Saturday, October 17, 2009

time out for an ale...

     let's be real.
     killing harry took place over five years ago dahlings.
     i love reliving it, but it can get tooo intense.
     and recalling killing that fuck Drasco! which i haven't even gone into yet.
     i need to take a break.

     sometimes i like to share things that are less than a half-decade old.
     like what happened this weekend.  fun fun fun, to quote my pal brian.
     but don't worry. we'll get back to harry. and, unfortunately, Drasco.
     howevahhh, over the weekend i had the most delish time...

she was at the bar with johnny stud, but studs interest me as much as keynesian economics. she was what had my attention...

     no secret i spend too much time in lalaland. last weekend i was in the simply deeliteful lion's head down in bay city, as raymond liked to call it.
     i luv brit pubs. so down home. as soon as i walk in i feel like watching soccer and kicking some ass. misty always likes to kick ass.
     so i floated in. ordered a pale ale. and had a couple of blokes and their gal pals devouring me with their eyes. i look sooo nice in skin tight evisu denims. definitely $800 well spent.
     "looking for the panty line guys? don't bother," i said, sucking a nice draw on my ale.
     "no luv. seein' how long it's been since yer last wax. couple a weeks, eh?" said the big tuff looker with the hot blonde i was eyeing.
     "find hair under these jeans pretty boy, you can tweeze it with those neon white teeth of yours, luv."
     that broke the ice. not the competition.
     pretty boy's undies were in a knot. his gal was more interested in the bulge in my jeans than his.

the guy with her said he was special forces. i had to go through
him to get her. no problem. i'd dropped special forces before...

     "yer a tough lady aintcha. i right like that," pretty guy said to 'here here's' form his wingman.
     "course don't push it sweetheart. ya never know who you're drinkin' with," he winked. i don't mind a chic who knows she's hot. it's gauche in a dude.
     "somethin' in yer eye, limey?" i said, winking at his woman. i wanted her.
     "i wouldn't give cap'n smith lip, respectfully mam'," wingman said.
     "will i upset pocahontas?"
     "no mam'. just that his majesty's special forces deserves a bit of respect. even in los angeles."

      game on.
     "my daddy always told me you get as much respect as you can take," i purred, breathing bass ale fumes down cap'n smith's too pretty, half open mouth.
     "respectf'lly doll, i was cleaning up the middle east while you were waxing your pubes so you could fit into yer denims," he said, winkin' at wingman. geeesh! guys winking at each other! get a room.
     their butch and sundance crap left his girl for me to flirt with.
     "respectfully, luv, where did you serve in the middle east?" i oozed.
     "crikey. if i told ya i'd have ta kill ya...doll," he smiled. his dolly bird followed the match like it was wimbledon.
     "be a shame to kill someone who saved your jammy arse," i cooed, finishing my bass.

pretty boy had served in the middle east. i told
him if that was the case, he owed me his life

     the temperature dropped. except for bird. she was heating up.
     after a few, he spoke.
     "ya might wanna check yer fax mam'."
     i smiled at his chic.
     "you ever hear of a holy man name of...," i queried, dropping a name i cannot say here. doll boy's face froze.
     he looked like he'd od'd on botox.
     i sucked my way into another bass. mr. special forces turned to his wingman with his blank face.
     they stared at each other like thelma and louise.

this hit involved flying into the balkans,
cracking my whip...and then...

     i don't like silence. unless of course i've just wasted a dude. i smiled at bird, turned. and left.
     her tongue touched her top lip as she watched me leave. always a good sign.

     i moved on. eyed the waitress. headed to the girl's room.
     freshened up, i decided to blow the joint. walk along the cliffs on ocean boulevard.
     surprise. outside the toilet was special forces. he was a looker. too bad men were not on my list of things to do anymore.
     "i got somethin' to say to you lady."
     i get my game on when i hear crap like that.
     "there going to be trouble sweety?" i said.
     he had a piece in his jean pant above his brit army issue boots. i spotted the bulge earlier.
     i could give a swift punch to the bulge in his 501s, then remove his bang bang before he finished doubling over.
     if needed.
     he just kept lookin.
     "am i going to have to take you down handsome?"
     thought i saw a curl on his lip. limey's are such dry slackjaws. can never tell if it's a smile. or smirk.
     that's a compliment to all you wankers reading this. anyway...
     "yer not goin' ta take me down luv," he said as the lip curl turned into a shit eating grin.
     "really," i said.
     "nah. cause i'm gonna thank ya."
     his eyes started to water.
i was aux naturelle... after i whipped his ass, i rolled
up his robe, and strangled him good with it

     "i don't know who ya are. but you wouldn'ta known that name unless you were the one."
     i relaxed. wasn't going to have to sucker punch his cock and grab his weapon after all.
     "figured it out, huh action man?"
     "the bastard ya mentioned. at was his city. me and me mates were gonna have to go in there. half my men woulda been goin' home in bags."
     i wasn't much on sentimentality. i liked it better when i had to kick ass.

     the gig a few years back had been to fly into an eastern euro shithole that'd been ground zero for the balkan war. it was where one of the players in iraq went to get funding. and to play.
     i was posing as a lady with a whip. not a far stretch for me.
     the name i'd mentioned to limey earlier was a 'holy' man who liked more than an angry god. he liked angry women.with riding crops.
     he wasn't spending all his time facing east on his knees. some of it was tied up naked with a riding crop across his hairy ass.
     won't say who paid the bill on this one, but it was a nice chunk of change.
     holyman was video'd getting the holy shit swatted out of him. not that he knew.
     when that was done, camera off, he got a little strangle session. he enjoyed it...but he didn't survive. oh darn.
     after he was bye bye, he was strung up by his holy neck for the bell boy to find.
     suicide note. delightfully perfect scene. someone had dropped a dime to the press. wink wink.
     but it wasn't the brits who paid the bill on that one.
     or washington.
     or vladimir.
     had it been any of those, misty wouldn't be sharing.
     let's say the buyer doesn't exist anymore. which ended my contractual arrangement to shut my pretty mouth about it.

i gave her a ride home. and then a ride...

     action man was still staring with watery eyes.
     made misty more nervous than if he made a move. i've taken special forces down before.
     but compliments...i get all frazzled...
     "the fucking holy bastard lost his cred with that episode. fanatics lost their boy. resistance dried up. lotta lives saved."
     "can't tell you who did that. otherwise i'd have to kill yer blimey arse, action man," i said.
     i winked. turned. he grabbed my arm.
     " bird needs a ride home. i...wonder if...ya might..."
     "...give her a ride?"

     sure i would.
     i went back to the bar.
     bird was there. alone. wingman and his date were outside waiting for action man.
     "your boy sez you need a ride," i said to dolly.
     she smiled.
     "i do..."

[back to harry...and killing that motherfucker]

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