rants n raves
by tom miller
rants n raves
by tom miller
11/16/98 - 12:27 P.M.
10 seconds with mr. prolific & miller wins the prize
sunday. 4 p.m.
i am dumping ice into the ice well. i am stocking the cooler. i am having a beer. i am doing my job. i am a bartender.
i go downstairs and open the door. nobody is there. i go back upstairs, turn on the television, enjoy my beer, and enjoy my television.
don't pity me. they pay me for this.
*****
a couple of hours later, in walks mr. prolific. he is dressed casually. he's tall, smooth, handsome in an awkward sort of way. his eyes are dark underneath, as if he doesn't sleep well, or maybe it's his body's revenge against the hard life of a young gay person. i say hello.
"it's my birthday today."
"happy birthday."
"do you have a bag of marijuana for me?"
"no," i replied. "but i'll find a joint for you later this week."
"i was hoping we could get stoned, and go over my place to fuck."
"sounds intriguing." i said.
"i'm horny," he said.
"how old now?"
"20."
"no free drink for you."
*****
a few more patrons came in. mostly, the older guys who enjoy the relaxed atmosphere of a sunday afternoon. i served them their drinks and went back to mr. prolific.
"when do you get off?" he asked.
"as often as i can," i replied.
"i'll pick you up tonight."
"okay," i said.
*****
afternoon turned into night. everybody gathered around the television for our usual round of favorites: the simpsons, that 70s show, the X files.
mr. prolific went over to a young looking man. an attractive man with tan skin, asian or possibly hispanic eyes, and a tight but stocky build. mr. prolific was giving him the bedroom eyes. i could see from across the bar, as he spit out the usual pickup conversation like a practiced hooker. the words meant nothing but sex. it was so fake.
"what's your major? how long have you been in college? hang out here much? so, tell me about yourself. hmmm. really? hmmm. let me ask you a question..."
mr. prolific put his hand on the guy's shoulder and led him around the corner. 20 leading 27, down the stairs and out.
i thought; this guy has no shame. he comes up, asks me for sex, sets up a gig with me later at his place, and then proceeds to pick up another piece of meat right in front of me, as if it's just a checker game, or another fish to lure out of the pond with a worm, or a frisbee toss.
i watch the X files. it's an episode where people's heads explode.
*****
later, mr. prolific returns. he seems disappointed. the man also returns but heads over to the other side of the bar and strikes up a conversation with a friend.
"what happened?" i asked.
"i think i came on too strong." mr. prolific replied. "i blew it."
"well," i told him, "i've only ever seen him leave with heavy guys. i think he likes them sort of big." mr. prolific is built slim, like a twig.
"well, i'm leaving then."
"okay," i said.
"i guess i'll see you tonight."
"sure. and happy birthday."
"thanks," he said, and then he left.
*****
closing time. 11 p.m.
right on the button, the phone rings. my coworker is there. he answers. he smiles.
"hmmmm. it's for you." he hands the phone to me. he knows who it is because he's slept with him too. these fags, i think. it's going to be all over the bar by morning. oh well, fuck it.
"hello."
"it's eleven o'clock. you're off now. right?"
"that's right."
"okay, i'm coming over to pick you up."
"well..."
"see you in a few."
-click-
*****
he arrives and i get in his car. i am carrying a couple of excerpts from my journal, printed out. some of the entries are about him and what a slut he is. i thought that was pretty fucking funny. also, i had my unauthorized biography of ross perot. as much as i like the kooky old freak, i was certain he would not approve. if only he knew who had voted for him during his last two runs for president. that's right, ross. a drunk, pot smoking dick sucker.
live in your world, ross.
*****
went to my place, and he sat on the couch. i turned on the television and the end of the movie, l.a. confidential was on. some guy popped up out of the floor and shot two people in the chest.
"i'll go look for some pot," i said.
"great," he replied.
a guy burst through the door with a shotgun and shot a guy in the head. he tumbled backward and took another round in the heart before he hit the ground. there was lots of hollywood blood everywhere.
i looked for the pot like a coke addict searching for that last bump; that last lick of the miniature ziplock bag.
the place was dry. not even a roach in an ashtray.
"no pot," i told him.
"that's okay," he said.
i sat on the couch next to him. almost everybody in the movie was dead now.
"wanna go to my room?" i asked.
"sure," he said.
*****
he stretched out on the bed and pulled out his ungodly gigantic monster cock and began stroking it.
"got any lotion?" he asked.
"sure. i'll go get some." i went into the bathroom and found some victoria's secret strawberries and champagne silkening body lotion. seemed appropriate at the time.
if only you knew who used your products, victoria. that's right; a dick sucker. and a few drag queens to boot. and men who like to wear your nighties when their wives aren't looking, victoria. or is it victor.
i put some on my palm and went back into my room. he was spread out like a hustler with that gargantuan space antenna sticking up like the washington monument. i put some lotion on it and he came as soon as i touched him.
"i should probably go now," he said.
"see you around," i replied.
*****
after all my complaining, jim valvis finally wrote me an e-mail. i had been whining for months, sending him poems i had written and encouraging him to visit my web page and my journal. in his e-mail, he made it clear he wasn't going to lavish any praise on me, whatsoever. he's not that kind of guy. he told me i was an asshole and to leave him alone.
jim is a best friend if ever there was one.
then this morning, i got another e-mail. that's two in as many weeks. he must be sick again, i thought. here is what he sent:
okay monkeyboy,
i nominated you for this journal thing and you won. la la la.if you've been getting more hits this is why:
fucker. i finally email you back and you respond with two lines and then go mute.i will be there momentarily to pummel you.
jim
how about that, readers. your writer has actually been read by somebody that reads web journals, and they thought mine was good enough to recommend.
that is the most frightening thing i can possibly imagine for humanity at large.
my friends, we are all gonna burn.
*****
on why jim valvis is my one of my favorite writers:
what exactly is a valvis?
well, it's sort of this lonely thing
that lumbers the streets at twilight
and looks inside windows, maybe yours,
tracing the thin outline of your body
with eyes that swallow blue destiny.
you can feel those eyes, much like
you can feel a disease or a cold flame.
at times you dismiss them as twin moons
or the stare of passing headlights.
however, other times you are certain
that it is a valvis, the lonely thing,
but when you stagger over to examine
more closely, the thing disappears
like all of the other scholia of love.
By Jim Valvis
for more jim valvis, go to his site and read the poems.
http://commnections.com/Valvis/poetry.htm
(tune in next week for the continuing adventures of tom miller and his world of the memory editor.)
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