"Totally coup, yo."





Velma’s Nekkid City


On my way to the Rendezvous, this really weird bar in this weird neighborhood on the West Side with these people called pipsters or something, to see the band of this guy at my AA meetings, my car crapped out on Delaware Avenue, right near to Hertel. I went walking down Hertel to find a phone but the sidewalk and street were all torn up like a bomb had dropped and I couldn’t get anywhere in the spike heels I had on. I went into this bar called The Viridian to see if I could find a phone and have a drink.

First of all, I’d swear I had walked into Saturday Night Fever or whatever with all the mirrors and chintzy, fake chrome but I kind of liked the place. It was really small but you felt like there was more to the joint behind the mirrors. Then I noticed all these Guido “how you doin’ guys” like a bunch of prisoners or some shit just staring at me all rude like I was on TV or something and not even in the same room with them.

I looked at one of them, this way-Guinea, grease-goof with a gold chain that looked it was pulled off of Barbara Bush, and said, “Down boy, your lipstick’s showing.” At first the pansy put his head down, but all his buddies, who were ages like 20 up to two-hundred and twenty, started “ooh”-ing and “ah”-ing and he got all brave and said “Just lookin’.” And then, when I was almost over to the phone, he mumbled, “ya fuckin’ bitch.” I wasn’t in the mood for this shit, but I stopped and looked at him all cold and then called about ninety people before I thought to call my cousin Curtis. He’s been real nice to me the last few years. Nobody else in the family wants him around because they all say he’s gay or whatever. But I don’t give a shit. At least he’s not in jail. He jokes though that he wouldn’t mind it.

Anyway, he’d never heard of the bar and said he didn’t usually hang out around Hertel too much but he’d be down in a little while.

So, I had to wait there with those cologne-cloud, pretend-gangsters. I ordered a margarita and the girl didn’t know what was in one and I didn’t either so I just got a beer and played some Prince songs on the jukebox. It was really loud, which was cool, but then one of those Corleone rejects comes over and tries out his lines.

“What’s that you’re drinking?”

“Budweiser, Einstein.”

“Never seen you in here before.”

“Yeah, I’m a house wench; I don’t wander out to the barn much.”

Then he’s like “hey, what’s your problem? I’m just trying to have a conversation.”

So I’m all like, “Fine, have it over there with your circle jerk. And put that pinky ring back on your dick before it crawls back in its hole.”

So now, Guiseppe or whoever is getting steamed and he walks back over to his little sewing bee and starts railing on about me so’s I can hear him, “cocksucking bitch,” and other such poetry.

So like twenty minutes later Curtis shows up and as soon as he hits the place, the little grease pool at the other end of the bar, you’d swear a space ship had landed, they’re all going “Jesus fuckin’ Christ, a fucking faggot.”

For whatever reason Curtis wanted to get going right away but I wanted one more drink. So Curtis finally gave in and sat down and sure as shit here comes Fiat and Ferrari.

“Do you mind if we dance with your lady friend”, they says to Curtis.

And Curtis goes, “well, that’s not up to me.”

“Oh yeah,” says Tony.

Finally I says, “Get lost spaghetti dick.”

He says to me, “you can stay, but your cocksucker girlfriend here needs to leave.’

I turned to the cum dumpster behind the bar and said, “can you tell Sicily sissy here to leave us the fuck alone?”

She says, “They’re pretty serious about this.”

So me and Curtis stood up to leave and I drained the end of my beer, but Curtis, who had barely touched his, left it on the bar. We stepped toward the door and one of the Sopra-NOs pushed Curtis pretty hard in the back and he fell forward, past me. I turned around and put my finger up to the wussy and said, “watch it, you twat-for-a-dick.”

That’s when the gooffella slapped my hand away and grabbed my arm; trying to give me one those “get in line bitch” shakes. He pulled me up to his face and his breath smelled like goat shit and it reminded me of my dad when he would slap me around.

I grabbed him by his dandelion-puff-thin hair and forced him to the floor. Then I squatted over him and squeezed my knees against his ears in a scissor lock and reached back and grabbed Curtis’s beer off the bar, put my thumb over the hole, shook it up and turned it down into Vito’s gullet. I rammed the bottle in and out of his mouth like I was fucking an elephant. Foam and shit oozed all over his face and eyes and he was wriggling his head around trying to get free. I could hear teeth getting bashed by the bottle and beer was going down the wrong pipe. When I let him go he was gagging and choking, all bent over on his knees trying to breathe.

Me and Curtis left and nobody followed us.


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