Wednesday, May 12, 2010

The Yossarian Diaries

“Dammit, I’m missing her.” Cannes said in a matter of fact tone as she and Pearl passed a dubie between them.

Then Pearl began to tell this story. “The night we went to that concert – to see Grinderman – we went to my house. She and I were watching this TV documentary about Bats after we made love. There was this snake slithering along among this huge swarm that was flitting all around it. The snake would just coil up, waiting to strike. Then it would lash out at a bat, and more often than not it would miss. But eventually there’d be a big ole bat in its mouth. And it would coil up even more and then start munching away on this bat

“As we were watching this all play out, she told me that my aunt Punk Mother told her about how she used to see herself as an old lady, hangin’ with yo mama, passing the joint around and swapping in-law jokes. But instead her life now, she’s just working her ass off jus’ trying to keep her head above water. And it’s like she want’s to care about her diabetes better, but it’s too much work.”

“In law jokes?” Cannes repeated quizzically.

“Yeah, well…” Pearl accepted the spliff being passed to her as she continued. “Aunty Punk Mother used to think that once Stella came to her senses and dumped Jarvis, she and Clay would get together and maybe one day get married and she’d have some grand-hooligans one day.”

“You fucked her, tho.” Cannes pointed out.

Pearl smiled at that, “Mmmm, that I did. Real tasty it was, too!”

“Oh God…” Cannes grinned and shook her head. “Well, she wasn’t as interested in Clay as I was, anyway.” Then an afterthought came and she added, “You should tell Jarvis and Kent about that…just to piss them off.”

“Damn right I’m gonna tell those douche-bitches. I’m gonna rub that shit right in both their faces!!” Pearl laughed. “What they gonna do about it anyway? It’s not like they can kill her!”

Cannes expression darkened; the memory of her failed attempt to rescue Stella flooded her mind all over again. Pearl saw the sadness and said, “Sorry.”

Cannes sighed and began to speak. “Well, here’s the thing; I’m not so sure she’d’ve survived the low being stranded out there in the woods with nothing to eat even if that awful creep woulda just passed her by. From what she told me when she called me for help, she was in pretty bad shape to begin with.” Pearl nodded at this and accepted the reefer yet again.

“You’re probably the only person who could make love to her without making a point of hurting her in order to get what you want.” She added.

“I was probably the best fuck she ever had.”

“Nice touch.” Cannes observed. “Throw that one in there when you tell Kunt and Jarvis about it.”

“None of those other guys gave two shits about her…None of them!!”

There was considerable ambivalence among the rest of the Yossarian family in dealing with the inheritance left behind by Stella. As it was, Janet was fuming that the conductors had kicked her daughter off the train when she was in such a precarious state to begin with. As I write this, Janet was consulting with an attorney to see what legal recourse she may have.

Richard was just plain afraid that he’d start blubbering if he goes anywhere near her bedroom. Therefore, he’s been steering clear, deciding he was comfortable being numb for awhile.

So Cannes figured she might just as well deal with all of her lot. She just wants to bury herself in some sort of work. And at least she can get everything organized before the official Stella Yossarian Memorial Drawing of Lots gets under way.

With Clay’s cousin Pearl by her side, the two of them unearthed a treasure trove. There were catsuits, corsets, platform boots, velvet mini-dresses, paisley shirts, leopard-print, strappy shoes, Doc Martins, white athletic shoes, feather boas, sunglasses, work, boots, purses, all sorts of accessories, wigs, costumes, paddles, handcuffs, riding crops, duct tape, and a cat o nine tails.

On the floor of the closet sat a pile of journals and diaries scribed over the years. Cannes was not quite ready to read whatever smack that may have been written about her and Clay, the parents, Jarvis, Punk Mother, Milo, Pearl, everyone.

