Note: Oh boy. This one had a few versions floating around. It’s a bit Beatles, really–meaning, I had a story or two that didn’t really have an end/start and just merged them together to make something a bit chill.  Originally, this had a lot of little people–I mean A LOT. Got it down to ‘just two’. Good for me. The original ending was the kiss–the added on parts where Gene and the narrator escape jail is actually a graphic short story (Maybe I’ll post it here one day) that I rewrote as verbal text (mostly due to printing constraints.  Mostly).

Hope you like the Gen X version–give the book a whirl if you do (give it a whirl if you don’t….books are cool!)

 

I was gluing on my fake eyelash while Daphne was trying to crimp hers. She didn’t need fake lashes, but she did use some sort of metal machine that would curl them in one direction. It was a bronze semi-moon-shaped device whose teeth, when the correct amount of pressure was applied to the handle, would swallow the eyelashes and then gum them into submission. Her dish-water blond hair waved over her shoulders and hid the string where her black angel wings attached to her corset. We had replaced the strings of the corset with purple ribbon to match our costumes; forearm length, black-and-purple lace gloves and dyed ballet shoes with a skirt, leathersoft and black—the kind of number that, if it came up to her mid-thigh, would be too long—topped off Daphne’s ensemble. Ten dress shops, eight shoe stores, several long, mind-numbing hours at a craft store, and one ballet recital boutique were needed for the creation of Daphne’s costume.

My own was simple. Kmart simple. My friend Faye and I came up with it while trying to create characters for one of his new graphic novels. I called it the ‘Evil Willy Wonka’ because we took it from the book about Charlie and not the too-sweet movie version with Gene Wilder. Evil Wonka dressed in purple—but not a friendly purple, more of the majestic evil purple—with eyeliner and a fake drawn-on smile and one spider eyelash hanging off my right eye, held together by glue that hopefully would come off while leaving my skin intact. A top hat and cane finished off the look that a few years later Johnny Depp would borrow and somehow make dopey.

We left on time and finally arrived at the Fetish and Fantasy Ball, located on the corner of Sunset and Las Vegas Boulevard, a part of Vegas that most visitors don’t even know exists. The area was tucked away from the lights and the sound of the Strip; if you looked very closely on a crystalline clear night you could almost make out the North Star fighting in vain against the raging urban light. The outer rim of Las Vegas is where God goes to slum. We made one last makeup check before waving goodbye to our coats; it was 65 degrees and definite long-coat weather, but we didn’t feel the need to burden ourselves lugging around un-essentials. The light reflected against the cat-green contact lenses that fought Daphne’s ocean-blue eyes for dominance.

‘You know he’ll be here, right?’

She sighed and waved her hand at me, the lace flapping in the draft of the heater. ‘I told you, nothing happened. He’s just not used to me being serious about a guy. Think of it as a compliment!’ Yeah, it was a compliment that her ex-fiancé kept asking her to sleep with him whenever I was out of town; a compliment that when I called to say hello his voice was in the background. Better yet, when I was in Cleveland her home phone was forwarded to his. She said it was because she was missing her old place and wanted to play on the piano a bit, that she still had her own room there and nothing was happening.

‘Just the guy that sent you panties for Valentine’s Day; nothing to worry about.’

‘Look, I’m with you now, it isn’t like I can just go out and have hot monkey sex with him and still be back for dinner. I don’t like to cheat; I’d always tell you first like I did in Cleveland.’

Yeah, 2,000 miles away and spending Christmas trying to sleep on the broken glass that covered Cleveland’s airport floor as I choked on airplane exhaust. While most people were dreaming of a fat man coming down their chimney putting up presents, I got to dream of that fat slob Toby coming up Daphne’s chimney.

Everything was ‘okay,’ she said. Then she called me the day after. It was the night after Christmas and all through the house, not a creature was stirring, just Toby’s throbbing cock. How I loved hearing that story—her waking up to him standing naked staring at her in her old room. She told me that she put her foot down and he knew best to leave her alone. She said all of that, but I still remembered Cleveland.

