Monday, December 28, 2009

Tales of a Drunken Degenerate, part sixteen, Copyright 2009 Robert J. Day



Tales of a Drunken Degenerate, part sixteen, You Get a Job (Sort Of!)
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http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=3SpplmyVNX8&feature=related
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The world is an unusual place to find yourself living in at times, and sometimes truth really is stranger than fiction.
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It turns out that your midget friend, whose name is Oscar, is an adult film star. He told you this the day after you first met him in the bar and he'd told you what you should do about your newfound feelings for Wal-Mart girl. If only you could remember what he said. You remember asking him, but everything after that is a hazy blur. You'd awakened the next afternoon on a strange couch in a strange place, to the mouthwatering smell of frying bacon.
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"Good morning Sleepyhead!" said the dwarf working the stove with the aid of a small stepladder, "Sleep well? I know I always sleep like a baby after a night of good sex!" "Good sex?" you ask, "I don't see any girls around..." "Of course not, why would you?" It takes a moment for you to realize what he's implying and for it to fully soak into your brain amongst the chemicals that haven't quite vacated your gray matter from the night before. "You mean we...? But I'm not..." You can't bring yourself to finish the sentence.
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"We certainly did, but don't dwell on it too much. I make porno for a living, I have to fuck guys all the time. Doesn't mean you're queer or nothin... lotsa people are curious about what it would be like to get boned by a little person!"
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You feel sick, but then you look at him at he gives you a sly little wink. He's just yanking your chain, thank Christ! "Oh, you're fucking with me, man you really had me going there!" He gives you the wink again, but says nothing, and now you're not so sure. But you're afraid to just ask outright, so you let it go and choose to believe he was just making a joke and he didn't plow your virgin asshole while you were in some sort of mushroom coma.
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That was three days ago. You haven't been home since. First gay experience or not, Oscar is a really cool guy, he got you a gig holding a boom mic on the set of his latest film. Who knew that midget clown porn actually exists, you'd always thought it was an urban myth. You make a hundred bucks a day holding the microphone and occasionally moving some lighting around, and after work you and Oscar would hit the Yuppie bars, he liked to go to the more ritzy joints because he said people gave him less shit there about being a little person. You like them because no one there wants to kill you, and the forty year old divorcees don't mind slumming if it means they can get stuffed with young cock. You're happy to oblige.
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Little though he might be, Oscar could party like nobody's business. He drove his specially modified minivan with one baby arm and the other was constantly holding a joint or cigarette, or dipping into a bag of white powder for what he called a "toot-sweet." He could drink a twelve pack of Heineken and still drive you both home without swerving too badly. Thankfully he never tries anything sexual with you, so you're pretty sure he was just fucking with you that day. Then again he could just be too tired from fucking delicious porn stars all day and drinking and drugging all night...
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You know you can't keep this up forever, eventually you'll have to go back to your apartment, if nothing else to pack up what little shit there is worth keeping. Also you're going to have to deal with the angry biker, Wal-Mart girl and Chickenwing at some point. Twice you've caught yourself dialing her number while you were fucked up, and twice you lost your nerve and hung up before she could answer. Well, no time like the fucking present. What the hell, you're reasonably sober at the moment. You dial the number and this time you stay on the line until a voice answers.
TO BE CONTINUED...

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