“We should definetly have a memorial garage sale in her honor!” Pearl suggested as she perused the collection of c.d.’s that had been accumulated over the years. She grinned slyly as her eyes caught an autographed copy of Frankie Booth’s debut album The Big Flirt. He signed, “To Stella Yossarian…I hope it was as good for you as it was for me…Love, Frankie.” (She had a lot of Frankie’s albums in her collection). How a star as big as Frankie Booth even found the time to sign such a lengthy autograph as what he gave Stella is anyone’s guess, but even so Pearl felt like a pirate amidst all this loot.

“A memorial garage sale…” Cannes let those words roll around in her head as if to let her brain cells taste them. “I like it!”

Then she added. “I just hope she wouldn’t care if we don’t donate the proceeds to any charity, tho. This emergency leave is gonna leave me hella strapped at any rate.”

“It wouldn’t make any difference now.” Pearl sighed. “Poor kid; I can only imagine how sick she must’ve felt.”

Cannes drew a heavy sigh. She felt nothing could ever rattle her anymore after what she’d seen. And with that she reached for the journals that stood stacked in the closet. Dealing with her diaries would prove to be a daunting task. She wrote reams of this shit every day, it appears. As strong as Cannes was, the journals had a heavy feel to them. One of them fell off the top of the pile she was carrying. She nonchalantly set the pile of journals in the box on Stella’s bed. Then she reached for the fallen journal.

A page caught her eye:

“Friday night, Aug 15, 8:00 p.m.: Dylan made a wicked chicken curry earlier this evening. A whole big pot of it in fact. Every morsel was very spicy and tasted exquisite, right down to the homemade whole grain daal bread we had instead of the rice. After we’d eaten our fill, he had me wait in his bedroom. His bed was covered in plastic. I undressed and took a nice long piss. Then after I was done I sat on the bed. I can easily guess what Dylan might have in mind with all that extra curry. If there’s one thing Dylan doesn’t particularly like, it’s leftovers sitting in the fridge for very long…

“This is our favorite game. The remains of the evening meal poured all over one of our naked bodies…in this case mine. I was soon chained to the bed and he poured all this yellow sauce all over me. It was running all over my neck, my breasts, my belly, my shoulders, and between my legs. His tongue cleaning every speck off of me…* sigh * …it makes me gush just to think of it…”

Right about then Cannes noticed a presence looking over her shoulder. Pearl was practically salivating as Cannes turned her head to face her. Pearl blushed. She didn’t know what turned her on more: The description of all that chicken curry being poured over and licked off Stella’s naked body, or the fact that it was Stella’s naked body being ravished. Only days ago Pearl had a similar honor.

It made Pearl wonder: was Stella even remotely as gay as Pearl thought she was, or was she just plain horny? Not that there was anything wrong with just being horny, mind you…

Another stack of Stella’s diaries fell across the floor. As the girls went over to gather them up, Pearl opened one and her eyes fell on what looked like a movie script. There were names of fictional characters and lines of dialog assigned to each character. Then Cannes picked up one and found pages of poetry and lyrics.

It was no secret that Stella wanted to break into show business, and it seemed to Cannes that these reams which were written by her hand were meant to be put to use at a later date…preferably in a soundstage in Los Osos, or on location at least.

Pearl couldn’t get that chicken curry story out of her head. Maybe Stella just liked it when her cootter got wet. “Damn, don’t we all!” She thought.

“They’ll wanna look at all these, won’t they…the parental units.” Pearl pointed out.

“I know that!” Cannes replied. “They’re almost too obsessed with sex.”

Pearl retorted, “You know there’s no such thing as being too obsessed with sex.”

“All the same…all this could be her taking on a new life…free from a body made sick.” Cannes said. “There’s a lot of stories to tell here.” Cannes added. “Yeah, …no, we can’t let this go. Not just yet.”

And with that the journals went into the box. Cannes silently vowed to ghost write her story, to give her late sister this new life.

At some point, Cannes did manage to get Richard into Stella’s bedroom. Milo had accompanied them. Turning to face the two men, she asked, “Well, whaddya think? About a memorial garage sale?”