I remembered Cleveland, but I also remembered Oakland and Seattle and San Fran and LA and and and, the list went on. She was there for me during those times. The times when my migraines swallowed the world. In the end, she was still the perfect soul sitting next to me as my ex shot daggers at the reception. Daphne had her moment of weakness. Everyone has moments. God knows I’ve had mine. She was there through mine and stuck with me after. Who would I be if I couldn’t do the same for her? I helped her out of the car and took a walk with her, arm in arm, with my cane leading the way.

For those of you that think small town county Halloween dances are the most devastating Halloween fulfillment for fetish anyone could have, well, I will just take some extra time to give the layout of the Fetish Ball. You can decide for yourself what is cutting-edge adult entertainment: Cotton Candy Machine or an Electric Chair with arm straps that not only runs current through the body, but also powers an adult toy with that current—18 inches of black cyberskin toy with its own see-saw motion. For all of those that never made it past the trick-or-treating stage of life? Well, let’s just say the room was full of Tricks whose Treats cost $450 an hour and maybe a dose of penicillin—what happens in Vegas stays in Vegas—but mostly due to quarantine.

The entire thing was run in a sports arena: some massive obelisk with more floors than ice cream flavors. Sports in Vegas never did well, mostly because it was against the law to bet on the home team, so this wreckage of the past wasn’t in use most of the year, only this one day for Halloween. Thirty-seven sections, most of them made in a continuous winding ramp up to the top, all filled with an overzealous fog machine effect. Okay, maybe it wasn’t a fog machine and maybe it was just a lot of pot smoke. Who knows? Either way it smelled wretched, like week-old ass and cigar smoke. I couldn’t see dick and that’s all I knew, but with any luck the fog would clear by the time we got past the door level. My breathing tightened up and so did my grip on Daphne. I hate people. I love social functions, but I hate people.

‘Sweet Jesus, I’ve never seen so many geeks in my life!’ I blurted.

Daphne swatted at me. ‘Darling, that sounds brave from a man that is…what? The Evil Wonka? Ohhhhh Oompa Loompas! So frightening Mr. Wonka!’

‘No, really! Look! I mean that guy in the full pleather outfit! He even has his eyes covered and mouth covered in that stuff! I mean, geek like the guy in Pulp Fiction; the one that jumps out of the closet!’

We took a moment to stare. His mistress was posing for pictures while riding on top of the man. Well, at least I assume it was a man. It did have a cod piece and no breasts bulging from under the pleather wrap; then again, I also assumed his mistress was a woman. Her double-pierced tits were poking out, framed by the equally tacky pleather of her costume. Her bleached-blond hair came out from under her cop hat and the whip worked its magic on her slave; her boot heels digging into his side, bending part of his pleather back, making a curved indent where his ribs should be.

‘Ya! Whine for me slave!’ she said while commanding the whip as well as the slave to action. On his part, he let out a muffled whine, a horse out of breath. She turned to us. ‘Would you like to ride too?’

I wasn’t sure which one of us the offer was for. There is just something about getting offered a ride on a person wrapped up in body-tight fake leather by a possible woman with her Adam’s apple and breasts equally hanging out, while holding a whip. Well? Why not? There seemed to be room for two more. Daphne climbed up in front of the girl and I took the rear, no pun intended, and sat down. It was here we ran into two more people, one of them a stranger and another a douchebag. Daphne’s douche of an ex-fiancé made first contact.

‘There’s my little angel!’ The words formed out over a glass that had ‘Jack Daniel’s’ on the side.

‘Toby! I didn’t think I’d find you here! You said you weren’t going,’ said Daphne, ‘his’ little angel, while I took the opportunity to thank the mistress and the slave both, oddly, by slapping each on the ass, and then escorted my date off the entertainment. Daphne walked towards her ex, and I paused to try to show her trust.

‘Hey, you guys want your picture? Just $25! Think of it, your night immortalized with a picture of you riding the slave! I’ll even sign it!’

