Sunday, April 25, 2010


"So when did you become head over heels crazy over her?" Punk Mother asked Clay while she was in the shower. He was busy trimming his beard. The Ipod was playing Frank Zappa's interpretation of Ravelle's Bolero. "After all, you two were at best just friends for years, and you were just lucky she considers you the lesser of the two evils as far as you, Kent, and Jarvis go."

"That's..." Clay started to say "three!" but then paused to think for a second, and said, "yeah, that's two."

"It was 5 years ago, at the Valentine's Day Fetish Party!"

"Oh yeah!" Punk Mother enthused as she washed her hair, now colored jet black with purple highlights. "Janet & Richard threw that party for their anniversary."

Beginning to reminesce about the moment that he fell hard for Candace Yossarian, Clay continued. "I'd just come out of the john and there she was, seated at the edge of one of the booths wearing this black lace see-through baby-doll dress, fish nets, and her dad's old motorcycle boots. I stopped to look at her, she took a good look at me, and then she bent her neck to the right. I swear I could feel her neck popping clear across the room. So then she straightened up and smiled at me."

"Lucky for both of you she didn't fart!" Punk Mother cracked, and cackled loudly as she rinsed the shampoo out of her hair. Then she continued, "Do you remember the song that was playing at the time?"

"The song?!?" Clay asked, puzzled.

"Everyone remembers the song that played when they fall in love. For Milo and I it was 'Now I Wanna Be Your Dog."

"Well, fuck, I wasn't really thinking about the music. I was too busy getting some kind of spontaneous spinal adjustment."

"C'mon, boy, think! We must've been playing something memorable over the P.A. system that night, I'm sure!" Punk Mother seemed impatient for an answer, a sure sign that her glucose levels seem to be dropping.

"I know you were playing something. I thought I remembered everything. Why can't I think of the title? I know I wasn't that drunk!" He opened her medicine drawer and found a large white plastic pill bottle full of cherry flavored glucose tablets, removed the cap and fished out about 3 to give to his mum. "Here, down these and let me think," He said as he reached into the shower with the tablets in his hand. Her wet paw transported the tablets into her mouth, and she began to chew them down.

"Wasn't it from the 'Forbidden Performances' mix that Jan played on her radio show at the time?"

"I know she was playing from that series, but then she played a lot of mixes from her show that night," Punk Mother responded as she began scrubbing the rest of her chunky body.

"Forbidden Performances" was a weekly radio show hosted by Janet Yossarian that featured recordings of live performances, songs, albums, etc. that were forbidden from airplay due either to copyright restrictions, FCC regulations, outcry from fundamentalist religious organizations, political groups, and whatnot. One of the tracks included Frank Zappa's cover of Ravel's Bolero; it was one of the most compelling tracks in the entire 90 minute mix...which was why Clay found it highly distracting as he struggled to remember the name of the song for Punk Mother.

Speaking of which, Bolero continued to play through the Ipod.

Then it hit him like a ton of bricks: It was Zappa's cover of Bolero that played as Cannes cracked her neck that night.

"That song!!" Clay barked excitedly.


"The one playing right now, Ma! Zappa's cover of Bolero!!"

"No way!!"

"Yeah, way!!! Her mom always played that song on her radio show and she played it that night as well. It's been one of Jan's favorites fercrissakes!!!"

"You sure you're not just grasping straws just to placate me, kid?"

"Don't be so argumentative, Ma! Here..." Clay opened the bottle of glucose tablets again. "Just a few more."

"Don't sugar-coat me too quickly, kid! I'm gonna have to test my blood when I'm done in here!"

“So whot bringe ye t’this soid of th’pond, ye olde speccy twat ye?” Milo asked Teddyboy as the two of them positioned themselves in front of the urinals.

“Jes’ troying t’foind a woy oot o’these bastard suicoid notions. An old mate suggestid Oi get the soddy fock oot o’jolly olde England, moy soon!” Teddyboy replied in a baritone that could easily rival Peter Murphy’s.

“Ooer, not that shite ageen!” Milo rolled his eyes and continued. “Look ‘ere; Oi won’t ‘ave any o’yer insoolyne incroosted blood oll th’fook oveh me bran spankin noo slipcoovers, gettit?”

“If oi wanted t’snooffit, oi’d’ve doone sae ollreadee, wunnoy! Anywoy, as yeer livin th’gaed loif in soonny califoorniyer anoll, Oi reckon ‘steed o’that, Oi’d troy t’git th’band back t’getha, ‘ave a jam an then sae whot koinder trooble we could gerrintae.”