“Let’s see what we got first. I might wanna buy some of this shit offa ya…just to spice up our own marriage, y’understand.” Richard slyly winked at his daughter.

Milo didn’t know why he couldn’t take watching this exchange. But he seemed to have a real problem with it, coz he just burst into tears immediately.

“Milo…what???” Richard asked, confused.

“Aryeemayd???” was all Milo could blurt out.

Richard sighed, “No, if anything I’m just plain numb.” Clearly he wasn’t at all proud of that.
But…”If it’s all the same to you, I just wanna stay numb for the time being.” He added with a slight snarl. He had every right to go crazy, yet he’s doing his level best to keep his cool. That can never be easy; that was his first child an’ all.

“Milo…” Janet had stopped by on her way to the kitchen. “You want something to drink…a port cider perhaps?” She volunteered. “I know I could use one.”

A port cider was equal parts port wine and hard cider. A very potent concoction, that. She’d been on the phone with her lawyer all day, so of course she could use a port cider.

Err, whot th’ ‘ell…Milo nodded through his tears.

“Richard, man, whot aryee troyin’ tae proove ‘ere???”

“Look, Milo…” Richard began an attempt to explain this. “Hasn’t it ever occurred to you that she might be at peace at long last??? I’m not glad she’s gone, in fact I’m missing her really bad right now…”

“Yeah, so am I.” Cannes echoed.

“It pains me especially the way she died. It was a sick way to die and I wouldn’t wish it on my worst enemy. Not on Jarvis, not on Kent, not on Fergie, and not even King Harley, for that matter…

“But on the other hand,” Richard continued, “this disease is a pain in the ass to deal with and I wouldn’t blame her a bit for being sick and tired of having to deal with that, and all us well meaning busybodies on top of that.” Then in a mocking tone, “ ‘You shouldn’t eat that!,’ ‘Aah-aah-aahh!’ and ‘Don’t you dare, young lady!’ Jeezis fuck, how depressing having to hear that all the time…especially when she needs to treat one of her lows, for fuck’s sake!!! Poor little bitch, no wonder she was often so grumpy…”

By this time, Janet arrived with the port cider cocktails.

“Yeah, I wouldn’t blame her for wanting out of that wrecked, though still quite attractive shell of hers.” With that Richard sighed and took a glass from the tray Janet brought the drinks in on, and took a huge swig.

Cannes had been a bit ambivalent about perusing her sister’s diaries even though Stella was no longer around to object or anything.

There was a point where she didn’t give 2 fucks when she was younger, tho. In fact she relished in reading Stella’s intimate and highly personal thoughts, some of which were very sexually charged. Sometimes she would snatch the damned composition book and read all these thoughts aloud to the whole famned damily just to see the reaction of all in the room.

After one too many moments like that, Stella just one day said, “Fuck it!” and decided to write the filthiest, raunchiest, most depraved fantasies involving Jarvis and her favorite pop singer Frankie Booth, and herself.

“Stella!” Richard demanded after Cannes had read some S&M menage au trois where Stella was smearing wasabi over both of their nude bodies while they’re shackled to the bed…just to get off on making them squirm.

“Get over here, woman!”

Stella could not keep from guffawing, even if this could end with being led by her father to the toolshed…maybe.

“Now…is all this true?” Richard could barely contain his own amusement.

“Wha-pffft!” Stella laughed uncontrollably. She seemed a bit high in the glucose at the time…too good a mood, really.

“Just how long have you been into this sort of thing? Stella…” Richard cast a sideways smirk in her direction.

“Oh, Baba!! Those are just fantasies I harbor from time to time!” Stella replied, laughing. “I was just playing with Cannes…just to see if everyone believes all that bullshit I lay down in there!” She was pointing at the confiscated diary in Richard’s hand.

With that Richard guffawed, “T’chuh! You rascal!!” and handed the diary back to her.