Transgendered in pleather whipping a slave is one thing, but trying to sell me a souvenir crosses the line. I shook my head and walked away in disgust. My heart dropped when I saw my girlfriend talking with Toby. I never could find the right words to express my feelings for Toby; on the one hand, he was my girlfriend’s friend and, on the other, he was this scumbag that kept trying to sleep with her. In a clearer state of mind, I might think of the situation as a sign that Daphne was out for Daphne and that I strangely missed the feeling of riding a slave. My stomach met my heart and both competed with each other in a rush to exit through my mouth.

This was Cleveland all over again, but I didn’t have to imagine them together; there they were—right next to me. Toby, the nine-year old ex-relationship, somehow could never exit entirely from Daphne’s life. Toby—the person she called first on Valentine’s Day, the person she spent Christmas night with while I was snowed in at the hell Cleveland calls an airport; the guy that got drunk with her on New Year’s, when they both ended up naked on top of a mountain eye-level with the fireworks blasting from the Strip. Oh wait, sorry, that last one was me… Ecstasy and Southern Comfort do not mix.

So here he was, talking to my girlfriend and dressed as an ass clown. Yes, that’s right. He was a clown in mostly lame clown makeup—the big shoes, the nose, the sad dopey looking eyes—but where his pants would be there was only a giant plastic ass. That wasn’t the disturbing part, oh no, not for a true seasoned adventurer! The disturbing part was this kangaroo-type knapsack attached to his front, the type little kids are sometimes carried in by busy mothers or pussy-whipped fathers. Inside was this thing, it was about the size of a four-year-old and yet it had a cigar and stubble. Even in Vegas, where the Freaks get Freaky, this was weird.

‘Put me down, Tobster,’ the Baby squawked.

As the midget dismounted, he seemed to smile while being lowered past Daphne’s bosom. That dirty pervert was treating my girl like some piece of meat and the midget wasn’t doing much better. When fully extended on his legs, or what I guess could qualify for legs since they were no bigger than my forearms in length and girth, the midget came up to right below Daphne’s butt.

He looked over and extended his hand. ‘Hi! I’m Gene!’ he said, the hint of a French accent wafting in the air like a bad fart.

Daphne bent down to graciously take his hand and kiss it. The act was a bit emasculating, but Gene didn’t seem to mind. Why would he? To kiss his hand, Daphne basically had to thrust her ample bosom into his face. After the hand kiss, Gene put his hand out towards me.

‘And you must be Prince!’ the midget quaked.

My name isn’t Prince, and I am not funky, and I couldn’t believe he just called me the name of some effeminate, lanky black dude. I’m Willy Wonka, bitch, now shut up before I loompa your ass. ‘Actually, it’s Wonka.’ I didn’t extend my hand to his; I didn’t kiss his hand; I patted him on the head instead. Hell, dogs like it, why not a midget?

Toby and I didn’t say a word. I never knew what Daphne saw in him. This slimy blob of blah that is Toby. Maybe it was the fond memories of him turning from Virgin into Freak and lacing Daphne’s drinks with drugs to induce orgies at that mansion? Whatever reason it was, it was strong enough for Daphne to be with him for almost a decade and to still talk to him after the break up. Maybe she was just bored? I guess the idea of chasing Valium with vodka and NyQuil never crossed her mind. I guess some people are just too weak-minded to entertain themselves so they must leach on to others to do the…

Whack!

I tried to make it appear like an accident; like my cane just slipped a bit too hard and smashed into Gene’s thighs, but I’m not sure if anyone would believe it. Toby was talking to Daphne; Gene was standing next to Daphne, or more correct, almost directly under her and looking up her skirt, which he could have worn for ‘drunk man with a lampshade’ effect if he were just three inches taller.

I had to thwack that bastard with my cane, ever so gently, of course. Not at all like the Singapore cane beatings for rich, spoiled bastards doing graffiti; no, not that hard at all. Just love taps. Each cane hit was just me saying, ‘I love you, Gene, you French fuck!’ Well, the rest of society doesn’t view that as love, so I had to say something to defuse the situation.

‘Oops, sorry, I guess I slipped! Hey, Gene, you okay?’

Gene spat his answers, ‘No!’ The face spitting out the words like bitter almonds.

