rants n raves

by tom miller

 

 

11/05/98 - 3:54 P.M.

 

beer, billiards, and red convertibles

 

wednesday was something. i was off work that day and what did i do? go to the place where i work so i can enjoy not working. ah, the gay bar. plenty of booze and music and decadence. oh, and the lady pearl.

 

lady pearl is a drag queen. she's real funny. a good entertainer too. if she had any real ambition other than sex, weed, and food, she could probably be in movies, or have her own television show. but gainesville can have you in it's clean green grip, and dull your get-up-and-go just enough to give you the go-home-and-stay.

 

that's why most of the real geniuses i've met are in gainesville and have no recognition. only a few lucky ones got out. like kurt lang, the most fascinating and brilliant individual i have ever met, and of course, jim valvis; who, as i said before, is simply the greatest modern writer in the free world.

 

i'll tell you about them sometime, but let's get back to the gay bar. i was watching the wet t-shirt / jockyshort contest. it's a pretty fucked up show, because right away, you've got men and women in the show competing for the same prize. it's like comparing clams and camel toes. two different things.

 

pearl comes out and does a number (sometimes she even knows the words well enough to mouth them) and then she goes out into the club to find contestants. many are dragged to the stage unwillingly, but you see, pearl has the build of a linebacker and there is just no saying no. she picks out the women contestants, too. but usually she doesn't have to drag (no pun intended) them out. instead, she calls to them, "here fishy fishy fishy."

 

then, the contestants strip down to their skivvies and are brought on stage, one at a time. they stand in a kiddy pool and pearl dumps ice cold water on them. this usually has the effect of shrinking an already tiny member into oblivion for the guys. for the girls, it works out better because their nipples get hard, and that looks real good through a t-shirt.

 

in the end, a tally by applause is taken and the winner is given fifty dollars, which they usually spend half of in the club buying drinks for all the friends who clapped for them.

 

the losers put on their wet clothes and the ones who take the contest seriously, leave.

 

i have to tell you; night after night of seeing cold hard tits and tiny shrunken penises can wear on a guy like me. and for some reason, i keep going back.

 

i like doing things i hate. for example, there's this new beer called tequiza. it's made by the busch beer brewing company and it's flavored with lime. basically a commercial answer to corona with lime. it sucks.

 

it sucks bad. it's maybe the worst beer i've ever had. there's too much lime flavoring for one thing, and it's put into busch beer, which as you may or may not know, tastes like the asshole of a fish.

 

or let me put it another way; i'd rather suck embalming fluid out of a corpse than drink this shit. why i continue to drink it, i'll never know.

 

but that's me. stuck in the middle. love to hate and hate to love. a god damned libra.

 

*****

 

on tuesday, i was in the club waiting to go on shift. the old black guy comes in and has his pepsi. i like the old black guy because he's quiet and unassuming. we play pool together once in awhile. often, he kicks my ass.

 

"up for a game," i ask him.

"sure," he replies. "but i'm just learning."

i said, "look at you. already hustling me and i haven't even put up the money."

 

the guy's a pool genius.

 

i rack the balls in place, and he sets up to shoot.

 

"you just lost," he said.

 

"what do you mean?" i asked.

 

"because i'm gonna put the eight in the pocket on this shot."

 

i said, "you put the eight ball in the pocket and i'll buy you a beer."

 

he walked over to the balls, picked up the eight ball with his fingers, and dropped it in the pocket.

 

"i'll take that beer now," he said. and you know what? i bought him one.

 

now there's a lesson in that story somewhere, and i think it's this: be careful or you might get screwed.

 

*****

 

i was bartending that night, and my friend comes in and orders a beer. then he orders another one and another one. by the time he was finished, he was finished.

 

another friend was also drinking that night and came over to where we were and poured a pitcher of water on my other friend's head. he returned the favor and then the two of them went out to dance.

 

by the time they got back, they got into some discussion. i wasn't paying much attention, but after a few moments, they were arguing; a drunk's argument.

 

"you don't know anything. you're dense. you're dense. you're so stupid and... you don't know anything. your mind is so small. you don't grasp anything... goddammit. shit. you're dense..."

 

they were leaning on each other. their faces were pushed together. when one of them would talk, he'd put his mouth over the other person's ear and spit in it.

 

i think it was because one friend was straight and the other was gay and it may have had something to do with an offhanded comment about admiring young firm breasts. that's my take on it, anyway.

 

but the gay friend was volatile. i was waiting for him to throw a punch. he was grabbing my straight friend by the shoulders and leading him around in a rough way.

 

he continued to repeat, "i'm old. i'm so old. 28 years already. i'm so old. you're dense. you don't understand. you are so fucking unbelievably dense. "

 

but my straight friend was a well traveled doctor with a ph.d. and publications in the journal of medicine. his topics of interest include music, philosophy, japanese culture, poetry; and in short, he's one of my very best friends and i have always found him to be a genius.

 

one thing he wasn't was dense.

 

so whether the argument was about breasts or not, it was a stupid one. my gay friend was way fucked up, and he was rambling and violent. my straight friend was equally fucked up and though actually not dense, he stayed in the argument and never simply walked away.

 

"fuck you."

 

those were the last words from the gay guy and he walked out of the club.

 

five minutes later, he walked back into the club, sat on the floor and cried.

 

somebody had pulled out of the parking lot into his cherry red vintage convertible. most of the passenger side was dented in.

 

he cried on the floor for ten minutes and he kept saying, "my $70,000 car. my $70,000 red convertible. o, my car. why. my $70,000 car. it's a vintage car. a $70,000 car..."

 

*****

 

what is the message here?

 

it could be that things don't really belong to you, they belong to the universe. you just get a lucky chance to use them while you're here. and here's another message: you get out what you put in. john lennon sang, "instant karma's gonna get you."

 

got him, didn't it.

 

i'll tell you how i live my life, and you can take this to the bank. it is 100% true, make no mistake about it.

 

if you put one-hundred million dollars and fifty vintage red convertibles in front of me right now, i still wouldn't suck lady pearl's dick.

 

fix the car, stop drinking, go on with your life.

 

(tune in next week for the continuing adventures of tom miller and his world of the sick and twisted.)

 


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