“I have yet to have gone that far…at least so far not with Frankie!” With that she started to head back to her room in the attic, laughing heartily.

“Now, just to warn you, you’d better be aware of what you get yourself into, young lady.” Richard admonished. “That’s what we call ‘playing rough’ where most everyone comes from.”

So Cannes became ambivalent about reading Stella’s diaries aloud to the family without her sister’s consent after that. Sometimes, though, she’d still sneak a read every now and again for a bit of sexual stimuli. Eventually Stella stopped writing about her imaginary trysts upon the realization that Cannes was probably getting off on them.

Then as it had happened, she was living many of these fantasies with Dylan throughout her last couple of years alive. And now with Stella was gone, it was as if Cannes was afraid of what might’ve been written in there…about her…about the parental units…about Clay, Punk Mother, and just about everyone Stella was close to. She knew that, although Stella did her best to keep it in check, she had a lot of anger in her.

Can you blame her?

Let’s us digress a moment or so to talk about this extraordinarily talented pop singer named Frankie Booth. Now, Stella had been so freakin’ enthralled about him for quite awhile, I must say. So what’s the deal with this fuck anyway?

Frankie Booth was mixed race child – part african american, part swede, part Lakota Sioux, part Jewish . He grew up to be a very sexy beast with deep set blue eyes peering out from behind some very high cheekbones and very thick yet well-groomed eyebrows. His lips had a natural thickness that gave him the appearance of being a great kisser. I mean, is it any wonder all the girls, Stella included, wanted to make out with him?

His head was topped with a patch of nappy hair, which throughout his musical career was often dyed platinum blonde. Sometimes he’d experiment with other colors, at one point he had it dyed jet black with fuscia highlights added. A lot of how his hair looked depended on the mood he wanted to convey to his adoring public. In any case despite all the treatments his hair appeared to be very strong and healthy, and softer to the touch than it looked.

Frankie stood at about 6’2” without platfoom shoes, and while he wasn’t by any means emaciated, he was quite thin for his height.

If the sight of him didn’t turn the ladies on, his singing voice did. His tenor was as smooth as silk, and he had a vibratto that was outta control

A package like that could easily make the other potential suitors in Stella’s life extremely jealous to say the least. Take Kent for example. He was really jealous of that damned vibratto of his, and felt that it should be obliterated somehow. Seeing that Kent was highly irked by Frankie’s vibratto made Stella smile. While it was never Frankie’s intention to piss anyone off – I mean, Frankie hardly knows the little twerp, after all – anything that would torture the living shit out of Kent Neidermeyer was all right by Stella.

Jarvis only tolerated Frankie’s music because it got Stella aroused. He’d play one of Frankie’s albums and lip-sync to the lyrics using her vibrator as a microphone (He got the idea from Clay sometime earlier – I will explain later). This served as a kind of fantasy to be acted out for Stella – that and it made her laugh – especially when Frankie crooned some torchy-assed ballad like I Wish I Was Fire or I Dream of Orgies.

For Stella’s birthday one year, Frankie was performing in Los Osos, and the whole Yossarian family decided to take her to see the show. While the rest of the family wasn’t quite as enthralled with Frankie as Stella was, even Richard and Janet had to admit that he had a very compelling energy about him.

The Los Osos Theater was packed almost beyond capacity, yet somehow the entire Yossarian family got to the very front of the pit, in front of the stage where Frankie’s microphone was placed. Stella was ecstatic, and her parents were only too happy to see that she was happy. That was a rare occasion, it doesn’t happen very often after all.

Frankie, being typical of most musical personalities, was often later to his performances than was scheduled. It takes time to get ready for the show. In fact, for this particular performance he must have been at least 45 minutes behind schedule. Luckily for Stella, she and Cannes had managed to smuggle a couple of incontinence pants from Fergie Mum-mum’s place, which they wore under their skirts. There was no way in Hell that Stella would forfeit her spot in front of Frankie’s microphone…no matter how badly she might need to piss.