Daphne went down to rub his leg. ‘Oh, you poor little thing! You have to excuse Wonka, he is a bit clumsy! He didn’t mean you any harm, did he, dear?’

‘No, I don’t think he did,’ answered Toby.

I pretended not to hear him respond and injected my own, ‘Of course not! Listen, let me buy you a drink, okay?’

Gene nodded and I went off with him to the end bar. Cleopatra was tending; her golden weaves accentuated her bronzed skin as her almond-shaped nipples poked through the light-blue satin top. I took a look back over my shoulder and discovered the sight in front of me was a lot better than that of Daphne talking into Toby’s ear. I focused on Cleo and asked Gene what he wanted.

‘What do they have?’ he asked.

I looked down to see that Gene’s head was not high enough to see over the bar. It reminded me of an old Peanuts cartoon where Lucy never knew what the big deal about shopping was since she was the one never to see above the counter tops. I thought about lifting Gene up to see over the bar, like I would my niece to see over a crowd at a parade, but then thought against it. Fondling Frenchies just was not on my things-to-do list.

‘Well, tell you what, just tell me what you want and I’ll see if they have it. Sound good?’

‘D’accord. Tequila and Diet Slice.’

Diet Slice? I could see the tequila but the Slice? I put on my best fake smile and zoomed directly into Cleo’s fake glow-in-the-dark green eyes. I must avoid all eye contact with her breasts, no matter how obvious and perky they are. I am, after all, a decent human being and a gentleman at that. Who else would buy a fucking Frenchie a drink?

‘Tequila and Diet Slice, please.’

‘And an olive,’ the voice by my groin said.

‘And a what? Sorry, I thought I heard something.’

‘You did, you dumb bitch! I said and an olive!’

‘Sir, is your penis talking?’

I stood there, dumbfounded for a moment. Is there ever a correct way to answer this? A tug at my leg disrupted my train of thought and the moment to hit on Cleo passed as she turned her back to fill other orders while searching for an olive. ‘Gene? What the hell do you want?’ I asked my groin area, but he wasn’t there. Instead, there was this thing. This thing covered in a school-girl doll costume. Not a school-girl costume—believe me, that is an entirely different set of fantasies—but rather the doll that a school girl would have. This stringy blond hair, baby-pee-a-lot type looking doll. Rosy cheeks and eye shadow applied by what appeared to have been a cue chalk; lips the shade of, well, hunter green. The whole thing was a twisted, warped caricature of a punk rock lesbian.

‘Gene? The hell are you…’

‘You get my tequila and Diet Slice yet, Tall Man?’

I turned over to my left and saw Gene up on a seat. He had been climbing—successfully, I might add—to the top of the chair and now sat at bar level. The drink drifted towards his tiny hands and the $20 that I had laying down on the table was gobbled up never to be seen of again. He took a sip and I palmed an olive.

‘Hey, that’s my olive!’ my groin once again said.

I turned and looked down to see the living doll once again. This time I was sure it wasn’t a hallucination, that my mind did not indeed crack and there were, in reality, two midgets near me now; one was drinking a Slice and the other was, I believe, trying to climb up on the stool on the other side of me, or hump my leg. I wasn’t really sure which to believe or which to even root for.

‘Can I help you?’ I asked the Other Midget, or OM for short.

The OM batted its eyelashes at me. ‘That depends, stranger, are you going to give me that olive or should I suck on something else?’ Her hand ran up my thigh. ‘Oh, you must be Willie Wonka! I’m Tina! Now, how about that oral fixation of mine?’

Having a perverted midget that was hitting on my girlfriend was one thing; I could take the concept that people were just horny no matter what size God, science, or maybe just a really bad golfing accident made them. But I was too far strung out on paranoia to be remotely in the right mindset to deal with a transvestite midget suggesting he/she suck me. Nobody should have to put up with that sort of trip. I reacted the only way I knew how.

