Please create an account to participate in the Slashdot moderation system


Forgot your password?
User Journal

Journal sm62704's Journal: Drought's End 7

Previously: "Lucy Furr" Burns in Hell

I look at the world and I notice it's turning
While my guitar gently weeps
With every mistake we must surely be learning
Still my guitar gently weeps

-George Harrison

In Soviet Russia, whores pay YOU!

As I write this, I have a smile on my face and a song in my heart. There's nothing like getting laid after an extended period of celibacy to cheer up a man with the blues. Especially after getting an apology and money from her.

It had been so long I'd forgotten how good sex felt. And the sweet lies she told me as we laid there afterwards were almost as nice, saying she'd often fantasized about sex with me when she was fucking her boyfriend, and how much she'd missed my dick! Yeah, she was full of shit, but I enjoyed it nevertheless.

I wasn't in such a good mood Saturday. I wasn't in a bad mood - not when I got up, anyway. My old friend Ralph, the WWII Navy veteran who introduced me to a lot of the whores I've become friends with, had gotten out of Intensive Care last week, and I'd been able to see him for the first time, dropping by the hospital on the way home from work. A sick friend's recovery always cheers one up.

As I was drinking my coffee, I noticed that the floor was getting pretty dirty. It hasn't been swept since I threw Tami out. Maybe I'll do it tonight. I hadn't picked up my guitar in a longer time than I'd picked up my broom; it was dusty as well. Surely I'd gotten rusty. I tuned the old thing and noted that I should probably replace its strings; it was hard to get into tune.

I was happy to see that the rust hadn't attacked my fingers too badly, but the door that attacked my hand the previous week still had it a little sore, so I didn't play very long. I put a load of laundry in the machine instead, and drove out for some McNearFood, going through the drive through and taking it back home. I noted with delight that since Tami was gone, the food, gasoline, toilet paper, beer, and money were lasting a hell of a lot longer.

After breakfast I called Linda. "I'm going to go up and visit Ralph", I told her. "You guys want to go along?"

"Sure," she said, "but wait until after eleven, he has his therapy and they don't like him talking during it." Ralph's in the hospital for an appendectomy, but he also has asbestosis from years of being an inside wireman, an electrician. Back in his day, houses were full of asbestos. It kept them from burning down so quickly, but people didn't know how deadly the material was.

I went to the bank, checked my balance and cashed a check, then to the Magic Comb for a haircut. Hair freshly shorn I drove to Ralph's to pick up Linda, Charlie and Tami. Nobody was home.

I called Linda. "We're taking a walk", she said. She told me where they were, and I picked them up and we headed to the hospital.

"Where's Charlie?" I asked. They didn't know; she'd been gone a few days. Tami was badly hung over. They regaled me wath tales of their previous night's drinking, and guys hitting on them, and...

And I got the blues. I'd spent the previous night alone with strangers, sipping my beer in misery. "I'd really appreciate it," I said, "if you guys would change the subject. I really don't want to hear about it."

Tami went off. "It's always about you, isn't it?" She got louder and we got into a screaming match. Pretty soon the two of them were on my ass, and as we pulled into the hospital I'd had enough. "Fuck you two goddamned heartless selfish bitches," I said. "You can fucking walk home. Tell Ralph I'll come up to see him later," and drove off. I could see Tami jumping up and down like a five year old and screaming at me - what, I couldn't hear, because the windows were up and I'd cranked the stereo.

I went to Felber's and got a beer. Halfway through the mug Danny walked in. He's an old friend, Tami's son's father. I'd met her through him. At one point he'd apologized for introducing me to "the fucking cunt," as he put it.

"Hey, old man," I said, despite the fact that he's ten years my junior. "Still on the wagon?"

"Yeah, I'm doing good," he said. "I saw your car and thought I'd come in and say 'hi'". I bought him a Mountain Dew - the soda, not the illegal southern drink. We chatted for a while, and the girl Tami calls "Snake" walked in. Snake is the whore I call "Bighead" in these journals, and her hair was longer making her head look bigger than ever. If it was possible she'd lost even more weight. She really is a cartoonish character.