So Frankie finally came on, and he was wearing a gondolier’s outfit under his black leather jacket. He had on a striped black & white short-sleeved shirt, a big red sash, and beige colored flare legged trousers that were so tight that his bulge could clearly be seen. Frankie had a campy vibe about him, and rumor had it that he often got very, very aroused when he performed live…so aroused in fact that he often groped and fondled the front of his trousers while he performed. As a side, I have to say that the man had enormous testicles. The whole family couldn’t believe their eyes; they were – to say the least – quite impressed. Richard could only comment, “Now that’s a Rock Star!!! Am I right, or am I right?”

As Frankie strutted to and fro on the main stage, singing to the screaming crowd, he would often pause and gyrate madly to the rhythm of his more rockin’ songs – particularly The Dirty Boogie. When he turned his back to the crowd, his ass could be clearly seen. He had a nice butt, not a very big one despite his racial heritage, but he obviously knew what to do with it.

He eventually started singing Party Me Down, and as he did he made his way right to Stella. She had been stretching her hand out to him hoping he’d reach out to join hands with her. When his hand clasped hers, Stella was so overcome with ecstacy that she lost control of her bladder – which she had been ignoring for his sake – and soaked her incontinence pants to the point of saturation. This she took to be her first orgasm.

Evidently the touch of Stella’s hand proved to be too much for the man, because he dropped to his knees and brought her hand up to kiss it. As he did, he fell forward until he was lying with the front of his torso on the stage floor. After he finished his kiss, he continued singing, still lying on the stage. Then his hips began to move, as if he was having sex with the stage. His pelvis was grinding against the floor, gyrating in a frenzy like he was gonna cum any second. He cried out, security came and grabbed him by both arms to raise him to his feet. He could barely stand without clamping his thighs together and groping himself, yet somehow he managed to finish the song without missing a note.

And the crowd went nuts, screaming for more. At the end of the song, he shouted in parting just before he exited stage left, “Thank you Los Osos!! G’night!!”

Accounts of this racy performance made all the entertainment news media, which generated a lot of controversy regarding whether the under-18 set should even be allowed to witness this kind of spectacle. But the Yossarian sisters couldn’t care less about the controversy, being controversial themselves to begin with. Cannes and Stella were too busy debating over whether Stella had an orgasm or merely pissed in her pants right in front of Frankie.

In Stella’s defense, Frankie often makes her feel all squishy!

Incidently, Richard thought that Frankie Booth’s interpretation of The Dirty Boogie was the best he’d ever head…almost superior to the original version. However, it was I Dream of Orgies that has caused the biggest stir in Pop Culture. As a result, he’d won Stella’s heart fair and square.

Now, all this fixation on Frankie Booth served to bring out the most irritating qualities of some of the boys who hung out with the Yossarian girls. In fact there was one occasion where Jarvis, Kent, and Clay were all hanging out at Clay’s place. They were all listening to the radio and smoking some of Milo’s stash. At one point the dj announced that after a commercial break he would play the latest hit single called Let Me Come Inside You. Throughout the ad block the boys began to mock the girls’ reaction to Frankie. They’d mimic the girls’ voices, wailing, “Oh Frankie!! You’re so adorable!!! I’m your biggest fan!!! Oooohooohoohooo!!! Marry me, Frankie, Marry Me!!!”

Then just to be silly, Jarvis wondered aloud, “Man, what if the guys behaved like that around some beeg chot teeny bopper like heem?” He then switched to the deepest baritone speaking voice he could possibly conjure up, saying, “Oh Frankie!! Your music is sooo romantic!!!”

Now, Clay had another idea, and this is where Jarvis got the idea. I don’t know how Clay knew where Punk Mother’s vibrator was stashed – it must’ve been when he was ransacking the master bedroom looking for reefer or money or something. In any case he got it out of one of her private drawers and brought it back to the boys in the living room just in time for the dj to play Frankie’s new single.

