Salvation Army. That means your life is in the ditch! And Kiss sucks ass!”
“YOUR life may be in the ditch. But in three days I’ll be out of this shithole and in New Orleans.”
“New Orleans is a shithole too.”
“Cheer up, good buddy,” he said as he completed tying his boots. “Do you smell that? That’s the coffee brewing.” Then he farted. “And that’s the smell of the last vestiges of yesterday’s chili dog. I’ll never make that mistake again.”
The smelly roommate stood up, ran a comb through his hair, and took a piss. As he was about to exit, he told me one last thing.
“I’ve got a history lesson for you: Did you know that Bill Clinton’s father drowned in a ditch in Missouri?” he asked. “I can’t think of a worse way to go.”
***
The coffee tasted like something scooped out of a Mississippi toilet after thanksgiving. As I watched my roommate shovel the eggs and bacon down his throat, I suddenly lost my appetite. But that’s not why I attended breakfast.
I wanted to see Sam before her shift ended. I sipped on my shit-water as I watched her from afar. She was always busy, helping one bum through some crisis or another. But before 7am struck, she called for the cafeteria’s attention.
“Before I leave,” she stated, “I’d like to read one of my poems.”
There were a few inaudible groans. Most paid her no attention. “Hey everyone! Shut the fuck up!” my roommate shouted.
The cafeteria fell silent.
“Thank you,” Sam said. “This poem is called ‘Hope’. No matter how dark things may seem, tomorrow is a new day.”
She pulled out a sheet of paper, unfolded it, and began reading. “I believe in a future where no man is less than,” she read. “Where no woman is treated like urine; flushed down the drain, like a past that has no name…”
A few in attendance started to shake their heads.
“The future starts with us,” Sam continued. “So jump on the bus; this is the wagon train to the stars, we won’t stop until we reach Mars. So uplift each other’s dreams, let us not fall into despair, like the career of Harry Reems.”
The cafeteria was silent. It was the worst poem we’ve ever heard. But the roommate started to clap the I soon followed. Only the two of us applauded.
“Thanks again,” Sam said. “Enjoy your breakfast. Count your blessings, and I will see everyone tonight.”
I watched her fold the paper back up, place it back in her pocket, and depart the auditorium. While she may not have been much of a poet, I counted my blessings alright. I awaited for her return.
***
“You know what your problem is? You’ve got your head up your ass!” the roommate screamed at me. “You’re not focused! Your eyes are covered in shit, that’s why you see nothing but shit in the world!”
“First off,” I replied, “what the fuck is your name? And secondly, you don’t know anything about me.”
“My name’s Larry…Larry Tops!” he proudly proclaimed. “And I’ve seen enough of your kind to you’s just an asshole. You think you know everything, but you ain’t seen nothin! You’ve never seen the kindness and beauty of the world. You’ve never seen a man raise his, begging for salvation from the wreckage of his life, only to be pulled out by the kindness of strangers. Until you experience that, you’re just a miserable shitheel from Boston.”
“Meaningless ramblings from a deranged hobo,” I replied. “You’re in denial about your own condition and you think New Orleans is gonna save you. That’s pathetic.”
“I’d rather be pathetic than an asshole.”
I shrugged. “Whatever. At least I’ll die honest,” I said. “What time does Sam come in?”
“Why do you want to know?”
“Because I want to know. That’s why.”
Larry shook his head and began to chuckle. “It ain’t happening for you pal,” he replied. “You heard her up there. She believes in the future. She believes in hope. What would she want with a sorry sack of shit like you?”
“Now who’s the pessimist?” I asked.
Larry guffawed. “I’ll tell you what: how about instead of wasting away here in Boston, you come down to New Orleans. You’ll see what I’m talking about. Forget this place, there ain’t nothin here.”
“Thanks, but I’d rather take a hammer to my ballsack.”
***
“Don’t worry, Ms. Malone. I’ll unclog this toilet,” I told Sam at the start of her shift. “Sorry for not courtesy flushing.”
