I'll get back to the Christmas buyer's guide tomorrow, but before that, I wanted to share this. I wrote this, along with a proposal, for an artist for a comic book that hasn't come to fruition just yet. It's something I want to do eventually, but I wrote this up as an introduction to the world of the comic book, to help establish the various vulgarities and outright absurdities of the world.
Unrelated note, I'm in the process of figuring out a totem for myself, so I can keep track of my reality.
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This is very unprofessional.
I mean, I have a job to do, and yet, where am I? I'm in the plane's bathroom, dick deep in some brunette wearing cat ears.
I wish she wouldn't meow.
I'm not even enjoying the sex. Granted, she's attractive. Long, brown hair and the kind of tits that bounce perfectly. I've done far worse. I once went to the circus and fucked the bearded lady. Sex addiction isn't all cock rings and threesomes, kids.
Her orgasm sounds like a cat dying, which is probably intentional. She raises her furry arms in the air and screeches, then whips me in the face with her tail as she jumps off. Quickly, I try and find my pants, before she calls my penis a nice bit of catnip. Again.
Kerplunk!
That is the sound of pistol falling into the shitter.
“Is that a gun?”, Cat-Girl asks me, as she slips on furry feet.
“Yup, but don't worry, I'm an Air Marshall.”, I tell her, sitting on the toilet as I light up one of my cigarettes. It's a total lie, but easier to explain than what I really am. I exhale a dark black cloud of smoke, as the Cat-Girl looks at me funny.
“You can't smoke in a plane!”
“I don't think those rules apply on this plane, kiddo.”
Cat-Girl shrugs her shoulders, and exits the bathroom. I can hear the music as she opens the door, get a glimpse of the strobe lights. Before the door closes, a see someone dressed like Snoopy sucking off a blue teddy bear.
“Fucking Christ.”, I say to no one in particular. Except maybe Duffy, but that's a bit too much to explain right now, so I won't.
I take another drag from my cigarette, and I can feel a decent buzz coming. I try and stray away from your regular over-the-counter smokes, I get mine special order from a dealer I know. It's a mixture of weed, PCP, and salvia. He tosses in a pinch of cilantro, for extra flavor. I few more deep drags, and I snuff out the ciggarette, and rise from the john, and stare at myself in the mirror. I look like shit for 28, but I guess that makes perfect sense. I glance at Duffy, who gives me that disapproving look of his. He thinks I need the gun.
“Fuck it, Duff, I'll figure something out. I'm a pro, yeah?”
Two quick eyedrops of LSD later, and I walk back into the hedonistic Pleasure Plane. All around me, people dressed as animals are fucking. You've got Dog-on-Cat, Bear-on-Bear, even the elusive mouse threesome. Walt Disney would have a field day. A naked cat girl, different than the one I just fucked, walks by with a tray of champagne glasses. I snatch two, and down them quickly. It's 42 steps from the bathroom to the entrance of the V.I.P section. I need to figure out, in those 42 steps, how to kill the host of this party. I had planned on shooting him in the head, my usual plan. But since my gun is swimming in shit and I am fairly sensitive to smells, I'll have to figure something out.
“Someone catch that pussy!”
A cat runs by, a real one I mean, and a naked man chases after it. The sad thing is, on my scale, this is less strange than usual. A plane full of people who like to dress up like furry animals and fuck is just a regular Tuesday for me. Is it Tuesday? Fuck, I've got to call Paul and tell him I won't make it to A.A. I look down and notice a red scarf, and quickly pick it up. It's wet. I don't want to know what it's wet with, but I can uses this. I wrap the scarf around the leftover champagne glass, and break it. I pick through, and find the biggest shard of glass, about two inches long. If you can't shoot a man in the skull, slit his throat. That's usually Plan B.