So the song began and Frankie’s voice could be heard crooning the lyrics to this new number. As he sang, Clay brought the vibrator, which was turned on, up to the front of his face…holding it as if it were a microphone. Then he began to lip sync to the lyrics as the song played.

Now, his single Let Me Come Inside You was a torch song. Frankie interpreted and delivered the song as such. The fact that this song had such a dramatic feel to it added as much to the humour inherent in Clay’s mockery as the fact that he was lip syncing into his mother’s vibrator.

The other boys were really cracking up at the sight of this crazy spectacle. Then Jarvis snatched the vibrator from Clay and began to lip sync as well.

Now, Kent never had any experience with vibrators before – this was a woman’s sex toy, after all – so when he grabbed the “mike” to take his turn lip-syncing, the vibrator buzzed in his hand. That made him freak out and drop it on the floor. This brought out more hysterical laughter from Jarvis and Clay.

Clay then bent down to pick up the vibrator, and then just to be even sillier, grabbed Kent by the arm and held the vibrator to his head as if it were a gun. “Hold it right there!!” Clay joked. “One false move, and this bitch gets it!!”

Jarvis could only laugh even harder.

“I’ve got a vibrator, and I know how to use it!!”

“Man,” Jarvis chortled. “That’s chess seely!! Why you threaten Kunt Nerdermeyer wit de vibrator? Not dat he doan deserve it, mind chu.”

“I hate guns!!” Clay retorted, shrugging.

And Frankie’s voice continued to fill the living room, oblivious to the anarchy and mirth being played out in Clay’s living room. Jarvis snatched the vibrator from Clay again and began to lip sync only this time he threw in some pretty convincing Elvis Presley moves…ending up with one knee on the floor and the foot of his other bent leg flat down as if he was bringing it on home. As the song concluded, Jarvis then brought the vibrator down to the level of his groin as if to imply that Frankie was singing through his crotch.

Clay was really cracking up hard, but Kent was a bit miffed that he ended up looking like a blithering idiot dropping the vibrator and then being held up with it, and that he didn’t get to imitate Frankie. True to form he whined about that.

“We could see by the way you reacted that you’ve never had any experience with one of those things.” Clay pointed out.

“Well, what are they for?” Kent demanded.

Jarvis was clearly dying to see the way Kent would react when he learned the truth. So he told him. “Eet’s a ladies sex toy. When a woman geets reel horny and che’s got no man around, she teks de vibrator and masturbates with it.”

Jarvis was laughing so hard that Kent immediately assumed he was pulling his leg. “No way!! Are you joking, man??”

“It’s true; women fuck themselves with these!!” Clay added. “They jam it right inside their pussies and move it in and out of them repeatedly until they cum all over it. I mean, why do you think this thing is shaped the way it is???”

Well, Kent was really grossed out by this news. “Eyeww!! That’s sick!! You actually held that thing to my head!!!”

His reaction was really hilarious, judging by the way the other boys were cracking up. Kent carried on the way he always does; “My God!!! We all touched it!! That’s so sick!!! I’m gonna throw up, I swear!!!” So Kent went into the bathroom to hurl.

Jarvis was still laughing. “Ee’s such a retardo. How can he not tell dat yu mama keeps dat ding clean? Eet reeks of Bleach, man!”

Anyway, back to Stella’s diaries…

Pearl was about ready to burst.

She had been listening to Cannes read aloud a page from one of the journals. It was no secret also that Stella had been obsessed with Warhol movies and wanted to recreate the whole Factory vibe in some way. But what had come to pass was this exerpt:

“Jan 21: I would love to do a biopic of Little Joe D’allesandro.

“I could cast Simon Webster in the role of Andy Warhol, and Kyle could play Joe, like he did in Ebenezer’s Xmas Package. Cannes could also hook me up with some additional hot talent, I’m sure. After all, now that she works in The Glamourous Beauty Salon, she’ll be making contacts with all the local performers who go there. And I hope to incorporate Frankie Booth in this somehow.