“That’s sweet of you for offering, Mr. Watkins,” she said. “But for legal purposes, guests at the Salvation Army shouldn’t do any of the work. It’s okay. This happens all the time.”
“It was actually Larry’s ass cheeks that caused this to happen. Not mine,” I explained. “He said it had something to do with the coffee.”
“I understand.”
I stood around and stammered a bit as I watched her plunge shit down the toilet. The smell was unbearable. “So,” I finally uttered, “I enjoyed your poem this morning. Do you write a lot?”
Her face instantly lit up. “Yes! I actually have tons of poems! I can read them to you sometime!”
“Oh no no no. That’s okay,” I said.
“Oh,” Sam sighed.
I instantly felt bad. “No, I didn’t mean it like that,” I said. “I meant that I got expelled from school in the third grade, so I never learned how to appreciate poetry. Yeah…that’s why!”
The toilet then unclogged and all the water rushed to the bottom. “Okay,” Sam said, “I got it fixed. Tell Larry to not use so much toilet paper next time!”
“I’ll let him know,” I responded. “I also want you to know that you’re a saint, Ms. Malone. Mother Teresa is just a pimple on my ass compared to you.”
“That’s very nice of you to say, Mr. Watkins. But really, I’m just doing what any good person would do.”
“Yeah I’d never unclog toilets for a bunch of hobos. That’s for goddamn sure.”
Sam removed her rubber gloves and washed her hands. “Well I hope you have a wonderful night Donny. I’ll see you in the morning.”
“Please wait,” I pleaded. “There’s so much more I want to know about you.”
Sam cocked her head. “Like what?”
“I dunno,” I shrugged. “Who’s your favorite Celtics player? Is 4.6 inches enough? Could you ever love a homeless man like me?”
“I don’t think these are appropriate questions, Mr. Watkins.”
“Wait, I’m sorry,” I began to stutter. “Sometimes I say the wrong things. I’m a raging alcoholic, Ms. Malone. I also have a crushing gambling addiction and I owe several mob bosses a lot of money. I haven’t changed my underwear in seven weeks and I don’t use deodorant. I just don’t know how to talk to people!”
“Donny, you’ll get the help you need. I promise,” she replied then quickly stormed away.
“Ms. Malone, I’m in love with you!” I screamed.
***
“Don’t you know how to talk to women?” Larry asked.
“I guess not,” I said.
“I knew you were stupid,” Larry added, “but holy fuck, you must be some goddamn reta…”
“Watch your language!” I interrupted, “I suffer from multiple learning disabilities, social disabilities, and various cognitive impairments. I also take numerous medications and I’m unable to remain steadily employed which is why I’m homeless. So have some fucking compassion, you imbecile!”
“Forgive me Donny,” he apologized. “But I know what it’s like to fuck things up with the love of your life. You need to go back and talk to her…”
“What’s the point?” I asked. “I don’t want to make her uncomfortable. Besides, I don’t know if she’s the love of my life or just an infatuation to distract me from my shitty life.”
“Then just apologize to her. Tell her that you’re a moron and you don’t know how to talk to people. Trust me, you don’t want to leave this place wondering ‘what if?’ Besides, this is a homeless shelter. People shit, piss, and masturbate in the hallways all the time. You can’t make things anymore awkward.”
“What would you know about my predicament?” I ask.
“Trust me,” Larry curiously reiterated, “now go apologize.”
It was dinner time. I noticed Sam on the other end of the cafeteria passing out trays. So I stood up, straightened myself out, and shuffled towards her direction. As I got closer, I noticed she was purposely not looking my way. I shoved my hands in my pockets and bashfully began to speak. “So,” I said, “I’m sorry for making things awkward while you were unclogging my toilet.”
“Don’t worry about it,” Sam replied, still not making eye contact.
“Well I know that I have trouble talking to people. And your job is difficult enough, so the last thing I wanted to do was make it harder.”