After throwing the olive across the room, I started to bat the transmidget away with my cane, much like I had seen my grandmother do to stray cats on the porch. ‘Get! Scoot! Get get get!’ I shooed Tina and saw her run after the olive; the olive eventually stopped rolling on the floor and Tina bent over to pick it up. What happened next is something that I plan on taking to the grave. One of those deep and dark moments of your life that denies the very existence of God; some people think starving orphans in Poland or pictures of frozen homeless people in St. Petersburg, or even for some the fact that Celine Dion had two nightly shows just down the block, that those things are the true horrors of this world, but they all pale to what I had to witness that night.

As Tina bent over to pick up the olive from the semen-encrusted floor, I saw the skirt lift, and instead of the bloomers—those white fluffy things most dolls came with as a way of hiding any gender—I saw a thong. Not just any old thong; not your mother’s thong; not your boy or girlfriend’s thong, but rather an aquamarine thong, and with that thong, the uncircumcised midget penis tucked up behind, strapped into place with duct tape.

I reached out and grabbed the drink Gene had and finished it for him in a gulp. Then, after ordering two shots of tequila for myself and another sissy foo-foo type drink for Gene, I started to regain control over my thought process.

‘Hey, where did Daphne and Toby go?’ I asked Gene.

He shrugged from his seat and pulled another cigar out of his diaper. Swisher Sweets—the type of cigars junior high kids smoked to look cool at an under-21 club, also the kind that high schoolers used to smoke pot with. I scanned the room and couldn’t see either of them. Panic set in; panic and scenes of hot monkey sex floated through my mind. Maybe Toby was doing her in the bathroom? Why even wait for the bathroom line to clear up? Enough people were on the sofas and love seats just having sex in the corner. Not to mention that elf looking girl snorting coke off Guinevere’s exposed left breast. Things were always weird in this town, and for Halloween the weird really did ‘turn pro.’

Rising from my seat, I looked around the spiral-shaped elevation ramps of the place to see if I could spot either one of them. Just more freaks and geeks; some of them with chains connected throughout their body, the eyebrows pierced which connected with the nose piercings which connected, via a thin chain, with the upper-lip piercings that zagged over to the left cheek and then back down to the lower lip piercings, across down to the left exposed breast and its nipple over to the right, the chain growing bigger like a river about to flood, much like what will happen with the breast milk if this woman ever has to give nourishment to a baby, as the piercings permanently damage the ducts, and that chain zigging down across the stomach resting briefly upon a diamond-studded, zircon-enhanced belly ring that then sent the chain looping around her waist like a belt, snug in its bodily conquest, and then, only after completing the revolution around her body three times, did the chain continue downward into her labia piercings, the open crotch meshed body-suit allowing complete access as the chain penetrated the exterior and connected back up with the clitoral clamp and back up again to the waist. I could see all of this, but I couldn’t see where Daphne and Toby were.

A movement, something sudden but subtle, caught my eye and I scanned the floor below. I could make out the bent angel wings of Daphne’s costume, and the sweaty oiliness of Toby’s posture confirmed my sighting. I could see Toby and Daphne standing in the corner near the love seats. He had his black-clad hand pulling down on her satin-covered wrist; his posture seemed a bit friendly, even too friendly, the type of thing that would creep you out from a drug dealer down the street.

Toby had a not-so-wholesome smile on his face which was half paralyzed from alcohol. Trust only exists until it needs to be defined. I wanted to go down to intervene, but I had to fight the image of being clingy and untrusting. The formula for accidently meeting Toby in the men’s room and leaving him in a stall bleeding crossed my mind. But I can’t do that, can I? Would it work? Would she just be sympa-pathetic towards him the next day? Too many variables. Besides, I had this goddamn French person on my hands. You thought I forgot about you? You little miserable fuck. Standing there all night in your baby diaper and looking up her skirt; trying to fondle parts of her leg with your little penis. Baby needs feeding? Yeah, I got something for Baby all right.

I walked past the smoke and bumped into Gene and the cigar clasping to his mouth nearly dropped. ‘Hey, isn’t that yer girl down there with that slob?’

‘I’m surprised that you even call her “my girl” with the way you’ve been acting all night.’