“I so need to work with Frankie somehow…somehow. I’ve got all these ideas and he inspires them all. Coz I know I’ll probably never get to marry him or anything…there’s way too much competition for his gentle hand. But he fuels my creativity and I must feed off that energy if my true work is to continue…

“I would love to videotape him seated at a table with a champagne glass in front of him, singing the highest note that he can possibly reach given his vocal range. So that when the pitch is right, the glass will shatter into about a bazillion pieces. The explosive imagery of all those particles blasting into space right in front of him would be absolutely breath taking to say the least.”

As Cannes read this entry, Pearl could easily see what was being described. Stella’s vision for Frankie Booth flooded her head, and Pearl felt her chin muscles tighten as a sob welled up to overtake her. This death was wrong on so many levels, she thought.

“My God, Cannes!!!” Pearl wailed. “Do you see the treaure that is now lost to the world??? This was my lover!!!”

Cannes felt a moment of attention deficit disorder come upon her or something because her response at first was, “Y’know, I’ve always liked Frankie’s song I Dream of Orgies the best. It’s great to masterbate to.”

All Pearl could do was cry.

“David Lynch…” Cannes continued, sensing a kind of coping or defense mechanism or at the very least an escape route to keep from being overwhelmed by despair. “She seemed to fancy herself as being some sort of David Lynch.”

But then a wave of emotion overcame Cannes, and she too burst into tears, thinking about that horrible moment when she arrived too late to save her sister. “I tried to save her, Pearl!! I really did!! But it was too late!! She died right in front of me!!!” She wailed. “I’m so sorry, Pearl!!!”

The two girls embraced, sobbing in each other’s arms.

Stella sometimes wrote about how her diabetes impacted her dream life as well as her daily life. There were moments when it was difficult to tell the two apart.

Take this entry from Oct. 27th, 1987:

“I had a kind of – I’m not sure whether to call it a dream or a nightmare. It started out feeling like a nightmare. In any case I was stuck shopping with Mum-Mum and Morty. They’re arguing, she’s all yelling in her little microphone that makes her sound like a robot. I’m feeling a wave of excess insulin coming on, and I’m trying to get the two of them to stop bickering so that we can all just get some lunch or something. But they don’t seem to hear me. For that matter, I can’t seem to hear me. I don’t seem to have a voice because I cannot seem to hear myself.

“I happen to turn my head, and looking across the street I see this gaggle of black leather clad punk rockers. They’re all bedecked in black leather jackets with spikes, Doc Martens, chains, the whole schmeer. Then I see Mama and Baba and Cannes and Clay all hanging out with them. This British looking rebel looks my way, and we make eye contact. I try to scream for help, thinking they might rescue me since they’re with my folks. It comes out as a cartoon balloon with the word “HELP!” spelled out in all capitals. I have to admit that I found that bit pretty amusing, even though it’s not helping my situation at all. The punks seem to want to help, but we seem to be pulled by some life force away from each other.”

There are other descriptions of what Stella goes through each day:

“Just got back from visiting Grampa Jake’s tomb. It had been many years since the funeral and yet I couldn’t help but get a bit choked up this time. It could be a hypo, though. Between these mood swings, the delirium, and the sweating I could either be having pre-menopausal symptoms – which I tend to doubt at my age – or yet another steady descent of hypoglycemia was coming on at that time.

“God, these slow steady declines into hypoglycemia just make my brains ache. And that’s just before the hypo demons go running riot in my head. They’re always bring up bad thoughts, terrible memories, hurtful wishes. They only serve to either bum me out or piss me off. Even so when that happens I just cannot deal with anyone, I just cannot stand to be with anyone. And I feel bad about that, coz all they can do is only stand around looking confused and alarmed, like…”What?!?”