Sam removed her disposable rubber gloves and exhaled. “I appreciate your concern,” she said to me. “But I understand where you’re coming from. This probably isn’t the best time of your life.”
“Well, no it isn’t,” I said. “But I wasn’t always a hobo. I did attend Northeastern and was a successful real estate broker for many years. I just fell into some bad habits. First it was alcohol, and then it was sports. If only…” my voice began to crack, “if only I knew what sorry sack of shit I would become. I don’t want to be here, ya know? I thought I just had a sure fire bet. I thought Justin Fields was certainly going to be league MVP!”
Sam silently gazed at me as I wiped away a tear. I could sense her trying to find the right words. “I know how you feel,” she finally spoke. “I also thought he’d be league MVP.”
I was astonished. “So you know my pain?” I asked.
“Yes. I’m from Chicago. Unfortunately,” she explained. “Look Donny, if you want to talk some more, my break is in an hour.”
“Really? Okay, I look forward to it!”
“I just have to call my husband first.”
Fuck, I thought.
***
“I’m in an open relationship,” Sam explained to me on her break.
“Hmm,” I said with some disinterest as I gnawed on some fish sticks. Then it occurred to me. “Wait, what? What does that mean?”
“It means that my husband and me are free to sleep with other people. In fact, he’s probably being sucked off by his mistress as we speak.”
I scratched my head. “I don’t get it,” I replied. “So Are you fucking anyone else?”
“Well, not exactly,” Sam paused. “I’m usually too busy working here.”
I was so confused. “Does he at least wrap it up?” I asked. “What if he picks up STDs or knocks someone up?”
“My husband raw dogs hookers all the time,” Sam said. “Besides, he fires blanks anyway. We’ve tried to have children before but the doctors say his guys don’t swim. He’s as dry as the Sahara.”
“Shit,” I answered. “That’s the exact opposite problem I have. I have eight children and have only had sex eight times. Doctors have called me a marvel of modern science. Too bad my dick don’t work.”
“Really?” asked Sam. “Can you at least cum?”
“Oh yeah, I can cum soft,” I explained. “I’m like a goddamn faucet, I mean, I can BLAST some ropes if you know what I mean. Doctors tell me that I need to jerk it every so often or else my balls will swell up to where I can’t sit down. But I don’t know, I haven’t been horny since Malcolm Butler had that interception in Super Bowl XLIX.”
“So you haven’t came in nearly 10 years?” Sam asked. I could see the wheels turning in her head.
“Nope. I’m like a ticking time bomb. Next time I bust, it will be a sea of jizz. That’s why I can’t sleep on my stomach.”
Sam put down her can of Diet Coke and grabbed me by the lapels. “Pop a viagra and fuck me!” she ordered. “I wanna drown in that sea of backlogged semen!”
“Woah woah woah!” I retorted. “Where can I find a viagra at THIS hour?”
Sam cooled her jets and took a deep breath. “You’re right,” she said. “I’m sorry if I was a little pushy.”
As she sighed, I took her by the hand. “Look,” I explained, “I get it, you want a child but you can’t because of your husband’s deadass balls,” I said. “And I’ve got all the sperm you need and then some. But I have had sex in years. I don’t even remember where to put it!”
Sam nodded her head.
“So please,” I continued, “give me some time to think about this. Mind you, the answer is yes because I’m filled to the brim with semen and I am about to erupt at any moment. But I need time to process this.”
***
“What the FUCK did you just say?” Larry asked.
“Sam wants me to fuck her silly and give her a child,” I responded. “What’s so crazy about that?”
“Look at you,” Larry stated. “You’re goddamn disgusting! You’re a short, middle aged, balding, fat guy with diabetes. Plus you’re an alcoholic! You’re stupid, and honestly I can’t find one redeeming quality in you.”
“Like I said, my sperm is potent. One good poke is all she needs!”
Larry sat down at the edge of his bed and began rubbing his face. “Okay, so you knock her up. Then what?”
“What do you mean?”