He chewed his cigar a bit, the ash falling into his diaper, but he appeared too drunk to notice. ‘Hey now, you obviously came with her and you get to go home with her. I’ll never see that again. What am I going to do? The only night of the year I’m not some freak? Kids even stare and make fun of me at the mall—not teenagers, but five-year-olds. Do you know what it is like to be made fun of by a five-year-old and have them be taller than you? You have your health, bud. Probably drove her here in some sort of fancy import, didn’t you? Well, I can’t even see over the dashboard. Hell, my driver has to strap me into a child’s seat before we go anywhere. You try picking up a woman while in a kid seat.’

I hadn’t thought of it from his point of view. This poor guy has one day out of the entire year to go out with people and not be made fun of? Only one day to actually feel safe leaving his own house and to even remotely see a beautiful woman that would stay around him without taking money. ‘Hey man, I didn’t know it was all like that. Listen, I feel really bad now.’

‘You Talls are all alike. Never really thinking about the little guy. You thought I’d just ride on up on my tricycle and steal your girl? No girl really wants to touch me. You should be glad you have such a woman that would be nice to a diseased freak like me. Doctors don’t even know how I lived this long. Every week I have to show up and do more tests. Not everything’s small, you know? Some of my insides grew at different rates. And you know what? That cane of yours really hurts! Don’t think I didn’t know that you were hitting me on purpose! Having to come with Toby was bad enough! God, I hate that guy, but he’s the only one who has a car with seats that let me touch the floor!’ Gene started to rub his leg where welts were starting to show from my cane blows and tripping attempts.

There I was, a person almost literally twice his size, and I’d picked on him with a weapon. Yes, he was annoying for always following me around like the cat trying to kill you while you walk down the stairs; yes, he did look up Daphne’s skirt a few times; and yes, his accent burnt through my brain like a slug trying to dry hump a dung beetle. But he still was a human being. He still was somebody’s little boy—well, in his case, a little, little boy. There was only one thing left to do and I didn’t care who was watching. Let them all watch! I wasn’t ashamed. I bent down to look Gene right in the eye.

‘Gene, man, I am really sorry. I just didn’t know all that and you are right, I was behaving like a fool. Come here.’ I swooped him up into my arms and gave him a hug. ‘I know that this can’t make up for it all and that you rather be hugged by Daphne but…’

Gene was speechless. I raised him higher so we could see eye to eye and tried to lift his spirits. ‘Hey, everyone! I want you to meet my new friend, Gene! Let this be an example of what we all can strive towards! Even though God has dealt him with the severe disability of being French, my man here never gave up! He kept at it and…sorry about this, Gene.’

‘Wha?’ was all that Gene could get out before I threw him from the bar and into the shambling shape of Toby leaving the nearby men’s room. I never really put much thought into the Gravity’s Rainbow science behind human flight from a person applying enough force to another person’s ass to actually have them fly through the air in an arc and land, rather horribly, on another person’s chest.

Should have seen the look on his face. Well, I couldn’t see the look because I had turned him around before tossing him, but from what the Charlie Chaplin Transgender next to me said, it looked pretty traumatizing.

I yelled out towards his trajectory, ‘Hey! Nothing personal! I meant what I said about it being OK you’re French!’ I wanted to add something about buying him a drink if he ever got out of Toby’s pouch, but I saw Daphne come back up the stairs.

‘Where did Gene go?’

‘He said he wanted more time to bond with Toby. So, everything okay with you?’

Her sigh meant, ‘I don’t want to talk about it right now’ but the kiss meant, ‘God, I’m lucky I’m not with that ass;’ however, the taste on her lips meant, ‘Toby had corned beef hash for dinner.’

As much as it hurt me to use my new friend Gene as a giant dart headed for Toby’s gooey shapeless midsection, I think it hurt Toby even more. At least that is what I understood from the rush of medical staff working desperately trying to remove Gene’s foot from Toby’s nethers. I was so engrossed in my victory that I didn’t see the two cops, both in assless chaps, coming my way. A mistake that would prove all too costly.