This was what she wrote about Jarvis approximately 2 weeks before she broke up with him for good;

“Damn, I wish Jarvis could just enjoy life without getting drunk. He turns into such a pain in the arse when he gets inebriated. High or low blood sugar levels on my part aside I just cannot deal with his ego when he’s like that at all. It’s so heart breaking because I love to get wasted, too. But I can’t when he does because it just gets too damned ugly. He gets physically and verbally abusive and I feel like I don’t know the guy at all…”

Cannes noticed a couple of wet stains on the page; a few drops of water had warped the page in a couple of spots. From the looks of it, Stella might’ve been crying when she wrote this down. Fighting her own tears, Cannes continued to read.

“God I wish he could see how much sexier he is when he’s clear-headed enough to see which way to piss. He can be very kind and caring and loving to me, especially when we make love. Just the way he touches me, it’s like he knows exactly where all my turn-on buttons are hidden. Just the thought of his touch on my body is enough to make my groin tingle in exquisite agony, and I just want him to cum inside me while he fondles me. I’ve told him this before, but he doesn’t seem to get it at all.

“While I’m on the subject of thought…

“He tends to put more thought into making our nights of desperate passion into an art form of some sort. He must have taken a page from William S. Burroughs’ Naked Lunch at some point in his life…coz he read about a character in the book who either laughed and came at the same time or wanted to laugh and cum at the same time. Either way he wanted to create that experience for us both. I won’t lie to you, I’m in love with the idea myself. The very thought…Oh God…I’m feeling terribly aroused already…

“He never actually announced that he would make a point of trying to make me laugh while we fuck. We agree, after all, that if you try too hard to prove you’re funny – like that boorish ass Kunt Nerdermeyer is always doing – it never fails to fall flat…real fast. What a turn-off! But at one point while Jarvis was penetrating me and caressing my nipples, making me all gushy below my waist, he asked me, ‘Chiquita, mija…how you like me one time to have wichoo some hilarious sex?’

“At that point I’m just getting soo into the way he’s moving in and out of me, and I just said, ‘Oh God, Jarvis…I wouldn’t have it any other way!’ And quite honestly I didn’t really know if there was any other kind of sex.

“Anyway, he’s taking his time, waiting for some spate of spontaneous wit to come to mind while he fucks me, and I just cannot keep from gyrating furiously all over his cock coz it just feels sooo good when he screws me…

“Finally, I’m so close, just soo close to exploding all over him when I hear him do these really funny, really raunch imitations of Fat Bastard – you know, from the Austin Powers movies. So he goes, ’Aaahrr, jiminy crickets!! Me arse is getting all tingly loik!!! This is better than takin’ a crrrap; Oi’m tellin ye!!’

“So I started busting up laughing, and he’s really getting into it with the Fat Bastard voice crowing, ‘I’m dead sexy!!! Luk at my sexy body!!!’ Then he cracks up hearing me laugh, and he’s still moving around inside me, practically swimming in my snatch. I’m not even finished laughing with him at his Fat Bastard imitations when I finally just burst all over his schlong. I just felt myself twisting inside, gushing and pulsing uncontrollably…

“He continued to thrust inside me and roll off one Fat Bastard one-liner after another…until finally I had to beg him “Please just let me finish!” while I was still giggling. I was so turned on that he wanted to make me laugh while he fucks me, but I couldn’t hold back my 2nd orgasm any longer. So he just went on fucking me, alternately chuckling and moaning until soon we were both crying out like Aah, ah, ah, ah, aahhh. My orgasm was making him cum. God that felt so lovely….

“I swear I could fuck like that all night every night, just totally get lost in this hilarious lovemaking of his…”

Cannes felt herself getting aroused as she read, and thought to herself, “My God, no wonder she stuck with this asshole as long as she had.”

Meanwhile, Richard and Milo were still going through the rest of Stella’s things, trying to get everything organized for the Stella Yossarian Memorial Rummage Sale. Milo had found a tickler and Richard found a riding crop. Just for a laugh, the two of them staged a sword fight and began to swashbuckle each other with the props they found.

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