“Are you not gonna have anything to do with the child?”
I thought for a moment. “Well, her and her husband will take care of it. No big deal,” I shrugged. “Besides, I already have 11 kids .”
Larry stood up and slapped me across the face. “Are you not thinking through any of this?!” he screamed. “You’re in love with this woman. You’re not gonna be able to fuck her, give her a child, then walk away! If you think you can, then you’re a goddamn fool!”
I got up off the ground and straightened myself out. “Perhaps you’re right,” I said.
Larry didn’t respond.
I walked up to the window and gazed out at the parking lot. “I’ve always been a loser,” I lamented. “I’ve never felt anything for anybody. I’m tired; tired of being lonely, tired of feeling like I don’t belong anywhere. I just need one good thing to go my way.”
“She’s got a husband, you dolt,” Larry said.
I turned around to face him. “Oh yeah,” I replied. “I guess I’m just too horny to think straight.”
Larry nodded. “Your dick don’t work, correct?”
“No, sadly.”
He took a deep breath and began to confide in me. “I told you once that my dick does work,” he said. “But that was a lie.”
“You got a dead dick too?” I ask.
“Shh…keep your voice down fool!” he said. Then he reached into his sock and pulled out a small blue pill. “Do you know what this is?” he asked.
“Your blood pressure meds?”
“No, dipshit! It’s a Cialis! My last one.”
“What’s that?” I shrugged.
“It’s a boner pill,” he explained. “You take this pill and you’ll wanna fuck anything that moves. But if you have an erection that lasts more than four hours, call a doctor.” Then he flicked me the pill. “It’s yours. I won’t be needing it anymore.”
“Larry, I don’t know how to thank you.”
“Just shut the fuck up and go empty out your balls for Christ sake.”
***
“Larry gave me a boner pill,” I explained to Sam as she plunged another massive turd down a toilet.
“You know,” she said, “I really wish people learned how to courtesy flush. I can’t begin to tell you how many toilets I have to unclog everyday!”
“I understand,” I sympathized.
“Or at the very least, stop trying to flush entire rolls of toilet paper after each shit!”
“Sam, did you hear what I said?”
She stopped for a moment to wipe her brow. “Yes Donny, I’m sorry,” she replied. “I just have a lot going on.”
“Can I help you with anything?”
“No, remember what I told you? It’s a liability for guests at the Salvation Army to do any work!”
“Is everything okay? I’m only trying to help.”
Sam put down the plunger and took off her rubber gloves. After she threw them on the ground, she lowered the toilet seat and sat down. “I think I told you too much, Donny,” she said as she rubbed her face. “I’m sorry if I came onto you a little strong yesterday. I’m just a little frustrated.”
“No need to apologize, I get it,” I explained. “I’ve been there before. I mean, look at my life right now.”
“I know, but look: I know you got loads of sperm going unused. But I don’t know if I’m ready. I don’t know how to tell my husband that I’m gonna fuck a hobo to get pregnant!”
“I see,” I heavily exhaled. I took the Cialis out of my pocket and held it in my hand. “I don’t want to rush you. My dead ass dick can wait. The mounds and mounds of ejaculate ain’t going anywhere. It’ll be there whenever you need it.”
I put the pill back into my pocket and started walking away. “Please wait,” Sam pleaded. I stopped in my tracks and she stood up. “Donny, I don’t want to keep you waiting,” she continued. “I don’t know if I’ll ever be ready. It’s not you.”
Then she began to stammer. “Besides,” she finally uttered, “I don’t think it’s healthy for you to hold back that much semen. When you have time, perhaps you should let it out in the shower. Just…,” she left me hanging.
“Yes Sam. Yes?”
“…just don’t clog the shower drain,” she concluded, then lowered her head.
I stared at her for a few moments…hoping, wishing, waiting…for something more. When I knew it wasn’t coming, I nodded and slowly walked away.
That night I cried myself to sleep.