I pause for a minute, to eye up the guards. They are professionals, no doubt. The small black guy has been to a party like this before, not paying any mind to the debauchery going on, instead scanning with his eyes for any shit. Both carry H&K MP5s, not even trying to hide them. The one on the left is a big black guy, less experienced then the small black guy on the right. His eyes dart back and forth, from one perverted scene of frantic animal sex to the next. His fingers tap dance on the MP5. It's only a matter of time before he takes a piss-break to relieve himself on this anxiety. When he does, I'll make my move. Until then, well, I've never turned down an open bar in my life So I walk pass the guards and the V.I.P door, and take a seat at the bar. I have to chuckle to myself. Ten years ago you couldn't even imagine a full bar in a plane, and yet now I'm sitting in an in-flight pub, ordering aged whiskey that an alcoholic would skin himself for. And it's all free. Perks of the job, my friend.
The bar is barren, save for one other lonely soul besides yours truly. I guess when you have the option of sex or booze, you choose sex. I take a seat next to the old man, who is wearing on of those wool coats you expect a teacher to wear. Doesn't fit the pleasure flight scene.
“A young man with good taste, I see.”
He looks to be about 55, maybe 60. His hair is a stark white but his eyes have kept that twinkle of young years. He is sipping on a fine cognac worth more than my car.
“My grandfather used to drink this whiskey, guess I picked it up from him. My name's Mickey.”, I tell him with a friendly smile. It's a total lie. My grandfather was a bastard who was shot down in a failed armed robbery before I was even born.
“Pleasure, I'm Carl,”he raises his glass to me, “So what brings you on this hedonistic plane ride? You don't seem to be partaking in the activities.”
“Ah, well, I fucked a cat in the bathroom, if it's any consolation”, I answer as I bring out my smokes again, “You mind?”
“By all means, no. This is supposed to be a flight of vice, you should be allowed to smoke.”
“That's good to hear. You know, back home? I can't light a cig in a bar, but you're allowed to have concealed weapons. How screwed up is that?”
“Conceal weapons much?”
“Usually, but not right now. Dropped it in the toilet. A nice little Sig P250. But, c'est la vie, guess I need to get a new one.”
There is a moment of silence, something I'm used to. I exhale a cloud of smoke, and smile to myself. It feels good to be honest and open about what I'm thinking. Paul would be proud.
“So, what is it you do, exactly, Mickey?”
“That, Carl, is a tricky question to answer. I guess if you really want to break it down in the simplest terms, well, I kill people for money.”
Carl's eyes go wide, and his eyebrows arch upwards. He let's out a barely audible “Oh”. I finished the whiskey and order 4 fingers more.
“I mean, It's not always killing, that's just what it usually comes to. More problems in the world are solved via bullet to the head than you'd think.”
Carl takes a deep gulp of the cognac, and turns to me.
“So am I to take it you're on the job right now?”
“I am, Carl, I am. Burning the midnight oil, as it were.” My phone begins to ring, Paul is calling to ask why I'm not at A.A. I don't answer, but send him a quick text telling him I'm stuck at work. No need for him to hear al the sex going on in the background.
“You're very open about this. I guess that means I'm in no danger then. So, who could it be? Our host, perhaps?”
“Would make sense, wouldn't it? I mean, he is a dirty Russian bastard. Pretty much holding the world ransom with his oil prices. “
“Not to mention that little bout of genocide.”, Carl interjects.
“Very true.”
Guard number 2 finally walks away, taking his break. I guess the three little pigs threesome happening in front of him was too much. While the bartender isn't look, I snag a bottle of cheap rum.
“Excuse me, Carl.”
As I stand, I splash some rum on me and begin to stumble towards the guard. I grab a random teddy bear and pull it close to me. The guard gives me a dirty look.
“I'm, I'm a Veep. You know what that means, guard-o? Means you've got to let me through so I can go and gives this bear some honey!”
The guard doesn't say a word, just shakes his head no. He is a pro, all right. I try the drunk fucker routine one more time.
“Listen, come on, let me in. I'm supposed to be in there with Demetri!”, I slur at the guard while the teddy bear's furry hand goes down my pants. I really hope it is a girl. The guard won't budge, so I start screaming.
“DEMETRI! DEMETRI, LEMME IN!”