“Blimey, rahtheh presoomptuerse o’ye, innit, sayen Oi’m livin th’ gaed loif ‘round ‘ere! Asaet ‘appens, when Oi’m not rescuin’ th’ missuz froom ‘er loos, Oi’m eyetheh ‘arpin’ on th’ ‘elp at th’ café or patchin oop th’ motorboikes wid woon Mister Richard Yossarian.

Milo continued, “ ‘Ee ‘imsel esnae oop t’is yinyang in doiabetis ohn accaynt o’is tae loovely yoong dootahs as wull. An sae nae tha yer en toon, Oim nae surroondaed boy oll manneh oof oonclean theengs!” His voice echoed throughout the men’s room at the airport as he and Teddy stormed out together.

“Eet’s absolutely fookin’ disgoostin!!”

Milo’s eyes darted for the ladies room; he knew his “loovely woif” was in there taking a piss…and it was about time for her insulin shot anyway.

“Oi, Missus!!! Are ye doon shootin oop in thae??? “ Milo’s voice boomed as he called into the ladies room. “We’s moor den a bit peckish, aintwe!!!” The woman in the stall next to the one where PunkMother did her business shot a turd into the toilet in shock.

It was a long fucking drive to the airport, after all.

Teddyboy could only laugh. This was a bit too much like old times, wannit. He was beginning to feel a tad woosey. He absolutely refused to eat any of the food on the plane; it was such crap. Luckily he had stashed just enough Tiger Bars to keep him happy. But now he was mad craving real food.

As for Punk Mother, she figured the café could wait a little longer for the list of supplies they had been short on. She can’t be expected to run any kind of business effectively when she felt like utter crap.

Meanwhile, Clay found Cannes in the bedroom going through the motions of preening in front of her dresser mirror as the Dead Can Dance cd played Musica Eterna, track 10 on their self-titled album. She was wearing a pink satin teddy that was practically transparent. The lace edging on the lower hems stopped and rested about a couple of inches above the lower curves of her buttocks, her long raven black hair cascading low enough to call them to Clay’s attention. Although she doesn’t usually indulge in pink, this was Cannes’ way of saying, “Do me!”

“A man couldn’t receive a more friendlier greeting than that.” Clay thought to himself. He could see his reflection coming towards him as he closed in on her from behind. He wrapped his arms
around her torso and, kissing the back of her neck, he said to her, “I’m being kicked out of my house for a little while.”

Smiling seductively she replied, “Yes, you told me,” getting in one more run with her hairbrush before setting it down on her dresser. So while there was still some space between them she turned to face him and began returning his kisses.

Clay said, “They’re practically encouraging us to take sexual liberties with each other, you realize.” before he resumed kissing her.

“Well, everyone needs a hobby.” Cannes replied. With that the two lovebirds proceeded to ravish each other….

Back at the airport, Punk Mother made her way out of the ladies room and towards Teddy, and gave him the kind of hug that was customary and expected when one greets an old friend. No thanks to that old hypersensitive bladder of hers, she missed seeing Teddy come into the lobby to greet Milo.

“So it was crap food on the plane, wasn’t it.” Punk Mother ventured to guess. “Why am I not surprised?”

“Yer see this, missuz? ‘ee’s not been feedin enoof. ‘ee’s got that rook bootom blood sugar look abayt ‘im, donntee!” Milo pointed out. Those of you who have been long term caretakers to people with diabetes can easily recognize the look that Milo refers to here. You can look into the eyes of one who is going through even low level hypoglycemia and easily see an intensity in the flash coming from behind the eyes…the searing spark of sugar molecules being consumed by the steady rush of insulin at a speed rivaled only by the speed of light and sound. It burns through every fiber of the body, intensifying in the arms particularly as adrenaline is pumped into the blood. At any second Teddy could break into a trembling sweat very son if the three of them didn’t get to have lunch pretty quick.

“In that case I suppose any old cheeseburger joint will do at this point.” she volunteered.

“Naw, missuz. Oi wants a fat ole curry, me.” Teddy countered.

“Blimey, Oi’m surproised nowern’s soggesterd a fookin’ Oi-hop!” Milo exclaimed. And with that the three of them ambled towards the jeep with Teddy’s luggage in tow.

After a particularly long and luxurious boff, Cannes laid beside her lover with her head resting in the nook of Clay’s left shoulder. Accepting the joint being passed to her right hand fingers from his, she said, “It’s cool. They just want to stop being parents and just be punks for awhile. Poor ole steppa’s now caught between two old diabetics now, tho.”

“Poor ole steppa??” Clay exclaimed. “Poor old stepsoon!!! I’m the one caught between two old diabetics and two that are closer to my age. Let’s see him smoke that one!!”

Cannes chuckled at that, returning the spiff to him.

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