***
“Wake up!” Larry shouted. “You can’t give in that easily! Today is the first day of the rest of your life! Seize the moment!”
I sat up in bed and watched Larry shove whole rolls of tissue into the toilet. “I’m about to leave for New Orleans,” he explained as he started flushing. “I’m not gonna leave here on such a sour note.”
While watching water gush onto the floor, Larry stood there with hands on his hips ready to make one final statement. “I hope I taught you two things,” he said. “One, don’t let a good thing pass you by. And two,” he declared with a pause, “Cialis is one hell of a drug.”
We exchanged a final glance. “Goodbye Larry,” I answered. “I can’t thank you enough. I hope our paths cross again.”
Larry nodded in return. He picked up his bags and exited the room.
Toilet water began flooding the dorm. I pulled out the Cialis pill. Moments later, Sam rushed into the room, plunger in hand. “Goddamnit Donny!” she screamed. “What the hell is wrong with you?!”
“Sam,” I proudly said, “I may be a no good hobo with a dead ass dick. I may also be a moron and a belligerent alcoholic and I’ll probably drop dead from cirrhosis of the liver at any moment. But I know one thing: I’m madly in love with you. I’m ready to pop this boner pill and unleash a lifetime of semen into you so that we may sire a child.”
***
It was five in the afternoon when I popped the boner pill. There was nothing left to do but wait. Sam was supposed to come into my room after 7. We were to bang it out which would release 10 years of backlogged semen into her. Afterwards I was to depart the facility, never to return.
I was a nervous wreck. I began pacing.
I looked out the window. At first, the sunlight through the trees calmed me. Then a dog ran up to the glass and took a shit. Ignoring that, I watched an elderly couple take a peaceful stroll along the sidewalk. Behind them, a mugger came up and robbed them a knifepoint. I sighed at the pitiful sight and began searching for something else to look at. I watched as a hobo walked into oncoming traffic and started shouting racial epithets.
“Goddamn Boston’s a shithole,” I said aloud. I closed the window blinds and turned on the TV. One of the many godawful NCIS iterations was playing. Scott Bakula was charming it up in his fake ass southern accent. “New Orleans is the greatest city on earth and I will MURDER anyone that says otherwise,” he shouted.
Hmm, I thought. I changed the channel and watched Drew Brees discuss his time with the Saints. “Yeah, I got my hair plugs from some dingy back alley doctor behind Bourbon Street,” he explained to the interviewer. “I tell you what, I wish I could be in New Orleans right now. Too bad they banned me for exposing my penis…”
Then it occurred to me: all my life’s problems were due to living in Boston. If only I could escape this hellhole, I thought. If only I could be in a REAL city…a city on the bayou, where fan boats and alligators roamed free; where open container laws were non existent; where titties were flashed at the mere sight of purple and gold beads.
If only I could be in a real city like NEW ORLEANS.
In a matter of hours, Larry was going to be there. I knew what I had to do. I walked up to the Salvation Army receptionist. “Get me on the phone with Greyhound!” I ordered.
But what was I to do about Sam?
***
At 7pm on the dot, Sam rushed into my dorm. “Put your penis in me, cum, and get the fuck out,” she demanded.
I sat in my chair in quiet contemplation. “You know,” I finally spoke, “I’ve been thinking: I can’t do this. Maybe it’s all the blood rushing out of my brain and into my cock right now due to the Cialis, but I’ve realized that I want some passion in my life. All of my life, I’ve wondered what the hell is wrong with me. Why do I always feel empty, like I’ve been forsaken by god? Now it’s occurred to me: I live in Boston, the asshole of America. That’s why I feel dead inside. So I’m sorry. I must move on to greener pastures. The solution to all my problems lies in the piss covered streets of New Orleans, where the nastiest drainage ditch in the world, the Mississippi River, empties out. That’s where I’m going. Because there’s only one way I sire, and that’s with love.”