The guard finally loses his cool, grabs me with both hands. I break his grip, wrap my arms around his throat, and he passes out. This was the best possible outcome. No shots fired, no throats slit. I don't have too much time though, as the teddy bear has already ran off to find help. I slip inside the V.I.P room, dragging the passed out guard with me. Before the door closes, I notice a smiling Carl looking my way.
The V.I.P section is essentially one huge room. I feel like I've walked into a penthouse. I pass by two women doing blow on a coffee table, they look up at me with those dead eyes. It sends a shudder down my back. I walk away from them as fast as possible. I can feel their eyes on me as I walk away, but they don't say a word as I head towards the bed.
“Yes! Yes! Yes! Fuck you bitch!”
Whack!
Demetri Tarasov, oil baron and Russian political force, is thrusting his 300 pounds into a lifeless waif of a girl. He punches her again, leaving her face a broken mess. He doesn't notice me behind him. It doesn't matter, I've seen enough. I grab his curly brown hair, pull back, and slice his throat. The only sound he makes is a weak gargle. His body flops to the ground, and I look at the girl. Her face has been mashed in and you can still see the b;lack marks on her neck were he strangled her. The dead girl stares at me, without saying a sound. For a second, it looks like she is trying to give me a smile, but it doesn't last. The dead girl just looks at me, blinking and making a wet noise as she tries to breath with blood in her lungs.
Slowly, I walk back to the pleasure party. I pass by the girls doing blow. They don't seem fazed by what just happened. Why would they?
As odd as it sounds, it felt good to be back surrounded by furry sex. It feels far more normal than what I just went through. I head back to the bar, and sit back down next to Carl. I order another 4 fingers.
“Look's like you made it back in time.”, Carl tells me, as he points to the returning guard. He is missing his MP5 and there is a huge cum stain on his pants. I don't even want to know.
“Lucky me, eh?”, I reply as I down the 4 fingers, and order 4 more.
“Job well done?”
“Well, Tarasov is dead. Doesn't mean a job well done though.”
Carl pauses, and gulps deeply. His face turns pale white.
“Don't try to run, Doctor. You know it wouldn't work. And anyway, where the fuck would you go on a plane?”
“So it wasn't just Tarasov then.”, he says meekly.
“No Doctor, not just him.”, I say blankly. Duffy gives me a quizzical look. The little bear knows what I'm thinking.
“So how will this be done? You have no weapons.”
“Doctor, you know as well as I do that I don't need weapons.”
“Fair point. So what, then, is the plan?”
“Well, I'm to offer you a job, at OpQuo. You'd work for them. If you decline, I kill you. Obviously, you'll take the job.”
“I will, I accept the job offer.”
I laugh, and shake my head. I light up another cig. It helps tame the urge.
“I saw the girls, Doctor. I saw them. Come on, let's go.”
I grab the good Doctor by the shoulder, forcefully, and drag him towards the back of the plane. We walk past threesomes and sodomy, without blinking or talking. Past all that is the kitchen, where a famed Michelin chef cooking up some caviar. Though, not the kind you're thinking about. Google it. We finally reach a compartment, where I have two parachutes waiting for us. Carl looks at me, scared. I toss him one of the packs.
“I guess you've made your decision, then.”, he says relieved. He begins to strap on the parachute.
“I'm a pro, Doctor. I do what I do to get paid. Even if I'd rather not. “, I reply while I strap on my own pack.
“That's good to hear, Mickey. I'm sure your bosses would be quite displeased if I had died.”, The Doctor says with a smirk.
“Oh, they would. It's just too bad you struggled with me.”
“Struggled?”
I snatch Carl by the arm, and with a twisting motion, break it. He screams in pain as I open the door, and kick him out of the plane. I watch him fall until he disappears beneath a cloud. Half of me hopes he remembers to pull the chute. The other half, well, fuck him. My head throbs, so I bring out my LSD eye drops. Duffy gives me that strange teddy bear grin of his, and jumps out of the plane. Before I jump out myself, I hear the shrill sounds of a cat being fucked.
My name is Mickey Salo. This is my life.
from Amazon.com