A WOMAN’S REVENGE ON A PEEPING TOM DOES NOT WAIT-A-BIT!……………….PIN THE TAIL ON THE DONKEY IN THE DARK, MONSTROUS SCENE IN ARTIE’S BAR
OVER 18 ONLY, PLEASE!
I’m out of hooch and I haven’t had food for a
couple of days… I have to go see Artie – so I head over
early, at 10:00AM an unearthly hour
in our little town.
I open the twisted oval door to the bar,
and when I step inside and close it – darkness!
And not a peep except a curious snuffling sound that
sounds like a blunt-nose puppy ( a boxer or a lab) is
looking for a place to sleep…a bit of a wheeze..
and, what’s that? A hic-cup? And a snort…
And a terrified, mewling sound… so it’s not
a wolverine – wolverines don’t make mewling sounds…
even expressing affection, wolverines tend to snarl…
Then I heard a heavy thump. Did someone deliver
a proper front kick at the bar? By proper I mean heel first….
Not a puppy then…
Matilda has a big great Dane – dumb as a post. It sounds
kind of like him – bewildered, confused
and begging for something he never quite understands
he wants.
I reach out… and feel,,, what feels like a horse’s
tail hanging all the way down to my knees… hanging
over the edge of the bar…. this is too weird. And
nasty. The tail isn’t entirely dry.
A horse! What would a horse be doing
in Artie’s bar? I’ve seen many a horse’s ass here,
but never a horse…then again, at the moment I can’t see.
I search for more of those yellow candles…
I find a wooden ‘safety’ match snap it on my
thumbnail. There’s a flash of light… For a split-second
I see it…there’s either a large dog or a small
horse kneeling on Artie’s bar…
And the noises it’s making. Rather like
someone goosed a moose, or moosed a goose,
or… or what? I don’t know what… My imagination
is vast (or so I’ve been told, and I’m not at all sure
it’s a compliment).
But this is unimaginable!
The eyes looked strangely human.
But animals’ eyes often look this way, I’m sure
you’ve noticed.
However these eyes seem to be
bulging, as if the creature has been caught
in a surprising situation – a distressing situation.
I’ve got to find another match.
I don’t want to touch that hair again,
hanging down over the edge of the bar… it’s
just too creepy. Did I detect a stickiness to it…?
Oh, God! No!
You don’t want to be placing your
hands on just any sticky fluid! Imagine
crawling along the floor of a bus station bathroom…
well, that’s not the place to put your hand in
something wet… nosiree!
I once saw a pale white palm reach
into my stall in a pay-as-you-go toilet stall
in a bus station bathroom in the City…downstairs, of course,
it had to be downstairs!
Oh, sticky hair! No! Maybe I’d better
leave. Better find some alcohol first to wash
my hands.
“OOOOMmmPH!” it made a sound.
It wasn’t a deep-voiced male sound.
Tho the sound had plenty of gusto in it…
this is not a small creature. This is a large
dumb brute… in the midst of consternation…
distress…
Distress? Aw, now I can’t leave!
And my insulated green rubber boot just got stuck…
on something… sticky… on the floor.
OOooo… I almost throw up. And that
won’t help the general stickiness situation!
I find another match. I flick my thumb… I see
his eyes. It’s not a horse’s head! It’s a dog’s…
head mask… A mask? Oh, too weird! Too
sticky, and stinky too… I’m gone!
I work my way along the wall… one, two,
three moose heads… I’m out of here! I snatch
open the door… A glimmer from outside helps a bit.
No question. A large dumb brute is kneeling on the
bar, with a big hairy tail… making Great Dane sounds
if you stuff the dogs nose under a pillow…
I step out onto the Main Lane and let
the door close behind me. I light a cigar and
stare up at the gorgeous imperious stars…
the peaceful stars, the clean stars. The air is cold and sharp.
I like it out here.
The arctic air does not feel depraved.
The air of the arctic feels pristine. Not like the ugly
scene, the monstrous situation all-too- present
in Artie’s Elegant Bar and Grill.
I wire a rag to a pole of driftwood. I pour
some naphtha gas on the rag. I reach into my
bunker and pick up the Bic lighter. I light
the rag and push the pole into the mud at the
edge of the Mane Lane, just outside of Artie’s Bar.
I keep the door propped open.
Now I can see inside. Yes, it’s a beast
with a dog’s head… no wait, is that a horn emerging
from the forehead of the dog? No!
Yes! It is. And some kind of a cone
is rising atop the dog-head mask… The dog has
a pig nose and a dunce’s hat. A dunce’s hat?
It’s got to be Artie! You think Artie, you think
dunce’s cap!
IT IS! IT IS ARTIE! In the pointy hat of a fool!
As I say, it’s not that big a mental stretch… to think of
Artie in such headgear… although, the forehead-dildo
is a bit of a surprise, I must say.
And something’s written on the fool’s hat.
Ha!
I enter the bar and light one of the
oil lamps. Good God! What have they done to
our poor bartender? I’m concerned…
I’ve got to get a camera!
I walk back in with my flash camera.
I can see what looks like Bruno the Great Dane,
only with big wide eyes, shake his head, “NO!”
Artie’s saying in mime.
I flash the shot from one angle. Then
I flash two more of his pig-face. Ha! Ha! That
pig’s nose looks cute on Artie! And what are
those words written on the dunce’s hat?
PIG… Yes, right above his ear. PERVERT!
higher up and. “FOOL!” And right above the dildo
emerging from between his eyes…!”
“CREEP!”and “PEEPER!”
I snap another shot to the sound of
Artie grunting in denial!
Enough’s enough. I peel off the duct
tape strapping the hat onto Artie’s black hair…
I pull off the head-dildo. It comes off with a suction
sound – a pop! Has someone glued that to his
forehead?
I cut the cloth of the dog mask
away. And there’s Artie! Wide-eyed and
ridiculous in all his glory!
His trying to say something, but
he can’t. There’s a bright red ball in his
mouth, strapped there. I pop this out.
Artie gasps. “Untie me!” he wails.
I’ve got cramps!”he grunts.
Then I see it, his wrists and legs
are tied to the bar… his legs are tied open
at the ankles…. and on no, the horse’s tail
is attached to a broom stick. The broom stick
appears to penetrate up Artie’s ass!
I cut the ropes loose…. I give a tug
on the horse’s tail at the end of the broomstick,
“Do you want this out?” I ask Artie,
trying not to laugh… “Or are you enjoying it?”
“Argrolff!” Artie shout’s back at me
from over his shoulders… His arms and legs
are quivering… I pick him up and lay
him on his side on the polished bar. I try
not to notice, but certain body parts have
been shaved, clean as a baby’s bottom!
Time for me to leave. I want to digest this
monstrous scene in peace and tranquillity.
I wish to think of other things. Like salmon fishing
in Yemen.
“I’ll let you take care of the rest of
your outfit.” I say to Artie; “I’m not sure what
you want where, what costume parts are annoying
and which parts you are enjoying!
I’d hate to interfere!
I say this just as he’s reaching behind
him with both hands, attempting to remove
the duct tape from his shaved ass..
“UCK OORF!” he shouts loudly… but once
again his voice is muffled because now
he’s lying face down on the bar, squirming
like a caterpillar ((with dreams of distant
flight.))
He looks confused, bewildered… not
sure how to extract himself from his present
position.
His voice is shaken, muffled. I wonder
just how far the broom handle penetrates up his
ass. I’d like to know, but it’s not the sort
of question it’s polite to ask.
zappadat- THE MOVEABLE FEAST 