I motioned my hand over the table, where several jars of jizz were sitting. “But I wanted to leave with a parting gift,” I explained. “Because the boner pill made me hornier tf, I’ve been furiously masturbating nonstop for the two hours. I have left you with my years…generations probably…of the most potent semen on the planet. I could probably repopulate the entire western hemisphere with what’s sitting on that table.”
I stood up, straightened myself out, and threw my jacket over my shoulder. “I will never forget you, Sam,” I said.
She stood there dumbfounded. “Get your shit, including that nasty ass semen, and get the fuck out of this building,” she responded. “If I see you again, I’m calling the cops.”
I tipped my hat, picked up my things, and walked out for good.
“Wake up!” Larry shouted. “You can’t give in that easily! Today is the first day of the rest of your life! Seize the moment!”
I sat up in bed and watched Larry shove whole rolls of tissue into the toilet. “I’m about to leave for New Orleans,” he explained as he started flushing. “I’m not gonna leave here on such a sour note.”
While watching water gush onto the floor, Larry stood there with hands on his hips ready to make one final statement. “I hope I taught you two things,” he said. “One, don’t let a good thing pass you by. And two,” he declared with a pause, “Cialis is one hell of a drug.”
We exchanged a final glance. “Goodbye Larry,” I answered. “I can’t thank you enough. I hope our paths cross again.”
Larry nodded in return. He picked up his bags and exited the room.
Toilet water began flooding the dorm. I pulled out the Cialis pill. Moments later, Sam rushed into the room, plunger in hand. “Goddamnit Donny!” she screamed. “What the hell is wrong with you?!”
“Sam,” I proudly said, “I may be a no good hobo with a dead ass dick. I may also be a moron and a belligerent alcoholic and I’ll probably drop dead from cirrhosis of the liver at any moment. But I know one thing: I’m madly in love with you. I’m ready to pop this boner pill and unleash a lifetime of semen into you so that we may sire a child.”
“Larry gave me a boner pill,” I explained to Sam as she plunged another massive turd down a toilet.
“You know,” she said, “I really wish people learned how to courtesy flush. I can’t begin to tell you how many toilets I have to unclog everyday!”
“I understand,” I sympathized.
“Or at the very least, stop trying to flush entire rolls of toilet paper after each shit!”
“Sam, did you hear what I said?”
She stopped for a moment to wipe her brow. “Yes Donny, I’m sorry,” she replied. “I just have a lot going on.”
“Can I help you with anything?”
“No, remember what I told you? It’s a liability for guests at the Salvation Army to do any work!”
“Is everything okay? I’m only trying to help.”
Sam put down the plunger and took off her rubber gloves. After she threw them on the ground, she lowered the toilet seat and sat down. “I think I told you too much, Donny,” she said as she rubbed her face. “I’m sorry if I came onto you a little strong yesterday. I’m just a little frustrated.”
“No need to apologize, I get it,” I explained. “I’ve been there before. I mean, look at my life right now.”
“I know, but look: I know you got loads of sperm going unused. But I don’t know if I’m ready. I don’t know how to tell my husband that I’m gonna fuck a hobo to get pregnant!”
“I see,” I heavily exhaled. I took the Cialis out of my pocket and held it in my hand. “I don’t want to rush you. My dead ass dick can wait. The mounds and mounds of ejaculate ain’t going anywhere. It’ll be there whenever you need it.”
I put the pill back into my pocket and started walking away. “Please wait,” Sam pleaded. I stopped in my tracks and she stood up. “Donny, I don’t want to keep you waiting,” she continued. “I don’t know if I’ll ever be ready. It’s not you.”
Then she began to stammer. “Besides,” she finally uttered, “I don’t think it’s healthy for you to hold back that much semen. When you have time, perhaps you should let it out in the shower. Just…,” she left me hanging.
“Yes Sam. Yes?”
“…just don’t clog the shower drain,” she concluded, then lowered her head.
I stared at her for a few moments…hoping, wishing, waiting…for something more. When I knew it wasn’t coming, I nodded and slowly walked away.
The Internet Ruined Everything 