She was on my shit list, but as as I was so pissed off at Tami and Tami hated her so much, I was friendly. I told her I'd thrown Tami out and to give me a call. "I lost your number", she said. I borrowed an ink pen from the bartender and wrote my number down, but I wasn't sure if I got it right. "That's ok," she said, "I know where you live!"

She took her forty ounce beer and walked off, Danny left and pedaled to his AA meeting, I finished my beer and decided to go see Ralph. It was an hour later, surely the two female fucktards had gone by now.

As I was walking through the lobby to the elevators, they walked towards me. "He's asleep," they said, calmed down and out of bitch mode. I gave them a ride home and went home myself, and put Unforgiven in the VCR.

Halfway through the movie my phone rang. It was "Annie". You've heard of crack whores, and maybe met some? Well, Annie is a whiskey whore.

I hadn't seen Annie in months. She had been on my shit list, too, having ripped me off for twenty bucks the last time I'd seen her. My shit list had gotten so big I needed a mainframe to keep it straight.

She'd found some fool to be her boyfriend, one of her clients. She'd moved in with him shortly before swindling me out of the twenty bucks. I'd been madder at myself than at her; I'm number one on my own shit list.

With most whores, you'd best not pay them first or they'll wind up with your money and you still won't get laid. Get the goods up front. But I'd known Annie for a long time, and always been able to trust her. At least, until she got the boyfriend, when she'd hightailed it off with my money.

She was sorry for ripping me off, and had the twenty she owed me. And she and her boyfriend were fighting over drugs and whiskey. He bitched at her for drinking so much, and she bitched at him for his drugs. Not pot; Annie smoked a joint herself now and then, but the boyfriend was into harder drugs. She said if I'd come get her she'd pay me the twenty she owed me and we could have a few drinks.

I picked her up across town, and she'd lost weight - quite a bit of weight. I've called her "Big Fat Annie" in these journals before, but she wasn't so fat now. The boyfriend called my phone twice, and I just handed it to her. She'd argue with him some and hang up. She gave the twenty back and apologized again. We went to felber's for a beer.

"I missed you," she said. "I haven't been getting along with my boyfriend at all."

"Well," I said, "at least you're getting laid. I haven't"

"No, I haven't," she said. "We've been fighting, we haven't hardly done anything but fight. Want to go back to your place?"

We did.

Next: Bars and Star

This discussion has been archived. No new comments can be posted.

Drought's End

Comments Filter:
  • While My Guitar Gently Weeps was written by George Harrison.
  • You lucky son of a bitch. Hope this is the start of an upswing for you, man.
    • by sm62704 ( 957197 )

      Thanks, me too. I'm not dumb enough to have a prostitute as a girl friend, though. The crack whores tell me the prostitution is more addictive than the crack! I want a girlfriend that can be faithful, but barring that getting laid once in a while is all right.

      • by Ykant ( 318168 )

        The crack whores tell me the prostitution is more addictive than the crack!

        So what is it that they find so addictive about whoring? The sex? The variety? The thrill of risk? I'm curious.

        I acknowledge that your sampling size is probably larger than mine, and you've definitely spoken with more of them "off-hours" than I have, but I can't see the typical Chicago crack whore saying anything like that.

        • So what is it that they find so addictive about whoring? The sex? The variety? The thrill of risk? I'm curious.

          The money.

        • by sm62704 ( 957197 )

          All of it, including the money. Having men willing to shell out good money for them is an ego trip. But the sex, variety, thrill, all play a part.

          The only downsides for them is the risk of disease (condoms break sometimes) and the social stigma. people don't realise the good these girls do. The whores have probably done more to keep Ralph alive than the two girls clean and cook for him.

In less than a century, computers will be making substantial progress on ... the overriding problem of war and peace. -- James Slagle