***

‘There I was—in jail for a crime I am completely innocent of, you know. Sure, maybe I should have realized tossing another human being was somehow against the law. Who am I? A lawyer? Besides, not like he didn’t have it coming. That fat fuck…’

My words hung in the air for a moment and then reality hit. When reality hits, it feels like a small (but mighty) kick to the shins.

‘I know! I was there!’ said Reality.

‘Hun? Oh right! So you were,’ I spoke to Reality, which looked suspiciously like the small person I threw moments before.

‘Worst day ever. This was supposed to be the one day that I could go out and do anything I wanted and what did that get me? In jail, and I use that word loosely, with a normie, some latex elephant, and discount store Charles Bronson,’ the little person next to me said.

I took my surroundings in. Holy Jesus, he was right. That guy looked just like the dollar store version of Charles Bronson. No, not the Death Wish guy, but the guy England put into jail longer than OJ for just stealing. I guess murder has its privileges. I’m sorry. I mean double murder. Cold-blooded homicide. The resemblance was uncanny. What was also uncanny was the latex elephant. I wasn’t sure if it was two people or just one with a very long trunk. The compulsion to ask started to bubble up but was interrupted by reality again.

‘So why me?’ Reality said.

‘Huh? I don’t even know you.’

‘Me! Why me? Why did you throw me? Why not that other person like me? The one with the olive?’

The question wasn’t ‘why throw a person,’ but rather ‘why throw a particular person?’ How solipsistic can one person get? Like it was my plan to ruin his night by, god-forbid, throwing him at my arch nemesis? That fat fuck probably scoring with my girlfriend right now. That son of a bitch here couldn’t even stop that blubber pile! He has the nerve to talk to me about ‘why me?’

‘Don’t blame me! You’re the one who couldn’t fly properly. Hey, why are you in here, anyways?’

‘The olive. The one you took from me.’

‘What about it?’

‘It wasn’t really an olive.’

‘So, you gave me, what, exactly? Someone else’s olive? Who cares? It wasn’t even for me…’

‘No, I mean it really wasn’t an olive. I stole it from Toby. I was going to slip it into his drink and draw a dick on his face after he passed out…’

It was then it dawned on me. I was a hero. Here I was, discovering and foiling an attempted drugging without even knowing it. This is the sort of thing that could really start a career. I’d make the front page and everything. Then she’ll take me back. Then she’ll be sorry she ran away with her ex-fiancé.

I looked the guy over and nodded. ‘So, you’re saying Toby had a pill shaped like an olive that he brought with him to do what? Give to Daphne? Me? And you stole the drugs, didn’t hand them over to those cops, and instead planned on slipping it to Toby so you could draw on his face when he was passed out?’

‘When you put it that way, it does sound pretty…’

‘Awesome! It sounds pretty awesome! You committed multiple crimes just so you could draw a dick on someone’s face? Fucking genius! Get it? Gene-e-ous? Ha!’

‘I thought you said you didn’t know my name…’

‘Wha? Of course, I knew your name. I threw you across the room, didn’t I? What kind of sick animal do you take me for? So, Gene—if that is your real name—how the hell do we get out this cage and save the one woman that I love?’

If you have ever seen a prison break movie you know exactly what happened next. I mean, if you have ever seen one with a little person, a latex elephant, a Value Village Charles Bronson, and a love-torn poet. In short, it didn’t go too well. Sure, I wanted to tell you this great story where we used the elephant suit to seduce a guard and then Bronson clunked him over the head, but the reality was far more sinister.

Although I’ve been sworn to secrecy since we were the only ones to ever successfully break out of the Fetish and Fantasy Ball Jail, I can give this one hint. It’s quite simple, really. All one needed was lube—lots of lube (which was plentiful, I mean it was a Fetish Ball)—a fully nude and recently lubed-up, French-accented, ‘Minnesota Cha-Cha Champion of 1995’ little person (why did he insist between the butt cheeks?), one latex-elephant with a snout that could somehow take in said lube and spray unto said little person, and a Kmart Bronson to distract the guards with his ‘one and a half-man’ play inspired by The Three Stooges that he liked to call ‘Short and Curly.’ Some memories, much like the fake phone number I gave the trunk end of that latex elephant, are best left unanswered.